with another team," he explained. "We won't have to wait. I'll give him the
checks."

Before they returned to the buckboard, Aldous halted his friend.

"I couldn't say much in that telegram," he said. "If Miss Gray wasn't a
bit tired and unstrung I'd let her explain. I want you to tell Mrs.
Blackton that she has come to Tete Jaune on a rather unpleasant mission,
old man. Nothing less than to attend to the grave of a--a near relative."

"I regret that--I regret it very much," replied Blackton, flinging away the
match he had lighted without touching it to his cigar. "I guessed something
was wrong. She's welcome at our place, Aldous--for as long as she remains
in Tete Jaune. Perhaps I knew this relative. If I can assist you--or
her----"

"He died before the steel came," said Aldous. "FitzHugh was his name. Old
Donald and I are going to take her to the grave. Miss Gray is an old friend
of mine," he lied boldly. "We want to start at dawn. Will that be too much
trouble for you and your wife?"

"No trouble at all," declared Blackton. "We've got a Chinese cook who's
more like an owl than a human. How will a four o'clock breakfast suit you?"

"Splendidly!"

As they went on, the contractor said:

"I carried your word to MacDonald. Hunted him down out in the bush. He is
very anxious to see you. He said he would not be at the depot, but that you
must not fail him. He's kept strangely under cover of late. Curious old
ghost, isn't he?"

"The strangest man in the mountains," said Aldous "And, when you come to
know him, the most lovable. We're going North together."

This time it was Blackton who stopped, with a hand on his companion's arm.
A short distance from them they could see the buckboard in the light of
the station lamp.

"Has old Donald written you lately?" he asked.

"No. He says he hasn't written a letter in twenty years."

Blackton hesitated.

"Then you haven't heard of his--accident?"

The strange look in the contractor's face as he lighted a cigar made John
Aldous catch him sharply by the arm.

"What do you mean?"

"He was shot. I happened to be in Dr. Brady's office when he dragged
himself in, late at night. Doc got the bullet out of his shoulder. It
wasn't a bad wound. The old man swore it was an accident, and asked us to
say nothing about it. We haven't. But I've been wondering. Old Donald said
he was careless with his own pistol. But the fact is, Aldous--_he was shot
from behind!_"

"The deuce