“Needn’t be scared,” he said. “Decent people. Germans;” and throwing off my hesitation, I followed him with Esau to his room, where he pointed to a chair and a stool, and seated himself upon a very homely-looking bed, taking out his revolver, and putting in two fresh cartridges.
“Nasty thing to carry,” he said, “but it’s as good as a big dog. It can bark loudly as well as bite. Barking did this time. Now then,” he continued, as he replaced the pistol in his hip pocket, “I suppose you two know that those fellows were regular blackguards, who would have stripped you of every shilling you possessed—by fair means or foul. How was it you were with them?”
I told him all that Esau would let me say, for he was very anxious to relate the story himself.
“Oh, that was it, was it?” said Gunson. “Glad you were so sensible, but you see what this place is. It will be all right by and by, but at present it’s a regular sink for all the ruffians in the States to drain into. Why don’t you get out of it?”
“That’s what we are trying to do—hard,” I said eagerly.
“Why you can’t have tried much. There are plenty of ways out. Where do you want to go?”
“To the Fraser River,” I said, “and then away north to Fort Elk.”
“Ah,” he said, looking at us both curiously. “Fraser River, eh? That’s where I’m going.”
I looked at him distrustfully, and he saw it.
“Quite true, my lad,” he said, smiling good-humouredly; “and I sail by a vessel which starts the day after to-morrow. What did those rascals want twenty-five and then twenty dollars a-piece for your passage money? Humph! Well, I think I can do better for you than that.”