He started away, dragging the sled, and Wade struggled along after him, choking down the food.
When they had retraced their steps as far as the Enchanted tote road, Christopher turned to the south and trudged towards Pogey Notch. The trail of the tote team was visible in hollows which the snow had nearly filled. The snow lay as it had fallen. The tops of the great trees on either side of the road sighed and lashed and moaned in the wind that had risen at dawn. But below in the forest aisles it was quiet.
Had not the wind been at their backs, whistling from the north, the passage of Pogey Notch would have proved a savage encounter. The stunted growth offered no wind-break. The great defile roared like a chimney-draught. As the summer winds had howled up the Notch, lashing the leafy branches of the birches and beeches, so now the winter winds howled down, harpers that struck dismal notes from the bare trees. The snow drove horizontally in stinging clouds. The drifting snow even made the sun look wan. The quest for track, trail, or clew in that storm aftermath was waste of time. But the old man kept steadily on, peering to right and left, searching with his eyes nook and cross-defile, until at the southern mouth of the Notch they came to Durfy's hovel.
Christopher took refuge there, leaning against the log walls, and mused for a time without speaking. Then he bent his shrewd glance on Wade from under puckered lids.
"There's no telling what a lunatic will do next, is there?" he blurted, abruptly.
Wade, failing to understand, stared at his questioner.
"I was thinkin' about that as we came past that place where 'Ladder' Lane trussed up John Barrett and left him, time of the big fire," the old man went on. "Comin' down the Notch sort of brought the thing up in my mind. It's quite a grudge that Lane has got against John Barrett and all that belongs to him."
Wade was well enough versed in Christopher Straight's subtle fashion of expressing his suspicions to understand him now.
"By ----, Straight, I believe you've hit it!" he panted.
"I've been patchin' a few things together in my head," said the old man, modestly, "as a feller has to do when dealin' with woods matters. I've told you that queer things have happened in the woods. When a number of things happen you can fit 'em together, sometimes. Now, there wasn't anything queer at Britt's camps to fit into the rest. I came right on 'em sudden, and there wasn't a ripple anywhere. I didn't go into the details, Mr. Wade, in tellin' you why I knew Miss Barrett wasn't there. It would have been wastin' time. But now take the queer things! Out goes Abe Skeet into the storm! Who would be mousin' around outside at that time of night except a lunatic--such as 'Ladder' Lane has turned into since the big fire? You saw on Jerusalem how Lane could boss Abe--he jumped when Lane pulled the string.