When the roar of the Rapids finally ceased, the river fog cleared somewhat and, with the help of the stars, the outline of the river became plainer below.
“How much longer?” asked Paul in a tired tone.
“We’ve been coming pretty slow,” was Norman’s cheery response. “We’ll hit her up a bit. It’s forty miles to the camp, but we’ll save a little by cutting out the big bend. See if I ain’t there in three-quarters of an hour.”
“I’d think they’d have a light for us.”
“If they’re all asleep,” answered Norman.
But they were not asleep. Some apprehension on the part of even Roy had kept him and the colonel wide awake. When it grew dark and the monoplane had not returned, he made a fire of cordwood and during the long evening renewed it constantly. At half past one the Gitchie Manitou concluded its second successful trip.
The answer brought to Colonel Howell, in response to his telegram, appeared to be highly satisfactory to that gentleman. As he read it in the light of Roy’s poplar wood signal fire, he remarked:
“I told you young men that you didn’t know how much you might be worth to me. If I hadn’t made good on that option, there’s no way to tell what I might have lost. I wouldn’t let go the deal I made to-day for twenty-five thousand dollars.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t have anything to do with it,” exclaimed the benumbed Paul, “but I’m glad I got a ride at last.”
Colonel Howell opened his mouth as if to make reply and then checked himself with a smile. The words behind his lips were: “And a month ago you’d have probably spoiled any deal you had a finger in.”