NEDL TRANSFER
HN ISLIM
November Joe
The Detective of the
Woods
By Hesketh Prichard


Кузея








NOVEMBER JOE
Detective of the Woods






Stolt
SEVERAL SKINS DROPPED OUT






...ULT (f. 11,)


NOVEMBER JOE
Detective of the Woods
BY
H. HESKETH PRICHARD
Author of “ Hunting-Camps in Wood and Wilderness,"
" Through Trackless Labrador," “ The
Chronicles of Don Q" etc.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS

BIEN OV
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Aiverside Press Cambridge
1913


KD 3495
COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY A. HESKETH PRICHARD
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Published September 1913


TO MY WIFE





CONTENTS
I. SIR ANDREW's Advice . . . . . I
II. November Joe . . . . . . 11
III. THE CRIME AT Big Tree Portage. . 21
IV. The Seven Lumber-Jacks... 49
V. The Black Fox Skin . . . . . 81
VI. THE MURDER AT THE DUCK CLUB . 122
VII. The CASE OF Miss Virginia Planx . 157
VIII. THE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLAR ROB-
BERY . . . . . . . . 190
IX. The Looted ISLAND . . . . . 221
X. The MYSTERY OF FLETCHER BUCKMAN 247
XI. Linda PETERSHAM . . . . . 281
XII. Kalmacks . . . . . . . . 294
XIII. The Men OF THE MOUNTAINS . . . 303
XIV. The Man in the Black Hat .. 318
XV. The CAPTURE . . . . . . . 328
XVI. THE CITY OR THE Woods? . . . 337





ILLUSTRATIONS
SEVERAL SKINS DROPPED OUT (p. 113) Frontispiece
HIGHAMSON AND NOVEMBER JOE WERE STRUG-
GLING . . . . . . . . . . 42
THIS HE WAS LOOKING ROUND AND OVER WITH
GREAT CARE . . . . . . . . 68
With A SHOUT OF RAGE HE MADE AT Joe. 108
“STAND YOU BACK, TIM” . . . . . . 146
JOE KNOCKED THE REVOLVER FROM PLANX's
GRASP . . . . . . . . . 176
SHE HELD OUT HER HAND TO JOE . . . 186
“CeciL ATTERSON, I've got you!". . . 200
Both MEN WERE COVERING EACH OTHER WITH
REVOLVERS. . . . . . . . . 222
"IF HE DON’T CONFESS, I'LL SHOOT HIM" · 242
MRS. BUCKMAN STOOD THERE . . . . . 256
“THEN LOOK OUT FOR YOURSELF!” . . . 260


.
.
.
-


NOVEMBER JOE
CHAPTER I
SIR ANDREW'S ADVICE
It happened that in the early autumn of
1908 I, James Quaritch, of Quebec, went down
to Montreal. I was at the time much engaged in
an important business transaction, which, after
long and complicated negotiations, appeared to
be nearing a successful issue. A few days after
my arrival I dined with Sir Andrew McLerrick,
the celebrated nerve specialist and lecturer at
McGill University, who had been for many
years my friend.
On similar occasions I had usually remained
for half an hour after the other guests had de-
parted, so that when he turned from saying the
last good-bye, Sir Andrew found me choosing
a fresh cigar.
“I cannot call to mind, James, that I invited
you to help yourself to another smoke,” he said.


, NOVEMBER JOE
I laughed.
“Don't mention it, Andrew; I am accustomed
to your manners. All the same —”
He watched me light up. “Make the most of
it, for it will be some time before you enjoy an-
other."
“I have felt your searching eye upon me more
than once to-night. What is it?”
“My dear James, the new mining amalga-
mation the papers are so full of, and of which
I understand that you are the leading spirit,
will no doubt be a great success, yet is it
really worth the sacrifice of your excellent
health?”
“But I feel quite as usual.”
“Quite?”
“Well, much as usual."
Upon this Sir Andrew bent his pronounced
eyebrows and brilliant dark eyes upon me and
put me through a catechism.
“Sleep much as usual?”
“Perhaps not," I admitted unwillingly.
“Appetite as good as usual?"
“Oh, I don't know.”
“Tush, man, James! Stand up!". Thereupon


SIR ANDREW'S ADVICE
he began an examination which merged into a
lecture, and the lecture in due course ended in
my decision to take a vacation immediately,
a long vacation to be spent beyond reach of
letter or telegram in the woods.
“That's right! that's right!" commented Sir
Andrew. “Nothing will do you more good than
to forget all these mining reports and assays in
an elemental moose-hunt. What do the horns
of that fellow with the big bell, which you have
hanging in your office, measure?”
“Fifty-nine inches."
“Then go and shoot one with a spread of
sixty.”
“I believe you are right,” said I,- for in the
short periods I have been able to spare from my
business, I have made many hunting trips, and
know that there is nothing like them for change
of thought— “but the worst of it is that my
guide, Noel Tribonet, is laid up with rheuma-
tism and will certainly not be fit to go with me
just now. Indeed, I doubt if he will ever be
much good in the woods again.”
“But what if I can recommend you a new
man?"


NOVEMBER JOE
“Thanks, but I have had the trouble of
training Noel already.”
Once again Sir Andrew allowed his penetrat-
ing black eyes to rest upon me. Then he broke
into his short, rare laugh.
“I can guarantee that you will not find it
necessary to train November Joe.”
"November Joe?”
“Yes, do you know him?"
“Curiously enough, I do. He was with me as
dish-washer when I was up with Tom Todd
some years ago in Maine. He was a boy then.”
“What did you think of him?”
“I had n't much opportunity of judging.
Todd kept him in camp cooking most of the
time. But I do remember that once when we
were on the march and were overtaken by a very
bad snowstorm, Todd and the boy had a differ-
ence of opinion as to the direction we should
take.”
“And Joe was right?”
“He was,” said I. “Todd did n't like it at
all.”
“Tom Todd had quite a reputation, had n't
he? Naturally he would not like being put right


SIR ANDREW'S ADVICE
by a boy. Well, that must be ten years ago, and
Joe's twenty-four now."
“And a good man in the woods, you say?"
“None better. The most capable on this con-
tinent, I verily believe.”
I was surprised at Sir Andrew's superlatives,
for he was the last man to overstate his case.
“What makes you say that?”
“A habit of speaking the truth, my dear
friend. If Joe is free and can go with you, you
will get your moose with the sixty-inch horns,
I have very little doubt.”
“I am afraid there is very slight chance of his
being free. You must not forget it's just the
beginning of the still-hunting season.”
“I know that, but I believe he was retained
by the Britwells, who employed him last year,
and now at the last minute old man Britwell
has decided that he is too busy to go into
camp this fall. But there may still be this dif-
ficulty. I understand that November Joe has
entered into some sort of contract with the
Provincial Police.”
“With the police?" I repeated.
“Yes. He is to help them in such cases as


NOVEMBER JOE
nesses that I have ever seen have been men of
the November Joe type, that is, practically
illiterate woodsmen. Their evidence has a qual-
ity of terrible simplicity; they give minute but
unanswerable details; they hold up the candle
to truth with a vengeance, and this, I think, is
partly due to the fact that their minds are un-
clouded by any atmosphere of make-believe;
they have never read any sensational novels;
all their experiences are at first-hand; they bring
forward naked facts with sledge-hammer re-
sults.”
I had listened to Sir Andrew with interest, for
I knew that his precise and accurate mind
was not easily influenced to the expression of a
definite opinion.
“For some years,” he continued, “I have
studied this subject, and there is nothing that
I would personally like to do better than to
have the opportunity of watching November Joe
at work. Where a town-bred man would see
nothing but a series of blurred footsteps in the
morning dew, an ordinary dweller in the woods
could learn something from them, but Novem-
ber Joe can often reconstruct the man who made


SIR ANDREW'S ADVICE
them, sometimes in a manner and with an
exactitude that has struck me as little short
of marvellous."
"I see he has interested you,” said I, half
smiling.
“I confess he has. Looked at from a scientific
standpoint, I consider him the perfect product
of his environment. I repeat there are few things
I would enjoy more than to watch November
using his experience and his supernormal senses
in the unravelling of some crime of the
woods.”
I threw the stump of my cigar into the fire.
“You have persuaded me,” I said; “I will try
to make a start by the end of the week. Where
is Joe to be found?”.
“As to that, I believe you might get into
touch with him at Harding's Farm, Silent
Water, Beauce.
“I'll write to him.”
“Not much use. He only calls for letters when
he feels inclined.”
“Then I'll cable.”
"He lives twenty-seven miles from the near-
est office."


NOVEMBER JOE
“Still they might send it on to him.”
“Perhaps; but it is a lonely part of the coun-
try, and messengers are likely to be scarce.”
“Then I'll go to Harding's and arrange the
trip by word of mouth.”
“That would certainly be the best plan, and,
anyhow, the sooner you get into the woods, the
better. Besides, you will be more likely to secure
Joe by doing that, as he is inclined to be shy of
strangers.”
I rose and shook hands with my host.
“Remember me to Joe,” said he. “I like that
young man. Good-bye and good luck.”


CHAPTER II
NOVEMBER JOE
ALONG the borders of Beauce and Maine,
between the United States and Canada, lies a
land of spruce forest and of hardwood ridges.
Here little farms stand on the edge of the big
timber, and far beyond them, in the depths
of the woodlands, lie lumber-camps and the
wide-flung paths of trappers and pelt-hunt-
ers.
I left the cars at Silent Water and rode off at
once to Harding's, the house of the Beauce
farmer where I meant to put up for the night.
Mrs. Harding received me genially and placed
an excellent supper before me. While I was eat-
ing it a squall blew up with the fall of darkness,
and I was glad enough to find myself in safe
shelter.
Outside the wind was swishing among the
pines which enclosed the farmhouse, when, in-
side, the bell of the telephone, which connected
us with St. George, forty miles distant, rang
II


NOVEMBER JOE
suddenly and incongruously, high above the
clamour of the forest noises.
Mrs. Harding took up the receiver, and this is
what I heard.
“My husband won't be home to-night; he's
gone into St. George. . . . No, I've no one to
send. ... But how can I? There is no one here
but me and the children. . . . Well, there's Mr.
Quaritch, a sport, staying the night. No, I
could n't ask him.”
I came forward.
“Why not?” I inquired.
Mrs. Harding shook her head as she stood
still holding the receiver. She was a matron of
distinct comeliness, and she cooked amazingly
well.
“You can ask me anything,” I urged.
“They want some one to carry a message to
November Joe,” she explained. “It's the Pro-
vincial Police on the 'phone.”
“I'll go.”
“Joe made me promise not to send any sports
after him,” she said doubtfully. “They all
want him now he's famous.”
“But November Joe is rather a friend of mine.
12


NOVEMBER JOE
I hunted with him years ago when he lived on
the Montmorency.”
“Is that so?” Her face relaxed a little. “Well,
perhaps ..." she conceded.
“Of course, I'll carry the message.”
"It's quite a way to his place. November
does n't care about strangers; he's a solitary
man. You must follow the tote-road you were
on to day fifteen miles, turn west at the deserted
lumber-camp, cross Charley's Brook, Joe lives
about two acres up the far bank.” She lifted the
receiver. “Shall I say you'll go?”
“By all means.”
A few seconds later I was at the 'phone
taking my instructions. It appeared that the
speaker was the Chief of Police in Quebec, who
was, of course, well known to me. I will let you
have his own words.
“Very good of you, I'm sure, Mr. Quaritch.
Yes, we want November Joe to be told that a
man named Henry Lyon has been shot in his
camp down at Big Tree Portage, on Depot
River. The news came in just now, telephoned
through by a lumber-jack who found the body.
Tell Joe, please, success means fifty dollars to
13


NOVEMBER JOE
him. Yes, that's all. Much obliged. Yes, the
sooner he hears about it, the better. Good-
night.”
I hung up the receiver, turned to Mrs.
Harding, and told her the facts. That capable
woman nodded decisively.
“You won't have much time to lose, then.
I'll put you up a bite to eat."
As I hastily got my things together, I began
asking questions about Joe.
“So November is connected with police work
now?”
Mrs. Harding answered me with another
question.
"Did n't you read in the newspapers about
the ‘Long Island Murder??”
I remembered the case at once; it had been a
nine days' wonder of headline and comment,
and now I wondered how it was that I had
missed the mention of Joe's name.
"November was the man who put together
that puzzle for them down in New York,”
Mrs. Harding went on. “Ever since they have
been wanting him to work for them. They
offered him a hundred dollars a month to


NOVEMBER JOE
go to New York and take on detective jobs
there."
“Ah, and what had he to say to that?"
“Said he would n't leave the woods for a
thousand.”
“Well?”
“They offered him the thousand.”
“With what result?”.
“He started out in the night for his shack.
Came in here as he passed, and told my hus-
band he would rather be tied to a tree in the
woods for the rest of his life than live on Fifth
Avenue. The lumber-jacks and the guides
hereabouts think a lot of him. Now you'd best
saddle Laura — that's the big grey mare you'll
find in the near stall of the stable — and go
right off. There'll be a moon when the storm
blows itself out."
By the help of the lantern I saddled Laura
and stumbled away into the dark and the wind.
For the chief part of the way I had to lead the
mare, and the dawn was grey in the open places
before I reached the deserted lumber-camp, and
all the time my mind was busy with memories
of November. Boy though he had been when I


NOVEMBER JOE
knew him, his personality had impressed itself
upon me by reason of a certain adequate quiet-
ness with which he fulfilled the duties, many
and disagreeable, which bearded old Tom
Todd took a delight in laying upon his young
shoulders.
I remembered, too, the expression of humour
and mocking tolerance which used to invade the
boy's face whenever old Tom was overtaken by
one of his habitual fits of talking big. Once
when Tom spoke by the camp-fire of some lake
to which he desired to guide me, and of which
he stated that the shores had never been trod-
den by white man's foot, Joe had to cover his
mouth with his hand. When we were alone,
Todd having departed to make some necessary
repairs to the canoe, I asked Joe what he meant
by laughing at his elders.
“I suppose a boy's foot ain't a man's any-
ways,” remarked Joe innocently, and more he
would not say.
In fact, it was with such memories as these
that I amused myself as I tramped forward over
the rough paths. And now Joe was grown up
into a man who had been heard of, not only
16


NOVEMBER JOE
within the little ring of miles that composed his
home district, but a little also out in the great
world beyond.
The sun was showing over the tree-tops when
I drew rein by the door of the shack, and at the
same moment came in view of the slim but
powerful figure of a young man who was busy
rolling some gear into a pack. He raised himself
and, just as I was about to speak, drawled
out, —
"My!Mr. Quaritch, you! Who'd a'thought
it?"
The young woodsman came forward with a
lazy stride and gave me welcome with a curi-
ous gentleness that was one of his character-
istics, but which left me in no doubt as to its
geniality.
I feel that I shall never be able to describe
November. Suffice it to say that the loose-knit
boy I remembered had developed into one of
the finest specimens of manhood that ever grew
up among the balsam trees; near six feet tall,
lithe and powerful, with a neck like a column,
and a straight-featured face, the sheer good
looks of this son of the woods were disturbing.
Ti.
17


NOVEMBER JOE
IV
He was clearly also not only the product but
the master of his environment.
“Well, well, Mr. Quaritch, many's the time
I've been thinking of the days we had with old
Tom way up on the Roustik.”
“They were good days, Joe, were n't they?”
“Sure, sure, they were!”
“I hope we shall have some more together."
“If it's hunting you want, I'm glad you're
here, Mr. Quaritch. There's a fine buck using
around by Widdeney Pond. Maybe we will get
a look at him come sunset, for he 'most al-
ways moves out of the thick bush about dark.”
Then humour lit a spark in his splendid grey
eyes as he looked up at me. “But we'll have a
cup o' tea first.”
November Joe's (by the way, I ought to men-
tion that his birth in the month of November
had given him his name), as I say, November
Joe's weakness for tea had in the old days been
a target upon which I had often exercised my
faculty for irony and banter. The weakness was
evidently still alive. I smiled; perhaps it was a
relief to find a weak point in this alarmingly
adequate young man.
18


NOVEMBER JOE
1
“I had hoped to have a hunt with you,
November,” said I. “Indeed, that is what I
came for, and there's nothing I'd like better
than to try for your red-deer buck to-night, but
while I was at Harding's there was a ring-up on
the 'phone, and the Provincial Police sent
through a message for you. It appears that a
man named Henry Lyon has been shot in his
camp at Big Tree Portage. A lumberman found
him, and 'phoned the news into Quebec. The
Chief of Police wants you to take on the case.
He told me to say that success would mean
fifty dollars.”
"That's too bad,” said Joe. “I'd sooner
hunt a deer than a man any day. Makes a fel-
low feel less bad-like when he comes up with
him. Well, Mr. Quaritch, I must be getting off,
but you'll be wanting another guide. There's
Charley Paul down to St. Amiel.”
“Look here, November, I don't want Charley
Paul or any other guide but you. The fact of
the matter is, that Sir Andrew McLerrick, the
great doctor who was out with you last fall, has
told me that I have been overdoing it and must
come into the woods for rest. I've three
19


NOVEMBER JOE
months to put in, and from all I hear of you,
you won't take three months finding out who
murdered Lyon.”
Joe looked grave. “I may take more than
that,” said he, "for maybe I'll never find out at
all. But I'm right pleased, Mr. Quaritch, to
hear you can stay so long. There's plenty of
grub in my shack, and I dare say that I shan't
be many days gone.”
“How far is it to Big Tree Portage?”
“Five miles to the river and eight up it.”
“I'd like to go with you."
He gave me one of his quick smiles. “Then I
guess you'll have to wait for your breakfast till
we are in the canoe. Turn the mare loose.
She'll make Harding's by afternoon.”
Joe entered the shack and came out again
with one or two articles. In five minutes he had
put together a tent, my sleeping-things, food,
ammunition, and all necessaries. The whole
bundle he secured with his packing-strap, lifted
it and set out through the woods.


CHAPTER III
THE CRIME AT BIG TREE PORTAGE
I HAVE sometimes wondered whether he was
not irked at the prospect of my proffered com-
panionship, and whether he did not at first
intend to shake me off by obvious and primitive
methods.
He has in later days assured me that neither
of my suppositions was correct, but there has
been a far-off look in his eyes while he denied
them, which leaves me still half-doubtful.
However these things may be, it is certain
that I had my work, and more than my work,
cut out for me in keeping up with November
who, although he was carrying a pack while I
was unloaded, travelled through the woods at
an astonishing pace.
He moved from the thighs, bending a little
forward. However thick the underbrush and the
trees, he never once halted or even wavered,
but passed onward with neither check nor
pause. Meanwhile, I blundered in his tracks
21


NOVEMBER JOE
until at last, when we came out on the bank of a
strong and swiftly flowing river, I was fairly
done, and felt that, had the journey continued
much longer, I must have been forced to give in.
November threw down his pack and signed to
me to remain beside it, while he walked off
downstream, only to reappear with a canoe.
We were soon aboard her. Of the remainder
of our journey I am sorry to say I can recall
very little. The rustle of the water as it hissed
against our stem, and the wind in the birches
and junipers on the banks, soon lulled me. I was
only awakened by the canoe touching the bank
at Big Tree.
Big Tree Portage is a recognized camping-
place, situated between the great main lumber-
camp of Briston and Harpur and the settlement
of St. Amiel, and it lies about equidistant from
both. Old fire-scars in the clearing showed
black not more than thirty yards from the
water. From the canoe we were in full sight of
the scene of the tragedy.
A small shelter of boughs stood beneath the
spreading branches of a large fir; the ground all
about was strewn with tins and débris. On a
22


THE CRIME AT BIG TREE PORTAGE
bare space in front of the shelter, beside the
charred logs of a camp-fire, a patch of blue
caught my eye. This, as my sight grew accus-
tomed to the light, resolved itself into the
shape of a huge man. He lay upon his face, and
the wind fluttered the blue blouse which he was
wearing. It came upon me with a shock that I
was looking at the body of Henry Lyon, the
murdered man.
November, standing up in the canoe, a
wood picture in his buckskin shirt and jeans,
surveyed the scene in silence, then pushed off
again and paddled up and down, staring at the
bank. After a bit he put in and waded ashore.
In obedience to a sign I stayed in the canoe,
from which I watched the movements of my
companion. First, he went to the body and
examined it with minute care; next, he dis-
appeared within the shelter, came out, and
stood for a minute staring towards the river;
finally, he called to me to come ashore.
I had seen November turn the body over,
and as I came up I was aware of a great ginger-
bearded face, horribly pale, confronting the sky.
It was easy to see how the man had died, for the
23


NOVEMBER JOE
,
bullet had torn a hole at the base of the neck.
The ground beside him was torn up as if by
some small sharp instruments.
The idea occurred to me that I would try my
hand at detection. I went into the shelter.
There I found a blanket, two freshly flayed
bearskins, and a pack, which lay open. I came
out again and carefully examined the ground
in all directions. Suddenly looking up, I saw
November Joe watching me with a kind of grim
and covert amusement.
“What are you looking for?" said he.
“The tracks of the murderer.”
“You won't find them.”
“Why?"
“He did n't make none."
I pointed out the spot where the ground was
torn.
“The lumberman that found him — spiked
boots,” said November.
“How do you know he was not the murderer?”
“He did n't get here till Lyon had been dead
for hours. Compare his tracks with Lyon's ...
much fresher. No, Mr. Sport, that cock won't
fight.”


THE CRIME AT BIG TREE PORTAGE
“Then, as you seem to know so much, tell me
what you do know.”
“I know that Lyon reached here in the after-
noon of the day before yesterday. He'd been
visiting his traps upstream. He had n't been
here more'n a few minutes, and was lighting his
pipe in the shelter there, when he hears a voice
hail him. He comes out and sees a man in a
canoe shoved into the bank. That man shot
him dead and cleared off — without leaving a
trace."
"How can you be sure of all this?" I asked,
for not one of these things had occurred to my
mind.
“Because I found a pipe of tobacco not
rightly lit, but just charred on top, beside
Lyon's body, and a newly used match in this
shack. The man that killed him come down-
stream and surprised him.”
“How can you tell he came downstream?”
“Because, if he'd come upstream Lyon
would 'a' seen him from the shack,” said No-
vember with admirable patience.
“You say the shot was fired from a canoe?”
“The river's too wide to shoot across; and,
25


NOVEMBER JOE
anyway, there's the mark of where the canoe
rested agin the bank. No, this is the work of a
right smart woodsman, and he's not left me one
clue as to who he is. But I'm not through with
him, mister. Such men as he needs catching.
... Let's boil the kettle."
We laid the dead man inside the shack, and
then, coming out once more into the sunlight,
sat down beside a fire which we built among
the stones on the bank of the river. Here No-
vember made tea in true woods fashion, drawing
all the strength and bitterness from the leaves
by boiling them. ... I was wondering what he
would do next, for it appeared that our chance
of catching the murderer was infinitesimal,
since he had left no clue save the mark on the
bank where his canoe had rested among the
reeds while he fired his deadly bullet. I put my
thoughts into words.
“You're right,” said November. “When a
chap who's used to the woods life takes to
crime, he's harder to lay hands on than a lynx
in a alder patch.”
“There is one thing which I don't under-
26


THE CRIME AT BIG TREE PORTAGE
stand,” said I. “Why did not the murderer sink
Lyon's body in the water? It would have been
well hidden there."
The young woodsman pointed to the river,
which foamed in low rapids about dark heads
of rock.
“He could n't trust her; the current 's sharp,
and would put the dead man ashore as like as
not,” he replied. “And if he'd landed to carry
it down to his canoe, he'd have left tracks. No,
he's done his work to rights from his point of
view."
I saw the force of the argument, and nodded.
“And more’n that, there's few people,” he
went on, “travel up and down this river. Lyon
might 'a' laid in that clearing till he was a skele-
ton, but for the chance of that lumber-jack
happening along."
“Then which way do you think the murderer
has fled?”
“Can't say,” said he, “and, anyhow, he's
maybe eighty miles away by this.”
“Will you try and follow him?”
“No, not yet. I must find out something
about him first. But, look here, mister, there's
27


NOVEMBER JOE
one fact you have n't given much weight to.
This shooting was pre-meditated. The murderer
knew that Lyon would camp here. The chances
are a hundred to one against their having met
by accident. The chap that killed him followed
him downstream. Now, suppose I can find
Lyon's last camp, I may learn something more.
It can't be very far off, for he had a tidy-sized
pack to carry, besides those green skins, which
loaded him a bit. ... And, anyway, it's my
only chance."
So we set out upon our walk. November soon
picked up Lyon's trail, leading from Big Tree
Portage to a disused tote-road, which again led
us due west between the aisles of the forest.
From midday on through the whole of the after-
noon we travelled. Squirrels chattered and hissed
at us from the spruces, hardwood partridges
drummed in the clearings, and once a red-deer
buck bounded across our path with its white
flag waving and dipping as it was swallowed up
in the sun-speckled orange and red of the woods.
Lyon's trail was, fortunately, easy to follow,
and it was only where, at long intervals, paths
from the north or south broke into the main
28


THE CRIME AT BIG TREE PORTAGE
logging-road that November had reason to
pause. But one by one we passed these by,
until at last the tracks we were following shot
away among the trees, and after a mile of dead-
falls and moss debouched into a little clearing
beside a backwater grown round with high yel-
low grass, and covered over the larger part of
its surface with lily-pads.
The trail, after leading along the margin of
this water, struck back to a higher reach of the
same river that ran by Big Tree Portage, and
then we were at once on the site of the deserted
camp.
The very first thing my eye lit upon caused
me to cry out in excitement, for side by side
were two beds of balsam branches, that had
evidently been placed under the shelter of the
same tent cover. November, then, was right,
Lyon had camped with someone on the night
before he died.
I called out to him. His quiet patience and
an attitude as if rather detached from events
fell away from him like a cloak, and with almost
uncanny swiftness he was making his examina-
tion of the camp.
29


NOVEMBER JOE
CS
I entirely believe that he was unconscious of
my presence, so concentrated was he on his work
as I followed him from spot to spot with an in-
terest and excitement that no form of big-game
shooting has ever given me. Now, man was the
quarry, and, as it seemed, a man more dan-
gerous than any beast. But I was destined to
disappointment, for, as far as I could see, Joe
discovered neither clue nor anything unusual.
To begin with, he took up and sifted through
thelayers of balsam boughs which had composed
the beds, but apparently made no find. From
them he turned quickly to kneel down by the
ashy remains of the fire, and to examine the
charred logs one by one. After that he followed
a well-marked trail that led away from the lake
to a small marsh in the farther part of which
masts of dead timber were standing in great
profusion. Nearer at hand a number of stumps
showed where the campers had chopped the
wood for their fire.
After looking closely at these stumps, No-
vember went swiftly back to the camp and spent
the next ten minutes in following the tracks
which led in all directions. Then once more he
30


THE CRIME AT BIG TREE PORTAGE
came back to the fire and methodically lifted
off one charred stick after another. At the time
I could not imagine why he did this, but, when
I understood it, the reason was as simple and
obvious as was that of his every action when
once it was explained.
Before men leave a camp they seem instinct-
ively to throw such trifles as they do not require
or wish to carry on with them in the fire, which
is generally expiring, for a first axiom of the true
camper in the woods is never to leave his fire
alight behind him, in case of a chance ember
starting a forest conflagration.
In this case November had taken off nearly
every bit of wood before I heard him utter a
smothered exclamation as he held up a piece of
stick.
I took it into my own hands and looked it
over. It was charred, but I saw that one end
had been split and the other end sharpened.
“What in the world is it?" I asked, puzzled.
November smiled. “Just evidence,” he an-
swered.
I was glad he had at last found something to
go upon, for, so far, the camp had appeared to
31


NOVEMBER JOE
produce parsimoniously little that was sugges-
tive. Nevertheless, I did not see how this little
bit of spruce, crudely fashioned and split as it
was, would lead us very far.
November spent another few minutes in look-
ing everything over a second time, then he took
up his axe and split a couple of logs and lit the
fire. Over it he hung his inevitable kettle and
boiled up the leaves of our morning brew with a
liberal handful freshly added.
“Well,” I said, as he touched the end of a
burning ember to his pipe, “has this camp
helped you?”
“Some," said November. “And you?”
He put the question quite seriously, though
I suspect not without some inward irony.
“I can see that two men slept under one tent
cover, that they cut the wood for their fire in
that marsh we visited, and that they were here
for a day, perhaps two.”
“One was here for three days, the other one
night,” corrected November.
“How can you tell that?”
November pointed to the ground at the far
side of the fire.
32


THE CRIME AT BIG TREE PORTAGE
“To begin with, number i had his camp
pitched over there,” said he; then, seeing my
look of perplexity, he added pityingly: “We've
a westerly wind these last two days, but before
that the wind was east, and he camped the
first night with his back to it. And in the new
camp one bed o' boughs is fresher than the
other.”
The thing seemed so absurdly obvious that I
was nettled.
“I suppose there are other indications I
have n't noticed,” I said.
“There might be some you have n't men-
tioned,” he answered warily.
“What are they?”.
“That the man who killed Lyon is thick-set
and very strong; that he has been a good while
in the woods without having gone to a settle-
ment; that he owns a blunt hatchet such as we
woods chaps call 'tomahawk, number 3'; that
he killed a moose last week; that he can read;
that he spent the night before the murder in
great trouble of mind, and that likely he was a
religious kind o'chap."
As November reeled off these details in his
33


NOVEMBER JOE
· quiet, low-keyed voice, I stared at him in amaze-
ment.
“But how can you have found out all that?”
I said at last. “If it's correct, it's wonder-
ful!”
"I'll tell you, if you still want to hear, when
I've got my man — if ever I do get him. One
thing more is sure, he is a chap who knew Lyon
well. The rest of the job lies in the settlement
of St. Amiel, where Lyon lived.”
We walked back to Big Tree Portage, and
from there ran down in the canoe to St. Amiel,
arriving the following evening. About half a
mile short of the settlement, November landed
and set up our camp. Afterwards we went on.
I had never before visited the place, and I found
it to be a little colony of scattered houses,
straggling beside the river. It possessed two
stores and one of the smallest churches I have
ever seen.
“You can help me here if you will,” said
November as we paused before the larger of the
stores.
“Of course I will. How?"
“By letting 'em think you've engaged me as
34


NOVEMBER JOE
been away three weeks or more, and all had
started in canoes, except Lyon, who, having
sold his, went on foot.
Next, by imperceptible degrees, the talk slid
round to the subject of Lyon's wife. They had
been married four years and had no child. She
had been the belle of St. Amiel, and there had
been no small competition for her hand. Of the
absent men, both Miller and Fitz Gurd had
been her suitors, and the former and Lyon had
never been on good terms since the marriage.
The younger Gurd was a wild fellow, and only
his brother's influence kept him straight.
So much we heard before November wrapped
up our purchases and we took our leave.
No sooner were we away than I put my eager
question: "What do you think of it?”
Joe shrugged his shoulders.
“Do you know any of these men?”
“All of them.”
“How about the fellow who is on bad terms
with "
· November seized my arm. A man was ap-
proaching through the dusk. As he passed, my
companion hailed him.
36


THE CRIME AT BIG TREE PORTAGE
“Hullo, Baxter! Did n't know you'd come
back. Where you been?”
“Right up on the headwaters."
“Fitz come down with you?”
“No; stayed on the line of traps. Did you
want him, November?”
“Yes, but it can wait. See any moose?”
“Nary one — nothing but red deer.”
“Good-night.”
“So long."
“That settles it,” said November. “If he
speaks the truth, as I believe he does, it was n't
either of the Gurds shot Lyon.”
“Why not?”
“Did n't you hear him say they had n't seen
any moose? And I told you that the man that
shot Lyon had killed a 'moose quite recent.
That leaves just Miller and Highamson- and
it were n’t Miller.”
“You're sure of that?”
“Stark certain. One reason is that Miller's
above six foot, and the man as camped with
Lyon was n't as tall by six inches. Another
reason. You heard the storekeeper say how
Miller and Lyon was n't on speaking terms;
37


NOVEMBER JOE
yet the man who shot Lyon camped with him-
slep' beside him— must 'a' talked to him,
That were n't Miller.”
His clear reasoning rang true.
"Highamson lives alone away up above
Lyon's,” continued November; "he'll make
back home soon.”
“Unless he's guilty and has fled the country,”
I suggested.
"He won't 'a' done that. It ’ud be as good as
a confession. No, he thinks he's done his work
to rights and has nothing to fear. Like as not
he's back home now. There's not much com-
ing and going between these up-river places and
St. Amiel, and he might easy be there and no
one know it yet down to the settlement. We'll
go up to-night and make sure. But first
we'll get back to camp and take a cup o'
tea.”
The night had become both wild and bluster-
ing before we set out for Highamson's hut, and
all along the forest paths which led to it the
sleet and snow of what November called "a real
mean night” beat in our faces.
As we travelled on in silence, my mind kept
38


THE CRIME AT BIG TREE PORTAGE
going over and over the events of the last two
days. I had already seen enough to assure me
that my companion was a very skilful detective,
but the most ingenious part of his work, namely,
the deductions by which he had pretended to
reconstruct the personality of the criminal, had
yet to be put to the test.
It was black dark, or nearly so, when at last
a building loomed up in front of us, a faint
light showing under the door.
“You there, Highamson?” called out No-
vember.
As there was no answer, my companion
pushed it open and we entered the small wooden
room, where, on a single table, a lamp burned
dimly. He turned it up and looked around.
A pack lay on the floor unopened, and a gun
leant up in a corner.
. “Just got in,” commented November.
“Has n't loosed up his pack yet.”
He turned it over. A hatchet was thrust
through the wide thongs which bound it. No-
vember drew it out.
“Put your thumb along that edge,” he said.
“Blunt? Yes? Yet he drove that old hatchet as
39


NOVEMBER JOE
deep in the wood as Lyon drove his sharp one:
he's a strong man.”
As he spoke he was busying himself with the
pack, examining its contents with deft fingers.
It held little save a few clothes, a little tea and
salt, and other fragments of provisions, and a
Bible. The finding of the last was, I could see,
no surprise to November, though the reason
why he should have suspected its presence re-
mained hidden from me. But I had begun to
realize that much was plain to him which to the
ordinary man was invisible.
Having satisfied himself as to every article
in the pack, he rapidly replaced them, and tied
it up as he had found it, when I, glancing out
of the small window, saw a light moving low
among the trees, to which I called November
Joe's attention.
"It's likely Highamson,” he said, “coming
home with a lantern. Get you into that dark
corner.”
I did so, while November stood in the shadow
at the back of the closed door. From my posi-
tion I could see the lantern slowly approaching
until it flung a gleam of light through the win-
40


THE CRIME AT BIG TREE PORTAGE
dow into the hut. The next moment the door
was thrust open, and the heavy breathing of a
man became audible.
It happened that at first Highamson saw
neither of us, so that the first intimation that
he had of our presence was November's "Hello!”
Down crashed the lantern, and its bearer
started back with a quick hoarse gasp.
“Who's there?” he cried, “who —”
“Them as is sent by Hal Lyon."
Never have I seen words produce so tremen-
dous an effect.
Highamson gave a bellow of fury, and the
next instant he and November were struggling
together.
I sprang to my companion's aid, and even
then it was no easy task for the two of us to
master the powerful old man. As we held him
down I caught my first sight of his ash-grey face.
His mouth grinned open, and there was a
terrible intention in his staring eyes. But all
changed as he recognized his visitor.
“November! November Joe!” cried he.
“Get up!” And as Highamson rose to his
feet, “Whatever for did you do it?” asked
wer
41


NOVEMBER JOE
November in his quiet voice. But now its quiet-
ness carried a menace.
“Do what? I did n't-1-" Highamson
paused, and there was something unquestion-
ably fine about the old man as he added: “No,
I won't lie. It's true I shot Hal Lyon. And,
what's more, if it was to do again, I'd do it
again! It's the best deed I ever done; yes, I say
that, though I know it's written in the book:
'Whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall
his blood be shed.””
“Why did you do it?” repeated November.
Highamson gave him a look.
“I'll tell you. I did it for my little Janey's
sake. He was her husband. See here! I'll tell you
why I shot Hal Lyon. Along of the first week
of last month I went away back into the woods
trapping musk-rats. I was gone more ’n the
month, and the day I come back I did as I did
to-night, as I always do first thing when I gets in
- I went over to see Janey. Hal Lyon were n't
there; if he had been, I should n't never 'a'
needed to travel so far to get even with him.
But that's neither here nor there. He'd gone
to his bear traps above Big Tree; but the night
42



HIGHAMSON AND NOVEMBER JOE WERE STRUGGLING
TOGETHER


THE CRIME AT BIG TREE PORTAGE
before he left he'd got in one of his quarrels
with my Janey. Hit her— he did — there was
one tooth gone where his — fist fell.”
Never have I seen such fury as burned in the
old man's eyes as he groaned out the last words.
“Janey, that had the prettiest face for fifty
miles around. She tried to hide it from me, —
she did n't want me to know, — but there was
her poor face all swole, and black and blue, and
the gap among her white teeth. Bit by bit it
all came out. It were n't the first time Lyon'd
took his hands to her, no, nor the third, nor the
fourth. There on the spot, as I looked at her, I
made up my mind I'd go after him, and I'd
make him promise me, aye, swear to me, on the
Holy Book, never to lay hand on her again. If
he would n't swear I'd put him where his hands
could n't reach her. I found him camped away
up alongside a backwater near his traps, and I
told him I'd seen Janey and that he must swear.
... He would n't! He said he'd learn her to tell
on him, he'd smash her in the mouth again.
Then he lay down and slep'. I wonder now he
were n't afraid of me, but I suppose that was
along of me being a quiet, God-fearing chap.
43


NOVEMBER JOE
... Hour by hour I lay awake, and then I
could n't stand it no more, and I got up and
pulled a bit of candle I had from my pack, fixed
up a candlestick, and looked in my Bible for
guidance. And the words I lit on were: 'Thou
shalt break them with a rod of iron.? That was
the gun clear enough. ... Then I blew out the
light, and I think I slep', for I dreamed.
“Next morning Lyon was up early. He had
two or three green skins that he'd took off the
day before, and he said he was going straight
home to smash Janey. I lay there and I said
nothing, black nor white. His judgment was
set. I knew he could n't make all the distance
in one day, and I was pretty sure he'd camp at
Big Tree. I arrived there just after him, as I
could travel faster by canoe than him walking,
and so kep' near him all day. It was nigh sunset,
and I bent down under the bank so he could n't
see me. He went into the old shack. I called out
his name. I heard him cursing at my voice,
and when he showed his face I shot him dead.
I never landed, I never left no tracks, I thought
I was safe, sure. You've took me; yet only for
Janey's sake I would n't care. I did right, but
44


THE CRIME AT BIG TREE PORTAGE
she won't like them to say her father's a mur-
derer.... That's all.”
November sat on the edge of the table. His
handsome face was grave. Nothing more was
said for a good while. Then Highamson stood
up.
“I'm ready, November, but you'll let me see
Janey again before you give me over to the
police.”
November looked him in the eyes. “Expect
you'll see a good deal of Janey yet. She'll be
lonesome over there now that her brute hus-
band's gone. She'll want you to live with her,”
he said.
“D'ye mean ..."
November nodded. “If the police can catch
you for themselves, let 'em. And you'd lessen
the chance of that a wonderful deal if you was
to burn them moose-shank moccasins you're
wearing. When did you kill your moose?”
“Tuesday's a week. And my moccasins was
wore out, so I fixed 'em up woods fashion.”
“I know. The hair on 'em is slipping. I
found some of it in your tracks in the camp,
away above Big Tree. That's how I knew you'd
45


NOVEMBER JOE
killed a moose. I found your candlestick too.
Here it is.” He took from his pocket the little
piece of spruce stick, which had puzzled me so
much, and turned towards me.
“This end's sharp to stick into the earth, that
end's slit and you fix the candle in with a bit o'
birch bark. Now it can go into the stove along
o'the moccasins.” He opened the stove door
and thrust in the articles.
"Only three know your secret, Highamson,
and if I was you I would n't make it four, not
even by adding a woman to it.”
Highamson held out his hand.
“You always was a white man, Nov,” said he.
Hours later, as we sat drinking a final cup of
tea at the camp-fire, I said:-
“After you examined Lyon's upper camp, you
told me seven things about the murderer.
You've explained how you knew them, all but
three.”
“What are the three?”
"First, how did you know that Highamson
had been a long time in the woods without
visiting a settlement?”
“His moccasins was wore out and patched
46


THE CRIME AT BIG TREE PORTAGE
with raw moose-hide. The tracks of them was
plain,” replied November.
I nodded. “And how could you tell that he
was religious and spent the night in great trouble
of mind?”
November paused in filling his pipe. “He
could n't sleep,” said he, “and so he got up and
cut that candlestick. What 'd he want to light
a candle for but to read by? And why should he
want to read in the middle of the night if he
was not in trouble? And if he was in trouble,
what book would he want to read? Besides, not
one trapper in a hundred carries any book but
the Bible.”
“I see. But how did you know it was in the
middle of the night?”
“Did you notice where he cut his candlestick?”
“No," said I.
“I did, and he made two false cuts where his
knife slipped in the dark. You're wonderful at
questions."
“And you at answers.”
Novemberstirred the embers under the kettle,
and the firelight lit up his fine face as he turned
with a yawn.
47


NOVEMBER JOE
“My!” said he, “but I'm glad Highamson
had his reasons. I'd 'a' hated to think of that
old man shut in where he could n't see the sun
rise. Would n't you?”


CHAPTER IV
THE SEVEN LUMBER-JACKS
The more I saw of Joe in the days which fol-
lowed, the more I appreciated the man and the
more I became convinced of his remarkable
gifts. Indeed, truth to tell, I could not restrain
the hope that some new situation might arise
which would give him an opportunity of dis-
playing them once again. Of course, the ordi-
nary details of our woods life provided him with
some scope, and it was always a pleasure to me
to be in the company of so consummate a woods-
man. It was not long after our return from St.
Amiel before Joe succeeded in getting me a
fair shot at the large red-deer buck of Widdeney
Pond, and it so happened that the killing of this
buck brought us news of old Highamson, for
we took the head down to him to set up, since
Joe assured me that the old man had once
worked with success at a taxidermist's.
Joe and I walked over and found him living
with his daughter, Janey Lyon, for the police
49


NOVEMBER JOE
had never been successful in discovering the
identity of the avenger of Big Tree Portage.
The two seemed very happy together, but I
must acknowledge that I feared from what I saw
that the beautiful Janey would not continue to
bear the name of Lyon much longer. I said as
much to November Joe as we were walking
back.
“That's nature,” said he. “Old man High-
amson told me that neither Baxter Gurd nor
Miller don't give her no peace. Well, I guess a
woman's better married anyway.”
“How about a man, Joe?” I asked.
“It may be all right for them as don't get the
pull o'the woods too strong, but for him that's
heard the loons calling on the lakes, 't is differ-
ent someway.”
“Yet there are some very pretty girls, Joe."
“You've seen more than I have, Mr. Quar-
itch,” said Joe, laughingly; "but you don't get
no telegrams from Mrs. Quaritch telling you to
come home and sing to baby.”
To this too trenchant remark I could think
of no immediate reply, and we continued our
way for some time in silence. It was drawing on
50


NOVEMBER JOE
on the run, you may be sure he thinks he's
got a good reason for getting to the end of it.
This trail leads nowhere but to my shack, and
we'll sure find our man there."
Ten minutes later, when we came in sight of
November's home, we were aware of a big man
sitting on a log smoking his pipe beside the door.
He was middle-aged, with a hard face, and
there was more grey in his russet beard than his
age warranted. As soon as we appeared he
leaped up and came across the open to meet us.
“Blackmask is at it again!” he cried.
I saw a gleam of anticipation, if not of pleas-
ure, cross November's face. He turned to me.
“This is Mr. Close, manager of the River
Star Pulp Company's Camp C,” he said.
“I'd like to make you known to Mr. Quaritch,
Mr. Close.” This courtesy concluded, he added
in his deliberate tones, “What's Blackmask
done now?"
“He's at his old tricks! But this year we'll
lay him by the heels, or my name 's not Joshua
Close.” The speaker looked up, and, seeing my
puzzled expression, addressed himself to me.
"Last year there were five separate robberies
52


THE SEVEN LUMBER-JACKS
committed on the road between Camp C and
the settlement,” he explained. “Each time it
was just a single lumber-jack who got held up,
and each time a man in a black mask was the
robber. November here was away."
"Up in Wyoming with a Philadelphia lawyer
after elk,” supplemented the tall young woods-
man.
“The police failed to make any arrest, though
once they were on the ground within four hours
of the hold-up,"wenton Close. “But all that is
ancient history. It is what happened to Dan
Michaels last night that brought me here at
seven miles an hour. Dan has been working for
pretty nigh a three months'stretch, and the day
before yesterday he came into the office and
told me his mother was dead, and he must have
leave for the funeral. Dan's a good man, and I
tried to dissuade him, and reminded him that
he had buried his mother the last time when we
were up on the lakes not a year ago. But it
wasn't any use; he'd got the fever on him, and he
would n't listen. He had a good big roll of bills
due, and I could see he meant to blow them, so
I paid him, and told him I'd try to keep a job
53


NOVEMBER JOE
warm for him till he came back from the funeral.
I gave him ten days to get through with his
spree. Well, it was along about four o'clock
when I paid him off, and I made no doubt he'd
sleep the night in the camp and get away at
dawn; but that is just what he did n't do. Some-
thing I'd said annoyed him, and after telling
the cook his opinion of me, and saying he
would n't sleep another night in a camp where I
was boss, he legged out for the settlement."
“By himself?”
“Yes, alone. Next morning, bright and early,
he was back again, and this was the yarn he
slung me. ... He'd made about eight miles
when it came on darkish, and he decided to
camp just beyond where we did the most of our
timber cut last year. The night was fine, and
he had only his turkey (bundle) and a blanket
with him, so he went to the side of the trail at
Perkins's Clearing, and lay down beside a fire
which he built against a rock with spruces be-
hind it. He slept at once, and remembers
nothing more until he was started awake by a
voice shouting at him. He sat up blinking, but
the talk he heard soon fetched his eyes open.
54


THE SEVEN LUMBER-JACKS
“ Hands up, and no fooling!
“Of course, he put up his hands; he'd no
choice, for he could n't see any one. Then an-
other man who was in the bushes behind his
back ordered him to haul out his bundle of notes
and chuck them to the far side of the fire, or
take the consequences. Dan saw a revolver
barrel gleam in the bush. He cursed a bit, but
the thieves had the drop on him, so he just had
to out with his wad of notes and heave them
over as he was told. A birch log in the fire
flared up at the minute, and as the notes
touched the ground he saw a chap in a black
mask step out and pick them up, and then jump
back into the dark. All the time Dan had one
eye on the revolver of the man in the bushes. It
kept him covered, so he had no show. Then the
voice that spoke first gave him the hint not
to move for two hours, or he'd be shot like
a dog. He sat out the two hours by his watch
without hearing a sound, and then came back
to C.
“When the boys got the facts, the whole camp
was nigh as mad as he was. They put up fifty
dollars' reward for any one giving information
55


NOVEMBER JOE
that will lead to catching the robbers, and I
added another hundred for the Company. So
now, Joe, if you can clap your hand on the
brutes you'll be doing yourself a good turn and
others too.”
Close ended his narration, and looked at
November, who had listened throughout in his
habitual silence.
“Do the boys up at C know you've come
to me?” he said.
“No, I thought it wiser they should n't."
November remained silent for a moment.
“You'd best get away back, Mr. Close,” he
said at length. “I'll go down to Perkins's
Clearing, and have a look at the spot where the
robbery took place, and then I'll find some
excuse to take me to Camp C, when I can make
my report to you.”
To this Close agreed, and soon we saw him
striding away until his strong figure was swal-
lowed up in the forest twilight.
On his departure I tried to talk to November
about the robbery, but never have I found him
less communicative. He sat with his pipe in his
teeth and kept on turning our conversation to
56


THE SEVEN LUMBER-JACKS
other topics until the two of us set out through
the woods.
The moon, as it swept across the arc of the
sky, guided us upon our way, which, after the
first short cut along an immense hardwood
ridge, was good travelling enough. So we jour-
neyed until, just as the trees became a gigantic
etching in black against the grey dawn-lights,
we came suddenly out into the open of the
clearing.
“This is the place,” said November.
As soon as the light strengthened, he exam-
ined the site of Dan Michaels's bivouac. The
ashes of a fire and a few boughs made its scanty
furnishings, and in neither did November take
much interest. Forth and back he moved, ap-
parently following lines of tracks which the
drenching rain of the previous day had almost
obliterated, until, indeed, after ten minutes, he
gave it up.
“Well, well,” said he, in his soft-cadenced
voice, “he always did have the luck."
“Who?"
“The robber. Look at last year! Got clear
every time!”
57


NOVEMBER JOE
m
“The robbers,” I corrected.
“There's but one,” said he.
“Michaels mentioned two voices; and the
man in the mask stepped into sight at the same
moment as the fire glinted on the revolver of the
other man in the bushes.”
Without a word November led me to the
farther side of the dead fire and parted the
boughs of a spruce, which I had previously seen
him examine. At a height of less than five feet
from the ground one or two twigs were broken,
and the bark had been rubbed near the trunk.
“He was a mighty interesting man, him with
the revolver.” November threw back his hand-
some head and laughed. “There was only one
chap, and he fixed the revolver here in that fork.
It was a good bluff he played on Dan, making
him think there was two agin' him!... The
rain's washed out most of the tracks, so we'll
go up to Camp C and try our luck there. But
first I'd best shoot a deer, and the boys 'll think
I only come to carry them some meat, as I often
do when I kill anywhere nigh the camp."
As we made our way towards C, November
found the tracks of a young buck which had
ea
58


THE SEVEN LUMBER-JACKS
crossed the tote-road since the rain, and while I
waited he slipped away like a shadow into the
wild raspberry growth, returning twenty min-
utes later with the buck upon his shoulders. As
a hunter and a quiet mover in the woods,
November can rarely have been surpassed.
On reaching Camp C, November sold his deer
to the cook, and then we went to the office. The
men were all away at work but we found the
manager, to whom November told his news. I
noticed, however, he said nothing of his idea
that there had been but one robber.
“That just spells total failure,” remarked
Close when he had finished.
November assented. “Guess we'll have to
wait till another chap is held up," said he.
“You think they'll try their hand at it
again?”
"Sure. Who'd stop after such success?”
“I'd be inclined to agree with you, if it wasn't
for the fact that the men won't leave singly
now. They're scared to. A party of six started
this afternoon. They were hoping they'd have
the luck to meet the scoundrels, and bucking
how they'd let daylight into them if they did.
59


NOVEMBER JOE
But of course they won't turn up — they'd be
shy of such a big party!"
“Maybe,” said November. “With your per-
mission, Mr. Close, me and Mr. Quaritch'll
sleep here to-night.”
"All right. But I can't attend to you. I'm
behind with my accounts, and I must even
them up if it takes all night.”
"And there's one question I'd like to have
an answer to. It's just this. How did the rob-
ber know that Dan Michaels was worth holding
up? Or that he was going off on the spree? He
must have been told by some one. Blackmask
has got a friend in Camp C all right. That is,
unless —"
“Aye, unless?" repeated the manager.
But November would say no more. An idea
had come into his mind, but Close could not
draw it from him; yet I could see he had entire
trust in the taciturn young woodsman.
Next morning November seemed in no hurry
to go, and shortly before the midday meal a
party of half a dozen men rushed into the camp.
They were all shouting at once, and it was im-
possible for a time to discover what the tur-
Ve
60


THE SEVEN LUMBER-JACKS:
moil was about. The manager came out to hear
what they had to say. The cook and the cookee
had joined themselves to the group, and they,
too, were talking and gesticulating with ex-
traordinary freedom.
Leaning against the wall of the bunkhouse,
the silent November surveyed the clamouring
knot of men with grim humour.
“I tell you again, we've been held up, robbed,
cleaned out, the whole six of us!” yelled a short
man with a sandy beard.
“Thot is true,” cried a fair-haired Swede.
On this they all began shouting again, waving
their arms and explaining. November advanced.
“Look, boys, that's an easy, comfortable log
over there!”
The Swede answered him with a snarl, but
meeting November's eyes thought better of it.
Joe was the last person upon whom any one
would choose to fix a quarrel.
“I was suggesting, boys,” continued No-
vember, “that there's the log handy, and if
you'd each choose a soft spot and leave one to
speak and the others listen till he's through with
it, we'd get at the facts. Every minute wasted
61


NOVEMBER JOE
gives them as robbed you the chance to get off
clear."
“November's right,” said a huge lumberman
called Thompson. "Here's what happened.
We six got our time yesterday morning, and
after dinner we started off together. It were
coming along dark when we camped in the old
log hut of Tideson's Bridge. Seein' what had
happened to Dan, we agreed to keep a watch
till dawn. First watch was Harry's. In an hour
and a half he were to wake me. He never did.
... The sun were up before I woke, and there
was all the others sleeping round me. I was
wonderful surprised, but I took the kettle and
was going down to fill her at the brook. It was
then that I noticed my roll of bills was gone
from my belt. I came running back. Harry
woke, and when I told him, he clutches at his
belt and finds his money gone, too. Then
Chris, Bill Maver, Wedding Charlie, and last of
all Long Lars, they wakes up and danged if
the lot of them had n't been robbed same as
us.”
A unanimous groan verified the statement.
“We was tearing mad,” went on the spokes-
62


THE SEVEN LUMBER-JACKS
1.
man. “Then out we goes to search for the tracks
of the thieves.”
A look of despair crossed November's face.
I knew he was thinking of the invaluable in-
formation the feet of the six victims must have
blotted out forever.
“You found them?” inquired November.
“We did. They was plain enough,” replied
the big lumberman. “One man done it. He come
up from the brook, did his business, and went
back to the water. He was a big, heavy chap
with large feet, and he wore tanned cowhide
boots, patched on the right foot. There were
seventeen nails in the heel of the right boot,
and fifteen in the other. How's that for track-
ing?"
There was no doubt about the fact that No-
vember was surprised. He said nothing for a
full minute, then he looked up sharply.
“How many bottles of whiskey had you?”
said he.
“Nary one,” answered Thompson. “There
is n't one nearer than Lavallotte, as you well
know. We was n't drunk, we was drugged! We
must 'a' been, though how it was done beats
63


NOVEMBER JOE
me, for we had nothing but bread and bacon
and tea, and I made the tea myself.”
“Where's the kettle?”
“We left that and the frying-pan back at the
hut, for we're going to hunt the country for the
thief. You'll come along, Nov?”
“On my own condition — or I'll have no-
thing to do with it?”
“What's it?"
“That nary a man of you goes back to Tide-
son's Bridge hut till I give you leave.”
“But we want to catch the robber.”
“Very well. Go and try if you think you can
do it.”
An outburst of argument arose, but soon one
and another began to say, “We'll leave it to
you, Nov.” — “Mind you fetch my hundred
and ninety dollars back for me, Nov.” —
“Leave Nov alone.” — “Go on, Nov."
November laughed. “I suppose you all slept
with your money on you?”
It appeared they all had, and Lars and Chris,
who possessed pocketbooks, had found them
flung empty in a corner of the hut.
“Well, Mr. Quaritch and me'll be getting


THE SEVEN LUMBER-JACKS
along, boys. I'll let you know if I've any luck."
Then suddenly November turned to the big
spokesman and said: “By the way, Thompson,
did you fill that kettle at the brook before you
found you'd lost your cash?”
“No, I run right back.”
“That's lucky,” said November, and we
walked away in a roar of shouted questions to
the canoe placed at our disposal by Close. By
water we could run down to Tideson's Bridge
in an hour or two. It was plain November did
not desire to talk, for as he plied the canoe-
pole he sang, lifting his untrained but pathetic
tenor in some of the most mournful songs I have
ever heard. I learned later that sentimental
pathos in music was highly approved by No-
vember. And many woodsmen are like him in
that.
We slid on past groves of birch and thickets
of alder, and presently I put a question,
“Do you think this is the work of the same
man that held up Dan Michaels?”
“Guess so; can't be sure. The ground's fine
and soft, and we ought to get the answer to a
good many questions down there.”
65


NOVEMBER JOE
Thanks to the canoe and a short cut known
to November, we arrived at our destination in
admirable time. Tideson's Brook was a tribu-
tary of the river, and the bridge a rough affair
of logs thrown over its shallow waters where it
cut across the logging road. The hut, which had
been the scene of the robbery, stood about a
hundred yards from the north bank of the brook,
a defined path leading down from it to the
water.
First of all skirting the path, we went to the
hut where the six had slept. A few articles
dropped from the hastily made packs lay about,
the frying-pan beside the stove, and the kettle
on its side by the door. November moved round
examining everything in his deft, light way;
lastly, he picked up the kettle and peered inside.
“What's in it?” said I.
“Nothing," returned November.
“Well, Thompson told you he hadn't filled
it,” I reminded him.
He gave me a queer little smile. "Just so,"
said he, and strolled for fifty yards or so up the
tote-road.
“I've been along looking at the footmarks of
66


THE SEVEN LUMBER-JACKS
them six mossbacks,” he volunteered; "now
we'll look around here."
The inspection of the tracks was naturally a
somewhat lengthy business. November had
studied the trail of the six men to some purpose,
for though he hardly paused as he ranged the
trodden ground, so swift were his eyes that he
named each of the men to me as he pointed to
their several tracks. As we approached the
bank, he indicated a distinct set of footsteps,
which we followed to the hut and back again to
the water.
“He's the chap that did it,” said November.
“That's pretty plain. What do you say about
him?" he turned to me.
“He is a heavier man than I am, and he walks
rather on his heels.”
November nodded, and began to follow the
trail, which went down into the stream. He
stood at the water's edge examining some
stones which had been recently displaced, then
waded down into it.
“Where was his boat?” I asked.
· But November had by now reached a large
flat stone some feet out in the water, and this he
67


NOVEMBER JOE
was looking round and over with great care.
Then he beckoned to me. The stone was a large
flat one, as I have said, and he showed me some
scratches upon its farther surface. The scratches
were deep and irregular. I stared at them, but
to me they conveyed nothing.
“They don't look like the mark of a boat,"
I ventured.
“They are n't. But that chap made them all
right,” he said.
“But how or why?”
November laughed. “I won't answer that
yet. But I'll tell you this. The robbery was
done between two and three o'clock last
night.”
“What makes you say that?"
November pointed to a grove of birch on the
nearer bank.
“Those trees,” he answered; then, on seeing
my look of bewilderment, he added, “and he
was n't a two hundred pound man an' heavier
than you, but a little thin chap, and he had n't
a boat.”
“Then how did he get away? By wading?”
“Maybe he waded.”
68



+
+
THIS HE WAS LOOKING ROUND AND OVER





THE SEVEN LUMBER-JACKS
“If he did, he must have left the stream
somewhere," I exclaimed.
“Sure.”
“Then you'll be able to find his tracks where
he landed.”
“No need to.”
“Why?”
“Because I'm sure of my man.”
I could not repress the useless question.
“But!” I cried in surprise, “who is he?”
“You'll see.”
“Is it the same who held up Dan Mi-
chaels ?”
“Yes.”
With that I had to be satisfied. It was late at
night when we approached Camp C. The has-
tening river showed dark brown and white as
November poled the canoe onwards, and the
roaring of the rapids was in our ears. But as we
came along the quiet reach below the camp, we
heard a great clamour and commotion. We
jumped ashore and went silently straight to the
office, where the manager lived. A crowd stood
round, and two men were holding the door;
one was the burly Thompson.
69


NOVEMBER JOE
“Hello! You need n't bother no more,
Nov," he shouted. “We've got him."
“Who’ve you got?”
“The blackguard that robbed us."
“Good!” said November. “Who is it?”
“Look at him!” Thompson banged open the
office door and showed us the manager, Close,
sitting on a chair by the fire, looking a good deal
dishevelled.
“Mr. Close?” exclaimed November.
“Yes, the boss — no other!”
“Got evidence?" inquired November, staring
at Close.
"Tiptop! No one seen him from dark to
dawn. And we got the boots. Found 'em in a
biscuit-tin on a shelf in the shanty just behind
here where he sleeps.”
“You fool! I was at my accounts all night!”
cried Close to Thompson.
November took no notice.
“Who found the boots?” said he.
“Cookee, when he was cleaning up. Found
a bottle of sleeping-stuff, too — near empty,"
shouted two or three together.
November whistled. “Good for cookee. Has
70


THE SEVEN LUMBER-JACKS
he owned up?” he nodded at Close. “Was they
your boots, Mr. Close?”
“Yes,” roared Close.
November looked back at the lumbermen
with a meaning eye.
“But he denies the robbery!" said Thomp-
son excitedly.
“Of course I deny it!” cried Close.
“Let's see them boots," put in November.
“The boys took 'em to the bunkhouse,” said
Thompson. “Say, Nov, think of him paying
us with one hand and robbing us with the other,
the "
“Wonderful!” observed November in his dry
way. He continued to stare hard at Close, who
at last looked up, and I could have sworn I saw
November Joe's dark-lashed eyelid droop
slightly in his direction.
A change came over the manager. “Get out
of here,” he cried angrily. “Get out of here,
you and your woods detective!” and some un-
commonly warm language charged out at the
back of the closing door.
In the bunkhouse, where we found a score and
a half of lumber-jacks smoking and talking,
71


NOVEMBER JOE
November was received hilariously, and some
witticisms were indulged in at his expense; but
they soon died a natural death, and the boots
were produced
The men who had been robbed and their
comrades closed round as November examined
them.
“Seventeen in one heel and fifteen in the
other — cowhide boots,” said Chris, “that's
what he that robbed us wore, and I'll swear to
that.”
“I could swear to it, too,” agreed November.
“Take them and the sleeping-stuff,” pur-
sued Chris; “it's a silver fox skin to a red on
a conviction, eh, November?”
“Have you sent for the police?”
“Not yet. We'd waited till you come up.
We'll send now.”
“The sooner the better,” said November.
“And whoever goes 'll find four chaps from
Camp B in the hut by Tideson's Bridge. They
’ve orders to knock it down and take the roof
off and carry the stove into D.”
I listened to November making this astonish-
ing statement, and hoped I showed no surprise.
72


THE SEVEN LUMBER-JACKS
What on earth was the game that he was play-
ing?
“Hurry up, boys, and send for the police, or
there may be trouble. Who's going?”
"I don't mind if I go," offered Chris. “I'll
start right now. The sooner we get Mr. —
Close safe in gaol, the better.”
We all saw Chris off, and then the men took
us back into the bunkhouse, where they talked
and argued for an hour. November had re-
lapsed into his usual taciturnity. But when at
length he spoke again his words acted like a
bombshell.
"Say, boys,” he said, and the cadence of his
accent was very marked, “it's about time we
let the boss out.”
Every head jerked round in his direction.
“Let him out?" shouted a dozen voices. “Be-
fore the police come?”
“Best so,” replied November in his gentle
manner. “You see, it was n't him held you
up, boys.”
“Who was it, then?”
November stood up.
“Come, and I'll show you."
73


NOVEMBER JOE
Finally four of us boarded the big canoe and
set off. They were Thompson, Wedding Charlie,
November, and myself. It was a memorable
voyage. November stood in the stern, Wedding
Charlie in the bows, while Thompson and I sat
between with nothing to do. Our craft rushed
down through the creaming rapids, the banks
flashed by, and in an astonishingly short space
of time we had left the canoe and were walking
through the woods.
I lost all sense of direction in the darkness
until we came out on the banks of the brook
near Tideson's Bridge. We crossed, and all four
of us crouched in the shadow of a big rock not
twenty yards from the hut. We had been fore-
warned by November to keep very quiet and to
watch the hut.
It seemed to me that hours went by while I
stared at the shifting moonlight and the creep-
ing shadows. Dimly I foresaw what was about
to happen. The pale forelights of dawn were
already in the air when I felt November move
slightly, and a moment later I heard a stick
break, then footfalls on the bridge. A bluish
shadow came cautiously down the bank, hesi-
re
74


THE SEVEN LUMBER-JACKS
tating at every step, but always approaching
the hut, until at last it passed within it. Then a
match flared inside; I saw it pass the broken
window. There was a pause; the door creaked
faintly and the figure stole out again.
I put out my hands towards November - he
was gone.
Meantime the figure from the hut was moving
up the path to the road, and a second figure
was gaining on him. I recognized November's
mighty outlines as he followed with arms out-
stretched. Then the arms fell, and there was a
cry, almost a shriek.
When we ran up, November was holding Chris
struggling on the ground.
"Search him, boys,” said November. “He's
got the stuff on him.”
Thompson's big hand dived into the breast of
Chris's shirt and when it came out again it held
a bundle of notes.
“You smart cuss!” said Chris to Novem-
ber Joe.
A few busy hours followed and it was the
next afternoon before I found myself again at
75


NOVEMBER JOE
November's shanty and asked for the explana-
tions which had been promised me.
“The moment I heard Thompson's story,"
began November, “it started me thinking a bit.
You remember how plain they saw the tracks
of the robber, the size, the patch, the exact
number of nails. It sort of seemed that a road
agent who went around in a pair of boots like
that was maybe a fool, or maybe laying a false
trail.”
“I see,” said I.
“As soon as I saw the tracks, I knew I was n't
far out as to the false trail. The chap wanted
the tracks seen; he walked more 'n once on the
soft ground a purpose.”
“Then he was n't a heavy man, anyway,"
I put in. “You thought "
“How did I know he was a light man? Well,
you saw those stones I showed you? He put
them in a pack or something, and carried 'em to
make them heavy tracks. I guessed from the
set-out one of them six had done it."
“But how?”
“See, here's the way of it. I suspicioned some
one in C from Dan Michaels's case. And look
76


THE SEVEN LUMBER-JACKS
at those five hold-ups last year. Each one was
done within ten miles of C. That showed me
that the robber, whoever he was, could n't
operate far from camp. Then the drugging
settled it. Don't you remember the kettle had
nothing in it?”
I would have spoken, but November held up
his hand.
“No, I know Thompson had n't filled it, but
he had n't cleaned it either. We woods chaps
always leave the tea-leaves in the kettle till we
want to boil up the next brew. So it looked
queer that some one had washed out that kettle.
Now, if the robber come from outside he'd
never do that, no need to. He'd be gone afore
they could suspect the kettle. No, that clean
kettle said plain as speaking that it was one of
the six.
“Now," went on November, "when I knew
that, I knew a good bit, and when I saw the
scratches on the rock, I was able to settle up the
whole caboodle - Chris put that stuff in the
tea, and as soon as it sent them off asleep, he
picked the money off them. Then he went down
to the brook, taking the kettle, the big boots,
77


NOVEMBER JOE
and something to hold a pack of stones with
him. He waded out to that flat rock and washed
out the kettle, then he filled up his pack with
stones and put on the boss's big boots. After
that, he had no more to do but to walk up to the
hut and back again, laying the false trail. After
that he waded out to the rock again, so as to
leave no tracks, and changed back into his own
moccasins, went to the hut, and to sleep.”
“But the scratches on the rock? What made
them?”
“The nails in the boots. Chris drew up his
feet to fasten up the boots, and the nails slipped
a bit on the rock.”
“But the time, November. You said the
robbery was done between two and three in
the morning. How did you know that?”.
"By the birches. He'd turn to the light
to put on his boots, and the moon only rose
above them trees about two. Till then that
side of the rock was in black shadow."
“And the stones in the pack?”.
“The heel-tracks was good and marked. You
yourself noticed how the chap walked on his
heels?”
78


THE SEVEN LUMBER-JACKS
“Yes.”
“That told me. A man with a weight upon
his back always does it. And when I saw the
stones that had been raked up out of the river-
bed, why, there it was like print and plainer
that the robber was a light man. That got me
as far as to know it was one of two men did it.
Chris and Bill Mavers is n't sizeable, either of
them; they're smallish made. It were one or
other, I knew. Then, whichever it was, after he
got the money, what did he do with it?”
“Took it with him or hid it,” said I, as No-
vember seemed to expect a reply.
“When I comes to think it over, I was pretty
sure he hid it. Cos if there'd happened to be
any argument or quarrel or trouble about it
there might 'a' been a search, and if the notes
had 'a' been found on one of them, they'd have
dropped him, sure. Next point was, where did
he hide it? There was the rocks and the river-
bank and the hut. But it was all notes, there-
fore the place'd have to be dry; so I pitches on
the hut. That was right, Mr. Quaritch?”.
“I could n't have guessed better myself,"
I said, smiling.
79


NOVEMBER JOE
November nodded. “So up we goes to C, and
there we finds them mossbacks accusing the
boss. Chris put the boots back in the shack and
the bottle on the shelf. An old grudge made
him do it. But I could n't tell which of the two
small chaps it was at that time. So I set the
trap about the lumbermen breaking up the hut,
and Chris walks into that. He knew if the hut
was took down, the notes 'ud be found. You'd
think the ground was hot under him until he
starts to bring the police — and him the lazi-
est fellow in C! The minute he offered to go, I
knew I had him.”
“And you still think Chris robbed Dan?”
“I know it. There was a hundred and twenty-
seven dollars that can't be accounted for in the
bundle we took off him; and a hundred and
twenty-seven dollars is just what Mr. Close
paid Dan."


CHAPTER V
THE BLACK FOX SKIN
You must understand that from this time on,
my association with November Joe was not
continuous but fitful, and that after the events
I have just written down I went back to Que-
bec, where I became once more immersed in my
business. Of Joe I heard from time to time,
generally by means of smudged letters obviously
written from camp and usually smelling of wood
smoke. It was such a letter, which, in the fol-
lowing year, caused me once more to seek
November. It ran as follows:-
Mr. Quaritch, sir, last week I was up to
Widdeney Pond and I see a wonderful red deer
buck. I guess he come out of the thick Maine
woods to take the place o' that fella you shot
there last fall. This great fella has had a acci-
dent to his horns or something for they come
out of his head thick and stunted-like and all
81


Y
NOVEMBER JOE
over little points. Them horns would look fine
at the top of the stairs in your house to Quebec,
so come and try for them. I'll be down to Mrs.
Harding's Friday morning so as I can meet you
if you can come. There's only three moose
using round here, two cows, and a mean little
fella of a bull.
NOVEMBER
EMBER.
This was the letter which caused me to seek
Mrs. Harding's, butowing to a slight accident to
the rig I was driven up in, I arrived late to find
that November had gone up to a neighbouring
farm on some business, leaving word that should
I arrive I was to start for his shack and that he
would catch me up on the way.
I walked forward during the greater part of
the afternoon when, in trying a short cut through
the woods, I lost my bearings and I was glad
enough to hear Joe's hail behind me.
“Struck your trail 'way back,” said he,
“and followed it up as quick as I could.”
“Have you been to Harding's?”
“No. Istruck straight across from Simmons's.
O'course I guessed it were probably you, but
82


THE BLACK FOX SKIN
even if I had n't known you was coming I'd a
been certain you did n't know the country and
was town-bred.”
“How?”
'You paused wherever there were cross-
roads, and had a look at your compass.”
“How do you know I did that?" I demanded
again; for I had consulted my compass several
times, though I could not see what had made
Joe aware of the fact.
“You stood it on a log once at Smith's Clear-
ing and again on that spruce stump at the Old
Lumber Camp. And each time you shifted your
direction.”
I laughed. “Did you know anything else
about me?" I asked.
“Knew you carried a gun, and was wonderful
fresh from the city.”
In answer to my laugh Joe continued: -
“Twice you went off the road after them two
deer you saw, your tracks told me that. And
you stepped in under that pine when that little
drop o' rain fell. There was n't enough of it to
send a man who'd been a day in the woods into
shelter. But I have always noticed how won-
83


NOVEMBER JOE
derful scared the city makes a man o' a drop o'
clean rain-water.”
“Anything else?”.
“Used five matches to light your pipe. Struck
'em on a wore-out box. Heads come off, too.
That don't happen when you have a new scraper
to your box.”
“I say, Joe, I should n't like to have you on
my trail if I'd committed a crime.”
Joe smiled a singularly pleasant smile. “I
guess I'd catch you all right,” said he.
It was long after dark when we reached
November's shack that evening. As he opened
the door he displaced something white which
lay just inside it. He stooped.
"It's a letter,” he said in surprise as he handed
it to me. “What does it say, Mr. Quaritch?"
I read it aloud. It ran:-
I am in trouble, Joe. Somebody is robbing
my traps. When you get home, which I pray
will be soon, come right over.
S. RONE.
“The skunk!” cried November.
84


THE BLACK FOX SKIN
I had never seen him so moved. He had been
away hunting for three days and returned to
find this message.
“The darned skunk —” he repeated, “to
rob her traps!”
“Her? A woman?”
“S. Rone stands for Sally Rone. You've sure
heard of her?”
“No, who is she?”
“I'll tell you,” said Joe. “Sal's a mighty
brave girl — that is, she's a widow. She was
married on Rone four years ago last Christmas,
and the autumn after he got his back broke to
the Red Star Lumber Camp. Did n't hump
himself quick enough from under a falling tree.
Anyway, he died all right, leaving Sally just
enough dollars to carry her over the birth of her
son. To make a long story short, there was lots
of the boys ready to fill dead man Rone's place
when they knew her money must be giving out,
and the neighbours were wonderful interested
to know which Sal would take. But it soon
come out that Sal was n't taking any of them,
but had decided to try what she could do with
the trapping herself.”


NOVEMBER JOE
“Herself?”
“Just that. Rone worked a line o' traps, and
Sal was fixed to make her living and the boy's
that way. Said a woman was liable to be as
successful a trapper as a man. She's at it near
three year now, and she's made good. Lives
with her boy about four hours' walk nor'west of
here, with not another house within five miles of
her. She's got a young sister, Ruby, with her
on account of the kid, as she has to be out such
a lot.”
“A lonely life for a woman.”
“Yes," agreed November. “And now some
skunk's robbing her and getting her frightened,
curse him! How long ago was that paper writ-
ten?”
I looked again at the letter. “There's no
date."
“Nothing about who brought it?”
“No.”
November rose, lighted a lantern, and with-
out a word stepped out into the darkness. In
five minutes he returned.
“She brought it herself,” he announced.
“Little feet — running - rustling to get home
SS.
86


THE BLACK FOX SKIN
to the little chap. She was here afore Thursday
morning's rain, some time Wednesday, not long
after I started, I guess.... I'm off soon as
ever I can stoke in some grub. You coming?”
“Yes.”
Not much later I was following November's
nimbly moving figure upon as hard a woods
march as I ever care to try. I was not sorry
when a thong of my moccasin gave way and Joe
allowed me a minute to tie it up and to get my
wind.
“There's Tom Carroll, Phil Gort, and Injin
Sylvester," began November abruptly—“those
three. They're Sally's nearest neighbours,
them and Val Black. Val's a good man, but—"
“But what?” said I absently.
“Him and Tom Carroll's cut the top notches
for Sally's favour so far.”
“But what's that got to do with —”
“Come on," snapped November, and hurried
forward.
I need say no more about the rest of the jour-
ney, it was like a dozen others I had made be-
hind November. Deep in the night I could just
make out that we were passing round the lower
87


NOVEMBER JOE
escarpments of a great wooded mountain, when
we saw a light above glimmering through the
trees. Soon we reached the lonely cabin in its
clearing; the trees closed about it, and the night
wind whined overhead through the bareness of
the twigs.
Joe knocked at the door, calling at the same
time:“It's me. Are you there, Sally?”
The door opened an inch or two. “Is it you,
Joe?”
November thrust his right hand with its deep
scar across the back through the aperture. “You
should know that cut, Sal, you tended it.”
“Come in! Come in!”
I followed Joe into the house, and turned to
look at Sally. Already I had made a mental
picture of her as a strapping young woman, well
equipped to take her place in the race of life,
but I saw a slim girl with gentle red-brown eyes
that matched the red-brown of her rebellious
hair, a small face, pale under its weather-tan,
but showing a line of milk-white skin above her
brows. She was in fact extremely pretty, with a
kind of good looks I had not expected, and ten
seconds later, I, too, had fallen under the spell
88


THE BLACK FOX SKIN
of that charm which was all the more powerful
because Sally herself was unconscious of it.
“You've been long in coming, Joe,” she
said with a sudden smile. "You were away, of
course?"
“Aye, just got back 'fore we started for
here.” ... He looked round. “Where's young
Dan?”
"I've just got him off to sleep on the bed
there"; she pointed to a deerskin curtain in the
corner.
“What? They been frightening him?”
Mrs. Rone looked oddly at November. “No,
but if he heard us talking he might get scared,
for the man who's been robbing me was in this
room not six hours ago and Danny saw him.”
November raised his eyebrows. "Huh!
That's fierce!” he said. “Danny's rising three,
ain't he? He could tell.”
“Nothing at all. It was after dark and the
man had his face muffled. Danny said he was a
real good man, he gave him sugar from the
cupboard!” said Sally.
“His hands ... what like was his hands?...
He gave the sugar."


NOVEMBER JOE
“I thought of that, but Danny says he had
mitts on.”
November drew a chair to the table. “Tell us
all from the first of it ... robbing the traps and
to-night.”
In a few minutes we were drinking our tea
while our hostess told us the story.
“It's more'n three weeks now since I found
out the traps were being meddled with. It was
done very cunning, but I have my own way of
baiting them and the thief, though he's a clever
woodsman and knows a heap, never dropped to
that. Sometimes he'd set 'em and bait 'em
like as if they were never touched at all, and
other times he'd just make it appear as if the
animal had got itself out. I would n't believe it
at first, for I thought there was no one here-
abouts would want to starve me and Danny,
but it happened time after time.”
“He must have left tracks,” said Joe.
“Some, yes. But he mostly worked when
snow was falling. He's cunning.”
“Did anyone ever see his tracks but
you?”
“Sylvester did.”
90


NOVEMBER JOE
thief had made off that minute, for he'd been
trying to force open the trap, and when he heard
me he wrenched hard, you bet, but he was bound
to take care — not to be too rough.”
“Good fur, you mean?”.
“Good?” Sally's face flushed a soft crim-
son. “Good? Why I've never seen one to match
it. It was a black fox, lying dead there, but
still warm, for it had but just been killed. The
pelt was fair in its prime, long and silky and
glossy. You can guess, November, what that
meant for Danny and me next winter, that I've
been worrying about a lot. The whooping-
cough's weakened him down bad, and I thought
of the things I could get for him while I was
skinning out the pelt.” Sally's voice shook, and
her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Joe, it's hard —
hard!”
November sat with his hands upon the table
in front of him, and I saw his knuckles whiten
as he gripped it.
"Let's hear the end of it!” he said shortly,
man-like showing irritation when his heart was
full of pity.
“The skin was worth eight hundred dollars
92


THE BLACK FOX SKIN
anywhere, and I come home just singing. I fixed
it at once, and, then being scared-like, I hid it
in the cupboard over there behind those old
magazines. I'd have locked it up, but I've
nothing that locks. Who has on this section?
Once or twice, being kind of proud of it, I looked
at the skin, the last time was this morning
before I went out. I was proud of it. No one but
Ruby knew that I had got it. I left Ruby here,
but Mrs. Scats had her seventh yesterday morn-
ing, and Ruby ran over to help for a while after
she put Danny to bed. The thief must have
been on the watch and seen her go, and he knew
I was due to visit the north line o'traps and I'd
be late anyway. He laid his plan good and
clever ..."
She stopped for a moment to pour out another
cup for Joe.
“Where's Ruby now?” he inquired.
"She's stopping the night; they sent over to
tell me,” replied Sally. “Well, to go on, I had
a lynx in one of my traps which got dragged
right down by Deerhorn Pond, so I was more
than special late. Danny began at once to tell
me about the man that came in. I rushed across
93


NOVEMBER JOE
and looked in the cupboard; the black fox pelt
was gone, of course!”
“What did Danny say about the man?”
“Said he had on a big hat and a necker.
chief. He did n't speak a word; gave Danny
sugar, as I have said. He must 'a' been here
some time, for he's ransacked the place high
and low, and took near every pelt I got this
season.”
Joe looked up. “Those pelts marked?”
“Yes, my mark's on some — seven pricks of
a needle.”
“You've looked around the house to see if
he left anything?”
“Sure!” Sally put her hand in her pocket.
“What?”
“Only this.” She opened her hand and dis-
closed a rifle cartridge.
Joe examined it. “Soft-nosed bullet for one
of them fancy English guns. Where did you
find it?”
“On the floor by the table."
"Huh!” said Joe, and, picking up the lamp, he
began carefully and methodically to examine
every inch of the room.
94


THE BLACK FOX SKIN
“Any one but me been using tobacco in here
lately?” he asked.
“Not that I know of,” replied Sally.
He made no comment, but continued his
search. At last he put down the lamp and re-
sumed his chair, shaking a shred or two of some-
thing from his fingers.
“Well?" questioned Mrs. Rone.
“A cool hand,” said November. “When he'd
got the skin, he stopped to fill his pipe. It was
then he dropped the cartridge; it came out of his
pocket with the pipe, I expect. All that I can
tell you about him is that he smokes 'Gold Nug-
get"" — he pointed to the shreds — “and car-
ries a small-bore make of English rifle. . . .
Hello! where's the old bitch?”.
"Old Rizpah? I dunno, less she's gone along
to Scats's place. Ruby'd take her if she could,
she's that scairt of the woods; but Rizpah's
never left Danny before."
Joe drained his cup. “We've not found much
inside the house," said he. “As soon as the
sun's up, we'll try our luck outside. Till then
I guess we'd best put in a doze.”
Mrs. Rone made up a shake-down of skins
95


THE BLACK FOX SKIN
Having exchanged the usual salutations,
Evans remarked good-humouredly: —
“November's out trailing the robber. Him
and me's been talking about the black fox pelt.
Joe's wasting his time all right.”
“How's that?" I asked, rather nettled, for
wasting his time was about the last accusation
I should ever have brought against my com-
rade.
“Because I can tell him who the thief is.”
“You know!” I exclaimed.
Evans nodded. “I can find out any time.”
“How?"
“Care to see?” He rose and went to the
door.
I followed. It was a clear bright morning,
and the snow that had fallen on the previous
day was not yet melted. We stepped out into
it, but had not left the threshold when Evans
touched my shoulder.
"Guess Joe missed it,” he said, pointing with
his finger.
I turned in the direction indicated, and saw
that upon one of the nails which had been driven
into the door of the cabin, doubtless for the
97


NOVEMBER JOE
purpose of exposing skins to the warmth of the
sun, some bright-coloured threads were hanging.
Going nearer, I found them to be strands of
pink and grey worsted, twisted together.
“What d' you think of that?" asked Evans,
with a heavy wink.
Before I could answer, Joe came into sight
round a clump of bush on the edge of the clear-
ing.
“Well,” called the game warden, “any luck?”
November walked up to us, and I waited for
his answer with all the eagerness of a partisan.
“Not just exactly," he said.
“What do you make of that?” asked Evans
again, pointing at the fluttering worsted, with
a glance of suppressed triumph at Joe.
"Huh!” said November. “What do you?"
“Pretty clear evidence that, ain't it? The
robber caught his necker on those nails as he
slipped out. We're getting closer. English rifle,
‘Gold Nugget'in his pipe, and a pink and grey
necker. Find a chap that owns all three. It
can't be difficult. Wardens have eyes in their
heads as well as you, November.”
“Sure!” agreed Joe politely but with an ab-
98


THE BLACK FOX SKIN
stracted look as he examined the door. “You
say you found it here?”
“Yes.”
"Huh!” said Joe again.
"Anything else on the trail?” asked Evans.
November looked at him. “He shot Rizpah.”
“The old dog? I suppose she attacked him
and he shot her.”
“Yes, he shot her — first."
“First? What then?”
“He cut her nigh in pieces with his knife.”
Without more words Joe turned back into
the woods and we went after him. Hidden in a
low, marshy spot, about half a mile from the
house, we came upon the body of the dog. It
was evident she had been shot more than
that, the carcass was hacked about in a horrible
manner.
“What do you say now, Mr. Evans?” in-
quired Joe.
“What do I say? I say this. When we find
the thief we 'll likely find the marks of Rizpah's
teeth on him. That's what made him mad with
rage, and —" Evans waved his hand.
We returned to breakfast at Mrs. Rone's
99


NOVEMBER JOE
cabin. While we were eating, Evans casually
brought out a scrap of the worsted he had de-
tached from the nail outside.
“Seen any one with a necker like that, Mrs.
Rone?” he asked.
The young woman glanced at the bit of wool,
then bent over Danny as she fed him. When she
raised her head I noticed that she looked very
white.
“There's more’n one of that colour here-
abouts likely,” she replied, with another glance
of studied indifference.
"It's not a common pattern of wool,” said
Evans. “Well, you're all witnesses where I got
it. I'm off.”
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“It's my business to find the man with the
pink necker.”
Evans nodded and swung off through the
door.
November looked at Sally. “Who is he,
Sally?”
Mrs. Rone's pretty forehead puckered into a
frown. “Who?”
“Pink and grey necker,” said Joe gently.
100


THE BLACK FOX SKIN
A rush of tears filled her red-brown eyes.
“Val Black has one like that. I made it for
him myself long ago.”
“And he has a rifle of some English make,"
added November.
Mrs. Rone started. “So he has, but I never
remembered that till this minute!” She looked
back into Joe's grey eyes with indignation.
“And he smokes ‘Nugget'all right, too. I know
it. All the same, it is n't Val!” The last words
were more than an appeal; they were a state-
ment of faith.
"It's queer them bits of worsted on the door-
nails,” observed Joe judicially.
Her colour flamed for a moment. “Why
queer? He's been here to see m- us more'n
once this time back; the nails might have
caught his necker any day,” she retorted.
“It's just possible," agreed November in an
unconvinced voice.
"It can't be Val!” repeated Mrs. Rone stead-
ily.
We walked away, leaving her standing in the
doorway looking after us. When we were out of
sight and of earshot I turned to November.
IOI


NOVEMBER JOE
“The evidence against Black is pretty strong.
What's your notion?”
“Can't say yet. I think we'd best join Evans;
he'll be trailing the thief.”
We made straight through the woods to-
wards the spot where the dog's body lay. As we
walked I tried again to find out Joe's opinion.
"But the motive? Have n't Mrs. Rone and
Black always been on good terms?” I per-
sisted.
Joe allowed that was so, and added: "Val
wanted to marry her years ago, afore Joe Rone
came to these parts at all, but Rone was a
mighty taking kind of chap, laughing and that,
and she married him."
“But surely Black would n't rob her, espe-
cially now that he has his chance again."
“Think not?” said Joe. “I wonder!” After
a pause he went on. “But it ain't hard to see
what'll be Evans's views on that. He'll say
Val's scared of her growing too independent, for
she's made good so far with her traps, and so he
just naturally took a hand to frighten her into
marriage. His case ag'in' Val won't break down
for want of motive.”
102


THE BLACK FOX SKIN
“One question more, Joe. Do you really
think Val Black is the guilty man?”
November Joe looked up with his quick, sud-
den smile. "It'll be a shock to Evans if he ain't,”
said he.
Very soon we struck the robber's trail, and
saw from a second line of tracks that Evans was
ahead of us following it.
“Here the thief goes,” said Joe. “See, he's
covered his moccasins with deerskin, and here
we have Evans's tracks. He's hurrying, Evans
is - he's feeling good and sure of the man he's
after!”
Twice November pointed out faint signs that
meant nothing to me.
"Here's where the robber stopped to light his
pipe — see, there's the mark of the butt of his
gun between those roots — the snow's thin
there. Must 'a' had a match, that chap,” he
said after a minute, and standing with his back
to the wind, he made a slight movement of his
hand.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Saving myself trouble,” he turned at right -
angles and began searching through the trees..
103


NOVEMBER JOE
“Here it is. Hung up in a snag. ... Seadog
match he used.” Then, catching my eye, he
went on: “Unless he was a fool, he'd light his
match with his face to the wind, would n't he?
And most right-handed men 'ud throw the
match thereabouts where I hunted for it."
Well on in the afternoon the trail led out to
the banks of a wide and shallow stream, into
the waters of which they disappeared. Here we
overtook Evans. He was standing by the ashes
of a fire almost on the bank.
He looked up as we appeared. “That you,
Joe? Chap's took to the water," said the game
warden, “but he'll have to do more than that
to shake me off.”
“Chap made this too?" inquired November
with a glance at the dead fire.
Evans nodded. “Walked steady till he came
here. Dunno what he lit the fire for. Carried
grub, I s'pose.”
“No, to cook that partridge,” said Joe.
I glanced at Evans, his face darkened, clearly
this did not please him. .
“Oh, he shot a partridge?”
“No,” said Joe; “he noosed it back in the
104


NOVEMBER JOE
a muskrat's pelt that then he'll head straight
for Val's. We've got to be there afore him."
We were. This was the first time I had ex-
perience of Joe's activities on behalf of a woman,
and, to begin with, I guessed that he himself
had a tender feeling for Sally Rone. So he had,
but it was not the kind of feeling I had surmised.
It was not love, but just an instinct of down-
right chivalry, such as one sometimes finds deep-
set in the natures of the men of the woods.
Some day later I may tell you what November
was like when he fell head over ears in love, but
that time is not yet.
The afternoon was yet young when we arrived
at Val Black's. At that period he was living in
a deserted hut which had once been used by a
bygone generation of lumbermen.
It so happened that Val Black was not at
home, but Joe entered the hut and searched it
thoroughly. I asked him what he was seeking.
“Those skins of Sally's."
“Then you do think Black ...".
“I think nothing yet. And here's the man
himself anyway."
He turned to the door as Val Black came
man
106


THE BLACK FOX SKIN
swinging up the trail. He was of middle
height, strongly built, with quick eyes and
dark hair which, though cropped close, still
betrayed its tendency to curl. He greeted
November warmly; November was, I thought,
even more slow-spoken than usual.
“Val,” he said, after some talk, “have you
still got that pinky necker Sally knitted for
you?”
“Why d' you ask that?”
“Because I want to be put wise, Val.”
“Yes, I've got her.”
“Where?”
“Right here,” and Black pulled the muffler
out of his pocket.
“Huh!” said Joe.
There was a silence, rather a strained silence,
between the two.
Then November continued. “Where was
you last night?”
Val looked narrowly at Joe, Joe returned his
stare.
“Got any reason fer asking?”
“Sure.”
“Got any reason why I should tell you?”
107


NOVEMBER JOE
“Yes to that.”
“Say, November Joe, are you searching for
trouble?” asked Black in an ominously quiet
voice.
“Seems as if trouble was searching for me,”
replied November.
There was another silence, then Val jerked
out, “I call your hand.”
“I show it,” said Joe. “You're suspected of
robbing Sally's traps this month back. And
you’re suspected of entering Sally's house last
evening and stealing pelts ..."
Val fell back against the doorpost.
“Stealin' pelts.... Sally's?” he repeated.
“Is that all I'm suspected of?”
“That's all.”
"Then look out!” With a shout of rage he
made at Joe.
November stood quite still under the grip of
the other's furious hands.
“You act innocent; don't you, you old coy-
ote!” he grinned ironically. “I never said I
suspected you."
Black drew off, looking a little foolish, but
he flared up again.
108





THE BLACK FOX SKIN
“Who is it suspects me?”
"Just Evans. And he's got good evidence.
Where was you between six and seven last
night?"
“In the woods. I come back and slep' here.”
“Was you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Then you can't prove no alibi.” Joe paused.
It was at this moment that Evans, accom-
panied by two other forest rangers, appeared
upon the scene. He had not followed the track,
but had come through a patch of standing wood
to the north of the hut. Quick as lightning he
covered Black with his shotgun.
“Up with your hands,” he cried, “or I'll put
this load of bird-shot into your face.”
Black scowled, but his hands went up. The
man was so mad with rage that, I think, had
Evans carried a rifle he would not have sub-
mitted, but the thought of the blinding charge in
Evans's gun cowed him. He stood panting. At
a sign, one of the rangers sidled up, and the
click of handcuffs followed.
“What am I charged with?” cried Black.
“Robbery."
109


NOVEMBER JOE
“You'll pay me for this, Simon Evans!”
“It won't be for a while — not till they let
you out again,” retorted the warden easily.
“Take him off up the trail, Bill.”
The rangers walked away with their prisoner,
and Evans turned to Joe.
“Guess I have the laugh of you, November,”
he said.
“Looks that way. Where you takin' him?”
“To Lavette. I've sent word to Mrs. Rone
to come there to-morrow. And now,” continued
Evans, “I'm going to search Black's shack.”
“What for?”
“The stolen pelts.”
“Got a warrant?”
“I'm a warden — don't need one."
“You'll not search without it,” said No-
vember, moving in front of the door.
“Who'll stop me?" Evans's chin shot out
doggedly.
“I might,” said Joe in his most gentle man-
ner.
Evans glared at him. “You?”
"I'm in the right, for it's ag'in' the law, and
you know it, Mr. Evans.”
NIO


THE BLACK FOX SKIN
Evans hesitated. “What's your game?” he
asked.
Joe made a slight gesture of disclaimer.
Evans turned on his heel.
“Have it your way, but I'll be back with
my warrant before sun up to-morrow, and
I'm warden, and maybe you'll find it's better
to have me for a friend than —"
"Huh! Say, Mr. Quaritch, have you a fill of
that light baccy o’yours? I want soothin'.”
As soon as Evans was out of sight, Joe beck-
oned me to a thick piece of scrub not far from
the hut.
“Stay right here till I come back. Every-
thing depends on that,” he whispered.
I lay down at my ease in a sheltered spot, and
then Joe also took the road for Lavette.
During the hours through which I waited for
his return I must acknowledge I was at my wits'
end to understand the situation. Everything
appeared to be against Black, the cartridge
which fitted his rifle, the strands of the telltale
neckerchief, the man's own furious behaviour,
his manifest passion for Mrs. Rone, and the
suggested motive for the thefts — all these
III


NOVEMBER JOE
things pointed, conclusively it seemed to me, in
one direction. And yet I knew that almost from
the beginning of the inquiry November had de-
cided that Black was innocent. Frankly, I could
make neither head nor tail of it.
The evening turned raw, and the thin snow
was softening, and though I was weary of my
watch I was still dreaming when I started under
a hand that touched my shoulder. Joe was
crouching at my side. He warned me to caution,
but I could not refrain from a question as to
where he had been.
“Down to the store at Lavette,” he whispered.
“I was talking about that search-warrant -
pretty high-handed I said it was, and the boys
agreed to that.”
Then commenced a second vigil. The sun
went down behind the tree roots, and was suc-
ceeded by the little cold wind that often blows
at that hour. Yet we lay in our ambush as the
dusk closed quickly about us, nor did we move
until a slight young moon was sending level rays
between clouds that were piling swiftly in the
sky.
After a while Joe touched me to wakefulness,
love
II2


THE BLACK FOX SKIN
2W
and I saw something moving on the trail below
us. A second or two of moonlight gave me a
glimpse of the approaching figure of a man, a
humped figure that moved swiftly. If ever I saw
craft and caution inform an advance, I saw
it then.
The clouds swept over, and when next the
glint of light came, the dark figure stood before
the hut. A whistle, no answer, and its hand
went to the latch. I heard Joe sigh as he covered
the man with his rifle. Then came his voice in
its quiet tones.
“Guess the game's off, Sylvester. Don't
turn! Hands up!”
The man stood still as we came behind him.
At a word he faced round. I saw the high cheek-
bones and gleaming eyes of an Indian, his sav-
age face was contracted with animosity.
“Now, Mr. Quaritch,” said November sug-
gestively.
I flatter myself I made a neat job of tying up
our prisoner.
“Thank you. What's in that bundle on his
back?"
I opened it. Several skins dropped out. Joe
113


NOVEMBER JOE
examined them. “All got Sally's mark on,”
he said. “Say, Mr. Quaritch, let me introduce
you to a pretty mean thief.”
I noticed that Joe took our prisoner along at
a good pace towards Lavette. After a mile or
two, however, he asked me to go ahead, and if
I met with Mrs. Rone to make her wait his
arrival, but he added, in an aside, “Tell her
nothing about Sylvester.”
I reached the village soon after dawn, but
already the people were gathered at the store,
where every one was discussing the case. Evans
sat complacently listening to the opinions of the
neighbours. It was clear to me that the public
verdict was dead against Black. Some critics
gave the rein to venomous comments which
made me realize that, good fellow as Val was,
his hot temper had had its effect on his popu-
larity.
As I heard nothing of Mrs. Rone, I set out
towards her house. When I met her I noticed
that her gentle face wore a changed expression.
I delivered my message.
"I'll never speak to November again as long
114


THE BLACK FOX SKIN
as
as I live!” she said with deep vindictive-
ness.
I feebly attempted remonstrance. She cut
me short.
“That's enough. November's played double
with me. I'll show him!”
I walked beside her in silence and, just before
we came in sight of the houses, we met with Joe
alone. He had evidently left Sylvester in safe
custody. Joe glanced from Sally to me. I read
understanding in his eyes.
“We've got him trapped safe, Sally. Not a
hole for him to slip out by.”
Sally's rage broke from her control. “You're
just too cute, November Joe,” she blazed,
“with your tracking and finding out things, and
putting Val in jail! What do you say to it that
I've been fooling you all the time? I never lost
no pelts! I only said it to get the laugh against
ye. Ye was beginning to believe ye could hear
the muskrats sneezing!”
“Is that so?” inquired Joe gently.
“Yes, and I'm going into Lavette this
minute to tell them!”
Joe stepped in front of her. "Just as you like,
115


NOVEMBER JOE
Sally. But how'll ye explain these?” He flung
open the bundle of skins he carried.
Mrs. Rone turned colour. “Where did ye
find them?” she gasped.
“On his back!”
She hesitated a moment, then, “I gave Val
that lot,” she said carelessly.
“That's queer, now,” said Joe, “cos it was
on Injin Sylvester I found them.”
Sally stared at Joe, then laughed suddenly,
excitedly. “Oh, Joe! you're sure the cutest
man ever made in this world!” And with that
she flung her arms round his neck and kissed
him.
"I'd best pass that on to Val Black!” said
Joe calmly.
And Sally's blushes were prettier than you
could believe.
There is no need for me to tell how Black
was liberated from the hands of the crest-
fallen Evans, who was as nonplussed as I my-
self had been at the breakdown of the case,
which up to the last moment had on the face
of it seemed indestructible.
I have never looked forward to any explana-
wa
'116


THE BLACK FOX SKIN
tion, more than that which November gave to
Mrs. Rone, Black, and myself the same even-
ing.
“It was the carcass of Rizpah give me the
first start,” said Joe. “As soon as I saw that I
knew it were n't Val.”
“Why?” asked Sally.
“You remember it was hacked up? Now here
was the case up to that. A thief had robbed
Sally and all the sign he left behind was a few
threads of his necker and an English-made
cartridge. The thief goes out and old Rizpah
attacks him. He shoots her. Then he cuts her
body nigh to pieces. Why?” We all shook our
heads.
“Because he wants to get his bullet out of
her. And why does he want to get his bullet?
Only one possible reason. Because it's different
to the bullet he dropped on purpose in the
house."
“By Jove!” I cried.
“From that it all fits in. It seems funny that
the thief should drop a cartridge, funnier still
that he should n't notice he'd left a bit of his
necker stuck to the nails on the door. Still, I'd
117


NOVEMBER JOE
allow them two things might happen. But
when it came to his having more bits of his
necker torn off by the spruces where Evans
found them, it looked like as if the thief was a
mighty poor woodsman. Which he was n't. He
hid his tracks good and cunning. After that I
guessed I was on the right scent, but I was n't
plumb sure till I come up to the place where he
killed the partridge. While he was snaring it he
rested his rifle ag'in' a tree. I saw the mark of
the butt on the ground, and the scratch from
the foresight upon the bark. Then I knew he
did n't carry no English rifle.”
“How did you know?” asked Sally.
"I could measure its length ag'in' the tree.
It was nigh a foot shorter than an English
rifle.”
Val's fist came down on the table. “Bully for
you, Joe!”
“Well, now, there was one more thing. Be-
sides that black fox Sally here missed other
marked pelts. They was n't much value. Why
did the thief take them? Again, only one rea-
son. He wanted 'em for making more false
evidence ag'in' Val.”
118


THE BLACK FOX SKIN
He paused. “Go on, Joe,” cried Mrs. Rone
impatiently.
"When Mr. Quaritch and I came to Val's
shack we searched it. Nothing there. Why?
'Cos Val had been home all night and Sylvester
could n't get in without wakin' him.”
“But,” said I, “was n't there a good case
against Black without that?”
“Yes, there was a case, but his conviction
was n't an absolute cinch. On the other hand,
if the stolen skins was found hid in his shack
... That's why you had to lie in that brush so
long, Mr. Quaritch, while I went in to Lavette
and spread it around that the shack had n't
been searched by Evans. Sylvester was at the
store and he fell into the trap right enough. We
waited for him and we got him."
“O'course,” continued Joe,“ revenge on Val
were n't Sylvester's only game. He meant
robbin' Sally, too, and had his plan laid. He
must 'a' first gone to Val's and stole a cartridge
and the bits of necker before he robbed Sally's
house. Last night he started out to leave a few
cheap pelts at Val's, but he had the black fox
skin separate in his pack with a bit o' tea and
119


NOVEMBER JOE
as
flour and tobacco, so if we had n't took him,
he'd have lit out into Maine an' sold the black
fox pelt there.”
"But, Joe,” said Sally, “when I came on
Sylvester that evening I told you of when I was
trailing the robber, how was it that his tracks
and the robber's was quite different?”
“Had Sylvester a pack on his back?”
“Yes. Now I think of it, he had.”
“Then I dare bet that if you'd been able to
look in that pack you'd 'a' found a second pair
o'moccasins in it. Sylvester'd just took them
off, I expect. It was snowing, were n't it?”
“Yes.”
“And he held you in talk?”
“He did.”
“Till the snow covered his tracks?”
“It's wonderful clear, Joe,” said Mrs. Rone.
“But why should Sylvester have such a down
on Val?”
Joe laughed. “Ask Val!”
“Ten years ago," said Val, “when we was
both rising twenty year, I gave Sylvester a
thrashing he'd likely remember. He had a dog
what were n't no use and he decided to shoot it.
120


THE BLACK FOX SKIN
So he did, but he did n't kill it. He shot it far
back and left it in the woods ... and I come
along ..."
“The brute!” exclaimed Sally.
“He's a dangerous Injin,” said November,
“and he's of a breed that never forgets.”
“When he gets out of prison, you'll have to
keep awake, Joe,” said Val.
“When he gets out, I'll have the snow in my
hair all right, and you and Sally'll be old
married folks,” retorted Joe. “You'll sure be
tired of each other by then.”
Sally looked at Val and Joe caught the look.
“Leastways,” he added, "you'll pretend you
are better ’n you do now.”
We all laughed.


CHAPTER VI
THE MURDER AT THE DUCK CLUB
NOVEMBER JOE had come to Quebec to lay
in his stores against the winter's trapping. He
had told me that the best grounds in Maine
were becoming poorer and poorer and that he
had decided to go in on the south side of the St.
Lawrence, somewhere beyond Rimouski.
I knew that November was coming since two
hours before his arrival a cable had been
brought in for him, for when in Quebec, al-
though he stayed at a downtown boarding-
house, he was in the habit of using my office as a
permanent address. I was therefore not at all
surprised to hear his soft voice rallying my old
clerk in the outer office. A more crabbed person
than Hugh Witherspoon it would be impossible
to meet, but it cannot be denied that like so
many others he had a kindliness for November.
Presently there was a knock at the door and
Joe, his hat held between his two hands, sidled
into the room. He was never quite at ease
I22


THE MURDER AT THE DUCK CLUB
except in the open, and as he came towards me
with his shy smile, his moccasins fell noiselessly
on the polished boards.
I handed him his telegram, which he opened
at once. It ran:-
Offer you fifty dollars a day to come at once
to Tamarind Duck Club.
Eileen M. EAST.
Joe whistled and characteristically said no-
thing.
“Who is Eileen M. East?" I asked.
Joe made no reply for a moment, then he
indicated the telegram and said:-
“This has been redirected from Lavette.
Postmaster Tom knew I'd be in to see you.
Miss East was one of an American party I was
with, 'way up on Thompson's salmon river this
spring.”
At this moment a clerk knocked and entered,
bringing with him a second telegram. Joe read
it:-
You must come. Murder done. A matter of
life and death. Please reply.
EILEEN M. EAST.
123


NOVEMBER JOE
was
“Will you write out an answer for me?"
asked Joe.
I nodded. Joe is slow with the pen.
“Miss Eileen M. East.' Please put that, sir,
and then 'arriving on 3.38,' and sign.”
“How shall I sign it?” said I.
“Just write ‘November.””
I did so, and ringing again for the clerk I
directed him to give the telegram to the boy
who was waiting. There was a moment's
silence, then-
“Can you come along, Mr. Quaritch?”
I looked at the business which had accumu-
lated on my desk, for, as I have had occasion to
observe more than once, I am a very busy man,
indeed, or, at least, I ought to be, for my inter-
ests, as were those of my father and grand-
father, are bound up with the development of
the Dominion of Canada and range through the
vegetable and mineral kingdoms to water-power
and the lighting of many of our greatest cities.
“Yes, but I must have ten minutes in which
to give Witherspoon his instructions."
Joe went to the door. “The boss wants you
right away, old man,” I heard him say.
124


THE MURDER AT THE DUCK CLUB
Witherspoon shuffled into my room.
“I'll go and get a rig,” continued November,
“and have it waiting outside. We have n't
overmuch time if we're going to call at your
country place for your outfit.”
A quarter of an hour later Joe and I were
bowling along in the rig drawn by a particularly
good horse. I live with my sister some distance
out on the St. Louis road, and thither we drove
at all speed.
My sister had gone out to tea with some
friends, but she is well accustomed to my always
erratic movements, so that I felt quite at ease
when I left a note explaining that I was leaving
Quebec for a day or two with November Joe.
We reached the station just in time and were
soon steaming along through the farmlands
that surround Quebec City.
You who read this may or may not have
heard of the Tamarind Duck Club. It is a small
association composed chiefly of Montreal and
New York business men, to which I had leased
the sporting rights of a chain of lakes lying on
one of my properties not very far from the
waters of the St. Lawrence. To these lakes the
125


NOVEMBER JOE
ducks fly in from the tide each evening, and in
the fall very fine sport is to be obtained there,
the guns often averaging ten and twenty brace
of birds, the latter number being the limit per-
mitted to each shooter by the rules. During the
season there are generally two or three members
at the clubhouse, which, though but a log hut, is
warm and comfortable. In fact, the Tamarind
Club has a waiting list of those who desire to
belong to it quite out of all proportion to its
capacity.
All these facts marshalled themselves and
passed through my mind as the train rolled on,
and at length I said to Joe: -
"Murder done at the Tamarind Club! It
seems incredible. It must be that some poacher
has shot one of the guides.”
“Maybe,” said Joe, “but Miss East said 'a
matter of life and death'; what can that mean?
That's what I'm asking myself. But here we
are! It won't be long before we know a bit
more.”
The cars drew up at the little siding which is
situated within a walk of the Tamarind Club.
We jumped down just as a girl, possessing dark
126


THE MURDER AT THE DUCK CLUB
and vivid good looks of a quite arresting kind,
stepped from the agent's office and caught
November impulsively by the hand.
“Oh, Joe, I am so glad to see you!”
November Joe always had a distinct appeal
to women; high and low, whatever their station
in life, they liked him. Of course, his looks were
in his favour. Women generally do find a kind
glance for six foot of strength and sinew, espe-
cially when surmounted by a perfectly poised
head and features such as Joe's. He had a
curious deprecating manner, too, that carried
its own charm, and he appeared unable to
speak two sentences to any woman without
giving her the impression that he was entirely
at her service — which, indeed, he was.
“When I got your message from Lavette, I
come right along," said the woodsman simply;
“Mr. Quaritch come, too. It's from him the
club holds its lease.”
Miss East sent me a flash of her dark eyes,
and I saw they were full of trouble.
“I hope you will be on my side, Mr. Quar-
itch,” she said. “Just now I need friends
badly.”
127


NOVEMBER JOE
“What is it, Miss Eileen?” asked Joe, as she
paused.
“Uncle has been shot, Joe.”
“Mr. Harrison?”
“Yes.”
“I'm terrible sorry to hear that. He was a
fine, just man.”
“But that is not all. There is something even
worse!... They say it was Mr. Galt who shot
was a
him.”
"Mr. Galt!” exclaimed November in sur-
prise. “It ain't possible!”
“I know! I know! Yet every one believes
that he did it. I sent for you to prove to them
that he is innocent. You will, won't you, Joe?”
“I'll sure do my best.”
I saw her struggle for self-control; the way
she got herself in hand was splendid.
“I must tell you how it happened,” she said,
“and we can be walking on at the same time,
for I want you, Joe, to see the place before
dark. ... Yesterday afternoon there were five
of us at the club. I was the only woman and
the men settled to go out after the ducks in the
evening, for though it had been wet all day,
128


THE MURDER AT THE DUCK CLUB
the wind went round and it began to blow
clear about three o'clock. Four shooters went
out; there was uncle and Mr. Hinx, and Egbert
Simonson, and — and Ted Galt.”
“Is that the same Mr. Hinx who was salmon-
fishing with us early this year?”
“Yes. ... Most evenings I go with uncle, but
yesterday the bush was so wet that I decided
not to go, so the four men went, and at the usual
time the others all came back. At half-past
seven, I began to get anxious, so I sent Tim
Carter, the head guide, to see if anything
was wrong. He found my uncle dead in his
screen.”
“And what brought Mr. Galt's name into
it?”
She hesitated for a second.
“He and uncle had a good way to go to their
places, which were next each other. They
walked together, and their voices were heard,
very loud, as if they were quarrelling. Egbert
Simonson complained about it when he came in
... said they made enough noise to disturb the
lake, and after that, of course, Ted was sus-
pected.”
129


NOVEMBER JOE
“Did Mr. Galt own they'd had any words?”
inquired Joe.
“Yes. Uncle was angry with him,” she ad-
mitted, and a colour showed for a moment in
her cheeks. "Ted is not a rich man, Joe; you
know that.”
"Huh!” said Joe with complete comprehen-
sion. Then, after a pause, he asked: “Who is it
suspects Mr. Galt?”
“It was Tim Carter who got the evidence
together against him.”
“ Evidence?”
“Uncle and Ted were placed next each other
at the shoot.”
“And had Mr. Harrison or Mr. Galt the out-
side place?"
“Ted had.”
“Well, who was on the other side of your
uncle? I suppose there must have been some
one."
“It was Mr. Hinx.”
“Then what makes Carter so sure it was Mr.
Galt done it?”
“Ah! That is the awful thing. My uncle
was killed with number six shot.”
130


THE MURDER AT THE DUCK CLUB
“Yes?”
“And Ted is the only one who uses number
six size. The others all had number four.”
Joe whistled, and was silent for some mo-
ments. Then he said:-
"I think, Miss Eileen, I'd as soon you did n't
tell me any more. I'd like best to have Mr.
Galt’s and Carter's stories at first-hand from
theirselves."
The girl stopped short. “But, November,
you don't believe it was Ted!”
“I sure don't,” he said. “Mr. Galt ain't that
kind of a man. Where is he?”
“Did n't I tell you? Some police came out on
the last train. They have him under arrest. It
is dreadful!”
. . . . .
Half an hour later November Joe was face to
face with Carter, who gave him no very warm
welcome, and added nothing to the following
statement, which he had dictated to the police
inspector and signed in affidavit form:-
"Last evening roundabout five o'clock, four
members of the club, Harrison, Hinx, Simonson,
131


NOVEMBER JOE
and Galt, started out for Reedy Neck. Reedy
Neck is near half a mile long by a hundred yards
wide. It is a kind of a promontory of low
ground that sticks out into Goose Lake. The
members walked to their places. I did not
accompany them, because I had been ordered
to take a canoe round to the north side of the
lake, so as I could move any ducks that might
pitch on that part of the lake over the guns.
There are six screens on Reedy Neck. Before
starting, the members drew lots for places as
per Rule 16. Galt drew number one, that is the
screen nearest the end of the Neck and farthest
from the clubhouse. Harrison got number two.
Number three was unoccupied. Hinx was in
number four, and Simonson in number five.
“Reedy Neck is covered along its whole
length with bush and rushes, and the gunners
cannot see one another. The screens consist of
sunk pits with facings of rushes and alders.
"The shooting began before I was round to
the north side, and continued till it was dark.
Several hundred ducks flew in from the estuary.
I waited about ten minutes after the last shot
was fired and then went back to the clubhouse.
132


THE MURDER AT THE DUCK CLUB
When I got there, I found Harrison had not re-
turned. I heard this from Simonson, who was
angry because, he said, Harrison and Galt had
talked in loud, excited tones as they went to
their places.
"He was annoyed because he was of opinion
that their voices had frightened some bunches
of duck at which he might have got a shot.
“At half-past seven Miss East, niece to Har-
rison, came into the clubhouse kitchen, where I
was at the time arranging to have the dead
ducks picked up. You cannot pick them up
while the flight is on because of scaring the
others. When the wind is from the north, like it
was last evening, it drifts the dead birds on to
the south shore of Goose Lake. I told Noel
Charles and Vinez, two of the club under-
guides, to see about the pick-up. Miss East
told me that her Uncle Harrison had not come
in, and I had better go and see what was keep-
ing him. She was afraid that he might have got
bogged in the swamp, as it was dark. She was
worried-like, and Sitawanga Sally, the Indian
squaw cook, tried to cheer her. She said the
path from Reedy Neck was easy to follow.
133


NOVEMBER JOE
SC
“I left Miss East with Sally and went out.
There was a bit of moonlight. I went down to
Reedy Neck and found Harrison in number two
screen. He was dead, and already stiff. I con-
cluded he must have shot himself by accident.
I lifted the body to carry it back. When I was
about fifty yards from the club I shouted. Galt
came running out. I told him Harrison had
shot himself. He said, 'Good God! How awful
for Eilie!'
"Miss East had heard me, and was with us
the next minute. She was greatly put about.
“We carried the body in and laid it on a bed.
It was then I looked at the wound for the first
time. Sally, the cook, was with me to lay out
the body.
“I said: 'He could n't have shot himself this
way.'
“I said this because I saw the shot had spread
so much that I knew it could not have been
fired at very close quarters. Sally agreed with
me. I do not know whether her opinion is worth
anything. It may be. Most Indian women of
sixty years old have seen dead men. I put my
finger in the wound and drew out a shot. We
134


THE MURDER AT THE DUCK CLUB
then covered up the body with a point-four
blanket and left it.
“I locked the door and took away the key. I
did this because the wound was a dreadful one,
and I thought it better that Miss East should
not see the body. I then went to the gun-room
and compared the shot I had taken from the
wound with other sizes. It was a number six
shot. The only club member who uses number
six shot is Mr. Galt. Harrison, Simonson, and
Hinx all use number four. I said nothing to any
one about the number six shot.
“At dawn I went back to Reedy Neck and
worked out all the details. It was easy, for they
were plain in the soft mud. There was no sign
of any one except Galt having passed number
two screen. His returning footsteps were along
the edge of the water until he came to number
two screen where Harrison was. Then his
tracks led up the silt towards it. He must have
been within twelve paces of Harrison. There he
paused, as I could tell by the tracks. I suggest
it was then that he fired the shot. Next he went
back to the edge of the lake and continued
towards the clubhouse.
135


NOVEMBER JOE
“After making this examination I spoke to
Simonson, the senior member. I understand
that he cabled for the police.
“Signed, T. CARTER.”
I read out this statement while November lis-
tened with the curiously minute attention that
he always accorded to the written or printed
word. When I had finished he forbore to ask
any questions, but expressed a desire to speak
with Galt. We found him in the custody of a
tall young trooper, who, at the command of the
inspector, considerately left us to ourselves.
Joe shook hands gravely and warmly.
“Now, Mr. Galt, I'm right sorry about all
this, and glad that Miss Eileen sent for me.”
“She sent for you?” cried Galt.
“Sure.”
“That's the best news I've had since I was
arrested. It shows that she believes I am inno-
cent.”
“'Course she does!” said Joe. “And now will
you tell me everything you can remember of
what happened yesterday, before Mr. Harrison
was found dead?”
136


THE MURDER AT THE DUCK CLUB
Galt was silent for a moment.
“Here goes!” he said at length. “I'll begin
at the beginning. In the early afternoon I went
for a walk in the woods with Ei— Miss East. I
asked her to marry me. She said yes. I'm not a
rich man, though I'm not exactly a poor one.”
“No,” agreed Joe, to whom a tenth of Galt's
income would have been riches beyond his
farthest dream.
"Anyway,” continued Galt, "we guessed we
might have trouble with her uncle, Mr. Harri-
son, and, on the principle of not shirking a bad
talk, we arranged that I was to take the first
opportunity of putting Mr. Harrison wise as to
the position of affairs. By the time we returned
to the clubhouse, we found Hinx, Simonson,
Harrison, and Guide Carter just starting for the
evening flight. I joined them, and, as luck
would have it, I drew the next screen to Mr.
Harrison. Simonson and Hinx went off to-
gether, and I was left with Harrison, so I
started in and told him how Eileen and I had
fixed to get married."
Joe gave the sideways jerk of the head which
signified his comprehension.
137


THE MURDER AT THE DUCK CLUB
was n
scre
creen
was next to his at the very end of the Neck.”
“Where did you leave him?”
“About fifty yards on this side of his screen.”
“And after that?”
“I had not been ten minutes in my screen
when the ducks began to come in. They kept
on coming. I must have fired between seventy
and eighty cartridges. Harrison, too, was
banging away.”
“Could you see him?”
“No, the reeds are too high, but more than
once I saw the ducks he shot fall. I could see
them because they were twenty or thirty yards
high in the air.”
Joe nodded.
“At a quarter past six the flight was pretty
well over and the firing along the line grew less
and less frequent. At the half-past it had
stopped altogether, and I decided to go back to
the clubhouse.”
“One minute,” put in Joe. “What time was
it when Harrison fired the last shot that you
remember?”
"It must have been about ten minutes past
six."
139


NOVEMBER JOE
0
“Did any birds pass over him after that?”
“I thought so.”
“And he did not fire at them?”
“No."
“Were you not surprised at that?”
“Not very. It was pretty dark, and Harrison
was not a quick shot.”
“Now tell me all the details you can call to
mind of your walk back to the club."
“I picked up my gun and my cartridge bags,
which were nearly empty, and walked along the
edge of the water until I was opposite Harri-
son's screen. There I paused. I thought I'd
have another try to persuade him. I called out
his name. There was no answer. So I walked
up the mudbank and shouted again.”
“From the top of the bank? Could you see
into the screen?”
“Partially, but it was dark, and as I did not
catch sight of Harrison I concluded he had
already returned to the club, so I retraced my
steps to the edge of the water and came back to
the club myself.”
“You met no one on the way?”.
“I fancied I saw a figure on the south shore."
140


THE MURDER AT THE DUCK CLUB
“Whereabouts?”
“About opposite number three screen on
Reedy Neck.”
"Have you nothing more to tell me?”
“No, I can't remember anything more. But
I want to ask you this question. Why have I
been arrested? There can be but little evidence
against me.”
November looked Galt in the face. “I wish
that was so,” he said, “but it ain't. You
see, Mr. Harrison was killed with number six
shot."
“What of that?”
“You are the only club member who uses
that size.”
“Good Heavens!”
“See here, Mr. Galt,” went on Joe, “there's
that fact of the shot, and there's the fact that
your tracks are the only ones that pass Mr.
Harrison's screen; besides which the quarrel
between you was overheard.” 1
“It is a chain of coincidences — a complete
chain," cried Galt in dismay.
Joe nodded and left the room without more
words.
141


NOVEMBER JOE
S
a
As soon as we were clear of the building I
asked him what he thought of it all.
He turned the question on me. “And what
do you think?”
“The evidence against Galt is about as strong
as it need be,” I said sorrowfully. “Here we
have a man shot in a screen. The only person
who passed anywhere near was the prisoner.
The deed was done with number six shot; the
only man using number six is again the prisoner.
When you add to that the quarrel, which was a
pretty hot one by all accounts, why, you have
as complete a case as any prosecution need wish
to handle.”
“That's so,” agreed Joe. “And the worst of
it is that Galts own story don't help us any."
“Do you believe he is telling the truth?”
“That's the one thing that I do believe.”
I demurred.
“Well, you know, if he had been telling lies,”
said Joe, “he'd have made a better story of it,
would n't he? Let's get along to Reedy Neck.”
So to Reedy Neck we went. For the benefit
of my readers I must describe it. Reedy Neck is
a promontory of mud and rush which extends,
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THE MURDER AT THE DUCK CLUB
as I have said, some eight hundred yards into
the lake. At no point does it rise twelve feet
above the level of the water.
From the moment that he set foot upon it,
November Joe examined every yard of ground
with infinite care, and as he walked kept up a
running commentary upon the tracks and their,
to him, obvious story. At first there were many
footprints, but presently these thinned to two.
“Look here,” said Joe. “The tapped boots is
Harrison and the moccasins is Galt. Here must
have been the spot where Galt told Harrison he
was going to marry Miss Eileen. See, Harrison
stopped, stamped back on his heels, and drove
down the butt of his gun into the mud.”
“Yes, I see.”
"And here,” continued Joe, “they separated.
Harrison's tracks go up the bank, Galt's passes
on. We'll follow Galt's first."
Which we did. They led us straight to the
duck screen he had occupied. Crouching in it as
he would have done, we found that a sea of
reeds shut in the view on every side. The mud
floor of the screen was covered with empty shells
“That's where he knelt waiting for the
143


NOVEMBER JOE'
ducks,” said Joe, pointing to a circular cavity;
“his knee made that. There's little to be learnt
here.”
And we began to follow Galt's trail back.
The returning tracks ran along a lower line by
the edge of the water, until nearly opposite the
scene of the tragedy they swerved at right
angles, and went up the bank to within a few
yards of the screen where Harrison's body had
been found.
“He stopped here,” said Joe, “stopped for
quite a while. Now, Mr. Quaritch, I'll see what
I can find out."
“You'll not find much,” said a voice behind
us. “At least, not much that has not been
found out before. If I was you, November, I'd
give it up as a bad job. Galt done it. The
tracks is plain as print.”
“There's some says that print don't always
tell the truth, Tim Carter," answered Joe
sturdily.
Carter, a powerful, stubborn-faced woods-
man, with wild brown hair and small side-
whiskers, began to walk forward, but Joe held
up his hand.
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THE MURDER AT THE DUCK CLUB
“Stand you back, Tim,” said he, “I don't
want you rooting around and tearing up the
ground with your feet.”
Carter sat down beside me on a driftwood log
that lay among the reeds, and together we
watched November; I with sympathy, for Miss
East's eager hopes lived in my consciousness.
Carter's face, however, wore an expression of
supercilious amusement.
Such a methodical examination I had rarely
seen Joe make, and that very fact damped my
expectations. First of all he followed out every
line of tracks. Then he made a series of meas-
urements, and last of all began to pick up and
look over the gun wads which lay about in great
numbers. Suddenly he darted forward, and
picked up one that lay close beside my foot.
“You are both witnesses where I found this,”
he cried.
Carter rose. “I'll mark the place if you like,"
he said with a laugh.
“That's good! Do it."
Carter thrust a stick into the ground.
“Now," asked he, “what next?”
. But Joe was paying no attention. He was
145


NOVEMBER JOE
engaged in examining the piece of driftwood
from which we had risen, and the shore near the
water in its vicinity. At length, evidently
satisfied, he came to me.
“I want you to take charge of this,” he said,
handing me the gun wad;“it'll likely be needed
in evidence.”
Carter listened and grinned. “Finished,
Joe?”
“Yes, here.”
“Whereaway next?”
“To the south shore.”
“Want me along?”
“Please yourself.”
It was a long walk, undertaken in silence.
The two woodsmen were obviously antagonis-
tic. Carter, being pleased to believe Galt guilty,
was consequently full of suspicion towards any
attitude of mind that seemed to question his
conclusions. November's point of view I had
not fathomed. It is possible that he could see
light where to me all was utter darkness. On
the other hand, I could not, as I have said, con-
ceive a more convincing chain of evidence than
that which had led Carter straight from the
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THE MURDER AT THE DUCK CLUB
crime to Galt — the quarrel, the number six
shot, the fact that Galt had been within ten
yards of the murdered man's hiding-place about
the time the murder must have been committed.
I went all over it again. There seemed no
break, and when I thought of Eileen East, I
groaned in spirit. She believed in Galt, and,
even more for her sake than for his, I longed
for November to confound the sullen Carter,
though how this much-to-be-desired end might
be brought about I failed to see.
At length we reached the south shore.
“Any one been round this side to-day?”
asked Joe.
“Can't say. If they have, you're such a
plumb-sure trail-reader, you'll know, won't
you?” Carter retorted grimly.
Without answering, Joe signed to us to re-
main where we were, while he crossed and cut
diagonally from the lake shore to the mountain.
After that he went down to the boathouse
where the canoes were kept. A moment later
his voice rose in a call. We found him looking
into one of the canoes.
“When was this one last out?” he asked.
re
147


NOVEMBER JOE
“Not since Friday.”
“That's funny,” said Joe.
We followed his pointing finger. In the bot-
tom of the boat was a little pool of blood.
“Can you account for that, Tim Carter?"
“Vinez and Noel Charles must have taken
the canoe when they picked up the shot ducks
this morning,” said Carter.
"They did n't go near the boathouse,"
returned Joe. “I found their tracks. They lead
down by the hill over there.”
“I suppose you think this blood's got some-
thing to do with the murder?” sneered Carter.
"I'm sure inclined that way,” said Joe.
As we walked back to the clubhouse my mind
was in a whirl. I have already said that I could
see little daylight through the tangle of signs
and clues, and now I was aware that the pros-
pect looked more complicated than ever. As we
approached the clubhouse, Miss East, who had
evidently been watching for us, ran out.
“Well,” she cried breathlessly, “what have
you done? Have you found out everything?"
"I'll want to look over the members' guns
before I answer that,” said Joe.
148


THE MURDER AT THE DUCK CLUB
“They are all in the gun-room."
We entered a little annex to the club where the
guns were kept.
Carter picked out one. "Here's Galts.”
Joe lifted it carelessly. “Twelve calibre,”
said he, examining it.
“Sure,” said Carter. “All the others uses
twelves, except Simonson. His is number ten.”
“Which of them has two guns?”
“Only Simonson.”
“Where are they?”
“Here's the one he used last night.”
“And the fellow to it ... his second gun?”
"In the case there."
Joe picked out the weapon, fitted it together,
and looked it over attentively. Then with equal
care he took it apart and replaced it in the
case.
"Joe, have you nothing to tell me? Joe!"
cried Miss East, her face vivid with fear and
hope.
“I'd like to ask Sitawanga Sally a question,”
said November, “and maybe Mr. Galt might
as well hear it.”
At a sign from Eileen, Carter, with a look of
149


NOVEMBER JOE
deep disgust on his face, went to fetch the wo-
man and the suspected man. Galt came in first,
accompanied by the police inspector. Mean-
while Joe had taken up Galt's gun and glanced
through the barrels. As Sitawanga Sally en-
tered, he snapped it to.
She was a full-blooded Indian and, like many
of her race, now that the first bloom of youth
was past, she might have been any age. Her
high cheekbones and wispy hair surrounded
sullen eyes. She stood and fixed them on Joe
with an expressionless stare. November re-
turned it.
“Say, Sally,” said he, at last. “What for
you kill old man Harrison?”
“No, no! Me not kill 'um! Galt kill 'um!"
she replied, showing her yellow fangs under a
bulging upper lip.
Joe shook his head. “It don't go any, Sally,"
said he. “I know you shot him with Mr.
Simonson's second gun in the case over there."
“Me no kill 'um! Me no kill 'um!” she cried.
Her arms, raised high for a moment in excite-
ment, dropped suddenly, and she fell again into
the stoicism which was her normal condition.
150


NOVEMBER JOE :
I guessed, whoever he was, the murderer must
'a' used a chokebore gun that threw the shot
very close and strong, and I began to think the
thing must have been done with a bigger bore
gun than a twelve. So I started to search
afresh, and in time I found a wad (
Mr. Quaritch
there has it) - a ten-bore wad recently fired.
“Now, Mr. Harrison had a twelve-bore and
so'd Mr. Galt. The only man who owned a ten
was Mr. Simonson, and he was the farthest
away of all in the screen near the clubhouse.
Besides, he was wearing boots with nails in the
soles, and he could never 'a' walked down that
bit of driftwood without leaving pretty clear
traces. So it were n't him, but I got pretty
certain it were some one using a full-choke ten-
bore and wearing either moccasins or rubbers.
Another point, the murder were n't done on
impulse, but whoever was guilty had thought it
all out beforehand.”
“Why do you say that?” chipped in the
officer.
“The number six shot. There were n't no
ten-bore shells loaded with number six. The
one who done it must have loaded them cart-
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THE MURDER AT THE DUCK CLUB
ridges o’purpose to bring suspicion on Mr.
Galt.”
“I see.”
“Well,” went on Joe. “That's as far as the
examining of Reedy Neck took me, and there
was nothing better left to do but to go round
and have a look at the canoes. Besides, Mr.
Galt told me and Mr. Quaritch he'd seen some
one moving about there on the south shore just
after the time the murder was committed. So
round we went, and there, sure enough, I come
on the tracks of a pair of small moccasins lead-
ing down to the canoe house and coming up
again.
“Sitawanga Sally,' says I to myself, 'those
footmarks looks mighty like yours.””
“But the blood, the blood in the canoe - it
could n't have been Harrison's ?”
“No, it were n't,” said Joe. “It were Sally's
own. She's weak and them ten-bore guns kicks
amazing. I guessed it bled her nose. Look at
her swelled cheek and lip.”
All the time, as Joe's words proved how he
had drawn the net round her, I watched the
stoic face of the Indian squaw. When he
153


NOVEMBER JOE
IMO
pointed to her swollen mouth, her features took
life, and an expression of the wildest and most
vindictive passion that I have ever seen flashed
out upon them. Recognizing the hopelessness
of her position she threw aside all subterfuge.
“Yes, me kill’um Harrison!” she cried. “Me
kill ’um good!”
“Oh, Sally,” cried Eileen. “He was always
so kind to you!"
“Harrison devil!” answered the Indian
woman passionately. “Me swear kill’um Moon-
of-Leaves time. Harrison kill 'um Prairie
Chicken — my son.”
“What does she mean?" Eileen looked round
wildly at us.
"I think I can tell you that,” said the inspec-
tor. “Moon-of-Leaves means June, and was n't
Mr. Harrison a judge back in the States?”
“Yes.”
“And he had sometimes to deal with the In-
dians from the Reserve. I remember hearing
this woman's son got into trouble for stealing
horses."
“Bad man say Prairie Chicken steal 'um,"
broke in Sally. “Black clothes - black clothes
154


THE MURDER AT THE DUCK CLUB
– men talk-talk. Then old man Harrison talk.
Take away Prairie Chicken - far, far. Me
follow.”
“That's so,” said the inspector. “I remem-
ber some judge tried Prairie Chicken, and gave
him ten years. It may hev been Judge Harri-
son. The Chicken died in gaol. If that is so, it
explains everything. Indians never forget.”
“Prairie Chicken, he dead. Me swear kill
’um Harrison. Now Prairie Chicken happy.
Me ready join ’um,” said the old squaw, and
relapsed once more into her stolid silence.
“She thought Mr. Harrison was directly re-
sponsible for the death of her son," added the
inspector.
“Poor woman!” said Eileen.
There is not much to add. Subsequent in-
quiries confirmed the inspector's facts and made
it clear that Sitawanga Sally, learning that
Harrison belonged to the Tamarind Club, had
taken service there for the direct purpose of
avenging her son. No doubt she noticed the af-
fection which was growing up between Eileen
and Galt, and attempted to incriminate the
155


NOVEMBER JOE
latter so as to obtain a fuller measure of revenge
as well as to draw suspicion away from herself.
Blood for blood is still the Indian creed. It is
simple and it is direct.
I think the whole case was best summed up
by November himself:-
"I guess our civilized justice does seem won-
derful topsy-turvy to them Indians sometimes,"
said he.


CHAPTER VII
THE CASE OF MISS VIRGINIA PLANX
NOVEMBER JOE and I had been following a
moose since daybreak, moving without speech.
We had not caught even a glimpse of the ani-
mal; all that I had seen were the huge, ungainly
tracks sunk deep in swampy ground or dug into
the hillsides.
Suddenly from somewhere ahead there broke
out the sound of two shots, and, after a minute,
of two more.
“That's mean luck,” said November. “It'll
scare our moose, sure. Pity! He's got a fine
set o’ horns, more'n fifty-six inches in the
spread.”
“How can you tell that? You have n't seen
him?"
Joe's grey eyes took on the look I now knew
well.
“I'm certain sure they spread not less than
fifty-six and not more'n sixty.... My! Look
157


NOVEMBER JOE
out! Them shots has put him back. He's com-
ing to us!”
There was a crashing in the undergrowth
sounding ever nearer, and soon a magnificent
bull-moose came charging into sight.
"He's your moose!” said Joe, as my shot
rang out. “You hit him fair behind the shoulder.
No need to shoot again.”
The great brute, weighing over twelve hun-
dred pounds, was stumbling forward in his death-
rush; all at once he collapsed, and silence reigned
once again in the forest. We ran up. He was
quite dead. I turned to Joe.
“Now we'll be able to measure his horns,” I
said, a little maliciously; for, to tell the truth,
I thought Joe had been drawing me when he
pretended to be able to tell within four inches
the measurements of the antlers of a moose
which he had not seen.
“Let's have that fine steel measuring-tape
you carry,” said Joe.
I produced it, and he stretched it across the
horns.
“Fifty-eight inches,” said he.
I looked at my hunter.
a moose
158


THE CASE OF MISS VIRGINIA PLANX
“It ain't nothing but simple,” he said. “I
see the scrape of his horns over and over ag'in
where he passed between the spruces. You can
always tell the size of horns that way.”
I laughed. “Confound you, Joe! You al-
ways
"
But here I was checked. Bang, bang! went
the rifle in the distance, and again, Bang, bang!
After an interval the shots were repeated.
“Two shots going on at steady intervals,”
said Joe. “That's a call for help. There they
go again. We'd best follow them up."
We travelled for half an hour, guided by the
sounds; then Joe stopped.
"Here's his trail — a heavy man not used
to the woods.”
"I can see he's heavy by the deep prints,"
said I. “But why do you say he's not used to
woods? He's wearing moccasins, is n't he?"
“Sure he is.” November Joe pointed to the
tracks. “But he's walking on his heels and on
the sides of his feet. A man don't do that unless
his feet is bruised and sore.”
We hurried on, and soon came in sight of a
man standing among the trees. We saw him
159


NOVEMBER JOE
raise his rifle and fire twice straight upwards to
the sky.
“It's Planx!” said Joe in surprise.
“What? The millionaire you went into the
woods with to locate timber last year?”
“The identical man.”
As we approached, Joe hailed him. Planx
started, and then began to move as quickly as
he could towards us. He was a thick-shouldered,
stout man, his big body set back upon his hips,
his big chin thrust forward in a way that accen-
tuated the arroganceof his bulging lips and eyes.
“Can you guide me to the house of Novem-
ber — Ho! It's you, Joe!”
“Yes, Mr. Planx."
“That is lucky, for I need your help. I need
it as no man has ever needed it before."
“Huh! How's that?”
“My daughter was murdered yesterday.”
The words made me gasp, and not me only.
“Miss Virginny!” cried Joe. “You can't
mean that. Nobody would be brute enough to
kill Miss Virginny!”
Planx made no reply, but stared at Joe in a
sombre and convincing silence.
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THE CASE OF MISS VIRGINIA PLANX
“When did it happen?”
“Some time before five o'clock yesterday
evening. But I'll put you wise as we walk. I'm
stopping at Wilshere's camp, four miles along.
Ed told me you lived round here, and I set out
to find you."
As we walked Planx gave us the following
facts: It appeared that he had been spending
the last two weeks in a log hut which had been
lent him by a friend, Mr. Wilshere. His house-
hold consisted of one servant, — his daughter's
nurse, a middle-aged woman whom they had
brought with them from New York, — two
guides, and a man cook. On the previous day
Miss Virginia had taken her rod after lunch, as
she had often done before, and gone off to the
river to fish.
“What hour was it when she left?" asked
November.
“Half-past one. About three o'clock one of
the guides who was cutting wood near the river
saw her. She had put down her rod and was
reading a book. At five I went to join her. She
was not there. Her rod lay broken and there
were signs of a struggle and the tracks of two
ver
161


NOVEMBER JOE
men. I shouted for Ed, the old guide. He came
running down and we took up the trail. It led
us straight over to Mooseshank Lake. The
ruffians had put her in our own canoe and gone
out on the lake.”
Planx paused, and presently continued:-
“We went round the lake and found on the
far side the spot where they had beached the
canoe. Leading up into the woods from that
point, we again struck the trail of the two
men, but my daughter was no longer with
them.”
“Are you sure of that?”
“As certain as you'll be yourself later on.
From the river to the lake the tracks showed
they were carrying her. When they left the
canoe they were going light. They must have
drowned her in the lake. It's clear enough.
Presently I saw something floating on the
water, it was her hat."
"Had Miss Virginny any jewelry on her?"
asked Joe.
“A watch and a necklace.”
“What value?”
“Seven or eight hundred dollars."
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THE CASE OF MISS VIRGINIA PLANX
"Huh,” said November reflectively. “And
what did you do after finding her hat?”.
“We trailed the two villains until they got
on to some rocky ground. It was too dark then
to do more, so we returned. Ed (he's the
best tracker of my two guides) got away at
dawn to see if he could n't puzzle out the trail.”
“Did he?"
“He had not returned when I started for your
place.”
“We've only three hours daylight left,” said
Joe. “Let's travel.”
Which we did, the huge Planx, for all his un-
wieldy build, keeping up wonderfully well.
In about an hour we reached the river. A
man was standing on the bank.
“Any luck, Ed?" shouted Planx.
“Could n't find another sign among them
rocks.”
Planx turned to Joe. “Five thousand dollars
if you lay hands on them,” he said. “You, Ed,
go back to the house and see if there's any
news.”
Joe was already at work. By the river the
traces were so plain that any one could read
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NOVEMBER JOE
them -- the slender feet of the victim and the
larger footprints of the two men. The fishing-
rod, snapped off towards the top of the middle
joint, had been left where it had fallen. It
seemed as if the girl had tried to defend herself
with it.
When he examined this spot, Joe made one or
two casts up and down the bank, hovering here
and there while Planx stood on the top of the
slope and gloomily watched him. Now and then
he asked a question.
"She started fishing about an acre down-
stream, got her line hung up twice, and the sec-
ond time lost her fly. She had a fish on after
that, but never landed it,” said Joe in reply.
“Bah! How do you know all this?” growled
Planx.
“First time her tracks show where she dis-
engaged her hook from a tree; next time I see
the hook sticking in a branch. As to the fish,
it's plain enough. First she runs upstream, then
down, then up again, then back in a bit of a
circle — must have been a heavy fish that made
her move about like that. Now let's get to the
lake.”
nove
164


THE CASE OF MISS VIRGINIA PLANX
November literally nosed his way along. The
moccasined tracks of the two men showed
faintly here and there on the softer parts of the
ground.
“Looks as if they was toting something,"
said Joe. “They must 'a' carried her. Stop!
They set her down here for a spell.”
Another moment brought us over the rise
and in sight of Mooseshank Lake. I halted in-
voluntarily.
The lake lay black and still upon the knees
of a great mountain. Forests climbed to the
margin and looked down into its depths on the
one side; on the other the water lapsed in slow
pulsations on a beach of stones, that stretched
beneath bare and towering cliffs. Sunshine yet
blazed upon the treetops, but the lake was al-
ready sunk in shadow. The place seemed
created for the scene of a tragedy.
November had pushed on to the spot where
footprints and other signs showed where the
men had entered the canoe. The deep slide of
a moccasined foot in the mud seemed to tell of
the effort it required to get the girl embarked.
“They took her out on the lake and murdered
TIL
165


NOVEMBER JOE
her!” groaned Planx. “Dragging? There's no
use dragging, that water goes plumb down to
the root of the world. It was surveyed last
year by Wilshere's people, and they could get
no soundings.”
After that we went round to the other side
of the lake, and saw the beached canoe. The
two sets of moccasined tracks showed clearly
on the strip of mud by the water, but were soon
lost in the tumbled débris of a two-year-old
stony landslip over which trailing appeared
quite impossible. November was busy about
this landing-place for a longer time than I ex-
pected, then he crossed the landslide at right
angles and disappeared from our view.
“There's a stream over there comes in a little
waterfall from the cliffs,” said Planx, pointing
after Joe. “You can hear it.”
That was all the conversation that passed
between us until Joe returned. He came hurry-
ing towards us.
“Say, Mr. Planx,” he began.
“What is it?"
“She is n't dead."
“What?"
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THE CASE OF MISS VIRGINIA PLANX
“Anyways, she was n't when she passed
here.”
“Then where are her tracks?” demanded
Planx, pointing to the footprints on the mud.
“Those were made by two full-sized men.”
“Aye,” said Joe, “maybe I can tell you more
about that later. But I have a proof here that
you will think mighty good.” He drew out a
little leather case I had given him, and extracted
from it a long hair of a beautiful red-gold colour.
“Look at that! I found it in the spruces above
there."
Planx took it gently in his great fingers. He
was visibly much moved. For a few seconds he
held it without speaking, then, “That grew on
Virginia's head sure enough, Joe. Is it possible
my girl is alive?”
"She is, sure! Don't be afeared, you'll soon
have news of her. I can promise you that, Mr.
Planx. This was n't no case of murder. It's just
an abduction. They'd never be such fools as to
kill her! They're cuter than that. Is n't she
your daughter? They'll hold her to big ransom.
That's their game.”
i An ugly look came into Planx's eyes. “That's
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NOVEMBER JOE
their game, is it? I'm not a man that it is easy
to milk dollars from," said he.
By this time it was growing too dark for Joe
to work any longer. We crossed the lake with
Planx, and that night Joe and I camped near
the end of Mooseshank Lake, where a stream
flowed from it.
“We're not far from the little waterfall and
the string of water that drops from it down the
hill near the landslip,” said Joe. “I want to get
back there early in the morning, and this is the
nearest way."
But after events altered his intentions.
At dawn, while we were having breakfast,
Joe stood up and stared into the trees that grew
thick behind us. As he called out, I looked back
and saw the indistinct figure of a man in their
shadow watching us. He beckoned, and we
approached him. I saw he was young, with
a pale face and rather shabby town-made
clothes.
“Don't you remember Walter Calvey, No-
vember?” he said, holding out his hand. “I was
with you and Mr. Planx, and — and — her last
year in the woods."
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NOVEMBER JOE
as S
“You go and start into business again," ad-
vised Joe. “I'll send you word first thing I
know for certain."
But it was some time before he could induce
Calvey to leave us. After he had gone, I won-
dered whether Joe suspected him of having a
hand in spiriting away Virginia. Presently I
asked him.
Joe shook his head. “He could n't have done
it if he wanted to! He's a good young chap, but
look at his boots and his clothes - he was bred
on a pavement, but he's Miss Virginny's choice
for all that. We'll start now, Mr. Quaritch, just
where I found that bit of gold caught in a
branch that hangs over the little stream up above
there. You see, she lost her hat, and she has a
splendid lot of hair, and so when I could find no
tracks, — for they came down the bed of the
stream, - I searched 'bout as high as her head.
I guessed she'd be liable to catch her hair in a
branch.”
But we had hardly started when we heard the
voice of Planx roaring in the wood below us. He
was coming along at an extraordinary pace in
spite of his ungainly, rolling stride.
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THE CASE OF MISS VIRGINIA PLANX
“You were right, Joe, Virginia is alive! It is
a case of abduction. See what I have here.”
He held a long stick or wand in his hand. The
top of the wand was roughly split, and a scrap
of paper stuck in the cleft.
“Ed's just found this in the canoe on the
lake,” he went on. “These blackguards must
have come back in the night and put it there.”
“What have they said in the paper?” asked
November.
“You must pay to get your daughter back. If
you want our terms, come to the old log camp on
Black Lake to-morrow night. No tricks. We have
you rounded up, sure. Don't try to track us, or
we will make it bad for her.”
Joe took the stick and examined it with care.
“They meant to leave it stuck in the ground
Indian fashion,” said I, for I had seen letters of
Indians made conspicuous in this way by lonely
banks of rivers and other places where wander-
ing hunters pass.
“They meant to do that, but found the
canoe handy.” Joe touched the ends of the
wand. “Green spruce wood, cut near their
camp,” said he.
wa
171


NOVEMBER JOE
no
“There's plenty of spruce like that right
here,” objected Planx; “why do you say it was
cut near their camp?”
"It's cut and split with a heavy axe, such as
no man ever carries about with him. Well, we'd
best do no more tracking till we see the chaps
that has Miss Virginny. It's Black Lake to-
night, then?”
“Yes, meet me by the alder swamp that's
west of Wilshere's place,” said Planx.
He stayed talking for a while, and after he
was gone we shifted our camp to a more con-
venient spot and waited for the evening.
Black Lake lies at a distance of some five
miles from Wilshere's, and as it abounded in
grey trout, a log hut had been built for the
convenience of the occasional fishermen who
visited it. Starting early we came in sight of
the lake while the glow was still in the western
sky.
On the way, Planx made known to us his
plan of campaign. It was a simple one. He
would get the men into the hut, and speak them
fair till a favourable moment presented itself,
when he would demand the surrender of his
172


THE CASE OF MISS VIRGINIA PLANX
daughter under threat of shooting the kidnap-
pers if they refused or demurred.
“There are three of us, and we can fix them
easy,” said Planx.
November Joe shook his head. “They're not
near such big fools as you think them,” he
remarked.
We had stopped on some high ground in the
shelter of the woods, from which we could see
the fishing-hut. Planx took a look round with
his field glass.
“No sign of life anywhere,” he said.
In fact, when we approached it after darkness
had fallen, the place seemed entirely deserted.
Nevertheless, Joe signed to us to wait while he
went on to reconnoitre. He vanished with his
silent, Indian-like glide, his movements as in-
audible as those of a ghost. In about five min-
utes a light suddenly sprang up in the hut and
Joe's voice called us.
As we entered the door, I saw Joe had kindled
a lantern and was pointing to a piece of paper
which lay on the rough-hewn table.
Planx seized upon it.
“The same writing as before. Listen to this:
173


NOVEMBER JOE
'If you will swear to give us safe conduct, we will
come to talk it out. If you agree to this, wave the
lantern three times on the lake shore, and that
will mean you give your oath to let us come and
come and
go freely.""
"I told you they were not fools,” said Joe.
“What's the orders now, Mr. Planx?”
Planx handed Joe the lantern. “Go and
From the door of the hut we watched Novem-
ber as he walked down to the lake. At the third
swing of the light, a voice hailed him.
“You hear? They were waiting in a canoe,”
said Planx to me. “That's 'cute."
Then followed the splash of paddles and the
rasp of the frosted rushes as the canoe took the
shore. Joe had returned by this time, and hung
up the lantern so that it lit the whole of the hut.
Then the three of us stood together at one side
of the table.
Our visitors hesitated outside the door.
“There are only two of them,” whispered
Planx.
As he spoke, a short, bearded man, in a thick
overcoat, stepped into the light, followed by a
174


THE CASE OF MISS VIRGINIA PLANX
tall and strongly built companion. Both wore
black visor masks, with fringe covering the
mouth. I noticed they were shod in moccasins.
“Evenin',” said the tall man, who was
throughout the spokesman.
To this no one made any reply, so, after a
second or so, he went on.
"My partner and me is come to make you
an offer, Mr. Planx. We've got your daughter
where you'll never find her, where you'd never
dream of looking for her.”
“Don't be too sure of that,” growled Planx.
The tall man passed over the remark without
notice.
“If we agree on a bargain, she shall be re-
turned to you unhurt three days from the time
the price is paid over. And that price is one
hundred thousand dollars.
“Those are our terms. The question for you
is, do you want your daughter, or do you not?”
The next incident was as swift as it was un-
expected.
“I conjecture that is something of an easy
question to answer,” said Planx in his slow
tones. “In fact I -".
175


NOVEMBER JOE
W
On the word he slipped out a revolver. But
quick as was Planx's hand to carry out the im-
pulse of his brain, Joe's was quicker. He
knocked the revolver from Planx's grasp.
“You treacherous dog, Planx!” cried the kid-
napper. “Is that how you keep faith? Well, we
have a reply to that, too. We offered to give up
the girl for one hundred thousand dollars, now
we make the price one hundred and fifty thou-
sand!”
“I'll never pay a cent of it!" shouted Planx.
“When you come to change your mind,”
replied the kidnapper quietly, “just hang a white
handkerchief on one of the trees at the edge of
this wood. Then put the money in notes in that
tin on the shelf. Leave us two clear days, and
you'll get your girl back safe. But if you mon-
key, it will be the worse for her.”
Without more words, the two masked men
left the hut, and before long we heard the sound
of their paddles upon the water. For a few mo-
ments we listened until the noise died away,
then, like the explosion of a thunderstorm,
Planx opened upon Joe.
November faced the storm with an entirely
176


-
-
-
-
-


NOVEMBER JOE.
“What do you make of them?” asked he, at
last.
one of the same men as we saw before, I think,”
I answered.
Joe nodded.
“Well, you're out of it now at any rate,”
said I.
“And what about my promise to Calvey?”
he rejoined. “I'm deeper in it than ever. I've
got to find Miss Virginny sure.”
“You can't track her because of that threat
in the letter to Planx?"
“That's so, and I have another reason ag'in'
it.”
“What is it?"
“That I'll be speaking to Miss Virginny her-
self before to-morrow night,” said Joe quietly,
nor, having made this dramatic announcement,
would he say more.
The next morning Joe was early astir.
“What are you going to do to-day?” said I.
“I'm going to find out the name of the man
that has Miss Virginny hid away. If you'll
wait here, Mr. Quaritch, I'll come back as soon
178


NOVEMBER JOE
Joe laughed. “All the same, he's the chap
who done it,” said he. “I expect he's got her up
at his cabin on Otter Brook.”
“Look here, November,” I said. “You tell
me Hank Harper is in the kidnapping business,
and I believe you, because I've never known
you speak without solid facts behind you; but
I think you owe me the whole yarn."
Joe pulled out his pipe. “All right, Mr. Quar-
itch. We've some time to put in, anyway, be-
fore we need start to go to Harper's, and I'll
spend the time in showing you how I lit on
Hank. To begin at the beginning. There are
two of them. One's this man Harper. I don't
know who the other is, and it don't much matter.
If we find Harper, we find his partner. Well,
Miss Virginny was fishing when they stole down
upon her and carried her off. I've already told
you what happened until they took to the canoe.
They paddled across the lake and the two men
got out, leaving Miss Virginny in the canoe to
paddle herself round and land elsewhere."
“But surely she could have escaped,” I cried.
“She was under their rifles, and had to do
exactly what she was ordered. I found where
180


THE CASE OF MISS VIRGINIA PLANX
she'd landed, and followed her tracks to that
little waterfall stream, and it was there I found
the golden hair. So far, you see, everything
fitted in together as good as the jaws of a trap,
and the message on the bit of paper about a
ransom carried it further on. So did the talk
we had with Harper - it must have been him
did the speaking — at Black Lake. When I
knocked up Planx's revolver, I was wonderful
sorry to have to do it, but a promise is a promise,
and he'd passed his word for a safe-conduct.
After, when my eyes fell upon the trail left
by Harper's partner, I knew I never done a
better act in my life.”
“Explain, Joe!”
“That trail showed me I'd been wrong in my
notions of the business, wrong from beginning
to end.”
“Wrong? Why, as you said yourself, it fits
in all along."
“Did you take any notice of that trail?” in-
quired Joe.
“It seemed an ordinary trail, with nothing
special about it.”
. “Was n't there? It give me a start, I can tell
181


NOVEMBER JOE
you, Mr. Quaritch! You see all the weight was
in the middle of the moccasin. The heels and
toes were hardly marked at all.”
November looked at me as if expecting me
to see the meaning of this peculiarity, but I
shook my head.
"It meant that the foot inside the moccasin
was a very little one, a good bit shorter than the
moccasin.”
“You can't mean – ” I began.
“Yes,” said Joe. “The second person at
Black Lake was n't a man at all, but just Miss
Virginny herself!"
“Well, if that was so, why she had the game
in her hands then, -she had only to appeal to
us, — to speak.”
Joe interrupted me. “Hers was another sort
of game. You see I'm pretty sure that Miss
Virginny has kidnapped herself, or at any rate
consented to be kidnapped!” He waited for
this amazing statement to sink in before he
continued. "The minute I come to that fact,
I knew that my notion about her being covered
with their rifles at the lake and all that was
wrong, plumb wrong. She had just paddled
182


THE CASE OF MISS VIRGINIA PLANX
round and joined the two men later; and then,
when I come to think over it careful, I saw how
I might raise the name of the man that was
helping her.”
“It does not look an easy thing to do,” I
said.
Joe smiled. “I lit out for Wilshere's camp,
and asked the woman if there was anything of
Miss Virginny's missing from her room. She
said there was n't. Then I saw my way a bit.
I was in the woods with Miss Virginny last
year, and I know she's mighty particular about
personal things. I don't believe she could live a
day without a sponge and a comb, and most of
all without a toothbrush - none of them high-
toned gals can. Is n't that so?”
“Yes, that is so, but —"
“Well,” went on November, “if she went of
her own free will, as I was thinking she did –
or else why did she come to Black Lake? — if,
as I say, I was right in my notion, and she'd
made out the plans and kidnapped herself, the
man who was with her would be only just her
servant, in a manner of speaking. And I was
certain that one of the first things she'd do
183


NOVEMBER JOE
would be to send him to some store to buy the
things she wanted most. She could n't get her
own from Planx's camp without giving herself
away, so she was bound to send Hank to hike
out new ones from somewhere."
“What happened then?”
“I started in on the stores roundabout this
country, and with luck I stepped into the big
store at Lavette, and asked if any one had been
buying truck of that kind. They told me Hank
Harper. I asked just what. They said a hair-
brush, a comb, a couple of toothbrushes, and
some other gear. That was enough for me.
They were n't for Mrs. Hank, who's a half-
breed woman, and don't always remember to
clean herself o' Saturdays."
“I see,” said I.
“The things was bought yesterday, so it all
fits in, and there's no more left to find out but
why Miss Virginny acted the way she has, and
that we'll know before to-morrow.”
It was well on towards ten o'clock that night
before we reached Harper's cabin on Otter
Brook. At first we knocked and knocked in
184


THE CASE OF MISS VIRGINIA PLANX
vain, but at length a gruff voice demanded an-
grily what we wanted.
“Tell Miss Virginny Planx that November
Joe would like a word or two with her.”
“Are you drunk,” shouted the man, “or
only crazy?”
"I've tracked her down fair and square and
I've got to see her.”
“I tell you she is n't here.”
"Let me in to make sure for myself.”
“If a man comes to my door with a threat,
I'll meet him with my rifle in my hand. So
you're warned,” came from the cabin.
“All right, then I'll start back to report to
Mr. Planx.”
On the words the door opened and a vivid,
appealing face looked out. “Come in, dear
Joe,” said a honeyed voice.
“Thank you, Miss Virginny, I will,” said
Joe.
We entered. A lamp and the fire lit up the
interior of a poor trapper's cabin, and lit up
also the tall slim form of Miss Virginny Planx.
She wore a buckskin hunting shirt belted in to
her waist, and her glorious hair hung down her
185


NOVEMBER JOE
back in a thick and heavy plait. She held out
her hand to Joe with one of the sweetest smiles
I have ever seen or dreamed of.
“You're not going to give me away, dear
Joe, are you?” said she.
“You've given yourself away, have n't you,
Miss Virginny?"
Virginia Planx looked him in the eyes, then
she laughed. “I see that I have n't. But can I
speak before this gentleman?”
Joe hastened to vouch for my discretion,
while Hank Harper nursed his rifle and glowered
from the background, where also one could dis-
cern the dark face of the half-breed squaw. But
Miss Virginia showed her complete command
of the situation.
“Coffee for these two, please, Mrs. Harper,”
she cried, and while we were drinking it she
told us her story.
“You maybe heard of old Mr. Schelperg, of
the Combine?” she began. “My father wanted
to force me to marry him. Why he's fifty by
the look of him, and ... I'd much rather drown
myself than marry him.”
“There's younger and better-looking boys
186



SHE HELD OUT HER HAND TO JOE





THE CASE OF MISS VIRGINIA PLANX
around, I surmise, Miss Virginny?” returned
November meaningly.
Virginia flushed a lovely red. “Why, Joe,
it's no use blinding you, for you remember
Walter Calvey, don't you?”
“Sure! So it's him. That's good. But I
heard he was out of his business,” said Joe with
apparent simplicity.
“I must tell you all, or you won't understand
what I did or why I did it. My father ruined
Walter, because that would anyhow put off our
marriage. Then, when the Schelperg affair came
on and he gave me no rest, I could not stand it
any longer. You see, he is so clever he would
pay all my bills, no matter how heavy, but he
never let me have more than five dollars in my
pocket, so that I was helpless. I could never see
Walter, nor could I hear from him, and all the
time Schelperg was given the run of the house."
November was audibly sympathetic, and so
was I.
"Then one day this notion came to me, I
planned it all out, and got Hank to help. (I'd
have asked you, dear Joe, if you'd been there.)
Come now, Joe, you must see how good a pupil
187


NOVEMBER JOE
I was to you, and how much I remembered of
your tracking, which I used to bother you to
teach me.”
“You're right smart at it, Miss Virginny!”
“I arranged the broken rod, and Hank and
his brother carried me to the canoe, then they
got out on the other side of the lake and I
paddled up near to the rock by the waterfall, to
put the police or whoever should be sent after
me off my trail. I'm real hurt I did n't de-
ceive you, Joe.”
“But you did right through — till you come
to Black Lake,” Joe assured her.
“But you did not recognize me then?" she
cried, “and I'd put on a pair of Hank's mocca-
sins to make big tracks!”
November explained, and added the story of
his dismissal by Planx.
“Well, it's lucky you were there, anyhow, or
we'd have had poor Hank shot. That fixed me
in my determination to get the money. I want
it for Walter, I want to make up to him for all
that my father has made him lose.”
“So Mr. Calvey is in this, too?” said Joe in a
queer voice.
188


THE CASE OF MISS VIRGINIA PLANX
"If you mean that he knows anything about
it, you’re absolutely wrong!” exclaimed Vir-
ginia passionately. “If he knew, do you think
he'd ever take the money? It's going to be sent
to him without any name or clue as to where it
comes from. Walter is as straight a man as
yourself, November Joe!” she added proudly.
“You know him and yet you suspected him!”
“I did n't say I did. I was asking for informa-
tion,” said Joe submissively. “But you have n't
got the money yet.”
“No! But I'll get it in time.”
And in the end Miss Virginia triumphed.
She received her ransom in full, and it is to be
doubted if Mr. Planx ever had an idea of the
trick played on him. And I'm inclined to think
Mr. Walter Calvey is still in the dark, too, as to
the identity of his anonymous friend. But two
things are certain — Mrs. Virginia Calvey is a
happy woman, and Hank Harper is doing well
on a nice two hundred acre farm for which he
pays no rent.


CHAPTER VIII
THE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLAR ROBBERY
THE HUNDRED THE
ND DOLLAR ROBBERY
“I WANT the whole affair kept unofficial and
secret,” said Harris, the bank manager.
November Joe nodded. He was seated on the
extreme edge of a chair in the manager's private
office, looking curiously out of place in that
prim, richly furnished room.
“The truth is,” continued Harris, “we bank-
ers cannot afford to have our customers' minds
unsettled. There are, as you know, Joe, numbers
of small depositors, especially in the rural dis-
tricts, who would be scared out of their seven
senses if they knew that this infernal Cecil
James Atterson had made off with a hundred
thousand dollars. They'd never trust us again."
“A hundred thousand dollars is a wonderful
lot of money,” agreed Joe.
“Our reserve is over twenty millions, two
hundred times a hundred thousand,” replied
Harris grandiloquently.
Joe smiled in his pensive manner. “That so?
190


THE ROBBERY
Then I guess the bank won't be hurt if Atter-
son escapes,” said he.
"I shall be bitterly disappointed if you per-
mit him to do so," returned Harris. “But here,
let's get down to business.”
On the previous night, Harris, the manager of
the Quebec Branch of the Grand Banks of Can-
ada, had rung me up to borrow November Joe,
who was at the time building a log camp for me
on one of my properties. I sent Joe a telegram,
with the result that within five hours of its
receipt he had walked the twenty miles into
Quebec, and was now with me at the bank
ready to hear Harris's account of the robbery.
The manager cleared his throat and began
with a question:-
"Have you ever seen Atterson?”
"No."
"I thought you might have. He always
spends his vacations in the woods — fishing,
usually. The last two years he has fished Red
River. This is what happened. On Saturday
I told him to go down to the strong-room to
fetch up a fresh batch of dollar and five-dollar
bills, as we were short. It happened that in the
191


NOVEMBER JOE
same safe there was a number of bearer se-
curities. Atterson soon brought me the notes I
had sent him for with the keys. That was about
noon on Saturday. We closed at one o'clock.
Yesterday, Monday, Atterson did not turn up.
At first I thought nothing of it, but when it
came to afternoon, and he had neither appeared
nor sent any reason for his absence, I began to
smell a rat. I went down to the strong-room and
found that over one hundred thousand dollars
in notes and bearer securities were missing.
“I communicated at once with the police and
they started to make inquiries. I must tell you
that Atterson lived in a boarding-house behind
the Frontenac. No one had seen him on Sunday,
but on Saturday night a fellow-boarder, called
Collings, reports Atterson as going to his room
about 10.30. He was the last person who saw
him. Atterson spoke to him and said he was off
to spend Sunday on the south shore. From that
moment Atterson has vanished.”
"Didn't the police findout anything further?”
inquired Joe.
“Well, we could n't trace him at any of the
railway stations."
192


THE ROBBERY
"I s'pose they wired to every other police-
station within a hundred miles?”
“They did, and that is what brought you into
it.”
“Why?”
“The constable at Roberville replied that a
man answering to the description of Atterson
was seen by a farmer walking along the Stone-
ham road, and heading north, on Sunday morn-
ing, early.”
“No more facts?”
“No.”
“Then let's get back to the robbery. Why
are you so plumb sure Atterson done it?”
“The notes and securities were there on
Saturday morning."
“How do you know?”
“It's my business to know. I saw them my-
self.”
"Huh!... And no one else went down to
the strong-room?”
“Only Atterson. The second clerk — it is a
rule that no employee may visit the strong-
room alone — remained at the head of the stairs,
while Atterson descended.”
193


THE ROBBERY
“What's the postmark?” asked Joe.
“Rimouski. Sunday, 9.30 A.M."
“It looks like Atterson 's the thief,” remarked
Joe.
“I've always been sure of it!” cried Harris.
“I was n’t,” said Joe.
“Are you sure of it now?"
“I'm inclined that way because Atterson
had that letter posted by a con-con- what's
the word?”
“Confederate?”
“You've got it. He was seen here in town on
Saturday at 10.30, and he could n't have posted
no letter in Rimouski in time for the 9.30 A.M.
on Sunday unless he'd gone there on the 7
o'clock express on Saturday evening. Yes, At-
terson's the thief, all right. And if that really
was he they saw Stoneham ways, he's had
time to get thirty miles of bush between us and
him, and he can go right on till he's on the
Labrador. I doubt you'll see your hundred
thousand dollars again, Mr. Harris."
“Bah! You can trail him easily enough?”
Joe shook his head. “If you was to put me
on his tracks I could,” said he, “but up there
195


NOVEMBER JOE
in the Laurentides he'll sure pinch a canoe and
make along a waterway.”
“Hm!” coughed Harris. “My directors won't
want to pay you two dollars a day for nothing.”
“Two dollars a day?” said Joe in his gentle
voice. “I should n't 'a' thought the two hun-
dred times a hundred thousand dollars could
stand a strain like that!”
I laughed. “Look here, November, I think
I'd like to make this bargain for you."
“Yes, sure,” said the young woodsman.
“Then I'll sell your services to Mr. Harris
here for five dollars a day if you fail, and ten
per cent of the sum you recover if you succeed.”
Joe looked at me with wide eyes, but he said
nothing.
“Well, Harris, is it on or off?” I asked.
“Oh, on, I suppose, confound you!” said
Harris.
November looked at both of us with a broad
smile.
Twenty hours later, Joe, a police trooper
named Hobson, and I were deep in the woods.
We had hardly paused to interview the farmer
196


THE ROBBERY
at Roberville, and then had passed on down the
old deserted roads until at last we entered the
forest, or, as it is locally called, the “bush.”
“Where are you heading for?” Hobson had
asked Joe.
“Red River, because if it really was Atter-
son the farmer saw, I guess he'll have gone up
there."
“Why do you think that?”
“Red River's the overflow of Snow Lake, and
there is several trappers has canoes on Snow
Lake. There's none of them trappers there now
in July month, so he can steal a canoe easy.
Besides, a man who fears pursuit always likes
to get into a country he knows, and you heard
Mr. Harris say how Atterson had fished Red
River two vacations. Besides” — here Joe
stopped and pointed to the ground — "them's
Atterson's tracks,” he said. “Leastways, it's
a black fox to a lynx pelt they are his.”
“But you've never seen him. What reason
have you ...?" demanded Hobson.
“When first we happened on them about four
hours back, while you was lightin' your pipe,”
replied Joe, “they come out of the bush, and
197


NOVEMBER JOE
when we reached near Cartier's place they went
back into the bush again. Then a mile beyond
Cartier's out of the bush they come on to the
road again. What can that circumventin' mean?
Feller who made the tracks don't want to be
seen. Number 8 boots, city-made, nails in 'em,
rubber heels. Come on.”
I will not attempt to describeour journey hour
by hour, nor tell how November held to the
trail, following it over areas of hard ground and
rock, noticing a scratch here and a broken twig
there. The trooper, Hobson, proved to be a good
track-reader, but he thought himself a better,
and, it seemed to me, was a little jealous of Joe's
obvious superiority.
We slept that night beside the trail. Accord-
ing to November, the thief was now not many
hours ahead of us. Everything depended upon
whether he could reach Red River and a canoe
before we caught up with him. Still it was not
possible to follow a trail in the darkness, so per-
force we camped. The next morning November
wakened us at daylight and once more we has-
tened forward.
For some time we followed Atterson's foot-
198


THE ROBBERY
steps and then found that they left the road.
The police officer went crashing along till Joe
stopped him with a gesture.
“Listen!” he whispered.
We moved on quietly and saw that, not fifty
yards ahead of us, a man was walking excitedly
up and down. His face was quite clear in the
slanting sunlight, a resolute face with a small,
dark mustache, and a two-days' growth of
beard. His head was sunk upon his chest in an
attitude of the utmost despair, he waved his
hands, and on the still air there came to us the
sound of his monotonous muttering.
We crept upon him. As we did so, Hobson
leapt forward and, snapping his handcuffs on
the man's wrists, cried:-
“Cecil Atterson, I've got you!”
Atterson sprang like a man on a wire, his face
went dead white. He stood quite still for a
moment as if dazed, then he said in a strangled
voice:-
“Got me, have you? Much good may it do
you!”
“Hand over that packet you’re carrying,"
answered Hobson.
199



CECIL ATTERSON, I'VE GOT YOU!





THE ROBBERY
O are
Then he turned to us. “You two are wit-
nesses.”
“Do you deny you're Cecil Atterson?” said
Hobson.
“No, I'm Atterson right enough.”
“Then look here, Atterson, your best chance
is to show us where you've hid the stuff. Your
counsel can put that in your favour at your
trial.”
"I'm not taking any advice just now, thank
you. I have said I know nothing of the robbery."
Hobson looked him up and down. “You'll
sing another song by and by,” he said ironi-
cally. “We may as well start in now, Joe, and
find where he's cached that packet.”
November was fingering over the pack which
lay open on the ground, examining it and its
contents with concentrated attention. Atterson
had sunk down under a tree like a man wearied
out.
Hobson and Joe made a rapid examination of
the vicinity. A few yards brought them to the
end of Atterson's tracks.
"Here's where he slept,” said Hobson. “It's
all pretty clear. He was dog-tired and just col-
201


NOVEMBER JOE
lapsed. I guess that was last night. It's an old
camping-place, this.” The policeman pointed
to weathered beds of balsam and the scars of
several camp-fires.
“Yes,” he continued, “that's what it is. But
the trouble is where has he cached the bank's
property?"
For upwards of an hour Hobson searched
every conceivable spot, but not so November
Joe, who, after a couple of quick casts down to
the river, made a fire, put on the kettle, and
lit his pipe. Atterson, from under his tree,
watched the proceedings with a drowsy lack of
interest that struck me as being particularly
well simulated.
At length Hobson ceased his exertions, and
accepted a cup of the tea Joe had brewed.
“There's nothing cached round here,” he said
in a voice low enough to escape the prisoner's
ear, “and his” – he indicated Atterson's re-
cumbent form with his hand — "trail stops
right where he slept. He never moved a foot
beyond that nor went down to the river, one
hundred yards away. I guess what he's done is
clear enough.”
202


NOVEMBER JOE
him. Do you think he's got the bills and papers
hid about here after all?”
“No,” said Joe.
Hobson stared at the answer, then turned to
go.
“Well,” said he, “you take your way and I'll
take mine. I reckon I'll get a confession out
of him before we reach Quebee. He's a pretty
tired man, and he don't rest nor sleep, no, nor
sit down, till he's put me wise as to where he
hid the stuff he stole.”
“He won't ever put you wise,” said Joe
definitely.
“Why do you say that?”
“'Cause he can't. He don't know himself.”
“Bah!” was all Hobson's answer as he turned
on his heel.
November Joe did not move as Hobson, his
wrist strapped to Atterson's, disappeared down
the trail by which we had come.
“Well,” I said, “what next?”
"I'll take another look around.” Joe leapt to
his feet and went quickly over the ground. I
accompanied him.
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THE ROBBERY
“What do you make of it?” he said at last.
“Nothing," I answered. “There are no tracks
nor other signs at all, except these two or three
places where old logs have been lying - I ex-
pect Atterson picked them up for his fire. I
don't understand what you are getting at any
more than Hobson does.”
"Huh!” said Joe, and led the way down to
the river, which, though not more than fifty
yards away, was hidden from us by the thick
trees. .
It was a slow-flowing river, and in the soft
mud of the margin I saw, to my surprise, the
quite recent traces of a canoe having been
beached. Beside the canoe, there was also on
the mud the faint mark of a paddle having lain
at full length.
Joe pointed to it. The paddle had evidently,
I thought, fallen from the canoe, for the impres-
sion it had left on the soft surface was very
slight.
“How long ago was the canoe here?”
“At first light — maybe between three and
four o'clock,” replied Joe.
“Then I don't see how it helps you at all.
205


NOVEMBER JOE
Its coming can't have anything to do with the
Atterson robbery, for the distance from here to
the camp is too far to throw a packet, and the
absence of tracks makes it clear that Atterson
cannot have handed the loot over to a con-
federate in the canoe. Is n't that right?”
“Looks that way,” admitted Joe.
“Then the canoe can be only a coincidence."
November shook his head. “I would n't go
quite so far as to say that, Mr. Quaritch."
Once again he rapidly went over the ground
near the river, then returned to the spot where
Atterson had slept, following a slightly different
track to that by which we had come. Then tak-
ing the hatchet from his belt, he split a dead log
or two for a fire and hung up the kettle once
more. I guessed from this that he had seen at
least some daylight in a matter that was still
obscure and inexplicable to me.
“I wonder if Atterson has confessed to Hob-
son yet,” I said, meaning to draw Joe.
“He may confess about the robbery, but he
can't tell any one where the bank property is.”
“You said that before, Joe. You seem very
sure of it."
206


THE ROBBERY
“I am sure. Atterson does n't know, because
he's been robbed in his turn.”
“Robbed!” I exclaimed.
Joe nodded.
“And the robber?”
“'Bout five foot six; light-weight; very
handsome; has black hair; is, I think, under
twenty-five years old; and lives in Lendeville,
or near it.”
"Joe, you've nothing to go on!” I cried.
“Are you sure of this? How can you know?”
"I'll tell you when I've got those bank bills
back. One thing's sure — Atterson 'll be better
off doing five years' hard than if he'd — But
here, Mr. Quaritch, I'm going too fast. Drink
your tea, and then let us make Lendeville. It's
all of eight miles upstream.”
It was still early afternoon when we arrived
in Lendeville, which could hardly be called a
village, except in the Canadian acceptance of
that term. It was composed of a few scattered
farms and a single general store. Outside one of
the farmhouses Joe paused.
"I know the chap that lives in here,” he said.
“He's a pretty mean kind of a man, Mr.
207


NOVEMBER JOE
“Oh, yes, that's comic. 'Twas Simon and no
that grinning lassie they call Phèdre!... Atter-
son? Tush! I tell ye, if ever a man made a fule
o'himself ..."
But here, despite McAndrew's protests, Joe
left the farm.
At the store which was next visited, we learned
the position of the Pointarré steading and the
fact that old Pointarré, the daughters, Phèdre
and Claire, and one son, Simon, were at home,
while the other sons were on duty at the
mill.
Joe and I walked together along various
trails until from a hillside we were able to look
down upon the farm, and in a few minutes we
were knocking at the door.
It was opened by a girl of about twenty years
of age; her bright brown eyes and hair made
her very good-looking. Joe gave her a quick
glance.
“I came to see your sister,” said he.
“Simon,” called the girl, "here's a man to
see Phèdre.”
“What's his business?” growled a man's
voice from the inner room.
210


THE ROBBERY
ain
“I've a message for Miss Pointarré,” said
Joe.
“Let him leave it with you, Claire,” again
growled the voice.
“I was to give it to her and no one else,”
persisted Joe.
This brought Simon to the door. He was
brushed hair and a dark mustache. He stared
at us.
“I've never seen you before,” he said at last.
“No, I'm going south and I promised I'd
leave a message passing through,” replied Joe.
“Who sent you?”
“Can't tell that, but I guess Miss Pointarré
will know when I give her the message."
"Well, I suppose you'd best see her. She's
down bringing in the cows. You'll find her be-
low there in the meadow”; he waved his arm
to where we could see a small stream that ran
under wooded hills at a distance of about half
a mile. "Yes, you'll find her there below.”
Joe thanked him and we set off.
It did not take us long to locate the cows, but
there was no sign of the girl. Then, taking up a
211


NOVEMBER JOE
well-marked trail which led away into the bush,
we advanced upon it in silence till, round a clump
of pines, it debouched upon a large open shed or
byre. Two or three cows stood at the farther
end of it, and near them with her back to us was
a girl with the sun shining on the burnished
coils of her black hair.
A twig broke under my foot and she swung
round at the noise.
“What do you want?" she asked.
She was tall and really gloriously hand-
some.
“I've come from Atterson. I've just seen
him,” said November.
I fancied her breath caught for the fraction of
a second, but only a haughty surprise showed
in her face.
“There are many people who see him every
day. What of that?" she retorted.
“Not many have seen him to-day, or even
yesterday.”
Her dark blue eyes were fixed on November.
“Is he ill? What do you mean?”
“Huh! Don't they read the newspaper in
Lendeville? There's something about him going
212


THE ROBBERY
round. I came thinking you'd sure want to
hear,” said November.
The colour rose in Phèdre's beautiful face.
“They're saying,” went on Joe, “that he
robbed the bank where he is employed of a
hundred thousand dollars, and instead of try-
ing to get away on the train or by one of the
steamers, he made for the woods. That was all
right if a Roberville farmer had n't seen him.
So they put the police on his track and I went
with the police.”
Phèdre turned away as if bored. “What
interest have I in this? It ennuies me to lis-
ten.”
“Wait!” replied November. “With the
police I went, and soon struck Atterson's trail
on the old Colonial Post Road, and in time
come up with Atterson himself nigh Red River.
The police takes Atterson prisoner and searches
him."
“And got the money back!” she said scorn-
fully. “Well, it sounds silly enough. I don't
want to hear more.”
"The best is coming, Miss Pointarré. They
took him but they found nothing. Though they
213


NOVEMBER JOE
searched him and all roundabout the camp, they
found nothing.”
"He had hidden it, I suppose.”
“So the police thought. And I thought the
same, till...” (November's gaze never left
her face) "till I see his eyes. The pupils were
like pin-points in his head.” He paused and
added, “I got the bottle of whiskey that was in
his pack. It'll go in as evidence."
“Of what?" she cried impatiently.
“That Atterson was drugged and the bank
property stole from him. You see,” continued
Joe, “this robbery was n't altogether Atter-
son's own idea.”
“Ah!”
“No, I guess he had the first notion of it
when he was on his vacation six weeks back. ...
He was in love with a wonderful handsome girl.
Blue eyes she had and black hair, and her teeth
was as good as yours. She pretended to be in
love with him, but all along she was in love with
— well, I can't say who she was in love with —
herself likely. Anyway, I expect she used all her
influence to make Atterson rob the bank and
then light out for the woods with the stuff. He
214


THE ROBBERY
does all she wants. On his way to the woods she
meets him with a pack of food and necessaries.
In that pack was a bottle of drugged whiskey.
She asks him where he's going to camp that
night, he suspects nothing and tells her, and off
she goes in a canoe up Red River till she comes
to opposite where he's lying drugged. She lands
and robs him, but she don't want him to know
who done that, so she plays an old game to
conceal her tracks. She's a rare active young
woman, so she carries out her plan, gets back
to her canoe and home to Lendeville. ... Need
I tell any more about her?”
During Joe's story Phèdre's colour had
slowly died away.
“You are very clever!” she said bitterly.
“But why should you tell me all this?”
“Because I'm going to advise you to hand
over the hundred thousand dollars you took
from Atterson. I'm in this case for the bank.”
"I?” she exclaimed violently. “Do you dare
to say that I had anything whatever to do with
this robbery, that I have the hundred thousand
dollars? ... Bah! I know nothing about it.
How should I?”
215


NOVEMBER JOE
Joe shrugged his shoulders. “Then I beg
your pardon, Miss Pointarré, and I say good-
bye. I must go and make my report to the
police and let them act their own way." He
turned, but before he had gone more than a step
or two, she called to him.
“There is one point you have missed for all
your cleverness,” she said. “Suppose what you
have said is true, may it not be that the girl
who robbed Atterson took the money just to
return it to the bank?”
“Don't seem to be that way, for she has just
denied all knowledge of the property, and
denied she had it before two witnesses. Besides,
when Atterson comes to know that he's been
made a cat's-paw of, he'll be liable to turn
King's evidence. No, miss, your only chance is
to hand over the stuff — here and now.”
"To you!” she scoffed. “And who are you?
What right have you ..."
“I'm in this case for the bank. Old Mc-
Andrew knows me well and can tell you my
name."
“What is it?”
“People mostly call me November Joe.”.
216


THE ROBBERY
She threw back her head — every attitude,
every movement of hers was wonderful.
“Now, supposing that the money could be
found ... what would you do?”
“I'd go to the bank and tell them I'd make
shift to get every cent back safe for them if
they'd agree not to prosecute ... anybody."
“So you are man enough not to wish to see
me in trouble?”
November looked at her. “I was sure not
thinking of you at all,” he said simply, “but of
Bank-Clerk Atterson, who's lost the girl he
robbed for and ruined himself for. I'd hate to
see that chap over-punished with a dose of gaol
too. . . . But the bank people only wants their
money, and I guess if they get that they'll be
apt to think the less said about the robbery
the better. So if you take my advice — why,
now's the time to see old McAndrew. You
see, Miss Pointarré, I've got the cinch on
you."
She stood still for a while. “I'll see old man
McAndrew,” she cried suddenly. “I'll lead.
It's near enough this way.”
Joe turned after her, and I followed. Without
217


NOVEMBER JOE
arousing McAndrew's suspicions, Joe satisfied
the girl as to his identity.
Before dark she met us again. “There!” she
said, thrusting a packet into Joe's hand. “But
look out for yourself! Atterson is n't the only
man who'd break the law for love of me. Think
of that at night in the lonely bush!”
I saw her sharp white teeth grind together as
the words came from between them.
“My!” ejaculated November looking after
her receding figure, “she's a bad loser, ain't she,
Mr. Quaritch?”
We went back into Quebec, and Joe made
over to the bank the amount of their loss as soon
as Harris, the manager, agreed (rather against
his will) that no questions should be asked nor
action taken.
The same evening I, not being under the same
embargo regarding questions, inquired from Joe
how in the world the fair Phèdre covered her
tracks from the canoe to where Atterson was
lying.
“That was simple for an active girl. She
walked ashore along the paddle, and after her
218


THE ROBBERY
return to the canoe threw water upon the mark
it made in the mud. Did n't you notice how
faint it was?”
“But when she got on shore — how did she
hide her trail then
“It's not a new trick. She took a couple of
short logs with her in the canoe. First she'd put
one down and step onto it, then she'd put the
other one farther and step onto that. Next
she'd lift the one behind, and so on. Why did
she do that? Well, I reckon she thought the
trick good enough to blind Atterson. If he'd
found a woman's tracks after being robbed,
he'd have suspected.”
"But you said before we left Atterson's
camp that whoever robbed him was middle
height, a light weight, and had black hair.”
"Well, had n't she? Light weight because
the logs was n't much drove into the ground,
not tall since the marks of them was so close
together.”
“But the black hair?"
Joe laughed. “That was the surest thing of
the lot, and put me wise to it and Phèdre at the
start. Twisted up in the buckle of the pack she
219


NOVEMBER JOE
gave Atterson I found several strands of splen-
did black hair. She must 'a' caught her hair in
the buckles while carrying it.”
“But, Joe, you also said at Red River that
the person who robbed Atterson was not more
than twenty-five years old?”
“Well, the hair proved it was a woman, and
what but being in love with her face would
make a slap-up bank-clerk like Atterson have
any truck with a settler's girl? And them kind
are early ripe and go off their looks at twenty-
five. I guess, Mr. Quaritch, her age was a pretty
safe shot."


CHAPTER IX
THE LOOTED ISLAND
was a
It was a clear night, bright with stars. Joe
and I were sitting by our camp-fire near one of
the fjords of western Alaska, where we had
gone on a hunting expedition after the great
moose of the West.
I was talking, when suddenly Joe touched
me.
: “Shsh!” he whispered. “There's some feller
moving down by the creek.”
"Impossible!” I said. “Why, we're a hun-
dred miles from —”
“He's coming this way.” Joe rose and mo-
tioned me back among the shadows. “There's
some queer folk round here, I guess. Best be
taking no chances.”
We waited, and I was soon aware of a figure
advancing through the night.
Then a voice said, "Fine night, mates," and
a sinewy, long-armed fellow, with a bushy red
beard, stepped into the circle of light.
221



BOTH MEN WERE COVERING EACH OTHER WITH
REVOLVERS


THE LOOTED ISLAND
ticed an island about eight miles off the coast,
lying nor’-nor-west?”
“Sort of loaf-shaped island? Yes.”
“That's where I come from — Eel Island. I
have a fox farm there. I returned to it yester-
day after a run down to Valdez. When I went
away a fortnight ago, I left my man in charge of
some of the finest black foxes between this and
Ungava. I got back to find the foxes all killed
and my hired man gone — disappeared.”
“Who was he?"
“An Aleut, called Sam. He's been in my em-
ploy three years. I see what you're thinking
—that he killed the foxes, and I'd have thought
that myself, only I know he did n't.”
“How's that?"
“One reason is that I own only one boat, and
when I went to the mainland last Friday week
I took it, leaving Sam on the island. It's all of
seven miles from the coast, so he could n't have
got away if he wanted. That, I say, is one rea-
son why it could n't have been him. The other
reason's as good. I was decoyed away so clev-
erly. Here's the letter that did it.”
The fox-farmer drew out a crumpled sheet of
rea
223


NOVEMBER JOE
ruled paper from his pocket and handed it to me.
I read aloud:-
Sir, — Your wife wants you to come down at
once. She's due for an operation in the hospital
here on Friday week, and she's hard put to it to
plan for the children till she gets about again.
So you'd best come.
Yours truly,
S. MACFARLANE,
(Doctor).
I gave him back the letter. “Any man would
have gone on such news,” I said.
“Well, I did,” said Stafford savagely, “but it
was a bad bit o' work. I got that letter twelve
days back, and off I went hot-foot, leaving Aleut
Sam in charge. It took me a week going down.
When I reached the house where my wife is
living, she was surprised to see me, and I showed
her the letter.... You can guess.... It was
all a plant! There was n't any Dr. Macfarlane,
nor any operation. You might have struck me
down when I heard that, but it was n't long
before I dropped to the game, and back I came
- record-breaking travel — to Eel Island. ...
224


NOVEMBER JOE
“They'd have been worth twenty-five per
cent more in a month.”
“Then why ...?”
“Because I could n't have been decoyed
away except while the steamer was running
before the winter closed down. See?”
“Ocourse,” said Joe. “And you think some
one done it for spite?"
Stafford bent nearer.
“This dirty business may have been done as
much for gain as spite. Even as early as this in
the year the pelts were worth fifteen thousand
dollars.”
"My!” said Joe. “Suspect any one in par-
ticular?”
“I believe it may have been Trapper Simp-
son. He's had a down on me this good while
back. Well, if it was him, he's paid me out
good, the blackguard ... the ..."
“Hard words don't bring down nor man nor
deer,” said Joe.
There was a silence; then I said:-
“What would you give the man that dis-
covered who it was robbed you?”
“If he did n't get me back my pelts, I could
226


THE LOOTED ISLAND
give him nothing. If he did, he'd be welcome
to five hundred dollars," replied the fox-farmer.
“Good enough, November?” I asked.
Joe nodded.
“What do you mean?” asked Stafford, turn-
ing to Joe. “You a trail-reader?”
“Learnin' to be,” said Joe.
Thus it was agreed that we should go across
to Eel Island at dawn to let November have a
look round. I could see that Stafford had no
great belief in the chances of Joe's success —
which was not unnatural seeing that he knew
nothing of November's powers.
We were away in good time. There was only
a glimmer in the east when we got aboard the
fox-farmer's skiff, and soon we were crossing the
bar of the estuary. Just as we passed beyond it,
Eel Island showed through the morning mists.
As we approached, I saw that it was a barren
atoll without any sign of human tenant. We
made a good passage, and in due time, with our
visitor at the tiller and November at the main-
sheet, we ran into a poor anchorage.
We went ashore, and Joe at once took a cast,
227


THE LOOTED ISLAND
with a rough deal table, a chair cut from a
barrel, and the usual shallow wooden tray for a
bunk. The walls were decorated with smaller
shelves on which were heaped provisions, a few
books, cooking-pots, knives, forks, and plates,
all helter-skelter.
November examined everything with his
usual swift care. He lit match after match
and peered about the stove, for the interior
of the cabin was pretty dark even in the day-
time.
After this he bent over the table and, drawing
his knife, scratched at a stain on the near side,
and then at a similar stain upon the other.
"I'm through,” he said at length.
Stafford, who had been watching Joe's pro-
ceedings with an air of incredulity that bor-
dered on derision, now stepped forward and
cast his eyes rapidly over every spot where Joe
had paused, then turned sharply to question
him:-
“Found out anything?”
“Not much,” answered Joe.
“Well, all I can see is that the villain has
eaten a good share of my grub."
229


THE LOOTED ISLAND
.
ledged Stafford. “But the reading - that's
different."
“Table’s been pulled up alongside the bunk,
see that scrape of the leg; and he's had the lamp
close up alongside near the edge where the stain
is. There's plenty old oilstains in the middle
of the table, but these close to the edges ain't
been long on — you can see that for yourself.”
“By Jingo!” said the fox-farmer. “Anything
else?”
“The chap what robbed you was a trapper all
right, and had killed a red fox recent, so recent
he carried it across and skinned it here."
“Where?”
“By your stove.” Joe bent down and picked
up some short, red hairs. “Clumsy skinning!”
said he. “Let's go out and take a look round
the island.”
Stafford led the way. At a short distance
some of the skinned carcasses lay. They were
blackened by the weather, and lay open to the
sky, looking as horrible as skinned carcasses
always will. Joe turned them over. Suddenly
he bent down with that quick intentness that I
had learnt to connect with his more important
231


NOVEMBER JOE
discoveries. From one he passed to another, till
he had handled every carcass.
“What is it?" asked Stafford, whose respect
for Joe was visibly increasing with each moment.
November straightened his back. “I'm sure
it were n't done for spite,” he remarked.
“What do you mean?”
But Joe would say nothing more. So we
passed on, climbing all over the island. Stafford
pointed out another lying some five miles north
where he told us he kept his less valuable stock.
“There's a lot of red and cross foxes over
there on Edith Island (it's named for my eldest
gal),” he said. “Whenever there happens a
black one in the litters I try to catch it, and
bring it over here to Eel — Hullo! What's
that?"
| Stafford stood with his hands shading his
eyes, staring at Edith Island.
“Look! That's smoke or I'm dreaming," he
cried.
A very faint line of bluish haze rose from the
distant rock.
“Smoke it is,” said Joe.
“But the island is uninhabited. Come on!
232


THE LOOTED ISLAND
Come on!” cried Stafford excitedly. “It may
be those ruffians clearing out Edith Island, too.
We'll get after them!”
“All right, Mr. Stafford,” agreed Joe. “But,
look here, it may be those chaps that robbed
you, but I don't want you to run up against
disappointment. I guess it's liable to be your
Aleut Sam marooned over there.”
“Why?"
“That's a signal fire. Whoever 's made that
fire is putting on moss. And I've noticed things
here that make me think it ain't likely they
killed Sam.”
"Let's get after them, anyway,” cried Staf-
ford. “If it's Sam, he'll be able to help us with
his story."
It was not long before we were once more in
the boat and tacking across towards Edith
Island. As we drew nearer the volume of smoke
grew thicker.
“It's sure a signal smoke,” said Joe. “The
feller's putting on wet moss.”
The wind served us fairly well, and, as we ran
under the lee of the land, we were aware of a
figure standing on the beach waiting for us.
233


NOVEMBER JOE
"It's Aleut Sam, sure enough,” said Staf-
ford.
The Aleut proved to be a squat fellow of a
most Mongolian cast of countenance. A few
score of long hairs, distinct, thick, and black,
made up his mustache. His beard was even
scantier, and a tight cap of red wool which he
wore showed off the umber tint of his large
round face.
We rowed ashore in the canvas boat, and on
the beach Stafford held a rapid conversation
with his man in Indian. Neither Joe nor I could
follow what was said, but presently Stafford
enlightened us.
“Sam says that one night, four days after I
left Eel Island, he had just eaten his supper
when he heard a knocking on the door. Think-
ing it must be me who had returned, he opened
it. Seeing no one, he stepped out into the dark,
when a pair of arms were thrown round him,
and a cloth that smelt like the stuff that made
him go asleep in the hospital (Sam's had most
of his toes off on account of frost-bite down to
Valdez) was clapped about his head. He strug-
gled, and the next thing he knew he felt very
234


THE LOOTED ISLAND
an
sick, and when he came to, he found himself
tied up and lying in the bottom of a boat at sea.
He could tell there were two men with him. He
thinks he was about half an hour conscious,
when one of them, with his face muffled, stopped
sculling, and knelton his chest and put the sweet-
smelling cloth over his head a second time.
After that he does not remember any more until
he woke up on the beach here. It was still dark,
and the men and boat were gone. He was very
sick again, and for all that night and most of the
next day he thought he was going to die.
"Towards evening he began to feel better,
and, wandering about, discovered a barrel of
dried fish which had been tumbled ashore from
the boat which marooned him — to keep him
from starving, I suppose. He went up into the
scrub and made a fire. Since then he's been
here and seen no one. That's all.”
"Then he did n't ever really see the faces of
the chaps that kidnapped him?”
Stafford translated the question to Sam and
repeated the answer.
"One had a beard and was a big man; he wore
a peaked cap. Anything else to ask him?”
235


NOVEMBER JOE
“Yes. How long has he been here on this
island?"
“Eight days.”
“What’s he been doing all the time?"
“Just wandering around.”
“Where has he been camped?”
Stafford raised his thumb over his shoulder.
“In the scrub above here.”
Joe nodded. “Well, let's go to his camping-
place and boil the kettle. He'll sure have a bit
of fire there.”
So we made our way up through the scrub,
filling the kettle from a little spring on the way
as the Aleut led us to his bivouac. While I
looked about it, I wondered once more at the
skill of the men of the wilderness.
Arough breakwind masked the fire, and above
the sleeping-place the boughs of dwarf willow
and spruce were interlaced in cunning fashion.
Joe stirred the smouldering logs into life, but
in doing so was so unfortunate as to overturn
the kettle.
“That's bad,” said he. “Best tell your man
to get some more water.”
Stafford sent off Sam on his errand; but no
236


NOVEMBER JOE
“Your foxes ain't dead.”
“Ain't dead? You've forgot their skinned
carcasses!”
“I allow we saw some skinned carcasses, but
they was the carcasses of red foxes worth no
more than ten dollars apiece instead of a thou-
sand.”
“But ”
“I know you took it for sure they was your
foxes — and you're a fox-farmer, and ought to
know. But I examined those carcasses mighty
careful. Their eyes was n't the right colour
for black foxes. That's one thing. For another,
I found some red hairs. It ain't in nature you
can take a pelt off and not a hair stick on the
body under."
Stafford digested this in silence.
“But why in creation should the chaps have
taken the trouble to bring over red fox car-
casses?" he inquired at length.
“That's easy answered. They was after your
best for stock. It's pretty likely they did n't
take them far, and they would n't want you
nosing about for your live foxes.”
“Is that it?"
238


THE LOOTED ISLAND
“Another thing, the robbers was six days or
more on Eel Island. Now, they could catch and
kill all your foxes in two. But to catch them so
they would n't be hurt would take time. No,
your foxes ain't dead yet; and they ain't far
off, neither, and your Aleut knows who's got
them."
"Why are you so sure about him being in
it?"
“He told you he'd been eight days on this
island, did n't he?”
Stafford nodded. “Eight days, that's what
he said.”
“He lied. I knew it the moment I set eyes on
his fire.”
Stafford frowned down at the singing kettle.
Joe continued:-
“Not enough ash to this fire to make heat to
keep a man without a blanket comfortable for
eight days this weather. And look! the boughs
he's broke off for his bed. They're too fresh.
Ag'in, he ain't got no axe here, yet the charred
ends of the thicker bits on the fire has been cut
with an axe. It's clear as light. The robbers
ferried Sam across here about two days back,
239


NOVEMBER JOE
cut some wood for him so he should n't be too
cold, gave him grub to last till 'bout the time
you'd likely be home, and left him.”
"I guess you're right. I see it now. I'm grate-
ful to you."
Joe shook his head. “Keep that a bit till
we've got your foxes back; and it looks to me
like it might be a difficult proposition to prove
who done it, unless o' course we could persuade
Sam —"
"I'll persuade him. There he is coming over
the hill.”
“I wonder if your Sam is a fighter?” said Joe.
“Anyway, best not be too venturesome. He's
got a knife.”
Stafford reached for his rifle, but Joe inter-
vened.
“Stay you still and I'll show you the way we
do in the lumber-camps.”
Sam's strong, squat figure advanced towards
us. As he stooped to throw the wood he had
brought on the ground, Joe caught his shoulder
with one hand and snatched the knife from his
belt with the other. And then there flashed
across the features of the Aleut an expression
240


THE LOOTED ISLAND
like a mad dog's; he flung himself gnashing and
snarling on November.
But he was in the grip of a man too strong for
him, and, though he returned again and again
to the attack, the huge young woodsman twisted
him to earth, where Stafford and I tied his strug-
gling limbs.
This done, we rolled him over.
“Now,” said Stafford, “who is it has got my
foxes?"
The Aleut shook his head.
Stafford pulled out his revolver, opened the
breech, made sure it was loaded, and cocked it.
Next he held his watch in front of Sam's face
and pointed out the fact that it wanted but five
minutes to the hour.
“I'm telling him if he don't confess,” he said,
“I'll shoot him when the hand reaches the hour."
He turned to us: “You'd best go."
“Good Heavens! you don't really mean—"
I cried.
Stafford winked. Joe and I went down to the
beach below.
A quarter of an hour passed before Stafford
joined us.
241



IF HE DON'T CONFESS, I'LL SHOOT HIM





THE LOOTED ISLAND
events of the next sixteen hours, which we spent
in the skiff, and pick up the thread of this his-
tory again with Stafford knocking at the door of
the Jurgensens' cabin on Upsala Island. We
had landed there after dark.
Joe and I stood back while Stafford faced the
door. It was thrown open, and a big, ginger- ;
bearded Swede demanded his business.
“I've just called around to take back my
foxes,” said Stafford.
“Vot voxes?”
“The blacks and silvers you stole.”
“You are madt!”
“Shut it!” cried Stafford. “Ten days ago
you and your wife, having decoyed me away to
Valdez, went to Eel Island. You were there
eight days, during which time you cleaned out
every animal I owned on it. I know you did n't
kill them, though you tried to make me believe
you had by leaving the skinned carcasses of a
lot of red foxes. Three days ago you left Eel
Island ..."
As he spoke I saw the wizened figure of a
woman squeezing out under the big Swede's
elbow. She had a narrow face with blink-
243


NOVEMBER JOE
ing, malevolent eyes, that she fixed on Staf-
ford.
“Zo! Vot then?” jeered Jurgensen.
“Then you rowed over to Edith Island and
marooned my man, Aleut Sam, who was in the
robbery with you.”
The big Swede snatched up a rifle by the door
and stepped out.
“Get out of here,” he cried, “or —” He
paused on catching sight of Joe and myself.
“I'll go if you wish it,” said Stafford danger-
ously. “But if I do it'll be to return with the
police.”
“And look here, Mr. Dutchman," broke in
Joe gently, “if it comes to that you'll get put
away for a fifteen years' rest cure, sure.”
“Who are you?” bellowed Jurgensen.
“He's the man that told me your wife was
weakly and spilled the water from the kettle
when she lifted it, for he found her tracks at my
place by the stove. He's the man that dis-
covered axe-cut log-ends in Aleut Sam's fire on
Edith Island, when we knew Sam had no axe
with him. He's the man I owe a lot to.”
"Me alzo,” said Jurgensen venomously as he
244


THE LOOTED ISLAND
bowed his head. “Vot you vant-your terms?"
he asked at last.
Stafford had his answer ready. “My own
foxes — that's restoration, and two of yours by
way of interest — that's retribution."
“Ant if I say no?”
“You won't. Where's my foxes?”
Jurgensen hesitated, but clearly there could
be only one decision in the circumstances. “I
haf them in my kennels,” he answered.
“Wire enclosures?” cried Stafford in disgust.
“Yess."
“You can't grow a decent pelt in a cage,”
snapped Stafford, with the eagerness of a fana-
tic mounted upon his hobby. “You must let
them live their natural life as near as possible
or their colour suffers. The pigmentary glands
get affected "
“Poof! I haf read of all that in the book,
‘Zientific Zelection of Colour Forms.?”
“Yes," put in Joe. “You read a good bit
while you were at Mr. Stafford's place, that's
so? Lying in Mr. Stafford's bunk?”
Jurgensen raised startled eyes. “You see
me?"
245


NOVEMBER JOE
"No."
“How you know, then?”
Joe laughed. “I guess the spiders must 'a'
told me,” said he.


CHAPTER X
THE MYSTERY OF FLETCHER BUCKMAN
I was dozing. It seemed to me deep in the
night. The train that November Joe and I had
boarded late the previous evening on our re-
turn from a trip in Quebec was passing, with a
rattle and a roar, between the woods which
flank the metals, when suddenly there rang out
shriek upon shriek, such as mark the top note
of grief and human horror.
Upon the instant the whole sleeping-car
awoke; half a dozen passengers sprang to the
carpeted floor, surprise and consternation elo-
quent in their faces and attitudes.
“It's from that private car,” cried some one.
“Who's in it?”
· A bearded man answered: “Fletcher Buck-
man and his wife.”
“It was a woman's scream.”
“We must see what's wrong.”
The bearded man and two others ran down
the corridor, and at that moment the conductor
247


NOVEMBER JOE
stepped inside the door and confronted them
squarely.
“What's happened?” gasped a voice.
“There's murder doing. Here, let's pass!”
The conductor's hard face checked them.
“Bah! Mrs. Buckman's had a nightmare.
That's all there's to it,” he said roughly.
I knew that his words were mere invention.
His next act made me even more certain, for he
locked the door behind him, walked quickly
through the car, paying no attention to the
babble of questions, remonstrance, incredulity,
and advice thrust upon him from all sides; and
a minute later he reappeared with November
Joe, who, scorning sleepers, was travelling in
the car ahead.
As he passed, Joe whispered, “Come on.” I
followed, hastily pulling on my coat, for I had
lain down dressed. We stepped out from the
blaze of electricity into a cold, white light of
dawn, against which the massed trees on either
side loomed black and wet as the train steamed
forward.
On the open platform between the cars the
conductor said a few words to Joe: “I brought
248


MYSTERY OF FLETCHER BUCKMAN
as
you along, November, for I want a witness,
anyway.”
Then we passed into electricity again as we
entered the private car. It would be impossible
to forget the sight that met us. Across the floor
lay the figure of a woman; her face, showing out
among folds of shining silk, was white as chalk,
and, though she had lost consciousness, it was
still drawn with terror.
But my eyes passed by her to the side of the
car, where, close to the bed-place, the body of a
man was dangling, hung by the neck to a stout
brass hook.
I could see that he was thinnish, with a droop-
ing mustache and outrageously bald. He lurched
and swayed to the swaying of the train, but it
was the dreadful pink head bobbing stiffly that
lent the last touch of horror. He was dressed
in orange-coloured pyjamas, and his bare heels
beat a tattoo against the side-boarding of the
bunk.
In a second we had cut him down; but as the
rigid body sank its weight upon our arms, we
knew that life must have left it some good while
before.
249


NOVEMBER JOE
VIC
"It's Fletch Buckman, sure enough,” said
the conductor; "and he's had time to stiffen.
No hope, I reckon!... There's no doc on the
cars, but we can get a couple of women to see to
Mrs. Buckman. We'll start to carry her out of
this right now, before she comes to.”
The conductor and I raised her in our arms,
and within two minutes we had left her in
kindly hands.
When we got back Joe was still engrossed in
his examination of the body. He put up his
hand to warn us back as we appeared at the
door.
“Wait a bit,” he said. “You can talk from
there, Steve. You were saying "
The conductor took up what was evidently
the thread of the story he had been telling to
Joe when he first called him. “As I was ex-
plaining to you, I heard the screech and looked
in just as she dropped. I stepped over and got
at Fletch, but I knew by the feel of him it was
too late to try any reviving. Next I went for
you —” He paused.
Joe made no reply.
“She slept in the little compartment beyond
250


MYSTERY OF FLETCHER BUCKMAN
"That's the sort of slush they mostly write
when they're waiting to jump off the edge of
the world,” remarked the conductor. “That
settles it.”
“That's so,” said Joe. “Only it was n't
Buckman wrote that.”
“Who else could it be?”
“The man that hanged him.”
The conductor gave a snort of laughter.
“Then you surmise that some one came in
here and hanged Fletch Buckman?”
“Just that.”
"O' course, 'Buckman consented to being
hung!” jeered Steve.
“Buckman was dead before he was hung!”
said November.
“What's that you're saying?” cried Steve.
“If you examine the body —" began Joe.
The conductor made a forward movement,
but Joe caught his arm.
"Let's see the soles of your boots before you
get tramping about too much. Steady, hold on
to the table. Now!”
He studied the upturned sole for a minute.
“Huh!” said he. “Now come over to the
253


NOVEMBER JOE .
believe me?” She wrung her hands, clenching
her fingers together. “Won't one of you be-
lieve me?"
November stepped forward.
“I do, ma'am,” he said. “I've been look-
ing
”
She made an effort to master herself.
“Tell me what you've seen. Don't spare
me. He's dead, and all that is left to do is to
find who killed him! It was murder! You know
that.”
“There's plenty signs of it,” said Joe gently.
“I was just going to look round, but perhaps
you might care to answer me a few questions
first?”
“Ask me anything! But, oh, send away
those people!”
Joe glanced at Steve.
“Lock the door, and don't let anything be
touched or disturbed,” he said; then he led Mrs.
Buckman into the farther compartment, away
from the sight of the poor shape upon the bunk.
In a second he made a comfortable seat for
her, but she would not take it; her whole body
and soul seemed absorbed in the single desire.
256



MRS. BUCKMAN STOOD THERE





MYSTERY OF FLETCHER BUCKMAN
“What have you to ask me?"
"Just what brought you and Mr. Buckman
here. Where were you going? Where have you
come from? And what are your suspicions?
The whole story, whatever you can think of,
nothing is too trifling.”
In terse, rapid sentences, Mrs. Buckman
gave us the following facts:-
“You have probably heard the name of
Buckman before. Most people have. My hus-
band was one of the greatest and most trusted
oil experts in the States. He had large holdings
in the Giant Oil Company. About a fortnight
ago a situation developed which made it neces-
sary for him to leave New York and come down
to the Tiger Lily Oilfield. The Giant Company
were thinking of buying it, or rather of buying
a controlling interest in it. Before doing so they
wanted a first-hand opinion, and it was sug-
gested that my husband should travel down to
look into the matter.”
She glanced at November's intent face, and
went on:-
"Perhaps you know that this line runs close
to the Tiger Lily Eastern Section, so we had our
257


NOVEMBER JOE
as
private car attached and came along. That was
on Thursday, a week ago. We had the car run
onto a siding, and all the days since my hus-
band has been hard at work. He finished the
day before yesterday, but as there was no ex-
press earlier than this evening, we waited for
it and just before dark our car was linked to
this train.
“We dined together, and after dinner a man,
Knowles, who was on the train, sent in to ask
my husband to see him. My husband was
much annoyed, for it appeared that Knowles
had been manager of a large retail depot, from
which he had been dismissed for some careless-
ness. However, my husband made it a rule to
give personal interviews whenever he could,
and he ordered Knowles to be sent along. As
soon as he appeared, I went away, but I saw he
was a big, sour-looking man in shabby clothes.
“I came into this compartment and began to
read. For a good while only the murmur of their
talking reached me, then a voice was raised, and
I caught some words distinctly: 'You won't
put me back? Think! I have a wife and chil-
dren!' It was Knowles speaking. 'It is impos-
258


MYSTERY OF FLETCHER BUCKMAN
sible, as you know,' said my husband. 'Giant
Oil never reconsiders a decision.' 'Then look
out for yourself!' Knowles shouted, and I at
once opened the door. I was terrified, the man
looked so threatening and bitter; but the in-
stant I appeared he whipped round and went
out of the car.”
“Did Mr. Buckman tell you anything more
about him?”
“Not much,” she answered, with a sort of
trembling breath, "for he was a little annoyed
that I should have come in when I heard
Knowles angry. But that was soon forgotten,
and we sat talking for about an hour. At ten,
as I was feeling tired, I said I would go to bed.
My husband told me he had work to do which
would keep him another couple of hours, and
he would sleep in here so as not to disturb me.”
“Do you know what work it was?”
“Yes, it was his report on the Tiger Lily
Oilfield.”
“The report that was to decide whether the
Giant people would buy it or not?”
She made a movement of assent.
“I suppose it would have been worth a great
259



THEN LOOK OUT FOR YOURSELF!





MYSTERY OF FLETCHER BUCKMAN
man should delay the writing of the report to
the last moment? You have been days on the
siding, and you tell me he had all the information
ready the day before yesterday, and that you
were only waiting for the express; yet he post-
poned writing his report until actually travel-
ling late at night?” inquired November.
“I can explain that,” replied Mrs. Buckman.
“In his life my husband has had to deal with
many secrets of great commercial value, so
many that secrecy had become second nature
with him, and it was one of his invariable rules
never to put anything into writing until the
last possible moment."
“There's reason in that,” said Joe. “And
now, did you hear anything after you went to
bed?"
"I heard my husband working on the type-
writer until I fell asleep. When I awoke I
fancied I heard him moving about, and I called
to him to go to bed. He did not answer, and
as all was quiet I fell asleep again. If I had only
got up then, I might have saved him!” She hid
her face in her hands, but after a minute she
mastered her emotion. “The next time I started
261


NOVEMBER JOE
W
up in a fright and turned on the light. It was
long past three. I snatched at my wrapper and
rushed into the next compartment. You know
what I saw.”
"One more question, ma'am, and then I'll
trouble you no more. Have you any feeling as
to who could have done this?” asked Joe, after
a short silence.
“I don't know what to say— Knowles looked
a desperate man. I heard his threat. But who
are you, and why —"
Steve, who had hung in the doorway while
this conversation was going on, now interposed
to explain Joe, but she hardly seemed to heed.
Before he concluded she put both her hands
on November's arm.
“Remember, I'll spend the last cent I possess
if you will only find that man! What are you
going to do first?”
“I must examine the car. I have n't had time
to do that thoroughly yet,” said Joe. “But wait
a minute. Look through his bag and see if the
report of the Tiger Lily is in it.”
It was not to be found. And after that, Steve
took Mrs. Buckman away, for now that the
262


MYSTERY OF FLETCHER BUCKMAN
strain of telling her story was over, she seemed
as if she would collapse.
“There's a woman for you!” exclaimed Joe.
“Say, Mr. Quaritch, I'll hunt that man for her
till he drops in his tracks!”
Joe and I remained in the car, and he set
about his examination in his peculiarly swift yet
minute way. The carpet, the chairs, the table,
the walls, all underwent inspection. He stood
by the uncovered window for some time; he
turned about the pens and paper on the table;
he pored over the sheet in the typewriter on
which the words were printed. At the end the
only tangible result in my eyes was a collection
of three matches, of which two were wooden
and one of wax, three cigar stumps, and a little
heap of fragments of mud.
His researches were nearing their conclusion
when he caught sight of the knob of a drawer
which had rolled into a dark corner under the
bunk. He fitted this to a drawer of the desk.
The finding of it evidently made him recon-
struct his theories, for he went over the carpet
once more, pausing a long time under the un-
shuttered window. Then he turned to the body
263


MYSTERY OF FLETCHER BUCKMAN
looking and shabby,” fitted him very well. He
appeared to be about fifty, with stooped but
powerful shoulders, and he showed grey about
the temples and in his stubble of beard. In the
daylight he looked more than shabby, his whole
person was unkempt and neglected. At first
sight I mistrusted him, and every moment I
spent in his company I liked him and his shifty,
vindictive face worse. At the first it seemed he
would not speak to any purpose, but at length
Joe's bonhomie and tobacco thawed his reserve.
There were four of us in the uncomfortable
privacy of the cook's galley.
“Yes,” said Knowles, “it's true I was man-
ager of the Treville depot of the Giant Oil three
months ago, and that Buckman got me fired on
some liar's evidence. I saw him last evening,
and I told him what I thought of him."
“To be exact, you said: 'Look out for your-
self?”” interposed Steve, the conductor.
“You were eavesdropping, were you?”
Knowles said, looking a little startled. “I may
have said something of that sort.”
“But what about the second time you saw
Buckman?” went on Steve.
265


MYSTERY OF FLETCHER BUCKMAN
“Then why did n't you see him?”
“Because I could n't. I tried, but the door
of his car was locked.”
“Locked?” cried Joe.
“Shut it, you dead-beat!” sneered Steve.
“That yarn won't carry you, for I can prove
it's a lie. The door were n't locked when I went
along and found him dead. You won't tell me
he got down to turn the key and then hung him-
self up again?”
“I'm speaking the truth,” reiterated
Knowles, “though you are all against me.”
Then Joe astonished us.
“I'm not ag'in' you,” said he. “I know as
well as you do yourself that you did not murder
Buckman."
“Bah! Then who did it?” cried the con-
ductor.
“The man who locked the door and who was
inside when Knowles went along."
Steve thrust out his lip. “Is that so? Well,
until he's in handcuffs I'll make sure that
Knowles here don't escape.”
“All right,” said Joe. “Say, Mr. Knowles,
let me have a match.”
267


NOVEMBER JOE
Knowles pulled a box from his pocket.
“Now lay your hand flat on the table,” went
on Joe.
The large hand, with its grimed and jagged
nails, was placed palm downwards for our
inspection.
“Look at the thumbs,” said Joe.
There was no more said until we were again
alone with Steve.
“I'll undertake to smash any case you get up
against Knowles, Steve, so as a jury of cotton-
tail rabbits would n't convict him," said
November.
“I'd like to see you do it!”
“Listen, then. There was two kinds of
matches on the floor in the car — here they
are." Joe spread them on his palm. “And
here's one out of Knowles's box. This wax
match was used by Buckman himself, these
two wooden ones by the murderer. They're
neither of them Knowles's brand, that's plain
enough.”
“That fact won't carry a jury.”
“Not alone,” said Joe. “But the next one
will. You saw the sharp, broken nails on
268


MYSTERY OF FLETCHER BUCKMAN
Knowles's hand. The thumbs had 'em nigh a
quarter of an inch long. It's impossible to
choke a man to death with nails that length and
not tear and scratch the skin of the throat, and
you saw for yourself that there is n't a mark on
Buckman's throat but bruises only. That's a
proof would go with any jury.”
The conductor looked a little sheepish. “I'll
give you best, Joe. But if it was n't Knowles,
who in creation was it?”
“It was a man twenty years younger than
Knowles, very active and strong. A superior
chap, trims his nails with scissors, and is, at any
rate, fairly educated. He is well acquainted
with this line of railway. He boarded the car
by the rear door when Buckman and his wife
was asleep at some spot where the speed slows
down. He was after the report on the Tiger
Lily Oilfield. He was searching for it when
Buckman woke and jumped at him.”
“Why in thunder did n't Buckman give the
alarm?”
“Because he tried to get to the bureau without
the other seeing.”
“To the bureau? What for?”
269


NOVEMBER JOE
“For his revolver. He left it in the drawer.
And he near got it, too. In the struggle the
knob was tore off the drawer.”
“But there was n't a revolver in that drawer.
I had a look in it myself!"
“That's so; but it was there till the murderer
took it out.”
“What did he want it for if he'd got Buck-
man dead already?”.
“Aman don't likely hang himself if he's got
a revolver handy that'll do the business more
comfortably. The finding o' that revolver
would, maybe, have spoiled the notion of
suicide.”
Steve nodded, and Joe continued:-
“Buckman put up a good fight, but the other
was too strong for him. That fellow did n't
mean to kill Buckman, — I think I can prove
that later, — but he had to choke him to pre-
vent his shouting. And when he found he'd
done it too hard, like as not he had a bad five
minutes. But he was full of cunning, and he
hung him up as a blind. Then he locked the
door and sat there in Buckman's chair and
smoked one of Buckman's cigars.”
was
270


NOVEMBER JOE
C
20
curve where the engine slows down that you
pass about one o'clock?”.
“She slows down just before she gets to the
big trestle bridge over the Shimpanny Lake.”
Joe pondered a minute. "He jumped off
there, and that means he had a bit of time to
think out what he'd do. You see, his plan
had n't worked out according to rule — to my
way of thinking.”
“How so?”
“I'll tell you all that later."
“You're a fair terror, Joe. You ought to
have that chap in a net. Where did he board
us, anyway?”
“Don't know. But it was n't long afore he
killed Buckman, 'cos his moccasins had n't had
time to dry. And that proves, too, that he
was n't hid on the cars since the last stop. Now
what we've got to think about is catching him.
I suppose I can get a fast engine at Seven
Springs and go back down the line?”
“Sure,” said Steve.
Twenty minutes later we arrived at Seven
Springs, and in less than twenty minutes more
November Joe and I, with a representative of
Ore
272


NOVEMBER JOE
fifty yards, and then we came upon a sapling
spruce freshly cut down, about a foot above the
ground; the head of it, with the little branches
and leaves, lay scattered about.
Joe and the police trooper, whose name was
Polloks, examined the little tree with its jag-
ged cuts very carefully, November even lifting
the chips of wood and bark which were spread
about on the ground.
“What was he up to here, I wonder?” said
Polloks. "He has n't made a fire."
“No,” said Joe shortly, and hurried away
upon the trail.
For another hundred yards the tracks were
plain among the raspberry canes, then they
climbed the embankment, and finally disap-
peared altogether.
Polloks swore. “He's done us here!” he
cried. “He walked along the metals; no one
can tell which way he's gone."
"Huh! He won't get shut of us,” said No-
vember Joe, “not that way. Where's the near-
est post office on the line?”
“At Silent Water."
“You go and call up the engine, Polloks.
274


MYSTERY OF FLETCHER BUCKMAN
It's Silent Water for us as fast as we can get
there.”
Polloks wasted no time, and once more we
were flying along the line.
“The express passed Shimpanny Trestle at
three-twenty this morning,"shouted the trooper
through the din of our travelling, “and it's
seven now. Our man's got near four hours'
start if he's ahead of us, but it's eighteen miles
to Silent Water, so we may just nip him on the
permanent way.”
But, with the keenest lookout, we came in
sight of no figure ahead of us before we reached
Silent Water. It is a very small township, and
we slipped through the depot so as to arouse no
curiosity, and only stopped the engine a couple
of hundred yards beyond to give us time to jump
off. We hurried back to the post office.
“Any fellow with his right arm in a sling
been posting a letter here?” inquired Joe of
the postmaster.
“None.”
“Sure?"
“Been here all morning."
Joe pulled Polloks aside. “Quick! Work
275


NOVEMBER JOE
the telephone and have every post office within
twenty miles around watched. If a man with
his right arm in a sling comes along to post a
letter, arrest him. He'll be wearing cowhide
moccasins, and a good size. But it was here I
expected he'd aim for.”
Polloks had hardly got to the telephone
when Joe swung round, and, catching him by
the shoulder, forced him down behind the
counter out of sight. The next moment a tall
young man with his arm in a rough sling opened
the door of the post office.
“Two-cent stamp,” he said curtly to the
postmaster.
The stamp was handed out, and as the
stranger turned to go he held it between his lips,
plunging his left hand into his pocket. I saw
him pull out a long envelope, and at that in-
stant Joe and Polloks leapt upon him.
“What in ” yelled the man.
But November Joe had seized the letter.
"Hold your man, Polloks. Look, this letter
is addressed to the Giant Oilfields Head Offices.
It is the Tiger Lily Report, and that is the
murderer of Fletcher Buckman."
M
276


MYSTERY OF FLETCHER BUCKMAN
as
“It was sure easy,” said Joe as we travelled
up the line again, “from the moment I saw the
mud stains on the carpet in Buckman's car.
They were still wet, and when the murder was
done we'd been going without a stop for three
hours — time for any boots to dry in them
heated cars. So it was n't any one on the train
- that was clear.
“Then whoever done it must 'a' been young
and active, or he could never board a train trav-
elling at fifteen mile an hour, and he must have
been fairly educated or he could n't have used
the typewriter. Again, he must have been well
acquainted with the railway.”
“How could you tell that?”
“You remember that the blind was up off
one window in Buckman's car. Again and again
the murderer went to that window — I could
tell by the tracks on the carpet. Now, why did
he do that, unless he was looking for the place
where he meant to jump off, and how could he
recognize that place unless he knew the line?"
I thought I detected a flaw in November
Joe's reasoning.
277


NOVEMBER JOE
“Perhaps he was just waiting for the train
to slow down,” I said.
"No," replied Joe. “If he had been he'd
never have lighted that cigar. The fact of his
lighting that proves that he must 'a' known
that he had twenty minutes to wait; and it
proves that he was a mighty cool hand, too!”
I nodded.
“As for Knowles,” continued Joe, “why,
you heard more'n one reason why he was plumb
out of it. The cigar and the matches and the
wild-cat nails he carried.”
“But how could you guess this fellow had his
arm in a sling?”
“You mind that cut sapling near where he
tumbled off the cars? He had n't took away
two foot of it. What did he want a bit of spruce
that length for? It would n't be to help him
walk, or I'd 'a' guessed a sprained ankle. I
fancied it might be for a splint. He would n't
fall soft off the cars, you bet.”
“But you said it was his right arm?”
“Look at the way he hacked the spruce!
The clumsy way a man would with his left
hand. That meant he'd damaged his right."
278


MYSTERY OF FLETCHER BUCKMAN
“But how did you know he'd want to post
that letter, and post it at Silent Water? Why,
it would have seemed more likely he'd make
away across country.”
“The post office at Silent Water was a dead
cert. I'll explain that, but you must go back a
bit. You see, that chap only meant to get a
forward look-in at the report; his game and the
game of the people he was working for was to
forestall the rest of the world in knowing what
Buckman's decision was. He did not want to
kill Buckman, only matters turned that way.
Then he had to take away the report, for it
was n't a cent o use to him until it was in the
hands of the Giant Oil Company, and he had
to get it there without any notion of its having
been tampered with. His idea was to go back
along the line and post it just where Buckman
might have posted it himself. He trusted to the
suicide dodge to hold up suspicion till he was
through with his plan.”
“But would the Giant Oil Company act on
the report after hearing of Buckman's horrible
death?” I argued.
“Why not?” said Joe. “All they'd think was
279


CHAPTER XI
LINDA PETERSHAM
NOVEMBER JOE had bidden me farewell at
the little siding known by the picturesque
name of Silent Water.
“Spect you'll be back again, Mr. Quaritch,
as soon as you've fixed them new mining con-
tracts, and then, maybe, we'll try a wolf-hunt.
There's a tidy pack comes out on the Lac Noir
ice when it's moonlight. The forest's wonder-
ful still them frosty nights, a fella can hear a
owl miles and miles.”
I assured Joe that I would do my best to
return, but as a matter of fact, fate was against
me all that winter, and it was only now and
again that I heard from Joe, who had gone over
the Maine border on a trapping expedition.
Often and often, as I sat at my roll-topped desk
and studied the outlook of eaves smothered in
snow and bare telegraph-poles, my mind would
switch off to picture November boiling his
lunch-kettle in the lee of a boulder, and I would
281


NOVEMBER JOE
feel irresistibly drawn to close the desk afore-
said and go to join him. I was very sure of my
welcome.
But the shackles of business are not so easily
shaken off, and the spring had already come be-
fore another vacation in the woods had begun to
merge into possibility. About this time I paid
one of my periodical visits to Boston, and it was
while I was there in the office of my agents and
correspondents that Linda Petersham rang me
up on the telephone and demanded my presence
at lunch.
“But I am engaged,” said I.
“Then you must put your engagement off.”
“I don't see how I can. Will to-morrow —”
“No-to-morrow will do for him — who-
ever he is. I want you to-day.”
“What is it?"
“I will tell you when you come. I want you."
I made another effort to explain my position,
but Linda had said her last word and rung off.
I smiled as I called up the picture of a small
Greek head crowned with golden hair, a pair
of dark blue eyes and a mouth wearing a rather
imperious expression.
282


NOVEMBER JOE
I found myself the only guest, which sur-
prised me, for the Petersham mansion has a
reputation for hospitality.
“Really, Linda, this is very charming of you.
I wonder how much Tom Getchley or that
young Van Horne would give to be in my place
at this moment,” I said, as we sat down.
Linda looked at me with far-away eyes.
“What? You mean lunching alone with me?”
“Yes, it is an unexpected pleasure.”
“Dear James! it is not a pleasure at all, it is
a necessity. I want to talk to you.”
“So you said before. Go ahead, then; I'm
ready.”
“Not now; after lunch."
We carried on a fragmentary conversation
while the servants waited on us, and all the
time I was wondering what on earth Linda
could have to say to me. It was evidently
something of the deepest importance in her
eyes, for she was obviously absorbed in think-
ing about it, and answered my remarks at ran-
dom.
When at last we were together in her bou-
doir, she began at once.
284


LINDA PETERSHAM
"James, I want you to do this for me. I want
you to persuade Pop not to do something."
"I? I persuade him? You don't need me for
that; you, who can make him do or not do any-
thing, just as you wish.”
“I thought I could, but I find I can't.”
“How is that?"
“Well, he is set on going back to Kalmacks.”
“Kalmacks?”
Linda opened her blue eyes upon me.
“Have n't you heard?”
“Heard what?”
“Where in the world were you last Septem-
ber?"
de
“Camped in the woods of Maine and
Beauce.”
“That accounts for it. But you have heard
of Kalmacks?"
“I know it is the place Julius Fischer built
up in the mountains. He used to go shooting
and fishing there.”
· "That is it. It's a place you'd love; lots of
good rooms, and standing 'way back on a
mountain slope with miles of view and a stream
tumbling past the very door. Father bought
285


NOVEMBER JOE
it last year, and with it all the sporting rights
Julius Fischer claimed. The woods are full of
moose and there are beaver and otter ...
and that's where the trouble came in.”
“But Fischer had trouble from the day he
went up to shoot at Kalmacks. He had to run
for it, so I was told. Did n't your father know
that? Why did Mr. Petersham have anything
to do with the place?”
"Oh, it was just one of Pop's notions, I sup-
pose,” said Linda, with the rather weary toler-
ance of the modern daughter.
“They are a dangerous lot round there!"
“He knew that. They are squatters, trap-
pers who have squatted among those woods and
hills for generations. Of course they think the
country belongs to them. Pop knew that, and
in his opinion the compensation Julius Fischer
offered and gave them was inadequate.”
"It would be!” I commented. I could with-
out effort imagine Julius Fischer's views on
compensation, for I had met him in busi-
ness.
“Well, father went into the matter, and he
found that the squatters had a good deal to be
286


NOVEMBER JOE
heart just as easily, but it was sent through his
knee, by way of a notice to quit he thinks.”
“Those folks up there must be half savages.”
“They are, but that's not all. Three days
ago a letter came, meant for father, but ad-
dressed to me. Whoever wrote it must have
seen father and knew that he was not the kind
of man who could be readily frightened, so
they thought they would get at him through
me. It was a horrible letter."
“Can I see it?"
Linda unlocked a drawer and handed me a
piece of soiled paper. The words were written
upon a sheet torn from an old account-book.
They ran as follows:-
You, Petersham, you mean skunk! Don't you
come in our wods unles yor willing to pay five
thousand dollars. Bring the goods and youl be
told wher to put it, so it will come into the hands
of riters. Dollars ain't nothin to you, but they can
keep an expanding bulet out yor hide.
“What do you think of that?" asked Linda.
"It may be a hoax.”
288


LINDA PETERSHAM
“Now, James, what is the good of saying
such a silly thing to me? Father pretends to
think the same. But, of course, I know these
men mean business. And equally, of course,
you agree with me?”
I hesitated. :
, “Do you think it is a hoax?”
,“Well, no, I can't honestly say I do.”
“Which means, in plain language, that if
father does not pay up that five thousand dol-
lars, he will be shot.”
: “Not necessarily. He need not go up to
Kalmacks this fall.”
“But of course he will go! He's more set on
going than ever. You know father when he's
dealing with men. And he persists in his opin-
ion that the letter is probably only bluff.”
“Does he guess who wrote it?”
“No, he has no idea at all.”
I considered for a little before I spoke.
“Linda, have you really sent for me to try to
persuade your father that it would be wiser for
him not to go to Kalmacks?”
Linda's lip curled scornfully. “I should not
put it just like that! I can imagine father's an-
289


NOVEMBER JOE
swer if you did!... I'm afraid it will be no good
letting you say anything, you don't know how."
“You mean that I have no tact?”
She smiled at me, and I instantly forgave her.
“Well, perhaps I do, but you know it is far
better to be able to give help than just to talk
about it.”
“I am ready to help you in any possible way.”
“Of course! I relied on that.”
“But how can I help?”
“I will tell you. Father is determined on going
to Kalmacks, and I want you to come with us."
“Us?” I cried.
“Naturally I'm going.”
“But it is absurd! Your father would never
allow it!”
“He can't prevent it, dear James,” she said
softly. “Besides, what is there against my
going?”
“The danger.”
She thrust out her round resolute chin. “I
don't for a moment suppose that even the Kal-
macks people would attack a woman. And
father is all that I have in the world. I'm
going.”
290


LINDA PETERSHAM
“Then I suppose I shall have to go too. But
tell me what purpose does your father think he
will serve by undertaking this very risky
expedition?”
"He believes that the general feeling up at
Kalmacks is in his favour, and that the shooting
of the warden as well as the writing of this
letter is the work of a small band of individuals
who wish to blackmail him. We will be quite a
strong party, and he hopes to discover who is
threatening him. By the way, did n't I hear
from Sir Andrew McLerrick that you had been
in the woods all these last falls with a wonderful
guide who could read trails like Uncas, the last
of the Delawares, or one of those old trappers
one reads of in Fenimore Cooper's novels ?”
“That's true.”
“What is his name?”
“November Joe.”
“November Joe,” she repeated. “I visualize
him at once. A wintry-looking old man, with a
grey goatee and piercing eyes.”
I burst out laughing. “It's extraordinary
you should hit him off so well.”
“He must come too,” she commanded.
291


NOVEMBER JOE
“He is probably a hundred miles deep in the
Maine woods.”
“Then you must fetch him out. That's all!”
“If I can reach him, I will. Give me two
cable forms; there is no time to lose.”
Linda found me what I required, and bent
over my shoulder while I wrote. I cabled to
Joe: -
Come to Quebec immediately, prepared for
month's camping trip. Most important.
QUARITCH.
n1
That was my first cable. My second was ad-
dressed to Mrs. Harding, at Harding's Farm,
Beauce, the little post-office where November
periodically called for his letters. It ran:-
Am sending cable to November Joe. Hustle
special messenger with it to middle of Maine
if necessary. Will pay.
JAMES QUARITCH.
Linda read them both. “Why Mrs. Hard-
ing?" she asked.
292


LINDA PETERSHAM
“Because one capable woman is worth ten
ordinary men.”
Linda looked at me thoughtfully.
“I do occasionally realize why you've been
so successful in business, James. In spite of
appearance you are really quite a capable
person. And,” she added impulsively,"you are
also a dear, and I am immensely grateful.”
Soon after I took my leave. The next day I
received this reply from Joe.
Expect me dawn, Friday.
NOVEMBER.
I rang up Linda and read out the message.
'Good Old Mossback!” said she.


NOVEMBER JOE
tangle of wild beard, a mass of greyish hair, and
among it all a pair of eyes which seemed to
glare forth hatred. It may have been, indeed, it
probably was, merely the rooted and natural
dislike of strangers, so common to the moun-
tain districts, but to us, wrought up with the
stories we had heard, there was something
ominous about the wolfish face.
It was already dark when we arrived at the
house, a long, low building of surprising spa-
ciousness, set literally among the pines, the
fragrant branches of which tapped and rustled
upon the windows. In the midst of a peaceful
countryside it would be hard to imagine a more
delightful summer residence, but here, in this
wild district, the gloom of the thick woods that
surrounded us on all sides was daunting.
We went in, and while dinner was preparing,
Mr. Petersham, Joe, and I went to the room
where the wounded game-warden, Worke, lay
upon a bed smoking a pipe with a candle gut-
tering on a chair beside him.
“Yes, Mr. Petersham,” said he, in answer to
a question. “When you went away last fall I
did think things was settling down a bit; and,
300


CHAPTER XIII
THE MEN OF THE MOUNTAINS
SUCH, then, was the story of our coming to
Kalmacks, and for the next two or three days
we spent our time fishing in the streams, the
only move in the direction of the main object of
our visit being that Joe, whom Linda insisted
upon accompanying, walked over to Senlis
Lake and had a look at the scene of Worke's
accident. The old tracks, of course, were long
since washed away, and I thought with the
others that Joe's visit had been fruitless, until
he showed me the shell of an exploded cartridge.
"The bullet which went through Bill Worke’s
leg came out of that. I found it on the hill
above. It's a 45-75 central fire Winchester, the
old '76 model."
“This is a great discovery you and Miss
Petersham have made.”
“She don't know nothing about it,” said
November. “It's best she should n’t, Mr.
Quaritch.”
303


NOVEMBER JOE
Below was a rude drawing of a coffin.
Petersham read the note out to Joe and my-
self.
“Where's Butler's Cairn?” he asked.
“I know it,” said November. “Butler's
Cairn is on a hill about two miles west of
here."
“I suppose you won't go?” said I.
“With the money? Certainly not!”
“You can hardly go without it.”
“Why not?”
“You would be shot down.”
“I'd talk to the ruffians first, and then if there
was any shooting, I guess I'd be as much in it as
they would.”
“I suggest that we all three go," I said.
But Joe would have none of this plan.
“There's nothing to be gained by that, Mr.
Quaritch. You bet these fellas 'll keep a pretty
bright lookout. If they saw three of us coming,
they'd shoot as like as not."
“That's true, Mr. Petersham, but it ain't
likely we'd hit any one. These chaps 'll hide in
among the rocks. They'd see us plain, for there
306


THE MEN OF THE MOUNTAINS
is a bit of a moon, but we would n't get an eye on
them. No, we can't do no good that-a-ways,”
said Joe.
“How can we do any good, as you call it, at
all?"
“I was thinking I might slip right along to
Butler's Cairn and maybe get a look at the
fellas.”
“No!” said Petersham, decidedly. “I won't
allow it. You say yourself you would be shot.”
“I said we would get shot, not me alone.
Three men can't go quiet where one can."
“You think they will be at Butler's Cairn
whether I go there or not?”.
"Sure. They want to know if you're giving
in, and they won't be able to tell unless they go
and see. Now, Mr. Quaritch, you tell Mr.
Petersham there ain't much danger for me,
seeing I've learnt to move quiet in the woods.
I'll try my luck to-night.”
And so finally it was arranged, though not
without a good deal of argument with Peters-
ham.
The evening fell wild and windy, but with
a clear sky save for occasional fleecy clouds
307


THE MEN OF THE MOUNTAINS
times when the moon was shut in by clouds.
They might 'a' come them times, though I
don't think they did. But I'll know for certain
soon, unless it comes on heavy rain. ... There's
a fine little lake they calls Butler's Pond up
there. You take your fishpole, Mr. Quaritch,
and we'll go over at sunrise and you try for
some of them trout, while I take a scout round
for tracks.”
This we did, but search as Joe would, he
failed to discover any sign at all. He told me
this when he joined me at breakfast-time.
“Evidently no one came," I said, as I
watched him fry the bacon over a small fire.'
“That's so.”
After I had caught a nice string of trout, we
walked back to Kalmacks, circling round the
house before we entered it. The sand lay un-
disturbed by any strange footstep, but when we
got in we found Mr. Petersham in a state of the
greatest excitement.
“One of the blackmailers has had a long talk
with Puttick!” he told us.
“What?"
“Incredible as it sounds, it is so.”
309


NOVEMBER JOE
“But when was this?”.
“Early this morning, some time after you
and Joe started. This is how it happened. Put-
tick had just got up and gone down with a tin
of rosin and some spare canvas and tin to mend
that canoe we ripped on the rock yesterday.
In fact he had only just begun working, when
he was startled by a voice ordering him to hold
up his hands.”
“By Jove! What next?”
“Why, he held them up. He had no choice.
And then a man stepped out from behind the
big rock that's just above where the canoe lies."
“I hope Puttick recognized him?”
“No; the fellow had a red handkerchief tied
over his nose and mouth, only his eyes showed
under the brim of a felt hat that was pulled low
down over them. He carried a rifle that he kept
full on Puttick's chest while they talked. ...
But I'll call Puttick, he can finish the account
of the affair himself. That's best.”
Puttick answered to the call, and after run-
ning over the story which was exactly similar to
that we had just heard from Petersham, he
continued:-
310


NOVEMBER JOE
“How was the chap dressed?” inquired Joe.
“Like most of 'em. Dark old coat and ragged
pair of trousers and moccasins.”
“What colour was his socks?”
“Could n't see. He had his trousers stuffed
into them kind o' half-boot moccasins that
buckle at the knee. The stores to Priamville
are full of them.”
“Tall or short was he?”
“Medium-like.”
“Which way did he go when he left you?”
“West; right along the bank.”
“You followed his trail after the half-hour
was over?”
Puttick opened his eyes. “He did n't leave
none."
“Left no trail! How's that?" cried Peters-
ham.
But Joe interposed. “You mean he kep' to
the stones in the bed o' the brook all the
time?"
“That's it. And, anyway, if I'd got fooling
lookin' for his tracks I'd 'a' got a bullet in me
same as Bill Worke,” ended the little man.
“They're all watching for us.”
312


THE MEN OF THE MOUNTAINS
v
m
Ben here to show me just where the fella stood
when he held him up this morning."
So Joe went down to the brook, and I went
with him. We were soon beside the canoe which
Puttick had been mending.
"Here's where I was, and there's where he
stood,” said Puttick, pointing to a small mass
of rock close by. “And there's the place I set
down my watch.”
November glanced over the details and then
followed the bank of the brook for some dis-
tance. Presently he returned.
"Did you strike his trail?” asked Puttick.
“No, the stones lead right away to the lake,
and like as not he came in a canoe.”
“Like as not,” agreed Puttick, and resumed
his work on the canoe which had been so rudely
interrupted earlier in the day.
We found Linda in the living-room arrang-
ing some fishing-tackle. She at once appealed
to Joe.
“Oh, Joe, I want to try some of those English
lures Mr. Quaritch gave me. I'm going to fish
and I want to use this two-jointed pole; will
you fix it for me?”
315


NOVEMBER JOE
Joe took the rod and, as he examined it,
said:—
“I'd like you to make me a promise, Miss
Linda.”
“What is it?"
“Not to go out at all to-day.”
“But, Joe, it's such a lovely day and you
know you thought all that man's talk with Ben
Puttick was bluff; that there is really not any
danger."
"I did n't say that, Miss Linda."
Linda looked at him in surprise. “But you
advised father not to send me away!”
“I know.”. Joe smiled. “And Mr. Petersham
is that angry, he won't speak to me.”
“You don't think I'm in danger?”
“You're in great danger, Miss Linda.”
“From whom?"
"It's hard to say.”
“But I can't stay indoors indefinitely. And :
anyway, I don't believe they would attack a :
woman, though if they did you would catch
them, Joe.”
“I dunno - and it would n't be much good
after they'd hurt you—perhaps hurt you bad.”
316


THE MEN OF THE MOUNTAINS
“Then you must go out with me, Joe. If
you are with me, they will not dare ..."
Joe had fixed the fishing-rod by this time.
He handed it back to Linda.
“Look here, Miss Linda, if you'll stay in the
house just over to-day, I would n't wonder but
it might be quite safe for you to go out to-
morrow — and ever after."
“Joe! You mean you have discovered —”
“No; I ain't discovered nothing, but if you
stay in the way I ask, maybe I shall.” Joe took
up his hat.
“Where are you going, November?” I asked.
“Over to Senlis Lake, Mr. Quaritch. Will
you see Ben Puttick and tell him I won't be
back till lateish and will he cook the potatoes
and the cornflour cakes, if I don't get back to
time? Miss Linda, will you please tell every
one, even your father, that you have a mighty
painful head and that's why you're staying
in?"
“Yes, Joe,” said Linda.'


THE MAN IN THE BLACK HAT
wa
“We have no time to think of that. Get
ready!”
"There was five shots,” Puttick said delib-
erately. “I heard 'em myself. That means
Joe's dead, if it was him they shot at. If we go
we'll soon be dead, too.”
“We can't leave him. Come along! We must
go to his help.”
“Think a bit afore you hurry. If we're shot,
they'll come on here.” He looked at me.
“Oh, you coward!” cried Linda.
Puttick turned a dull red. “I'm no coward,
Miss Linda, but I'm no fool. I'm a woodsman.
I know."
“There is a good deal of sense in what Ben
says," I put in. “I think his best place is here
with you; he shall stay to help you in case of
need. I'll go and find Joe. After all, it's as
likely as not that he was firing, or perhaps some
one else was firing, at a bear.”
With the words, I jumped down the veran-
dah steps and ran out along the trail from the
clearing. I heard Petersham shouting some-
thing, but did not stay to listen; every minute
mattered if Joe had really been attacked.
321


NOVEMBER JOE
I ran for the first few hundred yards, but then
realized that I could not keep up the pace. I
knew the general direction of Senlis Lake and
made towards it. Fortunately there was a fairly
clear trail, upon which I saw here and there the
print of moccasins which I took to be Joe's, and
later it proved that in this I was right.
I shall not easily forget my race against time,
for, to tell the truth, I was sick with fear and the
anticipation of evil. Around me spread the
beautiful spring woods; here and there grouse
sprang whirring away among the pines, the
boles of which rose straight into the upper air,
making great aisles far more splendid than in
any man-built cathedral.
All these things I saw as in a dream, while
I hastened forward at the best pace I could at-
tain, until from a rising knoll I caught a glimpse
of Senlis Lake. The forest path here rose and
fell in a series of short steep inclines. I laboured
up these little hills and ran down the slopes.
Suddenly I came to a turn and was about to
rush down a sharp dip when a voice, seemingly
at my side, said:-
“That you, Mr. Quaritch?”
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NOVEMBER JOE
was a long-haired, black-bearded man of me-
dium size.
Joe leaned against the maple tree and looked
down at him.
"I seem to know the fellow's face,” I said.
“Yes, you seen him the day we come, cutting
wood by the shack.”
“Now, Joe, lean on me, and we'll try to make
for home”; for I saw he was very weak.
"Must just look around, Mr. Quaritch. See
here! he was smoking his pipe. Look at the
ashes — a regular handful of them. He must 'a'
lain for me all of a hour before I come along.
Here's his rifle; a 30-30. Wonder who he is.”
Joe lay back panting.
“You're not able to walk," said I. “I'll go back
to Kalmacks and get a rig to bring you home.”
“No, Mr. Quaritch, it would never be right
to do that. It would give the other fellas warn-
ing."
“The others?”
“This dead fella's partners."
“You know he has some, then?”
“One, anyway. But let's be moving. Cut
me a pole so as I can use it as a crutch.”
324


THE MAN IN THE BLACK HAT
I did as he asked and we commenced our long
and, for him, painful walk back.
As we walked, Joe gave me in little jerks
the story of his adventures.
“I started out, Mr. Quaritch,” he began.
“Why did you start out? That's what I want
to know first of all.”
“Seemed like if we did n't get ahead to find
out about them fellas soon, something bad
might happen.”
“You mean you think they would have shot
at Miss Petersham?”.
"Likely. You see, they was hustling a bit to
make Mr. Petersham pay up. Them that fixes
blackmail don't like delay; it's apt to be danger-
ous. I travelled along keeping as good a lookout
as might be, but seeing no one. When I got to
the Lake I went across to the camp where Bill
Worke was fired at — you mind Miss Linda
dropped a brooch there? — I had a search for
it, but I did n't find it though I come across
what I'd hoped to find — a lot of tracks —
men's tracks.”
“Who had been there since Saturday?”
"Huh! Yes, only about two days old. After
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NOVEMBER JOE
a while I built a bit of a fire and cooked a pinch
of tea in a tin I'd fetched along. Then after
lunk” (Joe always called lunch “lunk”), “I
started back. I was coming along easy, not on
the path, but in the wood about twenty yards
to the south of it, and afore I'd gone above
three or four acres, a shot was fired at me from
above. The bullet did n’t strike me, but as I
was in a wonderful poor place for cover, — just
three or four spruces and half a dozen sticks
of wild raspberry, — I went down, pretending
I'd got the bullet, pitched over the way a man
does that's got it high up, and I took care to get
the biggest spruce trunk between me and where
I think the shots come from.
"Sometimes, if you go down like that, a
man'll get rattled-like and come out, but not
this one. Guess I'm not the first he's put a bit
of lead into. He lay still and fired again - got
me in the shoulder that time, and I gave a kick
and shoved in among the raspberry canes in
good earnest; had some of them whitey buds
in my mouth and was chewing of them, when
the fella shoots twice more — both misses.
Then he kind o' paused, and I guesses he's
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THE MAN IN THE BLACK HAT
going to move to where he can make me out
more clear and let me have it again.
"I see the black hat on him for a moment and
then I lets drive. I tried to get up to have a look
at him.”
“Surely that was risky. How could you know
he was dead?”
"Heard the bullet strike and saw the hat go
backwards; a man don't never fall over back-
wards when he's shamming. I could n't get to
him — fainted, I guess. Then you come along."


THE CAPTURE
“I've nothing to confess, you fool!”
“Not even that story you invented about the
man with the red hanker across his face ...
the man who was n't never there?”
“What's he ravin' about?” cried Put-
tick.
"Have you forgot them long-haired Tomlin-
son brothers that ..."
The effect of this speech on Puttick was in-
stantaneous. Evidently he leaped to the con-
clusion that he had been betrayed, for he turned
and dashed for the door. We flung ourselves
upon him and by sheer weight bore him to the
ground, where we quickly overpowered him,
snarling and writhing.
Some hours later we sat round November Joe
who was stretched upon the couch. Puttick
had been tied up and imprisoned in the strong-
est room.
“No, Mr. Petersham,” Joe was saying. “I
don't think you'll have much more trouble.
There was only three men in it. One's dead;
one's locked up, and I dare say we'll find a way
of dealing with number three."
“What I don't understand," said Linda, “is
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NOVEMBER JOE
how you found out that Puttick was in it. When
did you begin to suspect him?"
“Last night; when Mr. Petersham did n't go
to Butler's Cairn. The fellas who promised to
meet him never put in there either. That was
queer, was n't it? Of course it could mean just
one thing — that some one had told 'em that
Mr. Petersham were n't coming. There was
only us three and Puttick knew. So Puttick
must 'a' been the one to tell.”
“But, November," I said, “Puttick never
left the house, for you remember you found no
tracks on the sand. How, then, could he let them
know?”
“I guess he waved a lantern or made some
other sign they'd agreed on.”
“But why did n't you tell me all this at
once?" exclaimed Petersham.
“Because I were n't sure. Their not going to
Butler's Cairn might 'a' been chance. But this
morning, when Puttick comes in with his yarn
about the man with the red hanker across his
face, that made him hold up his hands, and
threatened him when he was mending the
canoe, I begun to think we should n't be so
332


THE CAPTURE
much longer in the dark. And when I went
down and had a look around by the river, I
knew at once his story was a lie, and that
he'd got an interest in scaring Mr. Petersham
away.”
“How did you know that?”
“You mind Puttick said the fella come just
when he was beginnin' to mend the canoe? I
took a look at the work he'd done on it and he
could n't 'a' got through all that under an hour.
He's fixed a little square of tin over the rent as
neat as neat. And then was n't it queer the fella
should have come on him there? -a place he
would n't be in not one morning of a hundred.”
"You believe he made up the whole story?
And that no one came at all?”
“I'm pretty sure of it. There was n't a sign
or a track and as to the fella's jumpin' from
stone to stone, there's distances of fourteen
and sixteen feet between. Still he might 'a'
done it, or he might 'a' walked in the water, and
I were not going to speak till I were sure.”
“Go on. We're still in the dark, Joe," said
Linda.
“Well, Miss Linda, you remember how Put-
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NOVEMBER JOE
tick advised Mr. Petersham to pay or go, and
how I told him to stick it out, and when I'd
given him that advice, I said to you that I was
going across to Senlis Lake, and asked Mr.
Quaritch to tell Puttick. I thought there was a
good chance that Puttick would put on one of
his partners to scare me. You see nobody knew
which way I were going but you and him, so
it'd be fair certain that if I was interfered with,
it would prove Puttick guilty.”
“That was clever, though you ran a horrible
risk. Was there any particular reason why you
chose to go to Senlis Lake?”
"Sure. I wanted to see if any one had been
over there looking for your brooch. On’y us
and Puttick knew it was lost, and you'd said
how your father had paid dollars and dollars
for it. When a thing like that's lost, woods-
men'll go miles to try to find it, and Puttick
must 'a' told the Tomlinsons, for there was
tracks all around our fire where we boiled the
kettle.”
“Do you think they found my brooch?”
“Huh, no! I pick'it up myself five minutes
after you drop'it. I only kep' it, pretendin' it
334


CHAPTER XVI
THOUC
THE CITY OR THE WOODS?
ALTHOUGH Dandy Tomlinson's bullet had
passed through Joe's shoulder, it had left a very
ugly wound, but the young woodsman's clean
and healthy life stood him in good stead and the
process of healing went on rapidly. The chief
trouble was his weakness, for he had lost a large
amount of blood before I found him.
We had fetched a doctor from Priamville,
who left a string of instructions which Linda
carried out as closely as she could. Indeed,
she would have devoted most of her time to
Joe, but he managed to make her spend a good
part of each day out of doors. Sometimes he
would beg for a fish for his supper and she must
catch it herself to prove how well she had
profited by his teaching; there were half a
hundred things he suggested, not one of which
was obvious or trifling, until I marvelled at his
ingenuity.
During those days he perforce kept his bunk,
337


NOVEMBER JOE
where he lay very silent and quiet. I usually
found him with his eyes shut as if sleeping, but
at the sound of my footstep, if I were alone, he
would raise his lashes and look gravely at me.
“You are finding the time long, Joe ?” I said
on one occasion.
“No, Mr. Quaritch, the hours slip past quick
enough. I've never had a lie-by and a while for
thinking since I been a man. There's a good
few puzzles to life that wants facing one time or
another, I s'pose.”
“Which puzzle is it that you are facing
now?”
“Mr. Petersham wants to be the making
of me.”
“Then you're about the luckiest young man
in this hemisphere!"
“But I have everything I want!... Besides,
I ain't done nothing for him.”
“What about saving his daughter's life?”
"Huh! You'd 'a' done the same."
“I have no particular anxiety to be shot.”
Joe shook his head. “If you notioned Miss
Linda was to be hurt, you'd not stand off run-
ning a bit of a risk to stop it?”
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NOVEMBER JOE
He turned his eyes upon me with a look I had
never seen in them before.
“That so, Mr. Quaritch?”
“Yes. It is lucky the two men from St.
Amiel's have arrived, as it leaves me free to go.
The new wardens are sure to be satisfactory,
as you recommended them to Mr. Petersham.
Besides, all the trouble seems to be over, the
squatters are contented enough; the blackmail-
ing plot evidently lay entirely between Puttick
and those two scoundrels the Tomlinsons."
"Huh, yes! It was put up among them three,
I guess. Kalmacks is safe enough now; there's
no call for you to stay longer. Charley Paul and
Tom Miller is two good men; I known 'em since
I was a boy down to St. Amiel. Mr. Petersham
won't never have no better.”
“As to that, you'll be here for quite a while
yourself.”
He made no reply, and when I turned from
the window to look at him, he was lying with
his eyes closed; and thinking he was tired, I left
him.
At the end of the south verandah was situ-
ated a small detached room, which we had
340


THE CITY OR THE WOODS
turned into a workshop, and early the same
afternoon I went round there to repair a fa-
vourite fishing-rod. The verandah was empty as
I passed through it, but presently Petersham
joined me.
He did not speak, but sat down in an arm-
chair beside the bench where I was working,
and pulling a bundle of letters from his pocket
began to open and look them through.
“That fellow, November Joe, is an infernal
fool,” he said presently. "He is a dolt without
an ounce of ambition.”
“In his own sphere ..." I began.
“He is all very well in his own sphere, but he
should try to rise above it."
“You think so?”
“Are you mad, James?”
“He has done uncommonly well for himself
so far," I said. “He has made good use of his
brains and his experience. In his own way he is
very, very capable.”
“That is true enough, but he has got about
as far as he can go without help. As you say, he
has done all this for himself. Now I am ready to
do a good deal more for him. I'll back him in
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NOVEMBER JOE
any line of business he chooses to follow. I owe
him that and more. Heaven knows what might
have happened to Linda but for him. Those
ruffians Puttick and the Tomlinsons were wild
to lay hands on money. If Joe had not been
here, they would probably have been successful.
... Perhaps they might have kidnapped her or
hurt her in the hope of putting the screw on
me!”
“You owe a good deal to November."
“I am well aware of it,” replied Petersham.
“I am convinced I owe him Linda's life.”
Something in his tone showed me his further
meaning. I dropped my fishing-rod and stared
at him. I knew Linda had enormous influence
over her father, but this was beyond imagina-
tion.
“You'd never allow it!” I exclaimed.
“Why not?” he retorted angrily. “Is n't Joe
better than the Hipper dude? Or Phil Bitshiem
... or than that, Italian Count with his pedi-
gree from Noah in his pocket? Tell me, where
is she going to find a man like Joe? Why, he's
got it in him to do things, big things, and I hope
I'm a good enough Republican not to see the
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NOVEMBER JOE
not guessed how it had worked on Joe. When I
came to think of it, I understood how blind I
had been, that the influence was inevitable. It
was not only her beauty, it was more than that.
November, untaught woodsman though he
might be, had found in her the answering note
to his own high nature. I had, indeed, been
right in so far that he had not dreamed of as-
piring to her; nevertheless the episode would
mean pain and loss to him, I feared, for many
a day.
Once more I heard him.
“Don't you think I'll be proud every hour I
have to live that you was so good to me, Miss
Linda? I shan't never forget it.”
"Joe, I think I hate you!” she cried, and then
the quick tap of her footsteps told us she had
run into the house.
There was absolute silence for a minute or
two. At length Joe sighed heavily, and with the
slow laborious movement of weakness went to
his room.
When all seemed safe, Petersham and I stole
out of hiding like thieves, and, though we ex-
changed no word, Petersham was swearing vio-
346


THE CITY OR THE WOODS
lently under his breath until he shut his office
door.
Rather to my surprise, November Joe came
out for a while after supper, because he said it
was my last evening at Kalmacks. Neither he
nor Linda gave any sign that anything unusual
had passed between them. Indeed, we were gay
enough and we had Charley Paul in to sing us
some French-Canadian songs.
After saying good-bye as well as good-night
to Linda and her father, I followed Joe to his
room.
"I won't wake you up in the morning, No
vember,” I said. “There's nothing like rest and
sleep to put you on your legs again.”
"I've been trying that cure, Mr. Quaritch,
and I won't be long behind you.”
“Oh, where are you going to?”
“To my shack on Charley's Brook. I'm kind
o'homesick-like, and that's the truth.”
“But how about Mr. Petersham's wish to
give you a start in his business in New York or
Montreal?”
“I'm not the kind of a guy for a city, Mr.
Quaritch. All the chaps 'd get turning round to
347


NOVEMBER JOE
stare at the poor wild fella, and I'd sure be
scairt to sleep in one of them up-in-the-blue-sky
houses, anyway!” He laughed.
“But you would soon be used to city ways,
and perhaps become a great man and rich!”
“That was what the mink said to the otter.
‘Go you to the city and see the sights,' says he,
but the otter knew the only way he'd ever see
the city would be around some lovely gals
neck.”
November Joe had no idea how far I could
read into his fable.
"And what did the otter say?”.
"Huh! Nothing. He just went down his
slide into the lake and got chasin' fish, and I
guess he soon forgot he missed seein' the city,
all right.”
“And how about you, Joe?”
“I guess I'll get chasin' fish, too, Mr. Quaritch.”
When I arrived at the depot at Priamsville in
the morning, to my surprise I found November
Joe there before me.
“Why, Joe!” I exclaimed, “you're not fit to
travel.”
348