It was a long speech for Toma. Dick and Sandy looked at him in astonishment while Corporal Rand moved over, sat down beside him and in a friendly way, threw one arm over his heaving shoulders.
“I understand what you mean,” he said kindly. “But you mustn’t forget that this Henri Mekewai will be punished for all his misdeeds. He has many crimes to answer for. You mustn’t feel that way about it. You helped to capture him, Toma, and that is surely revenge enough.”
“But he no carry scar on his head,” the young Indian pointed out.
“True enough. But he carries other scars that one can’t see. His heart and soul are scarred with wickedness and, no doubt, he will be compelled to pay the life penalty.”
Knowing something of the Indian’s point of view, in his own mind, Dick did not blame Toma for the stand he took. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. It had been bred in Toma, was the product of generations of savage, relentless ancestors—part of the Indian’s code.
“I didn’t know you were so blood-thirsty, Toma,” Sandy poked fun at him. “You mustn’t think of such things.”
Toma averted his eyes, flushing under the criticism.
“I think alla time about that scar,” he said.
The policeman drummed thoughtfully on the bench for a moment, then again he addressed the young man beside him.
“Yes, Toma, you must forget. If you’ll promise me to overlook this slight, I’ll give you and Sandy a chance to earn a little extra police pay during the next two weeks. Tomorrow I will be compelled to take my five prisoners back to the Mackenzie River Barracks. You and Sandy can render me valuable aid by accompanying my party. I hate to take any chance of losing them now. One can’t be too careful. They are dangerous criminals, desperate men all, and would take the first chance offered them for a break for liberty.”