"What's the police gotter do with it?" asked Hercules. "It's all up with yer dood, folks," replied Homer derisively. And then, with a swift change of tone, "Will you rig me out with snowshoes an' a rifle?" he continued. "I'll stable the mare an' take a look around. Todhunter don't know the woods an' maybe some accident has happened to him, an' Flora ain't ust to travelin' the woods at night. I guess it won't do no hurt to take a look round." "Reckon ye're right, Homer, as usual," said Hercules. "Stable the mare, an' welcome. I'll rig ye out with webs an' a rifle." Archie McKim parted his whiskers with the very evident intention of saying something important, but a furtive hack on the shin by Hercules, accompanied by a terrific scowl, caused him to change his mind. Then Hercules got to his feet, whispered a few words in Widow Wilson's ear, and took a lantern from a nail in the wall and lit it. Homer Steeves took the lantern and went out to stable his mare. The moment the door was shut, old Ducat hobbled to the dresser and from a lower drawer produced a few brass shells. He laid these on the table, in the lamplight, and, looking around at old Archie, his daughter-in-law, and the widow, he winked three times. "There be no fool like a young fool," he said. The shells and protruding bullets were large and of simple construction, for his rifle was a Snider. He removed the bullets, working swiftly with deft fingers, a pointed knife-blade and pincers, then extracted the explosive charges and returned the bullets to the shells. The job was completed and all evidences of it were cleared away by the time Homer reentered the kitchen. "Here be my own trusty rifle, an' here be my own snowshoes," said Hercules to Hornet, "An' Jane'll put up a pa'cel o' cooked grub for ye. But here be only four cartridges." "Four'll be plenty," returned the young man. Knowing nothing of old Mrs. Wilson's confession, Homer believed Jim Todhunter to be a fugitive from the law. Flora's action puzzled him, but he put it out of his mind, for she had frequently puzzled him before by word and deed and look. But the smart of jealousy remained. Now was his chance to get that formidable rival out of the way without a downright declaration of the degrading and unpopular passion. He would go out to hunt for Flora, which was only right and proper and a thing any young man of spirit would do, and, with luck, he would find the man who was wanted for shooting Amos Hammond. With a little more luck, he would bring that young man out of the woods with him and hand him over to the sheriff. He might meet with resistance. He might have to use old Hercules Ducat's rifle. In that case he might need a sled.