ten to him!"

"Dallas wants to get back to the shack. Can a' ordinary, everyday
trooper look after the finest two-year-old and the finest team in
Dakota? Not by a long shot! And I'm not going to let her go alone,"
soberly, "after what's happened. Can't take any more chances."

Fraser sobered too. "Nothing to fear any more," he said. "When Mike's
men were getting the boat off, down below, they found--him."

A moment's silence.

"They think he tried to cross and couldn't. There he was, tangled up in
some willows, poor devil."

"That ought to explain some things to the Captain," said Lounsbury, in a
low voice.

"Yes. And it will satisfy the K. O., I'm pretty sure. An officer's not
to be blamed so much for things going wrong when the traitor's
practically within the lines. The K. O. himself could have had that
fire."

"Well, Dallas." Lounsbury was cheery again. "You and Marylyn own the
Bend, sure enough."

There was a knock at the door. Then, with a great show of backing and
coughing, young Jamieson appeared.

"Frank," said Lounsbury, "quit your nonsense and tell us about the other
side. Did the scout find anything?"

"Yes, he did," answered Jamieson; "and what proves how smart the whole
plot was. What do you think? Well, just above where you met that Indian,
they found an outfit--black blanket and a ragged skirt----"

A quiet fell. Dallas turned away to the windows. Lounsbury followed her,
comforting.

Presently, he returned, clearing his voice. "They copied Charley's
clothes," he said. "I guessed that. As the Indian came up to me, I
spoke. But when he answered, I knew--just a second too late. He gave me
a terrible lick, but I caught it on my arm and came back with the gun.
Don't know how I ever reached the shack."

"Mr. Lo peeled in the grove and scampered," said Fraser.

"We saw him," said Marylyn, "and I ran."

"He's the only red that got free."

"But, all the same, I plugged him," declared Lounsbury. "And I'll bet
he's packing a pound of buckshot. Who was it, do you know?"

"Canada John."

Again the door opened, and Oliver appeared. His long face was
distressfully haggard; about his temples and across his forehead, what
had been merely lines before were now deep grooves. Yet the fierce,
baffled look that had been in his eyes since the escape was entirely
gone. He smiled at the group most tenderly, and his moustache wiggled in
a most incomprehensible fashion.

He closed the door and waited, his