this business hitches up somehow with the errand that brought me into the mountains," remarked Devreaux musingly. "Poor Graves and I came up here together from the fort. We separated this morning, he to beat along the course of the brook, and I to swing across through the timber. We had planned to meet to-night farther up the valley. Coming through a while ago, I caught the glint of fire, and of course turned aside to investigate. I heard someone coming this direction, and effaced myself. A man came along, and I grabbed him to make him account for himself, and he was you."
"What was the man like whom you arrested?" he asked abruptly--"not Mudgett, the other?"
"Undersize, swarthy, hawk-beaked, glittering black eyes."
"No," interrupted Devreaux. "The one I'm thinking of has light red hair."
"'Pink' Crill?" asked Dexter, mentioning a name that for some reason had stuck disagreeably in his thoughts.
"Where have you heard of Crill?" demanded the officer.
"I found a Bertillon photograph in Graves' jacket."
"I see. Yes--'Pink' Crill! I shouldn't have been sorry if he were the one. Saved us future trouble."
"Yes?" said the corporal expectantly.
"A Chicago safe expert. Killed an officer on his way to jail, and got away. Was traced into Canada, and we were asked to pick him up. We heard later that he was on a Grand Trunk Pacific train, traveling for the coast. But when a constable jumped the train he learned that the red-haired passenger had dropped off between stations and taken to the woods."
"Later we got word that our man had plunged into the uninhabited wilderness, and was making this direction. I decided to make a long patrol myself, and took young Graves along. This Crill is no woodsman, mind you, yet he's outdistanced and outwitted me. And until now I've rather prided myself on being a voyageur."
Devreaux spoke with a peculiar grimness of voice. "Crill of course has had help," he went on. "Oddly, there seems to be quite a crowd of people at large on this side of the ranges. Who they are, what their business, I don't know. But I've touched their trails, seen their ax-blazes on the trees, found their dead camp fires. In this country where nobody ever comes!"
"People who always managed to keep out of sight!" added the superintendent moodily. "With all the ranging and stalking we've done, Graves and I haven't clapped eyes on a single human face. Yet I know positively that there are men in this valley--six or eight or ten of them."
"All men?" asked the corporal with a sidewise glance.
"I have seen only the tracks of men's boots. Crill's, undoubtedly--and others." Devreaux cast a quick glance about him. "This unknown woman you speak of--she came this direction?"
"I heard a galloping horse at about the time you jumped me. I have an idea 

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