Two or three men were told off to build a new partition, temporarily filling the gap caused by the fire, and the rest of the crew and the boys gathered about the big stove in the main camp. Garments drenched in the bucket brigade service were hung up to dry; the cook, now quite recovered, brewed a great can of steaming tea. Then there was a sort of informal roll call. None of the boys appeared to be the worse for his adventures, and the lumberjacks seemed to find the break in the monotony of life rather enjoyable. But the foreman, “counting noses,” as he put it, made a startling discovery.
Peter Groche was missing!
Nobody could recall seeing the man after the alarm was given. Anxious search of the ruins of the ell, conducted by the aid of lanterns, revealed no charred evidences that he had perished. It led, however, to the discovery of a half-burned cloth, smoked and discolored, and giving forth the unmistakable smell of kerosene.
The cook rushed out of the camp, returning presently with a five-gallon can.
“See this!” he cried excitedly. “And this!” He held the can upside down, but no stream poured from its open neck. “Nigh full ’twas yesterday, and now it’s dry as a bone! That’s why the fire went through my place in jumps. He must ’a’ sneaked in and soused everything with the stuff after I went to sleep.”
“Huh! He might ’a’ done it with a waterin’ cart for all you’d knowed it, once you got to snorin’!” jeered one of the choppers.
The cook hotly insisted that he had full right to sleep soundly after feeding a “gang of two-legged wolves,” but the foreman stopped the controversy.
“Steady there, all around!” he commanded. “This is a crazy job, but it’s a bad job and a state’s prison job. But sure’s my name’s Kane, I’ll land the scoundrel that done it!” He glanced at his watch. “It’ll be gettin’ light in half an hour. Dayton and ‘Stub’ Cyr, I want ye!”
Two of the men—stout fellows both—stepped forward.
“You take after Groche. You know the woods. He’ll have left a trail——”