"A polisman's trick," Pete said in a low voice. "A poacher would not ha' let ye see the light."

Foster felt that he must find out who the men were. The thing was risky, but it was worth trying, and he crawled out from behind the stones. The rock was rough and wet; his hand plunged into some water and he scraped his knee, but he made a few yards and then stopped and lay flat as the light went out. It looked as if the others had heard him, and he lowered his head until his face was buried in withered fern. There was silence for a few moments, and then his nerves tingled as he heard steps; the men, he thought, were coming out to look for him. He did not move, however, and the footsteps got farther off. By and by there was a sharp rustle and he cautiously looked up. Two hazy figures showed among the trees, but it was plain that they were going away.

It was impossible to follow them without being heard, and he waited until Pete joined him. So far as he could judge by the noise they made, the men were hurrying across the bog.

"They're awa', but I wouldna' say they'll no' come back," Pete remarked. "If they dinna' strike the right place, they'll no' find it easy to cross the burn. She rins in a deep cut an' the bottom's saft."

"What's likely to happen if they get off the track?"

"Weel," said Pete, with a chuckle, "it's verra possible they'll stop in the flow till morning, maybe up to the knees in mire. I dinna' think there's much reason they should get in deeper, but they might."

"But suppose they find the way and cross the burn?"

"Then, if they ken the dale, I would expect them to haud a bit south for Shopford, where they would find an inn, or maybe west by the Clattering ford to Canonbie. If they dinna' ken, it's likely they'll hae to sleep behind a dyke. Noo, however, we'll turn back and gang up the dale."

They recrossed the bog and skirted the moor for some time, after which they went down a long slope and reached a level space of grass and heath. They followed it north until a light shone ahead and the barking of dogs indicated that they were approaching a farm. Pete went in first, and Foster did not know what explanation he gave, but the farmer told him to sit down when he entered the big, flagged kitchen. He was not surprised when a woman who came in looked at him curiously, because he was wet and splashed, and bits of fern and heather stuck to his clothes, but his hosts asked no questions and presently gave him supper.

Soon afterwards he was shown a comfortable room and went to bed, leaving Pete with the others in the kitchen. Foster was glad to feel he could be trusted not to tell them too much, although he would, no doubt, have to satisfy their curiosity to some extent. A hint went a long way with the reserved Borderers.



XIX

ALICE'S CONFIDENCE

Foster got up late and after breakfast sat by the kitchen fire, studying his map. He imagined that his pursuers, believing him to be in front, had crossed the low ground towards the cultivated valley of the Esk, where they would not have trouble in finding shelter for the night. Then, if they thought he was making for the Garth, the railway would take them up Liddesdale.

He meant to visit the Garth, although this might prove dangerous if Graham and his companion watched the neighborhood. So long as Pete was close at hand, the risk might not be great, but Pete could not be with him always and he thought Graham would stick at nothing to get his papers back. One of the gang had killed Fred Hulton, and Foster did not suppose the others would hesitate about getting rid of him, if it could be done without putting the police on their track. A shot or stab in the dark would effectually prevent his betraying them, and it might be made to look like an accident, or perhaps as if he had killed himself. Foster, as a rule, distrusted anything that looked abnormal or theatrical, but admitted that he might be in some danger. For all that, he was going. There was no need for an early start, because he did not want to arrive in daylight and the distance was not great. Then he meant to avoid the high roads, and after a talk with Pete picked out his route across the hills. It was eleven o'clock when they set off, and they spent an hour sheltering behind a dyke while a snowstorm broke upon the moor. The snow was wet and did not lie, but the soaked grass and ling afterwards clung about their feet and made walking laborious. The sky was gray and lowering and there was a bitter wind, but they pushed on across the high moors, and when the light was going saw a gap in a long ridge in front. Foster thought this marked the way down to the Garth.

It was nearly dark when they reached the gap, through which a brown stream flowed, and he could see nothing except dim hillsides and the black trough of the hollow. Pete said they must follow the water, and they stumbled downhill among the stones beside the burn. As they descended, a valley opened up and a rough track began near a sheepfold. Although it was dark, Foster saw that they were now crossing rushy pasture, and they had to stop every now and then to open a gate. The stream was swelling with tributaries from the hills and began to roar among the stones. Birches clustered in the hollows, the track became a road, and at length a group of lights twinkled across a fir wood and he knew the Garth was not far ahead.

Now he had got there, he almost wished he had kept away. He was not sure of his welcome and did not know what line to take if Featherstone showed his doubts. For one thing, he did not mean to talk about his adventures in Newcastle and on Spadeadam waste. The affair was too theatrical for the unimaginative country gentleman to believe, and for that matter, when Foster went up the drive past the well-kept shrubberies and lawn he found it hard to realize that he had been hunted by determined men and was now perhaps in danger of his life. Featherstone, living in his quiet house, could not be expected to credit such a romantic tale. Graham's letters would to some extent corroborate his statements, but not unless Featherstone accepted his surmises as correct; but Foster admitted that after all pride was his strongest motive for saying nothing. If Featherstone distrusted him, he must continue to do so until Foster's efforts to help Lawrence were successful.

He braced his courage when he rang the bell, but John, who let him in, did not seem to find anything remarkable in his choice of a companion. Pete looked very big and rather truculent in his rough, wet clothes, but he was not embarrassed.

"This is a friend of mine," said Foster. "I should be obliged if you will look after him."

John showed no surprise at his statement. "Very good, sir; I think I can promise that. Will you give me your coat, sir?" Then he beckoned Pete. "If you please, come with me."

He took Pete away and Foster wondered with some amusement what they thought of one another. A few moments afterwards Alice came in, dressed with a curious elegant plainness that he thought suited her. Alice needed no ornaments, and fripperies would have struck a jarring note. Foster sometimes called her stately, though he felt that this was not quite what he meant. She had a certain quiet grace, touched with pride, that he had never noticed about anybody else, although he admitted that his knowledge of girls like Alice Featherstone was small. Now, however, she was not as calm as usual, for her eyes had a keen sparkle and her look was animated. He wondered whether he could believe this was because she was glad to see him.

"You have not been long," she said with a welcoming smile. "Have you succeeded?"

"On the whole, I think so," Foster answered modestly.

"That's splendid!" she exclaimed and he could not doubt the approval in her voice. It sounded as if she meant to applaud him as well as show her satisfaction with the consequences of his exploit.

"Well, I haven't got very far yet, although I imagine I'm on the right line. But have you heard from Lawrence?"

"No," she replied and her satisfaction vanished. Indeed, Foster was somewhat puzzled by the change. "I must confess that I'm getting anxious now."

Foster nodded, "Then I must go and look for him as soon as I've had a reckoning with Daly."

"Daly has been here——" she said and stopped as Mrs. Featherstone came in.

The latter looked at Foster rather curiously, but gave him her hand and seemed to take it for granted that he meant to resume his stay. She said her husband had gone to dine with a neighbor and would not be back for an hour or two, and then let Foster go to his room.

Dinner was served soon after he came down, but while they talked freely about matters of no importance Foster noted a subtle difference in Mrs. Featherstone's manner. She was not less friendly than usual, but she asked no questions about his journey and avoided mentioning Lawrence. It looked as if she knew her husband's doubts, but Foster somehow thought she did not altogether share them. In the meantime, he tried to act as if their relations were perfectly normal, but found it hard, and now and then glanced at the clock. It was a long way to the nearest inn and he wondered when Featherstone would return, because he could not accept the hospitality of a man who distrusted him.

When dinner was over, he went with the others to the drawing-room and did his best to engage them in careless talk. Alice supported him when his efforts flagged, as they sometimes did, and once or twice gave him a half-amused, half-sympathetic glance. He did not know if he was grateful for this or not, but saw that she knew what he felt. If Mrs. Featherstone guessed, she made no sign; she treated him with the graciousness one would expect from a well-bred hostess, but went no further.

It was a relief when Featherstone came in. He made a little abrupt movement when he saw Foster, to whom he did not give his hand. The latter thought he looked disturbed.

"I am sorry I was not at home when you arrived," Featherstone said. "Still, I had no reason for thinking you would be here."

"In fact, you were rather surprised to see me," Foster suggested.

Featherstone looked at him as if he thought he had been blunter than was necessary, but replied: "Well, I suppose that's true, but I have no doubt Mrs. Featherstone has made up for my absence, and since you have come, we would like to talk to you about Lawrence. I dare say you will give us a few minutes."

He opened the door as Mrs. Featherstone rose, and Foster went with them to the library, where Featherstone sat down at a big table. It was here he wrote his business letters and occasionally attended to magisterial duties, and Foster thought this was why he had chosen the place. It, no doubt, gave him a feeling of authority. Mrs. Featherstone sat by the fire, but Foster was surprised when Alice came in. Featherstone glanced at her with a frown.

"It might have been better if you had stayed downstairs and left this matter to your mother and me," he remarked and waited, as if he expected his wife to support him, but she did not.

"No," said Alice; "I am beginning to get anxious about Lawrence, and if Mr. Foster can tell us anything fresh, I ought to hear it. But I don't think he can. I believe he told us all he knew before."

Featherstone looked disturbed by her boldness, but Foster felt a thrill. Alice was on his side and meant to show the others her confidence in his honesty. He wondered what Featherstone would do, and was not surprised when he made a gesture of resignation. Foster knew his comrade well, and imagined that Featherstone was very like Lawrence. The latter was physically brave, but sometimes gave way to moral pressure and vacillated when he should be firm. Both showed a certain lack of rude stamina; they were, so to speak, too fine in the grain. Foster, however, had other things to think about, and indeed felt rather like a culprit brought before his judges. Then Mrs. Featherstone relieved the unpleasant tension.

"We have not heard from Lawrence yet and do not understand it. Can you do anything to set our fears at rest?"

"I'm sorry I can't," said Foster, and seeing he must deal with the matter boldly, asked Featherstone: "Have you any ground for believing I have not been frank?"

"It is an awkward question. You are our guest and my son sent you to us. I must add that we had begun to like you for your own sake; but I have grounds for supposing that you kept something back. To begin with, Daly, whom you told us you meant to mislead, was here again yesterday."

"Did you give way to his demands? It's important that I should know."

Featherstone hesitated, and Foster saw where his suspicions led, but for the next moment or two was absorbed by speculations about Daly's visit. Then Alice looked at her father with a smile.

"You can tell Mr. Foster. It's obvious that if he was in league with the fellow he would have no need to ask."

"I did not give way," said Featherstone. "He must have seen that I was determined, because after the first I thought he did not press me very hard."

"Ah!" said Foster; "that was curious, but we'll let it go in the meantime. I suppose there is something else?"

"Since you left, the police have paid me another visit. They asked some rather strange questions, besides inquiring where you were."

"Which you couldn't tell them!"

"I didn't know," Featherstone rejoined pointedly, and Foster saw that Alice had said nothing about his recent visit. She gave him an inquiring glance, as if she wondered why he did not state his reasons for going to Newcastle, but he looked as unobservant as he could. He could not signal her, because while this might escape his host's notice he was afraid of Mrs. Featherstone.

"Well," he said, "it might be better if you, so to speak, formulated your suspicions and made a definite charge. After all, I'm entitled to hear it."

"I do so most unwillingly, but feel an explanation is needed. To begin with, we had one short letter from my son, stating that he could not come home but you would tell us how he was getting on. This was all; he said nothing about Daly, or his starting east with you. You arrived with his portmanteau and what I now think is a rather curious story. Then, after Daly wrote, you suggested an extraordinary plan, which, as the fellow came here, has not worked very well. Besides, the police have made inquiries about you and there's something mysterious about your journeys. I do not think they were all intended to mislead Daly."

"All this is true," Foster admitted. "But you haven't stated the conclusions you draw from it."

"The conclusions are vague but disturbing. Lawrence trusted you and, you tell us, started with you for a place he did not intend to reach. Since then he has vanished. It is possible that you have deceived both him and us."

"That's rather absurd," Alice remarked. "I really don't think Mr. Foster would make a very dangerous plotter, and you admitted that Lawrence trusted him."

"I did," Featherstone rejoined sharply, as if he resented the interruption. "Still I don't see your argument."

"She means that Lawrence is not a simpleton," Mrs. Featherstone interposed. "For myself, I doubt if Mr. Foster could deceive him."

"We'll go on," Featherstone resumed, turning to Foster. "There was a very mysterious affair at Gardner's Crossing shortly before you left and some valuable bonds were missing."

Foster's face got red, but he laughed. "This is too much, sir! If your suspicions went so far, why did you not tell the police?"

"Ah!" said Featherstone with some awkwardness, "there you have me at a disadvantage! While Daly has the power to injure Lawrence, I must keep the police in the dark." He paused and added: "I cannot say I believed you reckoned on this."

"Thank you," said Foster, but Alice broke in: "Why don't you tell my father why you went to Newcastle?"

Featherstone gave her a surprised glance and then turned to Foster. "It looks as if my daughter were better informed than I. There is obviously something I do not know about."

"There is; but I must ask Miss Featherstone to respect my confidence in the meantime," Foster answered, and getting up, stood silent for a few moments, resting his hand on his chair.

He saw restrained curiosity in Mrs. Featherstone's face and her husband's anger, while he thought Alice knew how significant the line she had taken looked. She had boldly admitted that he knew her well enough to trust her with his secrets, and declared herself on his side. In the meantime, he was conscious of a strain that he thought the others felt and was sorry for Featherstone. He could not resent the man's anxiety about his son. For all that, he did not mean to tell him why he had gone to Newcastle. It would not make a plausible tale.

"I must own that things look bad for me," he said. "I can't offer any explanation that would satisfy you and could not expect you to take my word that I mean well. All I can do is to frighten off Daly and then find Lawrence, and I'm going to try."

"It doesn't matter much about Daly now. But if you can find Lawrence, you will clear yourself."

Alice turned to her father with an angry sparkle in her eyes. "That's a very grudging concession for us to make. We will not blame Mr. Foster when he has proved that it's impossible for him to be guilty!"

The tension was too great for any of them to be much surprised by her outbreak and Featherstone said dully, "It's logical."

"Logical!" Alice exclaimed in a scornful tone. "Do you expect Mr. Foster to be satisfied with that, after what he has borne and the risks he has run for us? Now, when things look bad for him, is the time for you to show your trust and knowledge of character."

"You imply that your judgment is better than mine?" Featherstone rejoined, but without heat.

"I know an honest man," Alice said quietly, with some color in her face.

There was silence for a few moments and by an effort of self-control Foster kept his face unmoved. He did not mean to let the others see the exultant satisfaction the girl's statement had given him. Featherstone brooded with knitted brows and a troubled look. Then he said:

"You will understand, Mr. Foster, that this has been a painful interview to my wife and me. You were our guest and my son's friend; but I do not know what has happened and we have no news of him. If you can bring him back, I will ask your forgiveness for all that I have said."

"I will do my best and get to work to-morrow," Foster answered. Then he bowed to Mrs. Featherstone and Alice, and the girl gave him a look that made his heart beat as he went out of the room.

Shortly afterwards he entered the hall, wearing his damp walking clothes, and met Mrs. Featherstone, who protested against his leaving them at night. Foster answered that he had no time to lose and beckoning Pete, who was waiting, went out. Alice had not come down to bid him good-by, but after all he had not expected this; the meeting would not have been free from embarrassment. He had much to say to her, but must wait until he had kept his promise.

He did not blame Featherstone and rather sympathized with him, but could not stay at the Garth or come back there until he had cleared up the mystery about his comrade's silence. Pete did not grumble much when they went down the drive, but said he had no friends in the neighborhood and it was a long way to the nearest inn.



XX

THE RIGHT TRACK

It was a clear night and although the moon was low its light touched the wet road as Foster walked down the dale. He had much to think about and tried to fix his mind on his main object. It would have been delightful to dwell upon Alice's interposition on his behalf, but he must not attach too much importance to this yet; after all she might have been actuated mainly by a love of justice. Besides, the sooner he kept his promise, the sooner he would be able to ask her what she had meant.

He must find Daly and thought it significant that the fellow's attempt at extortion had not been very determined. If Featherstone was right about this, it indicated that Daly suspected that Lawrence was beyond his reach and had not been at the Garth. It was possible that he had found out how he had been misled and meant to look for his victim in Canada. Foster wondered whether he would go without his money, or if he had received a share of the plunder before, since the circular check was not for a large sum. In any case, it was lucky that Daly had visited the Garth when he did, because if he had waited another day, he might have met Graham, which would have been awkward.

After some thought, Foster decided to act on the supposition that Daly would return to Canada. Then, dismissing the matter for the time, he speculated about the possibility of Graham's lurking in the neighborhood and began to look ahead. A stone dyke, broken in places, ran between the winding road and the stream it followed; on the other side, which lay in shadow, thin birches straggled up a steep hill. The moon was low and would soon sink behind the trees, when it would be very dark. When he looked back he could not see the lights of the Garth. He was on the road to the station, and remembered that there was a train from the south in the evening.

Taking out his watch, he calculated that anybody who left the station on foot when the train arrived might be expected to reach the Garth in the next quarter of an hour. This was disturbing, but he saw nothing to cause him alarm as he went on. Now and then a rabbit, startled by his footsteps, ran across the road, and once or twice an owl hooted as it fluttered overhead. The river splashed among the stones and sometimes the shadows moved as a puff of wind came up the valley; but that was all. Still Foster quickened his pace; it was some distance to the village where he knew of an inn, and he wanted to get there before the people went to bed. He would not admit that he shrank from being left in the dark when the moon sank.

By and by Pete stopped to relight his pipe and uttered an exclamation when he put his hand in his pocket.

"I hae lost the guid pooch ye gave me at Hexham," he said. "I mind I filled my pipe by the big thorn where the wire fence stops, and the moon's on the road. If ye'll bide or gang on slowly, I'll rin back."

"Never mind it. I'll give you another."

"Na," said Pete. "If ye had been used with an auld tin and had a smairt pooch for the first time, ye wouldna' lea' it in the road. Besides, it was fu' o' a better tobacco than I often smoke."

Foster would sooner have kept him, but was unwilling to admit that he did not like to be alone. It was not very far to the thorn tree and Pete would soon overtake him. He went on, but did not loiter, and noted how his footsteps echoed along the edge of a wood ahead. In fact, the noise he made rather jarred his nerves, but the grass by the roadside was hummocky and wet. The road was dark beside the wood, for the moon was near the tops of the black firs, but there were gaps through which the silver light shone down.

As he passed the first of the trees he heard a rattle of wings and stopped abruptly. Wood-pigeons were fluttering among the branches, and if he had not disturbed them, there was somebody in the wood. After a few moments, the sound died away, but he stood listening. He could not hear Pete coming, and was sorry he had let him go; the road looked lonely, and he knew there was no house for some distance. Still, if he had not frightened the pigeons, it might be unsafe to stay where he was, and he did not mean to turn back. It was better to be cautious, but he must not give his imagination rein.

Bracing his courage, he went on, a little faster than before but without hurrying, and for two or three minutes heard no fresh noise. The wood ran along the road for perhaps a quarter of a mile and he was near the middle of it when there was a sharp report and something flicked against the wall behind him. He sprang aside instinctively, and then running forward smashed through the rotten fence and plunged into the wood. The nervous shrinking he had felt had gone. Now he was confronted with a danger that was not imaginary, he was conscious of savage anger and a fierce desire to come to grips with his treacherous antagonist. His fury was greater because of his previous fear.

The wood was dark and thick. Branches brushed against him and hindered his progress, crawling brambles caught his feet. He could hear nothing except the noise he made, and as the fit of rage passed away his caution returned. He was putting himself at a disadvantage, because his lurking enemy could hear him and would no doubt try another shot if he came near enough. Stopping behind a fir trunk, with his finger on the trigger of the Browning pistol, he listened. At first no sound came out of the dark, but he presently heard a rustle some distance off. There was another man in the wood beside the fellow who had fired at him, but so long as he kept still and the others did not know where he was, he had an advantage over them. They might expose themselves, and he was a good shot.

He would have liked to wait, but reflected that if he killed or disabled somebody, he would have to justify his action, and he had compromising papers in his pocket. He did not want to destroy the checks or tell his story to the police yet. Then he noticed that the rustling was getting farther away, as if the man was pushing through the wood towards the moor behind it, and he turned back half-reluctantly to the road. After getting over the fence, he kept on the wet grass, and had nearly reached the end of the wood when he heard somebody running behind him. The moon was now behind the firs and their dark shadow stretched from fence to wall. It looked as if Pete had heard the shot and was coming to his help, but Foster kept on until he was nearly out of the wood, and then stopped, standing against the fence, a yard or two back from where the moonlight fell upon the road. There was no use in running an unnecessary risk.

The steps got nearer; he heard somebody breathing hard, and a figure appeared in the gloom. Then Foster thrust the pistol into his pocket, for the man who came into the moonlight was Gordon, whom he had met at the Edinburgh hotel.

"Mr. Foster!" he exclaimed breathlessly, but Foster thought he was not surprised, and sitting on the fence took out a cigarette as calmly as he could. He had Graham's checks and must be careful.

"Yes," he said. "I didn't expect to see you."

"I imagine it's lucky that you knew me," Gordon remarked, rather dryly. "Well, perhaps we ought to have stopped you at the other end of the wood."

"You were watching it then?"

"Both ends. It's obvious now that we should have watched the middle."

"Ah," said Foster thoughtfully; "then you knew somebody was hiding among the trees?"

"We thought it very possible."

"Well, you know I was shot at, but I imagine the fellow got away. Do you mean to let him go?"

Gordon laughed. "My friends tell me I'm getting fat, and I'm certainly not so vigorous as I was. Besides, it's not my part of the business to chase a suspected person across the hills, and I have men able to do it better than I can. But you stopped as you entered the wood. Did you expect to be shot at?"

"I thought it very possible," Foster answered dryly.

"A fair retort! You were shot at. Were you nearly hit?"

"I believe the fellow would have got me if he'd used a gun instead of a pistol; but the former would, of course, have been a conspicuous thing to carry about."

"That's true," Gordon agreed. "But, after escaping, why did you stop here and run the risk again?"

Foster pondered. There was no sign of Pete, but he thought the latter could be trusted to elude the police, and did not want to let Gordon know he had felt it necessary to provide himself with a bodyguard. Something of this kind would be obvious if he stated that he was waiting for a companion.

"Well," he said, "it's annoying to be shot at, and when I heard somebody running I thought I might catch the fellow off his guard. You see, I had already gone into the wood to look for him."

"But you must have known that it would have been very rash for the man who fired the shot to run noisily down the middle of the road."

"I suppose I was rather excited and didn't remember that," Foster replied.

Gordon said nothing for a few moments and Foster saw that he had been fencing with him. He had admitted that he had partly expected to be attacked, and the other knew of the danger to which he had been exposed. This was puzzling; but it was lucky the man had not asked his reasons for fearing an attack. Foster believed he had not omitted to do so from carelessness.

Then Gordon said, "I must try to find out what my men are doing. Where are you going to stop tonight?"

Foster told him and he nodded. "I know the inn and will call there as soon as I can. Leave your address if you go before I come."

He went away up the road and Foster, setting off again, had gone about a mile when he heard steps behind him. Soon after he stopped Pete came up.

"Ye're no' hurt?" he asked.

Foster said he was uninjured, and when he asked where Pete had been the latter grinned.

"Up the hill and sitting in a wet peat-hag. There was a polisman who ran better than I thought an' it wasn'a a'thegither easy getting clear o' him."

"But why did the policeman run after you?"

"Yon's a thing I dinna' exactly ken, but when I was coming doon the road I heard a shot and saw ye break intil the wood. Weel, I thought the back o' it was the place for me, and I was follying the dyke, quiet and saircumspect, when a man jumped ower and took the heather. He had a stairt, but the brae was steep, and I was thinking it would no' be long before I had a grup o' him when the polis cam' ower the dyke behind. Then I thought it might be better if I didna' interfere, and made for a bit glen that rins doon the fell. When I saw my chance I slippit oot and found the peat-hag."

Foster knitted his brows. It looked as if Pete had drawn the police off his antagonist's track, which was unfortunate; but Gordon had evidently been watching the fellow, who would now have enough to do to make his escape. How Gordon came to be watching him required some thought, but Foster need not puzzle about this in the meantime. That Graham or his accomplice had thought it worth while to risk shooting him in order to recover the checks showed Foster that he was on the right track. Their importance did not depend on their money value; Graham meant to get them back because they were evidence of a crime. It was satisfactory to think there was not much probability of the fellow's meeting Daly, who would have an additional reason for leaving the country if he heard what had happened.

After walking some distance, he came to a straggling village, and although he had to knock for a few minutes was admitted to the inn. Somewhat to his surprise, Gordon did not follow him, and finding that there was a train to Carlisle next morning, he gave the name of a hotel there and went to the station. He had done what Gordon told him, but did not mean to stop at the hotel long.

As the train ran down Liddesdale he sat in a corner, thinking. The fast Canadian Northern boats sailed from Bristol, and Daly might choose that port if he were suspicious and meant to steal away; but Liverpool was nearer and there were more steamers to Montreal. Foster thought he could leave this matter until he reached Carlisle and got a newspaper that gave the steamship sailings. In the meantime he must decide what to do with Pete, and admitted that he would be sorry to part with the man, although he would not be of much help in the towns, and their companionship might make him conspicuous.

"I almost think I had better let you go at Carlisle," he said.

Pete looked rather hard at him, and then asked: "Have I earned my money?"

"Yes," said Foster, "you have earned it well."

"Then, if ye have nae great objection, I'd like to take pairt in the shape o' a third-class passage to Western Canada, where ye come from. I hear it's a gran' country."

"It's a hard country," Foster answered. "You had better not be rash. There's not much poaching yonder; the game, for the most part, belongs to the State. and the laws about it are very strict."

"There's no' that much profit in poaching here; particular when ye pay a smart fine noo and then. For a' that, I wouldna' say but it's better than mony anither job, if ye're lucky."

"You ought to make a good hill shepherd."

"Verra true, an' I might make a good plooman, and get eighteen shillings or a pound a week for either. But what's yon for a man's work frae break o' day till dark? An', mind ye, it's work that needs skill."

"Not very much," Foster agreed.

"Weel," said Pete, rather diffidently, "I thought ye might have some use for me, if ye've no' finished the business ye are on."

Foster doubted if Pete could help him much in Canada, since he did not expect to chase Daly through the woods. The man, however, had been useful and might be so again; then he had talents which, if rightly applied, would earn him much more in Canada than five dollars a week.

"If you mean to come, I'll take you," he said. "If I don't want you myself, I think I can promise to give you a good start."

Pete gave him a grateful glance, and Foster was silent while the train ran down the valley of the Esk. On reaching Carlisle, he went to the hotel he had named and asked for a room, but did not sign the visitors' book. He spent the afternoon watching the station, and then went to the Eden bridge, where the road to Scotland crossed the river. Daly had a car and might prefer to use it instead of the rather infrequent trains.

Foster did not know where the fellow was, but he had been at the Garth two days ago, and, if Featherstone's firmness had given him a hint, might before leaving the country revisit Peebles and Hawick, where Foster had left him the first clew. Daly was not the man to act on a hasty conclusion without trying to verify it, and Lawrence's suit-case was still at Peebles. It was possible that he had already gone south, but there was a chance that he had not passed through Carlisle yet and Foster durst not neglect it.

Dusk was falling when he loitered about the handsome bridge. Lights began to twinkle in the gray bulk of the castle across the park, and along the Stanwix ridge, which rose above the waterside to the north. The gleam faded off the river, but it was not quite dark and there was not much traffic. Daly did not come and Foster, who was getting cold, had begun to wonder how long he should wait when a bright light flashed out at the top of the hill across the bridge.

A car was coming down the hill and Foster stopped behind a tramway cable-post and took out his pipe as if he meant to strike a match. Just then a tram-car rolled across the bridge and the motor swerved towards the spot where he stood. It passed close enough for him to have touched it, and he saw Daly sitting beside the driver, and two ladies behind. He could not distinguish their faces, for the car sped across the bridge and a few moments later its tail light vanished among the houses that ran down to the river.

Foster set off after it as fast as he could walk. Daly would not go to the station, because there was no train south for some time, and the two hotels where motorists generally stayed were not far off. Still he might drive through the town, making for Kendal or Lancaster, in which case Foster would lose him. The car was not in the first garage, and he hurried to the other, attached to his hotel. He found the car, splashed with mud which the driver, whom he had seen at Hawick, was washing off.

"I want some petrol, and you had better leave me a clear road to the door," the man said to a garage hand. "I expect we'll be out first in the morning, because we mean to start as soon as it's light."

Foster had heard enough, and quickly went away. Daly meant to stop the night, and he must decide what to say to him. He was moreover curious about his companions.



XXI

DALY TAKES ALARM

When he returned to the hotel Foster signed the visitors' book, which he examined. Daly's name was not there, but the last entry recorded the arrival of Mr. Forbes and two ladies from Edinburgh, and Foster did not doubt that this was the party he had seen. He next went to the smoking-room and choosing a quiet corner, lighted a cigarette. Daly would probably see his name in the book, but this did not matter, because he meant to seek an interview with the man. Foster did not think he had met Graham, which gave him the advantage of being able to make a surprise attack, since Daly would not know about the documents he carried.

By and by, however, he began to see the matter in a different light. Taking it for granted that Daly meant to leave England, it might be better to let him go. Even if he had not killed Fred Hulton, he had obviously had something to do with the theft of the bonds, and would be more afraid of detection in Canada, which would make him easier to deal with. Besides, his knowledge of Lawrence Featherstone's offense would be of less use to him there. If Foster could keep him in sight and sail by the same vessel, he would be able to have the reckoning when he liked after the ship left port.

On the whole, he thought this the better plan, but resolved to leave the thing to chance. If Daly met him or saw his name in the book, he would deal with the fellow then; if not, he would wait until they were on board ship. When he went in to dinner he chose a place behind a pillar, where he was not likely to be noticed, and looked carefully about. The room was large and occupied by a number of guests, but by and by he saw Daly at a table near its other end. As he had taken a prominent place, it looked as if he was not afraid of being seen. He sat facing Foster, but at some distance, with two ladies on the opposite side. They were fashionably dressed and one was older than the other, but that was all Foster could distinguish.

He had no ground for thinking Daly noticed him during the meal, and did not see the man for an hour afterwards. Then finding that he wanted a railway guide he had left in his room, he went up the stairs and along a corridor. As he did so, he saw a man and woman some distance in front. The carpet was thick, and it was obvious that the others did not hear him, because the man put his arm round his companion's waist. So far as Foster could see, the girl yielded willingly to his embrace, and not wishing to overtake them he stopped. Next moment they passed a lamp and he noted that the man was Daly, though he was unable to distinguish his companion's face. He, however, thought he would know her dress again.

Daly's love affairs had nothing to do with him, but in order to save the girl embarrassment he waited until they opened a door. Foster imagined it led to a music or drawing-room, but passed without looking in, and going up a flight of stairs spent some time in his room, studying the railway guide and a list of steamship sailings. As he entered the corridor on his way back he saw the girl, who was now alone, in front. He knew her by her dress and did not mean to overtake her, but after she had gone a few paces she stopped to pick up something she had dropped. Since it would look rather marked if he waited, he went on and was close to her when she heard his steps and glanced round with a start. Then he stopped as he saw she was the girl he had first met at Hawick. Although he thought she was embarrassed, she met him with a smile.

"It looks as if you had got tired of Edinburgh," she remarked. "Did you stay there long?"

"No," said Foster bluntly. "But I wonder whether you did not know that I had left?"

"How could I know?" she asked with a look of surprise that he thought was well done. "Besides, why should I be interested?"

"You seemed to think it better that I should go away. Anyhow, you gave me a useful hint, which perhaps warrants my doing as much for you."

She hesitated, glancing at an open door close by, and then moved towards it as if she expected him to follow her. Foster did so and found himself in a small drawing-room, where she sat down on a sofa and waited for him to speak. Instead he stood opposite, pondering. The girl was pretty and fashionably dressed, but he had ground for thinking some of her friends or relatives were dangerous criminals. It did not, however, follow that she took part in their plots, and although she obviously knew something about what was going on, he did not believe she knew it was connected with the tragedy at Gardner's Crossing. He admitted that he was perhaps giving way to romantic sentiment, but he was sorry for the girl and thought her Daly's victim. The fellow was handsome and must have charm, since he had been able to influence Carmen, who was strong-willed and clever.

"Well?" she said presently.

"I saw your name in the book, Miss Huntley, and know whom you came with. I think you ought to go back to Edinburgh at once and must urge you strongly not to go to Canada."

It was plain that she understood him, for the blood rushed into her face and he saw that she felt some confusion. This seemed to indicate that she was not a hardened adventuress.

"To begin with, I am not going to Canada—I did not mean to go," she said, and her eyes sparkled as she added: "But you are guilty of intolerable rudeness. Why do you presume to interfere?"

"I suppose I am rude; I'm certainly unconventional. But you gave me some advice in Edinburgh and I was grateful, because I saw you meant well. Can't you believe that I mean well, too?"

She gave him a quick, half-puzzled, half-nervous glance, but did not answer, and he resumed: "Anyhow, you would run a greater risk in Canada than I did in Edinburgh, and you were rash in coming to Carlisle."

"But I'm not going to Canada!" she broke out.

"Don't you believe me?"

"I suppose I must," said Foster. "But I think you ought to go home."

She laughed, a rather strained laugh. "You are conventional enough to think I would be safe there. How do you know what kind of a home I have?"

"I know nothing about it," Foster admitted. "I find you here with a dangerous companion and dare say I haven't taken a very tactful line in trying to warn you. That's all."

There was silence for the next few moments and he felt sympathetic as he watched her disturbed face. Her anger had vanished and he thought she was grappling with doubt and alarm. In the meantime, he was not free from embarrassment. It was an awkward business, and he had not managed it very well. Then she got up and stood looking at him calmly.

"You have gone too far, in one sense, but not far enough in another. You must be plainer if you want to justify your conduct."

"I see that, but am afraid you'll have to take my honesty for granted, because I can't tell you anything more, except that the man you came with is not to be trusted and may involve you in the difficulties that threaten him. You must think of me as a stranger to whom you tried to do a good turn and who has showed his gratitude in a clumsy way."

"Then there's nothing more to be said; but I suppose I must admit that you meant well," she answered, and giving him a level glance moved to the door.

Foster held it open and after she had gone went down to the smoking-room. Perhaps he had been rash, but this did not matter. On the whole, he did not think the girl would tell Daly about his warning, and if she did, he probably knew already that Foster was at the hotel. In fact, it was rather significant that they had not met. Still, as she was not going to Canada, he had not gained much, except perhaps by exciting her suspicions and so preventing Daly's making some use of her in his plots. This, however, was not Foster's object, although he imagined Daly had some practical reason for his philandering. It was for the girl's sake he had interfered and her attitude puzzled him.

She could not have been altogether unsuspecting, or she would have bitterly resented his attack upon her lover, but her blush and confusion showed she had scruples and was rather the prey of a foolish infatuation than an accomplice. She knew something, but he felt sure she did not know in what a serious crime her lover was implicated. Foster, however, would not dwell on this. He hoped she would return to Edinburgh, but if she did not, he had done his best. He must be ready to follow Daly in the morning, and going to another garage hired a car and then warned Pete, whom he had sent to a different hotel. A fast car would reach Liverpool in five or six hours.

There was only one thing that disturbed him; he had not heard from the police, but it would be dangerous to disobey an order by telegram, while if Gordon arrived before Daly left, awkward complications might arise. Foster, however, could do nothing to prevent this and presently went to bed.

Getting up in the dark next morning, he went to the garage. The air was very raw and a fog hung over the town, but one or two electric lights burned in the gloomy shed, where an attendant was doing something. Daly's car stood where Foster had last seen it, but the cover was off the engine and some tools and small springs lay about. As there was no sign of the driver, it did not look as if Daly meant to start soon.

"You open early," he said to the attendant. "Nobody seems to be going away just yet."

"I'm here earlier than I need have been," the man grumbled. "By the way the fellow who brought me has left his car, he won't be ready for another hour."

Foster, who had learned what he wanted to know, returned to the hotel and his breakfast was served in a comer of the big dining-room. He imagined that Daly had seen it was a bad morning and had not got up as soon as he meant. The dining-room was cold and only lighted near Foster's table, which did not look as if anybody else was expected.

"I dare say you'd sooner have people who get up later," he remarked to the waiter who brought him another dish.

"We serve breakfast when it's wanted, sir, if you order it beforehand."

"I seem to be the only person who has done so this morning."

"So far as I know, sir," the waiter replied. "But there's another man on early duty."

Foster thought the other waiter would have turned on more lights if he expected a customer, and as there was no need for hurry ate a good meal. Day was breaking when he finished and word was brought him that his car was ready. Going to the office, he paid his bill and asked if a letter or telegram had arrived. There was nothing for him and he went to a window that commanded a view of the street. His car stood close by with Pete inside, but it was some time before Daly's came out of the garage. Knowing that he could reach the door in a few moments, Foster waited until the two ladies who had arrived with Daly went down the steps alone. He could not understand this, but a waiter came up and said that Miss Huntley would like to see him. When Foster reached the pavement the girl had got into the car.

"I thought you would be glad to know I am going home," she said.

"Are you going in this car?" Foster asked sharply.

"As far as Hawick," she answered with a twinkle of amusement. "As I am doing what you urged, I don't see why you should be surprised."

"No," said Foster, "of course not! Well, I really think it was a useful hint."

"Perhaps so. Thank you, and good-by," she said smiling, and signed to the driver.

The car rolled away and Foster, watching it speed up the street, wondered where Daly was, and why the girl had sent for him. It was possible that she had meant to retire, so to speak, with colors flying and not to steal away, but he did not understand her amusement, and feared a Parthian shot. He must find out why Daly did not want the car.

Going back to the office, he asked the clerk: "Can you tell me when Mr. Forbes will be down for breakfast?"

"He left last night. The porter took his luggage to the twelve o'clock train."

Foster savagely clenched his fist. He had been cheated; the girl had warned Daly, who had suspected some danger. Still, Foster did not think she had told him all and she had taken his advice; but this did not matter. Daly had gone and he must get upon his track as soon as possible. Running down the steps, he jumped into the car and told the man to drive to the station.

The twelve o'clock train went to London, but there was a connection by which one could reach Liverpool at about four in the morning. It was now eight o'clock, and Foster walked up and down the platform, growling at his folly, for a minute or two. Then he ascertained that there was another train for Liverpool in half an hour which would arrive at noon, and sending the car away, waited about the office until he could get tickets. After all, he might find Daly before the steamer sailed.



XXII

CARMEN GETS A SHOCK

On his way to Liverpool, Foster tried to review the situation calmly. His anger was vanishing, but he still felt sore and annoyed with himself. He had weakly yielded to sentimental pity for an attractive girl and had paid for it, because she had, no doubt, warned Daly, who knew from Foster's boldness that he had learned enough to make him dangerous. The latter grimly resolved that he would not let any Quixotic folly spoil his plans again. He had been cleverly tricked, but was not beaten yet, because a study of the steamship advertisements led him to believe that Daly could not leave Liverpool until the afternoon. Moreover, the fellow was obviously afraid of him.

Arriving shortly after twelve o'clock, he drove to the Canadian Pacific office and asked a clerk for a list of the passengers by a steamer announced to sail that day. He was given a list and saw that Mr. Andrew Forbes had taken a saloon berth. This indicated that Daly had booked his passage beforehand.

"I see my friend's on board," Foster remarked. "Have you got a first and a second-class berth left?"

"We had," the clerk said, smiling, "Unfortunately, the boat has gone."

"Gone!" exclaimed Foster, who got a shock. "Don't your steamers sail in the afternoon?"

"As a rule," the clerk agreed. "However, this is an extra sailing, and we sent her off earlier to pick up passengers at Belfast Lough."

Foster said nothing, but left the office with a determined look. A swift Canadian Northern liner sailed from Bristol two days later and ought to reach Quebec soon after the other boat. He thought of telegraphing to secure a berth, but decided not to do so. He had given Gordon his Carlisle address, which was all that he had promised, and although he had heard nothing from him, the police might make inquiries at the steamship offices. On the whole, it seemed safer to leave Liverpool and he took the first train to Bristol, but got out at Hereford, which was about half-way. It would be awkward if the police interfered with him now.

Reaching Bristol shortly before the steamer sailed, he had no trouble in taking a passage for himself and Pete, and arrived at Quebec about twelve hours after the Canadian Pacific boat. Daly had got a start, and although Foster did not mean to give up the chase, he felt depressed as the train sped through the forests of Ontario. It was not long since he had come that way in high spirits, looking forward with pleasure to a holiday. Now he looked back, with a feeling of unreality, on his wanderings among the Scottish bogs. All he had done seemed ridiculous and fantastic. Nobody was the better for it, while he had involved himself in a horrible tangle. The police were probably on his track and Featherstone suspected him; he had acted like a romantic boy and not a sober man. There was, however, one bright gleam; Alice trusted him, and he must show that he deserved her confidence.

Arriving at Gardner's Crossing in the evening, he sent Pete to the hotel and went to Austin's house. He must see Carmen and resolved that she should find him proof against her wiles; he was not going to be a sentimental fool again. In a general way, Carmen was, of course, too clever for him, but he had now certain advantages which he meant to use.

He was shown into her drawing-room, where he was left for some time, and imagined with rather grim amusement that she was making preparations to receive him. Carmen knew the power of her beauty, which, however, owed much to her tasteful dress. In the meantime, he looked about the room. It was pretty with a certain exotic touch that the girl knew how to give. The color-plan of carpets, rugs, and curtains, although rather vivid, was good; the furniture pleased the eye. Foster had once thought it charmingly artistic, but knew better now. Alice Featherstone had taught him the difference between prettiness and dignified beauty. He felt that difference plainly when Carmen came in, dressed like the fashionable women he had seen in Edinburgh.

"You have come back soon, but it's nice to see you," she said with a smile. "The Crossing was duller than usual after you had gone."

"Thank you! I came back sooner than I expected," Foster replied, rather dryly.

Carmen gave him a quick look, but sat down with languid grace in an easy chair.

"Well, I've no doubt you have much to tell me about your trip, and if you'll talk about Edinburgh and London, I won't let anybody in."

"Aren't you anxious to know if I delivered the packet?"

"The packet? I had forgotten it," Carmen said carelessly. "Still, I did think you might have written to let me know you took it safe. But I dare say you had many interesting things to do."

"As it happened, I had," Foster replied with a touch of grimness. "For all that, I delivered the packet and got an answer."

Carmen regarded him with surprise, as if she thought he had not played up. "You can give me the answer afterwards. Tell me about Featherstone's place and his people. I'm curious about them; particularly his sisters. I suppose he has some?"

Foster thought he understood. Carmen was clever and would not have used such obvious means had she wished to learn if Lawrence had a sister who had attracted him. What she wanted was to persuade him that the packet was not important.

"I'd sooner talk about the errand you gave me. Did you know what the packet contained?"

She laughed, but he thought the laugh was forced. "Doesn't that sound rather stupid when I sent the thing?"

"Perhaps it does," said Foster gravely. "Still, I hope you didn't know."

Her coquettish manner vanished and she leaned slightly forward while her eyes got hard. Indeed, there was something feline in her alert pose. Now she had, so to speak, unsheathed her claws, he was glad the advantage was heavily on his side. For all that, he did not want to hurt her.

"Go on," she said sharply.

"Very well. I got an answer, which I opened. I'll show it to you, but won't give it up."

"You opened it!" she exclaimed. "Do you mean to keep a letter that was sent to me?"

"I don't think it was sent to you; that's important."

Carmen smiled defiantly and Foster admired her pluck, since it was obvious that he had found out the trick. Still he thought she did not know how important the letter really was.

"Then you can quit fencing and get down to business," she said, and Foster saw that the surface polish she generally wore was thin. The character it concealed was fierce and somewhat primitive. He had suspected that Carmen would not be restrained by conventions if she let herself go.

"If you'll be patient, I'll try to make things plain."

He began by hastily recounting what had happened at the factory the night Fred Hulton was killed. Carmen was obviously puzzled, which was a relief to him, but he saw comprehension in her look as he went on to relate how he had been watched by the police, and his interview with Graham and subsequent adventures. By degrees, her understanding changed to horror, and when he stopped he saw that she had got a cruel shock. Her face was white, her gaze was fixed, and, her eyes were unusually wide open. Still he thought it was through her pride she suffered most. Then she braced herself and looked at him scornfully.

"You surely lost your nerve and got imagining things when you were hiding in the bogs. It's a quite impossible story!"

"It sounds like that, but I have some proof; money for Daly and another man, which I suppose you were to send on. It's evidently their share of the plunder."

He took out his wallet and held up the checks, keeping, however, a firm grip on them, because he knew that if Carmen meant to fight for her lover she would not be scrupulous.

"Daly wasn't near the factory the night Fred Hulton was killed. I know where he was," she said in a strained but defiant voice.

"All the better for him," Foster rejoined. "It's pretty clear that he had a share in the thing."

Carmen suddenly leaned back and turned her head. She had given in sooner than Foster expected, but the evidence was overwhelming. He did not look at her for some moments and felt ashamed of the cruelty he had had to use, but there was no avoiding this when a number of people's happiness was at stake. After all, he thought it was rather her ambition than her affection that had been engaged. Then rousing herself with an effort she turned to him.

"Well," she said, "it looks as if I'd had an escape!"

Foster felt comforted, but did not answer, and she resumed: "You haven't told me this for nothing. What do you want?"

"I want to know where Daly is. I've no doubt he called here on his way west and you have his address."

"You can't force me to give it you."

"I don't know if I can or not, but don't want to use force," Foster replied, and while he waited, hesitating to play his last card, Carmen looked up with fear in her eyes.

"Jake," she said, "you mustn't think my father knows anything about this. I sent the packet, without telling him, because Daly asked me."

"But your father and he had some business together that nobody knew about."

"They had. They were really backing Nicholson, who got the first recorders turned off the Fish-hawk silver claim."

"Ah!" said Foster, "now I understand!"

He was glad to admit that her statement explained Austin's rather mysterious association with Daly. Public feeling had been strongly roused by the dispute about the mine, whose finders it was believed had been cunningly cheated out of their rights. There were, moreover, hints of foul play about a dangerous accident in the workings that had given the victorious claimants a legal advantage. Foster could imagine Daly's finding scope for his talents in the trickery and intrigue, and saw why Austin did not want his share in it known.

"In a way, it's a relief to find that's all your father had to do with the fellow," he resumed. "Anyhow, I want his address."

"I won't give it you," Carmen answered stubbornly.

Foster hesitated. The shock the girl had got had broken down her self-control. He shrank from turning this to his advantage and dealing her another blow, but could not be fastidious when his partner's safety and Alice Featherstone's happiness were at stake. Besides, it would be better for Carmen that her infatuation for Daly should be altogether destroyed.

"Well," he said, "I'm surprised that you should still feel you ought to protect the man, and must try to convince you that he doesn't deserve it."

Then he related what he had seen in the corridor of the Carlisle hotel and how Miss Huntley had helped Daly to deceive him. Carmen's face paled and then suddenly turned crimson; but she answered with a quietness he had not expected:

"You're not a liar, Jake, so I suppose this is true. But you're all of you human, and you say the girl is pretty. What you saw mayn't mean very much."

"She wore an engagement ring. I don't imagine it was given her by another man."

Then Carmen flung the last of her self-control away. Her eyes flashed and Foster thought she looked like a wild cat as she indulged her savage rage.

"The cur!" she cried in a harsh voice. "He went to Banff, in British Columbia. Now you know, you had better go after him. Do what you like with him; I don't mind!"

Foster went to the door, but as he reached it she called him back and looked at him with a bitter, mocking smile.

"You're smarter than I thought, Jake, but I suppose you think I don't know why you meddled! It wasn't for your partner's sake, though I soon guessed that Daly was getting after him; Featherstone has a sister, and you have fallen in love with her. Well, she can have you with pleasure if she has any use for you, and before long you'll make her deadly tired. You'd bore a live woman crazy in a week; you'll never be rich, because you're afraid of touching a dollar you don't earn, and you've got the morals of a convent-school girl!" She gasped and resumed in a scream: "Why don't you go before I throw something at you?"

Foster left and was glad when he shut the door. Carmen was obviously beside herself and had gone further than she meant. If it was any comfort to insult him, he did not grudge it her, but thought he saw where her remarks led. He had been rather fond of Carmen, as she no doubt knew, before he understood her, and their friendship might have ripened until——. Well, he was sorry for her, but it looked as if she was not the only person who had had an escape.

When he got outside, he went to the factory and found Hulton alone in the president's room. The man looked worn, but greeted Foster with a reserved smile and gave him a cigar.

"You haven't been away very long," he remarked. "Didn't your visit turn out as pleasant as you expected?"

"In one way, it did not. But why did you send the British police after me?"

"As a matter of fact, I let them know you were all right, but my agent had to go to them, and thought it might be better if they kept a watch on you. You'd got busy about some mysterious business. What was it?"

"I can't tell you," said Foster bluntly. "It only concerns me and Featherstone, but it led to something else; I'll come to that later. What about the man I helped on the train? If he got through all right, why didn't he send me word?"

"As the fellows who attacked you had got on the wrong track, we thought we'd let them follow it, but they were smarter than we reckoned and we lost them."

"Then you made use of me, at my risk, as the Scottish police did afterwards?" Foster rejoined. "I don't know that I've much to thank you for, since it led to my being thrown off the Montreal express and chased across the Border bogs."

"I must allow that we did something of the kind," Hulton owned with a smile. "But we'll let that go. What have you found out?"

Foster handed him Graham's letter and the check on the American bank, but not the circular check for Daly. Hulton's face showed stern satisfaction and he gave Foster a very grateful look.

"I owe you much for this and am not going to forget the service. These papers prove conspiracy and robbery, and clear my boy. But how did you get them?"

Foster supplied a garbled account of his interview with Graham, and Hulton looked at him thoughtfully.

"Its plain that you're keeping something back, but if it's your or your partner's business, I suppose I can't object. I believe you mean to do the square thing."

"Thank you," said Foster. "What have you found out about Daly?"

"Enough to show he wasn't at the factory the night Fred was killed," Hulton answered with stern self-control. "But he was in the plot and is being watched in Scotland."

"Then you don't know that he's in Canada?"

Hulton stretched out his hand to a bell, but Foster stopped him.

"Wait a moment! You have got to leave Daly to me. Anyhow, you're not to send your agents or the police after him until I telegraph you. I'm going to look for him by to-night's train."

"The train goes west," Hulton answered meaningly.

"It does, but if I think I'm followed, I'll spoil the trail."

Hulton's eyes flashed and his face set very hard. "The man belongs to the gang that killed my son and tried to blacken his name. I don't quit until I've run the last rogue down."

"I mean to see Daly first," Foster answered doggedly.

After a moment or two, Hulton made a gesture of agreement. "Very well; I allow you have a claim. But I won't interfere if my agents have already got on his track."

"I must take the risk of that," Foster replied and left the factory a few minutes afterwards.



XXIII

AN UNEXPECTED MEETING

Daly was not at Banff, and Foster, who made cautious inquiries, found nothing to indicate that he had been there. Indeed, he began to weigh the possibility of Carmen's having deceived him, but rejected this explanation. The girl was clever at intrigue, but he did not think she had acted a part. She had really lost her self-control and told him the truth in a fit of rage. On the other hand, it was possible that Daly had deceived her, but there was no obvious reason for his doing so.

The fellow, however, was not in Banff, which is a small place, frequented mostly by tourists and invalids who come there in summer, and Foster took a west-bound train. He was once more at a loss and felt dispirited. For one thing, he had no time to lose, because it would spoil his plans if Hulton's agents got on Daly's track before him.

He left Banff late at night, with a ticket for Vancouver, which he had bought on speculation, partly because the seaboard city is a clearing-house for travelers to all parts of the Pacific coast, but did not sleep much as the heavy train rumbled through the mountains. The jolting of the cars and the roar of wheels that echoed among the rocks disturbed him, and he was troubled by gloomy thoughts. He had promised Alice Featherstone that he would clear her brother; but he had also to clear himself, and in order to do so must find Lawrence as well as Daly. Just now he had not much hope of finding either, but he cherished a vague belief in his luck, and it was unthinkable that he should neglect any chance of justifying the girl's confidence. He was ready to follow Daly round the world, sooner than lose that. The trouble was that he could not tell if he was following the fellow or not.

He went to sleep at last, and getting up rather late, spent an hour or two trying to knit up broken clews and looking for a light. It was a profitless but absorbing occupation and he vacantly glanced at the majestic panorama of snowy peaks and climbing forest that rolled past the windows of the car. When his thoughts wandered from their groove, he saw Alice Featherstone moving with stately calm about the Garth, or standing in the orchard with the sunset shining on her face. He recalled the grace of her tall figure and how her dress harmonized with the mossy trunks, but he loved to dwell upon the look of trust in her steady eyes. Then the memories were suddenly banished, for a whistle rang up the track and there was a jar of brakes.

Foster hurried out to the platform when the long train stopped, and saw the conductor talking to the engineer and passengers jumping down into the snow. Pete joined him as he followed them, but he stopped for some moments and looked about. There was no station near. The track, which was marked by cinders and stains on the snow, ran along a desolate mountainside. Dark pines that looked as if they had been dusted with icing-sugar rolled in curiously rigid ranks up the slope, getting smaller until they dwindled to a fine saw-edge that bit into a vast sweep of white. This ended in a row of jagged peaks whose summits gleamed with dazzling brightness against the blue sky. Below the track, the ground fell away to a tremendous gorge, where dark-colored mist hung about a green river dotted with drifting ice. The sun struck warm upon his face, though the snow was dry.

"We'll find out why they've stopped," he said to Pete and walked forward past the cars.

The engineer stood on the step of the huge locomotive and had not much information to give.

"Track's gone down not far ahead; snow-slide, I guess."

He shrugged when Foster asked if it would be a long job. "You can see for yourself, if you like," he remarked, indicating a plume of smoke that rose above the pines. "There's a construction gang at work round the bend. It's a sure thing we won't pull out before you're back."

Foster set off with Pete and several passengers, and the Scot gazed about with wonder.

"I was born among the hills, but never have I seen ought like this!" he exclaimed. "Man, it passes dreamin' o'; it's just stupenjious! But I wouldna' say they'll mak' much o' farming here."

"They have some bench tablelands and pretty rich alluvial valleys," Foster answered with a smile. "The province depends largely on its minerals."

Pete glanced back up the track that wound down between rock and forest from a distant notch in the high, white rampart.

"I'm thinking the men who built yon line had stout hearts."

"It wasn't an easy job," Foster agreed. "They were up against savage Nature, and she's still too strong for the engineer now and then, as I expect you'll shortly see."

They walked through a gap in the pines and stopped with a sense of awe on the edge of a great red furrow in the mountain. The gash was fringed by shattered trees, and here and there a giant splintered trunk rested precariously among stones ground to fragments. Far beneath, a vast pile of earth and snow dammed the river, and half-way up an overturned locomotive, with boiler crushed like an eggshell, lay among the wreckage. The end of a smashed box-car rose out of the boiling flood. For a hundred yards the track had vanished, but gangs of men were hurrying to and fro about the gap. Farther back, there was clang of flung-down rails and a ringing of hammers.

"If they open the road again by to-morrow morning, they'll be lucky," Foster remarked, and stopped a big fellow who was going past with an ax on his shoulder. "Is there any settlement not too far ahead?"

"There's a smart new hotel at the flag station about six miles off," said the man. "You can make it all right walking if you keep to the track and watch out you don't meet the construction train in the snowshed."

Foster, who knew he would find waiting tedious, went back to the car for his small bag, after which he and Pete set off for the hotel. They had some trouble to cross the path of the avalanche and then spent some time getting past the men who were unloading a row of flat cars. The single-line track was cut out of the rock and one ran a risk of glissading down to the river by venturing outside its edge. Once, indeed, a heavy beam, thrown too far, plunged down like a toboggan, and leaping from a rock's crest splashed into the flood. The men on the cars worked in furious haste, and it was difficult to avoid the clanging rails they threw off.

Foster got past, but did not find walking easy when he had done so. The track wound among the folds of the hills, and where the sun had struck the snow there was a slippery crust, through which he broke. Where it ran past tall crags and between the trees, the snow was dry and loose as dust. They made something over two miles in the first hour and soon afterwards came to the mouth of a snowshed. The opening made a dark blotch on the glittering slope, for the roof was pitched at a very small angle to the declivity and the snow passed down hill over it with scarcely a wrinkle.

It was only when they entered they saw signs of man's work in the massive beams and stringers that braced the structure. These were presently lost in the gloom and Foster stumbled among the ties. Shingle ballast rolled under his feet; where he found a tie to step on it was generally by stubbing his toe, and once or twice he struck the side of the shed.

For all that, he pushed on as fast as possible. The warning he had been given was indefinite, but it looked as if a train was shortly expected and the locomotive, with its outside cylinders, would not give them much room. He imagined that refuges would be provided at intervals, but did not know where to find them. Now and then they stopped to listen, but heard nothing. There was deep silence, which was a relief, and they blundered on again as fast as they could. It was rather daunting work and one could not make much speed, but when a faint, muffled throbbing reached them they began to run.

Foster had no means of guessing the length of the shed, and as he slipped among the ballast looked anxiously in front, but could not see the glimmering patch of light he expected. The darkness was impenetrable, but the contour of the hillside had indicated that the shed was curved, and the outlet might be nearer than he thought. In the meantime, the sweat ran down his face and his breath came hard. He was in good training, for his journeys among the Scottish hills had strengthened his muscles, but the footing was bad among the stones, and he labored through them awkwardly with set lips and clenched hands. He thought of throwing away his heavy coat, but it would take a few moments to get it off and he must put down the bag, in which there was the letter he would need. By and by his foot struck something and lurching forward he lost his balance and came down heavily. The blow shook him and he was a little slow in getting up until he felt a rail he put his hand on quiver. Then he scrambled to his feet, but could not find the bag.

"I hae't," said Pete, who seized his arm and urged him forward.

A deep snorting reached them and a tie he trod on trembled, but as he ran savagely with labored breath there was an elusive glimmer in the dark ahead. It grew brighter, an irregularly-shaped white patch appeared, and making a tense effort while the ballast rolled beneath his feet, he staggered into the sunshine. Then with a gasp of keen relief he threw himself upon the snow beside the track.

About a hundred yards away, a giant locomotive toiled up the incline, hurling out clouds of smoke that streamed far back among the pines. The road bed shook and the hillside rang with the din of wheels. While Foster lay panting, the locomotive labored past, and then long, flat cars, on which men sat upon the load of jarring rails, clanged by. The black mouth of the shed swallowed them, a cloud of smoke and dusty snow curled about the opening, and the uproar suddenly sank to a muffled rumble. This died away and the deep silence of the mountains was emphasized by the sound of the river.

"We were not much too soon," Foster said with a breathless laugh. "Now I come to think of it, there's no obvious reason we shouldn't have stopped on board the train and got our lunch comfortably. I seem to have a habit of doing unusual and unnecessary things; it's curious how soon you get into trouble when you indulge a bent like that."

"Yon's a verra true remairk," Pete agreed. "It's a rough and thorny world, an' if ye will not walk in the cleared paths but gang yere air gait, ye must struggle with the briars."

"And scramble through snowsheds? You Scots are a philosophical lot. But do you call poaching sticking to the beaten path?"

"I'm thinking it's as near it as stravaging aboot the Border mosses, when ye might gang by train."

"A fair hit! But after all, man wears the regulation paths so deep that he can't get out when he wants. What about the pioneers, who blaze the new trails? Aren't they needed?"

"Whiles, maybe," Pete answered grinning. "For a' that, they maun tak' the consequences. Do ye feel it's yere business to break a new road?"

"Certainly not! I'm not a philanthropist and would be quite satisfied with making things a little easier for myself and my friends, but am much afraid I haven't succeeded yet. In fact, there's one friend in England who's very far from grateful. But the question is—Why did I leave the train?"

"Ye just felt ye had to?"

"I think I did. But why did I feel that?"

Pete chuckled. "There ye have me! This I ken; whiles when I had a hare or a few paltrig in the lining o' my auld coat and cam' to a slap in a dyke, I had a kind o' feeling yon was no' the road for me. I couldna' tell there was a keeper hiding on the ither side; but I didna' gang. Maybe it's better no' to argue but follow yere heart."

"No," said Foster, "I imagine it's really better to follow your head. In the meantime, I've had no lunch and think we'll get on."

They came to a wide hollow in the hills where the snow was deep and loose. The sun was shut out and the frost was keen, while Foster saw by the lengthening shadow of the pines across the river that the afternoon was wearing on. A glance at his watch showed that he had been walking for nearly three hours, but there was no sign of the hotel. Dark masses of trees ran up from the water to the line of summer snow, and no roof or curl of smoke broke their somber monotony. High above, the peaks glittered with a steely brightness that seemed to intensify the cold.

Their breath hung about them as they plodded on, but at length, when they came to the middle of the bend, where the hills curved out again, there was a break and they stopped at the end of a bridge. The low sun shone into the gap, which was profoundly deep and majestically beautiful. On its farther side, tremendous crags held up the snow, which trickled down their faces in thin gray streaks and stretched back above, steeped in soft blue shadow. On Foster's side, giant pines glimmered a bright green in the warm light, running up to a glittering slope that ended in two rugged peaks, and a river that sprang from a wrinkled glacier foamed through the dusky gorge. Where a small clearing had been cut in the forest, steep red roofs stood out in harmonious contrast with the green of the firs, and a picturesque wooden building with pillars and verandas occupied the greater part of the opening.

"If the place is as attractive inside, it's worth the walk," Foster remarked. "You appreciate your quarters best when you've had some trouble to get there."

"I'm thinking that's true. The peat fire and the auld rush chair in the bit cothouse are weel worth winning to when ye come through the rain and wind ower the dark moss. This is a gran' country, but it's no' like that ither amang the Border fells."

Foster stood for a few moments and mused, for he sympathized with Pete. He remembered the satisfaction with which he had seen the lights of a lonely inn or farmstead twinkle when he tramped, wet and tired, across the Scottish moors. They were bleak and often forbidding, but had a charm one felt but could not analyze, with the half-lights that trembled across them and their subdued coloring. In spite of some hardships, he had been happy in the misty, rain-swept land, but he knew it had been touched by the glamour of romance. That was over. He was on his probation in utilitarian Canada, and very much at a loss; but he meant to make good somehow and go forward, trusting in his luck.

"Well," he said, "I'm hungry and we'll get on. I hope they won't make us wait for supper, though they'll no doubt call it dinner at a place like this."

Five minutes afterwards he stamped the snow off his boots as he entered a glass-fronted veranda in front of the hotel. It was comfortably furnished, warm, and occupied by three people. A lady sat with some sewing at a table, and a very pretty girl, holding a cigarette case, leaned over the side of a basket chair, in which a man reclined. Foster, who imagined he was an invalid by his slack pose, was passing on to the main door when the man moved. As he turned to take a cigarette Foster saw his face.

"Lawrence!" he exclaimed.

"Jake!" said the other, and would have got up, but the girl put her hand restrainingly on his arm.

Foster stood still for a moment, overcome by surprise and satisfaction, but understanding what he saw. The lady with the sewing was studying him, but he did not resent this and thought he would like her. The girl divided her attention between him and his comrade, whom she restrained with a pretty air of authority. She obviously knew who Foster was and felt curious, but meant to take care of Lawrence. There was something in her protective manner that Foster found singularly charming. Then Lawrence beckoned and held out his hand.

"I'm uncommonly glad to see you, Jake, but how did you get here?"

"Why aren't you in California?"

They both laughed and Lawrence turned to the lady.

"This is my neglectful partner, as I dare say you have guessed. Mrs. Stephen, of Victoria, Jake."

She gave Foster her hand and he was next presented to Miss Lucy Stephen. Then Lawrence indicated Pete, who waited, looking very big and muscular but quite at ease.

"Who's this and where did you get him? I'll engage that he was born between Ettrick and Liddel."

"He kens!" Peter remarked with a twinkle. "My name's no' far frae Ettrick, sir."

"My friend, Pete Scott," said Foster. "You have heard the ladies' names, Pete, but this is my partner, Mr. Featherstone, from the Garth."

Pete lifted his hand to his forehead and the movement had a touch of dignity. "Your servant, all; an' if ye'll alloo it, Mr. Foster's friends are mine."

Lawrence laughed. "A very proper sentiment, and a true Borderer! But you haven't told us how you found him, Jake."

"It's a long tale," said Foster. "Besides, I'm hungry. So I expect is Pete."

Lucy Stephen rang a bell. "Tea ought to be ready. We often take it here."

The tea was brought a few minutes afterwards and when Lucy gave him his cup Foster sat in a basket chair studying his comrade. Lawrence's face was pinched and his pose languid, but Foster thought he was not so ill as he had been. He did not know how much he ought to ask and had decided to wait until they were alone when Lawrence smiled.

"You needn't be alarmed, partner. I'm very much better than I was and will soon be quite fit again."

"We have good ground for hoping so," Lucy Stephen added in a friendly tone, and Foster thought she had noted his anxiety and liked him for it.

Her remark seemed to warrant his looking at her and he approved what he saw. The girl was attractive and had character, but what struck him at first sight was the protective gentleness she showed his comrade. He liked her eyes, which were a soft, clear blue, while her supple figure and warm-tinted skin hinted that she was vigorous. It was plain that she had not Alice Featherstone's reserve and pride, nor he thought the depth of tenderness that the latter hid. She was softer and more pliable, for Alice was marked by an unflinching steadfastness. He smiled as he admitted that for him Alice stood alone on an unapproachable plane.

"But how did you get ill?" he asked.

"I was left on an icy couloir," Lawrence replied. "When they found me I was half-frozen, but it makes a story that's probably as long as yours. I'll tell it you later. How's our Borderer getting on?"

Foster turned to Pete, who had a large, hot Canadian biscuit on his plate. "This kind of meal isn't very common in this country, Pete. Perhaps I'd better warn you that there'll be another by and by."

"Aweel," said Pete, grinning, "I've no' done so bad. It's a guid plan to mak' certain when ye hae the chance."



XXIV

LAWRENCE'S STORY

When the meal was over Foster began to feel impatient. Pete went away, but Mrs. Stephen and Lucy remained, and Foster, having much to ask and tell his comrade, was embarrassed by their presence. By and by he saw that Lawrence was watching him with quiet amusement.

"It's like old times to have you with us," Lawrence remarked. "In fact, it only needed your turning up to complete my satisfaction; but you're a disturbing fellow. Don't you think this lucky reunion is rather too good to spoil?"

Foster knew what he meant and was tempted to agree, though he felt this was weak. It was pleasant to lounge, enjoying careless talk, and the society of the two ladies had its charm. They added a touch of domesticity and gave the place a homelike look, while the girl made an attractive picture as she handed Lawrence his matches and cigarettes. Foster thought it was worth being ill to be waited on like that. Then his chair was comfortable and he could see the sunset fading on the snow.

The sky was a wonderful pale-green and the high peaks glowed against it, softly red. There was a belt where the snow glittered, but lower down it faded to gray and blue. The pines were nearly black, but rose out of the shadow in sharp-cut spires, and far down in the dusky gorge, from which the roar of the flood and crash of ice ascended, there were gleams of livid foam. Still there was much he wanted to learn, and it was something of a relief when Mrs. Stephen picked up her sewing and gave her daughter a meaning glance. To Foster's surprise, Lawrence interposed.

"If you don't mind, I'd sooner you didn't go." Then he turned to Foster with a smile. "It's obvious that you want to unbosom yourself, Jake, but you can begin. You needn't be afraid of mentioning Daly. Lucy knows."

Foster remarked the girl's blush. Since she knew so much, it was plain that Lawrence had asked her to marry him and she had agreed. He imagined that Lawrence wanted Mrs. Stephen to hear somebody else's account of the matter, and although it would have been easier to talk to Lawrence alone, he asked:

"Did you know the fellow was in Banff a day or two since?"

Lucy Stephen made an abrupt movement, and her mother looked interested. She was a quiet lady and more reserved than the girl, but Foster thought her intelligent and firm.

"I did not," said Lawrence. "As a matter of fact, I'm no longer afraid of the fellow and mean to fight. He can't do me much harm—now."

The girl's shy glance at his comrade moved Foster. She knew what her lover meant and valued his trust; but he could sympathize with Mrs. Stephen, who looked disturbed. The latter was practical and no doubt saw that Daly might give them trouble.

"You had better begin at the beginning, and then we'll understand why you came back and how you got on Daly's trail," Lawrence resumed with a hint of resignation.

"Very well; but first, why didn't you write?"

"I wrote twice. Once to my mother and once to you."

"We got no letters. Did you post them?"

"Ah!" said Lawrence, "that was unfortunate. I gave the first letter to a steward to send ashore from a San Francisco boat. Walters put the other in the mail."

"Who is Walters?"

"We'll come to him later. Get on with your story."

Foster told it as clearly as he could, though this took some time, and when he had finished was annoyed by his comrade's smile. Lawrence seldom took things seriously enough.

"Jake is a born meddler," he remarked to the others. "He can't resist the temptation to put crooked matters right."

"It is a useful habit," said Mrs. Stephen quietly.

"Just so," Lawrence agreed. "Still it's a habit that ought to be carefully controlled and not, so to speak, be indulged out of sentimental impulses."

Foster felt embarrassed, although he thought he had said no more about Carmen and Alice than was needed to make his narrative clear.

"First of all," Lawrence resumed, "he takes up my defense, then he must help Carmen, and I think deserved the trouble in which she involved him. Next he seems to have been moved by my sister's anxiety." He paused and gave Foster a curious quiet smile. "I wondered what Alice would think of you and hope she was grateful."

Foster saw Lucy's interest, and wondered whether he had told more than he meant, but his comrade's amusement seemed uncalled for, and he rejoined: "I imagined I'd made it plain that your sister wasn't the only relative your carelessness alarmed."

"You did. The situation wasn't without its humor, Jake. After you had embarked on a number of strange adventures on my behalf, it must have been galling to be suspected of having made away with me. However, I understand that Alice didn't take this view?"

"She did not," said Foster shortly, and Lawrence rang a bell.

"Get me a C.P. telegram form," he ordered the waiter.

The form was brought, and Lawrence filled it up and gave it to the man. Then he fixed his eyes on Foster and remarked carelessly: "I've sent it in your name, Jake, and not to my father. I thought somebody had better break the comforting news to him, and briefly stated that you had found me."

"Oughtn't you to have added some particulars?" Mrs. Stephen asked.

"On the whole, I don't think so. For one thing, Jake's taciturn modesty rather becomes him, and the charges for an English telegram are high."

Foster said nothing, but he knew the message had been sent to Alice and Lawrence was satisfied with him as his sister's lover. This was something, but Lawrence's approval might not count for much.

"That's done with," the latter resumed. "Since you didn't find Daly at Banff, we have to decide if Carmen meant to deceive you and he never intended going there. I rather think we had better leave it to Mrs. Stephen and Lucy."

"I imagine she told the truth," Lucy replied. "If she had loved the man, she might, after all, have tried to protect him; but a selfish, ambitious girl who found she had been cheated, would be capable of ruining him in a fit of jealous rage."

"But I didn't state that she was ambitious and selfish," objected Foster.

Lawrence's eyes twinkled. "You don't realize all your talents, Jake. For one thing, you have a gift for narrative, and the portrait you drew of Carmen with a stroke or two was lifelike. Then, when you met and bluffed her into giving Daly away, you couldn't have taken a more effective line if you had been an ambassador. What do you think, Mrs. Stephen?"

"Mr. Foster seems to have used all his advantages and the girl got a shock that found out her weak points. I believe she meant to ruin her worthless lover."

"So do I," Lawrence agreed. "I expect you have made Jake sorry he was firm, but I'd warned him about Carmen and she doesn't deserve much pity. But why did Daly leave England and how did he find out that I'd been at Banff?"

"If you'll tell me what you have done since you left the Crossing, it might help to solve the puzzle," Foster replied.

Lawrence made a gesture of resignation. "I suppose it must be told. I went to California and didn't get as well as I expected. There was a good deal of sea-fog on the coast and after a time I went farther south. That's one reason I didn't write; I felt languid and dejected and didn't want to alarm my folks. Well, I tried Mexico and got rather worse; besides I found lounging tiresome work. In consequence, I joined a steamer going north and her doctor told me that dry cold mountain air was the best cure for troubles like mine. I met Walters on the voyage up the coast."

"Perhaps you had better describe him," Lucy suggested.

"Walters looks about my age and is thin and dark; an amusing fellow and remarkably well informed. In fact, I couldn't guess his nationality; he seemed to have been everywhere. He had good manners, but somehow one missed——"

"Something that good manners must be founded on," Lucy interposed.

Foster saw that they had argued about the man before, because Lawrence smiled indulgently.

"Then how did he make your acquaintance?" he asked the girl.

"That was not altogether Lawrence's fault. Walters was cleverer than he thought."

"And he mailed one of the letters that did not arrive?"

"The fellow," Lawrence continued, "was a pleasant companion and when I mentioned why I was traveling agreed that the mountains were best for me. Told me about some friends of his whom the air had cured."

"In short, he recommended your trying Banff," Lucy remarked.

"He did me a good turn there. We separated at Seattle, but I found him at Victoria, where I stopped some weeks. It was there I met Lucy, who was going to Banff. I must explain that she's a mountaineer."

The girl blushed. "I climbed in the Olympians twice with college friends. They talked about exploring some of the northern glaciers next summer, and as we wanted a change, I persuaded mother to spend a month or two at a mountain resort where I could get some practice on the ice." She paused and added in a grave voice: "I really don't climb well, Mr. Foster, and doubt if I shall venture on the rocks again."

"Well," resumed Lawrence, "we decided to go to Banff together. I got better rapidly and we made a few easy excursions into the mountains, but the weather was bad and we didn't like our hotel. Then Walters turned up again and told us about this place. In fact, he was rather enthusiastic about it and said we'd find good rock climbs at the door, so we agreed to move."

"And took Walters?"

"He was an amusing fellow. He'd a way of finding something interesting for one to do and was always ready when he was wanted; a very useful man to have about."

Foster imagined his comrade might have found the fellow about when he was not wanted, but Mrs. Stephen's smile was illuminating. It seemed to hint that Lawrence had found Walters useful because he took her off his hands. Foster thought it curious that the man was satisfied with his part, since Lucy was a very attractive girl. Walters had obviously not attached himself to the party on her account.

"As I got stronger we tried some harder climbs," Lawrence went on. "Lucy is clever and steady on the ice; I'd had some practice on Scawfell in winter when I was at home, and though Walters didn't know much about the work his nerve is good. At length, we resolved to try the sharp peak yonder."

It was nearly dark, but Foster, looking up the valley, saw a white summit gleam against the sky. The shoulders of the mountain had faded to a pale gray, and the darker streak that filled a deep hollow marked a glacier.

"We started early and at first found the glacier rough but safe. Walters had insisted on two guides; prospectors, used to the rocks, who now and then took a tourist party out. The glacier brought us up some height, but after a time the surface began to be broken by big crevasses. We spent two hours picking our way across and at noon saw we must find another route. The slope on the right would take us off our line; on the left there were high, icy rocks that would puzzle a member of the Alpine club."

"We sat down and examined the mountain with the glasses. Above the crags, a snowfield ran up to the foot of the last sharp ridge, but we did not see how we could reach it. Ragged clouds drove across the ridge and blowing snow streamed about the peak like mist. Lucy, however, was keen on going on, and by and by one of the guides picked out a coulee that might take us up. Coulee's good French-Canadian, but Alpinists call it a couloir. It looked like a thin, white, perpendicular streak on the face of the dark rock. But perhaps I'm boring you with these particulars."