table's edge and turned his square face and pale-eyed gaze on Lannis.
"Spit it out," he said in a passionless voice.
Lannis crossed one knee over the other, lighted a cigarette:
"Is there a young fellow working for you named Hal Smith?"
"No," said Clinch.
"Sure?"
"Sure."
"Clinch," continued Lannis, have you heard about a stick-up on this wood-road out of Ghost Lake?"
"No."
"Well, a wealthy tourist from New York—a Mr. Sard, stopping at Ghost
Lake Inn—was held up and robbed last Saturday toward sundown."
"Never heard of him," said Clinch, calmly.
"The robber took four thousand dollars in bills and some private papers from him."
"It's no skin off my shins," remarked Clinch.
"He's laid a complaint."
"Yes?"
"Have any strangers been here since Saturday evening?"
"No."
There was a pause.
"We heard you had a new man named Hal Smith working around your place."
"No."
"He came here Saturday night."
"Who says so?"
"A guide from Ghost Lake."
"He's a liar."
"You know," said Lannis, "it won't do you any good if hold-up men can hide here and make a getaway."
"G'wan and search," said Clinch, calmly.
* * * * *
They searched the "hotel" from garret to cellar. They searched the barn, boat-shed, out-houses.
While this was going on, Clinch went into the kitchen.
"Eve," he said coolly, "the State Troopers are after that fellow, Hal
Smith, who came here Saturday night. Where is he?"
"He went into Harrod's to get us a deer," she replied in a low voice.
"What has he done?"
"Stuck up a man on the Ghost Lake road. He ought to have told me. Do you think you could meet up with him and tip him off?"
"He's hunting on Owl Marsh. I'll try."
"All right. Change your clothes and slip out the back-door. And look out for Harrod's patrols, too."
"All right, dad," she sad. "If I have to be out to-night, don't worry.
I'll get word to Smith somehow."
Half an hour later Lannis and Stormont returned from a prowl around the clearing. Lannis paid the reckoning; his comrade led out the horses. He said again to Lannis:
"I'm sure it was the girl. She wore men's clothes and she went into the woods on a run."
As they started to ride away, Lannis said to Clinch, who stood on the veranda:
"It's still the blue-jay and the squirrel talk between us, Mike, but the show-down is sure to come. Better go straight while the going's good."
"I go straight enough to suit me," said Clinch.
"But it's the Government that is to be suited, Mike. And if it gets you right you'll be in dutch."
"Don't let that worry you," said Clinch.
* * * * *
About three o'clock the two State Troopers, riding at a walk, came to the forks of the Ghost Lake road.
"Now," said Lannis to Stormont, "if you really believe you saw the girl beat it out of the back door and take to the woods, she's probably somewhere in there——" he pointed into the western forest. "But" he added, "what's your idea in following her?"
"She wore men's clothes; she was in a hurry and trying to keep out of sight. I wondered whether Clinch might have sent her to warn this hold-up fellow."
"That's rather a long shot, isn't it?"
"Very long. I could go in and look about a bit, if you'll lead my horse."
"All right. Take your bearings. This road runs west to Ghost Lake. We sleep at the Inn there—if you mean to cross the woods on foot."
Stormont nodded, consulted his map and compass, pocketed both, unbuckled his spurs.
When he was ready he gave his bridle to Lannis.
"I'd just like to see what she's up to," he remarked.
"All right. If you miss me come to the Inn," said Lannis, starting on with the led horse.
* * * * *
The forest was open amid a big stand of white pine and hemlock, and
Stormont traveled easily and swiftly. He had struck a line by compass
that must cross the direction taken by Eve Strayer when she left
Clinch's. But it was a wild chance that he would ever run across her.
And probably he never would have if the man that she was looking for had not fired a shot on the edge of that vast maze of stream, morass and dead timber called Owl Marsh.
Far away in the open forest Stormont heard the shot and turned in that direction.
But Eve already was very near when the young man who called himself Hal Smith fired at one of Harrod's deer—a three-prong buck on the edge of the dead water.
* * * * *
Smith had drawn and dressed the buck by the time the girl found him.
He was cleaning up when she arrived, squatting by the water's edge when he heard her voice across the swale:
"Smith! The State Troopers are looking for you!"
He stood up, dried his hands on his breeches. The girl picked her way across the bog, jumping from one tussock to the next.
When she told him what had happened he began to laugh.
"Did you really stick up this man?" she asked incredulously.
"I'm afraid I did, Eve," he replied, still
