SON OF THE WIND
to mine. I mean that one hundred dollars I promised you if you would take me to the place. You will get that, of course."
Ferrier, kneeling, holding one boot, stared before him and breathed hard through open lips. It was strange to see him there, struggling to face the idea of possible consequences, calculating value, weighing the chance of what he might lose against what he might gain, when, as the horse-breaker knew shrewdly enough, as far as this man was concerned there were no chances left. What Ferrier was afraid to lose he had already lost, days ago, when for twenty dollars he had told Carron the way to Raders', Yet he was too stupid to realize the truth. He was wavering as if he still held fate in his own hands.
"If they should find out I went—" Ferrier began at last.
"How could they?"
"By going out there."
"They won't." He stuck religiously to that indefinite plural—as though it could deceive either of them.
"But if they should hear?"
Carron aimed each word slowly and distinctly at the miserable man in front of him. "How are they going to hear if I don't tell them?"
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