“Certainly not,” replied the Commodore,—a little too shortly, this time, for he added, “I guess two hundred armed men behind intrenchments can take care of themselves.”
Carhart settled back again, and the shadow of a smile crossed his face. Both men were watching him, but he said nothing. And then General Carrington unexpectedly took a hand. “See here,” he said with the air of a man who sweeps all obstructions out of his way, “what did you come here for? What do you want?”
Carhart’s answer was deliberate, and was uttered with studied force. “I have ridden thirty miles to talk with Mr. Durfee and he sees fit to treat me like a d—n fool. I came here to see if we couldn’t avoid bloodshed. Evidently we can’t.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked Carrington.
Instead of replying, Carhart, after a moment’s thought, turned inquiringly to Durfee.
“Out with it,” cried that gentleman. “What do you want?”
“I want you to call off Jack Flagg.”
“Evidently you are a d—n fool,” said Durfee.
But Carrington saw deeper. “You’ve got something up your sleeve, Mr. Carhart,” he said. “What is it?”