"It's this way, Phil. Seymour must have been quite a responsible member of the Force. As you said this a.m., his snuffing is going to make a noisy roar-back. I got to report it to somebody in the Mounted—but who and whereat?"
Seymour fidgeted uneasily in the silence that followed, evidently due to Brewster's considering his answer. He detested eavesdropping; never had resorted to it on any of his cases. By way of letting the two in the adjoining room know of his presence, he scraped his chair noisily over the bare floor. This warning, however, failed to check Brewster, or even to lower his voice.
"I remember reading that Vancouver is the nearest staff-office of this new Canadian Mounted Police, but I've just been thinking—— If they send a lot of Mounties into Gold and run down these stage-robbing murderers, you're not going to get any credit. I'm strong for home industry, even in justice. Why don't you delay reporting the sergeant's death until you land your man?"
"Say you're a real friend, Phil, even if you do try to ride me sometimes. I need the credit for turning a trick like that. It might make me sheriff when the old man gets through. But—but would I dare?"
Seymour started for the hall but on the way, heard Brewster's reply:
"Write your report, Sam, but don't post it until after tomorrow's mail has gone. That'll give you a week. Then address the letter to Ottawa, which will give you a few days more. In that time, you ought to have the murderers rounded up. You can forget what I told you about there being any Vancouver headquarters."
Surprise at such advice from a seemingly public-spirited citizen delayed Seymour's knock until he had heard it through. Of course, all this might be merely a sign of real, though mistaken, friendship for Hardley. On the other hand, was it possible that Brewster had personal reasons for wishing to delay the coming of the Mounted?
With this question to the fore of his mind, Seymour knocked on the adjoining door and was invited in. His entry seemed not to disturb either of the two.
"Just wanted to tell you that the next room is occupied and that the partition between is more or less of a megaphone," he said in a light tone. "If you've any secrets——"
Brewster's laugh was natural enough to be reassuring. "If we were talking secrets, stranger, we'd take to the brush. I've lived in the Bonanza since the day it was opened, and I don't even think secrets behind these make-believe walls."