Here lived Lem Horn and his wife and two sons, Eli, a young man of twenty-one years, and Mark, nineteen years of age.
"There's no smoke," observed Jamie.
"Maybe they're all down to Fort Pelican getting their winter outfit," suggested David.
"There seems to be no one about but the dogs," said Doctor Joe, as he stepped ashore with the painter and made it fast, while Lem's big sledge dogs, lolling in the sun, watched them curiously.
Visitors do not knock in Labrador.

The cabins are always open to travellers whether or not the host is at home.

Andy was in advance, and opening the door he stopped on the threshold with an exclamation of horror.
Stretched upon the floor lay Lem Horn, his face and hair smeared with blood, and on the floor near him was a small pool of blood.

A chair was overturned, and Lem's legs were tangled in a fish-net.
Doctor Joe leaned over the prostrate figure.
"Shot," said he, "and from behind!" "Does you mean somebody shot he ?" asked David, quite horrified.
"Yes, and it must have happened yesterday," said Doctor Joe.
[Illustration: STRETCHED UPON THE FLOOR LAY LEM HORN].