“Unless I informed on you when I went after supplies, and arranged for your capture after I had benefited by your information,” Abington answered the look. “You don’t really think that, Bill.” “I don’t know why I wouldn’t think it, if somebody’s planted up there watching for us with glasses,” Bill retorted, not more than half in earnest but yielding to the ugly mood born of nerve strain and muscle weariness. “Of course, you can think any idiotic thing you choose,” Abington returned, in that tolerant tone which he could summon when he wished to bite into a man’s self-esteem. “Any other brilliant ideas on the subject, explaining why, if I were contemplating treachery, I should call your attention to that light on the ridge up there?” “Yeah, I might have one or two,” Bill growled. “I was a fool to start across here in broad daylight. Now, if they come after me, I ain’t even got a gun!” * * * * * Abington sent a quick, sidelong glance toward Bill’s face. That gun question was becoming a touchy subject between them. “No, you haven’t a gun. So you are not quite so liable to a few extra years--or a chair in the gas house--if you are caught!” “Well, I ain’t caught yet!” Bill’s upper lip lifted away from his teeth. “Not by a damn sight!” Abington gave him another sidelong glance. The snarl was not lost upon him, though he made no reply. Like many another man who is agreeable enough in ordinary circumstances, Bill Jonathan’s good nature did not always stand up under hardship. That blustery impatience at the physical discomforts of a long grilling walk was beginning to crop out in Bill, mostly in the form of a surly ill temper and a grumbling against conditions which neither could help. Abington had reached the point of gauging the exact degree of surliness and to set up mental defenses against his moods. Bill had taken the initiative in this quest and he was surely receiving full value for his efforts. From a sporting admiration for Bill’s daring, and a certain liking for his whimsical shrewdness, Abington was consciously beginning to chafe at the man’s crabbed temper; he felt a growing distrust, too, which was yet formless and only vaguely realized. He caught himself wishing now that he had asked Park what crime stood against Bill Jonathan. No use asking Bill; he would say what he pleased and the other could believe it or not. “If you’ve got any wild idea of finding out from me where them stone skeletons is, and then turning me over to the sheriff, you better revise the notion, professor,” Bill said abruptly, having brooded over it for five minutes. “I’m nobody’s fool.” “Then why talk like one?” Exhaustion was beginning to draw a white line beside Abington’s nostrils and his bruised ankle ached cruelly. He began to feel that he’d had enough of Bill’s grousing. “You’ve nothing to kick about, so shut up. I’m doing packer’s work rather than have men along who might go out and betray you.”