Bill shrugged.
"It'll be easy. His outfit can prove it. He either quit it or didn't join it in the morning. The p'lice'll get it out of them. When they learn what's doing they won't be yearning to screen Murray. Specially Keewin."
"No. Keewin was Allan's best boy. Keewin would have given his life for Allan."
Kars drew a deep breath. He sat up and struck a match. His pipe began to glow under his deep inhalations. He stood up and moved towards the door.
"It's the foulest thing I've ever heard. And—I guess you've got it right, Bill," he admitted. "I allow we've done all we can. It's right up to the p'lice." He abruptly turned, and his steady eyes stonily regarded his friend. "He's got to hang for this. Get me? If the law don't fix things that way, I swear before God I'll hunt his trail till I get him cold—with my own hands."
Bill's reply was a silent nod. He had nothing to add. He knew all that was stirring beyond that stony regard, and his sympathies were in full harmony. The bigness of these two men was unlimited by any of the conventions of human civilization. They were too deeply steeped in the teachings of the long trail to bow meekly to the laws set up by men. Their doctrines were primitive, but they saw with wide eyes the justice of the wild.
Kars stood for a few moments lost in profound thought. Then he stirred again and moved to depart.
"Where you going?" Bill demanded, recalling himself from his own contemplation. Kars turned again.
"I'm going to hand over to Abe and the boys," he said. "They're needing this thing. Guess I'm quit of Bell River. There's a wealth of gold here'll set them crazy. And they can help 'emselves all they choose. You and I, Bill, are going to see this thing through, and our work don't quit till Murray's hanging by the neck. Then—then—why then," a smile dawned in his eyes, and robbed them of that frigidity which had so desperately held them, "then I'll ask you to help me fix things with Father José so Jessie and I can break a new trail that don't head out north of 'sixty.'"