a dozen times
the little devils of eagerness working in his blood prompted him to
take to the window at once.

For three days and nights thereafter he kept his secret and added to
his strength. Doctor Cardigan came in to see him at intervals, and
Father Layonne visited him regularly every afternoon. Mercer was his
most frequent visitor. On the third day two things happened to create a
little excitement. Doctor Cardigan left on a four-day journey to a
settlement fifty miles south, leaving Mercer in charge--and Mooie came
suddenly out of his fever into his normal senses again. The first event
filled Kent with joy. With Cardigan out of the way there would be no
immediate danger of the discovery that he was no longer a sick man. But
it was the recovery of Mooie from the thumping he had received about
the head that delighted Mercer. He was exultant. With the quick
reaction of his kind he gloated over the fact before Kent. He let it be
known that he was no longer afraid, and from the moment Mooie was out
of danger his attitude was such that more than once Kent would have
taken keen pleasure in kicking him from the room. Also, from the hour
he was safely in charge of Doctor Cardigan's place, Mercer began to
swell with importance. Kent saw the new danger and began to humor him.
He flattered him. He assured him that it was a burning shame Cardigan
had not taken him into partnership. He deserved it. And, in justice to
himself, Mercer should demand that partnership when Cardigan returned.
He, Kent, would talk to Father Layonne about it, and the missioner
would spread the gospel of what ought to be among others who were
influential at the Landing. For two days he played with Mercer as an
angler plays with a treacherous fish. He tried to get Mercer to
discover more about Mooie's reference to Kedsty. But the old Indian had
shut up like a clam.

"He was frightened when I told him he had said things about the
Inspector," Mercer reported. "He disavowed everything. He shook his
head--no, no, no. He had not seen Kedsty. He knew nothing about him. I
can do nothing with him, Kent."

He had dropped his "sirs," also his servant-like servility. He helped
to smoke Kent's cigars with the intimacy of proprietorship, and with
offensive freedom called him "Kent." He spoke of the Inspector as
"Kedsty," and of Father Layonne as "the little preacher." He swelled
perceptibly, and Kent knew that each hour of that swelling added to his
own danger.