Burned Bridges

Thompson drove his canoe around a jutting point and came upon a white

cruiser swinging at anchor in an eddy. Her lines were familiar though he

had not seen her in two years. In any case the name Alert in gold leaf

on her bows would have enlightened him. He was not particularly

surprised to find Tommy's motor boat there. He had half-expected to find

Tommy Ashe hereabouts.

A man's head rose above the after companion-hatch as the canoe glided

abreast.

"Is Mr. Ashe aboard?" Thompson asked.

The man shook his head.

"Went up to Carr's camp a while ago."

"When did you get in?" Thompson inquired further.

"Last night. Lost a day laying up at Blind Bay for a southeaster. Gee,

she did blow."

Thompson smiled and passed on. Blind Bay was only two miles from Cape

Coburn. Just a narrow neck of land had separated them that blustery

night. It was almost like a race. Tommy would not be pleased to see him

treading so close on his heels. Thompson felt that intuitively. All was

fair in love and war. Still, even in aërial warfare, ruthless and

desperate as it was, there were certain courtesies, a certain element

of punctilio. Thompson had an intuition that Ashe would not subscribe to

even that simple code. In fact he began to have a premonition of

impending conflict as he thrust stoutly on his paddle blade. Tommy had

changed. He was no longer the simple, straightforward soul with whom

Thompson had fought man-fashion on the bank of Lone Moose, and with whom

he had afterward achieved friendship on a long and bitter trail.

Three hundred yards past the Alert he came to a landing stage which

fitted the description given by the skipper of the Squalla. Thompson

hauled his canoe out on the float, gained the shore, and found a path

bordering the bank. He followed this. Not greatly distant he could hear

the blows of chopping, the shrill blasts of a donkey-engine whistle and

the whirr of the engine itself as it shuddered and strained on its

anchored skids, reeling up half a mile, more or less, of inch and a

quarter steel cable, snaking a forty-foot log out of the woods as a

child would haul a toothpick on the end of a string.

Before long the brush-floored forest opened on a small area of parked

wood. In this pleasant place stood a square block of a house. From a

tall staff fluttered the Union Jack. As Thompson came near this the door

opened and a group of youngsters tumbled out pell-mell and began to

frolic. Thompson looked at his watch. He had stumbled on a school in the

hour of morning recess.

"Where does Mr. Carr live?" he asked one of these urchins when he got

near enough to have speech with him.