Neither Mildred nor her father ever spoke of that unknown suitor in his presence, and their very silence invested the mysterious man with menacing possibilities which did not tend to soothe Boyd's troubled mind. In fact, Mr. Wayland, despite his genial manner, inspired him with a vague sense of hostility, and, as if he were not sufficiently distracted by all this, Fraser and George kept him in a constant state of worry from other causes. The former was continually involving him in some wildly impossible enterprise which seemed ever in danger of police interference. He could not get rid of the fellow, for Fraser calmly included him in all his machinations, dragging him in willy-nilly, until in Boyd's ears there sounded the distant clank of chains and the echo of the warden's tread. A dozen times he had exposed the rogue and established his own position, only to find himself the next day wallowing in some new complication more difficult than that from which he had escaped. Ordinarily it would have been laughable, but at this crisis it was tragic. As for George, he had been very quiet since the night of his encounter with Marsh, and he spent much of his time by himself. This was a relief to Boyd, until he happened several times to meet the big fellow in strange places at unexpected hours, surprising in his eyes a look of expectant watchfulness, the meaning of which at first puzzled him. It took but little observation, however, to learn that the fisherman spent his days in hotel lobbies, always walking about through the crowd, and that by night he patrolled the theatre district, slinking about as if to avoid observation. Emerson finally realized with a shock that George was in search of his enemy; but no amount of argument could alter the fellow's mind, and he continued to hunt with the silence of a lone wolf. What the result of his meeting Marsh would be Boyd hesitated to think, but neither George nor he discovered any trace of that gentleman. These various cares, added to the consequences of his inability to finance the cannery project, had reduced Emerson to a state bordering upon collapse. Balt had entered his room that morning for his daily report of progress, and after his partner's confession of failure had fetched a deep sigh. "Well, it's tough, after all we've went through," he said. Then, after a pause, "Cherry will be broken-hearted." "I hadn't thought of her," confessed the other. "You see, it's her last chance, too." "So she told me. I'm sorry I brought you all these thousands of miles on a wild-goose chase, but--" "I don't care for myself. I'll get back somehow and live in the brush, like I used to, and some day I'll get my chance. But she's a woman, and she can't fight Marsh like I can." "Just who or what is she?" Boyd inquired, curiously, glad of anything to divert his thoughts from their present channel.