“Weel ye may ask!” answered Jim, breaking into the Doric, “and I canna answer ye.
“We can’t prove a thing on him. He would plead absolute ignorance of the entire affair; that he had been away for weeks and only got in yesterday with Royce Pederstone, and was at the dance when it happened. Everybody would believe him and sympathise with him 187 too because of an apparent endeavour to blacken the character of a public man, a prominent citizen and a local benefactor––one who himself had lost so much by the thefts––for, mark you, Brenchfield has made much of it in his conversations.”
“Can’t Chief Palmer make the half-breeds talk? They will surely be pretty sore over the raw deal that has been handed out to them.”
“Palmer be jiggered! He is another of Brenchfield’s cronies, and is feathering his nest like the rest of them. I’ll be very much surprised if the innocent Howden isn’t fired by this time for his share in this morning’s work. I’m half sorry I dragged him into it.”
“Couldn’t a good lawyer wriggle something out of the Indians at the trial?”
“He might,––but the Indians will be darned well paid to keep their mouths shut. Believe me!––it’ll fizzle out. You watch and see!”
Jim sat quiet for a bit, then he began again.
“And that kind of animal has the nerve to want to marry little Eilie Pederstone. Oh, hell!––I’d better stop or I’ll burst a blood-vessel or something.
“Say!”
“Speak on!”