“Here’s Harding’s weapon,” said Carl, as the cook came in at that moment with a light. “It is all blood, too. Why, father, I don’t see how you missed them at that distance.”
“Probably my nerves had something to do with it,” replied his father. “A year ago I would have risked my chance of dropping them both where they stood; but my skill has gone from me.”
“Here’s some more blood on the window-sill,” said one of the cowboys. “You have probably marked them both.”
“Yes, I hit each one of them. Now we will go back, and go to bed. Claude, I owe you something for this. If they had taken what there is in the safe it would not have ruined me. A few days ago I had five thousand dollars in there, but now it is safe in the paymaster’s hands at the fort. How much do I owe you, Claude?”
“Nothing at all, sir,” said Claude, as he shook hands with Carl, who came up but did not say anything. “I have saved your money, and that is all I cared for.”
Some little time was spent by the hands in talking over the incidents of the attempted robbery, and everybody except the foreman and cook were loud in their praises of Claude, who had led the squawmen on till he got all their plans. They were suspicious of Claude, and it would require something more than he had done to relieve them of it.
“Father, I have some fault to find with you,” said Carl, as they were about to separate and each one go to his own room. “Why did you not take some one into your confidence?”
“I did. These two men were wide-awake and came out as soon as they heard the pistol-shots. I could not have found anybody better than they, could I?”
“No; but you ought to have had somebody along to back up your shots. I believe I could have done better than you did.”
This raised a smile on the part of all of them, and they bade Mr. Preston good-night and went to their rooms. Claude was the only one who did not feel very good over it. His uncle had said that he “owed him something,” but he did not say how much.