"The proof is against you!"
Fremont did not answer. He was listening for the call of a wolf on the mountain.
"The proof is against you, boy," repeated the renegade.
After hearing the brief talk at the angle of the hut, Fremont had little
desire for a conversation with the fellow. The inference to be drawn from
that conversation was unmistakable. He was to be murdered by his captors.
However, the boy could let this repetition of the charge go unchallenged.
"Remember," he said, "that you have heard only one side of the case.
I do not know where you receive the information you claim to possess,
but it goes without saying that it came from an enemy--probably from
a man implicated in the crime with which you charge me. In fact, you
have already opened up negotiations with me in the interest of the criminal."
"How so, boy?" demanded the other.
"You offered me my freedom if I would make a false confession. Why should
you want a confession unless in the interest of one connected with the crime?"
"I told you why I wanted the confession," replied Big Bob, trying to force
a little friendliness into his voice and manner. "It would give you a
lighter sentence, and it would make it easier for me to get the reward."
Fremont made no reply to this. The manner of the fellow was so insincere
that he could find no satisfaction in talking with him. Big Bob, however,
did not go away. Instead, he sat down on a packing box which stood in the
corner of the room and stuck the candle he carried up on the floor, under
the window ledge so the wind would not extinguish it, in a pool of its own grease.
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