Presently we were dismounting within the stockade. And as we greeted the men who stopped their work to hail us, it was plain what form of disaster had overtaken the Montell establishment. The standing walls of sixteen-inch logs were smoke-blackened and scorched by fire. The inside was gutted to the floor-joists; the roof gone. A pile of charred poles and timbers laid to one side testified mutely to cause and effect. “Well, Ben,” Barreau addressed one man who came forward. “How did it happen?” “She burned, that’s all. ’N’ the stable, too,” Ben made laconic answer. He drew a plug of tobacco from his hip pocket, looked it over with a speculative eye, bit off a piece, and returned it to the pocket. As he masticated the piece contemplatively, Barreau watched him with a whimsical smile. “Yes, sir,” he went on, “she took fire in the night, with the boys sleepin’ in the doghouse, an’ me in the front part uh the store. It started to rain pretty tol’able hard, or I reckon there wouldn’t be nothin’ left but a pile uh ashes.” “In the night, eh?” Barreau repeated thoughtfully. The three of us walked around the building and peered in through a charred doorway. “Quite so,” Barreau continued. “Save anything? There wasn’t much to save, I know.” “Most all the stuff,” Ben replied. “Injun name uh Tall Trees drifted in day after yuh all left. He traded out most everythin’ we could spare. An’ the pelts was easy to get out. Some grub was burned. Not much, though. We got plenty left.” “A very nasty thing, fire,” Barreau commented. “How do you think it started, Ben?” “I ain’t thinkin’,” said Ben. “I _know_.” “The deuce you do!” Neither Barreau’s tone nor face bespoke more than the mildest surprise. “Had a big fire going, I suppose, and a live coal flew out. Eh?” “Nary coal,” Ben declared. “Some feller climbed the stockade, cut open one uh them deer-skin winders, touched a match to a bucket uh oil an’ gunpowder, boosted it through the window—an’ there yuh are. That there’s no dream, let me tell yuh.” “And then went on his way rejoicing,” Barreau suggested. “I reckon he did, all right,” Ben owned, looking rather downcast at the thought. “I never got to see nothin’ but his tracks. If I’d seen _him_ he wouldn’t ’a’ done much rejoicin’.” “I dare say,” Barreau laughed. “Meantime the joke is on the party of the first part, it seems to me. Logs are plenty. You have ample time to put on a roof and lay some sort of floor. It would be a different matter if we should be burned out after our goods arrive; but this is a cheap lesson. I see you have put up a good stock of hay. That’s fortunate, for they are bringing more stock than we figured on. Altogether, Ben, you haven’t done so badly. Now, hustle us some decent grub—it’s near noon, and this boy and I have been living on straight meat for some time.”