“Will they hang him, I wonder?” Doc Carson asked.
“He must have been out of his head when he did it,” one answered.
“He was out of his head when he didn’t do it, you mean,” insisted Pee-wee. “Do you think the Silver Foxes commit murders just because they’re out of their heads? That’s no good of an argument. Do you mean to tell me,” he shouted, turning suddenly upon Roy; “do you mean to tell me that the fellow who saved your life like that would kill people?”
“Just because I like you, that doesn’t prove that I’m out of my head, does it?” Roy asked with a kind of wistful humor.
“Sure it does,” said Pee-wee, “because you say a friend of yours kills people. If it wasn’t for him you wouldn’t be limping now, so that proves the kind of a fellow he is. I don’t mean he made you limp, but he made you stay alive so you could limp, and he doesn’t even know that you thank him for it either–”
“Don’t, Kid–” Roy began; he could hardly speak. “I do–”
“All right then,” Pee-wee concluded. “Didn’t I tell you I was going to find that girl, and didn’t I find her? Didn’t I send that letter? Didn’t I say that scout up at Temple Camp would get well? Couldn’t I always tell when we were going to have apple dumplings? And you go and believe an old picture and a lot of specific vacations or whatever you call them. You’d better read Law Two in the handbook about being loyal–you’re such a fine patrol leader–you act more like a patrol wagon!”
“What do you mean I can’t be loyal?” Roy demanded, his eyes glistening. “The fellows–”
“I don’t care about the troop,” Pee-wee interrupted. “I’m talking about you and the fellow that saved your life.” He paused in the road and stood facing Roy; a funny little round-faced figure he was, with eyes blazing. “You’ve got to say, is he a murderer or not? You’ve got to say it. Yes or no? And these fellows–your own patrol–they can prove what you say–”
Roy was almost sobbing. Pee-wee certainly held the floor–or the road.