The girl obeyed him; and when the drumming of horse-hoofs died away Muller sat down in front of his prisoner, who now lay upon a pile of prairie hay, and with his usual slow precision lighted his big meerschaum. The American watched him for a minute or two, and then grew red in the face as a fit of passion shook him.
“You condemned Dutchman!” he said.
Muller laughed. “Der combliment,” he said, “is nod of much use to-night.”
It was an hour later when Grant and several horsemen arrived, and he nodded as he glanced at the prisoner.
“I figured it was you. There’s not another man on the prairie mean enough for this kind of work,” he said, pointing to the kerosene-can. “You didn’t even know enough to do it decently, and you’re about the only American who’d have let an old man tie his hands.”
The prisoner winced perceptibly. “Well,” he said hoarsely, glancing towards the hayfork, rifle, and pistol, which still lay at Muller’s feet, “if you’re astonished, look at the blamed Dutchman’s armoury.”
“I’ve one thing to ask you,” Grant said sternly. “It’s going to pay you to be quite straight with me. Who hired you?”
There was defiance in the incendiary’s eyes, but Grant was right in his surmise that he was resolute only because that of the two fears which oppressed him he preferred to bear the least.
“You can ask till you get sick of it, but you’ll get nothing out of me,” he said.
“Take him out,” said Grant. “Put him on to the led horse. If you’ll come round to my place for breakfast, I’ll be glad to see you, Muller.”