On the floor lay the body. Lyndsay took the lantern, and bent over it.
“Yes, it is Joe! Poor fellow!”
“He is badly cut up by them rocks,” said Michelle, “and his foot.”
“Was it rocks?” asked Lyndsay. “The skull seems broken. Poor fellow!” Then he took the magistrate aside, and they talked long and earnestly.
“Yes, I got your message. Thursday night one of the wardens hailed a dugout, and got no answer. That was below your camp.”
“I passed it also, farther up—two people. It must have been that woman and Joe. They fired their house,—why, I do not know,—and got off with their plunder.”
“We shall catch her. Do you think she killed Joe?”
“Perhaps! As like as not. But, if that woman is alive, you will not catch her.”
“I shall wire to Quebec.”
“And you will let me know?”