“May 13th, 1915. That chest is an obsession. Even out here in the wilderness away from it, it seems to haunt me night and day. Sometimes I call myself a doddering old fool. To buy it was a waste of money, an act of folly. That were bad enough, but this thing I have been doing lately is madness itself. In a thousand years, if God gave me that long to live, I could never restore that chest to its original glory and splendor. I’m sure that I haven’t put into it one infinitesimal part of the wealth and treasure that he did. If he were living now, Ming would laugh my diamonds and rubies and emeralds to scorn. I’m afraid he’d spurn my gold too. Cheap stuff! Trash! Where I have thousands he had millions. Folly to pit the Crystal Lode against the resources of an empire. Yet here I am, walking about with the key around my neck, trying to emulate an emperor.”
Corporal Rand closed the book.
“Is that what you copied?” he asked.
“Yes, that’s it,” answered Reynold.
“I wonder if you realize what you’ve done,” Rand spoke softly. “When you sold those copies you signed Dewberry’s death warrant. You must have known that one of those men, to whom you sold that information, would try to obtain Dewberry’s treasure.”
“I didn’t think much about it,” the boy declared doggedly.
“Dewberry is dead. MacGregor murdered him. It’s your fault. MacGregor never would have murdered him, if—if it hadn’t been for you. I want that fact to sink in. You know now why I’ve come to get you.”
“I’ll be hanged,” blubbered the boy.
Rand walked over and put his hand on the young man’s shoulder.
“No—not that. We’ll do what we can for you. You have a wonderful father and mother. For their sake—and for your own—we’ll be as lenient as possible.”