Indian Jake had told Thomas that he would camp above the mouth of the Nascaupee River, a dozen miles beyond the point where the river enters Grand Lake.  It was a journey of sixty miles or more from the Post.

Eli set out at once.  Five miles up a short wide river brought him to Grand Lake, which here reached away before him to meet the horizon in the west, and at the foot of the lake he camped to await day, for the lake and the country before him were unfamiliar.

Early in the afternoon of the third day after leaving the Post, Eli’s boat turned into the wide mouth of the Nascaupee River, and keeping a sharp look-out, he rowed silently up the river.  It was an hour before sundown when his eye caught the white of canvas among the trees a little way from the river.

With much caution Eli drew his boat among the willows that lined the bank and made it fast.  Slinging his cartridge bag over his shoulder, and with his rifle resting in the hollow of his arm, ready for instant action, he crept forward toward Indian Jake’s camp.  Taking advantage of the cover of brush, he moved with extreme caution until he had the tent and surroundings under observation.

There was no movement about the camp and the fire was dead.  It was plain Indian Jake had not returned for the evening.  Eli crouched and waited, as a cat crouches and waits patiently for its prey.

Presently there was the sound of a breaking twig and a moment later Indian Jake, with his rifle on his arm, appeared out of the forest.

Eli, his rifle levelled at Indian Jake, rose to his feet with the command: 

“You stand where you is; drop your gun!”

“Why, how do, Eli?  What’s up?” Indian Jake greeted.  “What’s bringin’ you to the Nascaupee?”

“You!” Eli’s face was hard with hate. “’Tis you brings me here, you thief!  I wants the silver you takes when you shoots father, and ’tis well for you Doctor Joe comes and saves he from dyin’ or I’d been droppin’ a bullet in your heart with nary a warnin’!”

“What you meanin’ by that?”

“Be you givin’ up the silver?”

“No!”

[Illustration:  “YOU STAND WHERE YOU IS AND DROP YOUR GUN”]

“I say again, give me that silver fox you stole from father!”

Indian Jake’s small hawk eyes were narrowing.  He made no answer, but slipped his right hand forward toward the trigger of his rifle, though the barrel of the rifle still rested in the hollow of his left arm.

“Drop un!” Eli commanded, observing the movement.  “Drop that gun on the ground!”

Indian Jake stood like a statue, eyeing Eli, but he made no movement.

“I said drop un!” Eli’s voice was cold and hard as steel.  He was in deadly earnest.  “If you tries to raise un or don’t drop un before I count ten I’ll put a bullet in your heart!”

Indian Jake might have been of chiselled stone.  He did not move a muscle or wink an eye-lash but his small eyes were centred on every motion Eli made.  He still held his rifle, the barrel resting in the hollow of his left arm, his right hand clutching the stock behind the hammer, his finger an inch from the trigger.