perspiration from his face.

“We’re here—” he announced, “mosquitos and all.” He looked curiously about him. “So this is the famous stopping-place. I’ve often heard of it. It’s one of the largest road-houses north of the Peace River. They say that Frischette is an interesting character. He’s lived in the North a good many years.”

Sandy’s observations were cut short by the appearance of two young half-breeds, who sauntered over in their direction. Toma gave vent to an exclamation, dropped the reins over his pony’s head and advanced quickly to meet them.

“One of them must be Fontaine,” guessed Sandy.

“But he knows them both,” observed Dick.

Immediately Toma and his two friends approached and introductions took place.

“This him fellow,” Toma was explicit, “my friend, Pierre Fontaine. This other fellow, also my friend, Martin Le Sueur. He come long way this morning to be with Pierre. Mebbe after while they be partners an’ buy Frischette’s business.”

Both Le Sueur and Fontaine spoke very little English, so the conversation that ensued, a lively one, was carried on in Cree. While it was taking place, the boys put up their ponies and walked back in the direction of the hostelry. No sooner had they entered, than Frischette, with his usual hospitality, came forward to bid them welcome. As he did so, Dick gave him the benefit of a close scrutiny.

He was a little man, dark, vivacious—typically French. Yet his lively features showed the unmistakable Indian strain of his mixed origin. He conducted the boys to the dining room, talking as he went.

“Very hungry you must be, monsieurs. Sit down for a moment. We have plenty to eat here. I myself will serve you. Baked whitefish from ze water only an hour. Brown bread which I bake with my own hands. Then there ees coffee an’ a sweet pastry, monsieurs.”

“I was hungry, but I’m famished now after hearing all that,” Sandy declared. “You are very generous, Mr. Frischette.”

“Et ees nothing.” The Frenchman waved his arms deprecatingly. “I like et you come here once in a while during thees lonesome summer to make ze company. I am glad to learn that you are friends of thees ver’ good boy, Fontaine.”

Their welcome had been so whole-hearted and spontaneous that Dick did not, even for a moment, believe that Frischette’s manner was assumed. In spite of himself, he was drawn toward the vivacious, hospitable Frenchman. A capital host! It was difficult to see how Corporal Rand could harbor suspicion against such a person. The genial road-house keeper had none of the characteristics nor any of the appearances of a criminal.

That was Dick’s first impression of the man. Nor did he stand alone in this respect. Sandy, too, had been impressed favorably. Just before retiring for the night, the young Scotchman whispered in his chum’s ear:

“Look here, Dick, if you want my honest opinion, I think we’ve come on a wild goose chase. I believe Corporal Rand is wrong. After seeing and talking with this man Frischette, I’m absolutely certain that he’s innocent. Someone else is the guilty person.”

“I can’t help thinking that too,” Dick replied. “If looks and actions are not deceiving, Frischette is innocent. I doubt if he knows any more about the case than he’s already told Rand. Just the same, we’ll remain here and follow the corporal’s instructions.”

“Just wasting time,” grumbled Sandy.

Suddenly, they were aware of a presence near them. Both looked up quickly and a little guiltily, expecting to see Frischette himself. Instead it was Toma—Toma, a curious expression on his face, the light of excitement in his eyes.

“Sandy, Dick,” he announced breathlessly, “you come with me. I find out something important to tell you!”

CHAPTER IV
FRISCHETTE’S MONEY BOX

Toma led Sandy and Dick to the seclusion of a poplar grove, a few rods away from the house. His manner was mysterious. That he had come in possession of information of extreme importance, neither of his two friends could doubt. The young Indian’s eyes fairly snapped, as he motioned Dick and Sandy to be seated, he himself taking a position near them. Sprawling out on the soft turf, he began eagerly:

“I think better we come to this place, where no one hear us. I just find out something about Frischette. Fontaine tell me. Good news for the mounted police.”

“I hope you didn’t tell your friend what we were here for,” interrupted Dick. “We mustn’t take anyone into our confidence.”

“I no tell him that,” Toma assured him. “All I do is ask once in a while few questions ’bout Frischette. Then my friend, Fontaine, him talk. Tell ’em me all ’bout murder. He think MacGregor get money all right, an’ hide it away somewhere before police catch him. Never once it come in my friend’s mind that mebbe Frischette take the money an’ the poke himself. Frischette, he say, is good man, but very queer fellow. Once in a while he do queer things—things Fontaine not understand. Every few days he get out all his money, take it to room where he sleep, lock door, an’ begin count many, many times. Over an’ over he count all his money ’til he get tired, then he take an’ put it back in box an’ walk outside an’ find another good place to hide it.”

“A miser!” gasped Sandy.

“I don’t know what you call him. But Frischette very queer that way. Fontaine ’fraid to ask him any questions or make talk when Frischette like that, because he act like crazy an’ swear an’ beat Fontaine with a big stick if he say too much.”

“The mere fact that Frischette is a miser, Toma,” Sandy pointed out, “doesn’t necessarily imply that he’s also a thief. If he wants to hide his money and gloat over it, that’s his own privilege.”

Toma nodded.

“Yes, I know that. But Fontaine tell me something that make me think that mebbe Frischette steal money too.”

“Is that so? What did he say?”

“He say,” Toma hurried on, “that two times last winter a very queer thing happen. First time he wake up at night an’ hear someone walking in room, where all the men sleep. Next morning one man him say he lost all his money. Frischette feel very bad an’ give man mebbe ten dollars an’ say how sorry he is that once in a while thief comes like that in his house.”

“So next time,” continued the young Indian, “when Fontaine hear someone walk again in middle of the night, he go quick as he can to Frischette’s room, an’ he very much surprise when he see no one sleep in Frischette’s bed. Quick he go back again to room, an’ all at once he meet Frischette coming out.”

“‘What you do here?’” Frischette say.

“‘I hear noise,’ Fontaine tell him, ‘an’ I go to wake you up.’

“‘I hear noise too,’ Frischette say, ‘so I come in here to find out mebbe another bad thief come,’ he say.

“Next morning, sure enough, two men lose all their money, an’ Frischette very sorry again an’ say bad things ’bout thief an’ give each man ten dollars.”

“It does look suspicious,” mused Dick.

“Something of a coincidence,” agreed Sandy.

They sat for a short time deep in thought. Sandy got out his knife and began whittling a stick. Dick’s gaze wandered thoughtfully away to the fringe of woodland opposite.

“It might not be very difficult,” he broke forth suddenly, “to determine beyond the shadow of a doubt whether or not Frischette