“I’ll do that. You can stand right back and let me run it. Even your name need not be mentioned. I’ll take it all on myself, as if it were to me that this letter has come. Will that content you?”
“It’s just what I would ask.”
“Then leave it at that and keep your head shut. Now I’ll get down to the lodge, and we’ll soon make old man Pinkerton sorry for himself.”
“You wouldn’t kill this man?”
“The less you know, Friend Morris, the easier your conscience will be, and the better you will sleep. Ask no questions, and let these things settle themselves. I have hold of it now.”
Morris shook his head sadly as he left. “I feel that his blood is on my hands,” he groaned.
“Self-protection is no murder, anyhow,” said McMurdo, smiling grimly. “It’s him or us. I guess this man would destroy us all if we left him long in the valley. Why, Brother Morris, we’ll have to elect you Bodymaster yet; for you’ve surely saved the lodge.”
And yet it was clear from his actions that he thought more seriously of this new intrusion than his words would show. It may have been his guilty conscience, it may have been the reputation of the Pinkerton organization, it may have been the knowledge that great, rich corporations had set themselves the task of clearing out the Scowrers; but, whatever his reason, his actions were those of a man who is preparing for the worst. Every paper which would incriminate him was destroyed before he left the house. After that he gave a long sigh of satisfaction; for it seemed to him that he was safe. And yet the danger must still have pressed somewhat upon him; for on his way to the lodge he stopped at old man Shafter’s. The house was forbidden him; but