The fourth evening after the stranger's visit to the cabin Jolly Roger was later than usual in returning from Cragg's Ridge. Peter had been on a hunting adventure of his own, and came to the cabin at sunset. But he never came out of cover now without standing quietly for a few moments, getting the wind, and listening. And tonight, poking his head between some balsams twenty yards from the shack, he was treated to a sudden thrill. The cabin door was open. And standing close to this door, looking quietly and cautiously about, stood a stranger. He was not like Jed Hawkins, was Peter's first impression. He was tall, with a wide-brimmed hat, and wore boots with striped trousers tucked into them, and on his coat were bits of metal which caught the last gleams of the sun. Peter knew nothing of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police.

But he sensed danger, and he remained very quiet, without moving a muscle of his head or body, while the stranger looked about, with a hand on his unb.u.t.toned pistol holster. Not until he entered the cabin, and closed the door after him, did Peter move back into the deeper gloom of the forest. And then, silent as a fox, he skulked through cover to the foot-trail, and down the trail to the ford, across which Jolly Roger would come from Cragg's Ridge.

There was still half an hour of daylight when Jolly Roger arrived.

Peter did not, as usual, run to the edge of the bank to meet him. He remained sitting stolidly on his haunches, with his ears flattened, and in his whole att.i.tude no sign of gladness at his master's coming. With every instinct of caution developed to the highest degree within him, Jolly Roger was lightning quick to observe the significance of small things. He spoke to Peter, caressed him with his hand, and moved on along the foot-trail toward the cabin. Peter fell in behind him moodily, and after a few moments stopped, and squatted on his haunches again. Jolly Roger was puzzled.

"What is it, Peter?" he asked. "Are you afraid of that wolverine--"

Peter whined softly; but even as he whined, his ears were flat, and his eyes filled with a red light as they glared down the trail beyond the outlaw. Jolly Roger turned and went on, until he disappeared around a twist in the path. There he stopped, and peered back. Peter was not following him, but still sat where he had left him. A quicker breath came to Jolly Roger's lips, and he went back to Peter. For fully a minute he stood beside him, watching and listening, and not once did the reddish glare in Peter's eyes leave the direction of the cabin.

Jolly Roger's eyes had grown very bright, and suddenly he dropped on his knees beside Peter, and spoke softly, close up to his flattened ear.

"You say it isn't a wolverine, Peter? Is that what you're trying to tell me?"

Peter's teeth clicked, and he whimpered, never taking his eyes from ahead.

There was a cold light in Jolly Roger's eyes as he rose to his feet, and he turned swiftly and quietly into the edge of the forest, and in the gloom that was gathering there his hand carried the big automatic.

Peter followed him now, and Jolly Roger swung in a wide circle, so that they came up on that forest side of the cabin where there was no window. And here Jolly Roger knelt down beside Peter again, and whispered to him.

"You stay here, _Pied-Bot_. Understand? You stay here."

He pressed him down gently with his hand, so that Peter understood.

Then, slinking low, and swift as a cat, Jolly Roger ran to the end of the cabin where there was no window. With his head close to the ground he peered out cautiously at the door. It was closed. Then he looked at the windows. To the west the curtains were up, as he had left them. And to the east--

A whimsical smile played at the corners of his mouth. Those curtains he had kept tightly drawn. One of them was down now. But the other was raised two inches, so that one hidden within the cabin could watch the approach from the trail!

He drew back, and under his breath he chuckled. He recognized the sheer nerve of the thing, the clever handiwork of it. Someone was inside the cabin, and he was ready to stake his life it was Ca.s.sidy, the Irish bloodhound of "M" Division. If anyone ferreted him out way down here on the edge of civilization he had gambled with himself that it would be Ca.s.sidy. And Ca.s.sidy had come--Ca.s.sidy, who had hung like a wolf to his trails for three years, who had chased him across the Barren Lands, who had followed him up the Mackenzie, and back again--who had fought with him, and starved with him, and froze with him, yet had never brought him to prison. Deep down in his heart Jolly Roger loved Ca.s.sidy. They had played, and were still playing, a thrilling game, and to win that game had become the life's ambition of each. And now Ca.s.sidy was in there, confident that at last he had his man, and waiting for him to step into the trap.

To Jolly Roger, in the face of its possible tragedy, there was a deep-seated humor in the situation. Three times in the last year and a half had he turned the tables on Ca.s.sidy, leaving him floundering in the cleverly woven webs which the man-hunter had placed for his victim.

This was the fourth time. And Ca.s.sidy would be tremendously upset!

Praying that Peter would remain quiet, Jolly Roger took off his shoes.

After that he made no more sound than a ferret as he crept to the door.

An inch at a time he raised himself, until he was standing up, with his ear half an inch from the crack that ran lengthwise of the frame.

Holding his breath, he listened. For an interminable time, it seemed to him, there was no sound from within. He guessed what Ca.s.sidy was doing--peering through that slit of window under the curtain. But he was not absolutely sure. And he knew the necessity of making no error, with Ca.s.sidy in there, gripping the b.u.t.t of his gun.

Suddenly he heard a movement. A man's steps, subdued and yet distinct, were moving from the window toward the door. Half way they paused, and turned to one of the windows looking westward. But it was evident the watcher was not expecting his game from that direction, for after a moment's silence he returned to the window through which he could see the trail. This time Jolly Roger was sure. Ca.s.sidy was again peering through the window, with his back toward him, and every muscle in the forest rover's body gathered for instant action. In another moment he had flung open the door, and the watcher at the window whirled about to find himself looking straight into the muzzle of Jolly Roger's gun.

For several minutes after that last swift movement of Jolly Roger's, Peter lay where his master had left him, his eyes fairly popping from his head in his eagerness to see what was happening. He heard voices, and then the wild thrill of Jolly Roger's laughter, and restraining himself no longer he trotted cautiously to the open door of the cabin.

In a chair sat the stranger with the broad-brimmed hat and high boots, with his hands securely tied behind him. And Jolly Roger was hustling about, filling a shoulder-pack in the last light of the day.

"Ca.s.sidy, I oughta kill you," Jolly Roger was saying as he worked, an exultant chuckle in his voice. "You don't give me any peace. No matter where I go you're sure to come, and I can't remember that I ever invited you. I oughta put you out of the way, and plant flowers over you, now that I've got the chance. But I'm too chicken-hearted.

Besides, I like you. By the time you get tired of chasing me you should be a pretty good man-hunter. But just now you lack finesse, Ca.s.sidy--you lack finesse." And Jolly Roger's chuckle broke into another laugh.

Ca.s.sidy heaved out a grunt.

"It's luck--just d.a.m.ned luck!" he growled.

"If it is, I hope it keeps up," said Jolly Roger. "Now, look here, Ca.s.sidy! Let's make a man's bet of it. If you don't get me next time--if you fail, and I turn the trick on you once more--will you quit?"

Ca.s.sidy's eyes gleamed in the thickening dusk.

"If I don't get you next time--I'll hand in my resignation!"

The laughter went out of Jolly Roger's voice.

"I believe you, Ca.s.sidy. You've played square--always. And now--if I free your hands--will you swear to give me a two hours' start before you leave this cabin?"

"I'll give you the start," said Ca.s.sidy.

His lean face was growing indistinct in the gloom.

Jolly Roger came up behind him. There was the slash of a knife. Then he picked up his shoulder-pack. At the door he paused.

"Look at your watch when I'm gone, Ca.s.sidy, and be sure you make it a full two hours."

"I'll make it two hours and five minutes," said Ca.s.sidy. "Hittin' north are you, Jolly Roger?"

"I'm hittin'--bushward," replied the outlaw. "I'm going where it's plenty thick and hard to travel, Ca.s.sidy. Goodby--"

He was gone. He hit straight north, making noise as he went, but once in the timber he swung southward, and plunged through the creek with Peter under his arm. Not until they had traveled a good half mile over the plain did Jolly Roger speak. Then he said, speaking directly at Peter,

"Ca.s.sidy thinks I'll sure hit for the North country again, _Pied-Bot_.

But we're foolin' him. I've sort of planned on something like this happening, and right now we're hittin' for the tail-end of Cragg's Ridge where there's a mess of rock that the devil himself can hardly get into. We've got to do it, boy. We can't leave the girl--just now.

We can't leave--her--"

Jolly Roger's voice choked. Then he paused for a moment, and bent over to put his hand on Peter.

"If it hadn't been for you, Peter--Ca.s.sidy would have got me--sure. And I'm wondering, Peter--I'm wondering--why did G.o.d forget to give a dog speech?"

Peter whined in answer, and through the darkness of the night they went on together.

CHAPTER VI

A frosty mist dulled the light of the stars, but this cleared away as Jolly Roger and Peter crossed the plain between the creek and Cragg's Ridge.

They did not hurry, for McKay had faith in Ca.s.sidy's word. He knew the red-headed man-hunter would not break his promise--he would wait the full two hours in Indian Tom's cabin, and another five minutes after that. In Jolly Roger, as the minutes pa.s.sed, exultation at his achievement died away, and there filled him again the old loneliness--the loneliness which called out against the fate which had made of Ca.s.sidy an enemy instead of a friend. And yet--what an enemy!

He reached down, and touched Peter's bushy head with his hand.

"Why didn't the Law give another man the a.s.signment to run us down," he protested. "Someone we could have hated, and who would have hated us!

Why did they send Ca.s.sidy--the fairest and squarest man that ever wore red? We can't do him a dirty turn--we can't hurt him, _Pied-Bot_, even at the worst. And if ever he takes us in to Headquarters, and looks at us through the bars, I feel it's going to be like a knife in his heart.

But he'll do it, Peter, if he can. It's his job. And he's honest. We've got to say that of Ca.s.sidy."

The Ridge loomed up at the edge of the level plain, and for a few moments Jolly Roger paused, while he looked off through the eastward gloom. A mile in that direction, beyond the cleft that ran like a great furrow through the Ridge, was Jed Hawkins' cabin, still and dark under the faint glow of the stars. And in that cabin was Nada. He felt that she was sitting at her little window, looking out into the night, thinking of him--and a great desire gripped at his heart, tugging him in its direction. But he turned toward the west.

"We can't let her know what has happened, boy," he said, feeling the urge of caution. "For a little while we must let her think we have left the country. If Ca.s.sidy sees her, and talks with her, something in those blue-flower eyes of hers might give us away if she knew we were hiding up among the rocks of the Stew-Kettle. But I'm hopin' G.o.d A'mighty won't let her see Ca.s.sidy. And I'm thinking He won't, _Pied-Bot_, because I've a pretty good hunch He wants us to settle with Jed Hawkins before we go."