Sherrill and get
Sherrill's aid.

"We found some writing, Miss Sherrill," he said, "in the house on Astor
Street that night after Luke came."

"What writing?"

He took the lists from his pocket and showed them to her. She
separated and looked through the sheets and read the names written in
the same hand that had written the directions upon the slip of paper
that came to her four days before, with the things from Uncle Benny's
pockets.

"My father had kept these very secretly," he explained. "He had them
hidden. Wassaquam knew where they were, and that night after Luke was
dead and you had gone home, he gave them to me."

"After I had gone home? Henry went back to see you that night; he had
said he was going back, and afterwards I asked him, and he told me he
had seen you again. Did you show him these?"

"He saw them--yes."

"He was there when Wassaquam showed you where they were?"

"Yes."

A little line deepened between her brows, and she sat thoughtful.

"So you have been going about seeing these people," she said. "What
have you found out?"

"Nothing definite at all. None of them knew my father; they were only
amazed to find that any one in Chicago had known their names."

She got up suddenly. "You don't mind if I am with you when you talk
with this Indian?"

He arose and looked around for the guide who had brought him. His
guide had been standing near, evidently waiting until Alan's attention
was turned his way; he gestured now toward a man, a woman, and several
children who were lunching, seated about a basket on the ground. The
man--thin, patient and of medium size--was of the indefinite age of the
Indian, neither young nor yet old. It was evident that life had been
hard for the man; he looked worn and undernourished; his clothing was
the cast-off suit of some one much larger which had been inexpertly
altered to make it fit him. As Alan and Constance approached them, the
group turned on them their dark, inexpressive eyes, and the woman got
up, but the man remained seated on the ground.

"I'm looking for Jo Papo," Alan explained.

"What you want?" the squaw asked. "You got work?" The words were
pronounced with difficulty and evidently composed most of her English
vocabulary.

"I want to see him, that's all." Alan turned to the man. "You're Jo
Papo, aren't you?"

The Indian assented by an almost imperceptible nod.

"You used to live near Escanaba, didn't you?"

Jo Papo cons