"That's a conundrum. It's not likely he went on to Larson's Run, for the folks there would recognize the horse. And he didn't go back to Odell's, or I should have met him." "I guess you are right, Owen. With the horse gone I don't know what to do." "Let us make sure that he hasn't strayed away, Dale. Then, if you wish, you can ride behind me. That's better than walking the five miles." Owen made a thorough search of the vicinity, while Dale again bathed his wound. No horse came to view, and a little later the journey to Larson's Run was resumed. As said before, Owen Webb was a young man of twenty. He was alone in the world, and after the death of his parents had drifted from Portland to Bangor in search of employment. He had worked in several lumber yards and sawmills before hiring out to Peter Odell. He was a good workman and a clever fellow, and if he had any fault it was that of moving from one locality to another, "just for the change," as he expressed it. He generally spent his money as fast as he made it, but his want of capital never bothered him. Like Dale, he was no drinker, as are, unfortunately, so many lumbermen, and if his money went, it went legitimately, for good board and clothing, music and newspapers, and charity. Dale had liked him from the start, and the more the pair saw of each other the more intimate did they become. Owen was bound for a blacksmith shop located near the Run, and at this place the two separated, and Dale continued his journey to John Larson's home on foot. He felt much worried over the loss of Jerry, but resolved to make a clean breast of the matter and did so. John Larson was a good reader of character and saw that the young lumberman was telling him the strict truth. "It must have been that Ducrot who took the horse," he said. "I know him and never liked him. Why Odell hired him is a mystery to me. I'll send out an alarm and I guess I'll get the horse back sooner or later." "And if you don't, Mr. Larson, I'll do what I can to pay for him," said Dale. His last week at the Run soon came to an end, and Monday morning found Dale located at Odell's, and as hard at work as ever. In the meantime Peter Odell had refused again to treat with the men who called themselves strikers, and one by one they left the locality, taking their belongings with them. The going away of these men left a vacancy at the boarding place where Owen was stopping, and this room was taken by Dale, so the two young lumbermen saw more of each other than ever. Owen was a fair performer on the violin and the banjo, and Dale could play a harmonica and sing, and they often spent an evening over their music, which the other boarders listened to with keen relish, for amusements in that out-of-the-way spot were not numerous.