“What about the—crew?”
McLagan shrugged.
“We’re going to get that—later. I’d say anything might have happened them. Maybe they were reckoned in his murder schedule. Maybe they were glad to get away easy in the second launch. But we’ll locate all that—later.”
There was a curious grimness in McLagan’s emphasis on his final word. And he glanced quickly up at the sadly drooping yards as they creaked under a puff of stirring wind. The cloud bank had nearly passed, and the prevailing gloom was steadily lightening.
“I don’t just get how you located he’d murdered Jim,” Len went on curiously. “Was it sort of circumstances? He knew of the gold. You’ve seen Caspar and know the sort of tough he is. You’ve located the gold. Maybe there’s more back of your mind than you’ve told.”
McLagan shook his head. Then he flung out a hand pointing down the deck. The sun had broken out, and the wreck was bathed in its generous light.
“No, boy,” he said. “Look right down the deck there. You’re asking the way I know Jim was murdered by Caspar. It’s there for you to see, and I was waiting on it. Am I crazy? Are we all crazy? Is that real or imagination? What is it, anyway? There’s Jim, right there. That queer fool shadow that’s trying its best to walk along towards us and don’t ever get nearer. That’s Jim. I’ve seen him before, and I wanted you to see him only I wasn’t sure the sun would shine right. You see that poor darn thing only haunts this deck when the sun shines. See, boy. You can see it? Eh? It’s a queer shadow. It’s the outline of a big man as plain as the eye can see. And it throws another shadow right on the deck. Am I wrong? No. I’m not wrong. Could you mistake that big, tall body and gait, you, who’ve worked alongside Jim Carver? No. Jim was done right up on that spot. Maybe folks ’ud guess it’s a crazy notion. But it’s so. I’m dead sure. And now you’ve seen it you’ll be dead sure, too. Say, get a good look and we’ll get back up to my shanty and eat. And tomorrow we’re beating it right up into the hills where—Come on, boy.”
But Len Stern was in no hurry to quit. His dark eyes were held fascinated by the queer shadow. Could he see it? Of course he could; it was there plain enough for anybody to see. There was no question in his mind. The thing was what McLagan had said it was. There could be no mistaking it. He was without any superstitious qualm. There was wonder, amazement in his eyes, but none of the panic which the vision had inspired in others. So he sat there fascinated. That was all. And McLagan was forced to urge him again.