There was a murmur of astonishment from the rest and Clavering saw that the shot had told.
“I guess he’s lying, Larry,” said one of them.
Grant stood still a moment with his eyes fixed on Clavering. “I wonder,” he said, “if you are hazarding a guess.”
“No,” said Clavering, “I don’t think I am. I know you got a wallet of dollars—though I don’t know who sent them. Are you prepared to deny it?”
“I’m not prepared to exchange any words with you,” said Grant. “Go while the door is open, and it would not be advisable for you to fall into our hands again. We hanged a friend of yours who, I fancy, lived up to, at least, as high a standard as you seem to do.”
When Clavering had left the room, the others turned to Grant. “You have something to tell us?”
“No,” said Grant quietly. “I don’t think I have.”
The men looked at each other, and one of them said, “That fellow’s story sounded kind of ugly. What were you taking dollars from the cattle-men for, Larry?”
Grant saw the growing distrust in their eyes, but his own were resolute.
“I can’t help that,” he said. “I am with you, as I have always been, but there are affairs of mine I can’t have anybody inquiring into. That is all I can tell you. You will have to take me on trust.”