rest
had gathered for a final pipe.

"Good time," said the sergeant, who was seated with his subordinate on
the storekeeper's bed.

"Not for him," said Spicer. "He said he'd be back by eleven. He's
generally better than his word."

"A really good man at his work--what?"

Bethune had been offered the only chair, and was not altogether pleased
with himself for having accepted it. It was rather a menagerie, this
storekeeper's room, with these policemen smoking their rank tobacco.
Theodore had offered them his cigars, to put an end to the reek, but his
offer had come too late. He hardly knew why he remained; not even to
himself would he admit his anxiety to know what was going to happen
next. A criminal case! It would teach him nothing; he never touched
criminal work; none of your obvious law and vulgar human interest for
him.

"Good man?" echoed Spicer the loyal. "One of the best on God's earth;
one of the straightest that ever stepped. Don't you make any mistake
about that, Bethune! I've known him longer than you."

The testimonial was superfluous in its warmth and fulness, yet not
uncalled for if Bethune's tone were taken seriously. It was, however,
merely the tone in which that captious critic was accustomed to refer to
the bulk of humanity; indeed, it was complimentary for him. Before more
could be added, "the straightest man that ever stepped" had entered,
looking the part. His step was crisp and confident; there was a lively
light in his eye.

"Have a job to find them?" inquired his champion.

"Well," said Rigden, "I found something else first."

"The man?" they all cried as one.

"No, not the man," said Rigden smiling. "Where's your tracker,
sergeant?"

"Put him in your travellers' hut, Mr. Rigden."

"Quite right. I only wanted to ask him something, but I dare say you
can tell me as well. Get that track pretty plain before you lost it
this afternoon?"

"Plain as a pikestaff, didn't we?" said the sergeant to his sub.

"My oath!" asseverated the trooper, who was a man of few words.

"Notice any peculiarity about it, Harkness?"

"Yes," said the sergeant.

"What?" pursued Rigden.

"That," said Harkness; and he produced a worn heel torn from its sole
and uppers.

"Exactly," said Rigden, nodding.

The sergeant sprang from the bed.

"Have you struck his tracks?"

"I won't say that," said Rigden. "All I undertake is to show you a
distinct track with no left heel to it all down the line. No, I