"I only thought I'd remind you," said the colonel, glowering. "That story in the paper is probably authentic. I've got to take you to the fort with me, but when I telegraph your local police they'll undoubtedly order your release. You'll be at liberty to go where you please. But it'll be different with Alison."
"What?" gasped the boy, his brows sharply contracting.
"That little affair in the cabin south of here, where the two men were shot in their bunks, Alison was there that night, and nobody else, as far as we can make out." A touch of sadness crept into the old officer's voice as he shook his grizzled head. "Your sister has those same qualities of loyalty and courage that—well, that make my policemen—my boys—stand by me: and I'm sincerely sorry that she can't go home with you." Devreaux turned soberly to the girl. "There's too much evidence stacked up, and we have no alternative," he said. "Until you're able to explain away that business in the burned cabin, there can be no hope of your release. The most we can promise you is fair treatment and an impartial hearing."
While the colonel was delivering himself of this speech, the door opened, and one of the constables entered the room. The newcomer walked to the fireplace, where a row of camp kettles were simmering over coals. He raised the lid of one of the pots, prodded inside, and faced about to announce that dinner was ready.
Devreaux nodded. "Good! Let's eat."
Plates were filled from the kettles, and food was given to the four manacled prisoners. Then Sergeant Brunswick and Constable Devlin were summoned into the cabin. Two packing boxes were shoved together to serve as a table, and Archie and Alison and the five policemen sat down to their evening meal.
This was the first opportunity Dexter's comrades had found to draw out the story of his recent adventures, and until their curiosity was satisfied, he was scarcely allowed the time to eat. He answered a multitude of questions, and finally pushed away his plate and settled back with a sigh to recount in detail the events that had taken place since the morning he had left the colonel at the bear cave.
Devreaux had lighted up an old blackened pipe, and he sat in silence, grim and immobile, peering at the young policeman through a cloud of tobacco smoke. When Dexter finished his story the old man vouchsafed the briefest nod. "For a single-handed job," he conceded, "you have accomplished all that the service could expect."
"I still don't understand how you ever found the pass," put in Sergeant Brunswick. "We came through a regular puzzle box to reach this place, and if we hadn't had your trail marks to follow, it might have taken us weeks to grope our way to the outlet."
"Pure piece of luck that brought me to the pass," said Dexter. "I was feeling around blindly, without any notion which direction to go, when I happened to discover an ancient blaze wrinkle in the bark of a great white fir. I chopped into the sapwood and found a deep buried ax mark, and some time-glazed scribbling that gave me my direction points. After that I had only to pick out the biggest trees in the line, and invariably there was an old ax scar to lead me on my way. So I was guided straight to the pass."