half supporting her, one arm about his neck, her hands clinging to his as if she was afraid some unseen power would take him from her, the two regained the camp, the blaze of freshly heaped-up logs having lighted the way.
"give dinsmore something hot to drink at once," were thayor's first words on reaching the group. "he's been in water up to his neck. had it not been for him we should have had to lie out all night; he sees in the dark like an owl. we've had a hard tramp." he stood steaming before the fire as he spoke—drenched to the skin, the others crowding round him, too happy for the moment to ply him with questions. he himself was quivering with an inward joy. alice's kisses were still on his lips.
the trapper edged nearer. "and what did them fellers say, mr. thayor, when ye found 'em?" he asked. he had asked the question before, but thayor only waved his hand saying he would wait until they reached camp so all could hear the story.
"what did they say to me, hite? they told me for one thing that they had done their best to find me, and i guess that was true," and he smiled grimly. "and now, who do you think was leading them, billy?"
"shank dollard, i guess," returned holcomb.
"no—le boeuf!"
"that frenchman—and you kept the doctor a week to look after him!" exclaimed holcomb indignantly.
"yes. that was the reason he hunted for me."
the men crowded about the speaker, the women drawing closer, the old dog closest of all. dinsmore, who was seated on a stump just outside the firelight, listened eagerly. he had heard the story before, but he wanted every detail of it again. his father had pulled the dripping coat from his back when they reached the fire, and he was now wrapped in one of the blankets that margaret had placed about his thin shoulders.
"yes—le boeuf," continued thayor. "his arm was still in a sling, but he and his crowd—there were six of them in all—had done their best to overtake us before we got to the railroad. he was more afraid of me than i was of him. when i walked in among them he jumped to his feet and came straight toward me. i was alone—with mr. dinsmore within reach but out of sight—and, hite, they never saw your son—just as i promised you—"
"'i hear you men are looking for me,' i said. 'what can i do for you?' they all stood around, their eyes on le boeuf, as if they wanted him to speak. a more surprised and frightened lot of men i never saw.
"'well, we didn't burn de house,' le boeuf began. 'we 'fraid you come and 'rest us. we haf no money to fight reech man like you—we want work for you again. we know who burn de house—it not us.'
"'that's all right, le boeuf,' i said. 'i know you didn't have anything to do with the fire or you wouldn't be here. now go back home all of you, and if i rebuild big shanty i'll send for you to help. good-bye!' and i turned on my tracks, picked up mr. dinsmore where he had hidden himself and started back. we really have been running away from our shadows—" and thayor laughed one of his hearty laughs that showed how greatly his mind was relieved.
"and what kep' ye so long?" broke in the trapper.
"the fear of running across some of them who would know your son. you see we had to go around the lake, and we didn't know which side of it they would take. the rain, too, made the night settle the earlier. we were almost within sight of the camp here when we saw the torches. holcomb and margaret reached us first. i guess you carried her over the rough places—didn't you, billy? well, i don't blame you, my boy." there was a twinkle in his eye when he spoke. he was very happy to-night! "and so you see we have had our scare for nothing."
"and now one thing more before i turn in," he added in his quick, business-like way. "this has been on my mind all day, and as we have no secrets now that we can't share with each other, i want you all to hear what i am going to say. will you come closer, mr. dinsmore"—it was marvellous how he never omitted the prefix; "would you mind moving up so that you can listen the better? i am going to do what i can to end your sufferings." the hide-out shambled up and sat in a crouching position, the blanket about his shoulders, his hollow eyes fixed on thayor.
"what i want to say to you all is this: i have had several conferences with this poor fellow and he has my deepest sympathy. i believe every word he has told me. what i intend to do now is to find a place for him among the lumber gangs in the great northwest. there he will be safe; there, too, he can earn his living for he knows the woods thoroughly, but he must get to canada without a day's delay. i can handle the matter better there than here. i have some friends in montreal who can help, and some others farther north—correspondents of mine."
the head of the hide-out dropped to his breast; then he muttered, half to himself:
"i dassent—ain't nobody to look arter her but me; 'taint much, but it's all she's got."
thayor turned quickly. "you mean your little girl? i've thought of that; she shall join you whenever you're safe." then he added in a lower tone—so low that only dinsmore heard: "your wife was in montreal, remember, when you last heard from her, and now that bergstein's dead she may get free."
the owl-like eyes stared at the slowly dying fire; hot tears trickled over the cavernous sockets and stopped in the unkempt beard. before he could answer there came a voice behind him:
"didn't i tell ye so, son—didn't i tell ye ye could trust him?"
"i hope so, hite," returned thayor—"and you heard what i said about his getting to canada, didn't you?"
"yes, i heard ye, mr. thayor." "and are you willing?"
"yes."
thayor paused a moment, then he said thoughtfully: "there is only one thing that worries me and that is how to get him clear of the woods and across the line. somebody must help. the question is now whom can we trust?"
"that needn't worry ye a mite," answered the old man in a decided tone. "he's got all the help he wants."
thayor looked up. "who?" he asked in some surprise.
"me and the old dog. we'll git him thar."
