He was coming to understand that Fremont was obsessed with the idea that he was protecting Nestor by the course he was taking.

This being true, he would remain loyal to the very end.
Thirty-nine.

The leader seemed about to lift his hand as a signal for the squad to level their guns, when a shout came from up the slope, and a figure every whit as ragged and disreputable in appearance as the men gathered about the prisoner swung into sight, leaping over ledges and lifting voice and hand in warning as he advanced.
The men, now swinging their guns into position, paused and held them motionless while they gazed at the intruder.

The leader shifted about uneasily and muttered something under his breath.

Released, for the moment at least, from the strain he had been under, Jimmie dropped back in his hiding place, his weapon clattering to the ground.