out. Before Peter had come to Black Rock they had abused Shad's
credulity and after the fight at the Cabin, he had been their willing
tool in interrupting the completion of the contract. For of course Shad
had hoped that if Peter couldn't get the lumber out when promised,
McGuire would put the blame on the new superintendent and let him go.
That was Shad's idea. If he had ever been decent enough to warrant
Beth's friendship, his jealousy had warped his judgment. Peter was no
longer sorry for Shad Wells. He had brought all his troubles on
himself.

As to the stranger with the black mustache, that was a more serious
matter. Every circumstance--the recognition in New York, the skill with
which the man had traced him to Black Rock, the craft with which he had
watched Peter and his success in finally getting into the camp and
gaining Shad's confidence, made a certainty in Peter's mind that the
stranger had some object in remaining near Peter and keeping him under
observation. And what other object than a political one? The trail he
had followed had begun with the look of recognition in the Pennsylvania
Station in New York. And where could that look of recognition have
sprung from unless he had identified Peter Nichols as the Grand Duke
Peter Nicholaevitch? It seemed incredible, but there could be no other
explanation. The man had seen him somewhere--perhaps in Russia--perhaps
in Paris or London, or perhaps had only identified him by his portraits
which had been published frequently in the Continental magazines and
newspapers. But that he had really identified him there could not be the
slightest doubt and Peter's hope that he would have been able to lose
his identity in the continent of America and become merged into a
different civilization where he could work out the personal problem of
existence in his own time, by his own efforts and in his own way, seemed
destined to failure.

If the stranger knew that Peter was in New Jersey there was no doubt
that there were others who knew it also, those who employed him--those
in whose interests he was working. Who? The same madmen who had done
Nicholas to death and had killed one by one the misguided Empress, Olga,
Tania, the poor little Czarevitch and the rest.... Did they consider
him, Peter Nichols, lumber-jack extraordinary, as a possible future
claimant to the throne of Russia? Peter smiled grimly. They were
"straining at a gnat while swallowing the camel." And if they feared