big fur company in charge o' some tradin' post or other,
away off somewheres, he didn't keer where--he was jist that sick of the
kind o' life he was leadin', an' wanted to get 'way off from everybody.

"But that ain't all! There was a man thar as said Ichabod Nesbit had been
seen 'round thar, an' he was lookin' for Art Bridges, too. An' I know
that that 'ornery cousin was lookin' for Art to murder him. I felt it in
my bones. He wanted to be sure Art was dead an' then he would go back an
'pass himself off as Art Bridges an' have the property anyhow. Then when
I heard as how Ichabod had passed himself off as Art in one place, I was
sure I was right. But he didn't need to do no murder 'nless it was him as
hired the bloody varmints to do it for him," and the hunter's voice grew
husky, "for that--that thar scalp--it was Art Bridges'--an' oh, if I had
been jist a day sooner! For the blood on it was hardly more'n dry!"

Tom Fish sunk his face in his hands and a convulsive half-sob, half-sigh
shook his body from head to foot, as though with ague.

Ree Kingdom drew nearer the sorrow-stricken man and took his big hand in
his own.

"Tom," he said, "it is a sad, sad story. I know just what you suffer. But
listen, Tom. It is not absolutely certain that the scalp we saw was that
of your friend. No man could positively swear to it, just by seeing the
color of the hair. And here is another thing I have been wanting to tell
you, Tom, but I did not like to interrupt you. I know how Arthur Bridges'
mother has been waiting and waiting for him to come. I have heard what
she has suffered, for she is a sister of a Mrs. Catesby at whose home I
lived and who was like a mother to me. But Mrs. Catesby's husband, who is
now dead, was not an agreeable man and the sisters hardly ever saw each
other. They lived far apart, but now Mrs. Catesby has moved to town and
they will be nearer one another. Mrs. Catesby was so kind to me, Tom,
that I would be mean indeed if I would not try to help you find her
nephew. But I will help you, and if he is now in this part of the country
we will hear of him sooner or later through the Indians."

"No, there is only one thing to do, an' it is for me to do it," Tom Fish
replied without looking up. "You can't help, Ree, an' ye'd only get into
a row an' spoil all yer own plans. It is fer me to squar' accounts--an'
I'll--do it. For I tell, ye, Ree, I ain't mistaken. I'd know that silky
dark ha'r of Art Bridges' if I se