Iron Hand apparently did not hear this last remark, but sat musing for some moments before he spoke.
“Did they condemn him on your testimony alone, Hank?”
“Mine and Bill Hawkins’, th’ chap I had with me th’ t’other day when I got th’ writin’.”
“He believed he swore to the truth?”
“Oh, o’ course!”
There was another pause.
“I thought I’d make it a bit stronger, howsomever, so I brought down one of th’ League from th’ lower camp,” continued Putney. “We made him believe that he wor my prisoner. It wor Sandy Jim, and he’s a trump. He swore that th’ prisoner was Iron Hand, and they let him go for doin’ it.”
“You have done this job so far, Hank, in superb style; you are my best man in the whole band. Now if you will go back and aid in bringing our plan to a successful issue, you shall be a rich man the day you return and prove to me that this mortal enemy of mine is dead!”
“Agreed!” cried Putney. “I’d better start now, or th’ mornin’ will overtake me afore I get back to th’ fort,” and with a parting farewell the two men separated.