This time Bob did not go to sleep on the job, but at the first faint indication that somnolence was stealing upon him, arose and stamped about vigorously. Once, prompted by a humane inclination, he paused by the three prisoners who lay in the shade, hands and feet tied, and proffered them a drink of water. The courtesy and thoughtfulness was totally unexpected, as Bob could see by the surprise in their eyes, although no words were exchanged, and they drank eagerly in great gulps. The half-breed whom Bob had pitched over his head was in considerable pain because of his wrenched arm, as Bob could see from his occasional writhings, and Bob decided to chance trouble by loosening his bonds. In addition, he rummaged their stores and brought out a bottle of liniment for sprains and bruises, with which he bathed the twisted member.

“You good man,” whispered the other, gazing at him, as Bob bent to the task, and speaking in a voice barely audible to Bob’s ears, and certainly not to the other two men a short distance away. “I tell you something—not now—bimeby—when they not know.”

Bob thought quickly.

“All right,” he responded, in the same low tone. “I’ll fix it.”

“Yes.” The other nodded. “You fix it.”

“Now what in the world has he got to tell me?” Bob asked himself, as he moved away. “Probably, something about Lupo the Wolf. At any rate, I can’t see what else it can be. Was grateful because I gentled him a little—after first maltreating him.” He smiled at the irony of this thought. “Well, Mr. Hampton will soon be here, no doubt. Then there will be a chance to question him apart from his fellows.”

And with that, he dismissed the matter from his mind. Jack now rolled over, sat up and came out from under the tent, yawning. Frank continued sunk in heavy slumber.

“By George,” said Bob, looking at his watch, “two hours since you started to take your nap. Run down to the shore, will you, and take a look to see if there is any sign of your father. We left these fellows alone once”—nodding to their prisoners—“but I felt it wasn’t wise to try it too often. Something might happen. So I’ve been sticking close to camp.”

Jack nodded.

“Yes, that time you were fishing. It was foolish for me to run down after you, but I just had to tell you about hearing from Father.”

He set out for the shore.

A few minutes later, Bob heard his comrade give a joyful shout. It was answered by a fainter hail from the water. Faint though it was, however, it was unmistakable. Mr. Hampton was approaching.

Presently there was a babble of voices approaching, and the returning party came into view, Jack in the lead flanked by his father and Farnum, with MacDonald, Dick and Art bringing up the rear. Jack was eagerly explaining what had occurred at camp since his father’s departure.

“Hello, Bob,” said Mr. Hampton, coming up, and gripping the big fellow’s hand hard. “Had some excitement while we were gone?”

“Yes, we did, Mr. Hampton. Thought this was going to be a loafing assignment you left us on—nothing to do but hang around camp and swim and fish—and the minute you turn your backs something happens.”

“How’s Frank?”

“Jack told you, did he?”

Mr. Hampton nodded.

“He’s still asleep,” said Bob. “The necessity of shooting to kill was a shock to his nerves. Nature took him in hand. See.” He indicated where Frank lay as in a stupor in the tent, unmoved by the arrival of the returning party.

“He’ll sleep for hours yet,” said Mr. Hampton, “if we don’t make too much noise. I’ll caution the others. Best medicine in the world for him. He’ll be all right when he wakes, I expect.”

While Dick put on the fish, for all were hungry, Bob and Jack, in lowered voices, told the others all that had occurred. Bob repeated his condemnation of himself for having fallen asleep and permitted the enemy to land unopposed, but Mr. Hampton rested a hand on his shoulder, and told him not to be foolish.

“In the first place,” he said, “there seemed to be no reason why you should keep strict watch. It hardly seemed likely these fellows would boldly approach the island.”

“Expect they saw us set out, after all,” suggested MacDonald, “and figured the whole party hadn’t gone, and that them left behind would be on ’tother side of the island, so’s they could land and surprise ’em.”

Nods of agreement followed this statement. It was, indeed, the most likely explanation. Over the puzzle as to why Bob had not been slain by those attacking him, but who, instead, had tried merely to make him prisoner, nobody had any suggestion to offer other than that earlier advanced by the boys themselves, that they enemy wished to take them alive.

“Reckon Lupo thought he’d get some information from you,” said MacDonald.

“But he wasn’t here,” Bob protested.

“No, but you can bet they were actin’ on his orders.”

Bob bethought him of the prisoner, who had whispered that he had something to tell him. He explained to the others. Mr. Hampton thought for a moment.

“I have it,” he said. “Art, bring the others here and we’ll question them. At the same time, Bob, do you slip off and talk to your man. We’ll keep the pair occupied, so that they won’t be able to see. Tell your man that presently, then, we’ll call him up to be questioned, too, and that he’s to pretend sullen obstinacy and refuse—in the presence of his comrades—to answer any questions.”

Bob nodded and, as Art went for the pair, he slipped away in an opposite direction. Executing a flank movement through the trees, he presently arrived on the opposite side of the camp and got behind the tree, against which the man with the wrenched shoulder was sitting. In a rapid whisper he communicated Mr. Hampton’s instructions to the other. The fellow comprehended, and then in a low tone, scarcely audible to Bob, who strained to hear, communicated surprising intelligence.

Bob heard him out, then with a final word of caution, again slipped away, once more skirted camp through the trees, and approached the group from the waterside. The two other half-breeds were being grilled, but without success. At Bob’s approach, Mr. Hampton turned again to Art.

“Bring that other fellow here,” he commanded. “See if he knows any more than these men.”

The man was brought into the council, but, acting on instructions, maintained an obstinate silence.

“Oh, take them away, and feed them,” said Mr. Hampton finally, as if despairing of obtaining any information. “We’ll talk to them later, after I’ve eaten. Dick’s fish will get cold if we don’t fall to, and I’m too hungry to delay with these rascals.”

The men, whose ankle bonds had been removed, were returned to the other side of the camp and, with their hands untied, were permitted to eat under the watchful eyes of Dick and Art. Then once more they were tied up.

Meantime, Mr. Hampton turned eagerly to Bob, as soon as the trio of prisoners was out of hearing.

“Out with it, Bob,” he said. “I can see you’re dying to tell us. Must be important.”

“It is,” said Bob, emphatically.

“What did he say?”

“Mr. Hampton, you think we’re alone in this wilderness except for Lupo’s gang?”

“I don’t know who else would be here. This is country that white men never get into.”

“Well, Thorwaldsson, Farrell and three followers of their party of ten are not more than two hundred miles away; perhaps less than that.”

“What! Say that again.”

Mr. Hampton was so excited he almost dropped his portion of fish into the fire.

“It’s true,” said Bob. “At least that’s what this fellow, Long Tom, declares. Long Tom—that’s his name.”

“How does he know?”

It was MacDonald who asked the question, and Bob turned to him.

“That’s what I asked him. He said Thorwaldsson had been attacked before he reached the oil country, and Thorwaldsson, Farrell and four of his men cut off from their camp. Those in the camp were killed, and Thorwaldsson’s supplies looted. He says a big band of Indians committed the outrage.”

“At whose orders?” asked Mr. Hampton.

“Merely operating on their own, says Long Tom. He was with them. They wanted the loot. What they didn’t understand, they destroyed.”

“That’s why nothing has been heard of Thorwaldsson,” said Mr. Hampton, “for his radio equipment must have been among ‘the things they didn’t understand.’ Go on, Bob.”

“Long Tom thinks Thorwaldsson spent the Winter with the Eskimos up on the rim of the Arctic Ocean.”

“Where has he been? What became of the Indians?”

“They were a hunting party, as far as I could gather, who, after chasing Thorwaldsson up to the Eskimos, left the country. But Long Tom wintered with some Eskimos near Union Straits himself, and this Spring started out. Then he fell in with Lupo, who he knew, and joined him.”

“And how does he know where Thorwaldsson is now? Why does he say Thorwaldsson is so close?”

“Says he ran across an Eskimo hunter on his way out, who told of Thorwaldsson having wintered with his tribe, and learned Thorwaldsson was on his way out down the Coppermine—or up it, whichever you choose to call it. Though that was weeks ago, he believes Thorwaldsson would be following watercourses that would put him about one hundred and fifty or two hundred miles to the northeast of us.”

“Well, Bob, you certainly learned a lot,” said Mr. Hampton. “Was that everything? Or did Long Tom know or have anything to say about Lupo?”

“He doesn’t know why Lupo is after us, except that it has something to do with Thorwaldsson. That’s all I could get out of him. Pretty indefinite, but it was the best I could do.”

“Indefinite! Nonsense, Bob. That is something to go on, indeed.”

“And to think that old Bob got it all just because he was kind to a fellow with a sore arm and put some liniment on it,” said Jack.