All looked at him, the big old man over a pair of horn spectacles he had assumed, the others under their brows. Then the younger of the two remaining ones, a dark handsome man, though with a face spoilt by signs of debauchery and, perhaps, of rough living, said:
"Is monsieur a friend of his?"
"Scarcely that! Otherwise I might be riding on my way now, reckless of fog and reeking mist, reckless of missing my path and falling to the bottom of some abyss from one of your crags, to tell him he was in danger of his house being burned to the ground, of these mountain tops being lighted by the reflections of the flames from that burning house."
He had hit the mark when he mentioned the letter V as the first one of the name of the man they undoubtedly hated, knew it, saw it directly from their actions.
The man whose home was to be burned over his head, the man who they had said harried them, whom they had sworn that very evening to harry in God's good time, was, must be, De Bois-Vallée.
And Andrew laughed fiercely under his moustache as he thought to himself:
"Between us--with me first--he should not escape this time!"
[CHAPTER XV.]
"HE IS MINE. MUST BE MINE NOW!"
Nevertheless he knew that it was necessary for him to be very careful.