"Not a word. Hadn't time. Peter here didn't ast a thing either."
The youth laughed softly, and the man called Peter took up the story.
"Tain't no use arguin' with a feller loaded with kerosene in these forests," he said, in a low grumbling way. Then he reached down and snatched a brand from the fire and flung it out on the snow. His action was followed swiftly by a wolfish howl of dismay. Then he again turned his grizzled, whiskered face to the dark man beyond the fire. "You see, Father, it's our job keeping these forests from fire, an' it ain't easy. It don't much concern us who's out to fire 'em. That's for other folks. The feller with kerosene in these forests is goin' to get the stuff we ken hand him. That's all. Bob an' me got our own way fer actin'."
Bob laughed
"We sure have," he said. "But we don't allers pull it off. No. We've had ten fires on our range in two weeks. We've beat the fires, but we ain't smashed the 'bugs' that set 'em."
"Would they be all one feller? The feller that got it?" The dark man's eyes were serious. His tone was troubled.
Peter shook his head.
"No, sir. There's more'n one, sure. An' from the things I've heerd tell from the boys on the neighbourin' ranges it's happening all along through our limits. They tell me there's queer things doin' an' no one seems to locate the meaning right."
"What sort of things?"
The dark man spoke sharply. Peter's reply came after profound deliberation.