"What! Do you mean to leave him behind?" asked Rampike.
"Does he look as if he could do another week's tramping?" retorted Ned, glancing at the limp, worn-out figure of his friend. "He has pluck enough to try, but he would only hinder me."
"If that's so, I'll chuck my claim and come along too."
"Nonsense, you can't afford to lose your claim; and, besides, you couldn't help me."
"Couldn't help you! How's that?" snorted Rampike indignantly.
"A man can always hunt better alone than with another fellow. One makes less noise than two in the woods."
"But you ain't going hunting?"
"Yes I am,—hunting big game too." And there was a light in Ned Corbett's eye, as he overhauled his Winchester, that looked bad for an enemy.
"You ain't afraid of—losing your way?" asked Rampike. He was going to say "You ain't afraid of Cruickshank, are you?" but a look on Corbett's face stopped that question.
"No, I'm used to the woods," Ned answered shortly; and then again for a while the two men smoked on in silence.