"You ought to have got yourself separated from him, Steve."
There was a pause. "Yes," said the prisoner, moodily. "I'm sitting here because one of us blundered." He cursed the blunderer. "Lighting his fool fire queered the whole deal," he added. As he again heavily cursed the blunderer, the others murmured to each other various "I told you so's."
"You'd never have built that fire, Steve," said one.
"I said that when we spied the smoke," said another. "I said, 'That's none of Steve's work, lighting fires and revealing to us their whereabouts.'"
It struck me that they were plying Steve with compliments.
"Pretty hard to have the fool get away and you get caught," a third suggested.
At this they seemed to wait. I felt something curious in all this last talk.
"Oh, did he get away?" said the prisoner, then.
Again they waited; and a new voice spoke huskily:—
"I built that fire, boys." It was the prisoner in the gray flannel shirt.
"Too late, Ed," they told him kindly. "You ain't a good liar."
"What makes you laugh, Steve?" said some one.
"Oh, the things I notice."
"Meaning Ed was pretty slow in backing up your play? The joke is really on you, Steve. You'd ought never to have cursed the fire-builder
