Not long before daybreak Deering woke up and looked about. Bob's pit-lamp, hanging from a beam, gave a dim light.
"Hello! Jimmy's not back!"
Stannard looked at the others and thought them asleep. Motioning to Deering to follow, he went to the door. He had pulled off his boots and Deering trod like a cat.
"Jimmy will not come back. He started for the plains, across the neck."
"You sent the kid across the hardest country in Alberta?"
"I don't know that I did send him; but we'll let it go. Jimmy's a mountaineer and he took the Indian."
"Shucks!" said Deering. "The Indian's a coast Siwash and not much use on the rocks. Jimmy's an English tenderfoot and has no Chinook. He can't talk to the Indian. I doubt if he's got a compass or a map."
"He has my map and I imagine an Indian does not need a compass," Stannard rejoined. "At all events, I didn't see another plan."
Deering looked at him hard. "Well, perhaps Jimmy's lucky because I was born and raised in the bush. Fix up a plausible tale for the policeman. When he wakes I'll be hitting Jimmy's trail."
He turned and his bulky figure melted in the dark. Stannard knew he was going to the barn to get food, and for a few moments knitted his brows. Then he shrugged philosophically and went back to the house.