ness," he answered. "I am not
in the Mounted. That's what you are paid for."

Ripley flushed. "We'll earn our pay on this job all right. We've got
the goods on him this time. And, by the way, Lapierre, if you've got
anything in the way of evidence, we'll be wanting it at the trial.
Better show up in May, and save somebody goin' after you. If you run
onto any Indians that know anything, bring them along."

"I will be there," smiled the other. "And since we are on the subject,
I can put you wise to a little deal that will net you some first-hand
evidence." The officers looked interested, and Lapierre continued:
"You know where Brown's old cabin is, just this side of the Methye
portage?" Ripley nodded. "Well, if you should happen to be at Brown's
on New Year's Day, just pull up the puncheons under the bunk and see
what you find."

"What will we find?" asked Craig.

Lapierre shrugged. "If I were you fellows I wouldn't overlook any
bets," he answered meaningly.

"Why New Year's Day any more than Christmas, or any other day?"

"Because," answered Lapierre, "on Christmas Day, or any other day
before New Year's Day, you won't find a damned thing but an empty
hole--that is why. Well, I must be going." He fastened the throat of
his _parka_ and drew on his cap and mittens. "So long! See you in the
spring. Shouldn't wonder if I will run onto some Indians, this winter,
who will tell what they know, now that MacNair is out of the way. I
know plenty of them that can talk, if they will."

"So long!" answered Ripley as Lapierre left the room. "Much obliged
for the tip. Hope your hunch is good."

"Play it and see," smiled Lapierre, and banged the door behind him.

Moving slowly northward upon a course that paralleled but studiously
avoided the old Methye trail, two men and a dog-team plodded heavily
through the snow at the close of a shortening day. Ostensibly, these
men were trappers; and, save for a single freight piece bound securely
upon the sled, their outfit varied in no particular from the outfits of
others who each winter fare into the North to engage in the taking of
fur. A close observer might have noted that the eyes of these men were
hard, and the frequent glances they cast over the back-trail were tense
with concern.

The larger and stronger of the two, one Xavier, a sullen riverman of
evil countenance, paused at the top of a ridge and pointed across a
snow-swept beaver meadow. "T'night we