this the result of
a year's effort to capture a criminal? Was this the return for all the
expenditure which had been incurred?" The comic papers poked outrageous
fun at the expedition. The illustrated journals mocked it in pen and ink
sketches that smarted like aquafortis. The ribald versifiers flouted it
in metrical lampoons whose burden was--"The man I left behind me."

CHAPTER XXXIV. CARPENTER ON THE SCENT--A NARROW ESCAPE.

Carpenter had five men at his disposal, and he was sanguine that an
unremitting pursuit must end in the capture of the outlaw. Consequently,
upon the removal of the bulk of the expedition, he set himself to make
such disposition of his men as would lead to the most substantial
results. Where did Donald get his food? Where did he get changes of
clothing? He _must_ pay visits to the houses in the neighborhood. They
had been searched in vain. Very well. Let them be searched again. Let
them be persistently watched. The outlaw would be tracked at last.

It was about ten o'clock at night. Dark, heavy clouds hung overhead like
a mournful pall. A brooding darkness and silence enveloped the woods.

A figure parted the young branches, came out into the open, ran
stealthily along the road, reached a small cottage, and disappeared
within it.

Donald had tempted fate at a moment when fate, in the form of two eager
officers of the law, was closing him in.

McMahon and the Indian scout were out that night. They had made a round
of the cottages. Fatigued and a little dispirited, they were about to go
back to their quarters, when a feeble glimmer of light was seen through
the darkness, proceeding from the cottage which Donald had entered.

"Is it worth while to search it?" McMahon asked his companion
doubtfully.

"Well," replied the scout, "we may as well take it in to wind up for the
night. I don't suppose we'll have any luck."

"Not likely," McMahon said. Donald was eating a little plain supper,
when the poor honest peasant woman whose hospitality he was sharing,
thought she heard footsteps outside the door. She listened. "Donald," she
said, in a quick, sharp voice, "I hear footsteps. They are approaching
the door. It may be the police. What will you do?"

"I don't think they're about so late," Donald replied carelessly,
feeling nevertheless for his pistols in his pockets.

"Donald, they're coming. It's the police. I'm sure of it. My God, if
you should be taken. Here, quick! come into this bed