He paused for a moment. Hicks stared up at him calculatingly.
"I'll tell you all I know about it if you turn me loose," he said. "Give me a horse and a chance to pull my freight, and I'll talk. Otherwise, I'm dumb."
"I'll make no bargains with you," MacRae answered. "Talk or take the consequences."
Hicks shook his head. MacRae coughed—the smoke was still rolling in thick clouds from over the river—and went on.
"Perhaps it will make my meaning clearer if I tell you what happened to Rutter, eh? You and Gregory got him after he was wounded, didn't you? He wouldn't tell where that stuff had been cached. But you had a way of loosening a man's tongue—I have you to thank for the idea. Oh, it was a good one, but that old Dutchman was harder stuff than you're made of. You built a fire and warmed his feet. Still he wouldn't talk, so you warmed them some more. Fine! But you didn't suppose you'd ever get your feet warmed. I'm not asking much of you, and you'll be no deeper in the mire when you answer. If you don't—well, there's plenty of wood here. Will you tell me what I want to know, or shall I light the fire?"
Still no word from Hicks. MacRae bent and raked the match along a flat stone.
"Oh, well," he said indifferently, "maybe you'll think better of it when your toes begin to sizzle."
He thrust the flaring match among the shavings. As the flame crept in among the broken willows, Hicks raised his head.
"If I tell you what become of her, will you let me go?" he proposed again. "I'll quit the country."
"You'll tell me—or cook by inches, right here," Mac answered deliberately. "You can't buy me off."