Thus it will be seen that all our little band were busy and that not an hour was wasted.
But deep in my heart lurked a determination to see again my lady of mystery. As the days lengthened to weeks without my having made any progress I at last confided in Swank.
He was incredulous but logical and infinitely woman-wise.
"You were cuckoo," he said. "But if you weren't, the only way to get her is to rouse her curiosity. Then grab her."
"How?" I asked.
He pondered a moment before replying.
"See those snow men?"
I nodded. Frissell had occupied his valuable time carving effigies for what he called his "Hall of Ill-fame, or Northern Musee of the World's Worst Worms."—Volstead, Anderson, Dr. Pease, John Roach Straton, Anthony Comstock and others. While I deprecated his taste I had no suspicion how thankful I should be for its results.
"Here's the idea," Swank continued. "Get everybody else out of the way for a whole day, see? Then plant a decoy over on the other side of the cairn where you saw the woman; something bright and snappy in color."
"My old hunting coat!" I suggested.