bet on that; and I'd consider it mighty friendly of you to do the same."

"I'll do it, then, Jim, though I must say I'm not much of a hand at solving mysteries or catching sinners. But I'll keep my peepers open, you may gamble on that."

Reginald Baynes Rayton returned to his warm chair by the fire, and fixed his mind, with an effort, on the solving of the mystery. He liked Jim Harley, so he'd get to the bottom of that card trick if it burst his brain. Suddenly he slapped his hand on his knee.

"I have it!" he cried. "By George, I have it! It's that blithering bounder, Nash. He's always up to some rotten joke or other; and he's heard that story about the mother and grandmother somewhere, and so marked that card to take a rise out of Jim. He hasn't enough sense to know if a thing is sacred or not. He's one of those dashed fools who enjoy jumping in where angels fear to tread. That's it. By George, it didn't take me long to work out that puzzle! But I'll just keep it to myself for a while—to make sure, you know."

So he put the incident of the previous night out of his mind, and thought of Harley's story, and of Harley's sister, instead. He knew Nell, of course, but had not talked with her more than half a dozen times. He admired her greatly; and now, since hearing this story of her parents and her grandmother, he felt an extraordinary stirring of tenderness toward her. He sighed, lit another pipe, and went up to bed. He wanted to be up in the morning at even an earlier hour than usual, for he had planned a long day in the woods. He had arranged with a lad on the next farm to tend the stock for him during the day.

Rayton gave the animals their morning feed and breakfasted himself by lantern light. Then, with the pockets of his shooting coat stored with sandwiches and a flask of whisky and water, and with his grown spaniel, Turk, wriggling about his feet, he set out for the big timber that crowded right up to his back pastures from the hundreds of square miles of wilderness beyond. A heavy frost had gripped the earth during the night. The buckwheat stubble was crisp with it.

Dawn was spreading over the southeastern sky as he came to the edge of the forest. He halted there, called Turk to heel, and filled and started his pipe. His equipment was remarkable, and it would bother some people to say what game he intended to go after with a dog and a rifle. But Rayton knew what he was about. He wanted to bag a few brace of ruffled grouse; but he did not want to miss any good chance that might offer at moose, caribou, or deer. And he could not carry both shot-gun and rifle. The dog was well trained and could be depended upon not to trail, rush, or startle any big game. So it was Rayton's method to let Turk flush the birds from the ground into the trees, from which he would then shoot them with the rifle. He always fired at the head. Of course, he missed the mark frequently, in which case the bird flew away uninjured, as it is almost impossible to catch sight of a flying bird in the high and thick covers of that country, this was a good and sportsmanlike plan; and then he always had his rifle with him in case he came across something bigger than grouse.

Rayton carried a compass, and was not above consulting it now and again. Men have been lost in less formidable wildernesses than that—and have never been found. By noon he had five grouse attached to his belt—each minus its head—and had failed to get a clean shot at a bull moose. He had crossed two small streams, and was now close to the Teakettle. He sat down on a fallen hemlock, and brought a bone for Turk, and half the sandwiches from his pocket. Suddenly the spaniel jumped to his feet with a low, inquiring yap. Rayton turned and beheld Dick Goodine.