“Humph! and come to think of it, it was Watson heard you say that you would set fire to my schooner,” he flashed. “You’re Boy McTavish, I guess, aren’t you?”
“I am Boy McTavish, but I never said that.”
“It was me fired the schooner,” said Amos.
“You?” cried the Colonel.
“He as much as hired me to do it,” said Amos, “—Smythe did. And he hinted as he’d pay me fer doin’ fer old Noah, and I did.”
“No, you didn’t,” cried Boy; “Noah is alive and well.”
“Then I ain’t got no murder ’gainst me,” cried Broadcrook, “an’ they can’t hang me, kin they?”
Hallibut stood biting his lip, his shaggy brows twitching. At last he raised his eyes slowly to Boy McTavish.
“See here,” he said at length, “I can’t just make this thing out. I guess I’ve been making a mistake and I guess you have, too, Boy. I’ve done you no wrong, neither you nor yours. And I know now that you and yours have done me no wrong. I came over here purposely to demand that you give yourself up for burning my boat, and I’m glad I came. I want to shake hands with you, if you’ll do it, and thank you for saving my life. Then I want to go down to Bushwhackers’ Place and shake hands all round. I—I——”
The big man’s face was working, and Boy found it difficult to keep his own voice steady as he wrung the Colonel’s hand and said: