 CHAPTER IX. THE CHASE BEGINS. THURSDAY MORNING. The four men were in the smoking-car, spinning along toward Milwaukee. Beverage handed to Dick a cigar, then, after a little. Say, Smiley, I'm doing a rather odd thing with you. Are you? Yes, in taking you off here, instead of having you locked right up in Chicago. Dick waited. You see, I have thought this business over pretty carefully, I have thought you over pretty carefully, and I like you. Now I have some time on this case, and I understand it, I think. I understand you, and Mick Glory, and Stensenberger, and the lot of you. But there is one place where I'm still weak. That is Spencer, and his place is up there in Lake Huron. That is the only thing we haven't run down. I could get it, of course, in time, but it would take time, and that's just what I don't want to take now. I'm depending on you to set me right. Of course, it's your privilege, if you want, to shut your mouth up tight. But I don't take you for that sort of chap. I have a way of my own of going at these things. There are some of our men would bully you, but that isn't my way, not with you. I'll tell you right here, that any help you can give me will be a mighty good thing for you in the long run. What do you expect me to tell you? You will know at the proper time. All I want to find out now is whether you are going to stand by me and help me through with it or not. Why, I will do what I can. What does that mean exactly? I will tell you all I know. All right, sir. Now we understand each other, and I'll do what I can to make it easy for you. There's one thing. What is it? What are you going to do with us in Milwaukee? If we have to stop overnight, why will go to a hotel? Not the jail, eh? No. Beverage gave his prisoner a keen glance, then shook his head. No, that won't be necessary. The foot was not at Milwaukee. Apparently she was not at Sheboygan, Manitowoc, Sturgeon Bay, or Marinette. Throughout the night, while Dick and Harper were shut up with Wilson on the top floor of the hotel, Beverage haunted the telegraph office downstairs. Simultaneous messages went out to Tosita River, Green Bay, two rivers, Kiwenaugh, to every little town along the West Shore, even back to Kenosha, Racine, and Waukegan. Then Beverage thought of the East Shore, and tried all the ports from Harbor Springs down to St. Joseph, but with no success. He dropped on the lounge in the hotel office for a cat nap now and then, and finally at half past five in the morning he was called to the telephone and informed that the foot had just been sighted heading in toward the breakwater. Promptly he aroused his prisoners, who obligingly tumbled into their clothes, and the party drove down to the river and boarded a tug. A little time was to be saved by meeting the revenue cutter before she could get in between the piers, so out they went, past silent wharves and sleepy bridge-keepers, out into the gold of the sunrise. There was the foot nearly in, her old-fashioned engine coughing hard, her side-wheels beating the water to a foam, making her very best speed of nine miles an hour. She caught the signal from the tug, stopped, backed, and let down her companion ladder. Captain Sullivan, a grizzled veteran bearing evidences of hasty dressing, was at the rail to meet them. Well, said Beverage, I might be glad to see you, Captain. I didn't know whether you were on Earth or not. I got your message at Sturgeon Bay and came right down. Did you answer? Of course, somewhat testily. You gave me no Milwaukee address. I sent it to Lakeville. That so? They should have forwarded it. They must have gone to sleep down there. I know nothing about that. I'll clear down there. All right, Mr. Erickson. The tug backed away, the paddle-wheels revolved again, and the old steamer swung around in a wide circle. You haven't told me where you want to go, Mr. Beverage. Captain Sullivan was taking in Smiley and Harper with an eye that knew no compromise. We'll do that now, Captain. Mr. Smiley here is going to help us out a little if you will show us your chart of Lake Huron. He is, was the captain's reply. Then he termed abruptly and led the way up to the chart-room. The chart was spread out and the three men bent over it. You know, Mr. Smiley, said Beverage, can you put your finger on Spencer's place? Dick did so. There's a harbour there, you say. What's that nonsense? Broken, Captain Sullivan, a harbour behind false Middle Island. Yes, Dick replied, a good one. You'd better tell that to the hydraulic office. I don't need to tell it to anybody. I've been in there with my schooner. Captain was that young man? This month? The captain turned away with a shrug and joined his lieutenant on the bridge. We'll make for false Middle Island, Mr. Erickson, just beyond seventy-mile point. Very well, sir. Deliberately, very deliberately, the foot coughed and rumbled northward, and Milwaukee fell away a stern. She could not hope to catch the Marianne if the southerly breeze should hold. The schooner was running light, and even though she might have made but eighty or ninety miles during the night, she was by this time more than a breast of Milwaukee, and on the east side of the lake, where she had the advantage in the run for the Straits of Mackinac. Do you think, asked Beverage, when the captain had gone to the bridge, that we can overhaul her in the Straits? Dick shook his head. Hardly. She has had a pretty steady breeze all night. But it isn't very strong. It doesn't need to be. There is nothing she likes better than running before just such a breeze. And when the sun is well up, it will blow harder. Are you sure? Yes. This here is sort of an old tub, too. Dick sniffed. You have to watch the bubbles to see which way she's going. Beverage studied the chart. See here, he said. Where's the Canadian hangout? Dick laid his finger on the indentation that represented Burnt Cove. Beyond the—what's this? Duck Island? Just beyond the Duck Islands. Which place do you think he will make for? Well, I can only tell you what I think. Go ahead. What make a glory will do will be to head for Spencer and take off the old man. And then run over to Burnt Cove? That's what I think. Burnt Cove is in Canada, you see. Yes, I see it is. The boundary line runs down west and south of Manitoulin Island. If you want to stop him very bad, you'd better have Captain Sullivan go over to the boundary, close to Outer Duck Island, and then head for Spencer. In that way we shall be approaching Spencer along the line the glory must take if he tries to make the Cove. And if it is not night, we ought to stand a good chance of sighting him. I figure that we ought to get up there just about in time. Of course he doesn't know that we're so hot on his trail, mused Beverage. Dick sniffed again. If you call this hot. The Captain returned from the bridge and Beverage repeated Dick's suggestion. How are we to know this schooner? She sky-blue with a white line. Is she fast? She don't need paddle-wheels to beat this. This remark did not please Captain Sullivan. He turned away. I don't know how you feel, smiley, said Beverage, but I didn't get much sleep last night, did you? Precious little. Within a few moments while the colors of the dawn were fading, while the foot was pounding heavily along northwest by north, the special agents and their two prisoners were sleeping like children. At two o'clock Thursday morning the foot lay with motionless engines and lights extinguished to the southward of Jenny Graham Shoal near Outer Duck Island. Smiley and Harper, with Wilson close at hand, stood leaning on the rail, watching a launch that the crew were lowering to the water. Well, said Dick in a low voice, it looks as if we might get them. Shouldn't wonder, Wilson replied, he too was subdued by the strain. Pretty dark, though. This isn't all on their side. No, perhaps it isn't. Going to put out both launches, eh? It looks that way. Cautiously and swiftly the sailors worked, one launch and then the other was lowered into the water. Pretty neat, ain't it? whispered Pink. Why, with this wind, you've got to run in right by one or other of the boats to get to Burnt Cove. Would they let us sail the Anne around, think, if they get her back? Dick shook his head. Father Aft, beverage, was talking to Captain Sullivan. It's the only thing to do, Captain. With him along we can't miss her. I have nothing more to say. I don't like it, but he's your man. One thing more, Captain. It won't hardly be necessary to send an officer with me. But, you see, Wilson and myself and about four Husky sailors, a couple of them to run the launch, will be enough. Why not just leave it that way? You might tell your men there to take my orders. This meaning was obvious to the Captain, but he hesitated. This man beverage was young and bump-tuous. Irregular things had sometimes to be done, but it were best that they should be done by a second officer. Still, it was Beverage's case. They walked together toward the prisoners. Smiley, said Beverage, I'm going to take you along. I guess there isn't much doubt you could tell your schooner in the dark. Teller in the dark? exclaimed Pink. Why, he knows the squeak of every block. So Dick went. The Captain added a fifth sailor for safety and took time to give him a few quiet instructions before he joined the launch. Then they pushed off and slipped away into the night. For four hours after that the only sound heard aboard the foot, where Pink, sleepless, hung over the rail, guarded by a deep-chested sailor, was the occasional puff-puff of one of the launches as it changed its post. A dozen pairs of eyes were searching the dark, looking for any craft that might be coming from Michigan. As Captain Sullivan suspected, Beverage's launch was over the Canadian boundary half an hour after she lost sight of the ship. Then Beverage drew Dick back near the boiler. Tell me this, Smiley, do you think those fellows could possibly have got through before now? I haven't much doubt of it. What makes you think so? Because of the wind. It has never let down a minute since they started. If they lost no time at Spencer's, they could have done it easily. That's what I thought. Well, you take the wheel and pilot us into Burnt Cove. Sure, if you want me to. Dick took the wheel. The fifth sailor spoke up. You can't do that, sir. Can't do what, said Beverage. Take the wheel, sir. Powers is to keep the wheel. That's the orders. There's nobody but me giving orders here. Sorry, sir, but Powers has got to keep the wheel. We don't have any talk about this, young man. I'm a special agent of the United States Treasury Department, and I'm running this business. Powers can sit down. The sailor's orders evidently did not warrant him to resist further. Dick looked about for his bearings. Dimly, he could make out the islands to the left. What does she draw, he asked? Two feet. With only two feet of draft, he could take chances. He was directly on the course that the Marianne had taken in leaving the Cove, and he felt certain with the compass before him as if he had made the trip by night a hundred times. There was very little sea, and the launch made good progress. You might tell the engineer to crowd her all he can, he said to Beverage. It's quite a run. Once Dick glanced back and he winced. There sat Wilson on his left hand and nod a yard away with a rifle across his knees. At this moment, Beverage returned from a whispered consultation with the engineer and scowled at his assistant. That isn't necessary, Bert, said he, put it up. The overzealous young man laid the rifle in the seat beside him, and Beverage, after a moment of hard thinking, his eyes fixed on Dick's muscular back, came up beside the wheel and leaned on the comings. Dick's gaze left the compass only for the darkness ahead, where the outline of something that he knew to be a coastline was, to his trained eye, taking shape. Say, smiley, the special agent's voice was lowered, his tone was friendly. Don't let that bother you, nobody is holding a gun on you here, that isn't my way, with you. Dick's eyes were fixed painfully on the compass. I just want you to know that it was a mistake, these guns aren't for you. Beverage, having said enough, was now silent. Apparently too boyish for his work, often careless in his talk, he was handling smiley right, and so well did he know it, that he was willing to lounge there at his prisoner's elbow and watch the course in silence. If Beverage was ambitious, greedy for success and promotion, frequently unscrupulous as to the means to be employed, as now, when he was deliberately going into English territory, and almost unheard of and certainly unlawful performance, hard even, merciless so long as he regarded only his case. He was also impulsive and sometimes warm-hearted when appealed to on the personal side. He had, before now, gone intuitively to the heart of problems that stronger minds than his, relying on reasoning alone, had been unable to solve. Much as a bank teller detects instantly a counterfeit bill or coin, he picked his man. He was quick to feel the difference between a right-minded man, who had fallen into wrong ways, and the really wrong-minded man. His course tonight was a triumph. He had given his prisoner the means to lead his little party to destruction, but he knew perfectly that nothing of the sort would be done. More, the only man aboard, who could prove in court that he had gone over that vague thing, the boundary line, was this same prisoner, who should, by all sensible thinking, be the last man to trust with such information. And yet he felt perfectly comfortable as he leaned out a little way and watched the foam slipping away from the bow. The launch went on toward the increasing shadows, plunged through the surf and glided into the cove. See anything, whispered beverage? Not a thing, smiley replied. She isn't here, eh? No, neither of them. Neither of what? Neither the Anne nor the Estelle, Spencer Schooner. Shall we go back outside? Yes. You speak to the engineer, then. This bell makes too much noise. They backed cautiously around and returned through the surf to deep water. Lie up a little way off the shore here, said beverage. We'll cut them off if they try to get in. For a moment nothing was said. Then this from smiley. Do you mind my saying a word? No, what? It has just struck me. We're wasting time here. You think so? I know so. Why? It stands to reason that McClory would expect to be chased, don't it? Of course. Well, then he is not going to put right over here after he has taken off old Spencer, is he? It's almost like running back on his course, amounts to the same thing. But he is likely to come here, isn't he? I should think so. Well, impatiently, how else could he do it? Easily enough. He could go right on east from Spencer's place and make for Owen Channel up near the head of Georgian Bay. That's at the other end of this island. Manitoulin Island? Is it as big as that? Yes, it lies all across this end of Lake Huron. If he went through Owen Channel, he could get around into the North Channel and then down into Bayfield Sound and Lake Woolsey. Bayfield Sound, you see, pretty nearly cuts the island in halves. It is right opposite here, only a few miles over land. That would be a long way around, but it is the safe way. You see, I've been thinking. Well, what? Why, he would be likely to think, just like I did, that when you had got up here, you wouldn't be able to resist coming on across the line. You seem to know these routes pretty well for a man who has been to Spencer's only once. I saw it on the chart the other day. A man couldn't help figuring that out. What would you suggest doing? Putting for Spencer's just as tight as your old stationery wash tub can make it. But hold on, now. If you think they have got away from there a long ago... I think that, but I'm not sure. Supposing they have, then you've lost them anyhow. Don't you see? But suppose there was a delay in getting away there. It's more than likely McGlory and Spencer wouldn't agree. McGlory isn't the agreeing kind, and I don't think Spencer is either. It will be daylight before so very long, and with this wind they can't get here, if they're coming here at all, without our sighting them on the way over. And there is just a fighting chance of catching them before they make for Georgian Bay or some other place we don't know of. Beverage thought a moment. There is something in that. We'll do it. At mid-morning the foot stopped her engines abreast of a false middle island and Captain Sullivan sent for Beverage. You tell me there is a harbor in there? That's what I understand, but it won't be necessary to take the steamer in. The captain's expression showed that he had not the slightest notion of taking her in. I think, Beverage went on, that you had better put me ashore with a few men in there, north of the island. I'll go around behind the sand dunes and come on the place from the woods. Then, if they should be there, and if they should try to run out, you can stop them. I'll have Smiley guide me. You're going to take him ashore with you? That's what I'm going to do. I don't believe in this. Beverage said nothing. Oh, very well. I'll have a boat ready. Smiley was called, and Beverage drew him aside and outlined his plan. Shortly Wilson joined them, and a half-dozen sailors were picked from the crew. Then, all but Smiley, armed with rifles and revolvers, they descended to the small boat and were brought rapidly to the shore. Which way? asked Beverage, sticking close at Smiley's elbow. I'll show you. Come along. He led the way back among the pines and made a circuit bringing up squarely on the landward side of the settlement. Where is it now, Smiley? Right there. Beverage peered out through the trees, then it beckoned his men together. Come in close, boys, and pick your trees. Keep out of sight, and quiet. Take my rifle, one of you. Shall we go in? asked Wilson. You stay here, Bert. Hadn't you better take your rifle? No, I don't want it. Quiet now. The men spread out, taking places where they could command the outbuildings. Smiley? Yes. Which is Spencer's house, where he lives himself. The biggest one. You can see the roof over the shed there. All right, much obliged. Beverage walked rapidly out into the clearing and disappeared around the shed. They heard him mount Spencer's front steps and knock. He's plucky enough, muttered dick. Oh, don't you worry about Bill Beverage, said Wilson. Why, I've seen him. But Beverage was calling for them to join him. Nobody here? asked Wilson. Not a soul. I took a look around the house. They left in a hurry. See there? He nodded toward the harbour. There lay the Marianne at the wharf. The smaller schooner was not to be seen. Too late, eh? said Wilson. Too late. Suppose they've gone over land? Not a bit of it. They left Smiley's schooner here and went off in Spencer's. Oh, he had one too? Certainly he did. Dick had made headlong for the schooner. Now they saw him standing on the after-deckhouse, reading a paper which he had found nailed to the mast. What have you there? called Beverage. Come and see. The special agent joined him and took the paper. It's hard enough to read. Whoever wrote this was in a big hurry. What's this? Left again. You'd better foot it home, Whiskey Jim. Whiskey Jim, eh? He's stealing your thunder, Smiley. Will you let me see it again? said Dick. He sat down on the edge of the deck-house and read it over, gazing at it with fascinated eyes. The other men watched him curiously. End of Chapter 9. The Mary Ann, Chapter 10. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Read by Betsy Bush. April, 2010. The Mary Ann by Samuel Merwin. Chapter 10. Thursday Night. The Gingham Dress. Well, said Wilson, what do you think? We'll do our thinking later. Take these men and search the place. Smiley and I will wait here. You don't expect them to find anything, do you? asked Dick when the others had gone. Can't say. We've lost the men, but we may get some evidence. Where do you think they are? Where could they be but in Canada? Dick was silent. Say, Smiley, I like the way you're acting in this business. If anything on earth will make it any brighter for you, it is what you are doing now. You might even go a step farther if you should feel like it any time. It's plain that Micka Glory and Spencer are pretty deep in, and if you would come out and tell all you know, it might help you a lot. I have told all I know. Oh, of course. That's just as you like. They were silent again for a few moments, then Dick spoke up. You feel pretty sure about their being in Canada, don't you? Have you thought of anything else? Yes. Where is the other revenue cutter now? The porter. At Buffalo, I think, or Cleveland or Detroit. And she's about as twice as fast as the foot, isn't she? Just about. Well, now, supposing they weren't sure but what she would be sent up here to, it was as likely as not. It should have been done. Then wouldn't they have been fools to have put right out again to cross the lake with one steamer coming down on them through the straits and another coming up from Detroit? Fools or not, they did it. We know that much. Do we? Don't we? I don't see it. Don't you see what they've done? They have left your schooner here and gone off in Spencer's. Who has? Look here, Smiley. You are on the wrong side of this case. You ought to be working for the government. I may be before I get through with it. You see what I'm driving at, don't you? About yourself? Hang myself about Spencer? And McGlory? No, not McGlory. Just Spencer. Why not McGlory? Just this, Wilson approached. There's nobody here, Bill. Wait over there a minute, Burt, with the boys. Go on, Smiley. McGlory is a sailor. Spencer isn't. McGlory would feel safer on a boat. Spencer knows these woods like a book. Do you follow? Go on. Now, I'm just as sure as that I'm sitting here that when it came to a crisis like this, those two would disagree. And you ought to know them. I know McGlory. He isn't the kind that takes orders from anybody, drunk or sober. And from the look I had at old Spencer, I don't think he is either. He looked to me like a cool hand. Quiet, you know, with a sort of cold eye. It doesn't sound like Spencer to put out into the lake with revenue cutters closing all around him. But does it sound like McGlory? Exactly. He is bullheaded. Then you think the other schooner was here. More than likely. And McGlory took it and Spencer didn't. That's getting nearer. And who wrote that note? I don't know. I never saw Spencer's writing and McGlory's only once or twice. It's written rough, but it looks familiar somehow. McGlory's work, then, likely. Maybe. But what object would Spencer have in staying behind? Where could he go? He could get out of Michigan and down to Mexico without one chance and a hundred of being caught. Not unless you had men on every train in the United States. You mean he would make for a railway? Yes. But he would have to go to Alpina to do it. Not a bit. He'd needn't go anywhere near the coast. There's a town called Hewitson on the Central Road about fifty miles back in the woods, southwest of here. It's the terminal of a branch line and it's the nearest point. Even then he would have to go through Detroit or Michigan City where we have men. No, he wouldn't. He would get over to the Grand Rapids in Indiana with a few changes and without passing through a single big town. When he once got down there in Indiana you would have a pretty vigorous time catching him. Beverage mused. This is all very interesting, smiley, but it is hardly enough to act on. Isn't it, though? What earthly good could you do on the water that Captain Sullivan couldn't do just as well without you? There he is with his men and he ought to do what you tell him. I don't know about that, said Beverage with a smile. Anyhow, Dick went on eagerly. The old foot isn't going to make any more miles an hour for having you on board. There's something in that. You seem to be keen on this business. Keen, good Lord, man. Don't you see the position I'm in? Don't you see that my only chance is to help you run this down and get at the facts? Honest, I don't see what you could lose by taking a flyer overland to Hewittson. It's just one more chance opened up for you and you ought to take it. How did you happen to know so much about these railroads up here? You didn't suppose I had my eyes shut when I was looking at that chart the other day, did you? It seems to me you took in a lot in a thundering short time. Of course I did. It is my business to take in a lot when I look at a chart. Well, this is interesting, Smiley. I'll think it over. Come on, boys. The sailors rode to them back to the steamer and the special agent was promptly closeted with Captain Sullivan. He laid out the whole situation, suggesting that the Captain keep a close watch on the Burnt Cove region and that he leave a launch at Spencer's. The fugitives had left nearly all they had even to clothing behind and it was conceivable that they might return. I wish, he added as he rose to go, that I could call on the county authorities. Wilson and I may have our hands full if we meet them. You think you'd better not? Hardly. It is even chances that you were mixed up in the business some way. Spencer has known them longer than we have. He left the Captain's state room and found Smiley waiting for him by the wheelhouse. There's one thing I didn't say when we were talking. Began the prisoner looking with hesitation at the agent. What's that, Smiley? Speak up. I'm starting now. You're going to try it then? Yes. Will you take Pink and me with you? Beverage straightened up and flashed a keen inquiring glance through Dick's eyes down to the bottom of his soul. Dick met it squarely. By Jove, said Beverage. Not a word, said Smiley. By Jove, I'll do it. Dick turned away, limp. Smiley, he turned back. Where's Harper? Down below. Bring him to my state room. Be quick about it. A very few moments more and Dick and Harper knocked at the special agent's door. Come in. They entered and found Beverage and Wilson together. Beverage closed the door and there the four men stood crowded together in the narrow space. Beverage gave them another of his sharp glances. Then he drew from his coat pockets two revolvers and held them out, one in each hand. Dick and Pink looked speechless. Well, take them. You boys are to help me see this thing through now. Do you mean that? I don't joke with pistols. Without more words each reached out. Dick thrust his into his hip pocket, but Pink opened his and looked at the loaded cylinder. Now boys, said Beverage, were off. Wilson descended first to the launch and Dick was about to follow when Captain Sullivan hurried up and caught his arm. Here, here. This won't do. Dick turned and started to speak, then seeing that Beverage was approaching, he waited. That's all right, Captain, called the special agent. Let him go. Let him go. Beverage drew the Captain aside. You aren't going to take him ashore with you? Yes, both of them. Anger was struggling with disgust in the Captain's face. You'd better hand them revolvers and be done with it. I've done that already. Oh, you have. Yes, sir, and I don't mind telling you that, guilty or not, there aren't two men I'd feel safer with in the Southern Peninsula. Oh, there ain't. If people reply, but the old Captain was beyond words. Very well was all he could get out. Very well. With that, they parted, and the boat with the strangely selected party aboard made for the shore. Now, smiley, said Beverage, when the boat had left them on the sand. How about our direction? Exactly southwest from here. I suppose we shall have to make for Hewitson in a straight line and see if we can't get there first. A sort of road led off in a southwesternly direction. In this they followed for an hour. Then it swung off to the left, and they plunged into the forest, from now on to be guided only by the compass. The afternoon wore along. For two hours, three hours, four hours, they tramped through the forest, which now opened out into a vista of brown carpet and cool shade. Now ran to a blackened jungle of stumps and undergrowth, but always underfoot was the sand, no longer white but yellow and of a dust-like quality. It gave under the foot at every step. It rose about them and got into their throats and finally into their tempers. Say, smiley, called Wilson. He had swung his coat over his shoulder. His face was streaked with sweat and dirt. The spring was gone from his stride. Say, smiley, where are those streams you were talking about? Give it up. This is a pretty place you were getting us into. Shut up, Burt, said to Beverage. You tend to business and quit talking. Who's talking? Can't I ask a civil question? From the sound I guess you can't. You're saying a word too much there, Bill, Beverage. Beverage stopped short and wheeled round. He had tied the sleeves of his coat through one suspender so that it hung about his knees and flapped when he walked. His waistcoat was open, his collar was melted to a rag. All together he was nearly as tired and hot as his assistant. What do you say to sitting down a minute, suggested smiley diplomatically? But Wilson turned to the attack. How long are you going to keep on this way, Bill? The obstinate quality in Wilson's voice roused a counter-obstinancy in Beverage. He decided not to reply. Maybe the sands getting into his ears so he can't hear well, said Beverage, addressing Harper as nearly as anybody. But Pink, rather than get into the controversy, went off a little way to a spruce tree and fell to cut off a piece of the gum. It's just as you like, Bill, pursued Wilson. Of course, it ain't any of my business, but I just thought I'd tell you, we passed that big clump of pines over there about two hours and a half ago. In spite of him, Beverage's eyes sought the spot indicated. I don't care, you understand, Bill. I'll go where I'm ordered. But if you will go on trusting that compass of yours, don't you think maybe we'd better be thinking about saving up what sandwiches we've got left? These Michigan woods ain't a very cheerful spot to spend the fall unless you've planned that way, you know. Brought tents and things and maybe a little canned stuff. Oh, go to blank, muttered Beverage, without turning. What's that, you said? Wilson was on his feet. Here, a smiley broke in with the suggestion that they try marking trees. And for an hour they were tearing their shirts to strips and siding forward from tree to tree. Then the early twilight began to settle on the forest. They spoke of it no more, but pushed on feverishly under the leadership of Beverage, whose spirits, which had reached low water mark in the difference with Wilson, were flowing again. From rapid walking they took to running. Still the twilight deepened. Finally the uneven ground and the deep shadows led them into scratches and tumbles, and they were obliged to stop. Said Wilson, look over there. Where? That tree runs up six feet or so and shoots off over the ground, and then turns square up again. Yes, what about it? A queer sound was creeping into the special agent's voice. Don't you remember, about three o'clock, the tree we passed? Harper said it was exactly like a figure four, because of the broken part that stuck up above the branch. And you said, well, but just take a good look at it. Beverage stepped a little way forward and looked and looked. Well, Beverage was silent. His eyes left the tree, only to fix themselves on the ground. What do you think, Bill? Instead of replying, the special agent turned abruptly and walked away through the brush. He soon disappeared, but his assistant could hear him thrashing along. In a few moments he returned and, without a word, set about building a fire. They all lent a hand and soon were sitting about the blaze moody and silent. Say, boys, it was Smiley speaking up. I have an idea. Let me take your compass a minute, Beverage. There was no reply. Smiley thought he had not been understood. Let's have your compass, Beverage. Then the special agent looked up. If you can find it, you're welcome to it, he said. Why, you haven't lost it. If you've got to know, I've thrown it. The blank you have! A moment's silence. Somewhere off in the wilderness, a twig crackled and they all started. Harper's scalp tingled during the long stillness that followed the sound. What did you do that for? asked Smiley. Because we're sitting at this moment within a hundred feet of where we sat at three o'clock this afternoon. After this the silence grew unbearable. I don't know how you fellows feel, said Wilson, but I in thirsty clear down to my toes. If there's any water around here, I'm going to find it. He drew a blazing pine-knot from the fire and started off. Look out, you don't set the woods afire, growled Beverage. For five minutes, long minutes, the three sat there and waited. Then they heard him approaching and saw his light flickering between the trees. He came into the firelight and paused, looking from one to another with a curious expression. It almost seemed that he was veiling a smile. Come this way, he finally said, and they got up and filed after him. He led them a short fifty yards and paused. They stood on the edge of a clearing. A few rods away they saw a story and a half farmhouse with a light in the kitchen window. Farther off loomed the outline of a large barn. They stumbled on and found midway between the two buildings a well with a bucket worked by a crank and chain. They could not speak. They looked at one another and grinned foolishly. Then Beverage reached for the crank, but Dick caught his arm. Hold on there, Bill, he said fervently, drawing a small flask from his hip pocket. You wouldn't spoil a thirst like this with water. You don't mean to say that you've had this in your clothes all along, said Beverage. Yes, I thought from the way things were going we might need it more tomorrow than today. There was a general smacking of lips as the flask went around. Then they paused and looked at the house. Well, observed Beverage, I'm not sure that I want to be told where we are, but here goes. And he walked slowly toward the kitchen door, sweeping his eyes about the farmyard and taking in all that could be seen in the darkness. At his knock there was a noise in the kitchen, the sound of a chair scraping, and the door was opened a very little way. How are you? began the special agent. The farmer, for it was he who blocked the doorway, merely looked suspiciously out. We're a camping party, Mr... er, Mr... Lindquist's my name. His voice was thin and peevish, a fit voice for such a thin small man. Mr. Lindquist, and we seem to have lost our way. Can you take us in and give us a little something to eat? Why, I don't know as I could. How many is there of you? Four. You say you're campers. That's what we are. Is your tent nearby? Blessed if we know, if we did we shouldn't be here. It was plain to the three of them standing back in the dark that beverage for reasons of his own was moving very cautiously and equally plain that the little man had some reason for being cautious, too. It was hard to think that any honest farmer living so lonely a life would be so downright inhospitable. And you say you want something to eat? Well, now there was no trace of impatience in the special agent's voice. That's just as you like. We don't want to impose on you and, of course, we're more than willing to pay for what we get. Well, I don't know. I suppose you might come in. Maybe we've got a little bread and milk. The kitchen was not a large room. The floor was bare, as were the walls, saving a few country fair advertisements in the form of colored lithographs. A thin, colorless, dull-eyed little woman was seated beside a pine table sowing by the light of a kerosene lamp. The third member of the family, a boy of fourteen, did not appear until a moment later. When the sound of the opening door reached his ears, he was lying flat on his bed, chin propped on hands, feverishly boring through a small volume in a flashy paper binding. Beverage, as they all found seats, was taking in the farmer, noting his shifting eyes and his clothes, which were nothing more than a suit of torn overalls. Diana, said Lindquist, you might give these young men some bread and milk. His wife laid aside her sowing without a word and went to the pantry. Now, said Beverage, I suppose we ought to find out where we are. What's that? Where are we, Mr. Lindquist? What's the nearest town? The nearest town, you said? Yes. Why, Ramsay, I guess, or... or what? Or Spencer's place? That's what I was afraid of. Beverage turned to his companions, adding, you see, we've got back near the lake. At the sound of strange voices, the boy came down the stairs and stood in a corner, gazing at the strangers and holding his book behind him. How far off is the lake, Mr. Lindquist? How... what's that, you say? How far off is the lake? What lake? Lake Huron, of course. Lake Huron? Oh, twenty, twenty-two mile? That's another story, exclaimed Wilson, but Beverage, evidently fearing his assistant's tongue, gave him a look that quieted him. The faces of the four travelers all showed relief. The bread and milk were ready now, and they fell, too, joking and laughing at heartily, as if their only care had been a camp outfit somewhere in the woods. But all the time the three were watching Beverage, awaiting his next move. It came finally when the last crumb of bread had disappeared and the plates had been pushed back. Now, Mr. Lindquist, said Beverage, it's getting on pretty late in the evening and we're tired. Can't you put us up for the night? Not in the house, I'd hardly ask that, but out in the barn, say. As he spoke he laid a two-dollar bill on the table and pushed it over, close to the farmer's hand. Well, I don't know. For a moment the bill lay there between their two hands, then Lindquist's nervous fingers slowly closed over it. I suppose you could sleep out there. That's first rate. We'll go right out if you don't mind. You needn't bother about coming. Just let your boy there bring a lantern and show us where to go. Lindquist did not take to this. Axel, he said, you go up to bed, mind now. Then he lighted the lantern and led the way to the barn. When he had left them, tumbled about on the fragrant hay, Smiley spoke up. Well, Beverage, what next? Didn't he lock the door just then? Yes, said Harper. I'm sure I heard it. I'll go and see. Slowly he descended and felt his way across the floor, returning with the report that the door was fast. Now, boys, I'll tell you, said Beverage. We'll take a little rest. It's all right as long as one of us is awake. Before the night's over, we've got to get hold of that boy. But we won't make a disturbance yet. Oh, cried Dick, a flood of light breaking in on his understanding. It's the boy you're after. Yes, it's the boy, of course. I've had to sit down a good many times in my life and thank the Lord for my luck, but this beats it all. Are you sure, though, that they went through here? Yeah, am I sure? Could you look at the old man and ask me that? What I'd like to know is how far off they are just now. Lindquist doesn't look as if he'd tell. No, no, he won't tell. Would it do any good to make him? Put on a little pressure, you mean? Yes. I don't think so. He'd lie to me and we wouldn't have any way of knowing the difference. The boy is our game. Why not get him now? We could break out of here easy enough. No, Smiley, you're a little off the track there. He must tell us on the sly, don't you see? He is a good deal more afraid of his father than he is of us. If we aren't careful, we'll have him lying, too. Have you thought of the old lady? Yes, but I'm doubtful there. She is afraid of him, too. It's more than likely that she was kept pretty much out of the way. Anyhow, her ideas would be confused. But sitting up here in the haymow isn't going to bring us any nearer to the boy. Isn't it? I don't see how. Did you notice the book he was reading? No, what book? I didn't see any book. I guess maybe you were right, Smiley, about your eyes being trained for seawork. Now I'll tell you what. This little rest may be the only one we're entitled to for a day or so. And I wish you fellows would curl right up and go to sleep. I'm going to stay awake for a while. Harper over there is the only sensible one in the lot. He has been asleep for ten minutes. No, he ain't. Drawed a sleepy voice. I can't get comfortable, growled Wilson. How is a man going to sleep with this hay sticking into your ears and tickling you? Next time I take you out, Burt, said Beverage, I'm bringing along a pneumatic mattress and a portable bathtub and a Pullman nigger to carry your things. That's all right, Bill. Wait till you try it yourself. There are spiders in the hay, millions of them, and if there's anything I hate, it's spiders. Here, said Harper, take some of my pillow. I ain't having no difficulty. He threw over a roll of cloth, which Wilson, after some feeling about, found. Hold on, Harper. This isn't your coat. No, it's part of a bundle of rags I found here. What's that, the Verge exclaimed, a bundle of rags? Feels like part of an old dress, said Wilson. Give it here, Burt. I'll take what you've got, too, Harper. With the cloth under his arm, Beverage found the ladder and made his way to the floor below. Then he lighted a match. The others crawled to the edge of the moe and looked down into the cavernous, dimly-lighted space. Look out, you don't set us a fire, Bill. Come down here, smiley, and see what you make of this. It was not necessary to summon Dick twice. He swung off, hung an instant by his hands, dropped the floor, and bent with the special agent over what seemed to be the waist and skirt of a gingham dress. The examination grew so interesting that Harper and Wilson came down the ladder and peered over Dick's shoulder. You see, said Beverage, here, wait till I light another match. Take this box, Burt, will you, and keep the light going? You see, it isn't an old dress at all. It's rather new. In fact, Mrs. Lindquist would never have thrown it away, never in the world. Now, what in the devil? What's that, smiley? I didn't say anything. I was just thinking. Well, what? I don't know that I could swear to it, but, you see, you can't tell the color very well in this light. Oh, it's blue plain enough. You're sure? Perfectly. It's nearer to green to me, but if it's blue, I've seen it before. Where? The day I was at Spencer's. There was a girl there, the old man's sister-in-law, and she wore this dress. Are you perfectly sure, smiley? Well, dresses aren't in my line, but, yes, I'm sure. I noticed it because her eyes were blue, too, and there was this white figure in it. Her name is Estelle. She waited on table, and... Go on, don't stop. Wait up, said Wilson. If you've got it identified, I'm going to quit burning up these matches. There are only about half a dozen left. All right, put it out. And they talked on in the dark, seated, dick and beverage on the tongue of a hay wagon, Wilson on an inverted bucket, Harper on the floor. Why, she waited on table, and then McGlory disappeared, and I had to go after him, and I found him talking to her. Hold on, beverage broke in. You say you found her and McGlory together? Yes, I guess we're thinking of the same thing. From the way they both acted, I rather guessed it's an understood thing. It wasn't as if he had met her there by chance, not a bit of it. I've been thinking since it seems more than likely that she would go wherever he went. That's right, beverage exclaimed. I'm sure of it. I know a little something about it myself. You do? Yes, this McGlory has left a wife behind him in Chicago. Mad, you mean? Yes, the main reason he took up the offer to go out with you, was so he could get up here and see this, what's her name, Estelle? So there is more than a fighting chance that where she is, you'll find him. Exactly. That means that he has been here today. Right again. Then who sailed the schooner for Canada? Harper, leaning forward in the dark, and straining to catch every syllable of the low-pitched conversation, here gave a low gasp of sheer excitement. There had been moments, hours even during the day, when the object of this desperate chase had seemed a far-off imaginary thing beside the real discomforts of the tramps through the pines. But now in this somber place they were plunged into the mystery of the flight, and he had been the unwitting means of deepening the mystery. That sort of mixes us up, beverage, said Smiley. Never mind, beverage's voice was exultant. We're hot on the trail now. This taking to the woods is about the neatest thing I ever did. You're right there, Bill," Wilson chimed in. Until now Dick had supposed that the land chase had been entirely his own notion, but he said nothing. Look here, Bill. It was Wilson breaking the silence. There isn't any use of our trying to sleep tonight. Let's break out and run this thing down. How are you going to know your way in the middle of the night? Make him show us. Suppose you can't make him. I know, you're still thinking about that boy, but we are no nearer him than we were an hour ago. Listen a minute. It sat motionless, there was no sound, nothing but the heavy stillness of the night. Wilson whispered, Think you heard something? Shhh. A key turned softly in the lock. Then the door opened a little way, and against the sky they could see a hand. Wilson drew his revolver. Beverage heard the hammer click and said quietly, Don't be a fool, Bert, put that thing back in your pocket. Are you in there? Came a voice from the door. Yes, come along. The door opened wider to admit the owner of the voice then closed. A moment later Lantern was lighted and held up before the grinning, excited face of the farmer's son. Come on, Alex, what do you want? The boy slowly approached until he stood before them. Then he set the Lantern on the floor where it cast long shadows. What is it, my boy? Axel looked knowingly at them. Say, he whispered, I know what you are. You're detectives. Who we are, are we? What makes you think so? You're detectives, I know. Sit down and talk it over. Do you smoke? Can I smoke? Well, I should say I can. You just watch me. He accepted the cigar, his first, and lighted it. Don't let on to Pa, will you? He'd give me unable to call up a strong enough word, the boy concluded with a grin. That's all right. We know how it is ourselves. Your father has enough to worry him just about now anyhow. Didn't he have but the one suit of clothes? Well, there was his old, everyday suit, but that got tore so bad, Ma said she couldn't mend it, and there wasn't only his Sunday suit and his work clothes left. You don't mean that he had to fight with those fellows? Oh no, that was a long time ago. Say, this cigar is the real thing. It ought to be good, it's a fifteen cent straight. You don't say so. I'll tell you one thing, Alex. My name's Axel. I'll tell you one thing. Your father has made a big mistake in allowing himself to get mixed up with these people. He is with the wrong crowd. I'm the only one that could help him out. The boy began to be frightened. Oh, he ain't mixed up in it. He isn't? No, he never seen him before. What does he want to act this way for, then? Well, you see. Now look here, my boy. The sooner we understand each other, the better. Your father has got himself into a dangerous situation. He can't deceive me. I know all about it. Does he think he could keep me in here any longer than I want to stay by locking the door? I'm half-minded to arrest him for this. He can't do that sort of thing to me. Axel was downright frightened now. He held his cigar so long that it went out. Wilson struck a match and lighted it for him. I suppose you would like me to believe that he was forced to give up his clothes? Oh, he was. The fellow with the black hair. Ick, Glory? Seems to me they called him Joe. That's the same man. Go on. Why, he pulled a gun and marched Pa out here to the barn. Ma ran upstairs crying, and the lady, she was crying, too, and the dark fellow, he made the lady climb up to where you was on the hay. Yes, I know. Beverage interrupted, indicating the dress. And then he held the gun while Pa took off his Sunday suit that he'd put on because he thought they were going to be visitors. And he threw it up to the lady and she put it on. One of the suspenders was busted and she didn't know how it worked. And she cried. Then Pa had to holler up how he'd fixed it with a string and he twisted the string around twice and then tied it. And then the dark fellow, he made me run in and get Pa his overalls. So they changed clothes right here, eh? Yes, and the lady cried, and when she got all dressed in Pa's clothes, why, she just said she wouldn't come down. And Joe, he said she would, or he'd know the reason why. Then the others laughed some. Then the others. Yes, and they... Hold on, how many were there in this party? Why, three or four counting in the lady. Three or four, don't you know? Well, you see, I didn't think about counting them then. What was I saying? You said the others laughed. Oh, yes, not very much, you know, just a little. Then the boss, he said, what sort of a looking man was this boss? I don't know. Didn't you see him? Oh, well, I... What was it he said this time? Oh, he said something to Joe about not getting excited. I guess he thought he was kind of mean to the lady. Anyhow, she come down after a little and kind of stood around behind things. She was frightened some, I guess. And then they all went off. Which way? I don't know. They told us we hadn't better watch him and so I thought maybe I wouldn't. Was that the last you saw of them? Well, not quite. Not quite, what else? Before they'd gone very far, the boss came back. Oh, he did. And he told Pa, he guessed Joe was a little excited and they hadn't meant to be hard on him. And so he gave Pa a little money for his trouble. I thought you said your Pa wasn't mixed up with them. He ain't, not a bit. But you say he took their money. What else could he do? They ain't the sort of men you want to argue with. There is something in that. But why did he try to lock us in here? I don't know. Oh, you don't? No, but I'll tell you, Pa's rattled. I shouldn't wonder. He come up to my room just after he'd been out here with you and says if I ever said a word about it it would land to the whole family in State's prison. That ain't so, is it? Well, I'm not prepared to say. The cigar was out again. Oh, say now, it wasn't his fault. He didn't do nothing but what they made him do. Of course, the fact that he helped them under compulsion might be considered in a court of law, but I'm not prepared to say that it mightn't go hard with you all. I'll do what I can to get you out of it, but it's a bad scrape. What direction is Hewittson from here? Off that way there's a road most all the way. That's first rate. I want you to go with us. When? Now? Oh, Pa, he wouldn't let me. But I tell you to come. Would it help us any in getting off? I might be able to make it easier if you really give me valuable assistance. We'll have to get away pretty quiet. Very well. Feverage was rolling up the blue dress into a small bundle. Already burnt? Smiley? All right here. Put out your light, Axel. They stepped cautiously outside and the boy locked the door behind them. Hold on, he whispered. Don't go around that way. Pa ain't asleep, never in the world. Which way shall we go? Here, after me, through the cow yard. They slipped around behind the barn, made a short detour through the edge of the forest, and reached the road beyond the house. Does this road run both ways, Axel? Feverage asked. Yes, from Hewitt's into Ramsay. Do you hear that, Smiley? We must have been within a few hundred yards of it most of the way. Never mind, we'll make better time now, anyhow. They pushed on, indeed, rapidly for half a mile, guided by the lantern, which Axel had relighted. Then the boy, overcome by the tobacco, had to be left miserably sick and heaped by the roadside. Beverage snatched the lantern from his heedless fingers, thrust a bill into his pocket by way of payment, and the party pushed on. End of CHAPTER X CHAPTER XI. Red by Betsy Bush. The Marianne by Samuel Merwin. CHAPTER XI. Thursday night, Van Dylen's bridge. The stars were shining down on the stream that passed sluggishly under Van Dylen's bridge, but they found no answering twinkle there. A gloomy stream it was, winding a sort of way through the little farm, coming from somewhere, off in the pines, going to somewhere, off in the pines, brown by day, black by night, the only silent thing in the breathing, crackling forest. It seemed to come from the north, gliding out from under the green-black canopy with a little stumble of white foam, as if ashamed in the light of the clearing. Then, sullen as ever, it settled back, slipped under the bridge, where the road from Lindquist swung sharply down, with never a swirl and gave itself up to the pines and hemlocks that bent over. Behind the barnyard, it circled westward and paralleled the road for a few hundred yards, as if it too were bound for Hewitson, but changed its mind, turned sharply south, and was gone. Wither? The muskrats and minks, perhaps, could tell. The clearing in spite of the house and barn were desolate. The pines were pressing irresistibly in on every side to claim the land Dirk van Dielen had stolen from them. The road, after crossing the bridge, lost itself in the confused tracks between house and barn, only to reappear on the farther side and plunge again into the forest, a weary yellow road telling of miles of stump land as well as the fresher forest. It was late, very late, but there was a light in the house. A woman, in man's clothing, lay on the parlor sofa, too tired to rest. She was white, her breath came hard, her eyes were too bright. McGlory stood over her with a pair of scissors in her hand. He had cut off her long hair and now it lay curling on the floor. Here you—he was speaking to van Dielen—get a broom and take that up. Be quick about it. What are you gawking at? Van Dielen, slow of movement and slower of thought, obeyed. Now, said McGlory to the woman, come along, and he took her arm. Oh, no, Joe, I can't go. It will kill me. Cut that. Get up. Roke, who had been eating in the next room, came in, looked at them, and then hurried out where the leader of the party waited him. Aren't they most ready? Yes, coming right along, if it don't kill her. But when they heard a step and turned, only the woman appeared in the doorway. Where's Joe, Estelle? He's—he's coming. She staggered. Roke caught her, helped her down the steps, and with his arm about her waist led her out to the road. He says to go along, and he'll catch us. She was plucky, or frightened, for she staggered along, biting her lip. This was what McGlory had said to Van Dielen after he had got her to the door. Give me some paper and a pen, quick. They were promptly placed on the dining-room table, and he scrawled off a few lines, folded the paper, and looked up with a scowl. The train of the week had not improved his expression. Give me an envelope. I want you to mail this for me. I haven't got one. The blank you haven't. Honest, that's the truth. I'd have to go to Hewittson anyway. It'll be quicker for you to take. Oh, shut up. I'm sick of your voice. Here, take this. He thrust the letter into his pocket and counted out twenty-five dollars in bills. This is for you, and mind nothing said. You don't know us never seen four men coming through here in the night. Don't remember ever, having seen four men come through. Understand? Van Dielen drew back a step and nodded. No mistake about this now. If you say a word, the world ain't big enough to hide you. His hand was straying toward a significant pocket. None of your hemmings and hawing's. If you're in a hurry to get to heaven, just give us away. Understand? Another nod. All the farmer was capable of. And Mick Glory was gone, with the bound out the door, untoward the little group at the farther side of the clearing. They heard his step and his loud breathing. What's this? He had just made out Roke's arm across Estelle's back. What's this? He tore the arm away, world Roke around, and slapped his face so hard that he staggered. By blank, gasped Roke, by blank, they glared at each other. Estelle sobbed. Try that again, Joe Mick Glory. Just try it. Hit me again. Why you, why I'll break your neck. You will. You will. Yes, I will. Just hit me again. Mick Glory looked him over, decided to accept the invitation, and plunged forward. Roke, without a moment's hesitation, turned and bolted up the road, ran as if the fiends were on his heels. Mick Glory finally stopped, laughed viciously, and hurled a curse after him. The third man let them go. He merely took Estelle's arm and helped her along, soothing her a little, trying to calm the outburst of hysteria that had been threatening for twenty-four hours. Mick Glory waited for them in the shadow of the woods, and a little farther on Roke fell in behind, muttering softly, and keeping well away from Mick Glory. Estelle could hardly stagger along. Mick Glory passed his arm through hers and dragged her forward. Now she was silent. Now she stifled a sob. Now she begged piteously to be left behind. Let me go back to Van Dylans, Joe. Please, I can't go on. I thought you were such a walker. Oh, but not so far as this. Let me go back there. Wouldn't that be smart now, to leave you where you could blab the whole thing? She tried to walk a few steps farther, then she broke away, stumbled to the roadside, and sinking to the ground, covered her face with her hands. Roke stopped short and stared at her. The other spoke up. This won't do, Joe. There's no use killing her. We'll drop back in the wood and take a rest. We'll all be better for it. Mick Glory suddenly consented. He dragged Estelle off through the undergrowth to the clear ground under the trees, and they all stretched out. In five minutes Roke was the only one awake of the three men. Without raising his head he slipped over close to Estelle and rested his hand on her shoulder. She rolled over with a start. Shh! Not so loud, Estelle. Oh, it's you. Yes, you didn't think I'd forget, did you, Estelle? I—I don't understand. Don't you think it's time to quit him? What's the use? I guess you know him now for what he is. Yes, he's mean to me, but— Don't you see? We can skip out and leave him here, and go back near the house and hide. He wouldn't dest come back after us. The boss wouldn't never let him. Do you think we could? I'm afraid he wouldn't stop at anything. You just leave it to me. I can take care of him. I—I'm afraid he's so determined, and I told him I'd go with him. What was he doing back there in the house after he sent you out? I don't know. Not so loud, Whisper. Didn't you hear him say anything? He asked for a pen and paper. Must have wrote a letter. There it is. Look there, sticking out of his pocket. Wait a minute. Don't you try to take it. He'll shoot you. Oh, damn him. I ain't afraid of two Joe McGlory's. Let me go. He crept over, drew out the letter skillfully, and returned. I don't like to strike a match here. Oh, no, no, don't! Can you crawl off a little ways behind them bushes? I guess so. I'll try. He helped her. Shhh, careful. Behind the bushes they felt safer. Roke lighted a match and held up the paper. This is what they read. Dear Maj, there's a little misunderstanding up this way, and I can't get back for a little while. I want some money. You put the bills in an envelope to general delivery South Bend, Indiana. Don't you try to come to me because it ain't a very pleasant situation. I'll tell you later where to come. Don't forget the money and don't you put my name on it. Call me Joe Murphy. Burn this as soon as you read it, Jay. Neither saw the insolent brutality of this letter, the thoughts were elsewhere, a stale, gazed thunderstruck. Roke held the match until it burned his finger. He dropped it in the paper to the ground, and the dark closed in again. One of the sleepers tossed and mumbled. Estelle caught his arm. He told me it wasn't so, she whispered. He told me it wasn't so. Oh, he's just a common everyday liar. Maj is his wife. Didn't I tell you so the first day I come to Spencer's? I don't know. What can we do? Do you think we could get away? I'm not sure a thing. But how? We'll sneak back a ways and off to one side in the woods. He can't come back and search the whole county for us, don't you see? But wouldn't they catch us? She glanced toward the east whence pursuit might come. Not a bit of it, just trust me. Come on, now's the time. Move cautious till we get on the road. He helped her up and they stole away. For a few moments she was buoyed up by this new excitement, but soon fell back into the old weariness. She clung to Roke until he was almost carrying her. Keep a going, he whispered. I'll skip back to the house and pick up something to eat and then we'll take to the woods. They can't never catch me, I tell you I'll fool them. They struggled along, half way back to the farmhouse, Estelle completely lost heart. I can't do it, she moaned. Stop, let me sit down. Not here, Estelle, not in the road. Let me down, I tell you. But he may be along any minute. I don't care, let me down. Look here, Estelle, can't you see how it is? If he gets you he'll half kill you and you'll have to walk farther with him than you would with me. She was beyond reason. She clung around his neck, holding herself up even while she begged to be let down. Her condition and the terrible loneliness of the night were unnerving, Roke. Come along, he said angrily, or I'll make you come. Don't hurt me. Bye, blank, don't you say another word. He jerked her roughly forward while his wild eyes sought the road behind. You said you'd be good to me. Well, ain't I good to you, ain't I saving your life and you haven't got the sense to see it? Oh, dear, don't. Keep still now, come on, don't you say any more. Soon they reached the clearing and pausing for breath in the shadows they looked about. The night was far advanced, but a light showed in an upper window of the house. Over in the barn a horse was thrashing about his stall. The noise was deafening after the stillness. Roke released Estelle and to his horror she sank to the ground in a faint. He spoke to her, she did not hear. He bent over and shook her, felt her wrist and her forehead. Then he straightened up and looked back along the road. His breath came fast and hard. The loneliness was closing in on his soul. He shivered, though the air was not cold, then stepped back, mopped the sudden sweat from his face, looked down again at the woman, even stirred her with his foot, then turned and ran. Not down the road, for the low-browd make a glory lay sleeping there, not to the south for the stream barred the way, but skirting the clearing to the northern edge and then plunging into the woods, and long and overthwart, with a thousand ugly fancies hounding him, with a traitor in his bosom that opened the door for the mad thoughts freely to enter and gnaw there. He tripped on a log, pitched headlong and rolled over, scrambled up with bleeding hands, and ran on in an ecstasy of fear, and the vast black forest shut in behind him and swallowed him. When Estelle's eyes opened, she returned from peace to wretchedness. Yes, the trees and the night and the swollen feet were real. She crawled toward the farmhouse, something within her warned her not to try to rise. She lived months in dragging that hundred yards. The one goal of life was the low stoop and the door under the light. When she reached it, her clothes torn, the dust ground into her face and hands, she fainted again and clung to the steps. Dirk van Dielen was sitting at the window with a shotgun across his knees. He had watched the—he could not see what it was—crawling to his door. Now he looked out and saw it lying there. Whatever, whoever it was, this would not do. So he opened the door and carried her up to the room where his frightened wife was trying to sleep. We'll have to take her in, Saskia. What is the matter? Is she hurt? I don't know. I found her on the stoop. Help me examine her. But they found no mark of bullet, knife, or blunt instrument, and while the Dutch woman worked over her, the man went for water. At last she was brought to a sort of consciousness and, leaving his wife to care for her, van Dielen returned to his window and his gun. Roke and Estelle had not been gone an hour when MacGlory haunted by the fear of pursuit awoke. He stretched himself, sat up, and looked over to the spot where Estelle had been lying when he fell asleep. At first he thought he saw her, a darker shadow, but on rising and walking over he found no sign of her. He looked about and called. Roke, too, was not in sight. He hesitated, not yet fully awake, then turned back and woke his companion. Well, what's the matter? They're gone. Who's gone? Roke and Estelle. How do you know? Have you looked around? Come over here. They prowled behind the trees, parted the bushes here and there, called as loud as they dared, lighted matches, and examined the ground. Finally MacGlory broke out with an oath. The little fool. So she thinks she can serve me this way, eh? You think they've skipped out? Think. Do I think it? What do I want to think for? Didn't I see him a-hugging her? He was just helping her then. Oh, just helping her, was he? Well, what you going to do about it? What am I going to do? MacGlory was lashing his anger. His voice swelled until he was roaring out the words. What am I going to do? I'm going to run that Pete Roke down if I have to go to hell for him. I'm going to... Drop your voice, Joe. I can hear you. How are you going to find him? Who are you telling to shut up? Hold on now. None of that talked to me. Oh, you think you can boss me, do you? Think. I know it. Don't waste your breath trying to bluff me. I asked you how you're going to find him. How am I going to... How am I... Why? I'll break his head. I'll... Don't work yourself up. It won't help you any. You think you can talk like that to me? If you ain't careful, I'll break your head. I'll... How are you going to find him? You say another word, and I'll knock your teeth down your throat. I've got my hand in my pocket, Joe. And I've got a loaded gun in my hand. And if you threaten me again, I'll blow a hole through you. I've half a mind to do it anyway. A fool like you has no business getting into a scrape if he can't keep his head. I'd heap rather kill you than get caught through your fool noise. The sooner you understand me, the better for you. Now tell me how you're going to find out which way to take. How... McGlory was not a coward, but he could not face down the seasoned courage of the man before him. Why, that's a cinch. Ain't he heading the same way we are? Now, Joe, hold on. Don't be a bigger fool than you can help. You don't really think he'd take her right along over this road, do you? Why, damn it! It's no good talking to you if you can't quiet down. You want to kill Rogue, and you're right. I want him killed, too. The longer he's alive, the more danger for us. But if you go at him this way, he may kill you. Him kill me? Why? I mean it. He's desperate, too. You can't be too sure that he'll always run like he did tonight. He's got a stealth to look out for, too. Now, it's plain that he hasn't gone down the road because look here. She isn't good for more than a mile an hour, and he'd have sense enough to know we'd catch him. Where is he gone, then? Not very far. We know that much. Likely they're back here in the woods, or maybe they went back to Vandeelans. They'd never go there. They might have to. I guess you don't know much about women, Joe. I reckon I know more and it's good for me. Then you ought to see she's pretty near done for. The stealth? She's bluffing. No, she isn't. Not a bit of it. When a woman's worked up and tired out at the same time, something's likely to break. You were a fool to bring her anyhow. I don't know why I let you. You, you let me. You've said so much about her being strong. Why, she's a child. Look here, you've said some things tonight that I don't like. Oh, have I? But this isn't getting us along any. The first thing is to look around here a little more. There are any number of ways they might have taken without going down the road. Even Mick Glory could see the reason in this suggestion. They lighted matches and prowled about, peering behind trees and bushes, looking for broken or bent twigs, for any indication of the passage of a human being. But the heavy growth of trees shut out what light there was overhead, and neither was skillful enough to direct his search well. Find anything, Joe? Not a thing. When it comes to sneaking off, Roque has head enough. It's the only thing he's good for. The more I think of it, Joe, the more I believe they've gone to the house. You're off there. No, I'm not. Listen a minute. Supposing they started off in the woods and tried to dodge the house. Pretty soon Estelle gives out. Sure, the New Year's. And it would be pretty soon, too, because the excitement wouldn't keep her up long. Now, what is Roque going to do? He isn't the man to face out a bad situation like that. Never in this world. He'd do one of two things. He would skip out and leave her, or he would get her to the house. If he skipped, there isn't one chance in a thousand of our find in either of them. If he took her to the house, we can get one or both. We can't stay around here much longer. We'd better try the house. And if they aren't there, or anywhere about the place, we'll go on toward Hewitson. You'll have to go without me, then. You think so? I don't leave this place till I see Roque curled up stiff. This was said as quietly as Mick Glory could say anything, but it was convincing. The other looked keenly at him. Suddenly Mick Glory, feeling in his pockets, muttered a curse and started back toward the spot where they had slept. What's up? Lost something? None of your business, Mick Glory was searching the ground feverishly. If you told me what it was, maybe I could help you. No answer. Mick Glory's temper was rising again. Finding nothing where he had lain, he began thrashing about the bushes. Unless it's something important, Joe, you're wasting a lot of time. Well, say, you... you ain't seen a paper or anything, have you? A letter? Not exactly. It wasn't in an envelope. Oh, you mean this maybe. With a lighted match in one hand, he drew a folded paper from his pocket and started to open it. Mick Glory sprang forward, recognized it, and tried to snatch it away. It ain't necessary to read it. It's private business. I have read it. You have read it. You've been prying into my affairs, have you? Not at all. I found this on the ground and read it. You must have written it back there when you kept us waiting. You had no business to do it. I never saw such a fool as you are. As he spoke, he touched the match to the paper. Here, quit that. Don't you burn that letter? Now, Joe, you didn't think for a minute I'd let you send this, did you? What rights you got? The right of self-preservation. We can't do any letter writing yet a while. I'll help you out with money, but I won't let you do this sort of thing. Let's start back. He led the way to the road, Mick Glory sullenly following, and side by side they stepped out for the farmhouse. Beastly sort of thing to do, Joe, ask Maj for money to help you run off with this woman. Well, I'd like to know, ain't she had enough for me? I don't doubt she has stood a good deal from you. What sort of woman is she, Joe? Maj? Oh, she's all right. Pretty fond of you, isn't she? I guess there ain't much doubt about that. I've noticed her a little. Oh, you have, have you. Certainly. What else can you expect Skylarkin' around this way? That's all right. A man's got to have his fling, but when it comes to Maj's fine-looking woman, I don't believe you know how pretty she is, Joe. If you got her decent clothes and took her out to the theater now and then so she could keep her spirits up, she would be hard to beat. This was a new idea to Mick Glory, but what he said was, seems to me you've done a lot of thinking about my wife. It's your own fault, but look here, do you think such an awful lot of Estelle? Oh yes, I've had some fun with her. Of course, she ain't the woman that Maj is. I was wondering a little. Mick Glory's companion paused. What was you wondering? What you're going to do with Estelle when you find her? Do with her? Why? Why? You didn't think she'd come right back to you. Things the same as they was before, did you? Why? Did she know you had a wife? Well, no. She didn't know that. But she does now. She's read the letter. Mick Glory had not thought of this. Estelle isn't altogether a fool, you know. Not so bad as rogue, or you. If I were you, I'd stick to Maj. If you don't, some better fellow will. Who do you mean now, for instance? Never mind who I mean. I don't think you've seen yet how musty this business is. Here Estelle is, like enough on your hands. Now we can't leave her behind. She wouldn't come along with you, and even if she would, she isn't strong enough. If I leave her here, it simply means that she would be blabbing out the whole story to the first good-looking chap that asked her a few questions. But you see, I can't let a man insult me like Roke done. No, you can't. But if you could fix things so Roke nor nobody could get her, and still you'd be free to go back to Maj. You wouldn't object, would you? Why, no. Sure not. How do you mean? You find her there at the house, or in the barn, or anywhere around. You'd better just... Here, your knife ain't much good. Take mine. He opened his clasp knife. The blade was five inches long and held it out. Mick Glory took it, stood still in his tracks looking at it, and then raised his eyes to the face of his companion. Well, have you got the nerve? Have I got the nerve? Mick Glory laughed out loud and thrust the open knife into his belt at the side under his coat. I wouldn't use a gun unless I had to. He paused, laid his hand on Mick Glory's arm, and dropped his voice. Look here, there's a light in the window. Mick Glory swelled with rage. I'll put a stop to this. Hold on a minute, Joe. I'll slip around the bank of the creek here, on the other side of the barn, so I can watch the road in the barn both. He ran silently away, dodging among the trees, and in a moment had disappeared. While Mick Glory was standing there breathing hard and twitching impatiently, he passed behind the barnyard, keeping always among the trees of the bank, and on to the bridge. Here he looked carefully around, then stooped under the beams of the bridge flooring and got into a scow that lay there. Mick Glory stood still as long as he could then, throwing the reins to his temper. He strode toward the house. End of Chapter 11