Stannard smiled. "To talk about your prisoners is ridiculous; I imagine we are rather your hosts. I am not a policeman, and when my friends resolved to leave the camp I had no grounds to meddle. However, if it will give you some satisfaction, I'll lend you a rifle."
"I'm going to get mine," said Simpson and started across the clearing.
He came back before long, carrying a wet rifle. His clothes were muddy and his mouth was tight.
"I found her in two or three minutes, but when I was in the ditch last night I felt all about."
"To find an object in the dark is awkward," Stannard remarked.
Simpson gave him an angry glance. "The magazine's broke and the ejector's jambed. I don't see how she got broke. I didn't hit the stump with my gun; I hit it with my head."
"The thing is rather obvious. The cut ought to satisfy your officer," said Stannard soothingly.
"If you hadn't let your partners go, I wouldn't have had to satisfy my officer. Now I sure don't see where I am."
"The situation is embarrassing," Stannard agreed. "My friends have been gone some time and are pretty good mountaineers; it's possible they could go where you could not. Then, if you went after Deering and Leyland, I might go off another way. I don't want to persuade you, but perhaps you ought to stop and take care of Douglas."
Simpson frowned and put down his damaged rifle.