tiny island in Lake Huron, half a mile from shore, a rocky, precipitous islet locally known as Resurrection Rock. The name, a couple of centuries ago, was French—Isle de la Resurrection—a designation won by some event long forgotten. No one had lived there within recent generations except an Indian fisherman who had found Resurrection Rock too lonely and had departed. When Mackinac and Bois Blanc and other islands near the Straits came into demand as sites for summer homes, no one took enough interest in Resurrection Rock to inquire who might own it. But in 1905, some one bought the isle. The name of the purchaser, Marcellus Clarke of Chicago, meant nothing; and he never appeared. In his stead came a small, alert, observant man of thirty, by name Halford, who built himself a cabin upon the rock and abode there for several months, fishing a bit, gardening a little, but most of the time waiting, doing nothing. He welcomed any one who came to the island; he dined white man and red man; he encouraged conversation and confidences on the part of his callers; but he, himself, confided nothing.
Obviously he was there under orders; for regularly, at two-week intervals, he received at Quesnel, on the railroad, a letter from Marcellus Clarke, Chicago; regularly he dispatched an answer. After three months another young man—taller, a bit slower in action but quite as alert and keen-eyed—relieved him, likewise generous and keeping open cabin upon the island, welcoming acquaintance, silent as to his own business. Then he disappeared and was not relieved, and the island was deserted until the next summer when Halford returned for half a year alone. When he again departed, the cabin stood empty and the island abandoned until, in the summer of 1912, barges appeared and an-
