"It sounds a little harsh; a good harvest might have set him straight," he said. "However, I suppose you have a reason for what you're doing."
"That's so. Langside's the kind of man I've no use for; he takes no interest in his place. After he has put in half a crop, he goes off and spends his time doing a little railroad work and slouching round the saloons along the line."
"It doesn't seem sufficient to justify your ruining him."
"I've got a little more against the man. Has it struck you that somebody round here, who knows the trails and the farmers' movements, is standing in with the liquor boys."
A light broke in upon George. Now that the matter had been put before him, he could recollect a number of points that seemed to prove the fanner right. When cattle had been killed, their owners had been absent; horses had disappeared at a time which prevented the discovery of their loss from being promptly made. It looked as if the offenses could only have been committed with the connivance of somebody in the neighborhood who had supplied their perpetrators with information.
"I believe you've got at the truth," he replied. "Still, it must be largely a matter of suspicion."
Grant leaned forward on the table and his face grew stern.
"You'll remember what Flett said about our system of justice sometimes breaking down. In this matter, I'm the jury, and I've thought the thing over for the last six months, weighing up all that could be said for Langside, though it isn't much. What's more, I've talked to the man and watched him; giving him every chance. He has had his trial and he has to go; there's no appeal."
George could imagine the thoroughness with which his host had undertaken his task. Grant would be just, deciding nothing without the closest test. George felt that the man he meant to punish must be guilty. For all that, he looked at Flora.
"Have you been consulted?" he asked.