Parker nodded understandingly; but Mead, who was city bred, looked mystified. "What is it?" he returned.
"A firebreak," explained the Irishman. "Someone didn't want the blaze to spread and scattered earth clear around the place, with a spade." Leaning over he picked up a clod and thumbed it significantly. "It hasn't been done a half hour. The dirt isn't even dry."
Brief as the time had been, already the frail walls were settling to embers. There was nothing to do; and standing there the three men looked understandingly into each other's faces. The same thought stood clear on all; for all alike knew every detail of the story.
"The Indian, How Landor," suggested Mead adequately.
"Yes," corroborated Parker, "and I'm glad of it. I'm not squeamish, but the Lord knows I'd never have used the place myself."
Of a sudden, O'Reilly, who had turned and was staring into the blaze, faced about. That second he had remembered.
"Where's Craig?" he queried swiftly, glancing back the way they had come. "Didn't he follow?"
Until that moment none of the three had thought of the other man. Now they realised that they were alone. But even then two of the trio did not understand.
"Evidently he didn't start," said Mead. "He couldn't have missed the light if he did."
"I remember now he was standing by the door when we left," added Parker.