. "Yeh needn't hitch him too tight in
Tumble-dick camp, Hackett, providin' you hide the most of his clothes
an' it looks like a storm comin' on. If he wants to duck out away from
a good home into the woods, with grub an' fire twenty-five miles away,
why, that's his own lookout."

The man licked his lips nervously.

"That ain't our liability, yeh knew."

The man pondered.

"It's eight hundred for you, Hackett, an' always a good job with me as
long as I hire men," persisted Colonel Ward.

At last Hackett got up and struck his elbows against his sides.

"I'll do it!" he grunted.

Parker's first alarmed awakening was with a cloth about his neck,
choking him so that his cry of fright rattled in his throat. He fought
bravely, but two strong men are better than one who has struggled and
gasped until he has only a trickle of air in his lungs. He was bound,
his head muffled in a strip of torn blanket, and he was carried out into
the night. He could not see his captors, but he knew that Ward was one
of the assailants, because a hoarse command to Hackett had betrayed him.

After he had been dragged a distance Parker realized by a penetrating
odor that he was near the horse hovels. There was a mumbled discussion
between his captors as to whether he should be tied to the moose sled.
It was decided that his arms should be left pinioned as they were, and
Hackett growled:

"I won't tie him to the sled! I'll be needin' him on the steep pitches."

As his arms were tied behind his back, when they put an old fur coat
on him they pulled the sleeves of it on his legs and buttoned the coat
behind. In spite of the bandage over his eyes, he easily recognized
these operations, and then felt himself lifted upon the familiar moose
sled. Several bags full of something were thrown on. With his ears
strained for every sound that would give him any information, he heard
some one approaching even before the two men, busy between camp and
sled, were warned.

"Hark!" grunted the voice of Colonel Ward, at last. "Who's that movin'
round back of the hoss hovel? Look out, Hackett! Throw something acrost
the sled. He's comin' this way." A moment after, his tones full of
disgust, he snorted, "It's that infernal old moose! Here, hand me that
ax!"

A hurry of feet, and then Parker heard the impact of a crushing blow
and the muffled groan of a stricken animal. The ax blows continued,
apparently dealt with fury, and in a few moments the old man crea