"Professor, pardon me, that will not do," said Paul D'Arnot. "You have lost your glasses and cannot see even a foot in front of your face. It is I who shall go, and I promise that I shall bring your daughter home safely."
"And I, too," cried Clayton.
"Mon ami, a word in your ear," said the Frenchman quietly, and drew Clayton aside. "If we should both go, who will guard the Professor from harm? There are savage animals here, and besides, to be frank, I do not like the look of your baggageman."
After some discussion, it was agreed that D'Arnot would go in search of the missing girl, and that if he did not return in two days, the rest would go in search of him; meanwhile, if Jane should return, Clayton would fire a pistol in order to alert him. D'Arnot, with a few provisions hastily thrust into a traveling case, slipped into the forest.
D'Arnot guessed that the girl had followed the path beside the stream, but he did not see the traces where she had wandered away from it; he pursued the stream, therefore, and at nightfall he made camp miles distant from the place where Tarcan and Jane lay.
On the following day he pressed on into the wilderness, heavy of heart, for he did not believe that Jane would ever be found. The sun was low when, in a little clearing, he stopped short. Facing him across the greensward, motionless and menacing, was a gigantic coyote. Seeing his hesitation, the beast bared its fangs and charged.
D'Arnot was a brave man, but he was unarmed. He sprang for the nearest tree and scrambled up it. Then, in a moment of horror, he realized that a branch to which he had trusted his weight was rotten; it parted with a sickening crack and D'Arnot plummeted to the ground. His head struck a stone, and he knew no more.
In the morning Tarcan examined the girl's ankle and found it still swollen; he picked her up again and started back toward the camp. Jane lay in his arms with a feeling of perfect trust, glancing up now and then through her lashes at his strong, soiled face. She fell into a daydream; she wished the journey might last forever.
All too soon, she saw that they were approaching the camp. Tarcan set her down gently and said,
"You'll be all right now."
"Jane!" came a joyful shout, and she saw the little group hurrying toward her. "We've all been so worried." cried Clayton, "but here you are safe and sound!"
"Yes, thanks to Mr.—" She turned around to introduce Tarcan, but he was gone. The others gathered around her, and old Professor Potter pressed her to his trembling breast, murmuring, "My child! My child!"
"But where is D'Arnot?" Clayton said suddenly.
"I don't understand—isn't Monsieur D'Arnot here?"
In a few words they explained what had happened, and Clayton, recollecting himself with a start, drew out his pistol and fired it repeatedly into the air. The echoes of the reports died away into silence.
"He will hear the signal and come," said Clayton.
"But what if he does not? Suppose something dreadful has happened to him? Oh, dear, and it would be my fault!"
Tarcan, who had been listening in the shelter of the trees, turned and walked away from the camp. He did not know this D'Arnot, but Jane was concerned about him, and that was enough. He found the Frenchman's footprints quickly in the soft earth along the stream, and followed them. He saw where Jane had turned aside, and how the Frenchman, missing the almost imperceptible traces of her passage, had continued along the bank. By late afternoon, moving more swiftly and surely than D'Arnot had, he had found the latter's dead campfire. Pausing only to eat a can of beans, he pressed on. The sun was low when he stepped into a clearing and beheld an appalling sight. The man he sought was in the act of toppling from a tree, while a slavering coyote advanced toward him.
With Tarcan, to think was to act. As he ran forward, he drew his clasp knife from his pocket and opened the deadly blade. The great beast turned at his approach and launched itself in a snarling attack. The impact bowled Tarcan over, but even as he fell beneath the weight of the ferocious beast, his knife drank deep. With a shuddering convulsion, the coyote fell dead.
He found D'Arnot unconscious beneath the tree, with a great bloody welt on his forehead. Tarcan dragged him out of the underbrush carefully, and made sure he had no broken bones; but the blow to his head was injury enough, and it was plain that the man was in no condition to be moved. Tarcan made a bed of branches for the wounded man, built a rude shelter over him, and laid a cold compress on his head. As evening fell, he butchered the coyote and cooked some of the meat in a tin can; it would make a nourishing stew. The rest of the carcass he carried several hundred yards downstream and tossed into the undergrowth, lest it attract other predators.
That night, indeed, other coyotes found the carcass, tore it apart and dragged the remnants away, so that on the following afternoon, when Clayton and his party reached the spot they saw that D'Arnot's footprints led to a great bloody smear in the shrubbery. Sadly they returned to their camp, and sadly, two days later, they boarded the rescue train which had been sent by McTaggart. Meanwhile, D'Arnot lay for two days in delirium while Tarcan patiently nursed him. It was three weeks before the Frenchman was strong enough to travel, and during that time the two men became fast friends. Tarcan showed D'Arnot his treasures, including the locket, the folder with its two photographs, the journal and the children's book. D'Arnot read them with fascination. "But, mon dieu," he exclaimed, "this means that you yourself, and not Clayton, are the heir to millions!"
"That can't be." said Tarcan. "The baby's bones were there."
"Let me see," said the Frenchman, taking the children's book again. "Here are the fingerprints of that baby. Now let us examine yours." Taking a sheet of paper from his pocket, he pressed Tarcan's fingertips upon it one after another. There was no need for ink; Tarcan's fingers were grimy enough. When the task was done, the Frenchman minutely compared the prints with the aid of a pocket magnifying glass. "It is possible," he muttered. "But we must be sure—too much is at stake. Let me borrow this book, my friend, and when we get back to civilization I will show it to a policeman that I know. He will tell us."
A few days later Tarcan pronounced D'Arnot fit to travel, and the two friends retraced their steps to the lonely cabin beside the railroad track. It was empty, but on the desk Tarcan found an envelope bearing his name in a feminine hand. Tearing it open, he read:
Dear Tarcan,
We all wanted to thank you for your kindness, but the rescue train has arrived and we must go. If you are ever in Boston, please call on me.
Jane Potter
He showed the note to D'Arnot. "And will you accept the invitation?" the Frenchman inquired. Tarcan shook his head. "She's rich, and I'm a 'bo."
"My friend, once I was rich too, and if only I had the chest which was stolen from me, there would be plenty for both of us; but, alas—"
"What chest is that?" Tarcan asked abruptly. D'Arnot explained about the chest of gold that had mysteriously disappeared from the train. Tarcan, in turn, told him of the scene he had witnessed. "I dug the chest up and buried it again, like a packrat," he said. "We'll get it, and then you'll be rich."
"We shall be rich, mon ami! Do you think I spoke in jest? No, half of all I have is yours!" Tarcan dug up the chest and they set out along the track until they reached the grade, several miles away, where the fast freights slowed down. They boarded the first train and rode it as far as the nearest station, where D'Arnot paid for the rest of their passage to Boston, and also bought a full set of clothing and luggage for each of them. Bathed, shaved, and dressed in the fashion, Tarcan was, D'Arnot declared, the picture of a gentleman; but his manner left something to be desired.