As he spoke a haughty ring crept into his voice and Blake was moved to compassion because he recognized it and found it ludicrous. Benson, who would not have used that tone in his normal state, belonged by right of birth to a ruling caste, and no doubt felt that he had been treated with indignity by a man of lower station. Harding, however, answered quietly—
"I am a paint factory drummer who has never had the opportunities you have enjoyed, but so long as we're up here in the wilds the only thing that counts is that we're men with the same weaknesses and feelings. Because that's so, and you're hard up against it, I and my partner mean to see you through."
"You can't unless I'm willing. Man, don't you realize that talking's of no use? The thing I'm driven by won't yield to words. What's more to the purpose, I didn't engage to go all the way with you. Now I've had enough, I'm going back to the settlement."
"Very well. You were right in claiming that there was no engagement of any kind. So far, we have found you in grub, but we're not bound to do so, and if you leave us, you must shift for yourself." Harding addressed Blake, who sat nearest the provisions. "You'll see that your friend doesn't touch those stores."
There was silence for a moment or two, and Benson, whose face was marked with baffled desire and scarcely controlled fury, glared at the others. Blake's expression was pitiful, but his lips were resolutely set; Harding's eyes were very keen and determined. Then Benson made a sign of resignation.
"It looks as if I were beaten. I may as well go to sleep."
He wrapped his blanket round him and lay down near the fire, and soon afterwards the others crept into the tent. Benson would be warm enough where he lay and they felt it a relief to get away from him.
Day was breaking when Blake rose and threw fresh wood on the fire, and as a bright flame leaped up, driving back the shadows, he saw that Benson was missing. This, however, did not disturb him, because the man had been restless and they had now and then heard him moving about at night. When the fire had burned up and he filled the kettle, without his seeing anything of his friend, he began to grow anxious and called loudly. There was no answer and he could hear no movement in the bush. The dark spruces had grown sharper in form; he could see some distance between the trunks, but everything was still. Then Harding came out of the tent.
"You had better look if the horses are there," he suggested.
Blake failed to find them near the muskeg, but as the light got clearer he saw tracks leading through the bush. Following these for a distance, he came upon the Indian pony, still hobbled, but the other, a powerful range horse, had gone. Mounting the pony, he rode back to camp, where he found Harding looking grave.