Part 11 (1/2)

They shook.

”I am greatly relieved,” said the Englishman.

”You see, unless I get outside opinion, I am never quite sure if the things I think of all by myself have any sense in them or not. Well, I am mighty glad you see it the same way I do. As soon as Molly told me where she had found the piece of pole, I smelt a rat. Of course I'd never have thought of all that about Maggie Leblanc, except for my thorough belief in d.i.c.k Goodine. That set me to work. Now we had better have breakfast.”

Mr. Banks nodded.

”Why don't you set seriously to work to straighten out the marked card business?” he asked.

”I have; but it just takes me 'round and 'round,” said Rayton.

They had just finished their breakfast when d.i.c.k Goodine appeared, ready to take them into the woods for a day, after moose. He brought a boy with him to look after the place and the live stock, in case the sportsmen should be kept out all night. The three left the house shortly after seven o'clock.

Early in the afternoon Banks shot an old bull moose carrying a fine pair of antlers. They skinned and dressed it, and hung hide, flesh, and antlers in a tree; they pressed forward, for they were near a great square of barren land, where the chances of finding caribou were good.

They reached the barren, sighted a small herd, and Rayton dropped a fair-sized stag, and after making packs of the antlers, hide, and the best cuts, they struck the homeward trail.

It was dark by the time the tree in which the remains of the moose was hung was reached, so they made camp there for the night. At the first break of dawn they were up and afoot again, and though heavily loaded, they made good time. They halted only half an hour for their midday meal, and reached Rayton's farm shortly after three o'clock in the afternoon. Old Captain Wigmore was there to welcome them. They found him in the sitting room, very much at his ease, with a decanter of the Englishman's whisky on the table in front of him. Rayton laughed good-humoredly, shook his hand cordially, and invited him to stay for the remainder of the day.

”Gladly, my dear boy,” returned the captain. He seemed to be in a much better humor than was usual with him. The sportsmen washed, changed, and had a long and quiet smoke, and when the smoke was finished it was time to get the evening meal. Rayton and d.i.c.k Goodine went to the kitchen, and set to work. They were interrupted by Timothy Fletcher, the captain's reserved and disagreeable old servant. Timothy's wrinkled face wore an expression of intense anxiety and marks of fatigue.

”Cap'n here?” he asked, looking in at the kitchen door.

”Yes, he's here,” replied Rayton, with a note of sharpness in his voice.

The soul of politeness himself, he could not stand intentional rudeness in others.

”Glad to hear it. I've been huntin' over the hull d.a.m.n country for him,”

remarked Timothy.

”Do you want to speak to him?” asked Rayton.

Before the other could answer, Wigmore himself darted into the kitchen.

”What the devil do you want?” he cried, going close up to his servant, and shaking a thin but knotty fist in his face. ”Go home, I tell you.”

His frail body trembled, and his very beard seemed to bristle with wrath.

”But--but I thought you was lost,” stammered the old servant.

”Get out!” screamed Wigmore. ”Go home and mind your own business.”

Timothy Fletcher stood his ground for a few seconds, staring keenly into the captain's face. Then, without another word, he turned and walked out of the kitchen. Old Wigmore glared around, swore a little, mumbled an excuse, and followed his servant.

”That old captain is a character,” said Mr. Banks. ”He's worth watching.”

”He's a queer cuss, and no mistake,” agreed d.i.c.k Goodine.

”Not a bad sort at heart,” said Rayton, dis.h.i.+ng the fried potatoes. ”He has had his troubles, I imagine, but when he is feeling right he is a very agreeable companion.”