"Well, what are we to do?" broke in Chance. "You calculated the time, and said that we had enough and to spare."
"I know I did, but I made a mistake."
"Oh to blazes with your mistakes, Colonel Cruickshank," cried Chance angrily; "they seem to me a bit too expensive to occur quite so often."
"Don't lose your temper, my good sir. I couldn't help it, but I am willing to atone for it. I calculated as if April had thirty-one days in it, and it hasn't; and, besides, I've dropped a day on the road somehow."
"Looking for horses," growled Roberts, "or shooting grouse, maybe."
"What do you propose to do, Colonel Cruickshank?" asked Corbett, whose face alone seemed still perfectly under his own control.
"Well, Mr. Corbett, I've led you into the scrape, so I must get you out of it. If either you or Roberts will stay with me I'll bring the horses on for you to Williams Creek, whilst the rest can start away right now and make the best of their time to the claims. You could do the distance all right if it wasn't for the pack-ponies."
"But how could I stay?" asked Corbett.
"Well, you needn't, of course, if Roberts doesn't mind staying; otherwise you could assign your interest in your claim to him, and he could go on and hold it for you."
"But it will be deuced hard work for two men to manage nine pack-ponies over such a trail as this."