arose, they would ransack the box. It would not take long to solve the mystery surrounding Dewberry’s priceless poke.

CHAPTER V
A MIDNIGHT PROWLER

To follow a man through Arctic twilight, to slink from tree to tree and cover to cover, to keep hid always and make very little sound—is not an easy accomplishment. At least, the three boys found that it was not. They stole stealthily along about fifty yards behind Frischette, attempting to keep within that distance, neither advancing too quickly nor too slowly.

The wood they had entered was exceedingly dense, in places almost impassable. Underbrush grew so thick that it choked out even the grass. So thick indeed was the undergrowth, through which Frischette hurried, that it was utterly impossible always to keep within sight of him. Now and again they would see his hurrying form, only to lose it a moment later. Sometimes the crackling of the underbrush would reveal his whereabouts. At other times the boys would be in doubt as to where he was, and would come to the conclusion that perhaps they had lost him. Then they would hesitate about pressing on for fear that they might walk boldly out in plain view of him.

Yet always they contrived to pick up his trail, either by finding his footprints or by hearing some slight sound ahead. As they continued their pursuit, their astonishment grew. Why did the Frenchman seek out a hiding place so far from the house? Had his greed completely unseated his mind? Already, Dick estimated, they had come at least two miles, and yet Frischette showed no sign of stopping. He was walking at a furious pace now, his nimble legs darting along over the uncarpeted forest path. He hugged his treasure-box to him and fairly plunged through thicket and across the open spaces, occasionally muttering to himself.

To the boys’ amazement, the chase ended abruptly. They had come out to a small clearing in which stood a cabin. Frischette’s fingers stole to his lips and a peculiarly soft, bird-like whistle sounded through the forest. Then the Frenchman remained standing where he was until the door opened and a slouching figure emerged.

At sight of the occupant of the cabin, the boys gasped in wonder. Never before had they seen so unusual a person. He was bent and old, and hobbled as he walked, in one hand a cane to guide him. His head was hatless, covered with a thick, straggling crop of hair, some of which fluttered into his face and over his shoulders. His beard was long and heavy—of a peculiar reddish tinge, streaked with gray.

He approached Frischette, pausing a few feet from him, and looked up at his visitor with eyes that peeped out from the shadowed depressions between his beard and eyebrows like two black beads. The Frenchman was the first to speak:

“I bring back ze box again, M’sieur Creel. You will take et an’ watch over et. You are a faithful guardian, my friend. I weesh to compliment you. Ever’zing ees here: ze money, ze treasure—ever’zing.”

The stranger spoke in a voice so low that, from their hiding place, the boys could make out but a few words. Frischette spoke again:

“Et ees tonight.”

The old man shook his head vigorously, gesturing with his hands. The Frenchman raised his voice: “Et ees tonight, I tell you. You will do as I say.”

This time they heard the protest:

“No, no; I cannot come. Tonight I have other work. I cannot be there. I refuse to do as you wish, Frischette, even for the sake of gain.”

The Frenchman’s face grew suddenly crimson with fury. He stooped and picked up a club, advancing threateningly.

“I see ’bout that,” he fairly shouted. “I see ’bout that pretty queek. You try fail me, m’sieur, I make you sorry.”

The other did not blink. He faced his antagonist calmly, scornfully, presently breaking into an amused chuckle.

“You couldn’t hurt a fly. You are a coward, Frischette. I, an old man, have far more courage than you.”

The road-house keeper’s sudden flare of fury quickly burned out. He dropped his club and stepped back several paces, hugging his treasure to him. Before the unwavering gaze of the old man he was helpless, and possibly a little afraid. He glanced about sullenly.

“All right, et ees your own broth you brew, monsieur. I shall keep ze box. Et ees all mine. Do you hear? Et ees mine.”

“Faugh! A bluff! You wouldn’t dare. I ask you to try it.”

The Frenchman clutched the box still more tightly.

“Et ees mine,” he persisted stubbornly.

“You try it,” warned the other.

“No more will I come to you,” Frischette informed him. “We are through. I shall keep ze box.”

“Fool!” cried the other in vexation, beginning to relent “I suppose that I must humor you always. Very well, it shall be as you say. I give you my promise. But it will cost you a pretty penny this time.”

Suddenly they began to barter.

“Half,” said the Frenchman.

“Two-thirds,” insisted the man with the beard.

Frischette gave vent to a shriek of anguish.

“Two-thirds,” he howled. “What? Are you crazy? I will not leesen to zat. Et ees outrageous, m’sieur.”

Sandy poked Dick cautiously in the ribs.

“Both mad!” he announced. “Can you make anything out of that gibberish? What are they talking about?”

“I’ll confess,” Dick whispered, “that I’m at a loss to know.”

In the end, the two conspirators came to an agreement

“One-half it shall be,” they heard the old man mutter.

Having won his point, Frischette beamed. He thrust the box into the other’s hands.

“Take et, m’sieur. I am sorry ef I speak cross. We must be friends. We must understand each other. En a ver’ few weeks we go to Edmonton an’ we shall be rich, m’sieur.”

Creel grumbled something through his beard, seized the box with eager hands and half-turned as if to depart.

“Tonight then?”

“Yes, tonight.”

The boys scrambled back quickly, for Frischette was beginning his journey homeward. A moment later, from the deep shadow of a heavy thicket, they watched him pass. He was shaking his head and talking to himself in a complaining undertone. Not long afterward he had disappeared in the tangle of greenery, and over the woodland there settled a deep and impressive silence. Dick looked at Sandy and Toma and smiled.

“The farther we go into this thing, the stranger and more perplexing it becomes. I wonder who that man is? In what way is he associated with Frischette? Why is he guarding the box? Now what do you suppose they were arguing about?”

“I can’t imagine,” answered Sandy. “What do you think, Toma?”

The Indian youth rose and broke off a twig from a branch above his head.

“I think him bad fellow just like Frischette.”

“Yes,” agreed Sandy, “probably his accomplice.”

“It doesn’t look as if we would open that box now,” grimaced Dick.

“Not unless we overpower the old man.”

Dick too arose, glancing back at the cabin.

“I’d like to think it over before we attempt it. Possibly some plan may occur to us tomorrow. At present we’d better go back to the road-house before Frischette becomes suspicious. I wouldn’t be in the least surprised if he attempts to relieve me of that roll tonight.”

“I can agree with you there,” said Sandy. “Did you notice his eyes when you pulled it from your pocket?”

“Yes.” Dick smiled at the memory.

They started back along the trail,