"I've made a collection myself of the work of the Aleutians," said Burton, glad to find some abstract topic which would serve as a springboard for the intercourse which he meant to establish with Mr. Selby. "So naturally these things catch my eye. From the artistic standpoint they don't compare, of course, with the work of the Alaskan Indians, but they are good indications of the tribal development." As he talked he remembered suddenly the old Indian woman at the station, and Selby's rudeness. How he and Selby had clashed at every meeting!
"Where did you know the Indians?"
"Hereabouts. In the early days."
"Right here? In High Ridge?"
"High Ridge wasn't on the map then. The Indians lived all over this part of the country before the settlers came."
"And you really remember back to those days? It sounds very far back."
"Twenty-five years will cover a good deal of history in this part of the country. High Ridge has grown up inside of that time, and most of the people here don't know any more about Indians than you do." The words were innocent enough, but there was an insolence in the tone that made Burton feel that the ice of courtesy between them was thin as well as cool. He turned from the baskets and said abruptly:
"I suppose you heard that Henry Underwood's knife was found near the Sprigg house."
"Yes," said Selby, looking at Burton defensively under his eyebrows.
"It was the same knife you used to pry up the hearthstone with, the evening that your comrades(??) called on the doctor. You broke the point off you know. Do you remember whether you gave the knife to Henry or to the doctor when you left?" He tried to make his question sound casual.