er lad, and
dropping his axe he sprang forward, "Say, boy, what's happened?" he
demanded anxiously. "You're white as a sheet. Are you hurt or have you
had a fright? Spit it out!"

"A little of both, Oi guess," confessed Sparrer, sitting down wearily on
a handy log. "Are de others back yet?"

"Not yet, but they're coming now," replied Upton as a faint yell reached
them. "That's Hal, and by the sound of his voice they've had luck of
some kind. But what happened to you?"

"It's a long story, and Oi'll tell it when de others get here," replied
Sparrer. "Oi think Oi'll go in and get a d-d-rink of somethin' h-hot."
His teeth chattered. It was the result of nervous reaction quite as much
as cold. Upton, with real concern in his face, sprang forward and put an
arm around the shaking youngster and led him into the cabin, then
hastened to make him a cup of hot soup. With this in his stomach Sparrer
rapidly recovered and by the time Pat, Alec and Hal arrived, the latter
whooping joyously, he was quite himself. They brought with them three
marten and a fisher.

When these had been duly admired Upton demanded that Sparrer tell his
story, and this he did, sparing himself nothing. At the first mention of
the black fox there was an eager leaning forward on the part of all his
listeners, and when he told of the successful shot Hal whooped with joy.

"Where is he?" he demanded.

"Oi don't know," replied Sparrer, and could not restrain a rather
pathetic grin at the blank look of astonishment that swept over the four
eager faces. Then he hurried on, blurting out a full confession of his
temptation and winding up with the incident of the axe throwing and his
final recovery of consciousness.

"De skunk didn't even leave me de rabbit," he concluded.

The faces of Pat and Alec had changed rapidly from interest and
astonishment to seriousness, anger and determination. Both knew that
murder and nothing less had been back of the throwing of that axe, and
that it was merely the accident of good fortune that Sparrer was with
them now instead of lying a corpse out there in the beaver swamp. Pat
reached forward and pulled Sparrer's cap from his head, disclosing an
ugly lump where the blow had fallen. Till that moment no one had noticed
that the boy had kept his cap on.

"You may thank the good God that it was the handle and not the blade
that struck you, son. 'Twas He alone that saved you this time,"
exclaimed the big fellow, a note of rev