Jean, however, had no intention of failing those who so strongly relied upon him.  He approached his difficult task with a confidence in his own powers which long years of the free, independent life of the great outdoors had given him.  He knew the secrets of the wilderness as few men knew them.  He had little doubt that much which had remained obscure to those already engaged in the search for Tom Gray would be made clear to him.  Alone in the world, Jean had long since come to regard the Eight Originals as “his folks.”  Of the four girls, Grace Harlowe had always been his favorite.  Of the four boys, Tom Gray had held first place in his heart.  The young man’s frank, delightful personality, coupled with his intense love of Nature, had served signally to endear him to the old hunter.

As Jean had reverently assured Grace, it was indeed, to him, a sacred mission on which he was now setting forth, and he longed impatiently for the moment to come when he might leave the narrow confines of the railway train and set foot in the little village nearest to the lumber camp.  Mrs. Gray had insisted on providing him liberally with the funds she deemed necessary for the continuance of the search.  Jean had stoutly protested against this liberality.  Overruled, he had given in somewhat reluctantly, consoling himself with the thought that when M’sieu’ Tom was found he would give back the greater part of the money which had been thus thrust upon him.  His sturdy soul rose in revolt at the very idea of tucking himself away in a Pullman berth, even for a night.  Such cubby-holes were not for him, he disdainfully reflected.  He preferred to sit up all night and amuse himself by watching the fleeting, indistinct landscape through which the train was pursuing its steady run toward the vast northern region that jealously concealed the mystery of Tom Gray’s fate.

As he had already informed Grace and Mrs. Gray, the territory for which he was bound was to him a fairly familiar one.  True he had not hunted in it for several years, although once or twice he had skirted it in making his slow, deliberate marches to and from Canada.  He assured himself that naturally he would discover some changes in the heavy forest growth, stretching for many miles north and west of the lumber camp for which Tom Gray had headed.  Yet Jean was not in the least dismayed by the magnitude of his task.  More than once he had served as tracer of persons lost in the trackless wildernesses.  More than once he had wandered about in the dense, pathless forests, a lost man.

While the train sped through the moonless night, Jean’s sharp eyes were trained on the weird, shadowy outlines into which darkness turns the most commonplace objects.  His nimble brain, however, was busily sorting out the scant details that had been furnished him regarding Tom Gray, with a view toward evolving a theory on which he might proceed.  His own good sense informed him that he could not even make a guess regarding what had befallen his young friend until he had reached the lumber camp and himself surveyed the situation.

Seven o’clock the next evening saw the intrepid old man hurriedly collecting his few belongings, preparatory to making a welcome end to the long, tiresome ride in the train.  Mrs. Gray had already telegraphed David Nesbit to be on hand at the dingy little station to meet him.  The train rolled into it, puffing and clanging a noisy protest against the indignity of being obliged to stay its flight, even momentarily, before the scattered collection of frame dwellings dignified by the name of village.  Hardly had it jolted itself to a reluctant stop before Jean made a hurried exit, to peer searchingly about the station platform for David Nesbit.

“Just the man I’m looking for,” sounded a hearty voice behind him.  Whirling, he uttered a glad cry as he reached for David’s outstretched hand.  “I’m certainly glad to see you, Jean.”

“It is of a ‘appiness to see you, M’sieu’ David.”  Jean’s weather-beaten face registered his joy.

“Come with me, Jean.  There’s an apology for a hotel not far from the station.  We’d better stay there to-night, then start for the lumber camp early to-morrow morning.  It’s a long hike, but I know you’d rather walk than ride.  Once we’ve had some supper, I can tell you what little I know of this part of the country.  Have you ever been up here before?”

“Yep; ’bout five year ago, mebbe.  I hunt up here a long winter.  I know him.”  Jean indicated the forest beyond the village with a wide sweep of his arm.  “Once, twice, after, I pass by him w’en I go an’ come from Canada.”

“Then you do know something about it?  I’m mighty glad to hear that.  But tell me about Oakdale and how you happened to pop up there just when we needed you most.  Grace wrote me that she had tried to find you, but that you’d gone away.”

On the way to the hotel which David had mentioned, Jean recounted in his broken phraseology all that had happened to him since his return to Oakdale, while David listened and commented on the strange manner in which the news of Tom’s misfortune had been brought before the old hunter.  Over a plain but palatable supper Jean continued his narrative to the point where he had landed on the station platform.  “An’ now the hunt begin,” he nodded.  “To-morrow we get up ’fore it is light, then we go to camp.  All ‘long way I look an’ remember w’at I see.  After that you show me w’ere you go hunt.  After that we fin’ new places far away.  We hunt till we fin’ M’sieu’ Tom.”

“That’s the idea,” applauded David.  “I think we’d better turn in early at that.  You must be dead tired.  I know you don’t like railway traveling.  Did you take a sleeper here?”

“I don’t lak’ him,” shrugged Jean.  “I sit up all night.  In the woods never I am tired, but in the train, yes.  It will be good to rest.”

After supper the two lingered for a while in the little room.  Anxious to get the benefit of a good night’s rest preparatory to their long tramp of the morning, it was not long before they climbed the narrow stairs to their rooms.

Five o’clock the next morning saw them eating a hasty breakfast, served by a drowsy-eyed girl.  After David had stowed into a knapsack an ample luncheon for the two, and slung the knapsack across one shoulder, the little search party went forth and soon left the village behind them for the rough road that marked the beginning of their long jaunt through the forest.  Having traversed it many times since his advent into that territory, David was well posted, yet he knew it no better than did Jean.  The sturdy old man seemed familiar with every phase of that section.  Now and again as they progressed he retailed some interesting bit of history relative to his own wanderings therein.

Noon found them more than half way to their destination, and by four o’clock they reached the camp, where Jean was introduced to Mr. Mackenzie, who had recovered from his illness and returned to his duties as overseer.

Jean discovered in the rugged Scotchman a person quite after his own heart.  Previous to meeting the overseer, he had confided to David that he intended to make use of the tent which his young friend had stored with Mr. Mackenzie, and sleep out of doors.  By the time supper was over, however, he was quite willing to accept the sleeping accommodations which David had made for him at the Scotchman’s house.

Seated around a deep, open fireplace, in which a fire burned cheerfully, the three men gravely discussed the details of the proposed search.  Mr. Mackenzie was of the opinion that it would be better to blaze new trails rather than to waste time in traveling over the ground which David and his men had so thoroughly covered.  But Jean obstinately stuck to his own viewpoint and insisted on re-traveling that territory.  For three days the old hunter led the young man on strenuous hikes that began with dawn and ended long after dark.  During that time Jean conducted David into all sorts of forest nooks and crannies that the latter had not even glimpsed when searching about with the men of the camp.  Yet never did they observe the slightest sign of the object of their search.

At the end of the week, Jean announced his resolve to invade an especially wild and lonely stretch of forest to the west.  “To-morrow morning we start,” he declared.  “We go mebbe twenty-five, mebbe fifty mile, mebbe more.  Mebbe gone a week.”

“But Tom could never have gone so far away in so short a time,” reminded David.  “Besides, when last seen he was headed directly north.”

Jean shrugged.  “Mebbe he lose his way.  Mebbe travel all night in storm in wrong direction.  Then ­” Again Jean’s square shoulders went into eloquent play.  “Anyway we go wes’,” he stubbornly maintained.

The evening of another day saw them wending their difficult way westward, according to Jean’s plan.  Surrounded by a particularly dense and rugged stretch of forest growth they rolled up in their blankets and slept under a great tree.  Jean assured David that they had come not more than fifteen miles, due to the difficulty they had encountered in forcing their way through the endless undergrowth, though the young man felt sure they had traveled fifty.

“I couldn’t get those fellows from the camp to come over here for love nor money,” remarked David the next morning, as he and Jean fried their bacon and made coffee over the fire.  “They say that a wild man was once seen somewhere in this range of forest.  I guess it’s all talk, though.  Mr. Mackenzie never saw him.  He says it’s a story made up by timber thieves to keep people away.”

Old Jean looked reflective.  “Once I know wil’ man,” he remarked.  “First time I see him, jus’ lak’ any man.  He great, big man; long black hair, an’ strong; very strong.  ’Bout six foot, three inch.  He live in little cabin, ‘bout hundred mile from here, wit’ his son.  Every year they go Canada an’ hunt.  Then come back and sell skins.  My, how that man love that son!  One day storm come an’ tree fall on son.  Kill him dead.  Then the father go wil’; crazy in the ’aid.  All his black hair turn white.  After that I never see him again.  Mebbe dead, too.”

“I hope nothing like that happened to good old Tom.”  David shuddered.  “Jean, honestly, do you think we’ll ever find the boy?”

“Le bon Dieu know,” Jean crossed himself reverently.

“I don’t think much of the sheriff up here,” continued David.  “He simply laid down on his job after the first week or two.  After Mrs. Gray had offered a reward he made quite a lot of fuss.  But it all died out quickly.  Blaisdell’s done his best, but this isn’t his kind of a job.  Half a dozen so-called woodsmen up here have tried their hand at it, too.  I spoke to the sheriff about this very piece of woods that we’ve invaded, but he claimed he’d gone all over the ground.  I don’t believe it, though.  He gave me to understand that he thought the whole affair was very queer.  He even asked me if Mrs. Gray wasn’t holding back something.  He hinted that she and Tom might have quarreled over family matters and that Tom was keeping out of sight on purpose to worry her.  I reminded him that Tom had come up here to help Mr. Mackenzie out and told him a few things about Tom that ought to have changed his opinion.  But I don’t think he believed me.  He’s a bull-headed kind of fellow that would never admit himself in the wrong,” ended David in disgust.

“I hav’ seen many such,” commented Jean soberly.  “Anyhow we are here.  W’en we hav’ finish the breakfast then we start again.  Mebbe some good come to-day.”

“I hope so.”  David’s voice sounded a trifle weary.  It was hard indeed to meet with such continued discouragement.

Breakfast finished, the seekers again took up their quest.  Noon found them not more than three miles away from the spot where they had breakfasted.  The necessity of halting frequently to inspect some especially tangled bit of undergrowth or suspicious looking covert large enough to conceal the body of a man, made their progress painfully slow.  Toward the middle of the afternoon, a cold rain set in, thereby adding to the discomforts of their march.  Although it was early October, the great trees above their heads were partially stripped of their foliage, thus offering them little protection from the unceasing drizzle.

“This is awful, Jean!” exclaimed David Nesbit, as two hours later, drenched to the skin, the wayfarers huddled together under a giant oak tree to consider the situation.  “We ought to try to find some sort of shelter for the night.  It will soon be dark and we can’t go on then.  Have you any idea where we are?”

“Yep; this place ’bout eighteen mile from camp,” Jean nodded confidently. “’Bout mile mebbe little more to little valley.  In valley is the little cabin.  I know him.  Somebody say this cabin hav’ haunt.  Somebody kill ‘nother man once who liv’ there.  Then nobody ever go near because dead man walk aroun’ there at night.  Cabin mebbe not there now.  Anyhow we see, because we know dead man can’t walk aroun’.”

“Lead me to the cabin.  The dead man may walk around there all he likes, provided he doesn’t object to our sheltering with him,” declared David with grim humor.

Floundering through dense growths of impeding bushes and crackling underbrush, their feet sinking into a thick carpet of soggy, fallen leaves, the two at last reached the top of a steep, rocky elevation.  From there, in the fast fading light, they could look down into a narrow valley, formed by the precipitous slant of two hills.

“I see him.”  Jean pointed triumphantly to a tiny hut, seemingly wedged into the upper end of the valley.  In the October twilight the outlines of the shack were just visible.

“It’s going to be some work to get down there,” observed David, doubtfully eyeing the uninviting prospect before them.

“Up there, not very far, it is easy,” assured Jean.  “You follow me, then wait.  I go ahead an’ fin’ the way.”  The indefatigable old hunter took the lead, plodding along with the same energy that had characterized the beginning of his day’s tramp.  Sturdy though he was, David soon found himself well in the rear of the tireless old man, and it was not long until he lost sight of him in the fast falling darkness.

Peering anxiously ahead, David flashed the small electric searchlight he carried in an effort to discern Jean.  Fearing lest he might become lost from Jean entirely, he returned it to a coat pocket, cupped his hands to his mouth and emitted a peculiar trumpet-like call, known as the Elf’s Horn, which Tom Gray himself had taught him.  Twice he sounded it, before he had the satisfaction of hearing Jean answer him, repeating it several times.

Guided by the sound, and with the aid of his searchlight, David stumbled his hurried way toward Jean, who had now halted to wait for his young friend.

“Jean, you old rascal, I thought I’d lost you for good and all,” laughed David as he brought up at the hunter’s side.  “You mustn’t expect too much of a tenderfoot, you know.  I’m ashamed to admit it, but ­”

David’s laughing admission was never finished.  Over the monotonous complaint of the rain rose a sound which made their hearts stand still.  From the very depths of the narrow valley floated up to them that unmistakable trumpet call, the Elf’s Horn.