"A white man's camp; they had a tent," he said.
"Sure," agreed the Metis. "Teepee poles they not mak' hole lak' dat."
"Well, I reckon a sour-dough prospector wouldn't have bothered about a tent. Looks as if one of them was a tenderfoot. Qu'en pense-tu?"
The Metis' keen eyes had wandered round the camp and he nodded. "But, yes! Dat man sait vivre; he lak' it comfortable."
"A city man!" Thirlwell remarked, with a frown. How many packers?"
"Quat," said the Metis.
"Voyageurs?"
The Metis laughed scornfully as he indicated the trampled brush, broken branches, greasy papers, and scraps of food. "Me, I think no! Railroad outfit. Voyageur not muss up camp lak' dat."
Thirlwell agreed. A half-breed voyageur does not waste food, and with inherited caution seldom disturbs the bush. It looked as if the city man had engaged a gang of track-layers, who are used to pioneering and sometimes carry surveyors' stores through the wilds.
"Well," he said, "we'll follow their trail."