ler was the Eastern agent
of the whisky runners. The leader was a notorious character named Red
McIvor and this man had arranged to meet Weiler at a rendezvous near
Indian Creek.

Cranston and McCorquodale had held a consultation with Wade and it was
decided that Cranston would watch things at the Toronto end while
McCorquodale was sent out to follow developments at Indian Creek.
McCorquodale had told Mr. Wade what Kendrick had suggested to him at
Sparrow Lake--that the two of them work together on this bootlegging
case, and the railroad president had then mentioned Phil's letter and
his whereabouts and told McCorquodale to make for Thorlakson Siding and
pass on instructions.

Weiler bought a ticket for North Bay. There he had hung around for a
day, apparently waiting for somebody. At last three more fellows had
come in on a train. Weiler met them at the station and the whole party
took the train west that night, with McCorquodale trailing along.
Their destination was Indian Creek and on arrival they unloaded from
the express-car a Peterborough canoe, a tent and a lot of supplies. As
soon as the train pulled out they got ready for a trip into the woods.
Down on the riverbank, a few hundred rods through the bush back of the
station, a half-breed guide was waiting for them. He had a big
birch-bark canoe and the five of them began to hustle their belongings
off the platform.

McCorquodale was forced to keep in the background until they had gone
and he was afraid that he would lose them. He questioned the Station
Agent closely; but that official could tell him nothing about the
strangers except that they said they were part of a geological
expedition for the Government, heading towards Port Nelson on James'
Bay. McCorquodale pretended to accept this information at face value;
but if those "birds" knew anything about any "ology" except boozeology
he was prepared to swallow his suspenders, buckles and all. Included
in their "supplies" were several cases of liquor; McCorquodale knew a
case of liquor when he saw it, no matter if it was wrapped in canvas
and covered with misleading labels.

It had taken him a little while to locate a canoe that he could hire
together with a camping outfit; but finally he had started on the trail
once more. He had overhauled them about fifteen miles back from the
railroad where Indian Creek and Wolverine River joined waters. From
there he had followed them up stream for a few mile