"In a little place under—in a hole." Her face twitched, and she put her hand up to hide it.
"Mean shame."
"Dirt mean."
"We'll find him, Maudie."
"An' when we do, we'll hang him on the cottonwood."
"Did anybody know where you kept your——"
"I didn't think so, unless it was——No!" she screamed hysterically, and then fell into weak crying. "Can't think who could have been such a skunk."
"But who do you suspect?" persisted the Judge.
"How do I know?" she retorted angrily. "I suspect everybody till—till I know." She clenched her hands.
That a thief should be "operating" in Minoók on somebody who wasn't dead yet, was a matter that came home to the business and the bosoms of all the men in the camp. In the midst of the babel of speculation and excitement, Maudie, still crying and talking incoherently about skunks, opened the door. The men crowded after her. Nobody suggested it, but the entire Miners' Meeting with one accord adjourned to the scene of the crime. Only a portion could be accommodated under Maudie's roof, but the rest crowded in front of her door or went and examined the window. Maudie's log-cabin was a cheerful place, its one room, neatly kept, lined throughout with red and white drill, hung with marten and fox, carpeted with wolf and caribou. The single sign of disorder was that the bed was pulled out a little from its place in the angle of the wall above the patent condenser stove. Behind the oil-tank, where the patent condensation of oil into gas went on, tiers of shelves, enamelled pots and pans ranged below, dishes and glasses above. On the very top, like a frieze, gaily labelled ranks of "tinned goods." On the table under the window a pair of gold scales. A fire burned in the stove. The long-lingering sunlight poured through the "turkey-red" that she had tacked up for a half-curtain, and over this, one saw the slouch-hats and fur caps of the outside crowd.