“Bob and Jack Golden, eh,” he repeated, as he flashed his light full upon them again, “Well, well, so it is. I’ve seen you boys in Skowhegan often enough to know you. You can put your hands down. I know you’re all right, but I didn’t expect to see you way off up here and at this time of night.” The boys thanked the officer and climbed out of the pung. “Somebody’s been toting a powerful lot of whiskey from Jackman down to Skowhegan,” the officer whispered to Bob, “and we’re pretty sure that Sandy has had a big hand in it. It’s stuff that’s brought across the border and, of course, there’s a tremendous profit in it. I don’t suppose that he’s got any on board now, as he’s going the wrong way; and I told Jim, back there, that it was foolish to stop him coming this way, but the poor boob couldn’t see it and insisted on doing it, so we might as well have a look.” The look was very thorough but, as the officer expected, nothing of a contraband nature was found. “Sure an’ it’s meself as told yer that I didn’t have nothin’,” Sandy declared, as soon as the search was finished. “I know you did, Sandy,” the officer said, “but we have almost certain knowledge that you’ve been running whiskey and I want to tell you now that if you keep it up we’ll get you and it’ll be the jug for yours. Better cut it out.” Sandy made no reply and the officers drove off in their light cutter and the boys took their places once more in the pung. “How far are we from Jackman?” Bob asked, as he glanced at his watch and saw that it was nearly ten o’clock. “Only ’bout four miles,” the driver replied, as he cracked his long lash over the heads of the horses. It was evident from his tone that the man was mad and they asked no more questions and Sandy did not speak again except to shout to the horses. A little less than an hour later they drew up in front of the hotel where they were to spend the night. The boys paid Sandy for the trip, and, in less than a half hour, were sound asleep. They were up before daylight, and having arranged the night before for an early breakfast, they were ready to start on their long and uncertain tramp just as the sun was showing in the east. It was a beautiful morning; such, as Jack declared, is made only in northern Maine. The thermometer on the porch showed an even zero and the air was still and clear. “It doesn’t seem possible that we’ll be sweating before noon,” Jack declared, as he drank in huge gulps of the stinging air. “Are you sure you can find the way?” he asked, as they strapped their packs on their backs. “Well, we want to hit North West Carry first, and I know the way that far anyhow, as I went over the trail from here once with father. It was that winter you had pneumonia,” Bob replied, as he started off at a rapid walk. They had no need for snow-shoes now, as the crust was hard enough to hold a horse, so they carried them strapped on top of the packs.