"Did you hear that, Jean?" David's voice sunk to a sibilant whisper. He was trembling violently as he asked the question.

For answer, Jean raised shaking hands to his mouth. Again the call of the Elf's Horn shrilled above the murmuring rain, and again, this time clearer and louder, came the answer.

"Le bon Dieu hav' hear!" came the hunter's reverent exclamation. Stopping only to make the sign of the cross, the old man plunged down the perilous steep, David Nesbit at his heels. How they had come safely into the valley, neither was afterward able to explain, nor did they stop to remark it, once they had descended. Both men were intent only on reaching the spot from whence had emanated that blessed call.

"There's only one person up here who could answer that call, Jean." David's tones were vibrant with emotion. "It's Tom Gray! I know it, and he's in that hut."

Stumbling desperately on in the greater darkness of the valley, they reached the hut at last.

"Tom!" shouted David at the top of his lungs. "Tom Gray! Are you there?"

"Yes," sounded the unbelievable reply from within the hut. "Is that you, David! I was sure of it when I heard the Elf's Horn and answered the call. I knew you'd come for me some day."

"Yes, old fellow; it's David," rang out the triumphant cry. "Thank God, you are alive! Jean is with me."

"Le bon Dieu hav' hear," was Jean's muttered repetition, as the two men made a concerted dash upon the shack, in a wild effort to locate the door. Finding it by the aid of their flashlights, they made a determined onslaught upon it, but it stubbornly resisted their importuning hands.

"Hello, Jean! It's too good to be true. I might have known I could count on you, though," came the welcome salutation from within. More anxiously Tom Gray added: "You'll have to break the door down, if you can. It's locked from the outside. He carries the key. Hurry or he may come back." Tom's voice quivered with dread.

David groaned. His mind on this unexpected obstacle, which now confronted them, he did not stop to consider who the mysterious "he" in the problem might be. Tom's very tones indicated the hovering near of some great danger. "Isn't there a window in the cabin? Can't you climb out of it?" he shouted desperately. Inwardly he marveled that stalwart Tom Gray should be caught in such a trap.

"There are two windows, or rather holes in the cabin, but they are too high up. I can't reach them. My leg was broken and it's not strong enough yet to risk such a climb." This response was made in despairing tones.

At the mention of windows, Jean had begun to circle the cabin. Turning his flashlight on the strong-timbered walls of the hut, he soon made out one of those windows. "M'sieu' David," he called, "come. You will lif' me an' I will clim' in this hole. Then we 'urry an' get M'sieu' Tom out, mebbe." Jean's "mebbe" indicated uncertainty. The situation did not look hopeful and there was evidently no time for questions regarding the how, when and why of the affair.

Helped by David, Jean's sinewy fingers soon clutched the lower part of the primitive window. Being thin and wiry, he had no difficulty in drawing himself up to it. With the skill of an acrobat he swung one leg over the opening. The task of drawing himself through was much harder to accomplish. But the will to do so was paramount. Emitting a jubilant shout of accomplishment, he dropped, landing lightly on the cabin floor.

Before he could bring his searchlight into play, an indistinct form had seized him in a feeble but affectionate grip. "Jean—good—old Jean!" Tom's broken utterance held a sob of relief and thankfulness.

"Oh, M'sieu' Tom," Jean's own voice overran with emotion, "is it of a truth that we hav' fin' you at las'?" Tears of joy were rolling down his weather-beaten cheeks, as he added with sublime faith, "Le bon Dieu hav' hear!"

In the overwhelming joy of reunion all else was for the moment forgotten. David's stentorian tones asking, "Are you all right, Jean?" brought back swift realization of the situation. "Can't you manage between the two of you to do something to that door? I'll help all I can from this side."

"Yes; all right," returned Jean. Then to Tom: "Hav' you not then the axe, to chop him into splinter'? This very queer way to fin' you, M'sieu' Tom. But now we not stop to ask question, we 'urry, get you out. Go 'way an' then talk. It is to see that you are the prisoner."

"Prisoner!" Tom's exclamation vibrated with bitterness. "You can't believe what I've been through. You're right about hurrying to get me out. There's no time to be lost. No, there's neither an axe or a hatchet here. He's too cunning for that. But in one corner of the room is a heavy iron bar. It hasn't done me any good. I've been too weak to use it. Is your rifle outside, Jean? If he should come back before we can get away, you'll need it. Two sturdy men and one poor excuse like myself couldn't handle him. He's the strongest fellow I ever saw." His voice rising he called warning to David. "Keep a sharp watch, old man. If you see or hear anyone coming, give us the signal."

"I'm on the job," floated back David's reassuring response.

"Show to me the bar," ordered Jean with the brevity of one whose mind is set on swift action.

Without replying, Tom limped a straight course in the dark to a corner of the one-room shack. "I've looked at that bar so often and so longingly I could find my way to it if I were blind," he commented with grim wistfulness. "There's not much else in the room, except a bench and a bough bed."

Following at his heels, Jean used one hand to train his light on the bar. Soon the other hand had fastened itself firmly around it. "He very strong," was his terse observation. "If you will 'old the light, I try him." Raising his voice he shouted, "M'sieu' David, we hav' foun' very strong piec' iron. Now we try smash open the door. You stan' by, ready. Then soon we go 'way from here with M'sieu' Tom."

Limping ahead of the old hunter, Tom flashed the searchlight directly on the heavy door. "There's the door, Jean," he said, his tones thrilling with new hope. "Wait a minute until I limp out of your way. I'm not going to risk further accident. Now; go ahead and strike hard!"

Jean needed no second bidding. Resolutely gripping the bar, he raised it on high and dealt the stubborn obstruction to Tom's freedom a reverberating blow. Three times he brought it down upon the opposing portal. Half a dozen more swings of the bar and splinters began to fly from it.

Outside the shack, David Nesbit's eyes and ears were busy obeying Tom's warning instructions. Whom Tom feared and why he was afraid, his chum had not the remotest idea. Every crashing blow which Jean dealt the door, sent a thrill of joy to David's heart. He would have liked to shout his jubilation, but refrained for fear his friends within the shack would misinterpret his loud rejoicing as a danger signal.

For at least fifteen minutes Jean continued to batter the door, resting briefly at intervals. At the end of that time, he had demolished it sufficiently to make room for a man to crawl through. To break it down completely would have taken too much precious time.

"It—is—don'!" he panted at length. "Now we go 'way soon. First I try him. If still you hav' the coat an' 'at, M'sieu' Tom, put him on; but 'urry."

"I've already done so," assured Tom with fervor. "It's lucky for me that lunatic didn't see fit to hide my clothes."

Jean pricked up his ears at the word "lunatic," but said nothing. "Careful," he cautioned solicitously, as Tom, essaying to make his exit from the hut, drew back, uttering a faint moan of pain. "It is for me to 'elp you." Secretly marveling at Tom's light weight, Jean lifted him in his arms. Bidding him straighten his legs, Jean called to David to stand by to receive his burden. Then the old hunter passed him through the opening to David as though Tom had been a bag of meal. Hastily scrambling through after him, Jean was just in time to witness the affecting meeting which took place between the two young men. Tom's first words after greeting David were: "Tell me quickly, how are Grace and Aunt Rose?" And in the darkness no one saw the flood of emotion that mastered Tom Gray as he learned the deep, abiding belief of his loved ones that he would return.

Though the night lay black around them, the rain had ceased falling. Directing the rays of his searchlight on Tom, David gave a horrified gasp at the sight of his chum's pale, emaciated features.

"I don't look much like myself, do I?" asked the prisoner with a short laugh. "The fact is, I don't know just how I do look, but I guess it's pretty bad."

"But how in the world did you ever come to be——" began David.

"No time for talk now," broke in Jean. "We mus' 'urry, an' get way off from here. You can walk a little, M'sieu' Tom? Not far? We 'elp you. There is easy way out of valley."

Yet it was not an easy matter, even with the combined force of the two men, to conduct Tom Gray out of the valley in which he had spent so many weary, hopeless weeks. His left leg, which had been broken above the knee, was far from strong. It was only within the past week that he had been able to limp painfully about the narrow confines of his jail. Once outdoors, the darkness of the night and the roughness of treacherous, rock-strewn ground made progress barely possible. Neither did Jean nor David dare to undertake carrying him. Burdened with Tom, a single misstep on the part of either was likely to prove disastrous to all three.

"We mus' tak' the chance," declared Jean gravely to David, when at last the arduous ascent from the valley had been stumblingly accomplished. "'Bout four mile 'way we cachÉ the t'ings. Only I hav' the rifle an' the blanket of us two, an' M'sieu' David hav' the knapsack. In that we hav' the supper. We go little furder. W'en we fin' the big rock, we lie on it the blanket, an' on him we lie M'sieu' Tom. Then, you an' me, we stay up an' watch. W'en morning com', then we mak' litter an' carry M'sieu' Tom. I hav' hear him speak of wil' man. If wil' man com', Jean will be ready to shoot at him the rifle. You are satisfy?"

"I don't see that we can very well do differently," was David's rueful reply. "At least we shall have a chance to find out from Tom just what has happened to him."

"No; M'sieu' David." Jean shook a respectful but decided head. "For to-night we mus' say no much. M'sieu' Tom is too tire' to talk. Also we mus' keep the quiet. No much nois'; no fire to cook the supper. The ear of a wil' man hear far off. It is good if we miss him. You hav' hear M'sieu' Tom say the wil' man is very strong. Jean is not 'fraid. But many year he hunt, an' never shoot the rifle at any man. Now he pray le bon Dieu that he never may hav' it to do."