He nodded gravely. “Or you’ll set the law on him?”
“It’s one thing or the other. Better to do it now when Bobby is young and can’t understand.”
“Or read the newspapers,” he commented thoughtfully.
“I don’t think I’ve a hard heart,” she continued, “but I’d like to punish him, if it wasn’t that he’s your brother, Nett; and if it wasn’t for Bobby. Dorland was dreadfully cruel, even to Cynthy.”
“How did you know he was up here?” he asked. “From the lawyer that pays over the money. Dorland has had it sent out here to Kowatin this two years. And he sent word to the lawyer a month ago that he wanted it to get here as usual. The letter left the same day as I did, and it got here yesterday with me, I suppose. He’ll be after it-perhaps to-day. He wouldn’t let it wait long, Dorl wouldn’t.”
Foyle started. “To-day—to-day—”
There was a gleam in his eyes, a setting of the lips, a line sinking into the forehead between the eyes.
“I’ve been watching for him all day, and I’ll watch till he comes. I’m going to say some things to him that he won’t forget. I’m going to get Bobby’s money, or have the law do it—unless you think I’m a brute, Nett.” She looked at him wistfully.
“That’s all right. Don’t worry about me, Jo. He’s my brother, but I know him—I know him through and through. He’s done everything that a man can do and not be hanged. A thief, a drunkard, and a brute—and he killed a man out here,” he added hoarsely. “I found it out myself—myself. It was murder.”
Suddenly, as he looked at her, an idea seemed to flash into his mind. He came very near and looked at her closely. Then he reached over and almost touched the scar on her forehead.