nd a
half had he turned the tables on Cassidy, leaving him floundering in
the cleverly woven webs which the man-hunter had placed for his victim.
This was the fourth time. And Cassidy would be tremendously upset!

Praying that Peter would remain quiet, Jolly Roger took off his shoes.
After that he made no more sound than a ferret as he crept to the door.
An inch at a time he raised himself, until he was standing up, with his
ear half an inch from the crack that ran lengthwise of the frame.
Holding his breath, he listened. For an interminable time, it seemed to
him, there was no sound from within. He guessed what Cassidy was
doing--peering through that slit of window under the curtain. But he
was not absolutely sure. And he knew the necessity of making no error,
with Cassidy in there, gripping the butt of his gun.

Suddenly he heard a movement. A man's steps, subdued and yet distinct,
were moving from the window toward the door. Half way they paused, and
turned to one of the windows looking westward. But it was evident the
watcher was not expecting his game from that direction, for after a
moment's silence he returned to the window through which he could see
the trail. This time Jolly Roger was sure. Cassidy was again peering
through the window, with his back toward him, and every muscle in the
forest rover's body gathered for instant action. In another moment he
had flung open the door, and the watcher at the window whirled about to
find himself looking straight into the muzzle of Jolly Roger's gun.

For several minutes after that last swift movement of Jolly Roger's,
Peter lay where his master had left him, his eyes fairly popping from
his head in his eagerness to see what was happening. He heard voices,
and then the wild thrill of Jolly Roger's laughter, and restraining
himself no longer he trotted cautiously to the open door of the cabin.
In a chair sat the stranger with the broad-brimmed hat and high boots,
with his hands securely tied behind him. And Jolly Roger was hustling
about, filling a shoulder-pack in the last light of the day.

"Cassidy, I oughta kill you," Jolly Roger was saying as he worked, an
exultant chuckle in his voice. "You don't give me any peace. No matter
where I go you're sure to come, and I can't remember that I ever
invited you. I oughta put you out of the way, and plant flowers over
you, now that I've got the chance. But I'm too chicken-hearted.
Besides, I like you. By the time you get tir