Harold seemed strangely nervous as he turned to Virginia. He wondered if this courteous reference to her was a mistake; could it be that she would object to their staying? It would make, at best, an awkward situation. However, he knew this girl and he felt sure. He half-closed the door.
"A couple of Indians, going home toward the settlement on the Yuga," he explained quickly. "They've come from over toward Bald Peak and were counting on putting up here to-night. That's the woods custom, you know—to stay at anybody's cabin. They didn't know we were here and want to stay, anyway. Do you think we can put 'em up?"
"Good Heavens, we can't send them on, on a night like this. It is awkward, though—about food——"
"They've likely got their own food."
"Of course they can stay. Bill can sleep on the floor in here—you can take the two of them with you into the little cabin. It will be pretty tight work, but we can't do anything else. Bring them in."
Harold turned again to the door, and in a moment the Indians strode, blinking, into the candlelight. The brighter light did not reveal them at greater advantage. Virginia shot them a swift glance and was instinctively repelled: but at once she ascribed the evil savagery of their faces to racial traits. She went back to her work.
Bill, sitting against the cabin wall, tried to make sense out of a confused jumble of thoughts and impressions and memories that flooded in one wave to his mind. His few hours of blindness had seemingly sharpened his other senses: and there was a quality of the half-breed's voice that was distinctly familiar. He had assumed at once that the two breeds were Joe and Pete whom he had encountered when he first found Harold. Why, then, had the latter made no sign of recognition? Why should he repeat a manifest lie,—that they had been over toward Bald Peak and were traveling toward the Yuga, and that they thought the cabin was unoccupied? He remembered that he had given these particular Indians definite orders to stay away from the district. Outwardly he was cool and at ease, his face impassive and grave; in his inner self he was deeply perturbed and suspicious.
Of course, there was a possibility that he was mistaken in the voice. He resolved to know the truth.
"It's Joe and Pete, isn't it?" he asked abruptly in the silence.
There was no reply at first. Virginia did not glance around in time to see the lightning signal of warning from Harold to the Indians; yet she had an inner sense of drama and suspense.