The two men did not notice us—they kept steadily on: we could just see one was carrying a pack, the other pulling a little laden sledge behind him. They were heading up the river, and in due course would cross our trail, then, perhaps, would follow it, which was a serious aspect of the case indeed! They would not only find our boat, but could trace us to our dug-out, where all was at their mercy. What could be done? Nothing. We could only put our trust in God that all would be well.
I kept silence to May on these points, and hoped that she would not be troubled by the same fears.
One thing satisfied us both now, and that was that the trail across the river was really made by people, and from what we saw of the way the strangers got along it, it was very much better than where we had been travelling, so with one accord we packed up, and with a will hauled our sled across the river and hit that trail.
The fresh traces of the men were minutely examined. The leader had worn snow-shoes, the other boots—we could see the heel marks. This hardly pointed to Indians, nor old hands—for all but the greenest tender-feet wear mocassins, in the winter there.
This trail was a great improvement; we moved along it quickly—two miles an hour at least!
We had gone perhaps five miles; it was, we thought, getting on for four that afternoon; we were resting, when against a rather dense growth of firs we thought we saw smoke rising.
Now you must understand that we were both in a flutter of excitement all that afternoon. We had said little to each other about it, but I know we felt that we were likely at any moment to meet with some adventure, pleasant or the reverse. We were all eyes and ears. I could see May glance hurriedly and look intently, now in one direction, now in another. Even the dog appeared to be expecting something: as for me, I knew, of course, that very soon a great change would come in our lives, my thoughts were occupied with this subject, and I was trying to think how I should deal with every episode that I could imagine might arise. Once or twice before, we had stopped to gaze around as May or I had cried, "What is that over there?" But up to the present it had turned out to be merely a curious stump, or uproot, or some such bush object. We were on the qui vive.
So we considered for a little that we might be mistaken about this appearance also. It might be a wisp of snow lifted by the wind, or some shaken from the trees by a passing breeze: however, I soon saw that it was very blue, that it was rising steadily, that it was no hallucination, and that it was smoke, certainly.
A very momentous time had arrived. "My dear May," I murmured, "that is smoke—that means a camp, most likely of white people. Our lonely life ends the moment we arrive there."
"Oh, what a good thing!" she cried; "but why look so serious?"