Abner, lashed to a small maple, rested his chin on his breast, apparently overcome.
“Wonder if they’ll catch ’em,” growled Ben, shifting his rifle.
“Guess so,” returned Joe, shortly, evidently not in the mood for conversation. Then he added after a brief silence, “I never fancied this job.”
“Chicken-hearted, eh?” grinned Ben.
“No, I ain’t chicken-hearted,” retorted Joe angrily. “But when I work fer a man I like to feel he’ll back me up in anything I do. We both know that the boss would turn us down in a second if it suited his plans.”
“He pays well,” reminded Ben calmly.
“I don’t know about that,” demurred Joe. “If it means state-prison if we’re caught I don’t call any amount of money good pay.”
“But we ain’t caught yet.”
“That’s just it,” exploded Joe. “We take all the chances and if we win out we’re paid, the boss asking no questions. But if we’re caught he’d go back on us in a minute and swear he knew nothing about us. That’s what sores me. Besides, the Great Northern ain’t the kind of a machine I like to fool with. Take a small operator, like Blusby, when we got his—”
