All of which might be taken to indicate that Chief Fobes was not as great a man in the minds of the four boys as he was in his own. Still, something might be said on both sides of this subject, quite as Phil Way now remarked, but the conversation was abruptly dropped. "No news yet?" asked Mr. Wagg. The lads had just reached the hotel again. "None of the car, but--" and then they told the landlord of the killing of Scottie. Confidentially they intimated their belief that John Smith or "Pickem" might know something of the affair. "Very strange," mused Mr. Wagg. "He checked out--paid his bill and left--last night. He said he was leaving on the ten o'clock train east. Seemed put out because the party he had been expecting in to see him had not come. But he left no word--no address for mail, or anything." The hotel proprietor was not at all pleased with the indifference of Chief Fobes. The boys had told him of all that took place at the garage. "Yet of course," said he, "it might make a difference if you lived here. There'd be quite a little expense to find out who killed the dog and, besides, the thieves, if it was thieves who did it, didn't get anything. It doesn't seem to me, now really, that this new trouble has anything to do with your lost automobile, and I take it that that's the main thing, after all." To this the boys agreed and, eager to put into execution Phil's plan to telephone to all the larger cities east and west, to get some trace of the Big Six, if possible, they started for the telephone office. "But we can't all telephone," said Phil. "Who will look after burying Scottie? And who will go to Ferndale in the Torpedo and take back the pick and shovel to the blacksmith? Even if he did say we might have them as long as we liked, they should be toted home to-day." Billy and Paul volunteered for the work mentioned. With the cold, stiff body of poor Scottie covered over with muslin in the tonneau, they started the stray automobile again toward the lonely South Fork and Ferndale. Where the dog's burial place should be had been a problem. Willie Creek suggested a wooded knoll where some evergreens grew, not far beyond the branching of the road. This place the two boys reached in due time. It seemed to be quite what they sought. Overhead the always green branches would sing a gentle requiem in the breeze the whole year through. The thick, emerald foliage would protect the little grave below, both from the violence of winter's storms and the heat of the summer sun. The solemn task was not a pleasant one. They wrapped the clean, new muslin around the body that in life had been so lithe, so strong, so active and so handsome, and gently placed it in the soft, cool ground. After the beautiful custom of the Grand Army of the Republic they put bits of evergreen in the grave, in token of unceasing remembrance of their dead comrade. Slowly they filled in the earth.