"We knaow," Pete's eyes were venom-laden, "but you won't be needin' it fer long."
The rest of the Whitneys said nothing. Jeff studied them and tried, by reading their faces, to determine his next act.
Pete, so poisoned with hatred that it distorted his face, offered nothing. Yancey, Dabb and Grant might be swayed if it were not for Barr. Dominating the rest, and with them, at the same time he stood apart from them. He was strong, Pete was weak—and for that very reason extremely dangerous. The rest needed leadership. But while there was no lust in Barr's eyes, neither was there any mercy. Jeff looked steadily at him and kept his voice quiet.
"What's it about?"
"We liked ya, peddler." Barr's voice was very grave. "We liked ya an' you traded fair with your goods. But there's no bit of room in these hills for a policeman."
"Policeman!" Jeff exploded.
"We know," Barr seemed downcast, as though someone he trusted had betrayed him. "The boy told us."
"Told you what?"
"All—an' 'twill serve ya naught to plead or ask pardon. If you're a man, be one now."
Jeff's head whirled. Apparently, while he was in Ackerton, one or more of the Whitneys had met Dan and the boy had spun some fantastic tale. Jeff looked over his captors again and saw only unyielding determination. He took a deep breath before he spoke.