To sit at the same camp fireside has always been a sacred bond, and the scene of twenty years before was now renewed in the Raften woods, thanks to that campfire lit a month before—­the sacred fire.  How well it had been named!  William and Caleb were camped together in good fellowship again, marred though it was with awkwardness as yet, but still good fellowship.

Raften was a magistrate.  He sent Sam with an order to the constable to come for the prisoner.  Yan went to the house for provisions and to bring Mrs. Raften, and Guy went home with an astonishing account of his latest glorious doings.  The tramp desperado was securely fastened to a tree; Caleb was in the teepee lying down.  Raften went in for a few minutes, and when he came out the tramp was gone.  His bonds were cut, not slipped.  How could he nave gotten away without help?

“Never mind,” said Raften.  “That three-fingered hand is aisy to follow.  Caleb, ain’t that Bill Hennard?”

“I reckon.”

The men had a long talk.  Caleb told of the loss of his revolver—­he was still living in the house with the Pogues then—­and of its recovery.  They both remembered that Hennard was close by at the time of the quarrel over the Horse-trade.  There was much that explained itself and much of mystery that remained.

But one thing was clear.  Caleb had been tricked out of everything he had in the world, for it was just a question of days now before Pogue would, in spite of Saryann, throw off all pretense and order Caleb from the place to shift for himself.

Raften sat a long time thinking, then said: 

“Caleb, you do exactly as Oi tell ye and ye’ll get yer farrum back.  First, Oi’ll lend ye wan thousand dollars for wan week.”

A thousand dollars!!! Caleb’s eyes opened, and what was next he did not then learn, for the boys came back and interrupted, but later the old Trapper was fully instructed.

When Mrs. Raften heard of it she was thunderstruck.  A thousand dollars in Sanger was like one hundred thousand dollars in a big city.  It was untold wealth, and Mrs. Raften fairly gasped.

“A thousand dollars, William!  Why! isn’t that a heavy strain to put on the honesty of a man who thinks still that he has some claim on you?  Is it safe to risk it?”

“Pooh!” said William.  “Oi’m no money-lender, nor spring gosling nayther.  Thayer’s the money Oi’ll lend him,” and Raften produced a roll of counterfeit bills that he as magistrate had happened to have in temporary custody.  “Thayer’s maybe five hundred or six hundred dollars, but it’s near enough.”

Caleb, however, was allowed to think it real money, and fully prepared, he called at his own—­the Pogue house—­the next day, knocked, and walked in.

“Good morning, father,” said Saryann, for she had some decency and kindness.

“What do you want here?” said Dick savagely; “bad enough to have you on the place, without forcing yerself on us day and night.”