“How do you know he’s a thief?” asked Westly.
“I didn’t come here to be asked questions by you,” said Gashford. “Where has he gone to, I say?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s a lie!” roared the miner, clenching his fist in a threatening manner.
“Poor Tom! I wish I did know where you have gone!” said Fred, shaking his head sadly as he gazed on the floor, and taking no notice whatever of the threatening action of his visitor.
“Look here now, Westly,” said Gashford, in a low suppressed voice, shutting the curtain of the tent and drawing a revolver from his pocket, “you know something about this matter, and you know me. If you don’t tell me all you know and where your chum has bolted to, I’ll blow your brains out as sure as there’s a God in heaven.”
“I thought,” said Westly, quietly, and without the slightest symptom of alarm, “you held the opinion that there is no God and no heaven.”
“Come, young fellow, none o’ your religious chaff, but answer my question.”
“Nothing is farther from my thoughts than chaffing you,” returned Westly, gently, “and if the mere mention of God’s name is religion, then you may claim to be one of the most religious men at the diggings, for you are constantly praying Him to curse people. I have already answered your question, and can only repeat that I don’t know where my friend Brixton has gone to. But let me ask, in turn, what has happened to you?”
There was no resisting the earnest sincerity of Fred’s look and tone, to say nothing of his cool courage. Gashford felt somewhat abashed in spite of himself.