may be rough, but he would never do such a terrible thing.”
“Why has he acted in such a strange manner, then? Why didn’t he report the murder when he brought the child to the hospital? And why is he now running away?”
“Hasn’t he been keeping away from the Police for years, long before that murder was committed? I often heard at Kynox that he dreaded the sight of a member of the Force. Haven’t you been after him for a long time?”
“Why, no,” the sergeant denied. “We had no orders to capture him. We always looked upon him as a strange man, rough, and terrible in a fight, but otherwise perfectly harmless.”
“You have orders to capture him now, though?”
“In a way I have. He may be innocent, but he must tell what he knows about that murder.”
“And you intend to follow him?”
“I certainly do. But we cannot go just now, for the dogs are about played out. We travelled hard all last night, without rest or food. But here comes Tom. He’s almost starved, and so am I.”
The constable was surprised and pleased to see Marion. He was very tired, and the presence of this woman gave a touch of home life to the cabin. Marion insisted upon preparing breakfast with some of the provisions the men had brought with them. There was no table in the room, so North and Rolfe squatted upon the floor, each holding his tin plate on his lap which Marion had filled with hot canned pork and beans.
“There is not much style about this,” she laughingly remarked.
“Style!” the constable exclaimed. “To have a
