“See that bloke there?” he asked, pointing at Quest.

“The guy with the linen collar?” the other answered.  “I see him.”

“That’s Quest, the detective,” the Irishman went on hoarsely.  “That’s the man who got me five years in the pen, the beast.  That’s the man I’ve been looking for.  You’re my mate, Jim, eh?”

“I guess so,” the other grunted.  “Are you going to try and do him in?”

“You wait!”

“Now, then, you fellows,” Horan shouted.  “What are you hanging about there for, Red Gallagher?  Bring the carriage up.  You fellows can go and have a smoke for an hour.  I’m going to take her down the line a bit.”

The two men obeyed and disappeared in the direction of the section house.  Quest looked after them curiously.

“That’s a big fellow,” he remarked.  “What did you call him?  Red Gallagher?  I seem to have seen him before.”

“He was the most troublesome fellow on the line once, although he was the biggest worker,” the boss replied.  “He got five years in the penitentiary and that seems to have taken the spirit out of him.”

“I believe I was in the case,” Quest observed carelessly.

“That so!  Now then, young ladies,” Mr. Horan advised, “hold tight, and here goes!”

They ambled down the line for about half a mile.  Then Horan brought them to a standstill.

“This is the spot,” he declared.  “Now, if you want my impressions, you are welcome to them.  All the search has been made on the right-hand side here, and in New York.  I’ve had my eye on that hill for a long time.  My impression is that he hid there.”

“I’ll take your advice,” Quest decided.  “We’ll spread out and take a little exercise in hill climbing.”

“Good luck to you!” the boss exclaimed.  “You’ll excuse my waiting?  It ain’t a quarter of a mile back by the road, and I’m going a bit farther on, inspecting.”

Quest slipped something into his hand and the little party left the track, crossed the road, scrambled down a bank and spread out.  In front of them was a slope some hundreds of feet high, closely overgrown with dwarf trees and mountain shrubs.  It was waste land, uncultivated and uninhabited.  Quest made a careful search of the shrubs and ground close to the spot which Horan had indicated.  He pointed out to his two companions the spot where the grass was beaten down, and a few yards farther off where a twig had been broken off from some overhanging trees, as though a man had pushed his way through.

“This may have been done by the police search,” he remarked, “or it may not.  Don’t spread out too far, girls, and go slowly.  If we find any trace of James Macdougal on this hill-side, we are going to find it within fifty yards of this spot.”

They searched carefully and deliberately for more than half an hour.  Then Lenora suddenly called out.  They looked around to find only her head visible.  She scrambled up, muddy and with wet leaves clinging to her skirt.