ut it in his
pocket and began, none too gently, to remove the boots from Hicks' feet,
did I really comprehend what he was about. It sent a shiver through me,
and even old Piegan stood aghast at the malevolent determination of the
man. But we voiced no protest. That was neither the time nor place to
abide by the Golden Rule. Only the law of force, ruthless, inexorable,
would compel speech from Hicks. And since they would recognize no
authority save that of force, it seemed meet and just to deal with them
as they had dealt with us. So Piegan Smith and I stood aloof and watched
the grim play, for the fate of a woman hung in the balance. Hicks'
salient jaw was set, his expression unreadable.

MacRae stacked the dry wood in a neat pyramid twelve inches from the
bare soles of Hicks' feet. He placed the shavings in the edge of the
little pile. Then he stood up and began to talk, fingering a match with
horrible suggestiveness.

"Perhaps you think that by keeping a close mouth there's a chance to get
out of some of the deviltry you've had a hand in lately. But there
isn't. You'll get what's coming to you. And in case you're bolstering up
your nerve with false hopes in that direction, let me tell you that we
know exactly how you turned every trick. I don't particularly care to
take the law into my own hands; I'd rather take you in and turn you
over to the guard. But there's a woman to account for yet, and so you
can take your choice between the same deal you gave Hans Rutter and
telling me what became of her."

He paused for a moment. Hicks stared up at him calculatingly.

"I'll tell you all I know about it if you turn me loose," he said. "Give
me a horse and a chance to pull my freight, and I'll talk. Otherwise,
I'm dumb."

"I'll make no bargains with you," MacRae answered. "Talk or take the
consequences."

Hicks shook his head. MacRae coughed--the smoke was still rolling in
thick clouds from over the river--and went on.

"Perhaps it will make my meaning clearer if I tell you what happened to
Rutter, eh? You and Gregory got him after he was wounded, didn't you? He
wouldn't tell where that stuff had been _cached_. But you had a way of
loosening a man's tongue--I have you to thank for the idea. Oh, it was a
good one, but that old Dutchman was harder stuff than you're made of.
You built a fire and warmed his feet. Still he wouldn't talk, so you
warmed them some more. Fine! But you didn't suppose you'd ever get
_your_ feet