Kenset’s face lost a bit of colour. Billy, watching, 193 turned grey beneath his tan. He saw something which none other did, a thing that darkened the heavens all suddenly.
“Then,” said Kenset quietly, “we’ll have to do without your promise and go ahead anyway. We’ll ride back to town, demand of Service a proper investigation by a coroner’s jury, and begin at the bottom.”
Tharon moved uneasily in her saddle.
“Why are you doin’ this?” she asked. “Why are you mixin’ up in our troubles? Why don’t you go back to your cabin an’ your pictures an’ books an’ things, an’ let us work out our own affairs?”
Kenset lifted a quick hand, dropped it again.
“God knows!” he said. “Let’s go.”
And he wheeled his horse and started for Corvan, the others falling into line at his side.
When Kenset, quietly impervious to the veiled hostility that met him everywhere, faced Steptoe Service and made his request, that dignitary felt a chill go down his spine. Like Old Pete he felt the man beneath the surface. He met him, however, with bluster and refused all reopening of a matter which he declared settled with the burial of the snow-packer in the sliding cañons where he was found. 194
“Very well,” said Kenset shortly, “you see I have witnesses to this,” and he turned on his heel and went out.
“Now, Miss Last,” he said when they were in the wholesome summer sunlight once more, “if you have any friends whom you think would stand for the right, send for them.”