“You’re not going on to-night?” Neil asked in surprise.
“You are welcome to spread your blankets here by the fire,” Louis added, he would not break the rules of hospitality even though he felt the guest to be an enemy.
Murray did not even thank him. “The moon is bright. We go on.”
The Indian had risen and moved towards the door. Murray pulled on his capote and looked up at the bark and pole roof. An evil smile showed his strong, yellow-white teeth. “It burn?” he inquired.
“You set it on fire,” accused Louis.
Murray grinned mockingly. “Not me,—Kolbach.”
“But why did he want to burn the roof off?” cried Walter.
“Why leave a cabin for other traders?” Murray spoke contemptuously. Undoubtedly he felt contempt for Walter’s innocence. “Only the roof burn well,” he added. His left hand on the door latch, he turned and held out the right to Walter.
The Swiss boy, surprised at this courtesy from the man he had believed an enemy, could not refuse his own hand. Murray’s sinewy fingers clasped it firmly for an instant. A scratch in the palm,—a deep scratch made by a rough splinter of wood when Walter was renewing the fire before supper,—tingled sharply with the pressure.
“Bo jou!” said Murray, and opened the door and went out.