“Polcher! Ye don’t go for to throw me, do ye?” whispered Thatch.
Polcher laughed.
“None of my friends did this.”
Thatch began to understand and faltered.
“Chucky Jack?”
“Think I’m a fool? No one so high as that.”
“Promise me it ain’t me,” groaned Thatch, his fears returning.
“No one so low as you, old friend.”
“—— an’ brimstone! Spit it out, Polcher. Ye make me think of that big blue devil in my fireplace! What’s the idee?”
“I have six witnesses in the tap-room who’ll swear that from a distance they saw you try to stop the murderer from killing the Creek; that, after he had killed and scalped his victim, he chased you into the woods to prevent you from blabbing.”