NOVEMBER JOE
"Here it is. Hung up in a snag. . . . Seadog match he used." Then, catching my eye, he went on: "Unless he was a fool, he'd light his match with his face to the wind, would n't he? And most right-handed men 'ud throw the match thereabouts where I hunted for it."
Well on in the afternoon the trail led out to the banks of a wide and shallow stream, into the waters of which they disappeared. Here we overtook Evans. He was standing by the ashes of a fire almost on the bank.
He looked up as we appeared. "That you, Joe? Chap's took to the water," said the game warden, "but he'll have to do more than that to shake me off."
"Chap made this too?" inquired November with a glance at the dead fire.
Evans nodded. "Walked steady till he came here. Dunno what he lit the fire for. Carried grub, I s'pose."
"No, to cook that partridge," said Joe. I glanced at Evans, his face darkened, clearly this did not please him.
"Oh, he shot a partridge?"
"No," said Joe; "he noosed it back in the
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