The stars were paling overhead, and the snow that cut against the sky
was growing white again; but it was very cold among the pines where
Leger was busy about the crackling fire. A column of smoke rose slowly
straight up into the nipping air, and the blaze flickered redly upon the
clustering trunks, while the sound of an unfrozen rapid broke faintly
through the snapping of the fire. Leger, who felt his fingers
stiffening, took up his axe, and the rhythmic thudding rang sharply in
the stillness of the woods when Hetty appeared in the door of the
shanty, shadowy and shapeless in the coarse blanket she had thrown about
her shoulders. She shivered a little as she looked around her.
"It has been a bitter night--the cold woke me when the fire got low,"
she said. "Tomlinson must have felt it horribly. I wonder where he's
getting his breakfast? You shouldn't have let him go."
Leger laughed and leaned upon his axe. "I couldn't have stopped him, and
I don't think you need worry. The cold is scarcely likely to hurt
him--he's used to it. He is probably three or four leagues away down the
trail by now."
"That isn't very far."
"It's tolerably good travelling in this country. Besides, nobody except
Sewell and Ingleby has the faintest notion that he was here."
Hetty appeared reflective. "I wasn't quite sure about the corporal that
night. He's too quiet and has eyes all over him. Still, I suppose
Tomlinson has got away--of course, he must have done so. His running
away would look very bad if they did get hold of him. Isn't that kettle
boiling, Tom?"
Leger stooped above the fire, and then, straightening himself, suddenly
stood still listening. He could hear the sound of the rapid, and nothing
else for a moment or two, until a crackle of undergrowth came out of the
gloom below. Then there was a tramp of footsteps coming up the trail,
and Hetty turned to him sharply.
"Tom," she said, with a little gasp, "who can it be?"
Leger laid down the kettle he held in his hand. "The troopers, I'm
afraid," he said.
The light was growing clearer, and they could see each other's faces.
Hetty's was flushed and apprehensive, Leger's portentously quiet.
"They've come for Tomlinson," she said. "Tom, do you know why he threw
Probyn in the creek?"
"I fancy I could guess. Tomlinson, however, never mentioned it."
"He wouldn't," and Hetty gasped again. "Tom, I'll never forgive you if
you let the troopers know anything about him."
"I really don't think that was necessary," said Leger, with a faint, dry
smile.