It was true, of course, that summer visitors were few. The bulk of Frischette’s trade had come during the early fall and winter and just before the spring break-up. However, even if there were no guests at the road-house, there was always the chance that one might come—an occasional straggler—and it was not reasonable to suppose that both Fontaine and Le Sueur would leave the place for any length of time.
Yet, that was exactly what they had done. They were neglecting their business. Toma scowled at the ground, and one moccasined foot beat an impatient tattoo along the surface of the rail beneath him. He decided after a time that, low on supplies, they had gone over to Fort Good Faith to replenish their larder. But the absence of Rand was not so easily explained, unless he was out searching for Burnnel and Emery.
Shaking his head, Toma hopped down off the corral fence and strode back in the direction of the house. This time he had a purpose in mind. He would enter the kitchen and prepare himself a belated breakfast. He had not eaten since early the night before and was tremendously hungry. He entered the kitchen, kindled a fire in the large iron cook stove and methodically set about his task.
In the middle of his preparations he paused, pricking up his ears. Had he heard something—a slight scraping sound? He stood perfectly still, listening patiently. Then, as the sound was not repeated, he decided that he had been mistaken. He returned to his task, and in a short time breakfast was ready. He set a place for himself on the table in the adjoining room, and was returning to the kitchen for his rasher of bacon and pot of coffee, when he heard the sound again.
This time there was no doubt in his mind. He had heard aright. The sound issued from the room which had formerly been used by Frischette for his office and private sleeping apartment. It was the only room in the house that he had not explored. He bounded quickly forward, seizing the knob of the door. He bent his weight against it.
He stood back, scratching his head in perplexity. It was locked. Something or someone was inside there. He called out softly. But, although he imagined he heard the faint, scraping sound again, no voice answered him.