"Now, we'd better let Bill Long in and try that coffee," he suggested. "About what you've just told me, Dick—well, I think we'd better keep it quiet for a few days. We'll tell Banks, of course; but nobody else. Unlock the door, will you, Dick?"
They drank coffee and smoked. Bill Long went to bed, yawning, before eleven.
"Where's Mr. Banks, anyhow?" inquired Dick Goodine. "Is he makin' a call over to the Harleys'?"
"He went out to find the man who shot me," replied Reginald, with a smile; "but, as he has missed him, no doubt he is at the Harleys'. What time is it? Eleven! He should be home by now."
Half an hour later they both began to feel anxious. Banks was not in the habit of staying out after eleven o'clock. There was nothing in Samson's Mill Settlement to keep a man out late.
"He went out lookin' fer trouble," remarked the trapper, "an' maybe he's found it. Guess I may's well go over to Harleys' an' take a look 'round."
"Perhaps he has gone to see Nash," suggested Rayton.
"Or old Wigmore."
"That's so. Better turn out Bill Long, too. He can go one way and you another, Dick. Banks went out in search of trouble, as you say—and perhaps he has found it. What sort of night is it?"
"Cloudin' over. Looks like snow—and it's milder."