"
"And give hell to Ingolby," shouted some one in the crowd.
"Suppose Ingolby isn't there?" questioned the old man.
"Oh, that's one of your questions, is it?" sneered the big river-driver.
"Well, if you knew him as we do, you'd know that it's at night-time he
sits studyin' how he'll cut Lebanon's throat. He's home, all right.
He's in Lebanon anyhow, and we'll find him."
"Well, but wait a minute--be quiet a bit," said the old man, his eyes
blinking slowly at the big riverdriver. "I've been 'round a good deal,
and I've had some experience in the world. Did you ever give that
Ingolby a chance to tell you what his plans were? Did you ever get close
to him and try to figure what he was driving at? There's no chance of
getting at the truth if you don't let a man state his case--but no. If
he can't make you see his case then is the time to jib, not before."
"Oh, get out!" cried a rowdy English road-maker in the crowd. "We know
all right what Ingolby's after."
"Eh, well, what is he after?" asked the old man looking the other in the
eye.
"What's he after? Oof-oof-oof, that's what he's after. He's for his own
pocket, he's for being boss of all the woolly West.
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