"It's a cinch that these two killings are linked," Hardley was shrilling to all ears within range. "When I get the man that killed the sergeant, I'll have the man that shot the B.C.X. driver; and, vice versa, if I get the man that killed the stage driver, I'll have the one that shot the sergeant."
"Which one do you calculate to get first, Sam?" asked Brewster, straight-faced as an undertaker.
The pudgy deputy stared at him in momentary suspicion, then took the bait. "Cato the Ox might be excused a fool question like that, Phil, but I'd have thought you'd be wise to vice versa. Don't you see, man, that these murderers are one and the same?"
"Then I'd advise you to throw down on that one and the same quick as the Almighty will let you," said Brewster. "The Mounties will be riled to the core over the killing of one of their own; they'll swarm in here like flies as soon as the news gets out."
The mining camp's deputy coroner was obviously disturbed by this logical counsel. Although the morning was not warm, he whipped out a saffron-colored handkerchief and mopped his brow. Evidently that ministration did not satisfy for he took off his hat and polished his pate, which was disclosed to be as bald as an eagle's.
"'Spite your astonishing ignorance in some things, Phil, you sometimes show a glimmer of sense," he said at last. "I was headed right in the first place. I've got to make some arrests and have the victims ready for the Mounties when they come swarming."
His eyes, while delivering himself of this pronouncement, had fixed on the sergeant.
"Victims—you said it," offered Seymour in calculating defense. "Some arrests. I suppose you'll make a bunch of them. Well, start in with me and bring in lots of company. You might as well make the mounted police plumb disgusted with you while you're about it." For a moment he watched Hardley squirm under this obvious scorn, then added: "Isn't a coroner's inquest the first of orderly procedure in a case of this sort? If you get a verdict from a jury, you'll have something to stand on when—when the Mounties come."
Hardley embraced the offering found in Seymour's sudden change from scorn to a practical suggestion. "I'll have an inquest with all due respect to the law, just as soon as we can get the late staff-sergeant into town," he shrilled. "See that you stick around, stranger. There's no telling at who the coroner's jury will point the finger of guilt."
Seymour nodded agreement. From official experience, he knew that there was no telling.