“Confessed that I did it?” Fendrick inquired scornfully.
“Says you were in it with him. I ain’t a-going to discuss it with you. Swing that horse round; and don’t make any breaks, or there’ll be mourning at the C. F. ranch.”
Cass sat immovable as the sphinx. He was thinking that he might as well face the charge now as any time. Moreover, he had reasons for wanting to visit the Circle C. They had to do with a tall, slim girl who never looked at him without scorn in her dark, flashing eyes.
“All right. I’ll go back with you, but not under a gun.”
“You’ll go the way I say.”
“Don’t think it. I’ve said I’ll go. That settles it. But I won’t stand for any gun-play capture.”
“You’ll have to stand for it.”
Fendrick’s face set. “Will I? It’s up to you, then. Let’s see you make me.”
Sitting there with his gaze steadily on the boy, Cass had Bob at a disadvantage. If the sheep owner had tried to break away into the chaparral. Bob could have blazed away at him, but he could not shoot a man looking at him with cynical, amused eyes. He could understand the point of view of his adversary. If Fendrick rode into the Circle C under compulsion of a gun in the hands of a boy he would never hear the end of the laugh on him.
“You won’t try to light out, will you?”