"De neares' doctaire, she down to Birch Lak'. I'm leave ma team een de store-keeper stable, an' Ol' Man Niles she say de train don' stop no mor' today, so I can't go to Birch Lak' 'til mornin'. I t'ink, by gar, I'm mak' de train stop, so I'm push de beeg log on de track an' lay on ma belly in de weeds, an' pret' soon de train com' long an' she see de beeg log an' she stop queek, an' dey all ron opp front an' I'm climb on an' tak' de seat in de smokaire. De train go 'long w'en dey git de log shov' off, an' de conductaire, he com' long an' seen me sit dere. 'We're you git on dis train?' she say, an' I'm tell heem I'm git on to Dogfish, w'en de train stop. 'I'm goin' to Birch Lak' for git de doctaire for man w'at git keel,' I'm say, an' he say de train don' stop to Birch Lak', neider. She t'rough train, an' we'n we git to de firs' stop, she gon' for hav' me arres'. I ain' say no mor' an' I'm look out de window, an' de conductaire she go an' set down in de back of de car. De train she gon' ver' fas' an' by-m-by she com' to de breege, an' Birch Lak' is wan half mile.
"I'm travel on de car before, an' I'm see dem stop de train mor' as once to put off de lumbaire-jack w'en dey git to fightin' Voila! I'm jomp oop on ma feet ver' queek an' pull two, t'ree tam on de leetle rope, an' de las' tam I'm pull so hard she bre'k in two. De train she stop so queek she mak' fellers bomp 'roun' in de seat, an' de conductaire she so mad she lak to bus', an' she holler ver' mooch, an' com' ronnin' down de middle. She ain' ver' beeg man, an' I'm reach down queek, de nex' t'ing she know she light on de head in de middle w'ere four fellers is playin' cards. Den, I'm ron an' jomp off de car an' fin' de doctaire. Dat gittin' dark, now, an' she startin' to snow, an' de doctaire she say we can't go to Dogfish 'til mornin', day ain' no mor' train. I'm see de han' car down by de track, but de doctaire she say we ain' can tak' dat for 'cause we git arres'. But I'm laugh on heem, an' I'm say I'm tak' dat han' car, 'cause I'm got to git arres' anyhow—but firs' dey got to ketch—eh? So I'm tak' a rock an' bus' de lock an' we lif' her on de track an' com' to Dogfish. Ol' Man Niles she tak' hees team an' gon' oop an' got Hurley an' de cookee, an' breeng heem to de store. De doctaire she feex de boss oop, an' she say eef eet ain' for dat cookee stay 'roun' an' mak' de blood quit comin', Hurley she would be dead befor' we com' long. Dis mornin' I'm tak' ma team an' Ol Man Niles's wagon an' com' to de camp. Hurley she won' go to de hospital, lak de doctaire say, so de doctaire she com' 'long. Eet tak' me all day long, de snow she so d'ep, an' by gar——"
Connie left in the middle of the Frenchman's discourse and hurried into the office. In his bunk, with his head swathed in bandages, lay Hurley. The doctor stood beside the stove and watched Steve feed the injured man gruel from a spoon. The big boss opened his eyes as the boy entered. He smiled faintly, and with ever so slight a motion of his head indicated Steve: "An' I said they wasn't the worth of a lath in his hide," he muttered and nodded weakly as Connie crossed swiftly to the boy's side and shook his hand. Hurley's voice dropped almost to a whisper: "I'll be laid up fer a couple of days. Tell Saginaw to—keep—things—goin'."
"I'll tell him," answered Connie, grimly, and, as the boss's eyes closed, stepped to his own bunk and, catching up the service revolver from beneath the blankets, hurried from the room.
Connie Morgan was a boy that experience and training had taught to think quickly. When he left the office it was with the idea of heading a posse of lumberjacks in the capture of the three I. W. W.'s, for from the moment he heard of their escape the boy realized that these were the three men who had intercepted Saginaw Ed on his return from Willow River. His one thought was to rescue the captive, for well he knew that, having Saginaw in their power, the thugs would stop at nothing in venting their hatred upon the helpless man. As he hurried toward the crowd in front of the men's camp his brain worked rapidly. Fifty men in the woods at night would make fifty times as much noise as one man. Then again, what would the men do if they should catch the three? The boy paused for a moment at the corner of the oat house. There was only one answer to that question. The answer had been plain even before the added outrage of the attack upon Hurley—and Hurley was liked by his men. Stronger than ever became the boy's determination to have the I. W. W.'s dealt with by the law. There must be no posse.
His mind swung to the other alternative. If he went alone he could follow swiftly and silently. The odds would be three against one—but the three had only one gun between them. He fingered the butt of his revolver confidently. "I can wing the man with the gun, and then cover the others," he muttered, "and besides, I'll have all the advantage of knowing what I'm up against while they think they're safe. Dan McKeever was strong for that. I guess I'll go it alone."
Having arrived at this decision the boy crossed the clearing to the men's camp where he singled out Swede Larson from the edge of the crowd. "Saginaw and I've got some special work to do," he whispered; "you keep the men going 'til we get back." Without waiting for a reply, he hastened to the oat house, fastened on his snow-shoes, and slipped into the timber.
It was no hardship, even in the darkness, for him to follow the snow-shoe trail, and to the point where the others had left it his progress was rapid. The snow had stopped falling, and great rifts appeared in the wind-driven clouds. Without hesitation Connie swung into the trail of the four men. He reasoned that they would not travel far because when they had intercepted Saginaw there could not have been more than two or three hours of daylight left. The boy followed swiftly along the trail, pausing frequently to listen, and as he walked he puzzled over the fact that the men had returned to the vicinity of the camp, when obviously they should have made for the railway and placed as much distance as possible between themselves and the scene of their crimes. He dismissed the thought of their being lost, for all three were woodsmen. Why, then, had they returned?
Suddenly he halted and shrank into the shelter of a windfall. Upon the branches of the pine trees some distance ahead his eye caught the faint reflection of a fire.
Very cautiously he left the trail and, circling among the trees, approached the light from the opposite direction. Nearer and nearer he crept until he could distinctly see the faces of the four men. Crouching behind a thick tree trunk, he could see that the men had no blankets, and that they huddled close about the fire. He could see Saginaw with his hands tied, seated between two of the others. Suddenly, beyond the fire, apparently upon the back trail of the men, a twig snapped. Instantly one of the three leaped up, rifle in hand, and disappeared in the woods. Connie waited in breathless suspense. Had Swede Larson followed him? Or had someone else taken up the trail? In a few moments the man returned and, taking Saginaw by the arm, jerked him roughly to his feet and, still gripping the rifle, hurried him into the woods away from the trail. They passed close to Connie, and the boy thanked his lucky star that he had circled to the north instead of the south, or they would have immediately blundered onto his trail. A short distance further on, and just out of sight of the camp fire, they halted, and the man gave a low whistle. Instantly another man stepped into the circle of the firelight—a man bearing upon his back a heavily laden pack surmounted by several pairs of folded blankets. He tossed the pack into the snow and greeted the two men who remained at the fire with a grin. Then he produced a short black pipe, and, as he stooped to pick up a brand from the fire, Connie stared at him in open-mouthed amazement.