For a time he heard nothing suspicious and began to feel keen disappointment.  He had hoped that Walters’ message would bring Daly to his rescue, but it looked as if it had not done so.  Then, as he stood nearly breast-high among dry brush and withered fern, he heard a faint noise.  Not far off, a narrow trail led through the trees to the back of the hotel.  Standing quite still, he searched the wood with narrowed eyes.

It was shadowy all around him, but where the trees grew farther apart their tall straight trunks cut against the glimmer of the snow.  The noise had stopped, but he could see anybody who crossed the nearest opening, and waited, tense and highly-strung.  Then he heard steps coming from the hotel, and an indistinct object emerged from the gloom.  It was a man, taking some care to move quietly.  When he got nearer, Foster, knowing there was dark brush behind him, thrust his arm into the fern and made it rustle as a gust of wind swept the wood.

The man, who wore an old skin coat, stopped and looked round, and Foster saw his face.  It was Daly, and he seemed uncertain if the wind had made the noise or not.  After standing motionless for a few moments, he took out his watch, and then moved on again as softly as he could.

The meaning of this was plain.  Daly had learned that Walters had been taken away by the police and had concluded that Lawrence meant to fight.  As it was too late to interfere, he meant to make his escape.  Foster resolved to prevent this if he could, but Daly had the advantage of an open trail, while he was entangled in the brush.  He crept out and pushed through the wood as fast and silently as possible, but when looking for a way round a thicket caught his foot and fell among some rotten branches with a crash.  He got up, growling at the accident, for there was no use in following the other after this, although he did not feel beaten yet.  Daly no doubt hoped to get away by the Montreal express, but would hide in the bush until the last moment.

Foster went back to the hotel for Pete, and leaving a note for Lawrence, dressed for a journey and took the road to the station.  On reaching a bend, however, he plunged into the wood and made his way to the line, beside which he and Pete crept in the gloom of the trees, and only came into the open for a few yards near the agent’s shack.  Here they sat down behind a big water tank and Foster felt satisfied.  If they had reached the station without being noticed, they would find Daly when he got on board the train, and if he had seen them, they had cut off his best chance of escape.

It was nearly dark and very cold, but Foster was glad the train was late.  By and by he got up and lighted his pipe, though he was careful how he held the match.  If Daly was hiding near, he did not want the fellow to see his face, but the latter would not expect anybody who might be on his track to smoke.  Strolling carelessly round to the front of the shack, Foster opened the door and asked the agent:  “Are you going to stop the east-bound?”