She greeted the two men with a distant nod, but had nothing to say to them; and they respected her mood, and did not try to draw her into conversation.
When breakfast was finished and the back packs had been made up, the three strolled through the spruces to the neighboring clearing. The fire had burned out during the night, and all that was left of the cabin was the fireplace and chimney, scorched and blackened, standing solitary over a heap of smoldering ruins.
Devreaux viewed the desolate scene with down-drawn brows, and presently moved forward in the smoke to prowl among the debris. For several minutes his squat figure was seen moving and stooping in the dingy haze; and when he returned his boots and gloves were sooted black.
"I've been poking around where you said the bunks stood," he remarked, shouldering the corporal beyond their companion's hearing. "Found your manacles, and—not much else. Those pitch logs burn with a frightful heat."
"I tried to get in there when I discovered the fire," Dexter told him. "But it was too late. I couldn't make it."
"No fault of yours. You did all you could, of course."
The superintendent surveyed the smoking wreckage. "The center of fire seems to have been in the timbers near the chimney. It must have started there."
"We can put the cause down to accident," remarked Dexter. "The girl couldn't have started an incendiary blaze. I was right at her heels when she circled back here last night, and I realize now she wouldn't have had time to touch it off. And there were no tracks to indicate that any one else visited the clearing during our absence."
"Caught from the fireplace, then," observed Devreaux.
"Undoubtedly. There was a hot fire in the grate, and as you remarked, those pitch floor timbers would easily catch ablaze. A chance ember popping out would set it going."