“Agreed.”
“Then I’ll talk it over wi’ this pawky bird of a chief.”
Maclish turned his back, beckoned the chief, and drew him somewhat to one side out of earshot. Frontin straightened up, and his hand dropped to his belt. Crawford checked him.
“No.”
The dark hawk-face swept around. “Eh? With him dead——”
“No.”
Crawford looked at Maclish and the chieftain, who were talking; then the Scot turned and waved his hand.
“All agreed,” he said curtly. “We’ll start in an hour and reach the lake by noonday to-morrow, or before.”
Crawford and Frontin walked back toward their men. Presently Crawford smiled bleakly.
“With that man dead,” he said, “who would pay me for the murder of Phelim Burke?”