Thorpe calculated rapidly. The enemy would require, even with their teams, a day to cover the thirty miles to the fishing village of Munising, whence the stage ran each morning to Seney, the present terminal of the South Shore Railroad. He, Thorpe, on foot and three hours behind, could never have caught the stage. But from Seney only one train a day was despatched to connect at Mackinaw City with the Michigan Central, and on that one train, due to leave this very morning, the up-river man was just about pulling out. He would arrive at Mackinaw City at four o'clock of the afternoon, where he would be forced to wait until eight in the evening. By catching a boat at the mill to which Injin Charley had led him, Thorpe could still make the same train. Thus the start in the race for Detroit's Land Office would be fair. “All right,” he cried, all his energy returning to him. “Here goes! We'll beat him out yet!” “You come back?” inquired the Indian, peering with a certain anxiety into his companion's eyes. “Come back!” cried Thorpe. “You bet your hat!” “I wait,” replied the Indian, and was gone. “Oh, Charley!” shouted Thorpe in surprise. “Come on and get a square meal, anyway.” But the Indian was already on his way back to the distant Ossawinamakee. Thorpe hesitated in two minds whether to follow and attempt further persuasion, for he felt keenly the interest the other had displayed. Then he saw, over the headland to the east, a dense trail of black smoke. He set off on a stumbling run towards the mill. Chapter XXI He arrived out of breath in a typical little mill town consisting of the usual unpainted houses, the saloons, mill, office, and general store. To the latter he addressed himself for information. The proprietor, still sleepy, was mopping out the place. “Does that boat stop here?” shouted Thorpe across the suds. “Sometimes,” replied the man somnolently. “Not always?” “Only when there's freight for her.” “Doesn't she stop for passengers?” “Nope.” “How does she know when there's freight?” “Oh, they signal her from the mill--” but Thorpe was gone. At the mill Thorpe dove for the engine room. He knew that elsewhere the clang of machinery and the hurry of business would leave scant attention for him. And besides, from the engine room the signals would be given. He found, as is often the case in north-country sawmills, a Scotchman in charge. “Does the boat stop here this morning?” he inquired. “Weel,” replied the engineer with fearful deliberation, “I canna say. But I hae received na orders to that effect.” “Can't you whistle her in for me?” asked Thorpe. “I canna,” answered the engineer, promptly enough this time. “Why not?” “Ye're na what a body might call freight.” “No other way out of it?” “Na.” Thorpe was seized with an idea. “Here!” he cried. “See that boulder over there? I want to ship that to Mackinaw City by freight on this boat.” The Scotchman's eyes twinkled appreciatively.