He was aroused from his reverie by Pritchen asking for an axe.
"There," and Keith pointed to a corner of the room.
At first an attempt was made to pry up the cover, by forcing the axe under the edge, but in this they failed.
"Let's smash the d— thing!" cried Pritchen. "We can't waste the whole night here, and we must see into this box."
Suiting the action to the word, he drove the blade into the smooth lid, and in a short time the cover was in splinters.
In silence Keith beheld the work of destruction. What could he do? Every blow seemed to strike at his own heart, telling him of impending trouble.
"Hello! what's this? A woman's face! Well, I'll be damned! Look, boys," and Pritchen pointed to the sketch lying in full view.
The weak candle light fell tremblingly upon the fair face as Perdue bent over the box to examine the picture more closely. Then he seized it roughly in his hand, and held it up for a better inspection. It was not the little laugh given by one of the men which stirred Keith so intensely, but the wink he caught Pritchen tipping to Perdue. It was that quick telegraphic message, the base innuendo which stung and lashed him more than a thousand words. The hot blood, recoiling at the silent insult, surged back to the body's secret depths, leaving the face as white as drifted snow. Keith's eyes flashed danger as he reached out one long tense arm.
"Give that to me," he demanded, restraining himself with a great effort. "It has nothing to do with your business here."
"It's interesting, though," replied Perdue.