Martin’s journey to the settlement was a rushing one. The first day they wielded paddles without rest, and aided by the current made rapid progress. Both carries were passed before sunset, a halt made for a supper of frizzled pork, coffee, and hard tack; then on again by moonlight, and not until wearied to the limit at almost midnight did they pause, and hiding themselves in the entrance to an old tote road, they slept the sleep of weariness.

Tim’s Place was sighted the next day, and now, at Levi’s suggestion, Martin lay down in the canoe as they passed it, concealed beneath a blanket.

“It’s best to be keerful,” Levi said, when proposing this; “I wouldn’t trust Tim a minute. Most likely he’s found out whar the gal is, an’ knows what Pete’s up to. The two are cahoots together, ’n’ if Tim saw you an’ I both leavin’, no tellin’ what’d happen.”

The journey from here on was slower, as no current aided, and yet in three days and nights of paddling, Martin and Levi covered that hundred-mile journey and reached the settlement.

A stage and rail journey, consuming one day and night more, enabled Martin to reach the man he wanted–a well-informed and fearless officer named Hersey, and then, securing an assistant and a warrant for one Pete Bolduc, on the charge of theft, the three returned to the settlement where Levi had waited.

“I’m glad to get track of this half-breed,” Hersey said on the way. “He has been the pal of the notorious McGuire for many years, and besides has been smuggling whiskey into lumber camps and slaughtering game out of season all the time. Like McGuire, he is hard to locate. No guide or lumberman dare betray him, and so it’s a fruitless task to try to catch either. We have been after this McGuire for years. He killed one deputy and wounded another, as you may have heard. This Bolduc is a cat of the same color, but less courageous, I fancy, and yet as hard to catch. I think, for the sake of your guide,” he added, “we’d better not enter the woods together. You two go on, saying nothing. My mate and I will say we are on a pleasure trip, and follow and overtake you in a few hours. This will protect your man, and evade suspicion. Even these people at the settlement are half-hearted in aiding an officer. Most of them are fearful of house or barn burning if they give any information to us, a few are in secret league with these outlaws; and so you see our position.”

Martin saw, and marvelled that any of the simple, honest dwellers at this small settlement, law-abiding as they seemed, would either aid or warn so red-handed a criminal as McGuire.

That fear of consequences might influence them, was possible, and yet all the more reason for assisting the law in ridding the forest of two such criminals.

But Martin, thorough sportsman that he was, and keen to all the world’s affairs, understood but little of the conditions existent in the wilderness, or about the lives and morals of those who find a living thus.

He knew, as all do, that a few thousand lumbermen entered each autumn, and, much to his regret, made steady inroads toward its despoilment. He knew, also, that these men included many of excellent habits–sober, industrious workers with families which they cheerfully supported, and that there were also many among them whose sole ambition was to earn a few hundred dollars in a season of hard work, that they might spend it in a few weeks, or even days, of drunken debauchery.

He was well aware that a few wandering hunters and trappers plied their calling here, and many of a mixed occupation, guiding sportsmen like himself in season, were engaged in lumbering or farming between times. This mixed and transient population, he knew, were neither better nor worse than the average of such pioneers–good-natured and good-hearted, though somewhat lax in speech and morals.

What he did not know, however, was that a few unscrupulous and disreputable men, half gamblers, half dive-keepers, followed these lumbermen into camp as ostensible hunters and trappers, but really gamblers, ready to turn a trick at cards, convoy a keg of whiskey in, or follow a moose on snow-shoes, kill and sell him, as occasion offered. Or that, when spring opened the streams, these same itinerant purveyors of vice spotted their possible victims, as a bunco man does a rural “good thing” visiting the metropolis, and when they reached town or city, steered them where harpies waited to share the spoil. A brief explanation of these facts were furnished to Martin by Warden Hersey, when, after overhauling him, the parties joined about one camp-fire.

“We have,” Hersey said, “in the case of this McGuire, a fair sample of the outcome liable to follow or attach to a man who makes a business of preying upon the vices and follies of the lumbering class. It is a sort of evolution in law-evasion and opportunity, encouraged and aided by the animosity which is sure to arise between the lumberman and us, whose duty it is to enforce the fish and game laws. These lumbermen, or a majority of them, feel and believe that the forest and all it contains is theirs by natural right; that no law forbidding them to obtain all the fish and game they can, is just; that such laws are enacted and accrue for the sole benefit of city sportsmen who, like yourself, come here for rest and recreation. It is all a wrong conclusion, as we know, and yet it exists. Now come these leeches like McGuire, who prey upon this hard-working class. Such as McGuire foster the prejudice and antagonism of the lumbermen in all ways possible, arguing that moose and deer are the natural perquisites of those who go into the woods for a livelihood, and belong to them as much as the trees which they have paid stumpage to cut. Also that we who come in to execute the laws are interlopers, who draw pay for the sole purpose of robbing them of their rights. Of course, we receive no welcome at a lumbering camp, and not one iota of information as to what is going on or where a law-breaker may be found. More than that, they will protect the leeches who fatten on them in every way possible, even after, as in McGuire’s case, they become murderers and outlaws, with a price set upon their capture. And here comes in the factor of terrorism. A few of these lumbermen might give information from a desire to aid the law, or to obtain a reward, did they not know that to do so would expose them to the inevitable fate of all betrayers.

“It is a community of interest, a sort of freemasonry that exists between these lumbermen and all who thrive upon their labors and hardships. Now this McGuire has preyed upon them for years, a notorious example of dive-keeper, gambler, smuggler, and pot-hunter. He is now in hiding somewhere in this wilderness, or, maybe, creeping up some stream with a canoe load of liquor bought in some Canadian town. He will meet and be welcomed by any lumber-cutting party just making camp next fall, sell them liquor at exorbitant prices, shoot and sell them venison, and when the snow is deep enough, he will follow and find moose yards, and do a wholesale slaughter act, and not satisfied with this, will absorb any and all money these lumbermen have left by card games. And yet the moment I enter the woods to arrest him, their camps are closed to me, and word of my coming is passed along to others. The guides even, who are at the beck and call of you sportsmen, are, many of them, in secret sympathy with such as McGuire; or if not, dare not give any clews, and many a wild-goose chase has resulted from following their supposed information. Some of the wisest among them are beginning to realize that they must cooperate with us in the protection of fish and game, or their occupation will be gone. But even those sensible fellows–and they are increasing–hate to become informer, fearing consequences.

“There is still another side to this game situation,” continued Hersey, filling and lighting his pipe, “and this is our laws, or rather, the selfishness of our lawmakers. We have plenty of laws–and good ones. We impose a license tax upon all non-residents for the privilege of shooting or fishing. We limit the season and number of moose, deer, or trout which may be taken. This license, which is all right, produces an annual fund sufficient to employ ten wardens, where the State only employs one. The result is that this vast wilderness is so poorly patrolled that a game warden is as much of a rarity as a white deer. Now and then one may be seen canoeing up or down some main stream, or loafing a week or two at some backwoods farm and having a good time. One may certainly be found at all points of egress; but a portion of the wilderness–the greater way-back region–is rarely visited by wardens.

“There is still one more point, and that is the pay which wardens receive. It is so small that capable, honest men cannot be obtained for what the State allows; and considering the large sums raised from this license tax, it is a mere pittance. The result is, we have to employ a class of men, many of whom are no respecters of the law themselves, or who may be bribed.”

It was a full and complete explanation of the conditions then existing in the wilderness, and as Martin glanced at “Old Faithful” Levi lounging on his elbow, he understood why that astute guide had always avoided all possible reference to McGuire.

“This half-breed, Bolduc, is another sample of his class,” continued Hersey, “and while we have no criminal charge, we can prove we know he is a pot-hunter, and I’ll be glad to nab him, for an example. I judge he is lurking about your camp, watching a chance to abduct this girl, and while it’s an unusual case, it may serve our purpose nicely–a sort of bait, useful in alluring him into our hands. How we can catch him, however, is not an easy problem. He knows the forest far better than we do; every stream, lake, defile, or cave is familiar to him, and, cunning as a fox, all pursuit would be useless. Our only hope is to patrol the woods about your camp as hunters, or watch for another night visit, and halt him, at the muzzle of a rifle.”

And now Martin turned the conversation to a more interesting subject–Chip herself.

“I saw the girl at Tim’s Place,” Hersey said, “and knowing her ancestry, felt curious to observe her. She appeared bright as a new dollar and a willing worker for Tim. Of course, it seemed unfortunate that she should be left to grow up there without education; and while her natural guardian being an outlaw gave the State an ample right to interfere, the proper officer has never seen fit to do so. It has been a case of ‘out of sight, out of mind,’ I presume, and while we have a law obliging parents to send their children to public schools so many months a year until a certain age, this is a case where no one has seen fit to enforce it.”“But what about her parents?” queried Martin, curious on this point. “Do you know whether they were legally married?”

“Why, no-o, only by hearsay,” Hersey responded. “I’ve been told her mother was a Nova Scotia girl, a mill worker in one of our larger cities, and as no one ever hinted otherwise, I think it safe to assume that they were married. If not, there would surely have been some one to spread the sinister fact. It’s the way of the world. I presume Tim knows the girl’s history, but he is such a surly Irishman that I never questioned him. In fact, his surroundings, as you may have noticed, do not invite long visits.”

But no visit or even halt at Tim’s Place was now considered advisable. In fact, as Levi said, it was best to pass that spot at midnight. This suggestion was carried out, and in five days from leaving the settlement, Martin and the officers made their last camp at the lake where he had once seen a spectral canoeist.