"That ought to explain some things to the Captain," said Lounsbury, in a low voice. "Yes. And it will satisfy the K. O., I'm pretty sure. An officer's not to be blamed so much for things going wrong when the traitor's practically within the lines. The K. O. himself could have had that fire." "Well, Dallas." Lounsbury was cheery again. "You and Marylyn own the Bend, sure enough." There was a knock at the door. Then, with a great show of backing and coughing, young Jamieson appeared. "Frank," said Lounsbury, "quit your nonsense and tell us about the other side. Did the scout find anything?" "Yes, he did," answered Jamieson; "and what proves how smart the whole plot was. What do you think? Well, just above where you met that Indian, they found an outfit--black blanket and a ragged skirt----" A quiet fell. Dallas turned away to the windows. Lounsbury followed her, comforting. Presently, he returned, clearing his voice. "They copied Charley's clothes," he said. "I guessed that. As the Indian came up to me, I spoke. But when he answered, I knew--just a second too late. He gave me a terrible lick, but I caught it on my arm and came back with the gun. Don't know how I ever reached the shack." "Mr. Lo peeled in the grove and scampered," said Fraser. "We saw him," said Marylyn, "and I ran." "He's the only red that got free." "But, all the same, I plugged him," declared Lounsbury. "And I'll bet he's packing a pound of buckshot. Who was it, do you know?" "Canada John." Again the door opened, and Oliver appeared. His long face was distressfully haggard; about his temples and across his forehead, what had been merely lines before were now deep grooves. Yet the fierce, baffled look that had been in his eyes since the escape was entirely gone. He smiled at the group most tenderly, and his moustache wiggled in a most incomprehensible fashion. He closed the door and waited, his hand on the knob. Jamieson stepped forward. "Captain," he said with mock injury, "these people"--he indicated the others--"do not mark the flight of the minutes. I don't wonder--it's natural. But I, sir, I--having been asked to breakfast by Mrs. Oliver--_do_. Is--is breakfast ready?" "Breakfast is ready," Oliver answered. His voice was unsteady. "Thank goodness for that!" There was the sound of a faint cheer outside; then someone went rushing up the plank walk before the house. The captain closed the windows. "We shall give thanks for many things to-day," he said significantly. Fraser started, and his eyelids fluttered what his face strove to control. "What's all that outside?" It was Marylyn, innocently. But Oliver gave a quick sign, pulling nervously at his moustache. "Frank," he began, "a--a friend is coming home to us this morning." "A-a-ah!" It was near a groan. "Wait--wait," firmly. "Give yourself a moment to guess. But--guess something _good_."