the
quill, unfolded the bit of paper, and read the few crudely written words
the mountain man had sent him. Blackton turned in time to catch the sudden
amazement in his face. Crushing the note in his hand, Aldous looked at the
other, his mouth tightening.

"You must help me make excuses, old man," he said quietly. "It will seem
strange to them if I do not stay for supper. But--it is impossible. I must
see old Donald as quickly as I can get to him."

His manner more than his words kept Blackton from urging him to remain. The
contractor stared at him for a moment, his own eyes growing harder and more
direct.

"It's about the shooting," he said. "If you want me to go with you,
Aldous----"

"Thanks. That will be unnecessary."

Peggy Blackton and Joanne were returning. Aldous turned toward them as they
entered the room. With the note still in his hand he repeated to them what
he had told Blackton--that he had received word which made it immediately
urgent for him to go to MacDonald. He shook hands with the Blacktons,
promising to be on hand for the four o'clock breakfast.

Joanne followed him to the door and out upon the veranda. For a moment they
were alone, and now her eyes were wide and filled with fear as he clasped
her hands closely in his own.

"I saw him," she whispered, her fingers tightening convulsively. "I saw
that man--Quade--at the station. He followed us up the street. Twice I
looked behind--and saw him. I am afraid--afraid to let you go back there. I
believe he is somewhere out there now--waiting for you!"

She was frightened, trembling; and her fear for him, the fear in her
shining eyes, in her throbbing breath, in the clasp of her fingers, sent
through John Aldous a joy that almost made him free her hands and crush her
in his arms in the ecstasy of that wonderful moment. Then Peggy Blackton
and her husband appeared in the door. He released her hands, and stepped
out into the gloom. The cheery good-nights of the Blacktons followed him.
And Joanne's good-night was in her eyes--following him until he was gone,
filled with their entreaty and their fear.

A hundred yards distant, where the trail split to lead to the camp of the
engineers, there was a lantern on a pole. Here Aldous paused, out of sight
of the Blackton bungalow, and in the dim light read again MacDonald's note.

In a cramped and almost illegible hand the old wanderer of the mountains
had written:

Don't go to cabin. Culver Rann wait