A shadowy smile spread slowly over the other’s face.
“No, I don’t guess you need to ask why.”
There was just the slightest emphasis on the pronoun.
“You’ve remembered he’s one of the gang—my gang. You sort of feel there’s danger ahead—in consequence. Yes, there is danger. That’s why I’m sorry. But—somehow I wouldn’t have had you act different—even though there’s danger. I’m glad it was you, and not me, though. You could hammer him with your two big fists. I couldn’t. I should have shot him—dead.”
Bill stared incredulously at the other’s boyish face. His brother’s tone had carried such cold conviction.
“Charlie,” he cried, “you get me beat every time. I wouldn’t have guessed you felt that way.”
The other smiled bitterly.
“No,” he said. Then he shifted his position. “I’m afraid there’s going to be trouble. I’ve thought a heap since Helen told me.”
“Trouble—through me?” said Bill, sharply. “Say, there’s been nothing but blundering through me ever since I came here. I’d best pull up stakes and get out. I’m too big and foolish. I’m the worst blundering idiot out. I wish I’d shot him up. But,” he added plaintively, “I hadn’t got a gun. Say, I’m too foolishly civilized for this country. I sure best get back to the parlors of the East where I came from.”
Charlie shook his head, and his smile was affectionate.