"Listen to me, Orcutt; by your own admission you've been
trying for more than twenty years to ruin me. I've let you go, never
turning out of my way to injure you. I'm not turning out of my way
now. If you're squeezed it is because of your own deeds--not mine."
"Squeezed!" sobbed the banker hysterically. "I'm ruined! It means the
bank--my home--everything! It means--more. I was so sure--I--I'm into
the bank's money for thousands! It means--the penitentiary!"
McNabb looked at the cringing man, whose knees seemed to sag beneath
the weight of his woe. Coldly his eyes traveled the length of him:
"Maybe ye're right," he said, and his words cut icy cold. Then,
deliberately he turned his back upon the man and strode through the
door.
Upon that same day, also came Corporal Downey, of the Royal North West
Mounted Police, and in his custody he held a man. The man was the
half-breed Alex Thumb.
"We've got the goods on him this time," Downey told the factor. "And a
damned peculiar case. I picked him up a few miles south of the lake.
I heard a shot, and an hour later I located him and crept up through
the brush. He had just finished burying Wentworth's body all but the
heart--that was dryin' on a little stick beside the fire. There was an
empty shell in his rifle. But--what I can't make out is this." He
paused and withdrew from his pocket a small tin box, and opening it,
disclosed a handful of ashes and the half of a United States gold
certificate for ten thousand dollars.
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