“There’s a game girl,” said the old miner, as he wrung out his clothes.  “She was half gone when she got to us, and now she’s waiting for the storm to break so that she can come back.”

“It’s clearing up to the east,” Slapjack chattered.  “D’you know, I’m gettin’ so rheumatic that ice-water don’t feel comfortable to me no more.”

“Uriatic acid in the blood,” said Dextry.  “What’s our next move?” he asked of his partner.  “When do we hang this politician?  Seems like we’ve got enough able-bodied piano-movers here to tie a can onto the whole outfit, push the town site of Nome off the map, and start afresh.”

“I think we had better lie low and watch developments,” the other cautioned.  “There’s no telling what may turn up during the day.”

“That’s right.  Stranglers is like spirits—­they work best in the dark.”

As the day grew, the storm died, leaving ramparts of clouds hanging sullenly above the ocean’s rim, while those skilled in weather prophecy foretold the coming of the equinoctial.  In McNamara’s office there was great stir and the coming of many men.  The boss sat in his chair smoking countless cigars, his big face set in grim lines, his hard eyes peering through the pall of blue at those he questioned.  He worked the wires of his machine until his dolls doubled and danced and twisted at his touch.  After a gusty interview he had dismissed Voorhees with a merciless tongue-lashing, raging bitterly at the man’s failure.

“You’re not fit to herd sheep.  Thirty men out all night and what do you get?  A dozen mullet-headed miners.  You bag the mud-hens and the big game runs to cover.  I wanted Glenister, but you let him slip through your fingers—­now it’s war.  What a mess you’ve made!  If I had even one helper with a brain the size of a flaxseed, this game would be a gift, but you’ve bungled every move from the start.  Bah!  Put a spy in the bull-pen with those prisoners and make them talk.  Offer them anything for information.  Now get out!”

He called for a certain deputy and questioned him regarding the night’s quest, remarking, finally: 

“There’s treachery somewhere.  Those men were warned.”

“Nobody came near Glenister’s house except Miss Chester,” the man replied.

“What?”

“The Judge’s niece.  We caught her by mistake in the dark.”

Later, one of the men who had been with Voorhees at the Northern asked to see the receiver and told him: 

“The chief won’t believe that I saw Miss Chester in the dance-hall last night, but she was there with Glenister.  She must have put him wise to our game or he wouldn’t have known we were after him.”

His hearer made no comment, but, when alone, rose and paced the floor with heavy tread while his face grew savage and brutal.