"Look at Stannard's map," said Deering, with a smile. "Note the row of ranges and valleys running north and south. But the big ridges and furrows are not even; they're broken by high bench country and cut up by cross-spurs. Pretty awkward ground to search for two fellows' tracks! Our trouble's not to hide, but to get supplies. All the food they use in British Columbia comes in by the C. P. R."
Jimmy studied the map and agreed. Moreover, he was young and the wilds called. To plunge into the great desolation was something of an adventure and Deering claimed to know the bush.
"What about your hired man? Did you trust the fellow?" Deering resumed.
"I had no grounds to doubt him," Jimmy replied in a thoughtful voice. "Bob was rather inscrutable and didn't attract me, but he could chop and this was all I wanted."
"So far as you can calculate, he hadn't a pick on you?"
"Not at all. I think he was satisfied with his pay, and since I generally let him plan the work we did not dispute. All the same, sometimes I imagined he gave me a queer moody look."
"Do you think he was, in any sense, Stannard's man?"
"Certainly not," said Jimmy, with some surprise. "Anyhow, I don't see—"
"I don't see," Deering admitted. "I'm looking for a light, but don't get much yet. Well, when you have smoked your pipe we'll hit the trail."
They got off a few minutes afterwards, and at noon reached the bottom of the hill. A high spur blocked the valley behind them, and the echoes of small avalanches rolled across the rocks. Deering declared the sliding snow would cover their tracks at the neck, but their line was to some extent obvious, and until they could break it, they must push on as fast as possible.