“I’m not sure that I know what you mean,” said Marian, puzzled by her question. Where had Patsy been? Surely the herd could not be seen from the camp, and she had not said she was going far from it; in fact, she had been left to watch camp.
“I’ve seen enough,” continued Marian, “to make me dreadfully angry. Something’s got to be done about it. Right away, too. As soon as we have a bite to eat we’ll talk it over.”
“I knew you’d feel that way about it,” said Patsy. “I think it’s a shame that they should hang about this way.”
“See here, Patsy,” exclaimed Marian, seizing her by the shoulder and turning her about, “what are we—what are you talking about?”
“Why, I—you—” Patsy stammered, mystified, “you just come out here and I’ll show you.”
Dragging her cousin out of the igloo and around the end of the willows, she pointed toward a hillcrest.
There, atop the hill, stood a newly erected tent, and at that very moment its interior was lighted by a strange purple light.
“The purple flame!” exclaimed Marian. “More trouble. Or is it all one? Is it Bill Scarberry who lights that mysterious flame? Does he think that by doing that he can frighten us from our range?”
“Bill Scarberry?” questioned Patsy, “who is he, and what has he to do with it?”
“Come on into the igloo and I’ll tell you,” said Marian, shivering as a gust of wind swept down from the hill.