“He lies! He lies!” stormed the boy. “I’ve done nothing. He lies!”
The corporal held up his hand, commanding silence.
“Sit down, Reynold—and keep quiet. You probably don’t know what it’s all about—yet. Listen to me. Answer my questions. No! Don’t try that,” he warned, as Carson’s son reached for his knife. “Sit down!”
“You’re lying,” whimpered the boy, taking a chair next to his father.
“Reynold, I wish you wouldn’t say that,” pleaded the old man. “He may be mistaken, but—but he isn’t lying.”
“I haven’t done a thing,” protested the boy.
“Perhaps you’ve almost forgotten the incident,” Rand cleared his throat, “but there was a note-book. You found a note-book belonging to Dewberry. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes,” Reynold acknowledged. “I did.”
“I remember that too,” said Carson brightening a little. “Reynold said he found it in Mr. Dewberry’s room. The prospector had—had mislaid it, I believe.”
“I gave it back to Dewberry,” stated the young man defiantly. “You don’t think I stole it, do you? I gave it back to him.”