"Where is Esmond?" he asked.
"Hitting the trail to the settlements all he's worth," said the other man.
"Then go round and let the boys know what you have told me. They can meet outside Ransome's shanty. The dinner-hour will do. I'll be there to meet them."
The man went out, and at the time appointed Ingleby stood outside a little hut of bark and logs with a crowd of bronze-faced men about him. They were somewhat silent, but their manner was quietly resolute. It suggested that their minds were made up and that they were only waiting for a leader in whom they had confidence. Ingleby had gained their liking, but he was young, and they were not quite sure whether he would be the man or whether they must choose another. In the meanwhile they were willing to give him a hearing. It was evident that he was equal to the occasion when he stepped forward and looked at them with steady eyes.
"Boys," he said, "do any of you believe Tomlinson killed Trooper Probyn?"
There was a general murmur of dissent, and Ingleby made a little sign of concurrence. "Are you willing to let the troopers have him? You must remember that the thing looks bad against him, and he will not be tried by you."
The murmurs were articulate now, and it was very clear that not a man there had the least intention of giving up Tomlinson.
"Then it should be quite plain that you will have to keep the troopers from him. It is only a question of a day or two at the longest before they trail him. They may do it to-night. Esmond will very soon find out that he isn't pushing on in front of him for the settlements."
A big man stood forward, and glanced at the rest. "There's not a trooper in this valley going to lay hands on Tomlinson."
Again the murmurs rose portentously, and Ingleby smiled.