"You haven't been in jail for that time?" put in the irrepressible
Stoughton.
The big man relaxed to a smile. "I've been in charge here for the last twenty-five years, and I like it."
The three glanced at him with a sudden and genuine interest. The man was so massive; his hair so black, and, at the age of fifty, still unstreaked with gray. His face was large and strong, with a certain Jovian quality in cheek, ear, and chin. He suggested latent physical powers that, if aroused, would be tremendous.
"Find it pretty quiet?" went on Stoughton.
"Yes, but that's what I like."
"Then you don't entirely approve of our plans up at the rapids? At least, so Mr. Clark tells me."
Manson's glance lifted and went straight into Clark's gray eyes.
"No, I don't believe in them, if," he added, "I can say so without offense."
Riggs stripped off his heavy fur coat, and turned his back to the stove.
"Just why, may I ask?"