“Why should you doubt it?” said Dean sharply. “I have known Peter Dance ever since I was a quite a little fellow. He can be very disagreeable sometimes, but I never found him out in a lie.”
“No, sir?” said Buck. “Well, I think you have found him out now.”
“What do you mean?” cried Dean. “Here, Mark, why don’t you say something?”
“Because I’m listening,” said his cousin drily. “Tell him what you think, Buck.”
“Yes, sir; I will, sir. Well, I think—bah! I am sure—that there was no fire.”
“What!” cried Dean angrily.
“Gone to sleep, sir, and let it out.”
“How do you know that?” cried Dean, indignant in his defence of his uncle’s old servant.
“How do I know that, sir? How come the lions to crawl up and stampede my bullocks? Where was the fire when we all jumped up and began shooting? Why, there was only just enough ashes for old Mak to stir up and get to blaze again after he had thrown on some twigs.”
“Oh, but—” began Dean hotly.