Henderson was the only man left, and Grandon had learned that one man could do nothing at Kingsburg. The killing of McKay and Cree George and the leaving of the bodies in the street was a direct challenge to the force.
Magee was a brute of a man, crafty, vindictive, suspicious, and he had surrounded himself with men who were no better than himself until Kingsburg had become known as a town of lawlessness.
It was impossible for the law to fasten a single crime upon Magee, yet they knew that he was responsible for many grave offenses. It was a tough problem that faced Grandon that morning.
Joe Burgoyne sauntered into town and sat down moodily in front of Beaudet's store. He was no longer Joe Burgoyne the debonair. His classical nose had been dented and a split upper lip gave him a continuous sneer. His eyes hinted at a sleepless night and he spat angrily at a few loafing Indians who gazed curiously at him.
His sorrowful reflections were broken by Henderson, who came up and informed him that the inspector wished to have a few words with him.
"What for?" demanded Joe sullenly.
"He'll tell you," said Henderson coldly.
Joe got to his feet and walked slowly toward headquarters. He did not relish a talk with Grandon, but he knew better than to refuse. Henderson followed him in and Grandon motioned him to a chair.
"What you want?" demanded Joe. He was more Indian than white now.
Grandon considered him for several moments.