“Yes,” said Pennington, laying his hand affectionately on the other’s shoulder. “It is only Eva who counts; and because of Eva, and because you and I love her so much, you cannot go to the penitentiary.”
“What do you mean—cannot go?”
“Have you told any one else what you have just told me?”
“No.”
“Don’t. Go back home, and keep your mouth shut,” said Custer.
“You mean that you will take a chance of going up for what I did? Nothing doing! Do you suppose I’d let you, Cus, the best friend I’ve got in the world, go to the pen for me—for something I did?”
“It’s not for you, Guy. I wouldn’t go to the pen for you or any other man; but I’d go to the pen for Eva, and so would you.”
“I know it, but I can’t let you do it. I’m not rotten, Cus!”
“You and I don’t count. To see her unhappy and humiliated would be worse for me than spending a few years in the penitentiary. I’m innocent. No matter if I am convicted, I’ll know I’m innocent, and Eva’ll know it, and so will all the rest at Ganado; but, Guy, they’ve got too much on you if they ever suspect you, and the fact that you voluntarily admitted your guilt would convince even my little sister. If you were sent up it might ruin her life—it would ruin it. Things could never be the same for her again; but if I was sentenced for a few years, it would only be the separation from a brother whom she knew to be innocent, and in whom she still had undiminished confidence. She wouldn’t be humiliated—her life wouldn’t be ruined; and when I came back everything would be just as it was before. If you go, things will not be the same when you come back—they can never be the same again. You cannot go!”
“I cannot let you go, and be punished for what I did, while I remain free!”