“An’ it’s Mike, the crazy fool thot did it, an’ I’ll bet money on it,” he declared, goggling around at his audience.  “An’ what’s more, the rest of ye had betther be travelin’ wit’ yer eyes open, fer he’s crazy as a loon, an’ he’ll kill anny one that crosses his trail.  An’ didn’t I notice just this marnin’ that his rifle was gone wit’ him—­me dom eyes bein’ so near blind thot I c’uldn’t see in the corner where it was, an’ only fer wantin’ a belt that hung on a nail there, I w’uldn’t av been feelin’ around at all where the gun sh’uld be standin’.  An’ it’s gone, an’ I mind me now the talk he was makin’ about sphies in the woods, an’ thot the gurrl had betther look out, an’ the feller up on the peak had betther look out, an’ me thinkin’ he was talkin’ becawse av the railroad tie thot hit ‘im wanct, an’ hushed ’im up whin I sh’uld ‘a’ been takin’ ‘im in to the crazy house, I dunno.  An’ if he’s kilt the gurrl an’ the missus’ boy, like he kilt Hank Brown, it’s like he’s found the cave the lad was livin’ in, an’ is sthayin’ holed up there, I dunno—­fer he ain’t been near the cabin, an’ unlest a tree er a fallin’ limb kilt him, he’d have to be sthayin’ somewheres.  Fer he’s kilt the gurrl an’ the boy, an’ I’ll bet money on it, I dunno.”

“Looks that way, Murphy—­” began one, but he was stopped by a cry that thrilled them with the terrible grief that was in the voice,—­grief and hope that was dying hard.

Mrs. Singleton Corey, having stood just within the other room listening, made two steps toward Murphy and fell fainting to the kitchen floor.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

TROUBLE FINDS THE GOLD THAT WAS IN THEM

After that nothing seemed to matter.  The days slipped by and Mrs. Singleton Corey cared so little that she did not count them or call them by name.  She would sit by the one window that faced the Basin and watch the trail beaten in the deep snow by the passing of many feet, and brood over the days when she might have won Jack and by the very closeness of their love have saved him from this.  Had she done her part, Jack would not have lied to her about that trip to Venice; he would not have dreamed of such a thing.  It hurt terribly to think how close she had been to happiness with Jack and how unthinkingly she had let it slip from her while she centered her interest upon other things that held no comfort for her now—­now when all she asked of life was to give her back her son alive.

Men came and went, and answered the heartbreaking question in her big brown eyes with cheerful words that did not, somehow, cheer.  The storm was over, they told her, and now they would have a better chance.  She mustn’t think of what Murphy said—­Murphy was an old fool.  She mustn’t give up.  And even while they talked she knew by their eyes that they had given up long ago, and only kept up the pretense of hopeful searching for her sake.