Turning from the door, Arnold went to the table and touched an arm of the skeleton, which fell toward the body and collapsed inside the sleeve with a low rattle.
O'Hara raised his hand with an angry gesture.
"I mean no irreverence," said Arnold.
For a moment the two stood at gaze, then, letting his hand fall, O'Hara stepped over beside Arnold, and they lifted the bones, which for the most part fell together in the dead man's clothes, and laid them by the north wall.
"And what," asked Matterson, curiously, "are you two doing now?"
Without answering, Arnold coolly swept the stones on the table together between his hands into a more compact pile.
"Hands off, my boy," said Gleazen, quietly.
"Well?" Gleazen's words had brought a flush to Arnold's cheeks. He himself was nearly as old as Gleazen and was quick to resent the patronizing tone, and his very quietness was more threatening than the loudest bluster.
"Hands off," Gleazen repeated; and raising his musket, he cocked it and tapped the muzzle on the opposite side of the table. "This says 'hands off,' too." He glanced around so that we could see that he meant us all. "Matterson, ain't there a sack somewhere hereabouts?" But for the blood on his shoe and the stained cloth round his hand, he gave no sign of having been wounded.
From under the table Matterson picked up a bag such as might have been used for salt, but which was made of strong canvas and was grimy from much handling.