"It strikes me that you talk too much," George said severely.
He went out, feeling a little disturbed by what Edgar had told him, but unable to analyze his sensations. Putting on his furs, he proceeded to look around the stable, as he had fallen into a habit of doing before he went to rest. There was a clear moon in the sky, and although the black shadow of the buildings stretched out across the snow, George on approaching one noticed a few footprints that led toward it. There were numerous other tracks about, but he thought that those he was looking at had been made since he had last entered the house. This, however, did not surprise him, for Flett had recently visited the stable.
On entering the building, George stopped to feel for a lantern which was kept on a shelf near the door. The place was very dark and pleasantly warm by contrast with the bitter frost outside, and he could smell the peppermint in the prairie hay. Familiar sounds reached him—the soft rattle of a shaking rope, the crackle of crushed straw—but they were rather more numerous than usual, and while he listened one or two of the horses began to move restlessly.
The lantern was not to be found; George wondered whether Flett had carelessly forgotten to replace it. He felt his way from stall to stall, letting his hand fall on the hind quarters of the horses as he passed. They were all in their places, including Flett's gray, which lashed out at him when he touched it; there was nothing to excite suspicion, but when he reached the end of the row he determined to strike a match and look for the lantern. He was some time feeling for the match-box under his furs, and while he did so he heard a soft rustling in the stall nearest the door. This was curious, for the stall, being a cold one, was unoccupied, and there was something significantly stealthy in the sound; but it ceased, and while he listened with strained attention a horse moved and snorted. Then, while he fumbled impatiently at a button of his skin coat which would not come loose, an icy draught stole into the building.
It was obvious that the door was open; he had left it shut.
Breaking off his search for the matches, he made toward the entrance and sprang out. There was nobody upon the moonlit snow, and the shadows were hardly deep enough to conceal a lurking man. He ran toward the end of the rather long building; but, as it happened, he had to make a round to avoid a stack of wood and a wagon on the way. When he turned the corner, the other side of the stable was clear in the moonlight and, so far as he could see, the snow about it was untrodden. It looked as if he had made for the wrong end of the building, and he retraced his steps toward a barn that stood near its opposite extremity. Running around it, he saw nobody, nor any footprints that seemed to have been recently made; and while he stood wondering what he should do next, Grierson appeared between him and the house.
"Were you in the stables a minute or two ago?" George called to him,
"No," said the other approaching. "I'd just come out for some wood when I saw you run round the barn."
George gave him a brief explanation, and the man looked about.
"Perhaps we'd better search the buildings; if there was any stranger prowling round, he might have dodged you in the shadow. It's hardly likely he'd make for the prairie; the first clump of brush big enough to hide a man is a quarter of a mile off."