“Why not ask Miller or Ewen?” broke in Roy. “They might know something about him.”
Colonel Howell shook his head: “They’d better know nothing about the letter,” he answered at last. “It was written a long time ago.”
“You mean they may have changed their minds?” asked Norman.
“I don’t mean that,” answered Colonel Howell, his face again sober, “but they had the matter under consideration once. I don’t suspect them. I’ll just keep my eyes open and say nothing. If they are all right they might get sore and leave me.”
“Do you mind,” asked Roy, “if I go out and do a little investigating? Chandler may be over to Fort McMurray.”
The colonel thought a moment and then answered:
“That won’t do any harm. All of you might go hunting this afternoon over in that direction—if it isn’t too cold.”
Eagerly enough the boys accepted the suggestion. Protected by their heavy clothing and carrying the camera and their skin-protected rifles, they found the trip to the settlement only exhilarating. At Fort McMurray the temperature, which was twenty-two below zero, did not give much trouble so long as the wind did not blow. To those whom they met, the boys talked of being on their way to the hills for moose. But later they determined not to venture upon the highlands, deciding to make a detour in the timber on their way back for a possible deer.
They had no trouble in getting trace of Chandler. In the cabin of a white prospector, where Chandler was well known, they picked up the latest town gossip. This was that Chandler, who yet seemed to have plenty of money, had hired Pete Fosseneuve, a half-breed, only two days before to take him back to his trapping camp at Pointe aux Tremble.
“He’s been working there all fall,” explained their informant, “and Fosseneuve has a team of six fine dogs. He paid Pete a lot of money to take him back to his camp night before last. They ought to be there to-morrow some time.”