“Can’t say. Wait till to-morrow.”
“I guess it is very slight,” said Hugh.
“But it will show, I suppose?”
“Of course it will.”
“I don’t want it to show. I might be blamed for it.”
“You!” said Billy, astonished. “Why, how could you be blamed?”
“Fellows, I’ll tell you,” Alec replied soberly. “It’s this way: When Dick Bellamy and I put out the council-fire this evening, after the Lieutenant had left us, we were so darned tired we didn’t take any extra great pains in doing it. All we did was to sprinkle a little water over the embers, throw dirt on them, and tread them down. Oh, yes, I,—I mean Dick,—did pile a few stones around them, but that was all. I heard Rawson say he thought it was going to rain to-night. Now if anyone can prove that this little blaze started from sparks from the camp-fire,—which will be pretty hard to prove, after all,—there’ll be the dickens to pay, and I’ll lose——” He cut his explanation short with a glance in the direction of the guide’s tent.
“Didn’t you hear footsteps?” he asked nervously.
Mechanically, the three listened. There was, indeed, a muffled tread upon rustling leaves.
“Cook’s asleep, anyway,” remarked Billy, as a stertorious rumbling greeted their ears. “Perhaps Joe’s sneaking out on the war-path!”