As a matter of fact, Creed aged materially during his journey to the door, but to the onlookers his exit seemed a miracle of frantic haste as he clawed and scrambled the length of the room on hands and knees in a maudlin panic of terror. And out into the night, as he ran in the first direction he faced, the upper most thought in his mind was a blind rage against Moncrossen. The boss himself was afraid of this man, yet he had sent him, Creed, to make away with him--alone--in the night! The quavering breath left his throat in long moans as he ran on and on and on. "Your friend seems to have been in something of a hurry," ventured Bill, as Burrage gave a final twist to the old newspaper in which he was wrapping Fallon's jug. The storekeeper regarded his customer quizzically and spat with surprising accuracy into the box. "Yes," he replied dryly, "Creed, he's mostly in a hurry when they's strangers about. But to-night he seemed right down _anxious_ thataway." CHAPTER XXIII HEAD-LINES The brute in Moncrossen held subservient the more human emotions, else he must surely have betrayed his surprise when, twelve hours ahead of schedule, the greener swung the long-geared tote team to a stand in front of the office door. Not only had he made the trip without mishap, but accomplished the seemingly impossible in persuading Daddy Dunnigan to cook for a log camp, when in all reason the old man should have scorned the proposition in a torrent of Irish profanity. Moncrossen dealt only in facts. Speculation as to cause and effect found no place in his mental economy. His plan had miscarried. For that Creed must answer later. The fact that concerned him now was that the greener continued to be a menace to his scheme. Had Creed in some manner bungled the job? Or had he passed it up? He must find out how much the greener knew. The boss guessed that if the other had unearthed the plot, he would force an immediate crisis. And so he watched narrowly, but with apparent unconcern, while Bill climbed from the sled, followed by Daddy Dunnigan. On the hard-packed snow of the clearing the two big men faced each other, and the expression of each was a perfect mask to his true emotions. But the greener knew that the boss was masking, while Moncrossen accepted the other's guileless expression at its face value, and his pendulous lips widened into a grin of genuine relief as he greeted the arrivals. "Hullo! You back a'ready? Hullo, Dunnigan! I'm sure glad you come; we'll have some real grub fer a change. "Hey, LaFranz!" he called to the passing Frenchman. "Put up this team an' pack the gear to the bunk-house." As the man drove away in the direction of the stable, Moncrossen regarded the others largely. "Come on in an' have a drink, boys," he invited, throwing wide the door. "How's the foot?" "Better," replied Bill. "It will be as good as ever in a week."