Dorothy nodded mutely and peered round the rock again.
Suddenly she pressed back, pushing Tavia with her behind the shelter of its huge bulk.
For the man had risen and was moving toward the entrance of the cave.
“So you think you won’t, my hearty,” they heard him say in his heavy, jeering tone. “Well, I am goin’ to give you just one more chance before we really begin to put the screws on. This here little letter we want you to write, my lad, ain’t goin’ to hurt Garry Knapp none.” The scoundrel condescended to an argumentative tone and Dorothy clinched her hands fiercely.
“All you have to do is to write him a letter,” the heavy voice went on, “tellin’ him you will be as free as air as soon as he agrees to sell us his land—at a fair figure, mind, a very fair figure. You would be doin’ him a favor, really. Think of all that cash right in his hand to-morrow, say, or the next day at the outside. You would be doin’ him a favor and savin’ your own skin at the same time. Come now, how about it? Let’s be sensible.”
Dorothy listened breathlessly for her brother’s answer. She did not realize how much that answer meant to her till later when she found the imprint of her fingernails in the palms of her two hands.
“Say, I can’t tell you what I think of you—I don’t know words that are bad enough!” cried Joe furiously. “But I know you’re a—a—bum—and I’ll get even with you for this some day.”
“Some day—mebbe,” the man sneered. “But in the meantime this place ain’t goin’ to be any bed of roses for you, my lad. You gotta think of that, you know.”
“I don’t care, as long as I play fair with Garry,” muttered the boy. “I—I—don’t care what—what you do with me.”
But Dorothy knew that, despite all his bravado, Joe was only a boy and he did care. And even while her heart ached with pity, it thrilled with pride at the thought that he had stood the test, had proved himself a thoroughbred. He would “play fair” with Garry, no matter what happened.