"Whew, what a country!" began Ernest, then he stopped with a gasp.
Gustav, who was sitting up again, groaned weakly.
"I vas a chicken-fool, eh, Miss Charley?"
Roger crossed to the bed with a stride. "Look here, Schmidt," he said, "the sooner you get your things together and get out of here, the better I'll like it."
Gustav stood up. His jaw dropped. Then his eye fell on the papers in Roger's hand.
"I told you not to take off the shirt from me!" he cried.
"What's the matter, Rog?" asked Ernest.
"Matter? Matter? Why, this fellow is a thief. He's been stealing my ideas. Go on now! Get out of here!"
Ernest took the blood-stained papers and glanced at them hurriedly.
"Hold on! Be cool, Roger! Give Gustav a chance to explain."
"Explain! Explain what? Just how he stole these? Tear those papers up, Ernest, and take this Dutchman out of my sight. Get him out, I tell you."
Ernest hesitated. In all the years he had known Roger he never had seen him in a passion like this. Felicia flew over to Charley who stood with wide troubled eyes on Roger's distorted face. The child was white and trembling.
"Ernest!" thundered Roger.
With a glance at Gustav, Ernest began to tear up the papers.
"Roger! Please! Bitte! I can explain," began Gustav.
"Don't speak to me. I've heard vague stories of how German manufacturers get their ideas. This, I know: in the morning, you'll start for Archer's Springs, you skunk!"
"Oh, Rog!" protested Ernest.
"How dare you protest, Ernest?" Roger turned on his friend furiously. "You know what that engine means to me. You know the difficulty of patent protection and now this dirty hound--"
"Here! That I von't take from any man," cried Gustav. "You vas acting like a fool, Roger."
Roger lunged forward with his right fist swinging. But before Ernest could interfere, Charley had caught the clenched fist with both her hands, and was clinging to it with all her fine strength.
"Oh, Roger!" she cried. "Oh, Roger! Roger!"
Roger dropped his arm and stared at her for a moment. Her eyes, so like Felicia's, so unlike them, returned his furious gaze, unflinching. Suddenly, he grew pale and without a word, turned on his heel and left the tent.
He made his way to the engine house. Ernest had covered the engine with a tent fly, but Roger did not even glance at the idol of his heart. He made his way back where the roof still offered some protection from the storm and sat down on an empty box. An hour, then another slipped by, the sand sifting heavily on Roger as he crouched motionless, his head in his hands.