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"Looks like this 'Red' party them guys was talkin' about last night had hit camp. I'll lay even money them fellas has been down to the station fer another shipment o' booze," asserted McCorquodale. "We gotta do some careful gumshoein', old man. Them birds is feelin' their oats."
I'm going with you," she repeated. "There are reasons why I must go; so please don't argue about it." "But that's exactly what I intend to do," declared Kendrick decidedly. He shook his head. "There isn't room in the canoe in the first place and besides there's liable to be trouble. Isn't that so, McCorquodale?" "Mr. Kendrick, as the representative of the Recorder it is absolutely necessary "
But I didn't get a look-in." "What makes you think they're in it? Who do you mean? Nickleby?" "Nick don't work straight from the shoulder, Mr. Kendrick; but he's got a long arm with a lot o' elbows in it." McCorquodale shook his head. thoughtfully and looked serious. "There was a guy named Weiler hangin' around I dunno. It's just one o' them hunches a feller gets now 'n' then."
A spring bubbled not far away and the music of the tiny creek that trickled from it through a bed of water-cress provided a pleasing lullaby. His visitor nodded approval of the snug arrangements. Apparently McCorquodale was an old hand at this sort of thing.
The Chief had been greatly interested and after congratulating McCorquodale on his discretion had despatched him back to the hotel with instructions to shadow Weiler no matter where the trail led.
"You come on over here to the fire an' get dried an' if y'll promise to keep it to y'rself, I'll put you wise." So while Kendrick sat on the opposite side of the fire McCorquodale volunteered the information that he was a detective in short, that he was attached to the Special Service Department of the Canadian Lake Shores Railway.
He stared at the detective. "You're not joking? If so, your levity is decidedly ill-timed." "Yeah," agreed McCorquodale doubtfully. "Uh-hunh. On'y I don't happen to be wavin' no wand an' floatin' horizontal in the air, see. I'm handin' it to you straight up an' down. Stiles is there an' we gotta get him away from those guys.
Apparently McCorquodale had not been informed as to the real contents of that tan satchel he had been assigned to guard. Wade and Cranston were following that line of investigation under cover for the time being.
Svenson was indeed proving himself "gude smart mans," and that was, in very truth, "no yoke." Svenson was making good his promise "tew rase hell." "Oh boy! Oh boy!" McCorquodale kept muttering to himself, pausing an instant in amazed admiration. One glance assured Kendrick that the girl was nowhere in sight. Evidently Cristy was carrying out instructions to the letter. Stiles! Where was Stiles?
There was a noise of pursuit rapidly approaching along the logging road. Then came a bull-like bellow of rage and a woman's scream. Kendrick's face went white in sudden comprehension. "She's followed us!" he groaned. "Stay here, Stiles. Come on, Cork. It's Miss Lawson!" Trailing profanity like an express locomotive trailing smoke, McCorquodale followed down the hill in long stumbling jumps.
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