Two days later a message came which necessitated a trip up the Dead River branch, traversing the ground over which Trafford had gone ten days before. Already, however, the camps he had visited were deserted, the drivers having followed the body of logs moving towards the river itself. At the Forks, Trafford was joined by the assistant who had warned him that morning in Millbank. They had a long conference, in which there appeared no small amount of differing opinion. The assistant had tracked from a camp on Moosehead, to a cabin beyond the Madison Beeches above Millbank, two Canadians, who had left the lake suddenly on May 12. He was certain he had located one of the men, a great powerful fellow, in one of the Dead River driving gangs. “And the other?” “I can get no trace of him. They separated at Millbank--perhaps forever.” “And this fellow’s name--here on Dead River?” “Pierre Duchesney.” “And the other?” “Victor Vignon.” “It can scarcely have any bearing,” Trafford asserted after some thought. “Nothing definite in the way of plans could have been formed so promptly. The murder was only twenty-four hours old then.” “But they went to Millbank; spent four days in the old Indian hut back of Madison Beeches, and were not seen in Millbank during the entire time. Then, no one knows how, the one appears at Parlin Pond, and works from there over to Dead River. He’s a big, strapping fellow; the other one was medium height and size--much the slighter made of the two.” “But I tell you,” Trafford affirmed; “if they were called to Millbank, the call must have come before the murder was known--they came for something else than to assault the man supposed to have those papers.” “And were at hand conveniently to assault the man who was supposedly in possession of the papers, when it was found that they had involuntarily changed hands.” This view struck Trafford and he gave it some little thought, while the other waited as if for his final judgment. “As long as we’re here, we may as well have a look at your man,” said Trafford. The next day found them guests of the drive at the camp above the first rapids of Dead River, where use was being had of the last of the spring flow to get the tail of the winter’s cut into the main channel. Already the advance guard of the summer army was making its appearance, adventurous souls who love to see the year at its birth, and the presence of strangers excited no especial comment. They made it so apparent that they sought an invitation for the night that it became unavoidable, and so with the falling of dusk and the leap of the great flames of the camp fire among the trees, they came on to the time for the experiment agreed upon.