ited and
listened.

And then, as he heard the voice again, he grinned, and chuckled softly.

"It's Cassidy, Pied-Bot! We can't lose that redheaded fox, can we?"

A good humored deviltry lay in his eyes, and Peter--looking up--thought
for a moment his master was laughing. Then Jolly Roger made a megaphone
of his hands, and called very clearly out into the night.

"Ho, Cassidy! Is that you, Cassidy?"

Peter's heart was choking him as he listened. He sensed a terrific
danger. There was no sound at the edge of the lake. There was no sound
anywhere. For a few moments a death-like stillness followed Jolly
Roger's words.

Then a voice came in answer, each word cutting the gloom with the
decisive clearness of a bullet coming from a gun.

"Yes, this is Cassidy--Corporal Terence Cassidy, of 'M' Division, Royal
Northwest Mounted Police. Is that you, McKay?"

"Yes, it's me," replied Jolly Roger. "Does the wager still hold,
Cassidy?"

"It holds."

There was a shadowy movement on the beach. The voice came again.

"Watch yourself, McKay. If I see you I shall fire!"

With drawn gun Cassidy rushed toward the spot where Jolly Roger and
Peter had stood. It was empty now, except for the bit of old canvas.
Cassidy's Indian came up and stood behind him, and for many minutes they
listened for the crackling of brush. Slim Buck joined them, and last
came Yellow Bird, her dark eyes glowing like pools of fire in their
excitement. Cassidy looked at her, marveling at her beauty, and
suspicious of something that was in her face. He went back to the beach.
There he caught himself short, astonishment bringing a sharp exclamation
from his lips.

His canoe and outfit were gone!

Out of the star-gloom behind him floated a soft ripple of laughter as
Yellow Bird ran to her tepee.

And from the mist of water--far out--came a voice, the voice of Jolly
Roger McKay.

"Goodby, Cassidy!"

With it mingled the defiant bark of a dog.

In her tepee, a moment later, Yellow Bird drew Sun Cloud's glossy head
close against her warm breast, and turned her radiant face up thankfully
to the smoke hole in the tepee top, through which the spirits had
whispered their warning to her. Indistinctly, and still farther away,
her straining ears heard again the cry,

"Goodby, Cassidy!"

CHAPTER XII

In Cassidy's canoe, driving himself with steady strokes deeper into the
mystery of the starlit waters of Wollaston, Jolly Roger felt the night
suddenl