“I thank God,” said Walter, “that there is one among you whose heart is not wholly hardened. I stand here a boy—barely eighteen years old. Is there no one among you who has a son of my age?”
“The boy is right,” said another in a deep voice. “Men, we are acting like cowards and brutes.”
“So say I!” a third man broke in, and he ranged himself beside the other two.
“This is all folly!” exclaimed the leader angrily. “You men are milksops and chicken-hearted.” Walter's face flamed.
“Will you allow this?” he exclaimed, as the leader seized him by the collar and drew him to a tree.
“I won't!” said the first man to pronounce in his favor. “Seth Pendleton, let go your hold!”
“Look out!” cried Pendleton fiercely, “or you may swing, too!”
“You hear what he says,” said Walter's friend. “Why are you so hard on the boy?”
“Why am I so hard on horse thieves? I'll tell you. Ten years ago I had a horse that was as dear to me as a brother. One morning I found the stable door open and the horse gone. I followed him, but I never recovered him.”
“Who stole him?”