“You ran for the mouth of the Lias,” McLagan broke in. “You ran in and cached your stuff in a cave you didn’t reckon folks ’ud locate. And stowed your launch where you didn’t see anything but sea-fowl nosing.”
“That’s all right,” he said, straightening himself up. “Don’t worry for compliments. That’s not in the story. Yes. I’ve got your gold. There’ll be embargo on your credit at Victor Burns’ Bank. And the launch is away up on the Alsek River where its use in my oil workings’ll keep it in shape. But you’ve got your dog’s chance. I promised that, and you’re going to get it. It’s a hell of a poor-bred dog’s chance. Loose those irons, Len. I’ll hold him covered so there’s no monkeying. He reckons he’d like to translate his opinion of me into something more active. But he won’t. Loose him----”
Len Stern, with his whole mind and body seething with the horror of the thing he had listened to, stared at the engineer incredulously.
“Yes. Loose him, boy. I promised him that. I promised him a run for it. It was the price of his yarn. Leave it that way, boy. Loose him, and let’s get out into God’s pure air. This place is foul with the stench of his rotten soul.”
They were out in the open where the air was pure, and the full daylight was pleasant to contemplate after the contaminated atmosphere of Julian Caspar’s quarters. The latter was somewhere behind them, free to undertake anything his evil mind prompted. But McLagan felt no concern as they moved down the slope to the mouth of the Creek debouching on the broad waters of the Lias River. It was left to the more hot-headed Len Stern to concern himself.
“I don’t get it, McLagan,” he said urgently. “You’ve let that rotten murderer free for the sake of his darn story. You’ve let him free after murdering poor Jim. Claire’s brother! The brother of the gal you’re to marry this fall! It’s wrong. It’s crazy. He----”
He broke off to gaze back up the hill at the shack that was still in full view.
“I can’t stand for it, Mac!” he went on hotly, a moment later. “We came here that that boy should swing for the thing he’s done. You said that. You----”
“He will swing, Len. He’ll swing within twenty-four hours.”
McLagan’s tone was cold. His manner was inflexible. And somehow the other remained silent.