CHAPTER XIV.
CHARGES AND COUNTER-CHARGES.
“Mr. Frazer,” ordered Factor MacClaren, “put down that gun. Dick, what’s the meaning of this?”
Before Dick had time to reply, Sandy’s head uprose behind the counter, twisted around and presented a blood-stained face to his uncle. At sight of it, Mr. MacClaren started back in dismay.
“Good Heavens, Sandy—you too! What have you boys been up to?” He whirled toward Frazer again. “Put down that gun, I told you. Put it down! Mr. Frazer, Dick, Sandy, I demand an explanation. Are you all mad?”
“If you want the truth, they attacked me first.” Frazer had grown more calm now. “Your own nephew grabbed me by the throat and I knocked him down. These other two miscreants were coming toward me just as you ran in. I picked up the revolver as a last resort. I have a right to defend myself.”
Mr. Walter MacClaren sat down in a chair, produced a handkerchief and feverishly mopped his brow. Sandy clambered over the counter and advanced toward him. Dick was still trembling and fighting mad. Toma’s lips were drawn tightly across his teeth. There was still an atmosphere of tension in the room. Sandy’s voice broke the quiet.
“Uncle Walter, that man is no better than a murderer. He sent us up Half Way River on a fool’s errand, then hired a couple of his confederates to track us down and try to kill us.”
Mr. MacClaren stared at his nephew incredulously. It was his Scottish caution that moved him to exclaim.
“Careful, Sandy. Careful, Sandy, my boy. Those are hard words. A murderer, you say. Are you prepared to back up your statements?”
“I am,” spat Sandy.