The men exchanged glances. “It’s a trick,” said one.
“So!” said Muller. “Der ambuscade. Lotta, you ride to Fremont, und Larry bring. I show you how when we have drubbles mit der franc tireurs we fix der thing.”
Clavering exclaimed impatiently. “You have no time for fooling when there are two women freezing in the bluff. Would I have come here, knowing you could do what you liked with me, if I had meant any harm to you?”
“That’s sense, any way,” said one of the men. “I guess if he was playing any trick, one of us would be quite enough to get even with him. You’ll take Truscott with you, Muller, and get out the bob-sled.”
Muller nodded gravely. “I go,” he said. “Lotta, you der big kettle fill before you ride for Larry. We der bob-sled get ready.”
“You are not going to be sorry,” said Clavering. “This thing will pay you better than farming.”
The man by the door turned with a hard laugh. “Well,” he said, “I guess we’d feel mean for ever if we took a dollar from you!”
Clavering ignored the speech. “Do you want me?” he said, glancing at Muller.
“No,” said the man, who now took down the rifle from the wall. “Not just yet. You’re going to stop right where you are. The boys can do without me, and I’ll keep you company.”
Ten minutes later the others drove away, and, with a significant gesture, Clavering’s companion laid the rifle across his knees.