time, and I'm trying
to find out if my friends are among the living or the dead. Did you ever
hear of Father John, the Missioner at Cragg's Ridge?"

The young man's face brightened.

"I knew him," he said. "He helped me to bury my brother, three years
ago. And if it's him you seek, he is safe. He went up to Fort William a
week after the fire, and that was in September, eight months past."

"And was there with him a girl named Nada Hawkins?" asked Jolly Roger,
trying hard to speak calmly as he looked into the other's face.

The youth shook his head.

"No, he was alone. He slept in my cabin overnight, and he said nothing
of a girl named Nada Hawkins."

"Did he speak of others?"

"He was very tired, and I think he was half dead with grief at what had
happened. He spoke no names that I remember."

Then he saw the gray look in Jolly Roger's face grow deeper, and saw the
despair which could not hide itself in his eyes.

"But there were a number of girls who passed here, alone or with
their friends," he said hopefully. "What sort of looking girl was Nada
Hawkins?"

"A--kid. That's what I called her," said Jolly Roger, in a dead, cold
voice. "Eighteen, and beautiful, with blue eyes, and brown hair that she
couldn't keep from blowing in curls about her face. So like an angel you
wouldn't forget her if you'd seen her--just once."

Gently the youth placed a hand on Jolly Roger's arm.

"She didn't come this way," he said, "but maybe you'll find her
somewhere else. Won't you have breakfast with me? I've a stranger in
the cabin, still sleeping, who's going into the fire country from which
you've come. He's hunting for some one, and maybe you can give him
information. He's going to Cragg's Ridge."

"Cragg's Ridge!" exclaimed Jolly Roger. "What is his name?"

"Breault," said the youth. "Sergeant Breault, of the Royal Northwest
Mounted Police."

Jolly Roger turned to stroke the neck of a horse waiting for its morning
feed. But he felt nothing of the touch of flesh under his hand. Cold as
iron went his heart, and for half a minute he made no answer. Then he
said:

"Thanks, friend. I breakfasted before it was light and I'm hitting out
into the brush west and north, for the Rainy River country. Please don't
tell this man Breault that you saw me, for he'll think badly of me
for not waiting to give him information he might want. But--you
understand--if you loved the brother who died--that it's hard for me to
talk with a