The first light of the day was falling faintly through the window when footsteps sounded outside the door again.  It was not Croisset who appeared this time, but the proprietor himself, bearing with him a tray on which there was toast and a steaming pot of coffee.  He nodded and smiled as he saw Howland half sitting up.

“Bad fall you had,” he greeted, drawing a small table close beside the bed.  “This snow is treacherous when you’re climbing among the rocks.  When it caves in with you on the side of a mountain you might as well make up your mind you’re going to get a good bump.  Good thing Croisset was with you!”

For a few moments Howland was speechless.

“Yes—­it—­was—­a—­bad—­fall,” he replied at last, looking sharply at the other.  “Where is Croisset?”

“Gone.  He left an hour ago with his dogs.  Funny fellow—­that Croisset!  Came in yesterday from the Lac la Ronge country a hundred miles north; goes back to-day.  No apparent reason for his coming, none for his going, that I can see.”

“Do you know anything about him?” asked Howland a little eagerly.

“No.  He comes in about once or twice a year.”

The young engineer munched his toast and drank his coffee for some moments in silence.  Then, casually, he asked,

“Did you ever hear of a person by the name of Meleese?”

“Meleese—­Meleese—­Meleese—­” repeated the hotel man, running a hand through his hair.  “It seems to me that the name is familiar—­and yet I can’t remember—­” He caught himself in sudden triumph.  “Ah, I have it!  Two years ago I had a kitchen woman named Meleese.”

Howland shrugged his shoulders.

“This was a young woman,” he said.

“The Meleese we had is dead,” replied the proprietor cheerfully, rising to go.  “I’ll send up for your tray in half an hour or so, Mr. Howland.”

Several hours later Howland crawled from his bed and bathed his head in cold water.  After that he felt better, dressed himself, and went below.  His head pained him considerably, but beyond that and an occasional nauseous sensation the injury he had received in the fight caused him no very great distress.  He went in to dinner and by the middle of the afternoon was so much improved that he lighted his first cigar and ventured out into the bracing air for a short walk.  At first it occurred to him that he might make inquiries at the Chinese restaurant regarding the identity of the girl whom he had met there, but he quickly changed his mind, and crossing the river he followed the trail which they had taken the preceding night.  For a few moments he contemplated the marks of the conflict in the snow.  Where he had first seen the half-breed there were blotches of blood on the crust.

“Good for Croisset!” Howland muttered; “good for Croisset.  It looks as though he used a knife.”