During the morning, Rayton went over to the Harley place. The sun was glowing with a heat as of September, and the snow was already a mixture of slush and mud. Dick Goodine went about his business; and Mr. Banks sat by the kitchen stove, smoking and struggling with his puzzle. Rayton found Jim Harley in the barnyard. Jim's greeting was emotional. He gripped the Englishman's hand, and looked steadily into his face with troubled eyes.
"I was just going over to see you," he said. "I'm glad you're here. I—I feel pretty bad about you, Reginald—mighty bad, I can tell you!"
"For Heaven's sake, Jim, what's the trouble?" asked Rayton. "What have I done—or what d'you think I've done?"
Harley flushed. "You know what the trouble is—what is worrying me," he said. "You have not done anything. I am thinking of the marked card, as you know very well."
Rayton laughed, and slapped the other on the back.
"Laugh, if you choose," returned Harley; "but I tell you it is no laughing matter. Have you forgotten what I told you about those red crosses? Have you forgotten the manner of my father's death? Great heavens, man, it is nothing to laugh about! Those marks have brought two men to their death. And there's Marsh! He came within an inch of being drowned that day his pole broke. Of course, you think I am a fool. You may call me one if you want to. But, for God's sake, get out of here until the danger passes! That's all I ask, Rayton. Get out! Get away from this settlement for a little while!"
The smile left the Englishman's face, and he gaped at his friend in utter astonishment.
"Get out?" he repeated, in a dazed voice. "Get out? What for? What good would that do to any one? What—in the name of all that's sensible—are you driving at?"
"Get away from here—away from me—and save yourself," replied Harley. "Don't you understand? This trouble is all our fault—all due to my sister. Don't you see that? Then get away from us! Drop us, and clear out!"
"To save myself from the curse of the little red marks on the card, I suppose?"