Batley made a gesture of acquiescence.
“Oh, well! We must try to be friends as long as possible.”
Nothing more was said about the matter, and they spent the day forcing a passage through scrub timber, up precipitous hillsides, and across long stony ridges.
There was no sign of Gladwyne’s trail, but that did not trouble Lisle, for he knew where the man was heading for. On the second day Batley showed signs of distress, and Nasmyth and Crestwick were walking very wearily, but Lisle held on at a merciless pace. It was essential that he should reach the cache before Gladwyne could interfere with it. Toward evening, Nasmyth made an effort and caught up with Lisle.
“How would Clarence get across to the second cache on the other side of the water?” he asked. “It’s a point I’ve been considering; I suppose it’s occurred to you.”
“I don’t know,” Lisle confessed. “The Indians near the divide said there was another party with canoes somewhere lower down; but, as the packer who was with me didn’t talk to them, so far as I noticed, I don’t see how Gladwyne could have heard of it; but that’s as far as I can go. If he destroyed the first cache, it would help to clear him, unless you can vouch for the correctness of the list I made; but he may have some further plan in his mind.” He paused and raised his hand. “Listen! Isn’t that the river? We can’t be far from the cache.”
The day, like the two or three preceding it, had been hot and bright, and now that evening was drawing on, the still air was heavy with the smell of the cedars in a neighboring hollow. A high ridge stood out black against a vivid green glow, and from beyond it there rose a faint, hoarse murmur. Nasmyth welcomed it gladly as announcing the end of the march.
“The rest of the party can hardly be down until to-morrow; there’s a couple of portages,” he said. “It looks as if we’ll have to go without our supper.”
“I don’t want to see them before morning,” Lisle returned grimly.
They pushed on, the light growing dimmer as they went, until at length the moon rose from behind the ridge; and when they had skirted the ridge they saw the river glimmer beneath them in a flood of silvery radiance. It filled the gorge with its deep murmur, for the hot sunshine for three days had melted the snow, which had poured down to swell the flood by every gully. Not far below the neck the broken surface was flecked with white where the river swept angrily over a sharper slope of its bed, and a black boulder or two stood out in the midst of the rushing foam. Up-stream of this there was a strip of shingle which Nasmyth recognized as the one where the cache had been made; he supposed that Lisle had struck the spot by heading for the narrow rift of the neck, which was conspicuous for some distance from both sides.