“One of Culver Rann’s friends,” said Blackton sotto voce, as he drove on.  “She takes in a hundred a night if she makes a cent!”

[Illustration:  A slim, exquisitely formed woman in shimmering silk was standing beside a huge brown bear.  In another moment she bestrode the bear, and the big beast lumbered up the street with its rider.]

Blackton’s big log bungalow was close to the engineers’ camp half a mile distant from the one lighted street and the hundreds of tents and shacks that made up the residential part of the town.  Not until they were inside, and Peggy Blackton had disappeared with Joanne for a few moments, did Aldous take old Donald MacDonald’s note from his pocket.  He pulled out the quill, unfolded the bit of paper, and read the few crudely written words the mountain man had sent him.  Blackton turned in time to catch the sudden amazement in his face.  Crushing the note in his hand, Aldous looked at the other, his mouth tightening.

“You must help me make excuses, old man,” he said quietly.  “It will seem strange to them if I do not stay for supper.  But—­it is impossible.  I must see old Donald as quickly as I can get to him.”

His manner more than his words kept Blackton from urging him to remain.  The contractor stared at him for a moment, his own eyes growing harder and more direct.

“It’s about the shooting,” he said.  “If you want me to go with you, Aldous——­”

“Thanks.  That will be unnecessary.”

Peggy Blackton and Joanne were returning.  Aldous turned toward them as they entered the room.  With the note still in his hand he repeated to them what he had told Blackton—­that he had received word which made it immediately urgent for him to go to MacDonald.  He shook hands with the Blacktons, promising to be on hand for the four o’clock breakfast.

Joanne followed him to the door and out upon the veranda.  For a moment they were alone, and now her eyes were wide and filled with fear as he clasped her hands closely in his own.

“I saw him,” she whispered, her fingers tightening convulsively.  “I saw that man—­Quade—­at the station.  He followed us up the street.  Twice I looked behind—­and saw him.  I am afraid—­afraid to let you go back there.  I believe he is somewhere out there now—­waiting for you!”

She was frightened, trembling; and her fear for him, the fear in her shining eyes, in her throbbing breath, in the clasp of her fingers, sent through John Aldous a joy that almost made him free her hands and crush her in his arms in the ecstasy of that wonderful moment.  Then Peggy Blackton and her husband appeared in the door.  He released her hands, and stepped out into the gloom.  The cheery good-nights of the Blacktons followed him.  And Joanne’s good-night was in her eyes—­following him until he was gone, filled with their entreaty and their fear.

A hundred yards distant, where the trail split to lead to the camp of the engineers, there was a lantern on a pole.  Here Aldous paused, out of sight of the Blackton bungalow, and in the dim light read again MacDonald’s note.