"Mon Dieu!" the Frenchman remarked, "you must not eat pork chops in your fingers, Tarcan! Do as I do." Tarcan copied him patiently, and soon learned to eat as daintily as any aristocrat. Arriving in Boston, they found that the Potters had left for their summer cottage in Brattleboro. D'Arnot had business in the city, including a visit to the policeman he had mentioned, but Tarcan could not wait; he hired a car and set out for Vermont.
Jane Potter was in a quandary. Clayton, who had accompanied them to the summer cottage, had been increasingly attentive of late, and she knew, with the intuition of womankind, that he was about to propose. Clayton loved her; he was young, handsome, rich, and he would do his best to make her happy: but her heart was with the strange forest man who had borne her off into the wilderness.
"Dear Jane," Clayton said to her when they were alone that afternoon—"I may call you Jane, mayn't I? You must know, dear, how I feel about you. I want you to marry me. Won't you say yes?"
"Yes," she said.
Afterward, pleading a headache, she retired to her room and waited until the others had gone off on their various errands; then she strolled out of the house into a little wood that ran along the railroad track. The scene reminded her of her forest love, and she wandered deeper into the trees, unaware of the black cloud that hung ominously on the horizon.
When at last she smelled the smoke and saw it drifting through the trees, it was too late. She stumbled away from the oncoming flames, only to find another line of fire racing across her path. Suddenly she heard her name called; a tall stranger was running toward her. Without a word he caught her up in his arms and bounded back the way he had come.
On the railroad track, a little distance away, stood a small handcar. The stranger deposited her on it without ceremony, climbed aboard himself, and began to pump. It was only then that Jane saw his face clearly. "You!" she said.
"Yes, me, Tarcan."
"And you've saved my life again!" she marveled.
"Not yet," said Tarcan grimly. On both sides of the railway, trees were blazing fiercely; flaming bits of debris rained upon them, and they were blinded by smoke. Then, little by little, the flames receded, and they were hurtling down the track in clear air again.
Near the cottage, Tarcan brought the handcar to a halt and handed Jane down. In a moment he had clasped her in his strong arms. "I love you, Jane," he said. "I want you to be my wife." Her eyes were downcast. "I am promised to another," she said.
"Clayton?"
"Yes."
"And do you love him?"
"Please don't ask me that."
Back at the cottage, Clayton and Professor Potter received Jane joyfully. They were wonderstruck when Jane introduced Tarcan as the mysterious forest wanderer who had rescued her in the wilderness. Professor Potter stammered his gratitude, and Clayton offered him a cigar. Shortly thereafter a messenger came to the door with a telegram. "Why, it's for you," said the Professor in surprise. "Dear me, how did they know you were here?"
"Pardon me," said Tarcan, and ripped the envelope open. The message read: Fingerprints prove you Clayton heir.
D'Arnot
Tarcan glanced at his cousin, who was pouring himself a whiskey and soda at the sideboard. Clayton was handsome, well-groomed, and soft; he had never boarded a moving freight in his life, or faced the charge of an enraged coyote. With a word, Tarcan could take away his fortune, and his woman as well.
"I say," Clayton smiled, crossing the room to him. "This is all very extraordinary, you know. How did you come to be in that wilderness in the first place, if you don't mind my asking?" Tarcan folded the telegram and put it in his pocket. "I was born there," he said deliberately. "My mother was a giant hobo; I never knew my father."