“I’ll come,” she replied.
They walked back to the tent in silence. She noticed that the note had gone from the flap. How he had tracked her down was a mystery. He refrained from mentioning the adventure, but she saw that it had had a great effect upon him. He ate no supper, but sat smoking through the mosquito-netting, gazing pensively at the starry heavens. When they retired he uttered his customary “Good-night, Angela.”
“Good-night,” she replied.
The next morning found him busy caulking a big flat-bottomed boat, which was already half 148 laden with stores. She looked at him inquiringly.
“Going down the river,” he informed her. “I’ve staked two claims along a creek called ‘Red Ruin.’”
“Is it far?”
“Matter of five miles.”
“A-ah!”
The remaining gear was placed in the boat. Angela took a seat in the bows whilst Jim threw his weight on the pole, the sole means of propulsion. There was a loud crack, and the punter was almost thrown over the side as the rotten pole broke in the middle. The strong current sent the craft whirling down-stream. Jim grabbed a coil of rope, made it fast to a ring-bolt, and went over the side. He reached the bank and pulled the craft inshore.
“Throw out the ax. I’ll go cut a new pole.”