As Marcy had expected, his arrival at the hitching-rack in front of the post-office was the signal for which Tom Allison, Mark Goodwin, and a few others like them had been waiting. They opened the door and ran across the street in a body, highly excited of course, and all talking at once.
"What happened out your way last night?" was the first question he could understand.
"Fire," was the reply. "Didn't you see it?"
"You're right, I did," said Tom.
"Then why didn't you come out?" inquired Marcy. "I didn't see you or any other white man about there."
"I'll bet you didn't," exclaimed Goodwin. "When two houses owned by prominent men, and standing a mile and a half apart, get on fire almost at the same moment in the dead hour of night——"
"And while their owners are absent from home," chimed in Tom.
"And while their owners are away from home on business," added Mark, "it means something, doesn't it? We stayed pretty close about our hearth-stones, I bet you, for we didn't know how soon our own buildings might get a-going. Where were you when it happened?"
"I was at home, where you were," replied Marcy.
"And wasn't your house set too?"