“I guess so,” Hulton agreed.  “For all that, it would have some effect, and the judge couldn’t rule it out before it was heard.”  He knitted his brows and looked hard at Foster.  “I’m going to prove that Fred was robbed and was not the thief, and though I don’t think Walters will be convicted, he must take his chance.  He was one of the gang that caused my son’s death, and when he tried to kill your partner knew what he was up against.”

Foster thought this was frontier justice and urged another objection.

“After all, the matter’s in the hands of the police.  You can’t dictate the line they ought to take.”

Percival, the treasurer, smiled, and Hulton answered with some dryness:  “That’s true, in a way.  But I have some influence, which will be used for all it’s worth.  Anyhow, I’ve got to be consulted.  If it hadn’t been for my agents, the police wouldn’t have made much progress yet.  However, we’ll let this go.  It may interest you to know that Daly’s gone for good.  Read him the night letter, Percival.”

It is usual in Canada to allow lengthy telegrams, called night letters, to be sent at a very moderate charge when the lines are disengaged after business hours, and the treasurer picked up a form.  The message related the careful search for Daly’s body, which had not been found.  The snow for some distance on both sides of the river was undisturbed; there was no sign that an injured man had crawled away, and if this were not enough, no stranger had reached any of the scattered ranches where he must have gone for food.  Daly would not be found until the ice broke up.

“I expect you’re glad the fellow can’t be brought to trial,” Hulton remarked, looking hard at Foster.

“I am,” said Foster quietly.

Hulton made a sign of understanding and there was faint amusement in his eyes.

“Well, you have a good partner.  I like Featherstone; he’s a live, straight man, and if he had trouble in England, has made good here.  But he has his limits; I reckon you’ll go further than he will.”

“No,” said Foster.  “I don’t think you’re right, but if you are, I’ll take my partner along with me, or stay behind with him.”

“What are you going to do now?” Percival asked.

“Stop at the Crossing and see about starting the mill.”

Hulton nodded.  “I guess that’s the best thing.  When you have got her started, come and see what we want.  I think that’s all in the meantime.”

Foster left them and began work next day.  He wrote to Lawrence telling him of his plans, but got no answer for a week, when a telegram arrived.

“Come out if you can leave the mill.  You’re wanted here,” it ran.

Foster was puzzled, because he thought the summons would have come from Lucy if Lawrence was ill.  Yet the latter knew he was occupied and ought not have sent for him unless he was needed.  On the whole, he felt annoyed.  Lawrence, who was sometimes careless, should have told him why he was required, and he could not conveniently leave the mill.