o pitch their tent, Shuter came out of one of the
tents, and in a loud voice called to his daughter, in the other, to
get up. Not wanting to speak to him, Joe hurried back into his own
tent and began to wash.

By some mischance the tin bowl upset and fell noisily to the ground.
Expecting to see Harry start up, Joe looked across at him as he
stooped to pick up the wayward bowl, but the quiet form did not move.
"Sleeping mighty sound," Joe soliloquized, as he vigorously began to
scour his face with a coarse, unsanitary-looking towel. Suddenly the
towel fell from his hands, and a startled, curious look shot into his
face; it had come to him that the scanty clothing which covered his
little driver neither rose nor fell.

For a few moments he stood gazing at the dimly outlined figure in the
yet uncertain light, a feeling of growing terror stealing over him. He
tried to convince himself that his eyes were deceiving him, yet his
laboring heart would not be comforted. Twice he opened his mouth to
call Harry's name, but his parched throat refused to utter any sound.
He could endure the growing horror no longer, and with set, terrified
gaze began to move toward the stretcher. When at last his laggard
steps reached it he had not the courage to shake the slim figure, but
in a voice, which sounded strangely unnatural, called his mate's name.
The quiet of the tent was broken by no response. With pitiful
hesitancy he finally stretched out his hand till it rested on the wan
face; then he uttered a great cry--it was as cold as the face of the
dead!

In his terror and excitement he was about to snatch him up in his
arms, when a sight, which made him start back with an exclamation of
horror met his eyes: in the side of the tent against which the body
rested was a sinister cut, stained with blood. Pushing the canvas
back, the whole treacherous story stood out as clear as daylight;
while sleeping, his companion had been stabbed through the folds of
the tent.

"There's only one man under God's heaven, who'd do a deed like this,
and that's Bill Shuter." There was something weirdly ominous in the
tones in which he uttered the words; in his dogged manner as he strode
out of the tent, cut several of the ropes that fastened it to the
ground, pieced them together, tried them to see if the knots were
firm--especially those which formed the noose at the end of the
line--and then winding the rope around his huge arm, strode into Bill
Shuter's t