ud walls of one or two huts still
stood up. But all of them that were destructible had been devoured by
hungry flames.

After half an hour's search the two white men came to the edge of the
burnt-out forest. They paused, and John Kars' eyes searched amongst
the charred poles. Presently he shrugged his shoulders.

"No use going up this way. We can't learn more than we've read right
here. It's the work of the Bell River outfit, sure. That's if the
things we've heard are true." He turned to his companion. "Say, Bill,
it makes you wonder. What 'bug' is it sets folk yearning to get out
and kill, and burn, all the time? Think of it. Just think if you and
me started right in to holler, an' shoot, an' burn. What would you
say? We're crazy, sure. Yet these folk aren't crazy. They're just
the same as they were born, I guess. They weren't born crazy, any more
than we were. It gets me beat. Beat to death."

Bill Brudenell was overshadowed in stature by his friend. But his wit
was as keen. His mental faculties perhaps more mature. He might not
have been able to compete with John Kars in physical effort, but he
possessed a ripe philosophy, and a wonderful knowledge of human nature.

"The craziest have motives," he said, with a whimsical smile in his
twinkling eyes. "I've often noticed that folk who act queer, and are
said to be crazy, and maybe get shut up in the foolish-house, generally
have an elegant reason of their own for acting the way they do. Maybe
other folks can't get it right. I once had to do with a case in which
a feller shot up his mother, and was made out 'bug,' and was put away.
It worried me some. Later I found his ma made his life miserable. He
lived in terror of her. She'd broken bottles over his head. She'd
soused him with boiling water. She'd raised the devil generally,
till--well, till he reached the limit. Then I found she acted that way
because her dandy boy was sparking around some tow-headed female, and
guessed he intended marrying her, and setting her to run the home his
mother had always run for him. There's some sort of reason to most
crazy acts. Guess we'll need to chase up the Bell River outfit if
we're looking for the reason to this craziness."

"Yes."

Bill turned away and picked up a stained and rusted hatchet of
obviously Indian make. He examined it closely. John Kars stared about
him with brooding eyes.

"What do you think lies back of this?" he inquired pr