hem?" said Clare
nervously.

"They won't shoot," said Stonor contemptuously. "Stage business is more
their line; conjure-tricks."

Imbrie, seeing that the game was up, had given over trying to taunt
Stonor, and lay watching them with an unabashed grin. He seemed rather
proud of his scheme, though it had failed.

"Can I smoke?" he said.

"Mary, fill his pipe, and stick it in his mouth," said Stonor.

They heaped up a big fire, and at Stonor's initiative, sat around it
clearly revealed in the glare. He knew his Indians. At first Clare
trembled, thinking of the possible hostile eyes gazing at them from
beyond the radius of light, but Stonor's coolness was infectious. He
joked and laughed, and, toasting slices of bacon, handed them round.

"We can eat all we want to-night," he said. "Tole will be along with a
fresh supply to-morrow."

Imbrie lay about fifteen paces from the fire, near enough to make
himself unpleasant, if not to hear what was said. "Mighty brave man by
the fire," he sneered.

Stonor answered mildly. "One more remark like that, my friend, and I'll
have to retire you again from good society."

Imbrie held his tongue thereafter.

Clare, wishing to show Stonor that she too could set an example of
coolness, said: "Let's sing something."

But Stonor shook his head. "That would look as if we were trying to keep
our courage up," he said, smiling, "and of course it is up. But let Mary
tell us a story to pass the time."

Mary, having reflected that it was her own people and not ghostly
visitants that had made the hideous interruption in the night, had
regained her outward stolidity. She was not in the humour for telling
stories, though.

"My mout' too dry," she said.

"Go ahead," coaxed Stonor. "You know your own folks better than I do.
You know that if we sit here by the fire, eating, talking, and laughing
like a pleasant company, it will put respect into their hearts. They'll
have no appetite for further devilry."

"Can't tell stories," she said. "Too late, too dark, too scare. Words
won't come."

"Just tell us why the rabbits have a black spot on their backs. That's a
short one."

After a little more urging Mary began in her stolid way:

"One tam Old Man him travel in the bush. Hear ver' queer singin'. Never
hear not'ing like that before. Look all round see where it come. Wah! he
see cottontail rabbits singing and making medicine. They mak' fire. Got
plenty hot ashes. They lie down in thos