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Beverly Gray’s Vacation

A Silver Fox Fur

The orchestra was playing soft Hawaiian music. Shaded lights gave the room a warm glow and flowers on the tables lent a sweet fragrance, but it was doubtful if the girls seated at the long table in the corner were fully aware of the attractive surroundings.

The Alpha Delta girls, twelve alumnae of Vernon College, some of whom had not seen their sorority sisters for many months, were too deeply engrossed in exchanging news to give much thought to the setting for their reunion. The twelve voices mingled in animated conversation until one voice rose above the others, demanding the attention of all.

“Fellow Alpha Deltas,” Lenora Whitehill said clearly, “I think we should all give a vote of thanks to Beverly for arranging this most successful of all our reunions.”

“Hear, hear!” Lois Mason seconded, and there was a chorus of agreement.

Beverly smiled acknowledgement of their appreciation, and one of the girls at the far end of the table called:

“Is it true, Bev, that you’re going on an ocean cruise again?”

“Lois, Shirley, Lenora and I leave tomorrow,” Beverly affirmed.

“We’ll send you all postcards from the different ports we reach on our cruise,” Lenora promised.

“It must be nice to belong to the idle rich,” Connie Elwood teased.

“Rich!” Lenora scoffed. “We’re working girls, remember? Of course, it is nice that Shirley’s fiancé owns a yacht. We don’t have to pay any boat fare that way.”

“Besides which, we have been saving our money,” added Lois.

“Another thing,” Lenora continued, “we’ll all be earning money while we are on the trip. All of us, that is, except Shirley. Lois is going to continue to sketch fashions and send them to her boss. I am going to take lots of pictures to go with the travel articles Beverly has been assigned to write.”

“I thought you said this was your vacation, Bev,” Kathleen put in.

“It is.” Beverly chuckled. “I’m vacationing from the office.”

“But Charlie Blaine, our editor, doesn’t want us to lose the habit of work altogether,” Lenora grinned.

Lois interrupted. “We don’t expect to spend so awfully much money. Most of the time we will be on the yacht and we won’t need it there.”

“If your money starts to burn a hole in your pocket you can toss it overboard to the fish,” Connie advised.

“And the fish that eat it will be known henceforth as goldfish,” giggled Kathleen Ryan.

“What is your destination this time?” another girl asked.

“Our first three ports of call are Panama, San Francisco and Port Richard, Canada,” Lois replied.

“That’s not far from Sterling, where I was last month,” Phyllis Tanner exclaimed.

“We’re going to Sterling too. That’s where Tony Anton’s brother lives,” Lois said.

“Is that where you got that gorgeous silver fox fur, Phyllis?” Lenora wanted to know.

“Yes. My brother lives in Sterling too, and he sent it to me last week. Do you like it?” Phyllis asked.

“It’s simply beautiful!” Lenora sighed. “I wish I had a brother who lived in the fur country.”

“Is your brother in the fur business?” Shirley asked Phyllis.

Phyllis shook her head. “No. He owns the general store in the village. But he does a little trapping, as everyone does up there,” she admitted. “This must have been a lucky catch for him.”

“For you, you mean,” Lenora corrected laughingly.

“Tell him you have eleven friends who would love to receive some of his lucky catches,” added Lois.

At last, reluctantly, the group rose from the luncheon table. Some of the girls had trains to catch, some had jobs to get back to, and some had families waiting for their appearance.

Finally there were only the four closest Alpha Deltas left: Beverly, Lenora, Lois and Shirley. The winter afternoon was bleak and chill as they walked across town together, but the brightness that had been present around the luncheon table remained with them.

“It was nice to see all the girls again,” Lois sighed. “Especially since tomorrow we sail for ports unknown and have no idea when we will meet again.”

“Ports unknown!” Lenora echoed. “My friend, haven’t you seen all the maps and charts Larry, Tony and Roger have been working on for the past several days? I don’t believe there is a port in the world that isn’t on one of them. Besides, this time, we definitely do know where we’re going.”

Many of the exciting assignments on which the young Tribune photographer had accompanied Beverly, an ambitious author and reporter, also on the Tribune, had led them to strange, unknown destinations. But the two girls always managed to get to the bottom of every mysterious situation and return safely to the cosy apartment they shared with Lois Mason and Shirley Parker. By this time, Shirley, under the name of Dale Arden, was an established dramatic star, and Lois, a staff artist on the fashion magazine Modern Miss, was also climbing the ladder of success.

Recently the girls had encountered an old friend, Anthony Anton, famed author, lecturer and explorer. They had invited him to sail with them and four other friends, Beverly’s fiancé Larry Owens, Jim Stanton, Terry Cartwright and Roger Garrett, Shirley’s fiancé, on the latter’s yacht, the Susabella. On the leisurely cruise to visit Tony’s brother in Sterling, Canada, Beverly planned not only to write her Tribune articles but also to begin another book during the long, lazy days at sea. All the girls were looking forward to the trip with keen anticipation.

The girls paused now at a street corner to wait for the traffic light to change. A shrill whistle sounded behind them. When they paid no attention, the whistle was repeated. At last a young man succeeded in making his way through traffic, and hurried up to them.

“A fine thing! All four of you tried to high-hat me! Is that a nice way to welcome me to town?”

“Michael McKay!” Lenora exclaimed. “Did you whistle like that?” she demanded.

Mike nodded his dark, curly head, his eyes dancing.

“I nearly ran into a taxicab trying to get your attention, but you wouldn’t look.”

“We ignore boys who whistle at us,” Lenora replied, with dignity.

“When did you get to town, Mike?” Beverly asked.

Michael McKay was an old friend of the girls and had been involved in several of their most exciting adventures. His fondness for Lenora was known to them all, but whether Lenora preferred him to Terry Cartwright was still a mystery.

“How is the salesman business?” Lois added to Beverly’s question.

“I like the traveling part,” Mike grinned, “but that is about all. I’m getting tired of trying to sell the public something it doesn’t seem to want or need.”

“That sounds as though you will soon be looking for another job.” Shirley smiled.

“It’s his wandering instinct,” Lenora told the other girls. “Mike is a hobo at heart. Did you get my last letter, Mike? The one in which I told you about our trip?”

“No,” Mike replied. “It will probably be waiting for me at the home office. What trip are you talking about?”

“We sail tomorrow on the Susabella,” Beverly told him.

“No!” Mike exclaimed.

“Jealous?” Lenora teased. “I’ll think of you sloshing around here in sleet and snow while we sun ourselves on deck in warm, tropical waters.”

“Tropical waters?” jibed Lois. “We’re going to Canada, remember?”

“By way of Panama,” Lenora answered, with a wave of her hand. “It is too bad you can’t go with us, Mike, but we’ll send you lots of postcards.”

The girls took their leave, and for a moment Mike stood staring after them. He had been looking forward to his return to New York, thinking to have some good times with his friends, especially Lenora. Now, it seemed, they were leaving town for quite a while. Then, slowly, the frown on his face faded into an impish grin, and Mike started down the street, a happy whistle on his lips.

When the girls arrived at Mrs. Callahan’s brownstone house where they shared an apartment, Lenora gathered up the mail and they went upstairs.

“Have all the arrangements been made for someone to take your place in the play, Shirley?” Lois asked.

Shirley nodded. “Tonight is my last performance. Next week the show goes on the road and they have a lovely new girl for the part.”

“That means you will have to find a new play when you return, doesn’t it?” Beverly inquired.

“Yes,” Shirley looked up hopefully. “Are you going to write another one?”

Beverly laughed. “I hadn’t planned on it at this time.”

“She is going to write the Great American Novel while we sail the seven seas,” Lenora put in teasingly. “Hadn’t you heard?”

“If you don’t finish packing, chum, you won’t even board the boat,” Beverly told her blonde friend.

“I’d finish easily if I had some help,” Lenora said hopefully. “Do I hear any volunteers?”

“I’ll help,” Lois offered good-naturedly. “Isn’t it odd that Phyllis’s brother lives in the very town we are going to visit?”

“Perhaps we can persuade him to catch some silver fox for us,” Lenora added.

The two went off to the bedroom, chatting gaily. Later, after a light supper, Shirley left for the theater, and Beverly sat down to the letter she had begun to her parents. When it was finished she slipped into her coat to take it to the corner mailbox.

Dusk had fallen upon Manhattan and the cold shadows were heavy in the street. There was a hint of snow to come in the air, and Beverly was glad that tomorrow they would be leaving town. She reminded herself with a chuckle that they undoubtedly would meet more snow in Sterling than they had ever seen in New York.

She had dropped her letter into the mailbox and turned back to Mrs. Callahan’s house when she saw a girl standing in the shadowed doorway of a house across the street. As she glanced in that direction the girl beckoned to her. Surprised, Beverly crossed the street and approached the doorway.

“Phyllis!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you come up to our apartment?”

“I wanted to but I was afraid,” Phyllis said uneasily. “I’m in trouble, and you’ve got to help me, Bev. I don’t know anyone else in New York to turn to—”

“Of course I’ll help you, if I can,” Beverly said soothingly. “Come up with me and—”

“No,” Phyllis drew back. “He’s watching for me. I daren’t move from this doorway—not yet.” She drew the fur tighter about her. “I think I slipped away from him, but I’m not sure.”

“Who is watching you?” Beverly asked. “What are you talking about, Phyllis?”

“I’ve been followed, I’m sure of it,” Phyllis said nervously. “Some men came looking for me at the Brentwood, where I’ve been staying. It was right after I got the telegram from my brother, and I was afraid, so I ran away.”

“Why should anyone want to harm you?” Beverly asked in amazement, puzzled at the disjointed story Phyllis was telling.

“It must be about this silver fox fur. I thought my brother sent it to me, but in his telegram—” Phyllis began to explain and broke off suddenly.

A car pulled up to the curb and she began to tremble.

“We can’t stay here. If you won’t come up to the apartment with me, we’ll go to Smitty’s,” Beverly said practically. “You need a cup of hot tea to calm you. We can talk there and no one will disturb us.”

Beverly took her friend’s arm and headed for the near-by restaurant which was a favorite with the girls.

“There he is, Bev!” Phyllis whispered suddenly, forcing Beverly to halt. “He’s been following me for days. I can’t go with you now!” She darted away, across the street, dodging traffic, and was lost in the shadows.

“Phyllis, wait!”

Vainly, Beverly called after her friend. She tried to follow when the traffic had passed, but Phyllis had been swallowed up. She looked about. There were four men on the street, each one apparently going about his own business. Why had Phyllis been so frightened of one of them?

The Finger of Suspicion

Beverly had no hope of finding Phyllis amid the traffic and pedestrians on the darkened street, so she turned her steps in the direction of her friend’s hotel. Perhaps Phyllis would return there and Beverly would have the opportunity to give the help she had promised.

The hotel lobby was almost deserted when she entered. Two elderly ladies occupied a rose-colored sofa flanked by two potted palms. A sleepy attendant was sorting magazines at the newsstand, and the desk clerk was poring over the register.

“I’d like the number of Miss Tanner’s room, please,” Beverly said in response to his nod of greeting.

“She has room 710 but she isn’t in now,” the clerk answered. “Do you want to leave a message?”

“No, thank you,” Beverly replied. “I’ll wait for her.”

She chose a seat against the wall, under a gilt-framed mirror, from which she had a good view of the entire lobby.

A large man in a black suit and gray felt hat seated himself near her. As he sat down his coat opened and she saw a badge on his vest. She became aware, too, that the desk clerk was watching her and the detective with a great deal of interest. Had the clerk summoned the detective because Beverly asked for Phyllis? Why? Could it be that the men who had come to the hotel seeking Phyllis were policemen? Was she fleeing from the law?

As time passed, Beverly began to be uncomfortable under the surveillance of both the detective and the desk clerk. She seemed to be only wasting time here. She wished Phyllis hadn’t been so impetuous, rushing off into nowhere as she had. If Phyllis had explained what was wrong, Beverly might have been able to help her.

After more than an hour had passed, Beverly decided that Phyllis wasn’t going to return to the hotel tonight. Unless—and she wondered why she hadn’t thought of it before—Phyllis had gone up to her room unnoticed by the clerk, before Beverly reached the lobby. Beverly got to her feet and started for the elevator.

“Just a minute!” It was the detective. “Where are you going?”

“Upstairs,” Beverly answered. “Why?”

“I’ll ask the questions,” was the brisk retort. “We don’t like strangers wandering about in our hotel. Tell me why you want to see Miss Tanner.”

The desk clerk had summoned the detective when she asked for Phyllis! How else would he have known she wanted Miss Tanner?

“I want to see her on personal business,” Beverly replied.

“Did you know she is wanted by the police for questioning? Perhaps they should ask you some questions, too,” he said, with a frown.

Beverly realized this man could be a big stumbling block in any effort of hers to help Phyllis, so she decided to use a little strategy.

“I am a reporter for the Tribune. I came to talk to Miss Tanner.” It was the literal truth. He could interpret it in any way he liked.

“How do you reporters find out about things so quickly?” he asked, amazed. “I thought this was such a hush-hush affair.”

Beverly smiled. “Will you tell me your version of it?”

The man shrugged. “The police came to question her, but when they got to her room she was gone.”

“I’d like to make sure she hasn’t returned,” Beverly said. “Could I have a look at her room?”

“We don’t want any adverse publicity about our hotel,” the detective began.

“I know you want to cooperate with the newspapers,” Beverly remarked sweetly. He would be careful not to oppose her too much, for fear of what might be printed about the Brentwood.

A knock on Phyllis’s door brought no response. The detective had a key, and he opened the door. Phyllis’s suitcase, half packed, was on a chair. Everything was orderly and neat. Beverly stood beside the detective and looked around the room. Was there a clue here to what had frightened Phyllis so badly? Her eyes fell upon a bit of yellow paper protruding from under a pillow on the bed.

“How did she leave the room when the police came?” Beverly asked aloud.

“She must have gone down the fire escape,” the detective replied and went to the window to demonstrate his words.

As soon as his back was turned, Beverly whisked the yellow paper, a torn half of a telegram, into her pocket.

There was nothing more to be learned here. Phyllis was gone, and Beverly felt confident now that the girl did not intend to return to the Brentwood. The hotel would have to hold her luggage for the time being.

The detective locked the door to Phyllis’s room, and he and Beverly went downstairs together. Beverly asked a few more questions, but either the man did not know why the police wanted Phyllis, or he was unwilling to tell what he knew.

At last Beverly left the hotel and started home. When she was sure the detective could not possibly see what she was doing, she stopped under a street lamp to read what was printed on the paper she had found under the pillow. The telegram had been torn jaggedly in half. The words on the piece she possessed were alarming and at the same time puzzling.

Fur——Hide it and——Danger for you——home paper.

There was no signature, but it had been sent from Canada, and Phyllis herself had said “My brother’s telegram—”

All the way home Beverly pondered the words of the wire. Without knowing what was on the other half of the paper it was difficult to make sense out of it, but there was enough here to make her realize that Phyllis was deeply troubled.

Beverly’s steps slowed as she thought of the coming cruise. If she left town tomorrow morning, as planned, Phyllis would not be able to get in touch with her if she wanted to. Should she stay here in the hope that Phyllis would come to her again?

“We thought you’d decided to deliver the letter in person,” Lois declared as Beverly entered the apartment. “Come and have a piece of cake and a glass of milk.”

The girls were in pajamas and robes at the kitchen table, having a snack before retiring.

“You look worried, Bev,” Lenora greeted her friend. “Did you forget to put a stamp on the letter?”

“Did Phyllis telephone me?” Beverly asked.

“Phyllis?” Shirley asked. “Did she say she would? I thought, when we left her this afternoon, she planned to return to her house in Maine.”

Beverly nodded. “I thought so too, but tonight when I went to mail my letter she was hiding in a doorway, afraid to come up here.”

“What?”

The girls exchanged glances.

“Tell us more!” Lois commanded. “Phyllis isn’t the timid type. What was she afraid of?”

Beverly told them of the evening’s events, and when she finished the girls regarded her soberly.

“The police,” Lenora murmured. “That sounds ominous.”

“I wonder what they want with her,” Shirley added.

“Perhaps they only want to question her,” Lois said. “Perhaps it is something to do with her brother.”

“I’d like to help Phyllis,” Beverly said, frowning, “but I don’t know how to reach her. I thought she might have called here while I was out.”

“If she wants any of us she’d better call tonight,” Lenora said. “We sail in the morning. Beverly!” she exclaimed. “You wouldn’t think of giving up the cruise?”

“I did think of it,” Beverly confessed, “but I changed my mind. The telegram which upset Phyllis came from Canada, our destination. Perhaps we can help Phyllis more when we get to the source of the trouble.”

The Susabella Sails

The gleaming, white Susabella, moored securely to the gray, weather-beaten dock, was like a beautiful butterfly poised for an instant before speeding away to a greener, gayer world. From the tip of her bow to the top of her tall mast she glowed with fresh paint and polished brass. She was a graceful boat, with long, sleek lines and comfortable quarters for her passengers. Amidships was the lounge, or main cabin, where the group could gather to listen to the radio, read or play games. At mealtime, this cabin was easily converted into a dining saloon. On the afterdeck were comfortable deck chairs and a marked runway for shuffleboard. A canvas-covered lifeboat hung in constant readiness at the stern.

Roger was captain of the Susabella, and Jim, Larry, Terry and Tony Anton were his crew. On this cruise there was to be no hired crew. The only hired hand was the Chinese cook Woo Fang, who had been with them on the previous cruise, and who was again present to preside over the spotless galley.

Miss Ernwood, Roger’s aunt, had been prevailed upon to accompany them in the capacity of chaperon and counselor, as on their first voyage, and when the girls arrived at the dock they found everything in readiness.

After gay greetings had been exchanged, Roger and his crew went into action. Mooring lines were cast off. The anchor was hoisted. The auxiliary engine throbbed, and the Susabella began to move.

“We’re off! We’re off!” Lenora shouted gaily, hanging over the rail. “Bon voyage to us!”

Lois put a firm hand on her friend’s arm.

“You’ll fall overboard if you aren’t careful, and we don’t want to have to fish you out of the briny deep at this early stage of the trip.”

“I can’t help it,” Lenora squealed. “I’m so excited! Good-bye! Good-bye!”

“You are the one who is leaving. Whom are you saying good-bye to?” Shirley wanted to know.

“The seagulls,” Lenora retorted.

Boats in the harbor saluted the graceful Susabella with blasts from their whistles. White handkerchiefs fluttered from the passengers on a passing ferryboat. Even the birds overhead seemed to swoop low in a gesture of farewell.

The day was perfect, with strong, clear sunlight. Once outside the harbor, the engine was shut off, and a bracing wind filled the Susabella’s sails and brought color to the cheeks of her passengers.

“The Susabella’s good angel has given her approval of the cruise, I feel it,” Lenora declared. “Everything is so perfect it seems like a good omen.”

“Good beginning—a bad ending,” Lois said darkly.

“Oh, shush with your superstitions,” Lenora flung back. “Just be happy now.”

She walked to the bow and slipped her arm through Beverly’s.

“Isn’t it glorious, Beverly? I’ll bet it wakens all sorts of story ideas in your head.”

Beverly laughed. “On the contrary, it makes me lazy. I want only to stand here and enjoy the motion of the boat.”

“ ‘Enjoy the motion of the boat,’ ” Lois repeated with a chuckle. “I hope we are all good sailors.”

“I refuse to be a poor one,” Lenora declared. “Come on, let’s finish unpacking and really get settled.”

“You go ahead,” Beverly said. “I’ll be down in a little while.”

The other three girls and Miss Ernwood left the rail, and Beverly turned to look back at the outline of New York. The buildings were an indiscriminate blur now. Many weeks would pass before she saw the city again. She felt a moment of loneliness that would have been hard to explain to anyone. She loved New York, the bustle, the noise, the shopwindows, the people; yes, even the maze of traffic. Her work was there, and many of her friends. Her parents in Renville—she wondered about the things which could happen even in their quiet lives before she saw them again.

She thought of Phyllis, too, lonely, frightened, hiding somewhere amid the stone canyons of the city. All during the night Beverly had hoped Phyllis might telephone or come to see her, but there had been no word from her. Now it was too late.

“Not homesick already, I hope?” a teasing voice said, and Larry paused at her side.

Beverly smiled. “I always feel a little sad when I leave home, even though I know I am going to have fun wherever I am going.”

“I know what you mean.” Larry nodded. His eyes, too, sought the faint, fast-disappearing outline of the city. “You think of all the things there that will wait for you, unchanging, and then of all the other things that must change while you are away. However,” he turned his bright smile on her, “we are not going to weep on each other’s shoulder. Let’s plan our first stop. Is there anything special you want to do when we reach Panama City?”

“Is that before or after we go through the Panama Canal?” Lenora wanted to know, behind them.

“After,” Larry answered.

“Have you finished unpacking?” Beverly asked in surprise.

“No!” Lenora replied. “I came up to see if I may borrow your trunk keys. I can’t find mine and I want to see if yours will fit the lock of my trunk. If I don’t get the trunk open, I will have to live in this one dress for the rest of the voyage.”

“We can break the lock and open the trunk for you,” Larry offered.

“No!” Lenora refused. “It is a new trunk, and I won’t have it ruined the first time I use it. It doesn’t even have a single label on it yet.”

“Are you sure the keys aren’t in your handbag?” Beverly asked, following her friend below to the large cabin the four girls shared.

Double bunks were along two sides of the airy cabin. There were two dressing tables, with generous mirrors, and, at the moment, an assortment of luggage occupied the center of the floor.

“I dumped everything out of my handbag, but they weren’t there,” Lenora answered.

“Where did you have them last?” Shirley asked.

“I’m sure I left them lying on the dressing table,” Lenora answered. “I left them in plain sight because I knew I would want them soon. I didn’t want to lose them,” she added gloomily.

“They aren’t on the floor,” Lois volunteered, rising from her knees.

“They weren’t brushed into any drawers,” seconded Beverly, after a brief investigation of the dressing table.

“Are you sure you didn’t put them in your coat pocket?” Shirley wanted to know.

Lenora mutely turned her coat pocket inside out.

Beverly secured the keys to her trunk, but none of them fitted the lock on Lenora’s.

“Oh dear!” Lenora groaned. “My keys must be somewhere!”

“Aha!” Lois exclaimed suddenly, holding aloft two keys dangling from a red ribbon.

“Lois!” Lenora cried. “You old Sherlock Holmes! Wherever did you find them?”

“In the case with your camera,” Lois replied.

Lenora frowned. “I didn’t put them there.”

“No one else bothers with your camera,” Lois retorted dryly. “Your memory must be failing you.”

Lenora opened her mouth to protest again but stopped with a doubtful frown.

“You had better hang the keys around your neck so you won’t lose them again,” was Shirley’s advice.

Unpacking was speedily accomplished and the empty trunks stored in the Susabella’s hold, after which the girls returned to the deck.

The shore line was now only a purple haze in the distance, and the Susabella’s bow cut cleanly through the green water of the Atlantic.

Roger and Larry were on duty at the wheel, but Jim, Terry and Tony, who would take their turn later, sat with the other passengers and watched the sea.

“It is cold now,” Lenora mused, “but it won’t be very long. We’ll be getting farther south every day. I feel like singing,” she announced.

“Why not?” Jim smiled.

He started an old sea chanty and the others joined in. To port, several porpoises leaped high into the air, their wet bodies glistening in the sunlight.

“I believe they like our singing.” Shirley laughed.

“Poor, misguided creatures,” giggled Lois. “Where is my sketch pad? I’d like to capture on paper the sight of them breaking water.”

“Here—” Jim passed the thick pad across to Lois. “Say, that’s a good likeness of Lenora.”

“Me?” Lenora cried. “Let me see! When did you do that?”

Lois looked at the drawing on the top sheet of her pad and shook her head.

“I didn’t do it,” she answered. “Who is my fellow artist?”

Only silence greeted her question as the others exchanged glances.

“Come now, confess!” Lois said gaily. “I don’t mind competition—really I don’t! Shirley? Beverly? Terry, was it you?”

One after the other, her companions denied all knowledge of the sketch.

“Probably done by the same ghostly hand that put Lenora’s trunk keys in with her camera,” Shirley chuckled.

“That isn’t funny,” Lenora commented with dignity. “I know I didn’t put my keys in that case. Someone played a trick on me. If I didn’t know better, I’d think Michael McKay was on this boat.”

“Well,” Lois declared, “even if the artist is too modest to claim his work, I think he is pretty good.”

While Lois sketched, the others resumed their singing, voices blending harmoniously in several old school songs.

“Let’s sing the ‘Whiffenpoof,’ ” Beverly suggested. “I love that.”

“That used to be Mike’s favorite song, too,” Jim agreed. “He always sang it.”

“And always hit a sour note,” added Lenora, giggling.

There was a short, explosive sound from somewhere behind Jim.

“Did you say something?” Lois asked.

Jim got slowly to his feet and put a finger against his lips. On tiptoe he approached the lifeboat in the stern. With a sweeping gesture he threw back the canvas covering, and revealed a young man sitting there grinning at them.

“Mike!” Lenora gasped. “What are you hiding there for?”

“I’m a stowaway,” the young man announced. “And I was successful at it, too, until you made a nasty remark about my singing. I couldn’t stand that.”

“But why a stowaway?” Shirley wanted to know. “You know you are welcome on board the Susabella.”

“I planned to disrupt your peace and quiet as revenge for not being invited to join the cruise,” Mike said with a bland smile. “Did you really think you could take a voyage on the Susabella without me?”

“We didn’t think you could get away from your job,” Jim explained.

“I resigned yesterday afternoon.” Mike grinned. “I wasn’t happy as a salesman. I’m much happier on board the Susabella.”

“How long did you propose to hide in the lifeboat?” Lois wanted to know.

“Until dinnertime.” Mike laughed. “I like food on my voyages.”

“Did you hide my trunk keys?” Lenora asked suspiciously.

Mike nodded. “But you liked my drawing of you,” he pointed out. “Am I forgiven?”

“Roger might decide to make a stowaway walk the plank.” Lenora grinned. “Can you swim, pal?”

“Like a fish!” Mike assured her.

“I’m glad you turned up, Mike,” Jim interrupted. “We can use another hand on board. Come along and we’ll tell Roger you are here.”

Mike lifted a suitcase out of the lifeboat.

“I’ve come prepared, as you can see. Where shall I bunk?”

“In with me,” Jim said, leading the way. “It will be like old times, Mike, having you with us.”

“Like old times,” Terry muttered, gazing after them and then turning to look at Lenora. “Did you know he was going to be on board?”

“Of course not,” Lenora denied swiftly. “I am as surprised as anybody.”

“Hmm,” Terry said unhappily. The rivalry was strong between them for Lenora’s favor.

Miss Ernwood turned the conversation at that point.

“Tell us about Sterling, Mr. Anton.”

“I can promise you nothing,” Tony Anton said frankly. “I haven’t seen my brother in ten years. During that time, he married and took his wife and baby to this remote Canadian village. He wrote me that life in Sterling is pretty rugged. It is like a pioneer town. There are few conveniences, and neighbors are far apart. He makes his living running his fur farm, trapping, and buying and selling furs.”

“What is a fur farm?” Lenora asked. “I’ve heard of chicken farms and dairy farms—”

“It is a farm where they raise fur-bearing animals,” Tony Anton explained. “Years ago, a trapper would occasionally bring in a beautiful black fox pelt with a silver-tipped tail and silver hairs which gave it a silver sheen.”

“So they called it a silver fox,” Lois guessed.

“That’s right. It is a color phase of the common red fox, and the beauty of the fur brought a high price. Men began to experiment in breeding the animals to fix the silver strain. Gradually they realized success, and the industry grew. With an increased demand for furs, more farms were started. Now there are not only fox farms, but mink farms and various other classifications such as raccoon, marten and so on.”

“What kind of a farm does your brother have?” Beverly asked.

“He has chiefly mink,” Tony replied. “But I believe he buys furs of wild animals from different trappers, prepares them for market and processes them.”

“I’ve often looked at the beautiful furs in shopwindows,” Lenora said. “Now we’ll have an opportunity to see where they come from.”

“They come from animals,” Lois informed her friend loftily and was promptly silenced by a flying cushion.

Mike and Jim rejoined the group, followed closely by the Chinese cook.

“Please to have more coffee?” Woo Fang asked, with a polite bow.

“It might spoil our dinner,” Shirley said.

“I don’t think one little sandwich and coffee will bother our appetites, do you?” Lenora asked brightly.

“You and your appetite!” Lois scoffed.

“It’s the sea air,” Lenora complained.

“Very well.” Shirley smiled. “We’d like some sandwiches and coffee, Woo.”

“Yes, missy,” Woo bobbed his head and looked around. “Tlay, please?”

The young people looked at him blankly.

“What is it you want, Woo?” Miss Ernwood asked.

“Tlay,” Woo repeated. “You thlow ovah side, yes?” He giggled as if at an immense joke.

“Tray?” Jim murmured. “What tray is he talking about?”

Upon close and patient questioning, it developed that Woo Fang was looking for a tray containing a plate of sandwiches and a pot of coffee which he had previously prepared and which someone had carried from his galley.

“I didn’t take it!” Mike said loudly, as Lenora looked significantly in his direction.

“No one brought it here,” Shirley told the cook. “Perhaps Roger—”

“I ask Mista Logah,” Woo nodded and trotted away.

“I’m going with him,” Lenora said. “Be back in a moment!” When she returned she shook her head. “No sign of it.”

“That’s odd,” Beverly declared.

“Woo Fang may have dreamed the whole thing,” Jim said reasonably. “Perhaps he forgot where he set the tray and will appear with it at any minute.”

A short time later, when Woo appeared with a tray of refreshments, Lenora eagerly questioned him.

“Is that the tray that was missing?”

Woo shook his head and retired to his kitchen.

“Lost—one tray of sandwiches,” Lois shrugged. “Well, shall we make our first night afloat a special event and dress for dinner?”

“And dance on deck?” added Lenora eagerly.

“You might be a little chilly,” Terry chuckled. “It is still winter and we aren’t very far south yet.”

“Very well,” Lenora conceded. “I’ll settle for a party in the lounge.”

Dinner was a gay affair. Everyone was in high spirits. There were games and dancing until late. Reluctantly, they said good night and went to their cabins.

“I hope our whole trip will be as happy as our first day has been,” Lenora sighed, when the light was out and the girls were lying in their bunks.

The lapping of the water and the whispering of the wind past the open porthole were the only sounds. Moonlight made a bright pattern on the floor, and the motion of the boat was lulling them into dreaminess.

“Don’t you just love an ocean voyage?” Lois murmured. “It is so peaceful—”

A loud crash somewhere near at hand brought them upright, wide awake, and a moment later they were scrambling into robes and slippers to investigate what had shattered their tranquillity.

The Stowaway

“Did we hit something?”

“Is there any danger?”

Voices called anxiously back and forth, as cabin doors opened and the passengers stumbled into the corridor.

“Keep calm, everybody!”

Roger was instantly in command.

“Tony and Jim are on duty at the wheel. I’ll go up and see what has happened.” He disappeared up the companionway and returned a moment later. “Everything serene topside,” he reported.

“The noise seemed to be close to our cabin,” Beverly commented.

“Since you are next to the galley, let’s investigate that,” Larry proposed.

They swung open the door to Woo Fang’s kitchen and immediately solved their mystery. On the floor lay a metal serving tray, a broken dish and a silver coffee urn.

“It looks as though someone was making himself a midnight snack,” Lenora commented, with a meaningful glance at Mike.

“Why do you always look at me when something is wrong?” Mike said indignantly.

“Stowaways are usually hungry,” Lenora said, grinning. “Besides, you—”

“My tlay!” Woo Fang swooped down on the debris.

“Is that the tray that was missing this afternoon?” Beverly asked.

Woo Fang nodded his head emphatically.

“Empty now,” he added glumly.

“How did it come to crash on the floor at this hour?” Roger wanted to know.

“Mice,” Terry yawned cheerfully. “Let’s go to bed. The lost has been found.”

“Terry Cartwright!” Lenora exclaimed. “That tray didn’t just walk in here and hurl itself to the floor. Somebody must have dropped it.”

“Quite so,” Terry agreed. “However, no harm has been done. Let’s go back to our beds.”

“But don’t you understand?” Lenora persisted. “If none of us took that tray this afternoon and dropped it here tonight, there must be—” she paused and dropped her voice to a dramatic whisper—“another stowaway.”

“Nonsense,” Mike said crisply. “I’m your official stowaway on this trip. Isn’t one enough?”

“Maybe it’s a ghost,” Lois chuckled.

“Well?” Lenora looked about at her companions. “Isn’t anyone going to do anything?”

“I’ll report it to the captain.” Terry grinned.

“Roger is here to see for himself,” Lenora sniffed. “Aren’t you going to try and find the ghost?”

“Everyone knows you can’t really see a ghost, so how would we know if we found him?” Terry inquired teasingly. “I say let’s go to bed and let the poor ghost enjoy his sandwiches in peace.”

“I wouldn’t sleep a wink, knowing there was an intruder on the boat,” Lenora said firmly.

“Very well,” Terry yawned. “Where would you like us to look?”

“Everywhere,” Lenora answered. “We’ll wait right here.”

“We’ll start in the hold where the stores are,” Roger said, leading the way.

While the young men searched the boat, the girls and Miss Ernwood waited in the galley with Woo Fang.

“We found absolutely nothing,” Mike reported. “We might as well give up.”

Shaking their heads in mystification, the passengers went back to their cabins. Woo Fang put out the light in the galley and went to his quarters.

“ ‘An ocean voyage is always so peaceful,’ ” Shirley reminded Lois of her words, as she climbed into her bunk.

“With everyone but us,” Lois agreed.

“I know I won’t sleep a wink,” Lenora prophesied. “Do you suppose there is someone else on board?”

“The boys didn’t find anyone,” Shirley reminded her. “Where could there be?”

“He could be hiding somewhere,” Lenora said uneasily.

“Let’s think about it in the morning,” Lois yawned.

Silence settled over the Susabella. The sandman sprinkled his dreamdust generously over the sleepers, and there was no one awake to see or hear the silent figure that crept along the corridor and up to the deck.

The Susabella was traveling at a good speed. The current carried her swiftly along the coast. Her sails billowed gracefully in the wind, and there was no need at this time for the auxiliary engine deep in her hold.

“If this rate keeps up, we should reach Panama ahead of schedule,” Jim declared as he and Tony stood by the wheel.

“Right you are!” Tony agreed. “I hope this wind holds.” He peered along the deck and then turned to his companion. “Did you see anyone out there?”

Jim shook his head and Tony shrugged.

“I thought I saw something move away from the rail. It must have been a shadow passing over the moon.”

The next morning at breakfast the chief topic of conversation was the disturbance of the night before, but since no one had anything new to add to the telling, it was forgotten as the day advanced.

Miss Ernwood and the girls, and most of the boys, excepting those who were on duty, spent a peaceful, happy afternoon sunning themselves on the afterdeck. As soon as they appeared below deck for dinner, however, Woo Fang poured forth a tale of woe in a hopelessly mixed torrent of English and Chinese.

“What is he saying, Roger?” Shirley appealed to her fiancé.

“Yes, please translate for us,” seconded Lois.

Roger listened carefully as Woo poured forth his troubles anew.

“It is something about the pudding and cake he made for dinner,” Roger said, with a frown. “They’re gone.”

“Ha!” Lenora ejaculated. “Goldilocks!”

“Who?” Terry inquired.

“Goldilocks ate the bears’ porridge, and someone has eaten Woo’s pudding,” Lenora explained.

“You are the only Goldilocks on the Susabella,” Mike pointed out.

“There is also some cold chicken missing from the refrigerator,” Roger continued.

“If I ate all that, I don’t feel it,” Lenora giggled. “I’m still hungry.”

“When did all this disappear?” Beverly asked Roger.

“This afternoon—while we were all up on deck.”

“But how could food just disappear?” Shirley said.

“Maybe it fell overboard,” Lois suggested, laughing.

They gathered for dinner, still puzzled by the mystery of the missing food.

“It must be that we have big mice on board,” Lois said, laughing.

Later that night, as she lay in the darkness of her bunk, Beverly thought about the happenings of the past twenty-four hours. Sandwiches, cold chicken, pudding and cake; a stowaway could exist on that. Her memory reminded her that a search of the yacht had revealed no stowaway. It was like a puzzle, teasing her to find the solution. One side of her mind presented possibilities while the other side rejected them. Could it be that in the search the stowaway had been overlooked? The more she thought about it, the more positive she became that that must be the explanation. What to do about it? Search again!

Beverly sat up and swung her feet to the floor. None of the other girls stirred. Beverly slipped into slippers and pulled her woolly coat over her pajamas. Then she opened the door and stepped into the corridor. A dim light threw heavy shadows in the corners, and the closed doors of the cabins stared at her as she moved slowly toward the companionway. She mounted the steps to the deck, and the cool night wind mussed her hair with a heavy hand.

There was a multitude of stars in the black sky, and the moon was like a yellow face peeking through a hole in the black expanse. Light from the moon lay like a path upon the water, painting the crest of each wave in its course with sparkling diamonds.

It was a beautiful night. Beverly lifted her face to the wind. She was glad she hadn’t been able to sleep; she would have missed all this. Just to stand and watch the restless sea gave her a sense of freedom she found nowhere else. She felt she could understand why men loved the sea and wanted to sail on it all their lives.

Leaning upon the rail, she watched a white cloud cross the path of the moon. Ocean spray burst over the bow, wetting everything on deck, and Beverly turned to go below. As she did so, she saw a figure slip into the shadow of a group of deck chairs. Beverly was sure the other girls had been asleep when she left the cabin, and she had heard no one come up the companionway behind her. From where she stood she could see Terry and Jim intent on keeping the Susabella on her course, but they hadn’t even noticed her. The figure in the stern must be—her mind immediately leaped to the stowaway.

Beverly moved toward the shadows in the stern, and was rewarded with another glimpse of the skulking figure. At the same time she heard a noise behind her, and Lenora stumbled onto the deck.

“I always trip on that top step,” Lenora grumbled. “Is anything wrong, Bev? I wakened, saw you were gone and came looking for you.”

“Lenora, I haven’t time to explain now,” Beverly said hastily, “but I think there is a stowaway on board, and I think he is hiding among the chairs in the stern. This is our chance to solve the mystery of what is going on.”

“Goody!” Lenora exclaimed. “I arrived at just the right moment. Let’s go!”

“You go around one side and I’ll take the other,” Beverly proposed.

Lenora moved off swiftly and enthusiastically. Her approach caused the figure to break from the shadows and run—straight into Beverly’s arms.

Beverly stepped back with a muffled exclamation.

“Phyllis!”

“Phyllis?” Lenora echoed, in amazement.

The stowaway stood erect in the moonlight.

“Now you know,” Phyllis said quietly.

“But—but—I don’t understand,” Lenora stuttered.

“Did you come to the yacht when you ran away from me in New York?” Beverly asked.

“Not at once,” Phyllis replied. “I walked the streets for hours trying to figure things out—”

“Wait a minute!” Lenora interrupted. “Please start at the beginning. Beverly has told us about meeting you on the street, but what started you running in the first place?”

“A telegram from my brother,” Phyllis replied. “He told me to hide, that I was in danger. Somehow, it must be connected with the fur neckpiece I wore at our reunion in New York. Do you remember it?”

“Do I!” Lenora exclaimed. “I’ve been longing for one like it ever since.”

“I told you my brother sent it to me,” Phyllis continued, “and I thought he had. I had written to thank him, and then he sent the wire.”

“I found half the telegram,” Beverly interrupted, “but I couldn’t understand it.”

“The telegram said, ‘Did not send fur. Hide it and self. In trouble here. Danger for you. Will contact through home paper. Hide!’ Neal would never say anything like that if it wasn’t important.”

“It does sound mysterious,” Lenora acknowledged. “Continue.”

“The whole tone of the telegram was so unlike Neal that I became frightened. I began to think of things that had happened to me since I returned from Sterling. Once I was sure someone had searched my hotel room. Everywhere I went this past week, I seemed to see one particular man. I began to feel like—like a hunted animal. I began to imagine unseen eyes watching me. That was the moment someone pounded on the door to my hotel room and demanded entrance. I let panic take possession of me, and I ran. I went out the window onto the fire escape, into the next room and down the stairs. I didn’t know where to turn, and then I thought of you girls—the Alpha Deltas.”

“Did you know the men who came to your hotel room were detectives?” Beverly asked.

Phyllis stared at the other girls. “No,” she said at last. “Why should the police come to me? Has something happened to Neal?”

“They wanted to question you about something,” Beverly replied.

“About what?” Phyllis asked. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Perhaps it was about your brother,” Lenora put in. “He said he was in trouble.”

“You didn’t tell us how you got on the Susabella,” Beverly added.

“When I ran away from you it was because I saw the same man I had been seeing for days. I remembered you said you were sailing the next morning and that you were going to Sterling. That is where I want to go. I didn’t dare go to the airport or any ticket office, so I hid myself on the yacht.”

“You didn’t have to hide,” Beverly said. “I told you I would help you if I could. We would have been glad to take you with us.”

“I couldn’t be sure of that,” Phyllis said, “and I didn’t want to be left in New York. I had planned to stay hidden until we reached Port Richard, but I see now that I never could have managed it.”

“So you are the one who has been eating the food and puzzling poor Woo Fang,” Lenora chuckled. “Wait until Lois sees the mouse—meaning you,” she told Phyllis.

“You’re tired, Phyllis,” Beverly said solicitously. “Take my bunk for the rest of the night. I’ll sleep with Lenora. Tomorrow we will find you more comfortable quarters than the storage room.”

“How did you manage to stay hidden when the boys searched the yacht?” Lenora wanted to know.

Phyllis smiled. “They didn’t search the galley, remember? You girls waited there and I was in the closet. I came out after you had all gone back to bed.”

Beverly and Lenora stood on deck and watched Phyllis descend the companionway out of sight.

“Are you sure you aren’t carrying this helping-hand business too far, this time, Bev?” Lenora asked.

“What do you mean?” Beverly demanded.

“The police are looking for Phyllis,” Lenora said. “If she has done something wrong, how can we be sure the police won’t think we are her accomplices?”

S O S!

The Susabella continued her swift run down the coast before a strong wind under sunny skies. Days passed swiftly until at last one night the yacht dropped anchor in the bay at Cristobal, preparatory to going through the Panama Canal the next day. The pilot who was to take the Susabella through the Canal came aboard at six in the morning, and they immediately sailed, under power of the auxiliary engine, for the locks.

It was a slow but interesting trip through the Canal. The Susabella’s passengers hung over the rail watching everything closely from the moment they entered Gatun Locks and the lifting process began, until they completed the passage through the locks at Miraflores. The whole procedure took almost an entire day, and when they reached Panama City it was time for dinner.

The girls were delighted with the tropical atmosphere and the opportunity to send their first postcards to their friends in New York. They toured the ruins of the old city of Panama, and promenaded along the sea wall, enjoying the warmth of the air after the cold weather they had left in New York.

Lenora took several flash-bulb pictures, and Beverly gathered the facts to accompany them in a story to be sent to the Tribune. Lois, too, claimed she was inspired to do several new fashion sketches. All in all, it was a very successful evening. When they returned to the Susabella it was time to set sail into the Pacific.

Then began a leisurely, uneventful trip up the coast of California. The others had long since recovered from the surprise of Phyllis stowing away on board. She was accepted as one of them, and the days passed pleasantly.

The sun was shining brilliantly one day when, six weeks after their departure from New York, the Susabella finally sailed into San Francisco Harbor. The hills of the city rose before them like so many welcoming hands.

“The Golden Gate! Fisherman’s Wharf! Isn’t it thrilling?” Lenora demanded, hanging over the rail. “It’s still there!”

“Did you expect them to move it?” Terry inquired.

“It has been such a long time since we were here, I was afraid it might be changed,” Lenora defended.

“I was only here once before, and I don’t know what there is about San Francisco that makes me love it, but I do,” Lois declared.

“Me too,” Shirley sighed.

“I want to walk to the top of Telegraph Hill,” Lenora murmured dreamily.

“Did you say ‘walk’?” Lois inquired.

Lenora nodded vigorously. “I feel better walking than riding one of those cable cars. I always have the feeling they are hanging on by their eyelashes.”

“Streetcars do not have eyelashes,” Lois informed her, “and, personally, I love those cable cars. I wouldn’t dream of passing up the opportunity to ride in one of them.”

“You ride and I’ll walk,” Lenora shrugged.

“Ha!” Shirley scoffed. “After two blocks you’ll be more than willing to ride.”

“I will not!” Lenora denied. “I like to walk. I used to love to go on long hikes. Besides, we might have the chance to climb a mountain before our trip is over, and this will be good training.”

“Why do you want to climb a mountain?” Lois demanded.

Lenora giggled. “I have always had the desire to stand on the top and yodel—the way they do in Switzerland, at least, the way they do it in the movies.”

“My boss expects me to attend the fashion show which is being held here,” Lois reminded her comrades. “I wish you’d all go with me.”

“We will be delighted!” Beverly assured her. “We will do that first and see the town afterward.”

Passenger and cargo ships of every land lay at anchor in the calm waters of the bay. The Susabella sailed proudly beneath the great bridges, and came to rest easily and gently against the mooring pile of the wharf. The anchor dropped with a splash. Lines were passed to willing hands and swiftly secured.

“We’re here! We have actually arrived!” Lenora said excitedly. “I didn’t really believe it would happen until this minute.”

“Us fellows are not going to any fashion show,” Mike announced ungrammatically but firmly, as the girls prepared to go ashore. “You girls go, and we will meet you later.”

“We will see about loading our supplies,” added Roger.

“We want to be ready to sail with the tide in the wee hours of the morning,” reminded Larry.

Phyllis, too, could not be persuaded to accompany the other girls. She remained on board with Miss Ernwood.

“I don’t understand Phyllis,” Shirley declared, as she and her three friends took a taxi up Market Street. “Why do you suppose she wanted to stay hidden on the yacht on this beautiful day?”

“I believe she is afraid the police will see her,” was Lenora’s opinion.

“It is strange,” Lois agreed. “We couldn’t say much on the yacht in front of her, but if she didn’t do anything, why is she hiding?”

“Her brother told her to,” Beverly said slowly. “He said she is in danger. Since she doesn’t know from where the danger may come, she must be wary at all times.”

“If the danger is the police, then she must be guilty of something,” Lenora said bluntly. “I don’t like it.”

“None of us like to think of Phyllis as a wrongdoer,” Shirley declared. “But—”

“Exactly!” Lois interrupted. “It is a big ‘but.’ ”

Beverly was silent. She would not agree that Phyllis might be guilty of a crime, and yet she had no alternative explanation to offer the girls. There had been little time for the exchange of confidences between herself and Phyllis, because the other girls were usually present. Beverly was as puzzled as the others about Phyllis’s actions, but she tried to justify them in her mind.

“Here we are!” Lois said, as the taxi drew to a halt before a large department store.

They entered the store and went up to the auditorium where the show was being held. Lois introduced herself to the fashion director, and that young woman welcomed them warmly.

“Your supervisor Miss Hansen wrote me you were coming,” she told Lois. “I hope you like some of our creations well enough to sketch them for your magazine.”

The girls were dazzled by the beautiful array of dresses as the show went on. There were so many gowns for every occasion that they found it impossible to say which they liked most. The sport clothes appealed to Lenora.

“That red parka, Lois!” Lenora whispered. “Don’t you love it? Do you suppose I could get it?”

The parka was a brilliant red wool, with deep slash pockets, and lined with rich, white fur. The hood could be drawn up over the hair to fit snugly about the face.

“It is just the thing for where we are going,” Lenora continued. “Oh, Lois, I must have one like it.”

At the conclusion of the show they talked to the fashion director again. She assured Lenora she could have a red parka, and promised to have it delivered to the yacht that afternoon while the girls were sightseeing.

The girls went happily out into the brilliant sunshine. They found it exciting to reacquaint themselves with the busy streets, the shops, the gay sound of the cable cars’ bells, the feeling of adventure which the city always brought to them. They were disappointed to find fewer flower stands than on their last visit, but they found one where they could purchase big, beautiful gardenias.

“I’ll smell so heavenly that Terry and Mike won’t be able to resist me,” Lenora sighed, as she pinned three flowers to her coat.

“Look!” Lois exclaimed. “Isn’t that Phyllis over there?”

“Where?” In unison, three heads turned to follow her pointing finger.

“She didn’t want to come with us,” Lenora murmured, “but there she is.”

“And acting very mysteriously, too,” Shirley added.

Phyllis was standing at the window of a jewelry store. As the girls watched, she glanced up and down the street and turned back again to the window. She compared her watch to the clock in the window, and then began to pace slowly up and down before the store.

“I wonder what she is up to?” Lois said, with a frown.

“I’m going to speak to her,” Beverly decided.

“No, wait!” Lenora put a hand on her friend’s arm. “Let’s watch her and see what she does.”

“But that isn’t right—” Beverly began.

“She came to us for help,” Lenora argued. “How can we help her if she doesn’t take us into her confidence? She refused to come to town with us, and lied about staying on the boat. I think we have a right to see what she’s up to.”

“Psst! Look!” Shirley interrupted.

A young man emerged from the jewelry store, and took Phyllis’s arm. They walked up Market Street together.

“A-hah!” Lois exclaimed. “The plot thickens!”

The girls followed Phyllis and her friend at a discreet distance, sure that they had not been seen by the other two. When Phyllis and her companion left Market Street and turned into Chinatown, the girls did the same. Their quarry disappeared into a Chinese restaurant, and the girls hesitated.

“We could go in, too,” Shirley proposed.

“If she saw us, she would know we were spying upon her, and we wouldn’t learn a thing,” Lois denied.

“It would be better to wait here,” Beverly agreed.

“There is a curio shop across the street. We could go there and look at the trinkets while we wait,” Lenora suggested.

Despite their interest in things oriental and the lovely items on display in the shop, the girls managed to watch the restaurant across the street, and when Phyllis and her companion appeared the girls abruptly left the shop.

Phyllis and her friend walked leisurely back to the jewelry store. The young man put Phyllis into a taxi, and when it had driven off he went into the store.

“Do you suppose she has gone back to the boat?” Lois asked.

“I’d like to know what the man does,” Lenora frowned. “Wait for me,” she flung over her shoulder, and disappeared into the store. When she emerged again she was smiling. “He is a clerk,” she reported, “and he has just been out on his lunch hour.”

“We are too suspicious,” Beverly said, smiling.

“It is Phyllis’s fault,” Lois returned. “Why did she lie about staying on the boat?”

“We are not going to ruin our whole day worrying about Phyllis,” Shirley said firmly. “It is time to meet the rest of the gang.”

“Good! I’m hungry,” Lenora declared. “I want the biggest lobster dinner in town.”

“For once, I am in complete harmony with you,” Lois said.

The girls hurried to keep their rendezvous with the others in their party, and when the two groups joined it was a signal for more merriment. They wandered back again through Chinatown and marveled anew at the way in which they seemed suddenly to have been transported into another land. A friend of Tony Anton’s owned a restaurant on Fisherman’s Wharf, and they went there for a delicious dinner. Afterward they spent hours atop Nob Hill and Telegraph Hill, looking down at the brilliantly lighted streets and harbor.

They returned to the Susabella weary with happiness. Across the darkened waters drifted the sound of ships’ bells marking the hour.

“ ‘Parting is such sweet sorrow,’ ” Lenora sighed, as she stood on the Susabella’s deck and looked back at the city. “Why can’t we spend another day here? Or a week?”

“There are other things in life besides sightseeing,” Phyllis’s voice came from the shadows surrounding a deck chair. “We are to sail with the tide in a few hours.”

“Do you mind too much if we have a little fun along the way?” Lenora retorted sarcastically.

Phyllis said nothing more. She got up from her chair and went below deck.

“That wasn’t very nice,” Lois remarked to her blonde friend.

“I know,” Lenora said slowly. “I’m sorry, but for a moment she made me angry. She sounded so—so superior, and all the time she thinks she is deceiving us.”

“It is because she is so worried about her brother,” said Beverly, trying to ease the situation. “Phyllis didn’t mean to be critical, I’m sure.”

“Didn’t she?” Lenora wasn’t convinced. “After all, we can be critical, too. We might all land in jail because of her. I wonder if she ever thought of that?”

“Let’s sit on deck until we sail,” Shirley interposed. “It is pleasant to sit and watch the lights of the city. We can sleep all day tomorrow.”

“We won’t have long to wait for sailing,” Roger said, with a glance at his wrist watch. “I’ll tell Woo to make us some sandwiches.”

Beverly slipped away from the group and went below to find Phyllis. She was in the girls’ cabin, paging through a magazine. She looked up when Beverly entered.

“Don’t say anything, Bev,” she began, before Beverly could speak. “I don’t blame Lenora at all. I had no right to force myself on you as I have.”

“Lenora didn’t mean to be cross,” Beverly defended. “She is tired and—”

“It could be an unpleasant situation, you know,” Phyllis said, with a frown. “You might all be suspected of being my accomplices.”

“How could that be?” Beverly asked, smiling.

“The fur my brother told me to hide,” Phyllis said, “I brought it with me. It’s here on the boat. If it really was stolen, and the police find it on the Susabella—”

“I see what you mean.” Beverly nodded. “Why did you bring it with you?”

“It is so beautiful I couldn’t bear to part with it. Besides, I didn’t know where to hide it.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Beverly said. “If neither you nor your brother did anything wrong, why are you hiding? Why don’t you go to the police, find out what they want and clear up matters?”

“You make it sound so simple,” Phyllis sighed. “Neal said there was danger and that I should hide. I interpret that to mean I should hide from everyone—until I can talk to Neal.”

“Hiding as you are is enough to make the police suspicious,” Beverly protested. “Innocent people aren’t afraid of the law.”

“I am,” Phyllis said stubbornly. “Why do they want to question me? Out of all the people in New York, why did they come to me? I want to find out who sent them and why, before I do anything else.”

“Perhaps Neal is hiding, too,” Beverly suggested. “You may not be able to find him in Sterling.”

“If he knows I am there he will come to me, I’m sure,” Phyllis replied.

“We saw you in town today,” Beverly told her. “You met a young man.”

“Yes,” Phyllis said quickly. “After you left, I remembered that Neal had a good friend in San Francisco. I telephoned him and asked him to meet me for lunch. I thought perhaps he would know what is troubling Neal, but he hasn’t heard from him in several weeks.” When Beverly made no comment, she asked, “You do believe me, don’t you, Beverly?”

“If you say it is true—” Beverly shrugged.

“I’ve told you the truth right from the beginning, Bev. You must believe me!”

“Then I do.” Beverly smiled. “Will you join us on deck?”

“Later,” Phyllis nodded.

Beverly rejoined her friends on deck, and in a short while the Susabella cast off her moorings and started up her engine. A little later they were passing under the shadowy span of the Golden Gate Bridge. After the yacht was under way the young people went to their cabins to rest; that is, all but Roger and Larry, who were on duty at the wheel.

The next day passed calmly. They had good winds but cloudy skies. Two days out of San Francisco it became much colder again. The sky was heavy with gray clouds, and they had stiff winds and rough water. The masts creaked under the billowing sails, and the bow of the Susabella was constantly awash as she plunged headlong into the waves. The young people came on deck as usual, but they found it rather uncomfortable.

“I don’t think I want any lunch today,” Lois said faintly and turned to go below.

“Here comes the rain!” Jim shouted, as huge drops pelted all about them.

“If I had known what sort of day it was going to be, I wouldn’t have bothered to get out of bed,” Lenora declared. “Whoops! Does she have to plunge like a wild horse?”

“That was nothing compared to what we will probably have later on,” comforted Terry.

“Where’s Mike?” Larry asked.

“Standing by the radio,” Roger responded. “We might want to send a message in a hurry.”

“This is one time when the sight of land would be welcome,” Shirley muttered.

“There is plenty of land,” Lenora rejoined, with a weak grin. “All of it straight down!”

“Come along,” Terry took Lenora by the hand. “I’ll play you a game of chess. It will take our minds off the storm.”

“If we can keep the men on the board,” Lenora said.

The young people gathered in the lounge to read, play games or write letters. It was difficult to do anything on the rolling sea. The Susabella tossed like a toy among the giant waves.

Mike stuck his head in the door to the lounge at the moment the boat met a towering wave broadside.

“We’re changing course,” Terry said at once. “What’s the matter?”

“We are going after a ship in distress,” Mike announced. “I picked up an S O S from the LaTour, a fishing boat out from Port Richard. They are foundering in the storm.”

“Susabella to the rescue!” Lenora cried.

“You fellows better stand by on deck,” added Mike urgently.

Terry and Jim immediately seized their oilskins and went up on deck. The girls followed more slowly. When they reached the deck they were just in time to see Terry stumble over a bucket and sit down heavily upon the wet deck.

“Oh, Terry!” Lenora gasped, trying hard not to laugh. “I’m sorry!”

“Who put that bucket there?” Terry demanded.

“I did,” Lenora admitted. “I wanted to catch some rain water for a shampoo.”

For a moment Terry sat where he was, gazing up at her and shaking his head helplessly.

“Lenora, you amaze me,” he declared. “I wonder—”

A violent blast of wind suddenly struck the Susabella, almost keeling her over, and Roger’s voice called urgently: “All hands!”

Before anyone could move, the foremast, with its snow-white sail, seemed to bend under its load. A second later, there was a splintering sound and the top of the mast came crashing to the deck. The topsail was carried overboard and was lost.

In a twinkling Roger began ascending the foremast, Larry at his heels. They set to work lashing the wreckage fast. Below them, on the deck, the others began to clean up the debris of wood, cordage and torn canvas.

“What will this do to our rescue mission?” Lenora wanted to know.

“We will go on with it, of course,” Mike said. “We are still afloat and not far from the scene.”

Jim was surveying the sky and the sea with a deep frown.

“Fog closing in,” he reported ominously.

“That isn’t going to be any help,” Terry muttered.

“How will we find the other boat in a fog?” Lenora asked.

No one answered her question. No one had an answer. The wind and the rain and swirling fog beat around them. The Susabella had lost her speed and seemed to hesitate in the wild waters. The young people were tense as they waited and peered into the gathering murk.

Where Is Neal?

The fog was like a soft gray curtain, enclosing the Susabella and her passengers in a world of their own, seeming to cut off even the sound of the sea. With the coming of the fog, some of the fury of the storm abated. The rain became a fine mist, and the wind shrank to a whisper, barely enough to fill the remaining sail.

“Something would have to go wrong with our engine now, just when we need it!” Roger grumbled. “Have another look at it, will you, Jim?”

“Aye, aye!”

Jim and Larry went below to renew their efforts to coax life into the auxiliary engine and thereby increase the speed of the Susabella. So far, all attempts to start the engine had failed.

Lois and Phyllis went to the lounge with Miss Ernwood. Tony Anton went back to the radio with Mike, and the others remained on deck.

“Do you remember Sandburg’s poem about fog?” Shirley murmured as she stood between Beverly and Lenora at the rail. “ ‘The fog comes on little cat feet—’ ” she quoted softly.

“It is as silent as a cat can be,” Lenora nodded. “I don’t like it.”

“It is as though we were cut off from the rest of the world,” Beverly added.

“Ahoy, shipmates!” Mike’s voice summoned them toward the companionway. “I received another message from the LaTour. She is sinking, and the second lifeboat is about to pull away. We should reach the spot in about ten minutes.”

“Keep a sharp lookout,” Roger cautioned his companions. “In this fog, we could run down a lifeboat without seeing it.”

The ship’s bell rang continuously, but its peal seemed muffled by the heavy mist. The young people stationed themselves at various points along the rail, and strained their eyes to catch sight of either the sinking ship or her lifeboats.

The heavy jackets under their raincoats felt good. If they had forgotten it was winter, while they were sailing in southern waters, they were sharply reminded of it now.

The waves breaking against the hull of the Susabella made the only sound in their mist-enshrouded world after Roger silenced the ship’s bell. If there was another vessel close to them, it was as silent as a ghost.

“Roger! Roger!” Lenora’s voice came in a piercing shriek from the portside of the bow. “Look out! We’ll ram it!”

The yacht lurched crazily as Roger spun the wheel. So close that they were sure they could feel its icy breath, loomed a huge, floating chunk of ice. They had all heard the frightening tale that the biggest portion of an iceberg is hidden below the surface of the water, so they clung to the rail waiting. The Susabella rocked and rolled as she drifted past. Once they heard a faint scraping noise and the yacht seemed to hesitate. However, the Susabella continued on her course without mishap.

“An iceberg!” Lenora breathed when they were safely past. “I saw that white thing loom up out of the fog, and I was sure we were going to crash right into it!”

“You make a fine lookout,” Terry patted her shoulder. “Keep up the good work, but don’t lure any more icebergs into our path.”

“We are now at the approximate location the LaTour gave me,” Mike joined them. “We should see something any minute.”

They resumed their positions, hanging over the rail, straining eyes and ears, making no sound themselves lest they miss a faint call of distress. Nothing parted the heavy curtain of mist. Tragedy could be but a few yards away and they would not know it.

“This is the position, I’m sure of it!” Mike said loudly. “Perhaps, if we shouted, someone might hear our voices.”

“LaTour, ahoy!” Terry bellowed through cupped hands.

The words were swallowed up in the fog. The others shouted also, singly and together, but their voices echoed back to them without an answer. The gray silence was ominous.

The Susabella circled the spot where the unfortunate boat should have been, but found nothing. Once, a bit of floating driftwood bumped the side of the yacht, but there was nothing to identify it with the LaTour.

“What are we going to do?” Shirley asked.

“We can’t do anything until this fog lifts,” Roger replied.

“If I were a sailor I’d hate fog more than a big storm,” Lenora declared. “In fog one is so helpless!”

“I used to rather like fog,” Shirley mused. “I thought of it as a protective blanket on the world, and it was always exciting to go walking in it. Now I have changed my mind.”

“I should think you would!” Lenora returned. “Just think, we may be stuck here for hours!”

The minutes passed slowly. The yacht moved cautiously through the foam-flecked sea. There was nothing of the gay, pleasure craft about her now. Half of the foremast was gone, its sail in tatters, her passengers worried, intent on a life-saving mission.

Gradually, the fog began to disappear, so slowly at first it was hardly noticeable. Little by little their horizon began to widen. The wind sprang up again, driving away the mist and stirring the waves. As their view of the sea broadened, a tragic sight met their eyes. Only the prow of the LaTour was visible above the waves. Even as they watched, horrified, the prow slid gently, silently, under the sea.

“Oh,” Shirley murmured, with a little catch in her voice. “I never want to see another ship go down.”

Beverly had been scanning the water sharply. Suddenly she exclaimed:

“Look! Isn’t that a boat out there? Someone is waving to us!”

The lifeboat appeared so tiny on the surface of the water, its gray color merging with the sky and ocean, that it was scarcely noticeable. As it drew closer they could see there were three men it in. A line was thrown to them and the small boat was drawn close to the yacht. A sudden swell of water caused the yacht to roll, and for a moment the lifeboat threatened to toss her passengers into the sea.

Beverly, Shirley and Lenora hung breathlessly over the rail watching, as Roger and Larry almost fell overboard trying to help the stranded seamen.

It was tricky business transferring the survivors from the tossing lifeboat to the slippery ladder, but at last the three men were safe on the Susabella’s deck.

“Where is the rest of the LaTour crew?” Mike asked them.

“In another boat, sir,” one replied.

“In that case we will circle around,” Roger said. “Perhaps we will find them.”

“I hope so,” a tall, burly Scotchman named Jock declared. “And I am glad you found us,” he added fervently. “I never thought to see Port Richard again.”

The rescued seamen were taken below and given dry clothing and warm food, while the Susabella continued searching for the second lifeboat. Darkness descended swiftly, but throughout the night the Susabella maintained a watch. When the gray dawn broke they reluctantly gave up the search and headed for Port Richard, still uncertain whether the other lifeboat had been picked up by another ship or been lost in the storm.

Beverly came on deck early to see Phyllis standing alone at the rail, contemplating the sea. It was the opportunity Beverly had been waiting for. Since the other day, when she had tried to persuade Phyllis to stop running away and go to the police to learn what they wanted with her, Beverly had had no opportunity to talk with her friend alone. She wanted to try once more to convince Phyllis she should end her running away from things.

“We will make Port Richard in a few hours,” Beverly began. “Why don’t you radio Neal to meet you there?”

“I did,” Phyllis said. “Mike sent the radiogram for me.”

“Good!” Beverly exclaimed. “We will be able to clear up the mystery for you.”

“I hope so,” Phyllis frowned.

“Tony Anton is radioing his brother about transportation to take us inland to Sterling,” continued Beverly. “Roger believes it will take a week or more to make the Susabella shipshape again.”

“I think you will like Sterling,” Phyllis declared. “I hope you all have a good time on your vacation.”

“You will be there with us, won’t you?” Beverly asked.

“That depends upon what Neal says when I meet him,” responded Phyllis.

“What will you do if he doesn’t meet you in Port Richard?” Beverly asked slowly.

“I shall go to Sterling to look for him,” Phyllis answered.

“Why don’t you go to see the police?” Beverly urged. “You can’t continue this way—not knowing why they are hunting you as well as Neal.”

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Phyllis admitted. “I suppose it would be best—”

“Promise me you will go to the police in Port Richard,” Beverly persisted.

“If you will come with me,” Phyllis agreed at last.

“Gladly,” Beverly responded. “I am as puzzled as you are. It will be a relief to get the matter settled.”

The trip to Port Richard was slow and uneventful. The three rescued seamen gave Roger valuable advice about where to dock and where to go for repairs to the yacht. At lunch they entertained with stories of their adventures on the LaTour and asked many questions about New York.

Port Richard turned out to be principally a village of fishermen’s homes. Most of the boats tied up at the docks were weather-beaten, sturdy fishing craft, so that the Susabella was a bit of novelty to the inhabitants, and many of them crowded onto the dock when the yacht was anchored. The girls lined the rail and waved to the row of faces.

“Do you see Neal?” Beverly asked Phyllis.

“No.”

“He could scarcely miss the Susabella,” Beverly said, smiling. “It looks as though the whole town has turned out to welcome us.”

Jock, the Scotch sailor, suddenly let out a bellow and tossed his cap into the air. The procedure was echoed by four men on the dock and by Jock’s companions on the Susabella. The men on shore proved to be the rest of the crew from the ill-fated LaTour, who had been rescued by another boat, and a warm reunion was held as soon as they were together.

“Neal isn’t here,” Beverly said to Phyllis, when they had been docked for several minutes.

“Perhaps he didn’t get my message,” Phyllis said, with a sudden ray of hope, “or perhaps he hasn’t had time to reach here from Sterling. He would come to me, I know he would!”

“Are you going to the police?” Beverly asked. When Phyllis hesitated Beverly hurried on. “I’ll ask Jock whom we should see. He will know since this is where he lives.”

Phyllis watched gloomily as Beverly talked to the Scotchman, and reluctantly moved forward when her friend beckoned.

“Jock says if we are in trouble we should go and talk to his friend Sergeant Maddock of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Whether he is the right person or not, I don’t know,” Beverly admitted. “But he may be able to tell us what to do. Jock said we would find him across the street in that little log cabin with the flagpole.”

The two girls moved off at once, not waiting to explain their departure to their friends. There was snow in the narrow street and the time-worn frame buildings wore hats of snow trimmed with daggerlike icicles.

The people were friendly, smiling at the two strangers, and the air was full of the scent of the sea.

Phyllis paused to look over her shoulder as they were crossing the street.

“What is it?” Beverly asked.

“I thought I knew that man going into the store,” Phyllis answered, “but I must be mistaken.”

Sergeant Maddock was a tall, sandy-haired Englishman. He rose from behind a desk littered with papers and motioned the two girls to chairs.

“What can I do for you?” His gray eyes were friendly, and he twirled a yellow pencil between slim fingers as he talked.

“Jock told us if we were in trouble to come and talk to you,” Phyllis blurted out.

“Are you in trouble?”

“I don’t know exactly,” Phyllis frowned. “I think so.”

Sergeant Maddock laughed easily. “You puzzle me. Can you be a little more explicit?”

“Well, you see—that is, I—”

“Since you evidently are the one in trouble,” the sergeant interrupted, “perhaps your friend can tell me more clearly.” He looked at Beverly.

“Phyllis is concerned mostly with finding her brother,” Beverly said. “His name is Neal Tanner. I don’t suppose you have heard of him—”

“Indeed I have,” the sergeant nodded.

“You have?” Phyllis cried. “Where is he? He wired me he was in trouble, and then I asked him to meet me here at Port Richard, but he didn’t come—”

“I wish he had,” Sergeant Maddock said, growing a bit more stern. “He would have saved us and himself a lot of trouble.”

“Why?” Phyllis demanded. “What has happened?”

“Your brother is wanted in connection with the theft of some valuable furs.”

“Neal isn’t a thief!” Phyllis protested.

“Will you tell us the whole story?” Beverly asked.

“A number of furs were stolen from the warehouse on Louis Anton’s farm in Sterling. Neal’s hunting knife was found on the floor of the warehouse. The police went to his store but found it closed and Neal gone. They watched the place but he did not return. We heard about the fur Neal sent you, and its description tallies with one of those stolen from Louis Anton. The police were supposed to question you in New York.”

“You don’t think I had anything to do with the robbery?” Phyllis asked, aghast.

“Recently, a number of furs stolen here in Canada have been making their appearance in New York markets. We know the thieves here must have agents in that city to dispose of the furs. You could be acting for your brother.”

“That’s preposterous!” Phyllis exclaimed. “I had nothing to do with the stolen furs—and neither did Neal.”

“We will decide that when we find him,” Sergeant Maddock said quietly.

“And what have you decided about me?” Phyllis asked angrily. “I certainly wouldn’t have come here like this if I were guilty!”

“We haven’t quite made up our minds about you yet,” the sergeant answered. “What about the fur your brother sent you? Do you have it with you?”

“It is on the boat,” Phyllis replied. “But Neal wired me that he did not send it. Someone is using him as a pawn in some vicious scheme!”

“If that is so, it will be proved,” the sergeant answered. “I will send a messenger to the boat for the fur.”

“Very well. May I go now?” Phyllis asked.

“We are on our way to Sterling,” Beverly told the sergeant. “We’ll be staying at the home of Louis Anton—”

“I won’t!” Phyllis interposed swiftly. “If he accused Neal of such a thing, I can hardly live in his house. I shall go to Neal’s store, where I stayed before. I have some ski clothes there and I have a key.” She asked the police officer, “Do you have any objection to my doing that?”

For a moment the Mountie considered her quietly, and Beverly wished she were a mind reader so she could know what he was thinking. Did he really consider her friend a partner in the crime?

“You may go on to Sterling,” Sergeant Maddock said calmly. “If we want to talk to you we will come to see you there.”

The Fur Farm

“Mush!” Lenora cried. “Mush!”

“Are you telling us what we are going to have for dinner?” Shirley demanded.

“Silly!” Lenora returned. “Haven’t you heard? We are to travel to Sterling by dogsled.”

“So you decided to practice the only command you know,” Lois finished, with a giggle. “Oh, the poor dogs!”

“It won’t be up to you to guide the dogs,” Shirley told her blonde friend, “and for that I am grateful. We would probably find ourselves at the South Pole.”

Lenora tossed her head. “You have wounded me deeply! I shall go and commune with the sea gulls.” At the door to the lounge she paused. “Beverly, would you care to keep me company on deck until dinnertime? Come on, Bev, rescue me from this unappreciative audience.”

Laughingly, Beverly followed her friend up to the deck and there Lenora whirled upon her.

“Quickly, Bev, tell me what happened! I am bursting with curiosity.”

“It is Phyllis’s story—” Beverly began.

“Fiddlesticks!” Lenora exclaimed. “I know where you went—I asked Jock. Are the police going to hold Phyllis? Why did that Mountie come for the fur? Phyllis looks so gloomy I haven’t the heart to ask her a lot of questions, so you will have to tell me.”

Beverly related what had taken place in Sergeant Maddock’s office, and when she finished Lenora shook her head.

“Do you suppose Phyllis did—no, I guess not,” she answered her own question. “I wonder where her brother went?”

“I wish we could find him and learn his side of the story,” Beverly frowned. “If we stay at Louis Anton’s farm we will be in the camp of Neal’s enemy.”

“He may try to contact Phyllis if he learns she is in Sterling.”

Beverly nodded. “I believe that is what Sergeant Maddock thinks, too. He, in turn, will probably watch Phyllis, hoping she will lead him to Neal.”

Lenora started to chuckle. “This was to be a sort of vacation, remember? We are already up to our ears in mystery and the trip has just started.”

Woo Fang sounded the dinner gong, and the group assembled in the lounge. During the meal, conversation centered on the next day’s journey inland to Sterling. It had been decided that Mike, Roger, Miss Ernwood and, of course, Woo Fang would remain in Port Richard, the former to push repairs to the Susabella, and the latter because she had no desire to journey through the frozen countryside in a dogsled.

After dinner they all agreed on a walk about the little town before retiring. The wind swept along the narrow streets, and few people were abroad. Windows gleamed, sending shafts of yellow light across the pavements to illumine their way. They found nothing exciting in the peaceful little village, so they returned to the yacht early.

The moment they set foot on board they knew all was not well. A peculiar, high, singsong sound floated up the companionway, and they rushed in that direction.

Woo Fang was sitting on the floor in the middle of his galley, rocking back and forth, holding his head and moaning.

“What happened?” Roger cried.

Woo kept on rocking and moaning.

“For goodness’ sake, tell us what happened!” Shirley urged.

“Fella stlike Woo,” the little Chinese groaned. “Big fella,” he added in justification.

“Why? Why should anyone strike you?” Roger demanded.

“Who was it? How long ago?” added Jim.

“Few minutes,” Woo mumbled. “Woo find him and he stlike Woo. Big fella!” he repeated.

“Did you ever see him before?” Mike asked.

Woo shook his aching head and began moaning again.

“Maybe he is still on board!” Beverly exclaimed.

She and Larry ran into the passageway while the others continued to question Woo Fang.

“Larry, look!” Beverly gasped.

The lounge was a shambles. Chairs had been overturned, pictures were askew on the walls where the intruder apparently had suspected a hidden safe, desk drawers had been dumped on the floor. The place had been quickly and thoroughly searched.

The girls’ cabin was in much the same condition. Everything was upset. They went on to Miss Ernwood’s cabin. The confusion was repeated. As they were re-entering the passageway they saw a pair of legs disappearing up the companion way. The rugged boots told them it was no one of their party, and they immediately gave chase.

The man, bent low, ran across the deck and down the gangplank. Larry ran after him, with Beverly close behind.

“Go back!” Larry shouted to her.

Beverly shook her head and continued after the two men. They ran along the narrow street, the fugitive darting between two buildings and emerging on a small pier. Evidently he had expected to find a boat there because when there was none, he doubled back to the street again, Larry and Beverly in hot pursuit.

Here and there a window was flung open and a head appeared as the three running figures disturbed the tranquillity of the night. No one said anything or tried to interfere.

A heavy mist was rolling in from the sea, making it difficult to keep their quarry in sight as he darted in and out of narrow alleys. It was too dark to get a clear view of the man because he hugged the shadows to avoid identification. Ice and snow made footing precarious and none of them could go as swiftly as he desired.

Who could it be, Beverly wondered as she ran. Why should anyone board the yacht and create such havoc? Had he been searching for money or jewelry? Most of their money was in traveler’s checks, and the girls had little jewelry with them; still, what they had was precious and they didn’t want to lose it.

Beverly saw Larry wave to her, gesturing toward the street running parallel to the one they were on. He was signaling her to cut through an alley and head off their quarry while he continued after the man. Beverly returned his signal, and darted between two darkened houses. Swiftly she ran the length of the alley and emerged onto an icy cobblestone street. At the same moment, the man turned the far corner and ran toward her. When he saw her in his path he stopped. A glance over his shoulder told him Larry was bearing rapidly down upon him. He was caught between the two. Desperately he looked for a means of escape, then disappeared into a building.

Beverly and Larry met at the doorway through which he had disappeared. A faded wooden sign swinging overhead told them it was “The Harbor.”

“A restaurant, I guess,” Larry said, after peering through the window. “Come, we’ll go in.”

Larry opened the door and Beverly followed him into a small, smoke-filled room. The air was heavy with the odor of frying fish. There was a counter along one wall and a number of small tables. Most of the tables were empty, but there were several men on stools at the counter. They looked up from their meals as the strangers entered.

“What do you want?” a man in a dirty white apron demanded, coming to meet them.

“We are looking for the man who just ran in here,” Larry said, his glance traveling over the man’s customers.

“You are mistaken,” the proprietor said. “No one ran in here.”

“We saw him,” Larry insisted. “He may be hiding in the kitchen. Do you mind if I look?”

“You won’t look anywhere,” the man said, in an ugly tone of voice. “You’ll leave—now!”

Several customers, rough, powerful seamen, came to stand beside the proprietor and glare at Beverly and Larry.

The atmosphere was tense. If the man they had been after was here, his friends were not going to let him be discovered.

“Are you having any trouble, Miss Gray?”

So quietly had he entered, no one had noticed the Royal Canadian Mounted Policeman until he spoke. It was Sergeant Maddock, to whom Beverly and Phyllis had talked earlier that day.

“Yes,” Beverly said eagerly. “Someone boarded our yacht tonight and ransacked it while we were absent. We followed him here, but this man,” she gestured to the proprietor, “says he knows nothing about him.”

Sergeant Maddock nodded to Larry.

“Look in the kitchen.”

Larry disappeared through a narrow doorway behind the counter, but returned shaking his head.

“The back door is ajar. He probably escaped that way. We might as well give up.”

With the sergeant Beverly and Larry made a dignified retreat.

“We certainly were glad to see you in there,” Larry declared, with a grin.

The sergeant laughed. “I saw you go in and wondered. It isn’t the sort of spot visitors usually choose, and the people there aren’t friendly to strangers. Tell me more about what happened on your boat.”

Larry explained what they had found when they returned to the Susabella after their walk, and the sergeant accompanied them to the boat to see for himself.

Lenora and Terry met the three as they stepped on deck.

“Where did you go?” Lenora demanded of her friend. “We were beginning to think you had fallen overboard.”

“We saw the thief and followed him,” Beverly explained, “but he got away.”

“I would like to have a list of what is missing to include in my report,” Sergeant Maddock said.

“It is strange,” Terry declared, “but he doesn’t seem to have taken anything.”

“What?”

“That’s right,” Lenora nodded. “All our valuables are intact.”

“Then there isn’t much I can do,” Sergeant Maddock frowned. “If there is no real damage—”

“Not enough to waste time on,” Terry declared.

The Mountie went below with Terry and Larry to inspect the scene, while Lenora and Beverly waited on deck.

“The man must have been searching for something in particular,” Lenora commented. “What do you think, Bev?”

“It looks that way,” Beverly agreed.

“I don’t like it,” Lenora declared. “We started out to have a peaceful, enjoyable vacation, and ever since Phyllis popped up things have been happening.”

“How can she be responsible for this?” Beverly asked.

“I don’t know,” Lenora admitted, “but I’ll wager, when we get to the bottom of it, we will find she is in it somewhere.”

Beverly was silent. What Lenora said might be true, but she wanted to be fair to Phyllis and not blame her for something she couldn’t help. Phyllis had been with them on their walk, and upon their return to the boat the scene which greeted them had seemed as surprising to her as to anyone. If the thief hadn’t taken anything, then he couldn’t have found what he was looking for. In that case, he might return and the truth could be learned at that time.

The girls were uneasy when it came time to retire.

“Suppose the fellow comes back?” Lois suggested. “We could all be murdered in our beds.”

“Rubbish!” Terry said briskly. “However, if it will make you feel better, we will keep watch tonight.”

The young men were true to their word and maintained a vigil throughout the night, but nothing happened. The hours passed peacefully.

Louis Anton came early the next morning. He was big and blond, a typical outdoorsman. He was delighted to see his famous brother again, after so many years, and greeted the others cordially also. With him had come two of his friends. Each man had an eight-dog team of strong, bright-eyed Alaskan malemutes and Eskimo dogs. Each team was capable of pulling many hundreds of pounds of weight.

Louis remembered Phyllis from her previous visit to Sterling. He greeted her with a curt nod.

“I did not think you would be returning to Sterling,” he declared.

“I am going to look for Neal,” Phyllis answered defiantly.

“I hope you find him,” Louis said. “The police have not been able to.”

Phyllis flushed with anger, but she held her temper, and everyone turned to the tasks of departure.

Three of the young people climbed into each long, broad-runner, birch sled. Warm fur robes were tucked around them, and the dogs started at command.

They left the sea and the town behind them, and entered upon a trackless field of white. Then, finally, the glory of the forests in winter lay about them: the silence, the scent of pine and spruce, the pattern made by tall trees against the sky, and the signs of animal life. Emerging from the forest, they came upon a sea of white stillness spread far and wide around them. The glare of the sun on the snow was blinding, but to them it seemed a new world of breathless beauty. In the distance rose a snow-capped mountain, and it was toward this that they turned.

“Sterling lies close to the foot of Mount Furness,” Louis Anton explained. “It isn’t much of a mountain compared to Rainier or Baker, but it provides some good skiing.”

They stopped for a late lunch by a small stream that gurgled down from the mountain and across the valley. The surface was almost completely frozen, but they could see the rocky bed beneath the crystal-clear water.

During lunch the girls tried to make friends with the lead dog on the sled carrying Beverly, Lenora and Phyllis. He was a shaggy Eskimo answering to the name of Johnny, and he seemed unaffected by their attention. The dogs lay resting in the snow, red tongues hanging, their breath making little puffs of vapor in the air. They seemed to mind neither the cold nor the snow.

“Let’s have a race,” Lenora proposed as the group prepared to get under way again. “Do you ever race your teams?” she asked Louis Anton.

“Often.” He grinned. “If you want a race you shall have one.” He called to one of the other trappers. “Hi, Tom! We will race you to the fork.”

Tom waved. “We will wait for you there,” he replied confidently.

The dogs scrambled to their feet when Louis gave the command. They were impatient to be off, and barked furiously at nothing in particular. The two teams chosen for the race seemed to sense the spirit of rivalry and looked restlessly back at their masters, anxious to be away. The owner of the third team gave the signal to start, and both sleds began to move at once. The young people cheered loudly, and it seemed to spur the dogs on.

Lois and Shirley, in Tom’s sled with Terry, waved gaily as they began to pull into the lead. However, Louis’s dogs were not to be beaten so easily. They increased their pace, kicking up loose snow like a fine mist.

“Merrily we roll along, roll along—” Lenora sang gleefully as the two sleds came abreast.

The dogs and their owners seemed to enjoy the contest as much as the young visitors. Louis and Tom called back and forth, as first one team and then the other was in the lead. The third team, although not in the race, was following close behind.

“This is fun,” Lenora declared. “I wish—”

Her sentence was never finished. Johnny suddenly gave a sharp yelp of glee and swerved from the trail. The other dogs took up his cry, and for a few moments it was pandemonium. The dogs floundered into soft, deep snow, yelping madly. The sled left the trail and upset, throwing the girls headlong into a snowbank.

“What was it?” Lenora demanded, sitting up and attempting to brush the snow from her face. “What happened?”

“It was a rabbit,” Terry answered, pulling her to her feet.

“A rabbit ran across the trail,” Beverly agreed, as Larry helped her out of the snowbank.

“The dogs couldn’t resist chasing it,” Phyllis said, laughing. “That happens sometimes. A fleeing rabbit can demoralize a whole team.”

“Next time I race, I want a team of rabbit-loving dogs,” Lenora groaned. “We certainly lost that race in a hurry.”

The sled was righted, and Louis and his friends began the task of untangling the dogs and the web harness. Johnny and his furry teammates seemed contrite and subdued after their escapade and stuck strictly to business when they started out again.

About midafternoon they arrived at Sterling. The small village was completely snowbound and, they were told, would be until spring. There was but one street running the length of the settlement and they traversed it enroute to the Anton farm, which lay half a mile beyond the town. There were a number of small houses clustered together and one store, a rambling, frame affair above the door of which was a placard reading “Tanner’s.”

Phyllis signaled Louis Anton to halt.

“I might as well get out here,” she said. “Thank you for the ride, Mr. Anton. Good-bye, girls, thanks for everything.”

“Not good-bye, we’ll see you later,” Beverly assured her.

Phyllis waved and walked through the snow to the porch of the Tanner store.

“I hope she’ll be all right,” Beverly said anxiously, as they drove away.

The Anton home was a sprawling log cabin. A lot of care and thought had gone into its construction to make it as comfortable as possible. There was a fenced yard before the house, and a large wooden building behind it. Beyond were row upon row of small boxes on stands several feet off the ground. Each box had a screened front.

“Are they for the animals you raise?” Tony asked his brother.

“Yes, each box houses a mother mink and one or two kits. The large building is the warehouse,” Louis explained.

When he opened the door of his home the young people stepped into a low-ceilinged room furnished with heavy, polished furniture fashioned from logs. Gay curtains hung at the windows, an Indian rug of vivid colors lay before the stone fireplace, and along one wall were crowded bookshelves. It was a rugged room, but as comfortable and charming as it could be made.

Alice Anton, a plump, rosy-cheeked girl, considerably younger than her husband, welcomed the girls eagerly. It was obvious she was delighted to have company. She took the girls on a tour of the house, which was actually a great deal larger than they had suspected, and then turned her attention to little Penny, the Antons’ baby daughter, aged three, who was just waking from her nap. The baby was admired and petted by all the girls. Then Alice, assisted by Lois and Shirley, started preparations for dinner, and the young men became involved in a discussion of Louis’s hunting equipment. Beverly and Lenora asked Louis to take them to his warehouse.

“Do the police know Miss Tanner is in Sterling?” Louis asked the girls, as they walked from the house. “Have they contacted her?”

“She went to see them of her own free will,” Beverly said. “I can’t believe her brother stole your furs, Mr. Anton.”

“I believe that he did,” Louis replied quietly. “It is possible, too, that his sister helped him dispose of the furs. It happened soon after she left Sterling on her former visit.”

“Tell us why you suspect Neal,” Lenora proposed. “Exactly what did you find?”

“One day a trapper brought me his whole cache of furs. There were ten magnificent silver fox pelts, fourteen mink, four lynx and a few beaver. There were a great many other furs in the warehouse, too, and that night the padlock on the door was smashed. Most of the furs were taken. In the morning, Neal’s knife was found beside a bag of furs which had been cut open but not emptied. The knife bore his initials, and his helper identified it, so there is no doubt on that score.”

“His helper?” Beverly asked.

“He had a half-breed, Batouche, working for him in his store. As a matter of fact, it was Batouche who found the knife in the warehouse. He was delivering supplies from the store and had stopped to talk to old Matt. Batouche and I entered the warehouse together and he found the knife beside the bag of furs.”

“Was this the only robbery within recent months?” Beverly wanted to know.

Louis shook his head. “No. Several trappers have reported that their caches of furs were taken. However, mine was the most valuable haul. In addition to raising some animals myself, I have a trap line, and I buy pelts from the Indians and other trappers. There is usually a good stock in my warehouse.”

“Isn’t this farm a lot of work for one man?” Lenora asked.

“I have Matt to help me,” Louis answered. “He is an old man, lame from a hunting accident and unable to tend a trap line of his own. He is away now, buying supplies for me. I expected him back yesterday, but he hasn’t come yet. He lives alone in a cabin at the other end of my property.”

“I suppose he was too far away to see the thieves who broke into the warehouse,” Beverly commented.

“As a matter of fact, he wasn’t here when it occurred,” Louis said. “The thief must have known I was alone and would be less likely to see him. Come, shall we go into the warehouse?”

The girls looked about them with interest. The room was oblong in shape, barren of all but the necessities for the processing of the furs, and the bales of furs themselves. Several stretchers, for use after the skinning and fleshing processes, occupied the far end of the room under the only two, narrow windows.

Disappointed, the girls turned to leave. They had found this glimpse of the fur business interesting enough, but they had hoped to find something vital to the solution of the robbery.

“I guess it is our newspaper training,” Lenora said, laughing, when they were leaving the building.

Louis paused to put the padlock in place and make certain it was secure.

“We must be careful of animals as well as humans entering our buildings,” he explained. “Bears, especially, will wreck a place in their search for food. Most bears are in hibernation at this time of the year, but lately the village has been bothered by a lone wolf on the prowl.”

“What does he do?” Lenora asked.

“He has killed one goat, one dog, and terrorized the neighborhood. He is a smart one. We hear him howl at night and find his tracks the next morning, but no one has actually seen him. The continued snows and cold weather have made it difficult for him to find food and he is becoming bolder. It will lead to his undoing.”

“Have you heard anything about Neal Tanner in the last day or so?” Beverly asked, returning to their original discussion. “The policeman we talked to in Port Richard said he was still missing.”

“Yes,” Lenora added, “where could he go?”

“He could hide in the woods very easily. He may have friends among the Indians who would hide him,” Louis replied. “Now that his sister is here he may appear again.”

“Doesn’t his man, Batouche, have any idea where he has gone?” Lenora asked.

“No. Batouche is crafty, but I think, if he knew where Neal is, he would tell us just to get the reward.”

“Why would Neal suddenly become a thief?” Beverly wondered. “He should have a motive.”

“What better motive than money?” Louis asked. “The market on furs is high now. With what he has taken he can make a small fortune—if he succeeds in selling them all. The police are watching all the outlets, but smuggling does happen.”

“Phyllis says Neal has never been in trouble before,” Lenora commented. “She finds it hard to believe this about him.”

“We shall see what he says when the police catch him,” Louis shrugged. “Dinner will be ready soon. Do you like venison?”

“If I don’t think about the deer it came from,” Lenora replied.

“I shall go and make sure the animals are all right,” Louis said. “Tell Alice I won’t be long.”

“He is certainly dead set against Neal,” Lenora declared, as the girls watched their host stride away.

“The knife is strong evidence against him,” Beverly admitted.

“The fact that he ran the local store is a strike against him, too,” Lenora declared. “Probably the trappers all stopped there and told him about their furs. He would have knowledge of the furs which could be stolen. Perhaps the temptation became too much for him.”

“Are you turning against him, too?” Beverly demanded.

“I am waiting to be convinced,” Lenora said, grinning. “I’ll go into the house through the kitchen to tell Alice where Louis has gone, and meet you out front.”

Nodding agreement, Beverly strolled along the path at the side of the house. The snow was dry and firm. She thought of the slopes of Mount Furness. They should have some good skiing before they left Sterling.

Turning the corner of the house, Beverly was surprised to see, in the light which streamed across the yard from the front windows, Penny the baby. She was engrossed in piling snow on a small sled. Across the yard, a gray dog stopped to watch the baby. His body was sleek and powerful. Beverly felt a surge of admiration for these northern dogs. Their strength and stamina were amazing. However, she hadn’t thought of them as pets for children.

As Beverly approached, the dog moved closer to the baby and stopped, casting a furtive glance over his shoulder. The baby toddled a few feet nearer the dog, and suddenly tossed a handful of snow at the animal. The dog drew back on his haunches, baring his teeth in a snarl. He crouched, as if to spring upon the child.

Beverly didn’t like his actions. Pet or not, the animal was in a bad mood. She wouldn’t trust him alone with a baby. In any event, she felt sure Penny’s mother did not know the child was out here. She entered the yard and shut the gate behind her. The dog looked across at her, and his snarl grew more ominous. Beverly hesitated and then moved to pick up Penny. At the same time the gray shape slunk closer. It was then, as she more clearly saw his sharp features and yellowish eyes, that Beverly realized this was no dog. It was a wolf!

Five Girls Lost

The wolf thought first of escape, but Beverly had secured the gate behind her when she entered the yard. Then his wild, shifting eyes turned back toward his prey—the child.

Beverly, trembling in spite of herself, slowly stooped and lifted the baby in her arms. A low growl came from the wolf, and he crouched in readiness to spring upon them both. Beverly began backing toward the house. She dared not turn her back on him, but moving this way was slow and dangerous. Her foot slipped on the snow and she went down on one knee. Instantly she was up again. The wolf would lose no time, once his quarry was on the ground. Every time she moved he moved also—slinking nearer each time.

There was a sound at the fence as Lenora came along the side of the house.

“Beverly, I can’t find—”

“Lenora!” Beverly interrupted sharply. “Get Louis and his rifle. The wolf—”

“Wolf?” Lenora shrieked, and let out a piercing scream.

Startled, the wolf leaped, as Beverly had been afraid he would do if she screamed. Beverly turned and fled, holding the baby close. She had gone only a few paces when she felt the weight of the wolf as his claws brushed her back. She stumbled and could not catch herself. She and the baby tumbled into the snow. She fancied she felt the hot breath of the animal on her neck as she heard running footsteps and a loud shot ring out—then another and another.

Eager hands lifted her from the snow, and for a moment she stood trembling in the circle of Larry’s arms.

The cries of Penny calmed her, and she turned to find Alice cradling the little girl in her arms.

“Is she all right?” Beverly asked anxiously. “I fell right on top of her.”

“Oh, yes, thanks to you,” Alice answered, tears in her eyes. “I don’t know how she got out of the house.”

Louis and the other young men were bending over something in the snow, and, with a shudder, Beverly turned away. The girls drew her into the house and pressed her into a chair before the fire. Soon she stopped trembling, and they could all discuss what had happened.

“We are in your debt forever,” Louis declared. “That was the lone wolf that has been on the prowl around here. I had just found his tracks out by the animal pens when your friend screamed.”

“And what a scream!” Terry chuckled. “They must have heard it all the way back in New York.”

“I was so frightened I just opened my mouth and shrieked,” Lenora said sheepishly.

The wolf and Beverly’s action were the topic of conversation throughout dinner. It had been a strenuous day and they were glad to retire early, the boys in a small cabin on the Anton property, and the girls in a large comfortable room in the main house. Snug under warm blankets, none of them wasted any time before falling asleep. It seemed scarcely any time at all before someone was pounding on the girls’ door to announce breakfast.

“Go away!” Lenora groaned and pulled the blanket over her head.

“Come, come,” Lois chuckled. “We must be up and doing, little chum!”

Lenora cocked an eye at her friend over the edge of the blanket.

“What makes you so bright this morning?”

“She didn’t dream about wolves.” Beverly laughed.

“I did,” Lenora said, with a grimace.

“We know you did,” Shirley giggled. “You talk in your sleep.”

“What did I say?” Lenora demanded.

“That is a secret,” Lois said wisely. “Of course we could use it to blackmail you—”

“Just try it!” Lenora returned. “I’ll have—” she paused to sniff the air. “Pancakes! For that I will get up. What shall I wear today?”

“How about our ski outfits?” Beverly suggested. “We might want to explore the countryside. I’d like to go and see Phyllis after breakfast.”

“That shall be our first venture,” Lenora assured her. “I wonder how she is making out alone?”

After a delicious breakfast, twice as much as they usually ate at home, the young men offered to help Louis with his work, and the girls helped Alice. As soon as the sun was up they went to the village. They did not meet many people, but those they did pass looked after them curiously.

“We are as much of an oddity here as one of the Indians would be on Fifth Avenue,” Shirley chuckled.

They came to a halt before the store where they had left Phyllis the day before. The window held a display of gaily colored blankets, bead work of the Indians, and assorted hunting essentials.

Beverly knocked on the door, but there was no response.

“Let’s go around to the living quarters in the back,” Lois suggested.

They found smoke coming from the kitchen chimney and Phyllis finishing her breakfast. She was in ski clothes, and did not seem happy to see them.

“Don’t let us detain you,” Lenora told her.

“I won’t,” she said frankly.

“Where are you off to?” Shirley inquired. “We would like to go skiing with you.”

“It isn’t a pleasure jaunt,” Phyllis returned.

“Are you going to look for Neal?” Beverly guessed.

Phyllis looked from one girl to another, remembering that they were friends and their loyalty had been tried. They might have gotten into trouble because of her, but they were still with her.

“Yes,” she admitted. “He has a little cabin in the woods that not many people know about. It’s just possible the police haven’t looked there.”

“But don’t you see?” Lenora cried. “That is just what everyone is hoping you will do—lead the police to Neal!”

“I have to see him, to talk with him—” Phyllis protested. “I can’t go on in the dark any longer.”

“Perhaps he will come here to you,” Shirley said.

“That would be even more dangerous for him,” Phyllis replied.

“Perhaps, if we made a party of it,” Beverly suggested. “We girls will go with you, Phyllis. To anyone watching it will seem as though we are just out for some skiing.”

“As if you are showing us the country,” agreed Lenora.

“Is your brother’s cabin far from here?” Lois asked.

“It will take most of the morning to get there,” was Phyllis’s answer.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Lenora cried. “Let’s get started.”

“Where will we get the skis?” Lois wanted to know. “We can’t fly, you know.”

“I think there are skis in the store to fit all of you,” Phyllis answered.

The promise of a ski run in the crisp sunlight was welcome to all the girls after the days of idleness on the Susabella, and the touch of mystery added by the prospect of meeting Neal Tanner made the morning’s adventure even more appealing.

The girls were choosing skis when a short, dark, heavy-set man, laboring under an armload of firewood, entered the store. He dropped the wood beside the stove, and, after bestowing a wide grin on the girls, disappeared out the door.

“That was Batouche,” Phyllis explained. “When he saw a light this morning, he thought Neal had returned, and he came to see if he could go back to work in the store. He offered to get me some more firewood.”

Beverly and Lenora exchanged glances but said nothing. They had been anxious to see the man who had identified Neal’s knife. They wondered if Phyllis knew Batouche had been present when the knife was found.

The group started out in high spirits. The air was crisp and cold. The snow was a fresh, white carpet over which they moved with ease on their skis. The trees were bent low under their heavy cloaks of snow. Phyllis led the way at a swift pace. Suddenly she stopped, her skis sending up a froth of snow.

Crossing the girls’ path was a man pulling a heavily laden sled. He met Phyllis with a smile on his weather-beaten face.

“Hello, Peter,” Phyllis called.

“Miss Tanner! When did you come back to Sterling?”

“Yesterday, with my friends here,” Phyllis said. “Your sled looks heavy, Peter.”

“Furs,” was the answer. “I am taking them in to Mr. Anton. I have some beauties this time.” He lowered his voice a bit. “I don’t believe what they are saying about your brother. I wish I could help.”

“Thank you,” Phyllis said gravely. “When I see Neal I will tell him what you said.”

The man went slowly on his way, stopping once to look back and wave.

“Peter is a trapper who used to come to the store and talk to Neal a lot,” Phyllis explained to the girls.

“Do we have much farther to go?” Shirley asked.

“It is still a good distance,” Phyllis admitted. “Are you tired? Do you want to go back?”

“I think we will all go on,” Beverly answered, and the other girls nodded assent.

They went on their way, scarcely noticing that the sun had disappeared and clouds were beginning to crowd over the horizon.

At last they came upon a small log cabin standing alone at the edge of the woods. With its covering of snow, it looked like a gingerbread house. The snow lay unbroken all about it.

“There are no footprints,” Phyllis said in disappointment. “Neal can’t be here.”

They took off their skis and tramped into the cabin. There was only one room, furnished with a table, two chairs, two bunks built against the wall, a fireplace and supply of wood, and a shelf well stocked with canned goods.

“We can at least get warm and have our lunch before we start back,” Phyllis proposed.

“Beverly and I will build the fire,” Lenora offered.

“There is a small stream about a hundred yards back in the woods,” Phyllis continued. “We can get water there.”

“Lois and I will get it,” Shirley said, picking up a pail.

“I’ll see what we can have to eat,” Phyllis turned to the shelf of provisions.

Beverly and Lenora got a good fire going while Shirley and Lois were gone. Phyllis was busily opening cans when there was a knock on the door. Phyllis flew to open it, then stepped back in disappointment.

“May I come in, Phyllis?”

A tall, dark-haired man in the brilliant-colored uniform of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police filled the doorway. His eyes went swiftly over the scene.

“Hello, Lance. Neal isn’t here,” Phyllis said quickly, divining the reason for his searching glance.

“I had to make sure,” he admitted, with a smile. “I saw the smoke from the chimney and knew he used to come here.” He looked at Lenora and Beverly and Phyllis introduced him as Lance MacIvor.

“I wouldn’t linger too long,” the Mountie advised. “It looks as though we are due for more snow, and it will be dark in two hours.”

“We will be going soon,” Phyllis replied.

“Well—” the Mountie hesitated and then moved to the door. “Phyllis, if you see Neal, tell him to come to me. It will be better that way.”

Phyllis made no reply. When the door closed behind him she spoke as if to herself:

“Lance and Neal used to be good friends, and now he wants to arrest him.”

“That’s his job,” Lenora pointed out. “Come, let’s have lunch and be on our way.” She looked uneasily out the window. “You heard what he said about snow.”

Shirley and Lois returned with a pail of water, and Phyllis made tea to go with the baked beans, cold meat, crackers and cheese.

Time passed swiftly and when they had eaten, washed the dishes and made sure the fire was out, the sky was heavy with clouds.

Phyllis was loath to leave the little cabin. She kept finding things to do, lingering as if she, too, were waiting for something—or someone.

“Will you please stop fussing?” Lenora implored. “Let’s go! I can think of a lot of places I would rather be if there is a blizzard on the way.”

“We didn’t expect to be gone this long,” added Beverly. “Larry and the rest will wonder what has happened to us.”

When they were on their skis, ready to leave, the first snowflakes began to fall.

“It might be wiser to stay at the cabin until it stops snowing,” Phyllis suggested. “What do you think?”

“I’m all for going back to Sterling,” Lenora declared.

“Me, too,” chimed in Lois. “If we keep a fast pace we should be able to make it, even though it will be dark soon.”

They wasted no more time in argument. With every fleeting moment the snow became thicker. It stung their faces and blurred their vision until at last they halted. Already, the early northern night had fallen.

“I wish I had Aladdin’s lamp,” Lenora sighed. “I’d transform these skis into snowshoes. Or, better still, I’d wish us a fancy sleigh in which to ride the rest of the way.”

“How much farther is it?” Beverly asked Phyllis.

“It will take us about another two hours,” Phyllis replied. “Come, we must not linger.”

They struggled on through the snow, fighting their way through the swirling flakes. Footing was uncertain, and more than once one of them unwarily left from the trail, stumbled into a snowdrift and had to be pulled out.

“I wish I could find a hibernating bear,” Lenora declared. “I’d tell him to move over.”

“I wish we had stayed at the cabin,” Lois added. “At least we wouldn’t have frozen.”

“Cheer up, you aren’t an icicle yet.” Shirley attempted to smile, but her face felt stiff with cold.

“It won’t be much farther,” Phyllis encouraged.

They went on again, determinedly cheerful, despite the bitter cold and their growing weariness.

Lenora called a halt after narrowly escaping a fall.

“We could—” She interrupted herself. “What is that noise?”

“It is coming from over there,” added Lois.

“It sounds like a waterfall,” Beverly declared.

“Waterfall!” Lenora echoed. “We didn’t pass any waterfall on the way out.”

“No,” Phyllis admitted, “we didn’t. I’m afraid we are lost.”

Flying Eagle Speaks

The snap of the tree branch was like a pistol shot in the silence. It plummeted to earth under its heavy load of snow, directly upon Beverly and Lenora, who were struggling out of a snowdrift. The impact of the branch knocked them down in the soft snow, stunned and breathless.

Beverly struggled to her feet, but she had to pull the branch aside before Lenora could rise. They were both covered with snow, wet and cold.

“Something tells me we should never have come to Canada,” Lenora declared, shivering. “Where are the other girls, Bev?”

“I thought they were right beside us,” Beverly replied, “but they must have gone on without realizing anything had happened to us. We better hurry to catch up with them.”

They could scarcely see two feet ahead through the darkness and the whirling snowflakes. If they had started out on a trail, as Phyllis said, there was no sign of it now. All they could do was struggle blindly on, hoping they were headed in the right direction and would come to some form of habitation soon.

Beverly and Lenora shouted as loudly as they could, but there was no reply from the other girls.

“Now we are even lost from each other,” Lenora said. “What will we do, Bev?”

“Keep going,” Beverly answered at once.

Lenora leaned against a tree and shook her head.

“I can’t. My legs feel frozen and my skis are like lead.”

“We can’t stand or sit still,” Beverly returned. “Then we would really freeze. Do you crave to be an icicle?”

Lenora rallied a little to the faint joke.

“I’m not far from being one now. I never thought my beautiful red parka would have to take such punishment. It will never be the same,” she added sadly. Snow crystals were freezing on the white fur, making it stiff with ice.

Beverly clapped her mittened hands together. “Come on, moving will be better than this.”

“Give me your hand,” Lenora suggested. “We don’t want to become separated from each other. Where do you suppose the others are?”

“They can’t be far away from us,” Beverly answered. “No one can travel fast in this storm.”

They started out again, helping each other, growing colder and wearier with each passing minute.

It was quite dark now, and there was no sign that the storm was abating at all.

“What do you suppose the boys and the Antons are thinking?” Lenora wondered.

“By this time they must have guessed we are lost,” Beverly replied. “I hope they start a searching party.”

“How far from Sterling do you suppose we are?” Lenora continued.

The distance from home was something Beverly did not like to think about. She was afraid they had gone a considerable distance, much more than their friends would suppose, and hence she doubted if they would send a searching party so far afield, even though Peter probably had reported meeting them on the trail.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to progress through the snow.

“I can’t do it, Bev,” Lenora said at last. “You go on. You can send someone back for me.”

“How would I know where you were?” Beverly countered. “We can’t stop, Lenora. We must try to keep moving.”

“Just for a moment,” Lenora pleaded. “I’ve got to rest.”

They huddled together, but there was little warmth.

“Bev—suppose we meet a wolf,” Lenora murmured.

“You think of the nicest things!” Beverly exclaimed. “Come, let’s try again. I think the storm is letting up.” She started away, confident that Lenora would follow.

Lenora straightened up and made an effort to join her friend. She was almost even with Beverly when her feet began to slide from under her.

“Beverly, help!”

Beverly whirled about, throwing out both hands to catch her companion. She was thrown off balance and she, too, began to slide. Slipping and sliding, the girls rolled down the hillside together, coming to rest finally against a snow-covered log at the bottom.

That was when Lance MacIvor found them, his horse shying in alarm as one of the snow-covered figures began to move.

The Mountie helped Beverly to her feet, and then Lenora. They were stiff with cold.

“Are you all right?” he asked anxiously.

“I’m too cold to tell,” Lenora returned, her teeth chattering. “I—I think s-so.”

“Do you think you can stick on the horse?” Lance MacIvor asked. “I’ll get you to a warm cabin in a hurry.”

Both girls nodded wordlessly and he helped them to mount his horse. Then, with the Mountie on foot, carrying the skis and leading the way, they started off. How long they traveled thus, the girls did not know. They were so exhausted they could barely cling to the horse. When finally he stopped, and a cabin door was thrown open, they half fell into the lighted room. They were dimly aware of a pleasant elderly man and woman. The latter gave them warm clothes and made them lie down on warm bunks while she prepared something to eat. However, when the food was ready, both girls were sound asleep.

Beverly woke first and poked her friend. They sat up and looked about the room. There were two doors, both closed tightly. There was a fire blazing merrily in a stone fireplace under a steaming iron kettle which gave off a delicious aroma. It made them realize how hungry they were. There was a table set with heavy yellow pottery, Indian rugs on the floor, a few magazines and books, and their clothes, dried and waiting.

Lenora looked down at the plaid woolen shirt and blue overalls she was wearing.

“Where did I get these?” she demanded.

“I gave them to you last night,” a pleasant voice answered. “Don’t you remember?”

A thin, stooped, elderly woman was standing in one of the doorways, smiling at them.

“Are you both feeling better?”

“Much better, thank you!” Beverly stood up. “We can never thank you enough for taking us in.”

“We don’t want thanks,” the woman answered, moving to stir the contents of the iron pot. “I’m Ma Lovering. Pa is out with Lance getting wood. They’ll be here soon. Are you ready to eat?”

“I’ve never had such an appetite,” Lenora declared.

“Did you hear anything of three other girls lost in yesterday’s storm?” Beverly asked.

Ma Levering shook her head. “No. Lance only told us you came up here with Neal Tanner’s sister.”

“Do you know Neal?” Beverly queried.

“Everybody in these parts knows Neal. He is a fine boy. Lance should be ashamed of himself—suspecting Neal of stealing!”

“Then you don’t think he is guilty?” Lenora asked.

“Of course he isn’t guilty!” Ma Lovering declared.

“Is there any way of getting word to our friends in Sterling that we’re all right?” Beverly asked. “Will it take us long to get back there?”

“It is a good distance to Sterling,” another voice said, as the outside door opened.

The Mountie and Pa Lovering entered on a gust of wind, each bearing an armload of firewood. The Mountie deposited his wood by the fireplace and turned to the girls.

“I sent word on to Sterling that you were all right. What about Phyllis and the other two?”

“We were separated from them in the storm yesterday,” Beverly replied. “We are very anxious about them.”

The girls caught the sharp glance that passed between Lance and Ma.

“What’s the matter?” Lenora asked bluntly. “Have you heard anything about them?”

“No,” Lance answered. “But this is the only cabin for miles and miles.”

“Then, since they didn’t find this cabin, they may still be out there somewhere,” Lenora said in a faint voice. “They’ll be frozen!”

“What can we do to find them?” Beverly asked at once.

“I’ll leave immediately,” the Mountie replied, “and organize a searching party.”

“Where must you go to do that?” Lenora wanted to know.

“Sterling or Spruce Bay,” was the reply. “They’re about equally distant from here although in opposite directions.”

“By the time you travel that distance, organize the men, and they start out—” Beverly stopped in dismay.

“It will take such a long time,” finished Lenora. “The girls will need help sooner than that.”

“Is there an airplane anywhere close by?” Beverly demanded suddenly. “That would be the thing. The storm is over. We could fly low and cover the countryside much more quickly than men on snowshoes or skis.”

“There is a young fellow at Spruce Bay who has an airplane,” Lance admitted. “He uses it to fly supplies farther north. He might help us.”

“We’ll ask him,” Beverly said. “I’m going with you.”

“You aren’t going to leave me behind,” Lenora declared.

“But the journey,” Lance protested. “You were so exhausted last night—”

“That was last night.” Lenora grinned. “Once we’ve had breakfast we’ll be ready to go again.”

“You can take my sled,” Pa Levering offered slowly. “They’re a good team of dogs and they’ll get you there as quickly as possible.”

Breakfast was accomplished in record time and while the girls changed back into their own clothes, Lance and Pa went outside and hitched the dogs to the sled. The girls could hear the animals barking furiously as if anxious to be on their way. It seemed to add to their own sense of urgency.

“I feel guilty when I think of the comfortable night we spent,” Lenora confided, “while those girls—”

“I hope they were just as lucky,” Beverly returned.

After profuse thanks and many good-byes Beverly and Lenora climbed into the sled, the Mountie put the skis aboard, gave the dogs the command and they were off.

When the sun came up, dispelling the last of the storm clouds, its rays dusted the surface of the snow with diamonds. The world seemed fresh and new with its coat of white, and if Beverly and Lenora hadn’t been so anxious about their friends they would have been able to enjoy it more.

Lance told them they would traverse the way they had come the night before, and the girls looked eagerly for some sign of their companions, but there was nothing. If there was a lost glove or some other item belonging to any of the girls, it was effectively covered by the snow.

They refused to stop longer than was necessary to rest the dogs, neglecting their own lunch in their eagerness to reach their destination.

Spruce Bay, they found, was a large body of water fed by mountain streams, surrounded on three sides by dense forest. On the fourth side were built tiny cabins of the natives, and the more spacious cabins of vacationers who spent only a few weeks here out of every year.

“Joe has the cabin at the end, between the two pine trees,” Lance told them.

Lance knocked on the door of the cabin and went inside, while the girls waited in the sled. When he reappeared the expression on his face was not encouraging.

“What’s wrong?” Lenora asked at once. “Is the plane out of commission?”

“No, but Joe is,” Lance replied. “He is ill. He couldn’t possibly fly for us.”

“Oh, is that all?” Lenora sighed with relief. “Beverly will fly the plane.”

“Can you?” The Mountie turned eagerly to Beverly.

“I have a license,” Beverly nodded, “but I don’t know about this plane—”

“It is one of the very latest models,” Lance assured her. “Joe has had it only since last summer. It is in a hangar near the shore. Let’s go look at it.”

“It is the only way, Bev,” Lenora urged. “We can’t go back now without doing all we can.”

The plane did prove to be similar to the one Larry owned and in which Beverly had done most of her flying, except that it was equipped with skis. When she climbed into the cockpit and sat before the controls she felt her confidence returning. It shouldn’t be too difficult to take it up off the smooth snow.

“I’ll tell Joe what we want to do,” Lance suggested. “He might have some advice on the best course.”

A little group of onlookers gathered to watch the tiny plane as it taxied across the snow, turned and roared back toward the settlement, rising effortlessly into the sky.

“A woman pilot is a novelty up here.” Lance grinned as he looked down. “That was a smooth take-off, Miss Gray.”

“I told you she was good,” Lenora bragged.

“Don’t say a word until I set it down again,” Beverly said, smiling. “How far shall we go?”

“All the way to Sterling,” Lance replied. “They may be somewhere in between. We’ll cover the entire territory while we still have some light.” He peered through the cabin window. “Hello! The Indians are out scouting for someone.”

Far below could be seen moving figures spaced at intervals, black dots on the white carpet, all going in the same direction.

“There is an Indian reservation not far from Spruce Bay,” Lance explained. “Someone from there must be lost, too.”

Beverly kept the tiny plane as close to the treetops as she dared, in order to give them a better view of the ground. The world looked entirely different from above. Everything seemed smaller, the trails less hazardous, and Mount Furness not as majestic or formidable.

“I thought maybe we’d all climb the mountain before we left Sterling,” Lenora said wistfully, as the plane circled the peak. “I have always wanted to climb one and this doesn’t seem so steep.”

“It isn’t difficult,” Lance agreed. “There are trails almost to the top and several places to stop and rest. There are caves in the rocks near the top which were inhabited by Indians many years ago.”

“What is that in the snow down there?” Lenora asked, pointing to a black hole and some wooden framework.

“That is the entrance to an abandoned coal mine,” Lance explained. “Sterling is just over the next rise.”

They flew over the Anton home, circling around until all the occupants were out in the yard. There was no sign of Phyllis or the other two girls. Lenora dropped a note tied to a wrench, and they watched Larry and Jim flounder through the snow to retrieve it. When they had read the message Larry waved his cap in answer. Beverly dipped the plane’s wings and they left Sterling.

It was growing dark as they flew over Neal’s cabin, and traced their steps to the waterfall and into the forest beyond. They found the spot where Beverly and Lenora had tumbled down the hill, and the Loverings’ cabin, but nowhere was there a sign of the three missing girls.

It was quite dark when they returned to Spruce Bay, discouraged and at a loss what to do next. After the plane was safely in the hangar they walked back to where the dogsled waited.

Two small Indian boys came running to meet Lance. They chattered excitedly to him. Lance picked up the smallest boy and swung him high into the air before he turned to the girls with a wide grin.

“Your friends are at the Indian reservation,” he exclaimed. “It must be they. The boys say three white girls were brought in last night during the storm.”

“Let’s go!” Beverly cried.

They were off again in the dogsled. Their eagerness seemed to impart itself to the big, powerful dogs, who dashed ahead with little urging.

The first sign they had that they were nearing the Indian camp was a huge campfire, by the light of which they saw a fierce-looking totem pole, elaborately carved and painted.

“That is enough to send me in the other direction,” Lenora declared. “Is it a warning for visitors?”

“It portrays the family tree of the man who built it,” Lance explained. “It is like his coat of arms.”

“He must have been quite a character,” Lenora decided, viewing the totem pole more closely.

A number of cabins came into sight, more campfires, and here and there a tepee. Dogs began barking furiously at the sled team, and people ran to meet them. Three girls appeared at one cabin door and then ran toward the sled.

“Are we glad to see you!” Shirley declared, as Lenora and Beverly tumbled from the sled.

“What happened to you?” Lois added. “The Indians are out looking for you.”

“We’ve been hunting for you,” Lenora returned.

Stories were hastily exchanged, and Phyllis beckoned to an Indian who was standing silently at the edge of the firelit circle.

“It was Flying Eagle and his brother, Running Dog, who found us,” she reported.

Lance arranged with the Indians for fresh dog teams to take the girls back to Sterling.

“The girls will always be grateful for all that you did for them,” Lenora declared.

“I was happy to help Neal Tanner’s sister,” Flying Eagle said quietly.

“Do you believe he is a thief?” Beverly asked.

The Indian’s dark eyes studied her for a moment.

“No,” was the answer. “I have been in his store many times and he has always been fair. I believe he forgot that a man’s evil deeds are often repeated.” With that, Flying Eagle walked away, leaving the girls to speculate on the meaning of his words.

Thief in the Night

“Ah, yes,” Lenora sighed, sinking into the deep armchair before the fire. “There is nothing like the wide open spaces.”

“Of which I have had enough to last the rest of the year,” added Lois.

“One would think you girls didn’t enjoy the snow,” Terry said, his eyes twinkling. “I was going to suggest we all go skiing this afternoon.”

“Don’t mention skis to me!” Shirley exclaimed.

“Having just returned from a rather extensive tour of the countryside,” Lenora informed them grandly, “I am going to do nothing but sit and toast my toes before the fire.”

“If I know you, that mood won’t last long,” Larry chuckled.

The young people were gathered in the Anton home. The girls had arrived safely in the middle of the night, and after a long sleep and hearty breakfast they were feeling almost normal.

With the suddenness of a whirlwind, the door opened and Louis Anton stormed in.

“Gone! Every one of them is gone!” he cried.

Louis, right after breakfast, had gone out to his warehouse. Now he returned with the startling announcement.

“What’s gone?” Terry ventured.

“My furs! The thief struck again last night. Every pelt that Peter brought in, and a good many others, are gone. Tanner has gone too far this time!”

“How can you be so sure it was Neal Tanner who did it?” Beverly asked.

“Because the robbery was done in exactly the same manner as before. Every detail is the same—even to the tracks in the snow.”

“I wonder how he learned Peter had brought his pelts to you,” Alice Anton murmured.

“Tanner’s sister met Peter when he was coming here,” Louis pointed out. “She must have gotten word to Neal about them.”

“Oh, no,” Lenora protested. “Phyllis couldn’t have done that. We were all with her. We all met Peter. If you suspect Phyllis you must suspect us too.”

“If you knew Neal Tanner, I probably would,” Louis said bluntly. “I wish Matt were back. Between us, we could have taken turns guarding the warehouse. I’m going to the village to report to Lance MacIvor. He must do something to catch Tanner and put a stop to these thefts.”

Louis stormed out as suddenly as he had come in, and the young people stared after him.

“I don’t understand it,” Lenora declared. “The people we’ve met—Lance, Peter, even Flying Eagle and the Loverings—all like Neal. They seem to think he is a nice fellow, and yet—”

“You don’t suppose Phyllis somehow did—” Lois broke off, shaking her head.

“This robbery was committed exactly as before,” Lenora murmured. “Flying Eagle said, ‘A man’s evil deeds are often repeated.’ ”

“But he didn’t mean Neal,” Beverly said quickly.

“You’re so sure Neal is innocent, Bev, but how are you going to prove it?” Larry put in.

“The only way we can do that is to find the real thief,” Beverly answered.

“That won’t be easy,” Larry declared.

“I think we should question Phyllis more closely,” said Beverly. “Flying Eagle was telling us something in his own way. Perhaps Phyllis can tell us what he meant.” She got to her feet. “I’m going to see Phyllis now.”

“I’ll go along,” Lenora said.

“It might be wise to wait until Louis returns with the Mountie,” Larry suggested. “Perhaps he will have learned something new.”

“We won’t be gone long,” Beverly assured them.

“I was going to be a sit-by-the-fire,” Lenora chuckled, as she and Beverly went down the road. “It must be my newspaper training that gets me out. Where are you going? The village is the other way.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Beverly began.

“About Matt?” Lenora interrupted eagerly. “So have I.”

“Working for Louis, he had the opportunity to learn just what furs were in the warehouse, the first time it was robbed.”

“He wasn’t around on the day of the robbery, too,” added Lenora, “and the fact that he should have returned before now looks suspicious to me.”

“Louis has implicit confidence in him,” Beverly pointed out.

“Other men have been deceived,” Lenora told her. “Perhaps Louis was, too.”

“I thought we might look at the cabin where Matt lives,” Beverly continued. “Perhaps there will be a clue.”

She had no idea what to look for. She was not prepared to say that Matt was guilty of the robbery, but if they hoped to prove Neal innocent they dared not overlook the faintest shadow of suspicion pointing to someone else.

Matt’s cabin was a small, log affair, close to the bank of a creek. The snow about it was unbroken save for the tracks left by an inquisitive rabbit.

“There can’t be anyone in there now,” Lenora said, with satisfaction. “The coast is clear.”

Beverly nodded and moved forward. The snow was knee-deep, and there was no path to follow. They approached the cabin, their hearts beating faster.

“Just in case he is home,” Beverly whispered, and knocked on the door.

The rough, wooden door swung open under the pressure of her hand. It creaked eerily as it moved, and the girls bent forward to peer into the almost empty room.

Lenora stepped across the threshold and stamped the snow from her boots. Beverly followed and they stood looking around. Whatever they had expected, it was not this emptiness.

“He didn’t hide any furs here,” Lenora declared, looking about.

“It almost looks as though he doesn’t intend to return,” added Beverly.

Lenora walked over to a worn, dusty trunk which occupied one corner of the room. On the ancient trunk was a bright, new padlock.

“The thing is about to fall apart,” she commented. “I wonder why he bothered to put a new lock on it?”

“The lock is to discourage trespassers such as you,” a deep voice said behind them.

The girls whirled to confront a thin, stooped man. His eyes were a bright, piercing blue in his bearded face. He was dressed in worn buckskin and he carried a brown sack on his shoulder.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” a deep voice behind them said.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked. “I’m afraid there isn’t anything of value.”

“We aren’t thieves!” Lenora said indignantly.

“We are sorry to intrude,” Beverly added in embarrassment. “The door swung open when we knocked upon it.”

“We are visiting the Antons,” offered Lenora.

The old man stood silent, watching them.

“We’ll be going now,” Beverly said weakly.

The door closed behind them and they heard a bar fall into place.

“What did you think of Rip Van Winkle?” Lenora asked when they were out of earshot of the cabin.

“He is a strange man. I wonder what he thought—finding us there like that?” Beverly returned.

“We won’t be popular with him, that’s certain.”

Lenora smiled. “Has it occurred to you, Bev? There was another robbery last night and he pops up this morning. I think he will bear watching. Meanwhile, we’ll go back and see Phyllis.”

When they reached the closed store they went around to the back of the building. Beverly knocked on the door several times, but there was no reply. There were a great many footprints in the snow, but no sign of Phyllis.

“It doesn’t look as though Batouche is here, either,” Lenora commented. “He must have gotten tired of his role of Helpful Harry.”

“Hello, there!”

The girls turned to see Lance MacIvor and Louis Anton coming up the path.

“Has she returned?” Louis asked.

“No,” Beverly replied. “Do you know where she went?”

“We’ve been looking for her,” Lance told the girls. “She isn’t anywhere in the village.”

“I tell you she has gone to join her brother,” Louis said angrily. “She told him about the furs, and now that he has a good cache of them, they are escaping together.”

“You can’t prove anything like that about Phyllis,” Beverly said, with a frown. “I don’t believe that is true. Do you?” she appealed to the Mountie.

“We found a boy who says a man gave him a message to deliver to Phyllis. It could have been from Neal.” Lance sighed. “Phyllis and Neal were my friends. It is hard for me to think this of them, but everything points to their guilt. If only they hadn’t run away—” He stopped in exasperation.

In silence the four walked to the Anton warehouse. The girls watched while Lance carefully examined the scene of the robbery, but this time there was no clue to the identity of the thief.

“Matt is back,” Beverly told Louis, as they left the warehouse.

“I know,” Louis replied. “He stopped to see me on the way to his cabin.”

They went into the house for lunch, and at the table they discussed the robbery and Phyllis’s disappearance.

“Beverly hasn’t said anything for ten minutes,” Shirley said, smiling. “What are you thinking, Bev?”

“I was plotting something,” Beverly confessed.

“Tell us!” Lenora commanded.

“The thief comes when he thinks there are some particularly beautiful furs in the warehouse, doesn’t he?” Beverly asked Louis.

“Yes,” was the answer. “Both times, there have been unusually fine pelts for him to steal.”

“If he thought you were getting more furs, better than any you have had before,” Beverly went on swiftly, “he might come again.”

“And this time we could be waiting for him!” Lance finished.

“Do you think it would work?” Lois asked.

“We could try it,” Alice said excitedly. “If he came, you could capture him and perhaps get back some of the furs.”

“It’s an idea.” Lance looked at Louis.

“I am willing to try it,” Louis nodded. “I will do anything to help capture the thief.”

“Very well,” Lance decided. “We’ll do it. Louis, you casually mention in the village that a trapper is bringing some silver fox to you this afternoon. We’ll watch the warehouse tonight, and if the thief comes, it will be too bad—for him!”

Eagerly they planned to solve the mystery of who was guilty of robbing the warehouse. Then the group broke up, and Beverly and Lenora headed back to the Tanner store. Their curiosity about Phyllis must be satisfied.

“I’ve a hunch she did go to meet Neal,” Lenora declared. “If we only knew where—”

“There is a fresh ski trail leading from the house into the forest,” Beverly pointed out.

“Shall we follow it?” Lenora asked eagerly.

“Very well, but let’s not go as far as we did the last time,” Beverly said.

On their return back from Spruce Bay, the girls had brought their skis back to the Tanner store. They were still on the porch where Phyllis had left them, and now Beverly and Lenora chose the ones they wanted and set out, hoping that the trail they followed had been made by Phyllis.

Where the trail entered the forest they met confusion. There were several ski trails and a number of snowshoe tracks.

“It looks as though the police have been here before us,” Lenora said in disappointment. “Now we don’t know which trail to follow from here on.”

“I wonder if one of the other trails was made by Neal,” Beverly mused.

“If it was, he must be hiding closer to Sterling than anyone suspects,” Lenora declared. “I wonder if there are any good hiding places near by.”

They looked out across the snow-covered countryside, and both thought of it at once.

“The deserted mine!” Lenora exclaimed. “That would make a wonderful hiding place, Bev.”

“At least, we could look,” Beverly decided. “I have a small pocket flashlight.”

“Let’s go!” Lenora said, as she started off on her skis.

Suddenly she stopped and pointed across the valley. A stooped, bent figure was slowly making his way toward the village.

“Matt!” Lenora exclaimed. “I wonder where he has been?”

“I thought he would be busy with Louis this afternoon,” commented Beverly.

“The plot thickens,” Lenora muttered.

They watched the old man, his brown pack on his back, until he was out of sight and then proceeded on their way. They stopped before the mine entrance and looked at the dark opening.

“It looks mysterious, doesn’t it?” Lenora murmured. “Are you sure you want to go in?”

“If you will notice, there are a lot of footprints in the snow hereabout,” Beverly pointed out.

Lenora nodded. “In we go!”

They removed their skis and stepped from sunlight into darkness; from the breeze-swept hillside into the damp, musty tunnel. Beverly played her flashlight over the rock walls of the narrow tunnel leading directly into the hill.

“Don’t you feel just like an explorer?” Lenora asked eagerly. “A surprise in every corner!”

“These walls don’t look any too safe,” Beverly declared, with a frown. “I don’t think we should waste much time in here.”

“We won’t,” Lenora assured her. “We’ll just go a little way down into the tunnel. If Neal is hiding here he would hardly be right at the entrance.”

Small, rusty tracks ran from the edge of the opening back into the darkness.

“They must have run coal cars out this way,” Beverly said.

It was damp in the darkness of the tunnel. Water trickled down the walls from an unknown source and there were icicles hanging from the ceiling. The light from Beverly’s flash danced ahead of them.

“Spooky, isn’t it?” Lenora murmured.

“As silent as a tomb,” Beverly agreed.

“Tomb!” Lenora echoed. “Don’t use words like that! Ouch!” Her foot slipped on a loose pebble and set echoes resounding through the tunnel.

The gleam from the flashlight wavered over the rough path ahead of them, upon the rusty rails over which coal-laden cars had once traveled, and over the rocky walls surrounding them. In places, the ceiling of the tunnel had been reinforced with wooden beams and sometimes these sagged precariously.

“Ouch!” Lenora exclaimed again, bumping her head for the second time. “This place must have been made for dwarfs!”

The track they had been following came to an abrupt end at a place where a wooden ladder descended into a pit of darkness.

“That is not for me!” Lenora said firmly. “There might be mice down there.”

Beverly leaned as far over as possible, and threw the beam from her flashlight on the ladder.

“It only goes a few feet, Lenora, and look—that second rung is new.”

“So what?” Lenora shrugged.

“This is a deserted mine,” Beverly pointed out. “Why should anyone repair the ladder?”

“I see what you mean,” Lenora nodded. “Someone must have occasion to go down there quite often.”

Beverly swung herself over the edge and started down the ladder.

“Where are you going?” Lenora cried.

“Exploring,” Beverly flung back. “You can wait for me if you want to.”

“ ‘Faint heart ne’er won fair lady,’ ” Lenora quoted and added, “nor a good news story. Look out below!”

There were only eight rungs in the ladder, which really did not take them far underground, but in the darkness and closeness of the tunnel they felt they had penetrated for miles under the earth’s surface.

“It’s stuffy in here!” Lenora flung back the hood of her parka. “What do we do now?”

Beverly moved along the tunnel, playing the beam of her flashlight before her. The floor was rough and uneven and they moved cautiously, stumbling over stray stones. At one spot three tunnels joined together and they chose to follow the largest one.

“Do you think we should go much farther?” Lenora asked uneasily.

“We’ll go as far as the curve up there,” Beverly replied. “It doesn’t look as though anyone has been hiding in here after all.”

“I don’t know whether to be glad or sorry,” Lenora admitted.

The tunnel curved and ended abruptly in a pocket the size of a large room. As Beverly’s flashlight danced over the scene, the girls gasped in amazement. Before them lay pile upon pile of fur pelts.

“The thief’s hide-out!” Beverly exclaimed softly. “Lenora, we’ve solved part of the mystery!”

“We still don’t know who the thief is,” Lenora pointed out.

“All we have to do is wait for him to return for the furs,” Beverly said, going closer to examine them.

“Oh, no!” Lenora said firmly. “I don’t think it would be wise for us to be caught in here.”

“Silver fox, mink—” Beverly was engrossed in their find. “Louis will certainly be glad to see these.”

“Let’s wait on the outside,” Lenora said uneasily. “I feel as if unseen eyes are watching us.”

“It’s your imagination,” Beverly replied, “but we’ll leave now and bring Lance back here.”

Suddenly a loud, crashing sound echoed along the tunnel. The ground beneath their feet shook, and a cloud of dust rolled down the tunnel toward them. The girls waited breathlessly for what would follow.

The Red Parka

Nothing further happened. There was a moment of absolute stillness, as heavy as the darkness around them. It was as if the whole world waited for the girls to move.

“Bev, what was it? Do you think the thief is returning for his loot?” Lenora whispered in a frightened tone.

A dreadful suspicion was beginning to form in Beverly’s mind.

“It could be the tunnel—” she whispered in return.

“You mean a cave-in?” Lenora cried, forgetting all caution. “Are we trapped in here?”

“Sh-h!” Beverly warned. “We will go back and see.”

There was no further noise, so Beverly switched on her flashlight and the girls started back, seeing nothing but dust settling in the tunnel ahead of them, until they came to the junction of the three tunnels.

“Look,” Beverly cried. “There has been a cave-in.”

The dancing gleam of the flashlight revealed where the ceiling of the right-hand tunnel had collapsed. Rubble and debris completely closed the entrance. Dust was thick in the air and a fresh film covered the floor.

“I wonder where this tunnel used to lead?” Beverly said.

“It is too late to find out now,” Lenora told her. “I want to get out of here.”

“You were never in such a hurry before,” Beverly said, laughing.

“How can you laugh when, at any moment, the thief might pop out at us?” Lenora demanded. “Come on, Bev, please!”

They turned to retrace their steps to the ladder, but suddenly Beverly grabbed her friend’s arm.

“Did you hear something?”

“No,” Lenora quavered. “Did you?”

“Yes, I’m sure I did,” Beverly replied. “Listen!”

Beverly switched off her flashlight and they stood in darkness. Both girls strained their ears, and then it came again, ever so faintly.

“Help!”

“Oh, Bev!” Lenora breathed. “Someone was caught in the cave-in!”

The cry was repeated weakly: “Help!”

“Beverly—” Lenora’s hand touched her friend’s. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I suppose so,” Beverly said. “Is it the thief—or someone else?”

“Who else could it be?” Lenora asked.

Beverly played her flashlight over the wall of rocks and earth. The unknown victim was completely cut off.

“Help!” The cry seemed fainter this time.

“We have to help him,” Beverly said. “I wonder if we could dig our way through to him?”

“What do you think we are, gophers?” Lenora demanded. She looked uncertainly at the wall of earth. “Do you think we could? Shouldn’t we go for help?”

“We would have to go all the way back to Sterling and it might be too late when we returned,” Beverly said. “Whoever it is might smother.”

She propped the flashlight against a stone and experimentally pulled at a broken piece of timber which protruded from the rubble. It came free and with it came a shower of pebbles.

“Whoever it is must have known there was someone else in the tunnel,” Lenora said thoughtfully. “Otherwise, why is he shouting for help? He couldn’t hope to be heard on the surface.”

“Perhaps he was watching us,” Beverly replied.

They found short sticks that aided them in their endeavor to dig a small tunnel through the wall of debris.

“I wonder how thick this wall is?” Lenora paused to remove her parka.

“It can’t be very thick or we wouldn’t be able to hear him,” Beverly replied. “Perhaps we should shout and let him know we are working to rescue him.”

“I wish I knew who it is,” Lenora said uncomfortably. “I hate to think I’m spoiling my manicure for someone who may turn on us the moment he gets free.”

“We must help him, no matter who it is,” Beverly insisted. “Hello, there!” she called to the dirt wall.

“Hello!” the answer was weak and distant. “Hurry!”

The girls attacked the wall with redoubled energy. Slowly and surely they made progress. The space they made was small, and shifting earth filled it in many times, but they were drawing ever closer to their goal.

“Only a little more,” Lenora sighed, wiping the perspiration from her forehead. “I feel like a first-class beaver. I wonder why he didn’t dig himself out?”

“Perhaps he can’t,” Beverly frowned. “There!” she cried triumphantly, as her makeshift shovel pierced through into empty space. “Hello!” she called. “Can you crawl through the tunnel we made?”

“No,” came the answer. “I’m pinned to the floor.”

The girls scrambled through the narrow opening they had made, and in the light from the flash Beverly carried they could see a man face down on the earth floor, a heavy wooden plank across his shoulders.

“Can you move this and get me out?” the man asked. “I don’t think I’m hurt otherwise.”

“We’ll try,” Beverly assured him.

The girls put their shoulders against the wooden beam and succeeded in moving it sufficiently for the man to wriggle out from under it. At the same moment Beverly’s flashlight faded and died. The constant drain upon the battery had proved to be too much. They were in total darkness.

“I have matches in my pocket,” the man said. “Just a moment. I can’t ever thank you for what you did. If you hadn’t heard me I never would have gotten out of here.”

There was a scratching sound and the flicker of a match close at hand. The features of the man holding the match could not be seen clearly, and in a moment there was darkness again. The girls felt the tension mounting. Who was this unknown they had rescued?

By the faint flickering light of the second match the man saw the girls and they saw him clearly.

“Neal Tanner!” Lenora exclaimed.

“You know me?” he asked in surprise. “But who are you? What are you doing here?”

“We were looking for you,” Beverly replied. “We found the cache of furs, too.”

“Who are you?” the young man insisted. “How do you know me?”

“I’m Beverly Gray and this is Lenora Whitehill,” Beverly explained. “We are friends of Phyllis.”

“She has shown us your picture,” Lenora added. “That is how I knew you.”

“Oh, I’ve heard Phyllis speak of you often,” Neal exclaimed. “I learned that Phyllis had come to Sterling with friends,” he added. “Why didn’t she stay away until this mess is straightened out?”

“She wants to help you.”

“She will only get in trouble, too,” Neal said gloomily. “Believe me, I’m not the thief everyone believes me to be. I don’t know how my knife got into Anton’s warehouse. It had been missing from the store for several days. When I heard where it had been found and that I was suspected of being the thief, with Phyllis my accomplice, I ran away. Perhaps I shouldn’t have,” he admitted, “but I didn’t want to be arrested for something I didn’t do. I had no way of proving my innocence—until now.” The match he was holding went out, and he struck another.

“And now?” Beverly prompted.

“I went to the village last night to try and see Phyllis,” Neal explained. “I saw what was happening at the warehouse. I followed the thieves here and saw them hide the furs. Then they went away. I couldn’t get a clear look at them because of the darkness, so I thought I would wait until they returned for the furs. I was hiding in this tunnel, and when I saw your light I thought you were the thieves. I was going to follow you when the roof caved in.”

“Where does Phyllis fit into the picture?” Lenora asked. “Why did you wire her to hide?”

“I learned that a group of smugglers is working here in the countryside around Sterling. They have an accomplice in New York, someone who receives their furs and disposes of them. Written on the hide of the fur which was sent to Phyllis was a coded list of the furs they are ready to ship to New York, and a plan for future operations. Evidently they ran into some kind of difficulty in getting the message to the New York man. I couldn’t understand why the fur was sent to Phyllis, ostensibly from me, but now I see that it was not only to contact the New York man but also to make a nice case against me. Their accomplice was to steal the fur back from Phyllis.”

“That must have been the man Phyllis said was following her,” Beverly guessed.

“It would look bad for you if your sister received one of the stolen furs from you,” Lenora admitted. “But a smart thief wouldn’t take the chance of sending his sister stolen goods.”

“They evidently don’t think I’m very smart,” Neal said, smiling.

“Where is Phyllis now?” Beverly asked.

“Isn’t she in Sterling?” Neal said in surprise.

“No. We were looking for her too, when we came here,” Lenora replied. “We thought we would find you together. A boy came to her with a message and she went away without a word to anyone. Everybody thinks she went to meet you.”

“I didn’t send her any message,” Neal exclaimed. “I wouldn’t have her risk coming to me.”

“She thought you might have gone to your cabin, and the other day we went there to look for you,” Lenora told him.

“I was afraid to go there. I knew the police would be watching the cabin, because Lance MacIvor knows it belongs to me,” Neal answered. “I’ve been living farther in the woods. A friend brings me food and news.”

“Is Flying Eagle the friend?” Beverly asked, with a smile.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“After we talked to him I suspected that he knew more about you than he was telling,” Beverly replied. “What shall we do about Phyllis? Have you any idea where she might have gone?”

“The thieves!” Neal exclaimed. “They must have sent her the message.”

“Why?” Beverly asked. “What could be their purpose?”

“Perhaps she learned something about the robberies,” Neal said. “Perhaps they suspect she knows something important.”

“You know the countryside,” Lenora pointed out. “Where do you think they would hide her?”

“In all the time I have been hiding I haven’t been able to find the thieves,” Neal said dejectedly. “They will do their best to hide Phyllis.”

“Then we must go to the police at once,” Beverly declared. “We can turn the stolen furs over to them and help to clear you.”

“No,” Neal said firmly. “We dare not do that—not while Phyllis is with them. We don’t want them to take their revenge through her. If you are her friends you will wait—at least a little while.”

“Wait!” Lenora exclaimed. “What we need now is action and plenty of it.”

“Give me a chance to hunt for her,” Neal pleaded. “It won’t matter if the furs stay hidden a little longer. We must find out what has happened to my sister.”

“Well—” Lenora looked dubiously at Beverly.

“You go back to the Anton farm,” Neal urged. “Stay there until I send you word. I hope you won’t have to wait long.”

“We will wait until tomorrow morning,” Beverly decided. “If we haven’t heard from you by that time, we will tell Lance about the furs.”

“Until then don’t tell a soul that you have seen me or the furs,” Neal pleaded. “Promise?”

The girls agreed and Neal went with them as far as the entrance to the mine. They secured their skis and started back to Sterling.

They had gone about halfway when they stopped. A familiar figure was toiling along the trail.

“Matt again,” Lenora murmured. “I wonder what he does on his wanderings about the countryside? I also would like to know what he carries in that brown sack.”

“It is big enough to hold fur pelts,” Beverly said thoughtfully.

“We made one big discovery today,” Lenora said. “Do you think we could make another?”

“Do you mean we should follow him?” Beverly murmured. “He didn’t like it when he found us in his cabin.”

“He doesn’t have to know we are following him,” Lenora pointed out. “Come on, Bev, he intrigues me.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Beverly chuckled.

“That has always intrigued me, too,” Lenora declared. “What on earth did that cat want to know?”

“We’ll figure that out later.” Beverly laughed. “Look, he is disappearing among the trees. If we are going to keep him in sight—”

“Allons!” Lenora exclaimed, and pushed off.

The skis carried them along noiselessly, but the low-hanging tree branches were dangerous obstacles. Their pace was slow, due to the fact that the man they were following moved leisurely. Occasionally he glanced over his shoulder, but they were sure he did not see them. However, his action made him a suspicious figure in their eyes.

“Is he looking for someone, do you s’pose?” Lenora murmured.

They went on for several minutes, meeting no one else. At last Matt stepped into a clearing where there were several small cabins. The girls remained hidden among the trees and watched him. He drew something from his pocket and a second later a shrill, clear whistle rent the air. Instantly a dozen Indian children, boys and girls, tumbled from the cabins to surround him, pulling at his coat and hugging his knees until he was forced to halt and drop the sack he carried. From the latter he pulled one toy after another, until each child had a gift.

Beverly and Lenora exchanged sheepish glances.

“We should apologize for suspecting him,” Beverly declared. “We thought he was a thief, and he was only playing Santa Claus.”

“That eliminates one of our chief suspects,” added Lenora. “Shall we go back, Bev?”

After another glance at the happy scene before them, the girls turned about and went back to Sterling. At the Tanner store they stopped.

“About Neal, Bev,” Lenora said, as they left their skis on the store porch, “I hope we are doing the right thing. After all, we did find him with the furs. I don’t like having secrets—especially ones like this.”

“There’s Batouche,” Beverly interrupted. “I’m going to ask him about Phyllis.”

The man was crossing the street in front of the store as the girls came down the steps. Beverly motioned to him and he stopped before them.

“Do you know where Miss Tanner is?” Beverly asked. “We’d like to talk to her.”

The man’s dark eyes shifted from Beverly to Lenora and back again.

“I will tell her.”

“Has she returned?” Lenora asked eagerly.

“No, mam’selle. I will tell her—when I see her,” Batouche amended.

The girls thanked him and walked away. They were conscious of his eyes upon them until a clump of trees hid them from his sight.

“There is something about that man I don’t like,” Lenora declared uneasily.

“Everyone is a suspicious character to us right now,” Beverly returned, “but remember how we misjudged Matt. That should be a lesson to us not to be too hasty in our judgment.”

The girls entered the Anton home and were immediately pounced upon by Lois and Shirley.

“Where have you two been?” Lois demanded. “How did you get so dirty?”

“We had about decided you were lost again,” added Shirley.

“We were looking for Phyllis,” Beverly answered.

“Louis told us she ran off somewhere,” Lois said. “Did you have any luck?”

Beverly and Lenora exchanged glances. They had had quite a bit of luck, but they didn’t dare to tell the others about it yet.

“We didn’t find her,” Lenora replied truthfully.

“Come and hear about our strategy for tonight,” Lois said. “The council of war is being held in the kitchen.”

All the young people were gathered about the kitchen table, poring over a sheet of paper Louis and Lance had spread out.

“We are going to take turns guarding the warehouse,” Terry explained.

“Lois and I are going to watch from nine until eleven,” added Shirley.

“From eleven until one o’clock it will be Larry and Tony,” continued Lance, “and Terry and Jim from one o’clock until three.”

“You two can take the time from three until five in the morning,” Lois put in.

“Lance, Louis and Matt are going to station themselves in the woods along the route the thieves took the last two times they were here,” Larry explained to the girls. “Alice is excused because she must be here in case the baby needs her.”

“We’ve tried to give the girls what we think are the safest hours, those when the thieves are most unlikely to come,” Louis pointed out. “Does everyone agree to the arrangement?”

There was a chorus of assent.

“If all goes well, this night should see the end of these robberies,” Louis said, with satisfaction.

“I checked in the village, and everyone seems to have heard the rumor,” Lance reported.

Louis nodded. “I told all the gossips in the village and they will be sure to spread the word. I told Batouche especially, so he could relay it to anyone he might meet on the trail.”

“Just who is Batouche?” Lenora asked interestedly. “Does he live near the Tanner place? Does he have a fur business of his own?”

“Oh, no,” Lance answered. “As a matter of fact, Batouche used to be rather an unsavory character. At one time he served a term in prison. When he returned to Sterling Neal let him work in the store and Batouche seemed to be anxious to make good. I think he’s really grateful to Neal. At any rate, he hasn’t been in any trouble since.”

“A case where the leopard did change his spots,” Larry remarked, grinning.

Standing at the window, Beverly had an unobstructed view across the fields to a rise on the horizon. She stared out, only half hearing the talk going on around her. Somewhere beyond that rise of ground Neal Tanner was searching for his sister—or was he? Were she and Lenora doing the right thing in keeping silent about meeting him? They had given him twenty-four hours in which to find Phyllis and contact them. It would also give him time to flee the vicinity if he wanted to. He might escape now and they would never catch him. Beverly put that thought aside as unfair. Now was not the time to doubt Neal. Now was the time to trust him. He had seemed truly anxious about Phyllis. Surely he was anxious to clear himself of the charge of stealing. To run away again now would only make matters worse. The discovery of the furs, instead of clearing him, would then count against him.

“Are you by any chance counting the icicles hanging from the roof?” Larry’s voice teased at her elbow.

“No.” Beverly laughed.

“You were looking so intently at something, I thought it must be that.”

“To tell the truth, I was miles away in my thoughts,” Beverly confessed.

“Back at the Tribune office in New York?”

“No!” Beverly exclaimed. “Haven’t you heard? This is my vacation.”

“So you spend it solving another mystery.” He shook his head. “Poor Beverly.”

“It isn’t that way at all,” she denied. “I’m not the type to sit and do nothing—vacation or no vacation. I planned to do another book on this trip, but I can see now that I won’t get it finished.”

“There’s plenty of time.” He smiled. “You can’t hurry life, Bev.”

“Sometimes I feel it is hurrying past me,” she complained. “I want to do so many things, but somehow I don’t get to them all.”

“Would you two like to play charades in the little time before dinner?” Terry interrupted.

The group went into the living room, and for a short time they enjoyed themselves in lighthearted clowning and games.

Immediately after dinner Lance and Louis went to their posts in the forest. Midway in the evening, Larry and Jim relieved them for an hour, in order to give them time to get warm and fortify themselves with a thermos of hot coffee for the long watch ahead.

At nine o’clock Shirley and Lois went into the darkened warehouse and prepared to watch and wait for two hours. They had agreed upon signals for use should they see anything suspicious, but the time passed without incident.

There was no alarm all night long, and when it was time for Beverly and Lenora to take their post they got up and dressed halfheartedly, convinced that their ruse to trap the thief had failed.

“He must have known it was a trick,” Lenora grumbled sleepily, as she followed Beverly from the house. “I don’t see why we have to lose good sleep. He won’t come now any more.”

The moon and stars were bright and cold in their faraway setting. A stiff wind stirred loose snow into a fine mist. Silence was heavy on the world.

“Take some deep breaths,” Beverly advised her friend. “It will help you wake up.”

“I don’t want to wake up,” Lenora sighed. “I wish I were in my nice warm bed.”

They met Terry and Jim halfway between the house and the warehouse. The young men were coming off duty.

“All clear,” Terry reported. “The door is unlatched for you. Keep your coats and hoods on, gals,” he advised. “It’s as cold as Greenland in there.”

“Have fun!” added Jim mischievously.

“Fun!” Lenora sniffed, as the girls went on their way. “We dare not even have a light or we could play checkers.”

There arose from the darkness the piercing, lonely cry of a wolf and Lenora drew closer to her companion.

“That sounded near by,” she said uneasily. “I’m glad I’m not with Lance or Louis in the forest.”

The girls stepped into the darkened warehouse and Beverly bolted the door behind her. Moonlight trickled in the high windows at the far end of the room, but there was scarcely enough illumination for them to avoid stumbling over articles on the warehouse floor. They found two boxes which the others had used as chairs, and settled down for the duration of their watch.

“Don’t let me fall asleep and disgrace us,” Lenora yawned, as she leaned against the wall.

“I’ll poke you every now and then,” Beverly offered, with a chuckle.

Silence settled over the room. The girls sat side by side, not talking, each busy with her own thoughts.

Beverly was again thinking of Neal and Phyllis. She wondered if they were together by this time. She was about to say something to Lenora when she paused. Had there been a slight sound at the other end of the room? She decided it had been snow sliding off the roof. She turned to speak to Lenora again when she paused for the second time. A tiny wisp of shadow had crossed the patch of moonlight on the floor.

Beverly reached out and touched her companion. Instantly Lenora’s hand closed over hers. The blonde girl was aware, too, that something strange was in the room with them.

Stealthily Beverly got to her feet, and felt Lenora follow her example. Together they began to move toward the far end of the building. They tried not to bump into any of the equipment or bales stored there, and to move as silently as shadows. At one point Beverly halted and motioned to Lenora to go around several packing cases to the other side of the room. By separating, they would have the intruder between them—if intruder there was. Before sounding the alarm Beverly wanted to be sure there really was someone else here. They would feel silly if they roused the whole camp only to find a mouse.

Lenora moved wordlessly away from her chum, and Beverly began to walk forward again. She fancied she heard another stealthy movement ahead of her, but it could have been made by Lenora. Beverly paused and listened. Yes, she could hear Lenora creeping along the farther wall.

Beverly moved on, coming suddenly upon a long line of boxes. The moonlight was brighter here, and, scarcely believing her eyes, she saw a man crouched low, his back to her. He was watching and waiting for Lenora to appear. He had a cloth sack in his hands and it was obviously his intention to throw it upon Lenora as soon as the girl was close enough.

“Lenora, look out!” Beverly cried, and pushed the pile of boxes in the direction of the intruder, hoping to pin him beneath them.

However, the man dodged the falling boxes and leaped to freedom.

“The door, Lenora!” Beverly cried, and began to run back the way she had come.

Lenora, closer, flung herself against the door and held her ground. The man stopped halfway between Beverly and the door. In his hand was a revolver. With it he menaced first one girl and then the other.

“Do not make a sound!” he commanded.

“Batouche!” Beverly breathed, as a patch of moonlight touched his face.

“Yes, mam’selle,” the man said, with a mocking bow.

“The leopard did not change his spots after all,” Lenora muttered.

“So this is whom Flying Eagle meant,” Beverly thought.

“Stand aside from the door,” Batouche commanded Lenora.

The blonde girl did not move.

From outside came a faint wolf howl. Batouche heard it with obvious misgivings, and the girls realized it was a signal from his confederate.

“Take off your parka,” he told Lenora. “Quickly!”

Still Lenora did not move. She leaned against the door as if she were fastened there.

“Do you wish me to shoot your friend?” Batouche whispered furiously, swinging the gun toward Beverly.

Both girls realized that he was quite capable of carrying out his threat. There were faint shouts outside now. Batouche, knowing he was almost caught in a trap, would dare anything to escape.

Lenora slid out of her parka and dropped it to the floor.

“Kick it over here,” Batouche ordered.

Lenora did as she was told and stood waiting. Batouche picked up the parka and slipped into it. With the hood drawn up over his head and close about his face, it provided an effective disguise.

“Now,” he commanded. “Go to your friend. Hurry!”

Lenora moved reluctantly aside.

“Just so you will remember it is not easy to catch Batouche!”

With a swift lunge he pushed Lenora into Beverly. Both girls stumbled backward onto a pile of boxes, burlap bags and worktables. Before they could pick themselves up, Batouche had the door open and was running across the snow-covered ground.

“After him!” someone outside shouted. “He’s getting away!”

A rifle shot broke the stillness and then there was another shout.

“No! Don’t shoot! It’s Lenora!”

A Trick That Boomeranged

“When I saw the parka I thought it was you,” Terry sighed. “I didn’t stop to realize you wouldn’t be running away from us.”

“He must have slipped into the warehouse between the time Jim and Terry left and we got there,” Beverly said.

“The wolf call we heard on our way to the warehouse must have been the signal to his confederate that he was safely inside,” added Lenora.

The young people were gathered in the living room of the Anton house, waiting for Lance and Louis who had taken off in hot pursuit of Batouche when Beverly and Lenora had finally managed to appear.

“He fell into our trap but the trap wasn’t strong enough,” Lenora said in chagrin.

“You mustn’t feel badly because he outwitted you,” Alice comforted. “He would have done the same to any one of us.”

“I shall never forgive him for stealing my parka,” Lenora declared.

“It is obvious now that Batouche put Neal’s knife at the scene of the first robbery to throw suspicion on Neal,” Shirley remarked. “Unless—unless they’re in it together,” she added uncertainly.

“Well, if Lance and Louis do find Batouche, they may need help in capturing him,” Larry said thoughtfully. “I believe I will follow them.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jim said immediately.

“Me too,” Terry added. “You girls better wait right here.”

“Why are girls always supposed to be content to wait?” Lenora grumbled.

When the young men had departed the girls sat aimlessly looking at one another.

“I think I’ll go into town and see if Phyllis has returned,” Beverly announced suddenly.

“It’s too early to be strolling around alone. I’ll come with you,” Lenora offered, and jumped up.

“We will stay with Alice,” Lois said, smiling, “and help to prepare food for you hungry wanderers.”

Beverly and Lenora hurried down the road. The sun had just begun his journey across the heavens, and a few people already were about their early-morning chores.

“Do you really think Phyllis might be back?” Lenora wanted to know.

“No,” replied Beverly instantly. “But I want to go to the mine and see if the furs are still there. If they are, I’m going to tell Lance about them without any more delay. Now that Batouche knows his identity has been discovered, we must move swiftly.”

“Suppose the furs are gone?” Lenora asked doubtfully.

“Then the search will start all over again for his new hideaway,” Beverly answered.

As soon as the girls reached the Tanner store they secured the skis and set off across the snow.

With each passing moment Beverly felt the tension mounting within her. She felt there must be no more delay in revealing the furs to the police, despite the girls’ promise to Neal. She was sure that the longer they delayed, the greater grew the danger to Phyllis. The twenty-four hours they had agreed to wait was almost up and Neal had not sent them any word. She was almost beginning to feel her trust in him had been misplaced. Surely by this time he must have discovered something!

“Beverly, look out!” Lenora’s warning came just in time.

So intent was she on her thoughts, Beverly had been careless about her footing, and she had headed for two half-hidden boulders without realizing it.

“Do you want to end up like a scrambled egg?” Lenora demanded, as they paused for a moment on the crest of a hill. “You’ve been going as if to a fire.”

“I must have been trying to run away from my thoughts,” Beverly confessed.

“Doubts about Neal?” Lenora asked. “I have ’em, too. In fact, if I had it to do over again I wouldn’t trust him out of my sight. I’ve been wondering if the furs in the mine were really stolen by him and he promised us anything to get rid of us.”

“He might have been the confederate Batouche had posted outside the warehouse,” Beverly added unhappily. “They may be working together.”

“But Phyllis,” Lenora wondered. “Where does her disappearance fit into it all?”

“We’ll find out when we find Neal and Batouche,” Beverly prophesied.

The girls completed the journey to the mine and discarded their skis at the entrance, as on the previous day. Before going any distance into the tunnel, they waited and listened intently but could hear nothing. They concluded that the thieves were not inside and proceeded to let themselves down the small ladder to the lower floor.

This time they marked their progress by piling two stones atop each other at short intervals. They did not want to get lost down here.

“Can you smell it, Lenora?” Beverly whispered. “Cigarette smoke! Someone has been here recently.”

“The tunnel is full of it,” Lenora agreed. “Oh, Bev, do you think we should go on?”

“We’ve come this far, we might as well finish what we set out to do,” Beverly returned. “It isn’t much farther.”

Pausing often to wait and listen, the girls at last reached the end of the tunnel. Beverly’s flashlight, equipped with new batteries, revealed the same scene as previously. Bundles of fur pelts were piled against the wall, and in the dust on the floor were a lot of new footprints. The light revealed something else, too.

“My parka!” Lenora exclaimed. “Look, Bev! Batouche left it here when he no longer needed the disguise.”

“If he had continued to wear it, in daylight the red color would have made him a good target against the snow outside,” Beverly commented. “Let’s go. We’ll tell Lance about the furs and he can come and wait for Batouche.”

“Shall I take my parka with me? If I do, and Batouche comes back before Lance gets here, he will know we followed him.”

“Better leave it,” Beverly advised. “Lance can return it to you.”

The girls gave a final look around and started back the way they had come. This time, with the stones serving to mark their path, they made the return in a short time. They climbed the ladder without mishap, and a moment later stepped out into the open and fastened on their skis. Then they stopped short in amazement.

A man with a rifle stood squarely in their path. His weapon was pointed directly at Beverly and Lenora.

“It is not wise to pry into other people’s business,” the man on the path said. “Come!” He motioned the girls to precede him. When the girls hesitated, he raised his rifle suggestively. “I will not hesitate to shoot,” he assured them. “Come!”

“Where?” Beverly asked.

“To Batouche,” was the curt rejoinder.

There was no other course for them but to fall into step in front of him and walk slowly, conscious always of the cold steel of the rifle in his hands. There was a dogsled about a hundred yards from the mine entrance and their captor motioned them to remove their skis and get in.

“This will give us a good story for the Tribune,” Lenora said bravely. “It ought to make the front page, don’t you think, Bev?”

“If it reaches the Tribune,” Beverly replied, with a wry smile. “Batouche is a dangerous man.”

“And we have stumbled onto his loot.” Lenora nodded. “Well, it’s our brains against his.”

“Batouche is a smart man,” their captor said from behind them, as he loaded the skis onto the sled.

The girls exchanged glances but said nothing more. The man called to the dogs and they responded quickly. The sled started with a jerk and then settled into a smooth glide. They took a winding trail toward Mount Furness and into the dim forest at the mountain’s base.

At last they stopped and the girls stood up. The man motioned them through an archway formed by nature out of the rock of the hillside. Once through this they found themselves in a circle protected by rocks and trees on all sides. It was a natural fort, and Batouche probably could hold it against great odds.

In the center of the circle was a campfire, its ashes smoldering under a huge black cooking pot. There were two rough log buildings at the edge of the clearing, and caves had been hewn out of the rocky hillside.

The girls were marched up to one large cave. At the mouth of it stood the man they had last seen in the Anton warehouse.

“We meet again,” Batouche said, with a mocking smile. “This time it is you who are in the trap.”

“Not for long.” Beverly spoke with a show of confidence. “Our friends will follow us.”

“They are following a false trail far to the south,” Batouche shrugged.

He conferred in whispers with the man who had brought the girls to his camp, and then abruptly disappeared into the cave. The man with the rifle led the girls to one of the log cabins and motioned them to enter. When they did so, he shut the door behind them and they heard a heavy bar drop into place on the outside. Then they heard him go around to the back of the cabin and prop their skis against the rear wall.

The only light in the place came from a small window high in the back wall.

“Welcome to our city,” a voice said, and the girls whirled about.

There were two rough bunks against the wall of the cabin. Otherwise, the room was dirty and bare. On one of the bunks sat Phyllis. The girls ran to her, pouring forth questions.

“Are you all right? How did you get here?”

“A boy brought me a note yesterday morning,” Phyllis told them. “It said Neal had been hurt and wanted me to come to him. I went with the boy to the forest and Batouche was waiting there.”

“Did you see Neal at all?” Beverly asked.

“No,” Phyllis shook her head. “It was just a ruse to get me here, although why he wants me as a prisoner I haven’t yet learned.”

“We know why he wants us!” Lenora exclaimed, with a dry laugh. “We met Neal yesterday and he is looking for you.”

“Neal!” Phyllis leaped to her feet. “Where? How?”

The girls told their story and Phyllis listened attentively.

“I told Neal not to trust Batouche,” she sighed. “I didn’t want him to work in the store, but Neal wanted to give him a chance. Where will it end now?”

Beverly was silent, looking through the one window. By standing on tiptoe she could see the campfire and the cave where Batouche made his headquarters. Their only hope lay in the fact that their friends would start looking for them when they did not return to the Anton home. Even so, could they find a spot so well hidden and so well protected? She could see a man lurking on the crest of the hill which protected the camp. Batouche evidently had lookouts posted, and anyone approaching would be seen long before reaching the camp itself.

“What are you thinking about, Bev?” Lenora asked.

“To borrow one of your phrases,” Beverly replied, “I was thinking that ‘everything happens to us.’ ”

“You don’t happen to have a carrier pigeon up your sleeve, do you, so we could send a message to Lance MacIvor?” Lenora inquired. “I wonder what they will do.”

“Terry and Larry?”

“No, these fur stealers,” Lenora answered. “If we had some silver fox, perhaps we could buy our freedom.”

Suddenly Beverly stared out the window, hardly believing what she saw.

“Girls, look!”

The other two girls crowded alongside and stretched up to catch a glimpse of what lay outside.

“Neal!” Phyllis said, with a smothered cry, as her brother disappeared into Batouche’s cave. “They’ve captured him too.”

“Batouche evidently planned to steal the furs last night and then ‘discover’ you and Neal here—probably with some of the pelts,” Beverly said, with a frown.

“Since we thwarted that,” Lenora put in, “Batouche is now stuck with four prisoners on his hands.”

“I wonder what he’ll do next,” Phyllis said apprehensively.

“We might as well not worry. We’ll just have to wait and see what happens,” Beverly sighed. At least, she thought, Neal was now definitely cleared.

The day passed slowly, interrupted only once, when the man who had brought them to Batouche gave them three plates of some kind of stew. The girls had little appetite, but the aroma which rose from the food tempted them and they found it delicious.

Darkness had crept down over the forest long since, when the girls lay down on the uncomfortable bunks and tried not to dwell too much on the thought of what might happen tomorrow.

“I won’t sleep a wink, I know,” Lenora declared. “I wish something would happen.”

As if in answer to her words, their captor approached once more, unbarred the door and motioned them to come out of the cabin. Glad of any change, they went out into the cold twilight, but their hearts beat faster when they approached Batouche’s cave.

A candle stood in the center of a large, flat stone which was being used as a table. Batouche’s supper dishes still lay there, as did a sheet of paper and a quill pen.

As the girls looked around they saw Neal standing against the wall. Phyllis ran to him and he tried to grin reassuringly.

“Not a good setting for a reunion, is it, Sis?”

“Are you all right?” Phyllis asked. “I’ve been so worried. They said you’d been hurt.”

“I’m all right, but I ought to have my head examined,” Neal assured her wryly, with a glance at Batouche. “I should have taken your advice about that bird, Sis.”

“Enough!” the thief commanded. He picked up the quill pen and handed it to Beverly. “Write!” he told her, pushing a sheet of paper across the table.

“What shall I write?” Beverly asked.

“To Louis Anton,” was the reply. “About furs. Many beautiful furs, such as we have not seen in months, are in his warehouse,” Batouche explained. “We have heard much about them.”

“The ones you came to steal last night?” Lenora inquired.

Batouche grinned. “The same. For them Batouche will give—you.”

“You want a load of furs for our ransom!” Neal exclaimed. “Don’t do it, Beverly.”

“It is a cheap price—for your lives,” Batouche said, shrugging.

He gestured to the man who had brought the girls to the cave, and Neal was marched out at the point of a rifle.

“Now,” Batouche said, turning again to Beverly. “Write!”

“You won’t get away with it,” Lenora declared. “Why should Louis Anton give you his furs? The police will come and capture the lot of you.”

Batouche ignored the blonde girl completely, keeping his eyes on Beverly.

“Write the note,” he said.

Beverly and Lenora exchanged a wordless glance. What good would it do to write such a note? Batouche wanted, as their ransom, furs which did not exist. The trick with which they had planned to capture the thief had boomeranged upon them.

Man’s Best Friend

“Write!” Batouche told Beverly again.

“There aren’t any furs,” Beverly said slowly and clearly.

“Write!”

“What will we do?” Lenora whispered.

Batouche leaned across the stone table and his hand closed upon Beverly’s wrist.

“There aren’t any furs,” Lenora put in desperately. “It was all a hoax, a trap to lure you to the village.”

“I do not believe you,” Batouche returned calmly. “I will trade you for the furs.”

“But there aren’t any furs!” Lenora groaned. “Don’t you understand?”

“You are trying to trick Batouche now,” the man insisted.

“There aren’t any furs. It is useless to write.” Beverly threw down the pen.

“We will see if it is useless,” Batouche said darkly.

He summoned his confederate, and the girls were taken back to their cabin.

“Back where we started from,” Lenora murmured, as the door to the cabin was shut and barred behind them.

“Not for long, I’m afraid,” Phyllis said. “Something is sure to happen now.”

“I wonder what Larry and the others are thinking about our absence,” Beverly mused.

“They probably think we are lost in the woods again—if they have returned to the Anton house,” Lenora replied. “I don’t think they expect us to be Batouche’s prisoners.”

“They might send a searching party out after us.”

“With the lookouts Batouche has, a searching party could not get near us,” Lenora commented gloomily. “What do you think Batouche plans to do with us now?”

“We can only wait and see,” Phyllis said in a worried tone. “I suppose he will check again on the story about the furs. I wish I knew what has happened to Neal.”

“It is the waiting that gets me down,” Lenora grumbled. “Bev—”

“Hm?”

“Is there any possible way we could get out of here, do you think?”

“With a guard at the door?” Phyllis asked. “Even if we succeeded in getting out of the cabin we couldn’t hope to get past the sentries.”

“Three people might not be able to do it safely,” Beverly said gravely, “but one of us might get through.”

“It would be dangerous,” Phyllis declared. “It might be better to wait for Batouche to decide what he will do with us.”

“Wait!” Lenora exclaimed. “We can’t wait. We must do something.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Beverly said, “and I have a plan. I’m going to try to get out through that little window.”

“But you couldn’t,” Lenora protested. “It’s too high and too narrow.”

“Yes, that’s probably why they didn’t put a guard back there too,” Phyllis agreed.

“On the contrary,” Beverly shook her head. “I can make it if you two will boost me up to the sill.”

“But you’d never be able to get your shoulders through that narrow frame,” Phyllis objected.

“I won’t try,” Beverly returned promptly. “I’ll go through sideways.”

“If you go, I go too,” Lenora spoke up.

“Not this time,” Beverly said. “That would leave nobody to boost Phyllis up to the window. Besides, it will be easier to get past the sentries if I’m alone. The skis are out there. I’ll get mine and bring back help just as quickly as I can.”

“But the guard at the door isn’t deaf,” Phyllis pointed out. “He’ll hear you and tell Batouche.”

“That’s a chance we’ll have to take,” Beverly said, shrugging. “Let’s not waste any more time,” she added briskly. “The sooner I go, the sooner I’ll return.”

“I have a hunting knife, Bev. You’d better take it with you.” Phyllis drew a sheathed knife from the sleeve of her jacket. “I brought it yesterday in case I needed it on my way to Neal.”

Beverly accepted the knife and took a final look through the window. The camp was calm and still.

Lenora grasped her friend’s hand. “Beverly, you’ll be in plain sight of Batouche’s cave. Be careful!”

“I will,” Beverly assured her fervently, and, standing on tiptoe, took a firm hold on the window sill. Lenora and Phyllis, standing on either side of her, boosted Beverly up and held her for what seemed like an eternity, as she slowly and cautiously pushed the window open.

“I’ll have to go out headfirst,” she whispered, twisting sideways with the girls’ help, “but it’s all soft snow down below.”

When she was more than halfway out the window, Beverly braced her hands against the outside wall of the cabin and then let go. She fell headfirst into a deep snowdrift and lay still for a moment. She was afraid one of the outlaws might have heard the dull crunch she made as she dropped, but the guard at the door continued to doze at his post. Beverly, working silently but in feverish haste, put on her skis and slid away into the darkness of the trees against the hillside.

She was out of the cabin, but the hardest part still lay before her, that of getting past the sentries Batouche had posted to guard his camp. It was impossible to think of going out as she and Lenora had come, through the narrow, rocky archway. She could never hope to elude the guard. The only other possible way open to her was to skirt the hillside, sneak past the man patrolling the crest and go down the other side to Sterling.

Beverly moved like a shadow, silently and swiftly, keeping in the protecting darkness under the trees, and stopping every so often to use Phyllis’s knife to blaze a trail so that she wouldn’t find she had been going around in a circle. Once she floundered into a deep snowdrift, and in getting out, a twig snapped under her skis. It broke the night silence like a pistol shot.

At once a voice spoke, challenging her. Beverly crouched breathlessly in a clump of scraggly underbrush. For a moment the outlaw sentry was silhouetted clearly against the sky behind her, then he was gone and she moved on.

That had been close! Her heart still beat fast when she thought how near she had been to discovery. Close at hand a dog started to bark and again she waited, crouched low in the shadows, until it was safe to move.

She had no idea how far it was to Sterling, but she was determined to get there as soon as possible and she pushed on relentlessly. Moonlight made a webbed pattern on the snow as it filtered through the trees. At any other time she would have been lost in the beauty of the peaceful scene around her. Now, however, every shadow held a menace of which she must beware.

Beverly came up behind the sentry posted at the crest of the rise. He was standing silent and dark as one of the trees, gazing intently across the moonlit valley. Beverly’s gaze followed his, and she saw a shadow rise in the moonlight. It was a silver-gray, wriggling thread of smoke. A campfire! She would head for that instead of Sterling. It was much closer. It might be someone who could help her.

The man, apparently satisfied that the distant camp meant no danger to Batouche, resumed his slow, even pace along the crest. Beverly stooped as low as she could without losing her balance, and as soon as he was out of sight she began to inch forward. It seemed like an hour before she felt secure enough to stand upright.

Then, using the shadow of smoke against the moon as a guide, she hurried on. She found a sled trail and followed it. The progress was easier here where the snow had been tested and found firm. She hugged the shadows as much as possible so as not to risk discovery. She could not be sure whether or not she had left the last of the sentries behind.

As she hurried on she wondered what was happening in the little cabin she had left. Had Batouche summoned the girls to his cave again? Had he already learned of her absence? The thought spurred her on and she hastened her steps.

The column of smoke was much nearer now. She could smell the faint odor of burning spruce. When she came within hailing distance she proceeded more cautiously until she could determine whether the group seated around the campfire were friend or foe. Then, with almost a sob of relief, Beverly saw that one of the figures was Larry. As she stumbled into the circle of firelight, Larry, Lance and Terry jumped up with amazed cries of greeting.

“Beverly! What are you doing here?” Larry cried, his arms circling her tightly. “We thought you were safe at the Antons’.”

Hastily she told them her story and the group was ready for instant action.

“We’ve been following what we thought was Batouche’s trail all day,” Larry told her. “When it suddenly broke in two, we came this way and Jim, Tony and Louis went south.”

“We’ll follow your trail back to Batouche’s camp,” Lance said, carefully putting out the campfire. “Let’s go!”

“But there are only four of us,” Beverly said doubtfully. “I don’t know how many men Batouche has, but it may be more than four.”

“We must count on surprise and strategy to win for us,” Larry replied. “We haven’t time to go for reinforcements.”

Beverly looked at the cool, determined face of the young man and felt her spirits surge. Somehow, she felt, they would triumph over Batouche and his outlaws.

When they drew near, Beverly warned them again about the sentries and they moved in single file, like shadows, into the enemy camp. When they were safely over the crest of the hill, Beverly pointed out Batouche’s cave and Lance nodded.

“I’ll go after him. Larry, you move toward the arch that forms the entrance to the camp. We’ll cut off their retreat that way. Terry, you go to the cabin where the girls are. At my signal, each of you fire a shot from your rifles. They will think they are surrounded.”

Before they went on Larry chose a clump of bushes and led Beverly to them.

“From now on we will handle things,” he said firmly. “I want you to stay here—out of danger.”

“But I—” Beverly began, and then smiled at the look on his face. Argument would avail her nothing. “All right,” she agreed simply.

From her vantage point Beverly could watch the three as they moved toward their appointed places. The camp slept peacefully. Batouche’s confidence was supreme. She saw Lance disappear into Batouche’s cave. Terry melted into the shadows by the cabin where the girls were being held prisoner, and Larry vanished in the darkness on the far side of the camp.

After a few moments Lance reappeared, and with him, hands held high, was Batouche, no longer swaggering or daring. They walked toward the campfire and halted. Lance fired his gun into the air. There was an answering shot from Larry and one from Terry. The result was instantaneous confusion in the ranks of the outlaws.

“Throw down your arms!” Lance called in ringing tones.

In answer, the man on the ridge raised his rifle and leveled it at Lance’s back, but before he could fire, another gun spoke and the outlaw dropped his gun with a yell, clutching at his wounded hand.

But in that moment Batouche seized a burning brand from the campfire and whirled upon Lance, bowling him over. Then the outlaw plunged into the mass of struggling figures and was lost to view.

Suddenly Beverly thought of Lenora and Phyllis. No doubt, Terry, who was in the thick of the fight, had had no chance to lift the bar from the door of the cabin and let the girls out.

Beverly left her hiding place and began to run down the hill. She had almost reached the circle of the campsite when she heard a chorus of yelps and wild barking.

“The sled dogs!” Beverly exclaimed aloud. “Batouche must be trying to make his escape by dogsled!” Without stopping to think, she turned away from the clearing and dashed toward the forest. The barking seemed to come from near the stone archway that marked the entrance to the camp, but the wind was treacherous and confused the direction of the sound. She could not see the dogs when she reached there. As she went on, the barking came from far away at first, and then close at hand. Before her loomed the outline of the sled. Beyond that, chained to stakes driven into the ground, were the dogs. They were snarling and snapping, obviously disturbed by something or someone who had been there recently.

For the first time it occurred to Beverly that she was being foolhardy in coming alone to the dogsled. Her one thought had been to get to the sled and free the dogs before Batouche could make his escape that way. From the way the dogs were acting, however, it was more than likely that Batouche had arrived there before her. Perhaps, even now, he was lurking in the shadows, waiting to see who it was who had come.

Beverly stood perfectly still, listening. Other than the snapping and snarling of the dogs, there was no sound around her. She could hear the shouts of the men in the clearing but they seemed strangely far away. With a fearful glance over her shoulder, she approached the dogs, realizing that it would not be easy to free them in their ugly mood.

Seizing one of the heavy sled robes, Beverly draped it over one arm. Using it as a shield against the dog that might turn on her, she approached the first one in line.

He proved to be the lead dog, and the most self-controlled animal in the lot. He shrank back on his haunches when she neared him, and bared his teeth, but did not spring at her.

“It won’t be long, boy,” she said soothingly. “You’ll soon be free.”

The dog stood still as her hand went to his collar and she unfastened his chain. As soon as he was free he bolted away, and Beverly went on to the next dog.

This one proved to be more troublesome. He sank his teeth in the robe protecting her arm as soon as she came within striking distance. A growl rumbled in his throat and he held on tenaciously. While his mouth was full of robe Beverly used her free hand to unhook the chain from his collar, and when he was free she pushed him away with a stick. As soon as he realized he was no longer chained, he, too, bolted away.

Working in feverish haste, and keeping a sharp watch on the encircling shadows, Beverly had freed all but one dog when she glanced up and saw the lead dog standing beside her. He had come back and was watching her. Was he wondering why he and his teammates were suddenly being set free from their chains? Beverly did not stop to think about it, for there was still one dog to be unchained and Batouche might come at any moment.

The last dog was sitting unusually still. Beverly didn’t like his expression. His eyes were upon her and the robe she carried for protection. He waited until she had reached out to loose the chain from his collar, and then sprang, snarling viciously, for her throat. Fortunately for Beverly, his chain was short and it stopped him abruptly. Suddenly the lead dog drew closer. Was she in for trouble from him too? Beverly watched him closely, but all he did was to bark sharply at his snarling teammate.

“He’s telling you to behave yourself,” Beverly said severely, cautiously approaching the dog again. Time was precious, and she did not have any to spare to coax him back to calmness. When she was near enough, she suddenly flung the now tattered robe over the dog’s head, pinning him to the ground with her own weight. He struggled madly but she managed to unhook the chain from his collar. She stumbled to her feet just as the dog flung the robe aside and turned on her.

At the same moment the lead dog, who had been a silent spectator to the little drama, leaped for his unruly teammate. Before a fight could start, however, the snow-laden branches at one side of the little clearing parted, and Batouche stood there, fury written in every line of his face. Even as his sharp eyes took in the empty chains and the now useless sled, the last two dogs bolted from sight.

“So, mam’selle,” he said in a voice shaking with rage, “it was you who came, when I was about to harness the dogs. But do not fear, they will never take Batouche!”

As Beverly stood rooted to the spot, he made a sudden movement and seized her wrist. “You will make an excellent hostage,” he said savagely, dragging her along with him. “Come!”

Beverly struggled to be free but he held her with strength born out of desperation. Then she remembered Phyllis’s knife. With her free hand she drew the knife from its sheath in her pocket and lunged toward the hand holding her wrist. With a cry Batouche knocked the knife from her grasp.

“Where is Batouche?” came a faint cry from somewhere behind them.

Like a cornered animal, Batouche looked around. He could not hope to escape with Beverly dragging like an anchor at his side. With a cry of rage he pushed her away.

“Tell them Batouche will have his revenge—upon all of you!” he snarled, and leaped into the shadows and disappeared.

Beverly reeled backward striking her head a stunning blow on a tree stump as she fell to the ground and lay still.

The fight was over. Lance, with Neal’s and Terry’s help, was herding the three disarmed outlaws along the trail, while Larry still searched for some trace of Batouche. Lenora and Phyllis, whom Terry had released from the cabin, caught sight of Larry on the hillside and called to him. He came down to them quickly, and said:

“Are you all right, girls? Where’s Beverly?”

“We thought you knew where she is,” Lenora replied. “We haven’t seen her since she escaped from the cabin to get help.”

“She’s not on the hillside where I left her before the fight started,” Larry said, alarmed. “I know, because I’ve looked all over up there for Batouche’s tracks.”

“Oh, Larry,” Lenora cried anxiously. “We’ve got to find her. Batouche is at large and he’s desperate.”

Larry’s face was set as he answered grimly, “Stay here, girls. I’ll find her.”

Just as he turned to go, a shaggy, gray Eskimo dog loped out of the forest area into the campsite circle. Across the open space he stared at Larry and the girls, and then turned and glanced over his shoulder toward the forest. When the group did not move, he trotted a few paces nearer to them and repeated his action.

“Here, boy,” Lenora tried to coax the dog closer.

Instead, the dog trotted back to the edge of the forest and stood there looking at them.

“That’s the lead dog,” Phyllis said. “He practically rules the team. If he won’t behave, none of the others will. A good lead dog is worth his weight in gold.”

Larry had been eying the dog thoughtfully.

“Do you suppose he is trying to tell us something?” he said, frowning.

The dog gave a short, sharp bark and trotted into the forest. In a moment he was back to regard the group beseechingly.

“Come on,” Larry said decisively. “We’ll follow him. It’s just barely possible—” He did not finish his thought but strode across the clearing to where the dog was waiting. Lenora and Phyllis followed, and the dog barked furiously when he realized that he finally had made himself understood.

“Okay, boy, let’s go,” Larry told him.

The dog plunged away, the others at his heels. He set a fast pace and they had to hurry to keep him in sight. When they reached the sled and the stakes to which the dogs had been chained, they saw that their canine friend had stopped and was nuzzling a figure on the ground.

“It’s Beverly!” Larry shouted joyfully.

Mountain Climbers

“I’d like to see the other fellow,” Lenora giggled, as she applied a compress to Terry’s swollen eye.

“He looks worse than I do,” Terry assured her.

The group had returned to the Anton home, to treat the assortment of bruises and cuts gained in the struggle with Batouche’s men. The three outlaws were safely in the hands of the police, the stolen furs had been removed from the mine, and Lance had left to follow Batouche’s trail.

All the sled dogs had been rounded up and the outlaw who owned them had begged Lance to take care of them. Lance had turned them over to Louis, who promised to care for them along with his own team.

Beverly had had a harrowing experience but was now fully recovered, and she and the lead dog who had shared her adventure had become fast friends.

“Now that the excitement is over, it is time for us to return to the Susabella,” Shirley sighed.

“Not yet,” Lenora protested. “We have been so busy I’ve neglected my camera. Before we leave I want to take some more pictures of this beautiful country and also fulfill a suppressed desire.”

“Suppressed desire?” Jim grinned. “That sounds interesting. What is it?”

“I’d like to climb Mount Furness.”

“Here we go again!” Lois threw up her hands.

“Nobody said you had to go,” Lenora pointed out.

Lois grinned. “We might as well make a party of it—our farewell gesture!”

“I hate to leave without seeing the end of the mystery,” Beverly declared. “I wonder where Batouche is hiding?”

“He is probably miles away by this time,” Larry told her.

“I don’t care where he went as long as it is far from here,” said Lenora. “I don’t want to meet him again!”

“When do you want to climb the mountain?” Shirley asked.

“Tomorrow,” was the prompt reply.

“Tonight is Louis’s dinner party for Neal and Phyllis, tomorrow we climb Mount Furness, and the next day we return to the Susabella.” Terry nodded. “A full program.”

“We never have an empty one,” Lois laughed.

Louis Anton was making public apology for his accusations against Neal and his sister by a huge party to which everyone in the village was invited. With the capture of Batouche’s followers, and the return of the furs, Neal and Phyllis were exonerated, but Louis wanted to make a personal gesture of good will.

The guests began arriving early, and the house rang with laughter and music for hours. Most of the villagers appeared, although some stayed only long enough to welcome Neal home. Even Flying Eagle and his brother were there.

“I’ve never seen Neal look so happy,” Phyllis declared to Beverly.

“Are you happy, too?” Beverly asked.

“Yes. It already seems as if the past few weeks were all a bad dream.” A shadow crossed Phyllis’s face. “Of course, I would be happier if Batouche were in jail, too. I don’t like the threat he made. He is a very vindictive sort of person.” She flung up her head. “However, I’m not going to let it spoil the party.” She drifted off to join a group of neighbors who had just arrived.

Looking about the room, Beverly felt a story growing in her mind. She wanted to give the Tribune readers a word about the friendliness of the people, about wise Flying Eagle and his tribe, about Matt and the happiness he brought to the Indian children. She would try to put into words the grandeur and silence of the deep forest. She wanted to make her readers see this spot as she did, with all the contrast between it and busy Manhattan. It was like a different world, a world most of them did not know existed.

“ ‘And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts,’ ” Shirley interrupted her friend’s daydreaming. “Come on, Bev. Alice needs help to serve the refreshments.”

“At your service,” Beverly said gaily.

As they moved toward the kitchen Shirley looked at her friend seriously.

“Bev, do you think Batouche will carry out the threat you said he made?” she asked.

“You, too?” Beverly demanded. “It looks as though Batouche has put a damper on the party. Phyllis is worried about the same thing.”

“What do you think?” Shirley persisted.

“I think Batouche is too busy hiding to attempt anything against any of us,” Beverly said firmly. “If he appears in this vicinity the police will catch him.”

“You are probably right,” Shirley nodded. “I’ll forget him and enjoy the rest of the party.”

It was late before the last guest departed and Neal and Phyllis went back to the store, but they were all up early the next morning to start on their mountain-climbing expedition.

Louis had to appear before the police in connection with the return of his furs. Tony accompanied his brother, so Neal elected to lead the mountaineers. Phyllis had joined them also, and the group was a merry one as they started on their way as soon as it was light.

They covered the distance to the foot of the mountain on skis. Once there they cached their skis and donned rugged climbing boots. Mount Furness rose above them, white-capped and majestic.

“It looks like an awful lot of mountain to me,” Lois declared, looking upward.

“Oh, it’s high enough for a start,” Lenora agreed airily. “If we like mountain climbing perhaps, someday, we can climb the Matterhorn or Everest—”

“Ha!” Lois laughed. “Speak for yourself, little one. Something tells me this will be my one and only mountain.”

“In summer the trail is easy to follow,” Neal told them. “There are wild flowers all about and the countryside is lovely.”

“I think it is lovely now,” Lenora declared, focusing her camera on the contrast of sun and shadow where a big evergreen bent low beneath its weight of snow.

“The sun has been unseasonably warm the past day or so, and the snow has begun to melt. We must be careful of soft spots,” Neal continued, taking from his pack the rope with which he had come prepared. He also had a pick to use if needed, and this he swung to his shoulder as they began the gradual climb.

“Are there any animals up here?” Shirley asked.

“Occasionally wolves and bear.”

“I hope we see some,” Lenora said eagerly.

“I hope we don’t!” Lois put in, remembering Beverly’s encounter with the wolf. “When we get home you can go to the zoo and see the animals,” she told her friend.

The village dropped away slowly as they mounted higher and higher. Neal had climbed Mount Furness several times before, and his guidance was sure and safe. In some places heavy snows had caused slides which altered the course of the path and these he carefully noted. Soft heaps of snow veiled hollows in the rocky sides of the mountain and they had to be avoided.

They paused often to view the snowfields stretching below them. Sterling began to look like a tiny, toy town. The people were like tiny dots moving across the surface of the earth. Lenora was busy reloading her camera, delighted with the views she was getting.

They stopped at a small lookout station halfway to the summit, to have lunch. They were almost to the timber line, and above them rose the rocky summit, dotted with shadows and crevices.

“The hardest part is yet to come,” Neal said, looking up. “Some of those rocks do not look very secure. The winter weather has been hard on the old mountain.”

When they resumed their climb Neal insisted they use the safety rope, tying them one to another. Neal was first, then Phyllis, Jim, Shirley, Lois, Terry, Lenora and Beverly. Larry brought up the rear. There were about eight feet of rope between each person, and although they were sure they would not need it, it gave them a feeling of added security.

Trees were sparse at this height, and there were more boulders to scramble over. It was slower going, and the path was faint and hard to follow. At some places they had to crawl along a narrow ledge with only a few inches between them and empty space.

“Why I didn’t stay on the nice, comfortable Susabella I will never know,” Lois said, closing her eyes at the sight of the smooth cliff dropping away from their feet.

“Haven’t you any adventurous spirit?” Lenora called. “Some day you can tell your grandchildren about this.”

“I’d rather tell them a fairy story,” Lois retorted. “What are you stopping for?”

“I want to take another picture,” Lenora replied. “Tell Neal to wait a moment.

“Hold my gloves, Terry, while I turn the film,” she said, turning to the young man ahead of her. “Okay, tell them we can go on now.”

Lenora moved from the edge with the camera. Terry turned to relay the message to Lois. Beverly and Larry were concerned with the view below them. No one saw how close to the edge Lenora really was. Suddenly she felt her foot slipping. She screamed as she drew back against the wall of rock. The camera slipped from her hands and hurtled off into space. Lenora made a futile lunge for it and completely lost her balance.

Terry was taken off guard and thrown flat upon his face. Beverly was swept toward her friend. Larry seized a jutting piece of rock and hung on desperately. It was his firmness which enabled Beverly to hold onto the rope between them and regain her feet. Then she and Terry managed to pull Lenora to safety. The blonde girl was pale and shaking. She leaned weakly against Terry, unable to speak.

“Now I know what the rope is for,” Lois whispered after a moment. “If it hadn’t been for that—”

“Don’t say it!” Lenora gasped.

“Hurry!” Neal called urgently from up ahead. “We must move!”

“Just a moment!” Lois shouted back. “Lenora can’t—”

“Look!” Shirley cried.

The spot where Lenora had slipped was slowly cracking away from the ledge. The crack spread upward with lightning rapidity. At the same time there was a rumbling noise above them. A huge boulder shook for an instant and then began to roll.

“Look out!” Terry shouted and flattened himself against the wall, dragging Beverly and Lenora with him.

The others huddled together, making themselves as small as possible, while the ice, snow, rocks and earth showered around and upon them. The landslide lasted scarcely more than two minutes, but in that time the trail over which they had come was entirely obliterated. There was no retreat from the winding ledge on which they stood overlooking a sheer drop to the valley below.

“Neal says there is a good resting place about a hundred yards farther up,” Shirley relayed back to the others. “Can you go on now?”

“Okay, chum?” Lois asked Lenora.

“I think so,” Lenora said, shaking snow and ice from the hood of her parka.

Pale and badly shaken, the group at last emerged onto a flat shelf of rock where they could have a much-needed rest.

“That is the first time I ever started a landslide,” Lenora attempted to joke.

“It isn’t funny,” Shirley rebuked. “You might have been killed.”

Lenora patted the rope about her waist. “Without this I would now be as flat as my camera undoubtedly is. Those beautiful pictures I took are lost!” she wailed loudly.

“How are we going to get down, now that the trail is covered?” Jim asked Neal.

“We will have to go up and over the top,” the young man replied. “We have no choice. To climb over the slide would be too dangerous. Besides, we might start another one.”

“We could stay and live in one of the caves near the top.” Lenora grinned. “Lance told us the Indians used to live there centuries ago.”

“I’d rather go down, no matter how difficult it is, than live in a cave,” Shirley grimaced.

They could see three distinct ledges at different levels, rising to the top of the mountain. Each ledge was dotted with cave openings, some quite large. In places, crude steps had been hacked from the stone by the primitive inhabitants of earlier days.

“There are spots that are bare of snow,” Lois pointed out. “Why is that?”

“The winds are terrifically strong up here,” Neal said. “I suppose most of it is blown away or slides to lower levels.”

“Will we have to go directly over the snow-covered top of the mountain?” Shirley wanted to know.

“I don’t believe so,” Neal answered. “The top ledge goes around to the other side. We can follow that and go down from there—if the winter hasn’t caused any changes in the formation.”

“Look—” Terry gestured widely with his hand to the world far below. “We are monarchs of all we survey.”

“It gives you an exalted feeling to be so far above the world,” Phyllis said softly.

“I didn’t feel very exalted a few moments ago,” Lenora declared wryly.

“I think I’d rather be down there looking up,” was Lois’s opinion.

Suddenly there was a faint report, a singing sound, and a piece of rock flew into space.

The girls looked up in alarm.

“Is it another landslide?” Shirley cried.

Neal was staring at the boulder beside him, from which the rock had been chipped.

“That wasn’t a landslide,” he said unbelievingly. “That was a bullet! Someone is shooting at us!”

Bon Voyage!

With one accord the group scrambled up as another bullet hit the rock beside them and ricocheted off into space.

“Let’s get away from here!” Jim exclaimed. “Isn’t there any shelter?”

“Not until we reach the next ledge,” Neal shook his head.

“At least we can get up against the wall,” Larry said. “We won’t be as exposed as we are out here.”

Another bullet whined over their heads as they flattened themselves against the wall.

“Why would anyone want to shoot at us?” Phyllis gasped, terrified.

“Maybe someone is living in the caves and doesn’t want us here,” Lenora guessed.

“No one lives in the caves now,” Neal replied. “I have been up here several times and nothing like this ever happened before.”

“I’d suggest we move on to the next ledge and try to reach one of the caves,” Larry said. “We’ll be safer there while we plan what to do.”

In their present position, they could not see who was shooting at them. They crawled along the ledge as close to the wall as possible. The trail was extremely narrow at this point, with many sharp rocks jutting out into their path.

“This isn’t fair,” Lenora muttered. “We haven’t a chance to defend ourselves!”

“Maybe he is antisocial.” Lois attempted to laugh. “What’s up now?”

Neal had halted and was earnestly discussing something with his sister. Word was passed from one to the other down the line.

“Rocks are blocking the path,” Shirley reported to those behind her. “The only way to reach the next ledge is for us to let Neal pull us up. It means swinging out into space.”

“I just did that!” Lenora groaned. “I didn’t like it one bit!”

“What about the rifleman?” Beverly asked.

“Evidently he can’t see us where we are now,” Larry replied. “He hasn’t fired a shot for several minutes.”

“This won’t be as bad as last time,” Terry assured Lenora. “You will be able to help by bracing your feet against the wall.”

“Well—” Lenora said dubiously.

“It is the only way.”

“Who is going to pull Neal up?” Lois wanted to know. “How does he intend to make it?”

“He is going to make a lasso of his rope and try to circle one of the boulders up there. Then he will pull himself up hand over hand,” Shirley reported. “Look, there goes the rope!”

The loop sailed through the air and landed around a jutting piece of rock. Neal tested it several times, seemed satisfied, and began to pull himself upward. It was awkward, difficult work and when he finally gained the ledge above he was exhausted. For a few moments he rested in the sun and then turned to make the rope doubly secure for his friends.

It was a slow and dangerous task for the inexperienced young climbers. One rope about their waists, another in their hands, they hung suspended over a drop of several hundred feet for tense minutes while those above hauled them out of danger.

“If there was any other way I wouldn’t do this,” Lenora declared nervously, watching as Lois began the ascent.

“If there was any other way you wouldn’t have to do it,” Terry replied cheerfully. “Of course you could build a nest like an eagle and live here on the ledge.”

“I would get awf’ly hungry,” Lenora retorted. “Off you go, my hero!”

“Cheerio! See you upstairs!” Terry said brightly.

The more eager hands there were on the ledge above, the easier the feat was accomplished, and Terry seemed to take scarcely any time at all.

When it was Lenora’s turn she grasped the hand rope tightly, closed her eyes, and stepped out. In a few moments she was safe with her friends.

“Next.” Larry smiled at Beverly.

She nodded and grasped the hand rope as it wriggled through the air toward her.

“Bon voyage!” she said, smiling back, and gave the signal to be pulled up.

For a dizzy moment she swung out from the rocks. Looking down, she could see the rough and rugged hillside, ice-covered and glistening in the sun. She braced her feet against the wall as her friends began to pull upon the rope. It was then it happened. With a jerk, the rope which was knotted about her waist and on which her friends were pulling, broke in two. Those above were thrown off balance as they reeled back. For a sickening second Beverly felt herself sliding down the hand rope until the frantic grip of her hands checked her fall. She closed her eyes, not daring to look down at the rocky bed upon which she would land if she fell. Her arms felt as if they were being pulled from her sockets. The rope cut into her hands as she clung desperately.

Beverly scarcely heard the encouragement shouted by her friends. Her fingers, icy cold, were slipping gradually down the hand rope as she tried to find a foothold. The rocks bruised her as she swung against them. Everything depended on the few twisted strands of gray rope and her ability to hang on. Bit by bit, she felt herself being drawn up. With horror she watched the rope rubbing against the rock. It was being subjected to terrific strain at the point where it hung over the edge. There was a thin spot just above her hands, and as her eyes clung to it in startled fascination she saw one strand break. She wanted to scream a warning but could not. All she could do was watch the rope and wait.

Bit by bit she was pulled up until anxious hands could grasp her and pull her over the edge to safety. From the time she stepped off into space until she was safe, only a few moments had passed, but they had seemed an eternity.

“The rope—” she gasped. “It is almost worn through. Don’t trust Larry on it.”

A new rope was lowered for Beverly’s fiancé and soon the whole group was together again.

Once more a bullet whizzed over their heads. The rifleman had found them again and they hurried into a near-by cave.

“Do you suppose there are any bats in here?” Lois asked fearfully.

“I prefer bats to bullets,” Phyllis told her.

“Who can be shooting at us?” Shirley wanted to know.

“There is only one person I know who would do it,” Neal said grimly. “I thought he was miles away.”

“Batouche!” Beverly exclaimed.

“He must be near the summit.” Larry frowned, leaning out to squint upward.

“That is why he could see us but we couldn’t see him,” Jim agreed. “He has plenty of caves in which to hide.”

The young people huddled at the cave entrance staring up toward the gray rocks rising above them. Nothing moved to indicate life of any sort. There was nothing but silence, sunshine and rock. Yet each one had the feeling that unseen eyes were watching them.

“I thought the Mounties always got their man,” Lenora muttered. “Lance was supposed to be following Batouche. Where is he now when we need him?”

“Perhaps Batouche thinks Lance is with us, and we have come to capture him,” Terry suggested.

Another shot rang out but they could not determine where it went.

“He is firing sparingly,” Jim commented. “He can’t have too much ammunition.”

“He has enough to keep us bottled up in here,” Phyllis sighed. “What will we do? We can’t stay here very long. It will be dark soon and we won’t be able to find our way down the mountainside.”

“Pleasant thought!” Lenora shivered.

“The only thing for us to do is to capture him,” Neal said, frowning.

“We can’t locate him,” Terry reminded him, with a gesture toward the rocks above them.

“I will go out and draw his fire,” Neal proposed.

“You aren’t armed and he is,” Phyllis protested.

“Look!” Beverly exclaimed suddenly. “Isn’t that a man waving to us?”

Working his way to the cave in which the young people stood was a red-coated, familiar figure.

“It is Lance!” Phyllis exclaimed.

“Batouche is doing his best to shoot him,” added Larry, as a shot rang out and the Mountie dodged behind a boulder.

At last Lance was close enough to stand up and dash to the cave. He arrived out of breath but safe.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Lenora chuckled. “Have you decided to become a cliff dweller, too?”

“I’ve been working my way toward Batouche,” Lance informed them. “I followed him this far and now he is cornered on the ledge above us.”

“Won’t you please catch him quickly so we can get off this mountain?” Lois asked.

“I aim to,” Lance assured her, “but I’ll need some help.”

“At your service.” Larry smiled.

“My plan is this,” Lance said. “Half of us will go around the ledge to the left. The others will try to gain the summit and so be above Batouche. I believe he will give up when he sees that we have him surrounded.”

Neal and Jim volunteered to climb to a greater height and work their way along until they were above the outlaw. They started out immediately, sliding along the ledge until they could climb upon a huge boulder. For a moment they stood silhouetted against the sky, and then disappeared as they slid down the other side.

Lance, Terry and Larry waited a few moments and then they, too, left the cave. As soon as they appeared a shot rang out and the three dodged behind a boulder.

“It looks as though we will see the end of the mystery after all,” Lenora declared.

“I hope it is a happy ending,” Lois said soberly.

Silence enclosed the mountaintop. To the girls watching, it seemed ominous and fraught with danger. They could not see any of their friends. Neither could they see the enemy. Breathlessly they watched and waited.

“Look!” Beverly whispered suddenly.

Far above them a figure moved against the sky. With long, catlike strides the man went along a narrow stone ledge and disappeared into a cave. He lingered there only a moment. Reappearing, he darted swiftly out of sight behind a large rock formation. The sun glinted on the barrel of a rifle as the fugitive thrust it through an opening in the rocks.

Suddenly something hurtled through the air. It was followed by another object and another.

“Neal and Jim are bombarding him with rocks!” Phyllis cried excitedly.

“There he goes!” Shirley added.

The figure above them left his hiding place and started to run along the ledge. Lance rose unexpectedly in his path. When Larry and Terry also appeared, Batouche backed against the wall and, with a hopeless shrug, surrendered his gun to Lance.

“I’m glad that’s over,” Lenora sighed.

“Now we can start down the mountain,” added Phyllis. “We’ll barely make it before it gets dark.”

“We can’t go yet,” Lois declared. “Lenora hasn’t fulfilled all her desires.”

“I haven’t?” Lenora looked puzzled.

“You told us, back in San Francisco, that you have always wanted to stand at the top of a mountain and yodel.” Lois giggled. “Here’s your opportunity—go ahead.”

“Must I?” Lenora asked.

“Positively,” Shirley nodded firmly.

“Well—” Lenora stepped out of the cave, looked off across the valley, opened her mouth and did her best.

The young men, in the act of descending with their prisoner, looked startled.

“Were you responsible for that unearthly howl?” Jim demanded of the blonde girl.

“I suppose you think you could do better.” Lenora sniffed.

“Of course!” Jim said, and proceeded to demonstrate his ability.

“That wouldn’t win a prize,” Terry teased. “Let me try it.”

The descent of Mount Furness was accomplished much more easily than had been the ascent, and it was punctuated by much hilarity over individual attempts to yodel in approved fashion.

When they reached the ground Lance shook hands all around before taking his prisoner away.

“I hope you will call on us if you ever get to New York,” Larry told him.

“Perhaps I will,” Lance agreed. “I’ve been thinking of visiting your country.”

“One thing more,” Phyllis spoke up. “Was it you, Batouche, who came on board the Susabella at Port Richard?”

Batouche inclined his head.

“What did you want?” Terry asked.

“The fur,” Batouche growled. “The silver fox fur which I had sent to New York.”

“The police already had it!” Phyllis exclaimed. “What made it so important to you?”

“The smugglers’ code message was written on the hide inside the sewn edges of the fur,” Lance explained. “Neal will tell you about it on the way back.”

Lance and his prisoner departed, and the young people turned to their skis and Sterling.

Phyllis declared her intention of remaining with Neal for a few weeks, and the brother and sister said good-bye to the others at the Tanner store. The rest arrived at the Anton home weary but happy, eager to tell their friends of the day’s adventure.

“It has been good to see this beautiful country,” Shirley declared, at the dinner table.

“Before you leave, I have a memento for each of you,” Louis said, producing an assortment of large boxes. “You all did so much for us that we could never repay you adequately, so all we can say is, thank you.”

“Furs!” Lenora squealed in delight, as she peeked into one of the boxes.

There was a beautiful, luxurious fur for each of the girls, and hand-tooled leather belts and wallets, made by the Indians, for the young men.

When each of the girls had tried on her fur, and their thanks had been showered upon Louis and Alice, they retired, in order to be thoroughly rested for the dogsled journey back to Port Richard and the Susabella the following day.

“It’s beautiful here,” Lois echoed Shirley’s sentiments, “but now let’s go some place where it’s warm!”

“Where shall it be? Hawaii? The South Seas? Ah, me!” Lenora sighed rapturously and turned off the light. “Sweet dreams!”

Happily content, the girls drifted into dreamland in pleasant anticipation of new adventures to come.

THE END

TRANSCRIBER NOTES

Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple spellings occur, majority use has been employed.

Illustrations have been relocated due to using a non-page layout.

A cover which is placed in the public domain was created for this ebook.

[The end of Beverly Gray’s Vacation by Clair Blank]