"Jail?" she repeated in a strained voice. "And why?"
The silence was oppressive and for a breath no one moved or spoke. Beck had not turned to face her; his eyes never left Hepburn's face and it was he who broke the suspense with one word, addressed to the foreman.
"Well?"—a challenge.
Hepburn moved slowly toward the girl.
"There's been a little trouble, Miss Hunter," with an attempt at a laugh, which resulted dismally.
"Trouble?"—with rising inflection.
She took a step forward, looking about at the serious faces. She looked back at Hepburn; then at Beck. Her eyes clung to him a moment, then swept the circle again.
"Trouble? About what? Who is in trouble?"
"I didn't want to bother you with it," her foreman said, his assurance coming back, for Beck had ceased looking at him. "It's a nasty mess; I don't like it. None of us like it. Even if he is inclined to be a little hot-headed, we all thought better of Tom—"
"Tom?"