back.

"Not a trace." The man called Lee slung the rifle and began to dump
the ashes from his pipe. "I was along the top of this ridge for about
a mile on either side of the gap, and down the other side as far as
Hindman's Run; I didn't find any tracks, or any indication of where
it had made a kill."

The game protector nodded, turning to Sergeant Haines.

"There's no use us going any farther," he said. "Ten to one, it followed
that line of woods back of Strawmyer's, and crossed over to the other
ridge. I think our best bet would be the hollow at the head of Lowrie's
Run. What do you think?"

The sergeant agreed. The man called Richard Lee began to refill his pipe
methodically.

"I think I shall stay here for a while, but I believe you're right.
Lowrie's Run, or across Lowrie's Gap into Coon Valley," he said.

* * * * *

After Parker and the State policemen had gone, the man whom they had
addressed as Richard Lee returned to his log and sat smoking, his rifle
across his knees. From time to time, he glanced at his wrist watch and
raised his head to listen. At length, faint in the distance, he heard
the sound of a motor starting.

Instantly, he was on his feet. From the end of the hollow log on which
he had been sitting, he produced a canvas musette-bag. Walking briskly
to a patch of damp ground beside the little stream, he leaned the rifle
against a tree and opened the bag. First, he took out a pair of gloves
of some greenish, rubberlike substance, and put them on, drawing the
long gauntlets up over his coat sleeves. Then he produced a bottle and
unscrewed the cap. Being careful to avoid splashing his clothes, he
went about, pouring a clear liquid upon the ground in several places.
Where he poured, white vapors rose, and twigs and grass grumbled into
brownish dust. After he had replaced the cap and returned the bottle to
the bag, he waited for a few minutes, then took a spatula from the
musette and dug where he had poured the fluid, prying loose four black,
irregular-shaped lumps of matter, which he carried to the running water
and washed carefully, before wrapping them and putting them in the bag,
along with the gloves. Then he slung bag and rifle and started down the
trail to where he had parked the jeep.

Half an hour later, after driving through the little farming village of
Rutter's Fort, he pulled into the barnyard of a rundown farm and backed
through the open doors of the