“I believe he would!” cried Bob.  “It’s a good bluff to make.”

“It mustn’t be a bluff,” warned Amy.  “You must mean it.  I don’t believe he wants to face a criminal charge just to get Mr. Welton in trouble, if he realizes that you are both going to testify anyway.  But if he thinks you’re bluffing, he’ll carry it through.”

“You’re right,” said Bob slowly.  “If necessary, we must carry it through ourselves.”

Amy nodded.

“I’ll take down a letter for you to Baker,” she said, “and type it out this evening.  We’ll say nothing to anybody.”

“I must tell Welton of our plan,” said Bob; “I wouldn’t for the world have to spring this on him unprepared.  What would he think of me?”

“We’ll see him to-morrow—­no, next day; we have to wait for Ware, you know.”

“Am I forgiven for doing my plain duty?” asked Bob a trifle mischievously.

“Only if our scheme works,” declared Amy.  Her manner changed to one of great seriousness.  “I know your way is brave and true, believe me I do.  And I know what it costs you to follow it.  I respect and admire the quality in men that leads them so straightly along the path.  But I could not do it.  Ideas and things are inspiring and great and to be worked for with enthusiasm and devotion, I know.  No one loves the Service more than I, nor would make more personal sacrifices for her.  But people are warm and living, and their hearts beat with human life, and they can be sorry and glad, happy and brokenhearted.  I can’t tell you quite what I mean, for I cannot even tell myself.  I only feel it.  I could turn my thumbs down on whole cohorts of senators and lawyers and demagogues that are attacking us in Washington and read calmly in next day’s paper how they had been beheaded recanting all their sins against us.  But I couldn’t get any nearer home.  Why, the other day Ashley told me to send a final and peremptory notice of dispossession to the Main family, over near Bald Knob, and I couldn’t do it.  I tried all day.  I knew old Main had no business there, and is worthless and lazy and shiftless.  But I kept remembering how his poor old back was bent over.  Finally I made Ashley dictate it, and tried to keep thinking all the time that I was nothing but a machine for the transmission of his ideas.  When it comes to such things I’m useless, and I know I fall short of all higher ideals of honour and duty and everything else.”

“Thank God you do,” said Bob gravely.

XXXII

Ware returned to headquarters toward evening of the next day.  He had ridden hard and long, but he listened to Thorne’s definition of his new duties with kindling eye, and considerable appearance of quiet satisfaction.  Bob met him outside the office.

“You aren’t living up to your part, Ware,” said he, with mock anxiety.  “According to Hoyle you ought to draw your gun, whirl the cylinder, and murmur gently, Aha!”