"Yes. That is the man."
"The men call him Spike. I don't know what the rest of the name is. Why?"
"I don't like his looks. Then again there is something about him that reminds me of someone that I have seen—I mean in unpleasant circumstances."
"I fear our guide has prejudiced you against lumberjacks, and I know that she has taught Henry to hate the whole tribe. One shouldn't look for drawing-room manners in a lumberjack. We have a loyal gang of men, men who will fight for us, if necessary, and who certainly can work. That, it appears to me, is the answer."
"Very well. I shall keep my eye on him, just the same. Hark! I thought I heard someone coming."
Tom and Grace were sitting by the campfire. The others of their party, with the exception of Mrs. Shafto and the bear, were listening to the fiddle and the thudding of the hob-nail boots of the lumberjacks as they danced away the early hours of the evening.
"Never mind. The pup will take notice."
"The only thing the pup takes notice of is, as Emma Dean says, food!" laughed Grace. "Someone is coming, Tom."
"Hindenburg!" commanded Tom Gray sharply.
The bull pup, sleeping by the fire, roused himself, wiggled his stubbed tail, and, rolling over on his side, yawned and promptly went to sleep again. Tom Gray glanced quickly towards the shadows that lay to the rear of them, and, as he did so, a figure appeared.