Scott and Murphy walked out to a little grove of pines a short distance from the station and sat down in the shadow to wait for the train. They did not talk much, for each one was too busy thinking over the scrapes they had been through. They felt that they were through with their troubles at last and that it was only a matter of a few hours now till they would be back at headquarters, on familiar ground and safe from interference, but they had felt that same way so often before that they were almost afraid to say anything about it now.

Their appearance had caused a great deal of speculation and gossip among the loafers around the place and many curious glances were thrown in their direction, but no one came near them. The train was late as usual, but it came at last and they climbed aboard with a certain feeling of relief. There might be a wreck but there would not be any quicksands or swamps and a wreck seemed rather trivial compared with those two things which they had come to hate so cordially in the past few days.

“Well, we are on the home stretch now,” Scott exclaimed comfortably.

“Yes,” Murphy retorted, “for the first time in what seems like a century we know where we are going and how we are going to get there.”

The train stopped at the first station. There did not seem to be much of an excuse for a station there, nor anywhere else along the line for that matter, but the train always stopped at all of them as if it hoped that sometime there might be somebody there. This time it was not disappointed. Scott was looking out of the window and he saw a lone man step across the platform and get on the front end of the car. No one else was in sight there, not even a station agent.

Before he had drawn in his head he felt Murphy grab him suddenly by the knee and squeeze it meaningly. He looked inquiringly at Murphy and then followed his glance up the car. The new passenger was walking slowly toward them and he instantly recognized Qualley. The car lamps evidently dazzled Qualley’s eyes after his wait in the darkness and he had not seen them, but just as he was turning into a seat he stopped for a glance over the occupants of the car and recognized them. With well-feigned surprise he changed his mind about the seat and came towards them, smiling.

“Blamed old fox!” Murphy growled under his breath. “If he knew what we know he would have kept off this train.”

“Well,” Qualley exclaimed good-humoredly, shaking hands with them, “I didn’t expect to see any one I knew on this train. Glad to see you. Good ways from home, aren’t you?”

“Quite a jump,” Scott replied. “We’ve been out having a look at the country. Quite a journey for you, too, isn’t it?”

“Yes, first time I have been out of camp for a long time. Company wanted me to come down here and look over some turpentine prospects. They are thinking of leasing in here.”

“Aren’t you afraid they will take advantage of your absence to steal all the logs in the pond?” Scott asked, and he nudged Murphy secretly with his foot.

“You bet I was,” Qualley replied with a hearty laugh, “and I told the boys not to put any in there while I was gone. Haven’t run on to any likely clues yet, have you?” he added.

“No, nothing new since we saw you last,” and Scott nudged Murphy again. They were having a very good time with Qualley.

As they approached their own station Murphy seemed to grow thoughtful. Suddenly he leaned forward and unbuttoned the flap of Qualley’s holster. “What sort of a gun have you got there, Qualley? I lost my old Luger back there in a swamp. Had it for ten years and would not have lost it for a farm.”

Murphy drew the revolver from the holster and examined it critically. It was a little blue steel automatic .32, very neat and very business-like. “Not quite such a hard hitter as mine,” Murphy commented, “but I guess she’d kill a man at that.”

“Would it!” Qualley laughed. “Well, I rather think it would if you hit him right. I killed a deer with it at forty yards last fall.”

Murphy continued to toy with the gun. He unloaded it, loaded it, and tested the mechanism several times, tried the grip in his hand and aimed it carefully at all the lights in the car. It was not till the train was coming to a stop at their own station that he leaned over and slipped it back into Qualley’s holster.

“Looks pretty good to me,” Murphy remarked, as though thoroughly satisfied with his examination. “Maybe I’ll get one of those next time. It would not be as heavy to tote around as the old Luger and I reckon it would shoot hard enough for anything I want it for. Don’t want to sell it, do you?”

“Not for anything you would give me for it,” Qualley replied. “I need it in my business almost every day.”

“That’s right,” Murphy admitted thoughtfully, “I reckon you do, all right,” and he stepped on Scott’s foot.

They all three got off the car together and started down the trail which lead by a short cut to the supervisor’s headquarters. It was about midnight and there was no one in sight around the station, not even the agent. The moon was doing its best to shine through a thin curtain of clouds and the trail was easy enough to follow. They walked three abreast through the open country and were soon back on the one subject of conversation which had been the common topic with them now for over two years—the marvelous disappearance of those logs.

About a mile from the st............