"You did!" she cried. All about her she could feel the smoothness of a falling trap.
Mart smiled still more broadly.
"Look here, Olga, don't get so warm over it. You're nervous now. Tell the gentlemen who made those tracks."
She turned to Munn desperately. "What do you want to know for?" she asked him.
The sharpness of her voice roused old Mrs. Brenner, drowsing in her corner.
"Blood!" she cried suddenly. "Blood on his hands!"
In the silence that followed, the eyes of the men turned curiously toward the old woman and then sought each other with speculative stares. Mrs. Brenner, tortured by those long significant glances, said roughly, "That's Mart's mother. She ain't right! What are you bothering us for?"
Dick Roamer put out a hand to plead for her, and tapped Munn on the arm. There was something touching in her frightened old face.
"A man—a stranger was killed upon the hill," Munn told her.
"What's that got to do with us?" she countered.