He pocketed the paper and compass after a brief examination, poured boiling water on the tea, pulled on stockings and moccasins and turned to the food with a grim but workman-like air. Then, full-fed, he fastened on his snowshoes, donned blanket coat and fur cap, hoisted the pack to his shoulders and made it fast, lit a cigarette, and went out from the warm old kitchen. He circled the cluster of buildings and struck due west, according to instructions. The dogs leaped about him, and it went sore against his nature to have to turn them homeward by flourishing his cased rifle at them. For a long time they refused to believe that he really meant it, that it wasn't a new game, but at last they turned and retired. And Jim Todhunter was alone; he had never felt so absolutely alone before. Flora Ducat was in the kitchen again within fifteen minutes of Jim's departure. She cleared the table, pausing frequently to listen as if she expected to hear something at the door. When all signs of Jim's breakfast were removed and the table was reset, she banged the stovepipe with the iron spoon. Then she went to the door and opened it. The dogs came bounding in. She closed the door behind her and stood motionless in the biting cold for half a minute, listening and gazing westward over the lightening wastes of snow and forest. There were shadows in her eyes, and her lips trembled pitifully. Breakfast that morning was an unhappy experience for Flora. "Ain't Jim been called yet?" asked her mother. "Maybe he's all tuckered out with his snowshoein' yesterday an' would like to eat in bed. Well, he can if he wants to." "He has gone out," said the girl. "He had something to eat before he went, I guess." "An' took his snowshoes an' rifle along!" exclaimed the observant Grandfather Ducat. "What's eatin' 'im? He ain't fool enough to strike out for Kittle Pond all by himself, I hope. He's left the new traps behind, anyhow. Jist out a-cavortin' round on his snowshoes for the good o' his health, like as not. Ye can't ever tell what these outsiders will do next." The morning passed, but James Todhunter did not return. Investigations on the part of old Hercules Ducat disclosed the fact that bacon, flour, tea, bread, sugar, blankets, and Peter's compass were missing. From this he deduced the theory that Jim had gone forth with every intention of making a long journey; and if a long journey, what journey but northward to Kettle Pond and his partner? He explained it all at dinner. "Reckon that's easy enough," he concluded triumphantly. "A fool could see it," remarked Grandfather McKim.