"An' he shot me up," growled Dopey Charlie.
"It's too bad he didn't kill you," remarked Bridge
pleasantly. "You're a thief and probably a murderer into
the bargain--you tried to kill this boy just before he shot
you."
"Well wots he?" demanded Dopey Charlie. "He's a
thief--he said he was--look in his pockets--they're
crammed wid swag, an' he's a gun-man, too, or he
wouldn't be packin' a gat. I guess he ain't got nothin'
on me."
The darkness hid the scarlet flush which mounted to
the boy's cheeks--so hot that he thought it must surely
glow redly through the night. He waited in dumb misery
for Bridge to demand the proof of his guilt. Earlier in
the evening he had flaunted the evidence of his crime in
the faces of the six hobos; but now he suddenly felt a
great shame that his new found friend should believe
him a house-breaker.
But Bridge did not ask for any substantiation of Char-
lie's charges, he merely warned the two yeggmen that
they would have to leave the boy alone and in the
morning, when the storm had passed and daylight had
lessened the unknown danger which lurked below-stairs,
betake themselves upon their way.
"And while we're here together in this room you two
must sit over near the window," he concluded.
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