This was all very amazing, and Ned wondered how many pitfalls had been set for him in San Francisco. He had no doubt that Sawyer was telling the truth. The question was as to whether he would tell the story as it was from that point on.
“Who was it that engaged you—gave you your instructions?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” was the reply.
Ned swung his hand again, and a fierce demand that the prisoner should be thrown out arose from the group outside. Sawyer shivered and crept out of his camp-chair to Nestor’s side. His face was deadly pale, being sheltered from the ruddy glow of the fires. Just where the men stood outside lay a red lance of light, giving a demon-like look to their rugged faces.
“If you don’t tell me the truth,” Ned said, “I can’t protect you.”
“I tell you I don’t know,” wailed the frightened man. “I had never seen him before. I wanted a job and took what he offered. I didn’t think it would be so great a crime to steal or wreck an aeroplane.”
“What were you to receive for the job?”
“One thousand dollars.”
“Hurry up! Throw that sneak out!”
Sawyer, like the coward he was, threw himself down on the floor of the tent and groveled at Ned’s feet.