ce did he make a sign or call
to him.

He drove his raft ashore at twelve o'clock to prepare his dinner, and
after he had built a fire, and his cooking things were scattered about,
he straightened himself up and called in that same matter-of-fact way,
as if expecting an immediate response,

"Here, Peter!--Peter!--Come in, Boy!"

And Peter came. Fighting against the last instinct that held him back he
first thrust his head out from the brush and looked at Breault. Breault
paid no attention to him for a few moments, but sliced his bacon. When
the perfume of the cooking meat reached Peter's nose he edged himself
a little nearer, and with a whimpering sigh flattened himself on his
belly.

Breault heard the sigh, and grunted a reply,

"Hungry again, Peter?" he inquired casually.

He had saved for this moment a piece of cooked bacon held over from
breakfast, and tearing this with his fingers he tossed the strips to
Peter. As he did this he was thinking to himself,

"Why am I doing this? I don't want the dog. He will be a nuisance. He
will eat my grub. But it's fair. I'm paying a debt. He helped to save me
up on the Barren."

Thus did Breault, the man without mercy, the Nemesis, briefly analyze
the matter. And he cooked five pieces of bacon for Peter.

During the rest of that day Peter made no effort to keep himself in
concealment as he followed Breault and his raft. This afternoon Breault
shot a fawn, and when he made camp that night both he and Peter feasted
on fresh meat. This broke down the last of Peter's suspicion, and
Breault laid a hand on his head. He did not particularly like the feel
of the hand, but he tolerated it, and Breault grunted aloud, with a note
of commendation in his hard voice.

"A one-man dog--never anything else."

Half a dozen times during the day Peter had found the scent of Nada and
Roger where they had come ashore, and from this night on he associated
Breault as a necessary agent in his search for them. And with Breault he
went, instinctively guessing the truth.

The next day they found where Nada and McKay had abandoned the canoe,
and had struck south through the wilderness. This pleased Breault, who
was tired of his poling. This third night there was a new moon, and
something about it stirred in Peter an impulse to run ahead and overtake
those he was seeking. But a still strong instinct held him to Breault.

Tonight Breault slept like a dead man on his cedar boughs. He was up and