“I never heard of such a case,” sez the Friar; “although it may have been that many have had this gift to some extent. I think it is due to the peculiar blue of Olaf’s eyes. I think that this blue detects colors or rays, not visible to ordinary eyes. I wish that some scientist would study them.”
“I’ll pay your way back East, Olaf,” sez Horace, “if you’ll have your eyes tested.”
“No, no,” sez Olaf, shakin’ his head. “I don’t want to be a freak. What is the use? I can not tell how I do it, so it cannot be learned; and I do not want things put into my eyes for experiments. No, I will not do it.”
“Tell me how Badger-face looks to you,” sez Horace.
“Oh, he is bad,” sez Olaf. “He has the hate color, he loves to kill; but he is like the wolf; he does not like the fight, he wants always to kill in secret.”
“I bet my eyes are a little like yours,” sez Horace, noddin’ his head. “I knew ’at Badger-face was this way as soon as I saw him.”
“Oh, here now,” sez the Friar. “You are puttin’ down a special gift to the level of shrewd character-readin’.”
“What sort of a flame does a dead person have, Olaf?” sez Horace.
A queer look came into Olaf’s face, a half-scared look. “A dead person has no flame,” sez he, with a little shudder. “It is a bad sight. I have watched; I have seen the soul leave. When a man is killed, the savage purple color fades into the yellow of fear, then comes the blue, it gets fainter and fainter around the body; but it gathers like a cloud above, and then it is silver gray, like moonshine. It is not in the shape of the body, it is just a cloud. It floats away. That is all.”
“Well, that’s enough,” sez Horace. “Can you see any flame about a sleeping person?”