He grasped the paper that had been around the provisions and threw it into the stove. He opened the drafts, and reached for more paper. The stove roared—smoke and flame sprang up into the chimney and through the big hood.
“Watch her, Muggs—more paper when she needs it—and hold your gun ready, man! You’re all right?” Riley cried.
“I’ll watch ’er!”
Riley sprang into the other room. “Come!” he commanded Verbeck, and ran up the stairs again. Once more they looked into all the rooms on the second floor, and knew that nobody had been in any of them. Once more they ascended to the garret and looked into the two half-finished rooms there—and found nothing. Not a track was in the deep dust, not a cobweb had been brushed from a wall.
“What’s that door over there?” Riley asked, pointing across one of the rooms.
“Small closet—never used except to store toys in when I was a kid,” Verbeck answered.
“We’ll just—— No use, though! Look at those cobwebs on the doorknob! Nobody in there! This beats me! Let’s go down again!”
They retreated down the stairs, and went out on the veranda. No one had come from the house, the sergeant said. Smoke, and even flame, was pouring from the top of the chimney.
“All right, sergeant—return your men to their posts, but keep a close watch,” Riley said. “No—there isn’t anything much wrong.”
The sergeant knew there was, but he knew also that Riley did not talk when he preferred to remain silent. He sent the men back to their posts, and Riley and Verbeck reēntered the house and closed the door.