Suddenly rising, his eyes narrowed and his lips compressed, he kicked the game pouch across the floor in a gust of anger caused by an illumination of certain circumstances which explained the events of the previous day. "I'm slow," he muttered between clinched teeth. "Any one can get the better of me." He recalled Weston's imitation of different people the night he and Waymart had come to Weimer's together and Sandy's displeasure at the exhibition. Sitting down in an armchair beside the table--the only chair in the shack--he followed his chain of evidence link by link. The conversation which he had overheard between Waymart and Sandy the night of the latter's return from Cody was fully explained--the some one whose assistance they might need in Meadow Creek Valley, but who would not come unless some one else had left. "Weston would not come with Leslie there for fear he'd be recognized," thought Ross. "Therefore, Sandy took steps to remove Leslie and--yes--in spite of the mess I made of it, I blocked the game!" Then, despite his anxiety, Ross grinned. Of course the McKenzies had not expected Leslie to return any more than they had expected the dynamite to be found. But after hearing his signal of discovery they had sent Weston, the skilful impersonator, to maroon him here--where? Ross dropped forward his head on the table and groaned. "They brought me here to get rid of me entirely," he finished; "and I came voluntarily!" Presently he picked up the pouch, intending to hang it on a nail in the logs beside the door. It was not quite empty; and, lifting the flap he looked in. At the bottom lay a few wads of newspaper. Ross concluded that the pouch had been stuffed with these when Weston came to Weimer's. Then, when he went back after the books, he had thrown out the paper, the presence of which had prevented his companion from noticing much difference in the pouch after the books were put into it. Ross picked up one of the pieces, and glanced at it listlessly. It was a page of the Cody "Gazette." He dropped it back into the pouch. "I wonder what he told Uncle Jake and Leslie when he got the books," thought Ross, hanging up the bag. Leslie was the only comfort the situation held for him, and this merely came from the knowledge that Weimer was not alone. For, of course, Weston having seen the boy in Meadow Creek would return and block the work somehow, probably steal the dynamite again, and convey it farther than the tool house. Here Ross started up in a sort of frenzy, and, putting on his top-coat and cap, rushed out-of-doors. He would find a way out. There must be a way, for Miller had gone back--Ross felt sure he had returned--and if Miller had he could! He would save the claims yet. The first plunge into the snow, waist-deep now, with the whip-lash of the blizzard in his face, brought him to his senses. "This is folly," he thought as he dropped once more into the chair beside the table, "when I have no idea where I am."