“You’re mistaken,” he said quickly.  “We haven’t come for you in the way you mean.  You won’t need to go a step with us unless that is your wish.  Timmie, we’re here to help you; to tell you that you were forgiven long ago.”

“Is—­is that true?” The man faltered.  “The logging company?”

“The partners are dead.  Their only heir, La Vaune, forgives you.”  “And the Province, the Red Riders?”

“The Province forgot the case years ago.”

“Thank—­thank God!” The man choked, then turned to hide his face.  He faced them again in a moment and spoke steadily.  “I’ve got the money here in the cabin, every cent of it.  God knows I didn’t mean to do it.  But the temptation was too great.  And—­and once I had done it, I was afraid to go back.  I would have died in prison.  How did you come?  Are you going back?  Will you take the money to the little girl, La Vaune?”

“We’re going farther,” smiled Bruce, happy in the realization of what all this meant to the maid in the camp.  “We’re going on.  We flew here and will fly back—­or try to.”  “And we’ll be more than glad to return the money,” he wished to add, but remembering that he would not have that to decide, he ended, “La Vaune is no little girl now, but quite a young lady.  She needs the money, too.  And—­and,” he laughed sheepishly, “she’s rather a good friend of mine.”

Timmie drew his hand across his eyes, as if to brush away the vision of long years.  Then, with a smile, he said briskly: 

“Of course, you’ll have breakfast?  We’re having hot-cakes.”

“What did I tell you?” chuckled the Major, slapping Barney on the back.

Eager as the visitors were to hear the strange story of this man of the wilderness, they were willing that breakfast should come first.

As they stepped upon the porch, the keen eye of the Major fell on some white and spotted skins hanging over a beam.  A close observer might have noticed a slight nod of his head, as if he said, “I thought so.”  But the boys were following the scent of browning griddle-cakes and saw neither the skins nor the Major’s nod.

But Barney, missing a familiar pungent odor that should go with such a breakfast in a wilderness, hurried back to the plane to return with a coffee pot and a sack of coffee.

Within the cabin they found everything scrupulously clean.  Strange cooking utensils of copper and stone caught their eye, while the translucent window-panes puzzled them.  But all this was forgotten when they sat down to a polished table of white wood, and attacked a towering stack of cakes which vied with cups of coffee in sending a column of steam toward the rafters.

With memories stirred by draughts of long untasted coffee, it was not difficult for Timmie to tell his Story.