"Oh, yes he did! Who is your friend—yourself?"
Big Bob lifted a hand as if to strike the boy, but he changed his mind, or got control of his temper, and lowered it again.
"At least," Fremont said, "you know who did commit the crime. That is something."
The big fellow grumbled out some sarcastic reply and trudged ahead. Fremont, knowing that a valuable point had been gained, hastened along by his side.
"And, with my false confession in your pocket," the boy went on, "you would find it convenient to leave me out there under the sand?"
"You're a plucky cub to talk like that to me."
Big Bob was in a great rage, but he did not lift his heavy hand again.
"I was wondering if your friend would pay for leaving me out there," the boy said. "If I went back to New York, you know, I might deny the confession, or claim that it was secured under duress. You know what a confession is worth when secured under duress? What about it?"
"You're a fool!" shouted Big Bob so loudly that the others turned inquisitive faces toward him. "That was only a joke, that about my friend. I wanted to see what you would say if I asked you to confess, and then when you asked why I wanted a confession I gave you the first reason that came into my head. So shut up about it."
"Sure," said Fremont, "after you give me the real reason you asked for a confession."