Finally Big Jack remarked very casually: "Let's go outside for a bit."
The other two arose with alacrity and they issued out in a body. The sky was still bright. They covertly looked about, hoping to discover a sign of her presence, or some indication of the way she had gone.
Together they loafed down to the creek, and, crossing by the stepping-stones, walked out on the point beyond, whence they could see a long way down the shore. Toward the east the lake was like a sheet of armour-plate. Behind them the sky was paling from amber to clear jade.
Without confessing what was in his mind, each man searched the shore for a tell-tale wisp of smoke. Nothing was to be seen. Each wondered if she were watching him from concealment, laughing in her sleeve.
Returning at last, unsatisfied and irritable, a senseless dispute arose at the door over who should be the last to enter. Shand, suddenly losing his temper, gave Joe a push that sent the youth sprawling inside on his hands and knees. He sprang up livid and insane with rage.
Jack and Shand instinctively drew together. Joe, seeing the odds against him, leaped without a word toward the corner of the shack where the guns were kept. The other two paling, measured the distance back to the door. But Joe was held up in mid career.
Following his eyes, they saw that the corner was empty. Their thoughts took a sharp turn. They glanced at each other suspiciously.
"You did it, you traitor!" he cried, whirling around on Shand.
"You made way with the guns so you could pick us off one by one! You keep quiet, don't you, and work behind our backs! Jack, are you going to stand for it? He'll get you, too!"
Jack moved a little away from Shand, grim and suspicious.
"What grounds have you?" he demanded of Joe.
Joe had no grounds--except his anger. "I see it in his face!" he cried.
"It's a damned lie!" said the dark man thickly. "I play fair."
Joe renewed and enlarged his accusations. Husky, from the bed, merely to be on the stronger side, added his voice. Big Jack's silent anger was more dangerous than either. Once more the little shack was like a cauldron boiling over with the poisonous broth of hate.
Sam sat up in his bed, blinking--and angry, too. He felt he had been wakened once too often by their imbecile quarrelling.