They caught hold of him.
“Too late!” said Crauthers. “See how the fire is spreading! The wind is driving it. The whole strip of woods will be a mass of roaring flame in a few minutes!”
Miguel Bunol stood by, no words falling from his lips. In his heart there was a feeling of relief caused by sight of the rising fire.
“If the Spaniard had stayed away——” began Crauthers.
Bunol whirled on him.
“You first to propose I soak him!” he sneered. “Now you lose nerve! Now you are coward! But fire will wipe all out. It burn so nobody ever prove he was struck. He was caught in fire and couldn’t get out. That is it.”
Bunol was too much for them. Bad though they had been, the nerve of the Spanish lad after such a dark deed made him repulsive to them all.
“We had better get back to the academy in a hurry,” said Stark. “We don’t want to be out when the excitement over this fire starts. Let’s hustle, fellows.”
So they ran over the hill and on toward the academy. Behind them the fire rose and waved gleaming pennants to the clouds, which reflected the red glow. The wind moaned through the night and sent the flames leaping from tree to tree.
“We are all murderers!” whispered Crauthers, thinking of the boy left lifeless in the burning woods.