“Orkney,” he said earnestly, “you’ve got to hear me. The other day I charged you with a lot of rascality. I was mistaken. I take back what I said. Then, like everybody else, I thought you as good as shoved Little Perrine into the pond. That was another mistake; I’m sorry for it.” Orkney was more puzzled than pleased. “Eh? Sorry, are you? Well, if you want to apologize----” “Apologize” is a word which, sometimes, grates on the ear. Sam flushed. “Go slow there!” he said sharply; then, with a change of tone, went on: “If I’m apologizing, it’s for the things I did because I was fooled, deceived. And the club are with me in this. But I’m not apologizing, and they’re not apologizing for thinking you a grouchy sorehead. You’ve made your own troubles, mostly. We’ll let that pass, though. I’m not here to call you names; I’m here to tell you that, if you’d stuck it out and not run away, things would have cleared up for you. As it is, we’re ready to do what we can for you if you’ll come back. We’ll spread the truth. You can make a fresh start.” “With the help of your bunch! I see myself doing it!” “Look at the case fairly. We came here in the hope of finding you. We came to make the offer.” “Got a tip where I was, eh? Well, I know who gave it. Fellow from Plainville, who’d been hanging around the camp, disappeared for a couple of days, and then came back.” “Groche--Peter Groche? Is he here now?” “Was this morning. It was none of his business, and it’s none of yours, Parker--mixing up in my affairs this way.” “But it is our business!” Orkney’s jaw was thrust forward obstinately. “See here, Mr. Sam Parker, you’re going too far. You’re banking on a notion that on account of what you did for me at the pond I’ve got to come when you whistle. Get that out of your head! I told you I couldn’t very well fight you--you know why--but there’s a limit. You don’t own me!” Sam had not thoroughly mastered the rôle of bearer of the olive branch. “Mighty glad I don’t own you! If I did, I’d get rid of you very quick!” he rapped out. “And if you want to fight--why, the slate’s clean; you don’t owe me anything.” Orkney dropped a bundle he had been carrying under one arm. Sam, observing this readiness to clear for action, struggled between zest for the fray and duty, as he saw it. “Listen, you--you chump! Show common sense, can’t you? Come home with us. We want you to have a square deal. We’ll back you up--so far as we can. Little Perrine swears by you--we’ll spread his story. And there’s another thing--maybe you don’t guess how awfully broken up your aunt is. She’s almost crazy. She’s done everything she could to trace you. She’s offered a reward----” “What’s that? A reward?” “Yes--hundred dollars for news of you.” “Oh-ho!” Orkney’s cynical grin was a taunt in itself. “Oh-ho! So that’s your lay, eh? You’re after me because you and your gang are after the hundred? Well, you don’t get either--see?”