That was all to be said on the subject. As to the feminine element in his difficulties, Jack was necessarily silent.
"If my sons were a year or two older," Cranston said strongly. "As it is I am tied here hand and foot!"
Jack swore at him gratefully. "This is my fight," he said. "I couldn't let you give up your time to it."
"I suppose you'll take some of the men out of Sir Bryson's party back with you," said Cranston.
Jack shook his head. "Humpy Jull's all right, but he can't ride, and I have to ride like sin. Vassall's a square head too, in his way, but either one of them would only weaken me. They don't know the people. They couldn't face them down. They couldn't walk into their tepees and tell the beggars to go to hell."
Cranston smiled grimly. "Is that what you calculate to do?"
"You know what I mean. It's a way of putting it."
Cranston considered a moment. "Take Davy," he said. "The boy has pluck. He would be wild to go."
Jack was more moved than he cared to show. "Damn decent of you, Cranston," he growled. "I won't do it," he added aloud. "It's too much of a responsibility. Jean Paul is clever enough to see that he could always get at me through the boy."
"What's the alternative then?" asked Cranston.