The priest was utterly at a loss. If Enok were the thief, then Rolandsen had only been making a jest of the letter he had sent him. And what for?
The heat was growing unbearable; the three men moved down towards the water, the fire at their heels. They were forced to get into the boat, and then to push off away from land altogether.
“Anyhow, this is Mack’s policy,” said the priest. “We must report what has happened. Row back home, Levion.”
Enok was annihilated, and sat staring gloomily before him. “Ay, let’s go and report it,” he said. “That’s all I want.”
The priest gave him a troubled look. “Do you, I wonder?” he said. And he closed his eyes in horror at the whole affair.
Enok, in his covetousness, had been too simple. He had carefully preserved the insurance paper that he could make nothing of. It was an imposing-looking document, with stamps on, and a great sum of money written there; who could say but he might be able to go away some day and sell it? It was surely too valuable to throw away.
The priest turned and looked back at the fire. Men were at work in the woods, trees were falling, and a broad trench was spreading darkly across. More helpers had come up to join in the work.
“The fire’ll stop of itself,” said Levion.
“Do you think so?”
“Soon as it gets to the birches it’ll stop.”