"Bergstein, damn him!" returned Dinsmore slowly; "I seen him."
"But he left the camp days ago—the morning I discharged him."
"He's started on consid'ble of a trip now," replied the hide-out. "I see what was left of him."
"Dead!" exclaimed Thayor.
"Burned blacker 'n a singed hog. They ain't much left of him, and what they is ain't pleasant to look at. He ain't got but one arm left and that's clutchin' a holt of a empty ker'sene can."
Thayor gave a short gasp.
"And it was that cheat, Bergstein!" he cried in amazement.
"More devil than cheat," replied Dinsmore—"and three-quarters snake. The gang he trained agin ye done what he told 'em to—they burned ye out with him a-leadin' 'em. I watched him and know—see him with the can 'fore the fire began. It's as plain as day, Mr. Thayor. Father's right—yer life ain't safe till ye git to the cars."
Thayor's grizzled, unshaven jaw closed hard. He sat staring into the fire, every muscle in his haggard face tense.
"There's men me and you know in these woods now," continued Dinsmore, "who ain't no more to blame in this ornery business 'n I be."