"You did it, you traitor!" he cried, whirling around on Shand.
"You made way with the guns so you could pick us off one by one! You keep quiet, don't you, and work behind our backs! Jack, are you going to stand for it? He'll get you, too!"
Jack moved a little away from Shand, grim and suspicious.
"What grounds have you?" he demanded of Joe.
Joe had no grounds—except his anger. "I see it in his face!" he cried.
"It's a damned lie!" said the dark man thickly. "I play fair."
Joe renewed and enlarged his accusations. Husky, from the bed, merely to be on the stronger side, added his voice. Big Jack's silent anger was more dangerous than either. Once more the little shack was like a cauldron boiling over with the poisonous broth of hate.
Sam sat up in his bed, blinking—and angry, too. He felt he had been wakened once too often by their imbecile quarrelling.
"For Heaven's sake, what's the matter now?" he demanded.
"Shand stole the guns!" cried Joe.