“D—n near!” Tiffany muttered.
“But now suppose we take those knolls—quietly, in the night—and close in across Flagg’s rear, hold a line from knoll to knoll, what then? Wouldn’t he have to shoot first?”
“Well, perhaps. But it would put both sides in a mean light. Oh, why didn’t John stand him off in the first place! Then he could have shot from our property, and been right in shooting.”
They had been pacing slowly up and down. Now Carhart stopped, and sat down on a convenient stick of timber. Tiffany followed his example. The moon was rising behind them, and the valley and the trestle and the rude intrenchments of timber and rock on the opposite ridge and the knolls outlined against the sky grew more distinct.
“Yes,” Carhart said slowly, “it’s a very good bluff. Commodore Durfee knows well enough that this sort of business can never settle the real question. But the question of who gets to Red Hills first is another thing altogether. The spectacle of Jack Flagg and a well-armed regiment of desperadoes in front of them, and the knowledge that the Commodore himself had organized the regiment and sent it out, would stop some engineers.”
Tiffany leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and gazed moodily out across the valley. He had been riding hard for four days, with not enough food and water and scarcely any sleep. Only one night of the four had found him on a cot—the other nights had been passed on the ground. In the resulting physical depression his mind had taken to dwelling on the empty chamber in his revolver—he wished he knew more of what that leaden ball had accomplished. And now here was John Flint shot down by a hidden enemy. It was the ugliest work he had been engaged in for years. When he finally spoke, he could not conceal his discouragement.
“How about this engineer here, Paul?” he said, still looking out there over the valley. “Will the regiment and Commodore Durfee stop you?”
“I hope not,” said Carhart.
“You’re going to fight, then—until the governor calls out the state troops, and throws us all out, and there’s hell to pay?”
“I don’t think so. I’m going to get ready to fight.”