He followed us to where the pack lay, slung it over his shoulder, and we once more tramped on, till a suitable spot was found for our camp—a regular niche in the side of the valley, with a small pine spreading its boughs overhead for shelter.
Here, in spite of the risk of bears, we decided to halt for the night, and a good fire was soon blazing; and as if regularly engaged as our servant, Quong set to work at once, and soon prepared our tea-supper, which was discussed as enjoyably as if we were in good quarters; and that night passed away as I lay rolled up in my blanket, just as if I closed my eyes in the darkness and opened them directly to see the warm glow of the sun lighting up the east, and Quong busy baking cakes in the embers, the tea-kettle steaming away close at hand.
The weariness and low spirits had passed away with the darkness, and after a splash in the stream close by, I felt ready for any amount of journeying.
As I came back from the stream I met Gunson coming towards me.
“Did you see anything?” he said, quietly.
“See anything? Only a squirrel.”
“Look down there.”
He gave his head a nod a little to the left, and I followed the direction of his eyes.
“Don’t start; don’t run,” he said, quietly. “If the Chinaman knows of it he will make a stampede into the forest, and we shall lose him.”
“But perhaps there is one close by,” I said, nervously.