ice detective, then
thrown back to rustling by the blindness of a political judge--was not
now the model of physical fitness of a year ago when his rifle and rope
were respected over a prairie Province and State. The bullet that had
brought mistaken mourning to the Police, and particularly to Sergeant
Mahon, the friend for whom it was intended, had come within a hair's
breadth of avenging Bilsy and Dutch Henry, the Montana rustlers who had
hated him so. What he had escaped was due to his wonderful physique
and to the untiring care of Mira Stanton.

With her his sole nurse and doctor, he had lain in one of their many
retreats in the Cypress Hills until he was strong enough to entrust
himself to the pace of the faithful Whiskers for the slow and painful
journey to more expert treatment across the border. There he recovered
rapidly. But Bilsy's bullet had extracted its toll. The blue-black
face was darker now and more leathery, as if the blood behind were
running more sluggishly. His cheeks were fallen in, and great hollows
showed beneath the squinting eyes. It made him more the Indian than
ever in appearance. He had lost weight and bulk, and the shoulder
above the wound was an inch lower than its mate.

Time would perhaps return him his old form, as it had his strength.
But time was the very thing Blue Pete could not wait for.

Recklessly as he commenced his return along the banks of the river,
instinct won; in a few steps he was moving with all the old
soundlessness. Twigs and crackling leaves seemed to evade his feet;
eye and ear were ever alert. Though he knew he was alone in the bush,
the way of a lifetime refused to sleep within him. By a circuitous
route he approached a tangle of trees that hung out from a steep
projection in the rising sides of the ravine. His eyes were flitting
now about at his feet, and sometimes he carefully passed a boot over
marks only he could detect. Once, whistling in soft surprise, he
scattered a handful of spruce needles.

Into the heart of the thickest clump of trees he disappeared. The
green fell behind him, the woods was lifeless again.

In the dim light of the cave Mira knew he was worried, but he would
tell her when it was good for her to know.

"It's gone," he growled, after a long silence.

In their intimate way she understood.

"Perhaps it broke loose."

He looked his surprise that she should imagine he had not satisfied
himself. She came to him and laid