After a long pause, during which Buell bored me with gimlet eyes, he said, in a queer voice: “Say thet again.”
I repeated it, and added that he could not gain anything now by holding me a prisoner. I think he saw what I meant, but hated to believe it.
“It's too late,” I said, as he hesitated.
“You mean Leslie lied an' you fooled me—you did get to Holston?” he shouted. He was quivering with rage, and the red flamed in his neck and face.
“Buell, I did get to Holston and I did send word to Washington,” I went on, hurriedly for I had begun to lose my calmness. “I wrote to my father. He knows a friend of the Chief Forester who is close to the Department at Washington. By this time Holston is full of officers of the forest service. Perhaps they're already at your mill. Anyway, the game's up, and you'd better let me go.”
Buell's face lost all its ruddy color, slowly blanched, and changed terribly. The boldness fled, leaving it craven, almost ghastly. Realizing he had more to fear from the law than conviction of his latest lumber steal, he made at me in blind anger.
“Hold on!” Herky-Jerky yelled, as he jumped between Buell and me.
Buell's breath was a hiss, and the words he bit between his clinched teeth were unintelligible. In that moment he would have killed me.
Herky-Jerky met his onslaught, and flung him back. Then, with his hand on the butt of his revolver, he spoke:
“Buell, hyar's where you an' me split. You've bungled your big deal. The kid stacked the deck on you. But I ain't a-goin' to see you do him harm fer it.”