When the Indian had fried two or three thick steaks, Jimmy sympathized with Deering. The flesh was soft and its taste was rank. For all that, he thought if he had not seen the salmon he might have had a better appetite. At the hotel he had eaten because his food tempted him; now he ate because he must. By and by he threw down his tin plate.
"I've had enough. If we can find a deer, we must risk another cartridge. We have got twelve."
"You can't reckon on getting a deer for every shot, and although, as a rule, the deer are pretty numerous about the small clearings, in some belts of back country you can't find one. I expect they're attracted by the crops. In fact, the wild animals and large birds aren't much afraid of the ranchers; they quit when the automobiles and city sports arrive."
"But if we stop in the neighborhood of a settlement, the police may get on our trail," Jimmy rejoined.
"The police are smart and I allow they're obstinate. All the same, to search the rocks from Banff to Revelstoke is a big job. You can give yourself away by two things, shooting and smoke, but we can fix the smoke and we're not going to shoot much. As soon as we hit a proper spot, we'll build a shack."
"By and by our supplies will run out."
"That is so," Deering agreed. "In the meantime, we're baffling the police. Just now I expect they're busy looking for our tracks, but they have got other jobs and can't keep it up. Well, when we think they're forced to quit, we'll find a plan——"
He stopped and the Indian turned his head. A faint, hoarse bark came from the distance and echoed across the valley. Jimmy jumped up and looked about. The light was going and the pines were blurred.
"A dog?" he said.
"A timber wolf," said Deering. "He's not alone. I hear another."