ounting blaze.
Everyone seemed to experience a little relaxation of the constraint. For
a minute it seemed as if the spirits of the company rose. It was just
for a moment.

Warde's gaze was fixed directly on Blythe, who seemed calm, content, and
happy to be among them. He at least showed no constraint.

"I dare say that robin will be in Canada by morning," Warde said. "They
go as far north as Montreal before they turn south. Hey, Roy?"

"Some of them do," Roy said.

"There's a place I'd like to go to--Montreal," said Warde. "Ever been
there Blythey?"

"Montreal?" said Blythe. "Not as I know of."

"Toronto?"

Blythe shook his head. "Toronto's up near there, isn't it?" he asked.

Warde seemed on the point of asking more but apparently decided not to.
"Who's going to tell a yarn?" he asked. "This is a kind of slow bunch
to-night. How about you, Roy?"

CHAPTER XX

THE VOICE

The camp-fire had died, the last embers had been trodden out, the scouts
had turned in for the night. A half dozen or so fresh air enthusiasts
lay upon their couches of balsam under a big elm, through the high
branches of which the stars looked down upon the weary toilers, dead to
the world. For a precious interval at least they would feel no
disappointment. It was well that they were tired that night.

They had not decided what they should do, but they knew they could not
conceal a criminal and take money from him and count him their
companion. They must do a detestable thing; they must go home and tell.
They did not relish doing this, they _could_ not relish it. They
were not of the class of detectives. They were capable of feeling
contemptible....

There, close to where they slept, were the results of their faithful
labor. And there, too, were the dead embers of their cheerful fire
around which they and their strange, likable companion, had gathered
night after night. One shack had completely disappeared, another stood
there in the darkness like a skeleton to mock them, the third was to
have been tackled in dead earnest in the morning. Then would come the
dividing of the money--oh, the whole thing would seem like a dream when
they awakened.

Only Warde and Roy were abroad on that still night. They sat upon the
sill of a shack rather more pretentious than the barnlike buildings all
about, for it had been officers' quarters. There were even the rotten
remnants of curtains in the windows, necessary no doubt to help defeat
the