Good boys! For a moment, a little mist obscured his eyes. He had been accustomed to thinking of them only as youngsters. But this summer was opening his eyes. They had played men’s parts on the Mexican border. They could be counted on in this unfortunate business, too.
All these thoughts, which require some time to record, had passed through Mr. Temple’s mind with lightning-like rapidity. Not a word had been spoken since their entrance.
“Black George” continued to smile at them evilly, the Chinaman to regard them with the impassive and inscrutable countenance of his race, their false guide to stand motionless to one side.
“What is the meaning of this outrage?” demanded Mr. Temple angrily.
He determined to adopt the attitude that the ordinary citizen not in possession of the key to the situation would be likely to adopt under similar circumstances. It would not do to let “Black George” see they suspected his reason for entrapping them. That would indicate to him that they already had taken action against him.
“If it is money you want,” he said, “say so and be done with it.”
“Black George” spoke at last.
“My dear Mr. Temple,” he said, “perhaps we may get some of your money, too, before we finish with you. But that isn’t our first object.”
Turning to their attendant he commanded:
“Bring some chairs and then leave us.”