cabin. It was the first time
Brown had entered that little cell since its dedication to the woman for
whom it was built. He rubbed Jim's muzzle against the bed, and pointed
to nails in the logs where the clothes of the patois had hung.

"Now you lope out and find them--do you hear?"

Jim, crouching on his belly in acknowledgment that his apprehension had
been at fault during some late encounter, slunk across the camp and took
the path to the hotels.

Brown turned on Puttany following at his heels: "Frank, are you sure Joe
La France is dead?"

"Oh yes, he is det."

"Did you see him die? Were you there when he was buried? Was he put
underground with plenty of dirt on top of him, or did he merely drop in
the water?"

"I vas not there."

"Maybe the lazy hound has resurrected. I've seen these lumbermen dropped
into the water and drowned too often. You can never be sure they won't
be up drinking and fighting to-morrow unless you run a knife through
them."

"He is a det man," affirmed Puttany.

"Then somebody else has carried her off, and I'm going to know all about
it before I come back to camp. If I never come back, you may have the
stuff and land. I'm in this heels over head, and I don't care how soon
things end with me."

"But, Prowny, old poy, I vill help you--"

"You stay here. This is my hunt."

Jim passed the rustic guest-houses without turning aside from the trail.
Brown took no thought of inquiring at their doors, for throughout the
summer Francoise had not once been seen at the hotels. He did, however,
hastily borrow a horse from the stable where he was privileged, and
pursuing the blood-hound along the lake shore, he cantered over a
causeway of logs and earth which had been raised above a swamp.

The trail was very fresh, for Jim, without swerving, followed the road
where it turned at right angles from the shore and wound inland among
stumps. They had nearly reached Allanville, a group of log huts beside a
north-shore railroad, when Jim uttered the bay of victory.

Brown dropped from the saddle and called him sternly back. To be hunting
Francoise with a blood-hound out of leash--how horrible was this!

He tied his horse to a tree and took Jim by the collar, restraining the
creature's fierce joy of discovery. Francoise must be near, unless a
hound whose scent was unerring had become a fool.

What if she had left camp of her own will? She was so quiet, one could
not be sure of her thoughts. Brown