Benedict, of course, stood thunderstruck and irresolute.  He was discovered by the very man whom his old persecutor had sent for the purpose.  He had felt that the discovery would be made sooner or later—­intended, indeed, that it should be made—­but he was not ready.

They all walked to the cabin in moody silence.  Jim felt that he had been hasty, and was very strongly inclined to believe in the sincerity of Yates; but he knew it was safe to be on his guard with any man who was in the employ of Mr. Belcher.  Turk saw there was trouble, and whined around his master, as if inquiring whether there was anything that he could do to bring matters to an adjustment.

“No, Turk; he’s my game,” said Jim.  “Ye couldn’t eat ’im no more nor ye could a muss rat.”

There were just three seats in the cabin—­two camp-stools and a chest.

“That’s the seat for ye,” said Jim to Yates, pointing to the chest.  “Jest plant yerself thar.  Thar’s somethin’ in that ’ere chest as’ll make ye tell the truth.”

Yates looked at the chest and hesitated.

“It ain’t powder,” said Jim, “but it’ll blow ye worse nor powder, if ye don’t tell the truth.”

Yates sat down.  He had not appreciated the anxiety of Benedict to escape discovery, or he would not have been so silly as to bruit his knowledge until he had left the woods.  He felt ashamed of his indiscretion, but, as he knew that his motives were good, he could not but feel that he had been outraged.

“Jim, you have abused me,” said he.  “You have misunderstood me, and that is the only apology that you can make for your discourtesy.  I was a fool to tell you what I knew, but you had no right to serve me as you have served me.”

“P’raps I hadn’t,” responded Jim, doubtfully.

Yates went on: 

“I have never intended to play you a trick.  It may be a base thing for me to do, but I intended to deceive Mr. Belcher.  He is a man to whom I owe no good will.  He has always treated me like a dog, and he will continue the treatment so long as I have anything to do with him; but he found me when I was very low, and he has furnished me with the money that has made it possible for me to redeem myself.  Believe me, the finding of Mr. Benedict was the most unwelcome discovery I ever made.”

“Ye talk reasonable,” said Jim; “but how be I goin’ to know that ye’re tellin’ the truth?”

“You cannot know,” replied Yates.  “The circumstances are all against me, but you will be obliged to trust me.  You are not going to kill me; you are not going to harm me; for you would gain nothing by getting my ill will.  I forgive your indignities, for it was natural for you to be provoked, and I provoked you needlessly—­childishly, in fact; but after what I have said, anything further in that line will not be borne.”

“I’ve a good mind to lick ye now,” said Jim, on hearing himself defied.

“You would be a fool to undertake it,” said Yates.