"He must have heard you at that distance," he said.
"Yes," said Brooke, a trifle hoarsely. "If he didn't, there's only one thing that could have accounted for it."
Then they went on again slowly, until Brooke flung the door of the shanty open. There was no fire in the stove, and the place was very cold, while the darkness seemed oppressive.
"Strike a match—as soon as you can get it done," said the doctor.
Brooke broke several as he tore them off the block with half-frozen fingers, for the Canadian sulphur matches are not usually put up in boxes, and then a pale blue luminescence crept across the room when he held one aloft. It sputtered out, leaving a pungent odor, and thick darkness closed in again; but for a moment Brooke felt a curious relief.
"He's not here," he said.
The doctor understood the satisfaction in his voice, for his eyes had also turned straight towards the rough wooden bunk, and he had not expected to find it empty.
"The man must have been fit to walk. Where has he gone?" he said.
Brooke fancied he knew, and, groping round the room, found and lighted a lantern. Its radiance showed that his face was grim again.
"If you can manage to drag yourself as far as the mine, I think it would be advisable," he said. "It seems to me significant that the stove is quite cold. One would fancy there had been no fire in it for several hours now."