“Dog—mad?” stammered François, as though puzzled; “I do not understand. Eet is not ze dog zat go mad but zat terrible man who haf come to take my life!”
“Why should any one want to kill you?” asked Ethan; “did you forget to put seasoning in the soup; or was there too much cayenne pepper in the stew?”
“Parbleau! m’sieu, eet was all about ze hot water!”
“Please continue, because you have interested us very much,” urged Phil; “what happened with the scalding water?”
“I threw zat same all over ze strange dog zat come into ze camp. On my honor I hold up zis hand and swear I zink it a savage wolf; so on ze impulse of ze minute pouf! and all over heem it goes!”
“Oh! now we are beginning to see a little light, François; when did this happen?” Phil continued, just as a lawyer cross-questioning a witness gradually succeeds in drawing out the entire story.
“Zis afternoon, m’sieu. Ze guides zey laugh, and say I am one hero; but zey also wink at each uzzer. I suspicion zey know who ze dog belong to, and believe zat I hear again from eet. Sacre! I did!”
“You mean the owner of the scalded dog came to your camp, and demanded satisfaction?” Phil asked.
“Zat ees what happened. He was a terror I am assuring you. My flesh seemed to grow cold like ze ice, when I hear him roar zat he haf come to demand ze satisfaction for ze injury to hees dog.”
“Who did he say this to, François?”