“Why not?” the tone was plaintive. “Toma not understand.”
“You poor devil,” Sandy commenced grimly, but checked himself. “What quarrel have we with those people down there, Toma? It’s not their fault—it’s Henderson’s and the scar-face Indian’s.”
“All right, I go shoot him—that fellow.”
Dick’s sudden laugh relieved the tension.
“We didn’t come out here to kill anyone,” Sandy attempted to explain. “We came out here to find the mine. It’s wrong to take any human life.”
Toma shrugged his shoulders.
“You mean you sit here an’ no shoot if attack come?” he asked in amazement. “You sit here an’ let bad fellow kill you without so much raise up your rifle?”
“If I’m cornered, I’ll fight, of course. But not until then.”
The guide shook his head and subsided into a puzzled silence.
“What we do then?” he asked presently.