"No, Kay.... Except that chance of running across this new man of whom we never had heard before the stupid Boche advertised his presence in Les Errues." "Alexander Gray," nodded McKay, taking from his pocket the paper which the Huns had nailed to the great pine, and unfolding it again. The girl rested her chin on his shoulder to reread it--an apparent familiarity which he did not misunderstand. The dog that believes in you does it--from perplexity sometimes, sometimes from loneliness. Or, even when afraid--not fearing with the baser emotion of the poltroon, but afraid with that brave fear which is a wisdom too, and which feeds and brightens the steady flame of courage. "Alexander Gray," repeated McKay. "I never supposed that we would send another man in here--at least not until something had been heard concerning our success or failure.... I had understood that such a policy was not advisable. You know yourself, Yellow-hair, that the fewer people we have here the better the chance. And it was so decided before we left New York.... And--I wonder what occurred to alter our policy." "Perhaps the Boches have spread reports of our capture by Swiss authorities," she said simply. "That might be. Yes, and the Hun newspapers might even have printed it. I can see their scare-heads: 'Gross Violation of Neutral Soil! "'Switzerland invaded by the Yankees! Their treacherous and impudent spies caught in the Alps!'--that sort of thing. Yes, it might be that... and yet--" "You think the Boche would not call attention to such an attempt even to trap others of our agents for the mere pleasure of murdering them?" "That's what I think, Eve." He called her "Eve" only when circumstances had become gravely threatening. At other times it was usually "Yellow-hair!" "Then you believe that this man, Gray, has been sent into Les Errues to aid us to carry on independently the operation in which we have so far failed?" "I begin to think so." The girl's golden eyes became lost in retrospection. "And yet," she ventured after a few moments' thought, "he must have come into Les Errues learning that we also had entered it; and apparently he has made no effort to find us." "We can't know that, Eve." "He must be a woodsman," she argued, "and also he must suppose that we are more or less familiar with American woodcraft, and fairly well versed in its signs. Yet--he has left no sign that we could understand where a Hun could not." "Because we have discovered no sign we can not be certain that this man Gray has made none for us to read," said McKay. "No.... And yet he has left nothing that we have discovered--no blaze; no moss or leaf, no stone or cairn--not a broken twig, not a peeled stick, and no trail!"