"All the same, three have lit out."
"There's the puzzle; the warden was hit by one bullet. I own I don't see much light; but I think you sketched the clearing."
Simpson pulled out a note-book and Stannard remarked that the plan of the ground was carefully drawn. He thought the spots the sportsmen had occupied were accurately marked; distances and the lines of the warden's and Simpson's advance were indicated.
"The thing's like a map," he said. "How did you fix the positions?"
"I carry a compass and can step off a measurement nearly right. At Regina they teach us to study tracks, but I was at a surveyor's office before I joined up."
"Then, you are a surveyor?" said Stannard with keen interest, for he saw the accuracy of the plan was important.
Simpson smiled. "Surveying's a close profession. I was a clerk, but I copied plans and sometimes the boss took me out to help pull the measuring chain. Well, I guess that plan will stand!"
When Stannard gave back the book his look was thoughtful, but he said, "Until the doctor arrives, we must concentrate on keeping Douglas alive. To begin with, we'll get the packers to make a branch bed and light a fire."
Douglas lived, but, so far as the others could see, this was all. He hardly moved and he did not talk, but sometimes at night his skin got hot and he raved in a faint broken voice. A packer shot some willow grouse and they made broth, and Stannard put away the party's small stock of liquor and canned delicacies for his use. Sometimes he swallowed a little food, but for the most part he lay like a log in blank unconsciousness.
Simpson, Stannard, and a packer watched, and before long Stannard knew the trooper was his man. He had qualities that attracted trustful youth and used his talent cleverly. For all that, when the doctor and an officer of the mounted police arrived, Stannard's look was worn and Simpson's relief was keen. The officer sent Stannard from the room, but ordered him to wait at the barn.