The fourth evening after the stranger’s visit to the cabin Jolly Roger was later than usual in returning from Cragg’s Ridge.  Peter had been on a hunting adventure of his own, and came to the cabin at sunset.  But he never came out of cover now without standing quietly for a few moments, getting the wind, and listening.  And tonight, poking his head between some balsams twenty yards from the shack, he was treated to a sudden thrill.  The cabin door was open.  And standing close to this door, looking quietly and cautiously about, stood a stranger.  He was not like Jed Hawkins, was Peter’s first impression.  He was tall, with a wide-brimmed hat, and wore boots with striped trousers tucked into them, and on his coat were bits of metal which caught the last gleams of the sun.  Peter knew nothing of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police.  But he sensed danger, and he remained very quiet, without moving a muscle of his head or body, while the stranger looked about, with a hand on his unbuttoned pistol holster.  Not until he entered the cabin, and closed the door after him, did Peter move back into the deeper gloom of the forest.  And then, silent as a fox, he skulked through cover to the foot-trail, and down the trail to the ford, across which Jolly Roger would come from Cragg’s Ridge.

There was still half an hour of daylight when Jolly Roger arrived.  Peter did not, as usual, run to the edge of the bank to meet him.  He remained sitting stolidly on his haunches, with his ears flattened, and in his whole attitude no sign of gladness at his master’s coming.  With every instinct of caution developed to the highest degree within him, Jolly Roger was lightning quick to observe the significance of small things.  He spoke to Peter, caressed him with his hand, and moved on along the foot-trail toward the cabin.  Peter fell in behind him moodily, and after a few moments stopped, and squatted on his haunches again.  Jolly Roger was puzzled.

“What is it, Peter?” he asked.  “Are you afraid of that wolverine—­ "

Peter whined softly; but even as he whined, his ears were flat, and his eyes filled with a red light as they glared down the trail beyond the outlaw.  Jolly Roger turned and went on, until he disappeared around a twist in the path.  There he stopped, and peered back.  Peter was not following him, but still sat where he had left him.  A quicker breath came to Jolly Roger’s lips, and he went back to Peter.  For fully a minute he stood beside him, watching and listening, and not once did the reddish glare in Peter’s eyes leave the direction of the cabin.  Jolly Roger’s eyes had grown very bright, and suddenly he dropped on his knees beside Peter, and spoke softly, close up to his flattened ear.

“You say it isn’t a wolverine, Peter?  Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

Peter’s teeth clicked, and he whimpered, never taking his eyes from ahead.

There was a cold light in Jolly Roger’s eyes as he rose to his feet, and he turned swiftly and quietly into the edge of the forest, and in the gloom that was gathering there his hand carried the big automatic.  Peter followed him now, and Jolly Roger swung in a wide circle, so that they came up on that forest side of the cabin where there was no window.  And here Jolly Roger knelt down beside Peter again, and whispered to him.