“That wouldn’t be r-right sensible, would it?” asked Blister. “N-not right away anyhow. After we get those b-birds outa the blackberry bushes, time enough then for you to h-hit the back trail.”
“No, I promised.” There was in Bob’s face a look Blister had never seen there before, something hard and dogged and implacable. “My notion is for half a dozen of us to go on horses—swing round by the far edge of the mesa. We can drop down into the valley an’ pick Houck up if we’re lucky.”
“And if you’re not lucky?” Harshaw demanded.
“Why, o’ course we might have trouble. Got to take our chances on that.”
“They might wipe the whole bunch of you out. No, sir. I need my men right here. This whole thing’s comin’ to a show-down right soon. Houck will have to wait.”
“I got to go back, Mr. Harshaw,” Bob insisted. “I done promised him I would.”
“Looky here, boy. You’ll do as you please, of course. But there’s no sense in being bull-haided. How much do you figure you owe this Jake Houck? I never heard tell he was yore best friend. You got him into the willows. You went to the river and brought him water. You ran a big risk comin’ here to get help for him. We’ll go to him just as soon as it’s safe. That ought to content you.”
Before Bob’s mental vision there flashed a picture of a man in fever burning up for lack of water. He could not understand it himself. It was not reasonable, of course. But somehow Jake Houck had become his charge. He had to go through with the job.
“I’m going back to him,” he said stubbornly.
“Then you’re a darn fool. He wouldn’t go a step of the way for you.”