McMurdo gave a violent start.
“By Gar!” he cried, “I’ve got him. What a fool I was not to know it. Lord! but we’re in luck! We will fix him before he can do any harm. See here, Morris, will you leave this thing in my hands?”
“Sure, if you will only take it off mine.”
“I’ll do that. You can stand right back and let me run it. Even your name need not be mentioned. I’ll take it all on myself, as if it were to me that this letter has come. Will that content you?”
“It’s just what I would ask.”
“Then leave it at that and keep your head shut. Now I’ll get down to the lodge, and we’ll soon make old man Pinkerton sorry for himself.”
“You wouldn’t kill this man?”
“The less you know, Friend Morris, the easier your conscience will be, and the better you will sleep. Ask no questions, and let these things settle themselves. I have hold of it now.”
Morris shook his head sadly as he left. “I feel that his blood is on my hands,” he groaned.
“Self-protection is no murder, anyhow,” said McMurdo, smiling grimly. “It’s him or us. I guess this man would destroy us all if we left him long in the valley. Why, Brother Morris, we’ll have to elect you Bodymaster yet; for you’ve surely saved the lodge.”