To make certain, she had set a gang of men to clear the woods in a belt behind the third ditch; a young growth of hemlock was being sacrificed, and the forest rang with axe-strokes, the cries of men, the splintering crash of the trees. "I think," said Burleson to Rolfe, who had just come up, "that we are ahead of the trouble now. Did you give my peaceful message to Abe Storm?" "No, sir; he wasn't to home--damn him!" The young man looked up quickly. "What's the trouble now?" he asked. "There's plenty more trouble ahead," said the keeper, in a low voice. "Look at this belt, sir!" and he drew from his pocket a leather belt, unrolled it, and pointed at a name scratched on the buckle. The name was "Abe Storm." "Where did that come from?" demanded Burleson. "The man that fired the vlaie grass dropped it. Barry picked it up on patrol. There's the evidence, sir. The belt lay on the edge of the burning grass." "You mean he dropped it last night, and Barry found it where the grass had been afire?" "No, sir; that belt was dropped two hours since. _The grass was afire again._" The color left Burleson's face, then came surging back through the tightening skin of the set jaws. "Barry put out the blaze, sir. He's on duty there now with Chase and Connor. God help Abe Storm if they get him over the sights, Mr. Burleson." Burleson's self-command was shaken. He reached out his hand for the belt, flung away his axe, and walked up the slope of the knoll where the fire-warden sat calmly watching him. For a few moments he stood before her, teeth set, in silent battle with that devil's own temper which had never been killed in him, which he knew now could never be ripped out and exterminated, which must, _must_ lie chained--chained while he himself stood tireless guard, knowing that chains may break. After a while he dropped to the ground beside her, like a man dead tired. "Tell me about these people," he said. "What people, Mr. Burleson? My own?" Her sensitive instinct had followed the little drama from her vantage-seat on the knoll; she had seen the patrol display the belt; she had watched the color die out and then flood the young man's face and neck; and she had read the surface signs of the murderous fury that altered his own visage to a mask set with a pair of blazing eyes. And suddenly, as he dropped to the ground beside her, his question had swept aside formality, leaving them on the very edge of an intimacy which she had accepted, unconsciously, with her low-voiced answer. "Yes--your own people. Tell what I should know I want to live in peace among them if they'll let me."