Carter laughed. "Oh, I am frightened hard enough, but I should be still more frightened at what I should think of myself if anything happened to Mr. Smith which I could have prevented if I'd been there. It's very kind of you to offer an escort, and I'd thought of that before; but I'm sure I shall be able to move quicker and more quietly without one. But if Mr. Slade could lend me a gun, I'd feel a lot more comfortable with that."
"Certainly, my boy, certainly. You shall have my Winchester, and I believe I can scare up a revolver somewhere."
"You are very good. I have a revolver already, but it's only useful to me as a sort of knuckleduster. I couldn't hit a haystack with it ten yards off. Same with the rifle; I've never used one. But where I was brought up in Wharfedale, you see, the Governor had some glebe, and his income was small. We mostly lived on rabbits and a few grouse in the season, and so you see I learned to be pretty useful with a shot gun."
Slade handed a weapon. "There you are. That's a double 12-bore hammer gun, and both barrels are cylinders. It's an early Holland and was a swell tool in its day, which was some time ago."
"Thank you very much. I hope I shan't have to use it, but it'll feel comfortable under my arm. When you've lived most of your life in the country, you miss going out with a gun. Well, now, I'll say good-by."
"Wait a minute till we've called up your boy. I'll shout from the veranda."
"Don't, please," said Carter, remembering that on all previous occasions when trouble foreboded White-Man's-Trouble disappeared. He did not wish to call Laura's attention more than necessary to the risks of the journey. "I'd far rather go alone."
"Oh, Carter," said the voice of the Krooboy from the darkness outside, "then you plenty-much dam fool. I say I lib for come with you to Malla-Nulla. You no fit to go by your lone."
They looked out through the lit doorway and saw the yellows of White-Man's-Trouble's eyes, and the gleam of his teeth, which latter were eclipsed when he finished his speech, leaving the eyes alone to tell of his whereabouts.
"Now, that's a real stout boy of yours, Carter," the trader said. "Hi you, come in. You fit for a peg?"
"I fit for a bottle," said White-Man's-Trouble, who looked nipped and gray when he stood up in the lamplight. Poor fellow, he thought he was going to certain death with perhaps torture as an addition, but when it came to a pinch, and the white man led, he screwed up his pluck to follow.