Stern nodded.
“That surely goes, Mac,” he said. “But tell me. You see, you’ve got me badly guessing. Why for did you send me out of that shack to—fix his ponies? We’re on the river. We’re travelling by water.”
McLagan laughed.
“That’s easy, boy. The talk of ponies was bluff. I didn’t have a notion of running that feller into Beacon. Not a notion from the start. You see, I didn’t let you know the thing in my mind because of the questions I didn’t feel like answering. No. I left you thinking he was passing right into Beacon. I sent you out to fix his ponies because I had to make a talk. And I didn’t want a chance of you getting hot with the things I said and queering the game. I had to get that boy’s yarn. You see, the thing I reckoned to fix was justice, not revenge. Well, it would have been justice handing him over to Goodchurch. But I didn’t fancy that. The law’s queer and slow. It would have been a worry to Jim’s mother, to Claire. To all of us. It would have stirred up memories for those women folk, and would have hurt ’em. So I looked for better, quicker, surer means. But I’ve a queer sort of conscience that wouldn’t be satisfied with circumstantial evidence. I had to hear of the thing he’d done out of his own mouth. So I offered him a run for freedom to hand me his yarn. It was wiser than it looked. You see, I knew the man. He knew the thing he’d done. And he guessed what it would mean going on to Fairbanks. Given a run, he’s confident of making his getaway. His life’s more precious to him than the chance he takes handing out his story. I felt that—knowing him. My promise to him was a run for freedom, and he guessed it was good enough. You see, he didn’t know the thing I know. Now the thing’s sheer justice. He’s condemned himself. And the thought of his hanging leaves me without a qualm or—scruple. Let’s leave it that way, boy. I’ve given my word to you. Now we’re going to make my home place to hand over your gold to you, and to close up my shanty. Then for Beacon.”
“Shall I learn for sure—when it’s done?”
McLagan smiled gently as they paced down the hill. He understood the other’s feelings. He realised how hard, without further explanation, it must be for this man, who had been absent so long from the country, to accept his assurance. So he laid a reassuring hand upon his arm.
“Yes, Len. And,” he added, “believe me, his hanging’s as inevitable as that the sun’ll rise to-morrow.”