Cameron rose erect and stared down at the satchel's disordered contents.
"There's no doubt about it," he muttered. "This is the identical suit case that Captain Fortescue carried across the lake with him that day it was supposed he started for St. Paul, and——"
A call came from the wagon.
"What you fellers roughin' things up with me fer? Murgatroyd has got somethin' ter say ter you. When you hear that you'll be lettin' me go."
"He's still hazy," said Matt. "He doesn't remember what's happened."
They all stepped to the side of the car and looked down at Siwash Charley where he lay helpless on the tonneau seat.
"Murgatroyd," said Cameron sternly, "has already told us what he had to say."
"Ye kain't do nothin' ter me fer takin' keer o' Motor Matt," rambled Siwash Charley. "I treated him white, an' he'll tell ye the same thing."
"That's not what we've captured you for," went on Cameron. "You're a deserter, and your name isn't Siwash Charley, but Cant Phillips. You're for Totten, my man, and a court-martial that will probably land you where you won't be able to break the law for a long time to come."
Then, for the first time since his senses had returned, Siwash Charley appeared to understand all that his capture meant.