Tuttle and Ellhorn nodded. “He’s right!” they exclaimed. “We’ll stick to what he says.”
Wellesly considered Mead’s challenge in silence for a moment. He was wondering whether this was the courage of innocence or whether it was mere bluffing audacity. It was very like the former, but he decided that it must be the latter, because he was quite convinced that Mead had killed Whittaker.
“Of course,” he said, “after what you have done for me here—you have saved my life and showed me the greatest kindness and generosity—I can not allow any further proceedings to be taken against you, if I can prevent them, which is not—”
“Oh, hang all that!” Mead interrupted with a gesture of irritation. “I don’t expect and don’t want anything we have done just now to make any difference with your feelings toward me, or change the policy of the Fillmore Cattle Company. And I don’t want it to influence the actions of the Republicans in Las Plumas, either. We didn’t do it for that purpose, and I’m not buying protection for myself that way. What we did was the barest humanity.”
“No, Mr. Wellesly,” Nick Ellhorn broke in, “you needn’t have it on your conscience that you must be grateful to us, because if we hadn’t saved you the Republicans over in Plumas would have said that we killed you. We sure had to save you to save our own skins.”
There was a general laugh at this, and Mead added quietly: “As it was my men who were to blame for your condition, I suppose I would have been, in a way, responsible.”
Tuttle rose and began walking about uneasily. “When are we goin’ to start after ’em, Nick?” he said.
“I’m ready whenever you are.”
“All right. To-morrow morning, then.”
Wellesly looked up in surprise. It was the first word he had heard from either of the three concerning his captors, and he was startled by the calm assurance with which Tom had taken it for granted that he and Nick would “go after ’em.” “You two won’t go alone!” he exclaimed.