The talk of Larry la Roche during the days of the ride was showing its effect now. The gage had been thrown down to Andrew, and he dared not pick it up.
"Boys," he said, "I'll say this: Are we going to bust up and each man go his way?"
There was no answer.
"If we do, we can split the profits over again. I'll take no money out of a thing that cost Allister's death. There's my sack on the floor of the shack. Divvy it up among you. You fitted me out when I was broke. That'll pay you back. Do we split up?"
"They's no reason why we should—and be run down like rabbits," said Joe Clune, with another of those terrible glances over his shoulder into the night.
The others assented with so many growls.
"All right," said Andrew, "we stick together. And, if we stick together, I run this camp."
"You?" asked Larry la Roche. "Who picked you? Who 'lected you, son? Why, you unlucky—"
"Ease up," said Andrew softly.
The eyes of La Roche flicked across the circle and picked up the glances of the others, but they were not yet ready to tackle Andrew Lanning.