dn't find. They admitted that they were
puzzled, because he was a good hunter. Then he cleared out by himself;
and I believe that if there was any food left in the place he carefully
hid it."

Harding took out a letter and handed it to Blake.

"That," he said, "will show you how he would have profited. I found it
in his pocket."

Blake started. It was Colonel Challoner's handwriting, and was
addressed to Clarke.

"Read it," Benson advised; "it's justifiable."

Blake read it aloud, holding the paper near the fire, where the light
showed up the grimness of his face:

"'_In reply to your letter, I have nothing further to say. I believe I
have already made my intentions plain. It would be useless for you to
trouble me with any further proposals._'"

Blake folded the letter and put it into his pocket before he spoke.

"I think I see," he said very quietly. "The man has been trying to
bleed the Colonel, and has got his answer."

"Is that all?" Harding asked.

"Well, I believe it proves that your conclusions are right. I won't go
into particulars, but where my uncle and cousin are threatened I'm, so
to speak, the leading witness for the defense, and it wouldn't have
suited Clarke to let me speak. No doubt, that's why he took rather
drastic measures to put me out of the way."

"Then you mean never to question the story of the Indian affair?"

"What do you know about it?" Blake asked curtly.

Harding laughed.

"I know the truth. Haven't I marched and starved and shared my plans
with you? If there had been any meanness in you, wouldn't I have found
it out? What's more, Benson knows what really happened, and so does
Colonel Challoner. How else could Clarke have put the screw on him?"

"He doesn't seem to have made much impression; you have heard the
Colonel's answer." Blake frowned. "We'll drop this subject. If
Challoner attached any importance to what you think Clarke told him,
his first step would have been to send for me.

"I expect you'll find a letter waiting for you at Sweetwater," Harding
replied.

Blake did not answer, and soon afterward Sergeant Lane came in with
Walthew.

CHAPTER XXI

A MATTER OF DUTY

The campfire burned brightly in a straggling bluff at the edge of the
plain. The scattered trees were small and let in the cold wind, and
the men were gathered close round the fire in a semi-circle on the side
away from the smoke. Sergeant Lane held a notebook in his h