“I regret that—­I regret it very much,” replied Blackton, flinging away the match he had lighted without touching it to his cigar.  “I guessed something was wrong.  She’s welcome at our place, Aldous—­for as long as she remains in Tete Jaune.  Perhaps I knew this relative.  If I can assist you—­or her——­”

“He died before the steel came,” said Aldous.  “FitzHugh was his name.  Old Donald and I are going to take her to the grave.  Miss Gray is an old friend of mine,” he lied boldly.  “We want to start at dawn.  Will that be too much trouble for you and your wife?”

“No trouble at all,” declared Blackton.  “We’ve got a Chinese cook who’s more like an owl than a human.  How will a four o’clock breakfast suit you?”

“Splendidly!”

As they went on, the contractor said: 

“I carried your word to MacDonald.  Hunted him down out in the bush.  He is very anxious to see you.  He said he would not be at the depot, but that you must not fail him.  He’s kept strangely under cover of late.  Curious old ghost, isn’t he?”

“The strangest man in the mountains,” said Aldous “And, when you come to know him, the most lovable.  We’re going North together.”

This time it was Blackton who stopped, with a hand on his companion’s arm.  A short distance from them they could see the buckboard in the light of the station lamp.

“Has old Donald written you lately?” he asked.

“No.  He says he hasn’t written a letter in twenty years.”

Blackton hesitated.

“Then you haven’t heard of his—­accident?”

The strange look in the contractor’s face as he lighted a cigar made John Aldous catch him sharply by the arm.

“What do you mean?”

“He was shot.  I happened to be in Dr. Brady’s office when he dragged himself in, late at night.  Doc got the bullet out of his shoulder.  It wasn’t a bad wound.  The old man swore it was an accident, and asked us to say nothing about it.  We haven’t.  But I’ve been wondering.  Old Donald said he was careless with his own pistol.  But the fact is, Aldous—­he was shot from behind!”

“The deuce you say!”

“There was no perforation except from behind.  In some way the bullet had spent itself before it reached him.  Otherwise it would have killed him.”

For a moment Aldous stared in speechless amazement into Blackton’s face.

“When did this happen?” he asked then.

“Three days ago.  Since then I have not seen old Donald until to-night.  Almost by accident I met him out there in the timber.  I delivered the telegram you sent him.  After he had read it I showed him mine.  He scribbled something on a bit of paper, folded it, and pinned it with a porcupine quill.  I’ve been mighty curious, but I haven’t pulled out that quill.  Here it is.”

From his pocket he produced the note and gave it to Aldous.

“I’ll read it a little later,” said Aldous.  “The ladies may possibly become anxious about us.”