Pool Clayton looked at his chief uneasily.
“I don’t think I understand you!” he said, in clear-cut tones that were quite unlike the gruff, thick speech of his companions.
“Ye don’t?”
“No.”
“Well, hyer’s a chance to show yer nerve, and prove that you’re one of us. You need hardenin’. We’ve got this old fool; but we can’t keep him, and we can’t let him go. Git your gun, and put a bullet through him, as he sets there. That’ll finish him, as a warnin’ to others like him; and then we’ll go on.”
The young man became as pale as if he had seen a ghost. He looked about appealingly.
“I—I—can’t do it!” he gasped. “It’s—it’s murder!”
Snaky Pete glared at him.
“You won’t obey orders?”
“Yes—I’m willing to obey orders, but——”