“I guess, boys,” he finally blurted out, “I'd rather not say; it was a private matter.”
The men looked at one another, and were silent. Finally, one, bolder than the rest, cleared his throat.
“Didn't you give Tom an awful thrashing a little while back?” he asked, significantly.
The flush became deeper on McTavish's face.
“It's none of your darned business, my friend,” he replied, acidly. “But I'll answer your question. I did give him a good licking, and he deserved it. How did you find it out?
“I dunno. It's just one of those things that drifted in. I couldn't tell you now who sprung it. But I'm mighty sorry you did it.”
“Why?”
“Because, Captain McTavish, there is nothing to do but hold you on suspicion. That's the least charge that can be made against you. Andrew, go tell the factor what's happened, and say we'll bring McTavish in shortly.”
“Look here, boys, you're not going to try and put that Indian's death on me, are you?” Donald cried, aghast.
“Sorry, Mac; but what you yourself have admitted is enough to lock you up, accused of murder in the first degree.”