Macrado, when he had counted the money, replaced it in the money-belt and started to strap it around him, but the belt was cold and clammy. At the touch of the damp leather against his skin, he shuddered. He almost forgot to steer, and the first he knew the motorboat was cutting across the current. He straightened it up for the government channel light up the bend, and turned to glance into the night over his shoulder. No matter which way he turned, the face of Junker Frest was just withdrawing from view, and yet so slowly that he had a side-long vision of that shrunken, eagle-billed countenance with shrewd little eyes—eyes that accused him while they seemed to be amused.
Macrado did not mind the accusation, but the amusement was ominous, and grew more and more hateful as the night proceeded. He ran his boat into an open eddy and anchored it. He ventured at last to light a lantern in the cabin. He sat down there, thinking. He took note and stock of himself, and of his possessions.
"Now I needn't be afraid of bein' hongry," he told himself, over and over again. His conscience was not entirely accusing with regard to what he had done.
"If I hadn't killed him, like's not I'd be'n killed up myself by that old scoundrel," he thought, with
