ned Brian Oakley,--"deer hunt, I suppose."

"Yes--thought we would be in good time for the opening of the season. By
the way, do you happen to know where Lagrange and that artist friend of
his are camped?"

"In that bunch of sycamores back of the old orchard down there," answered
the Ranger, watching the man's face keenly. "I just passed Mr. King, up
the road a piece."

"That so? I didn't see him go by," returned the other. "I think I'll run
over and say 'hello' to Lagrange in the morning. We are only going as far
as Burnt Pine to-morrow, anyway."

"Keep your eyes open for an escaped convict," said the officer, casually.
"There's one ranging somewhere in here--came in about a month ago. He's
likely to clean out your camp. So long."

"Perhaps we'll take him in for you," laughed the other. "Good night." He
turned toward the camp-fire under the trees, as the officer rode away.

"Now what in hell did that fellow want to lie to me like that for," said
Brian Oakley to himself. "He must have seen King and Sibyl as they came
down the trail. Max, old boy, when a man lies deliberately, without any
apparent reason, you want to watch him."

Chapter XXII

Shadows of Coming Events

Aaron King and Conrad Lagrange were idling in their camp, after breakfast
the next morning, when Czar turned his head, quickly, in a listening
attitude. With a low growl that signified disapproval, he moved forward a
step or two and stood stiffly erect, gazing toward the lower end of the
orchard.

"Some one coming, Czar?" asked the artist.

The dog answered with another growl, while the hair on his neck bristled
in anger.

"Some one we don't like, heh!" commented the novelist. "Or"--he added as
if musing upon the animal's instinct--"some one we ought not to like."

A bark from Czar greeted James Rutlidge who at that moment appeared at the
foot of the slope leading up to their camp.

The two men--remembering the occasion of their visitor's last call at
their home in Fairlands, when he had seen Sibyl in the studio--received
the man with courtesy, but with little warmth. Czar continued to manifest
his sentiments until rebuked by his master. The coolness of the reception,
however, in no way disconcerted James Rutlidge; who, on his part, rather
overdid his assumption of pleasure at meeting them again.

Explaining that he had come with a party of friends on a hunting trip, he
told them how he had met Brian Oakley, and so had learned o