his formal notification and claims "on record." This was no
publication of his actual secret, nor any indication of success,
but was only a record that would in all probability remain
unnoticed and unchallenged amidst the many other hopeful dreams of
sanguine prospectors. But he was suddenly startled from his
preoccupation.

"Ye said ye war straightenin' up yer pack just now," said Collinson
slowly.

"Yes!" said Key almost angrily, "and I was."

"Ye didn't stop to straighten it up down at the forks of the trail,
did ye?"

"I may have," said Key nervously. "But why?"

"Ye won't mind my axin' ye another question, will ye? Ye ain't
carryin' round with ye no woman's shoe?"

Key felt the blood drop from his cheeks. "What do you mean?" he
stammered, scarcely daring to lift his conscious eyelids to his
companion's glance. But when he did so he was amazed to find that
Collinson's face was almost as much disturbed as his own.

"I know it ain't the square thing to ask ye, but this is how it
is," said Collinson hesitatingly. "Ye see just down by the fork of
the trail where you came I picked up a woman's shoe. It sorter got
me! For I sez to myself, 'Thar ain't no one bin by my shanty,
comin' or goin', for weeks but you boys, and that shoe, from the