He did not take a seat but stood, studiously appraising the place while
he seemed to see little. After the depression attendant upon Bud's
desertion had followed an almost electric keenness; every gesture was
guarded and every nerve set now against any self-betrayal, for he felt
himself fencing in the dark with wily adversaries.
He sauntered idly over near the door to the baggage-room and beyond its
panels he could hear the scurry of rats at play among loose piles of
boxes and litter.
"Sounds like the rats are having a party in there," he suggested as
though laudibly resolved upon making conversation in a taciturn circle.
"Mebby they be." Still only one of the countrymen had spoken a
syllable.
"I'd like to put a good rat-dog in there and watch him work," laughed
Brent, turning again to face the door as though he found fascination in
the thought. Then idly he laid his hand on the knob as though to try
its opening, but he went no further. Just at the side of the lintel
hung a broken and extremely dirty mirror and a quick glance into its
revealing surface told him a full story.
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