“Why the whispers and sneers that are showered on us whenever we are near them. They all shrink away from us—treat us as if we were lepers; even Slater avoids us, and the ‘Curse’ is whispered from lip to lip as we pass.”
“You’ll do no good, Desmond.”
“We had nothing to do with the child’s going away, yet they treat us as if we had murdered him.”
“Leave it alone,” said Alan, “I don’t know what it is, but this place seems uncanny. I think I am almost beginning to believe in the ‘Curse’ myself.”
Desmond made no reply, but squaring his shoulders, began to walk toward the miners.
“Look here, you fellows,” he began. “What’s wrong with you all? Why are you treating my cousin and me as if we were murderers? We aren’t responsible for Murlock’s little child vanishing away.”
The miners moved restlessly and muttered together, each waiting for a spokesman to assert himself, who would teach them the line of action they should take. Desmond continued, “You talk about the ‘Curse’! We knew nothing about it when we came here, and to us it seems ridiculous to imagine there is anything supernatural about the whole affair. The river is only a quarter of a mile from their garden gate; I know it has been dragged, but after all it is full of whirlpools and weeds, and if the little chap did fall into it, ten to one his little body will never be found.”
Suddenly a leader was found among the men, and Matt Harding stood up.
“Look ’ere mates,” said he. “We do’ant suppose these young gentlemen actually hurt Dan Murlock’s baby, or that they know where he went to, but after all, the ‘Curse’ tells us not to have strangers in Marshfielden, or evil will befall. It may befall them, it may befall us, but some one will reap ill. Now it’s really Slater’s fault for giving them lodgings. Let Slater turn them out, and that may break the ‘Curse.’”
“Aye, aye!” cried the men in unison.