Some one of that drunken gang has talked. We're none of us safe any
more. I see suspicion everywhere. I've urged getting a big stake and
then hitting the trail for the border. But not a man sticks to me in
that. They all want the free, easy, wild life of this gold-camp. So
we're anchored till--till ... But maybe it's not too late. Pearce,
Oliver, Smith--all the best of my Legion--profess loyalty to me. If
we all pull together maybe we can win yet. But they've threatened to
split, too. And it's all on your account!"

"Mine?" ejaculated Cleve.

"Yes. Now it's nothing to make you flash your gun. Remember you said
you'd stand by me. ... Jim, the fact is--all the gang to a man
believe you're double-crossing me!"

"In what way?" queried Cleve, blanching.

"They think you're the one who has talked. They blame you for the
suspicion that's growing."

"Well, they're absolutely wrong," declared Cleve, in a ringing
voice.

"I know they are. Mind you I'm not hinting I distrust you. I don't.
I swear by you. But Pearce--"

"So it's Pearce," interrupted Cleve, darkly. "I thought you said he
hadn't tried to put me in bad with you."

"He hasn't. He simply spoke his convictions. He has a right to them.