suitable food for the child. But not a scrap could he find—every morsel had been taken from the house. Hugo uttered an angry oath and registered a solemn vow. Going outside he was about to draw his toboggan into the room when his eyes caught sight of peculiar marks upon the beaten snow. That they were blood stains he was certain, and there were others on the trail leading to the river.
Leaving the toboggan, and forgetting for a time the sobbing child, Hugo walked slowly along, keeping his eyes fixed upon the narrow path. At every step more stains appeared, which increased in number and vividness as he neared the shore. Out upon the ice he moved, and stopped only when close to the long, wide, yawning gulf. Here the river was exposed to view like a great artery from which the flesh has been torn. The water raced by like a mill-sluice, leaping forth from beneath its icy covering upstream to dash out of sight with a swish and a swirl half a mile or more farther down. Its murmur resembled the snarl of an angry beast when suddenly surprised or cheated of its prey. And yet Hugo felt certain that but a short time before it had been fed, when two victims had been enwrapped in its cold, merciless embrace. And one of them was a woman, whose little helpless child was now calling to her from the lonely cabin—and calling in vain!
And standing there, Hugo’s soul suddenly became charged with an intense anger. Mingled with his hatred of the river was an overwhelming revulsion at the foul crime which had been committed. And who were the perpetrators? What reason could anyone have for committing such a diabolical deed? Haines and his wife were quiet reserved people, given to
