Thirlwell frowned. He had made no plans for the future and certainly did not mean to trade upon Agatha's gratitude, but he knew it would hurt him, so to speak, to drop out and let her look for other help.
"The lode isn't found yet," he rejoined.
"Anyhow, I feel that the girl or you ought to have got on the agent's track," Scott insisted. "He knew where Strange went, and saw him when he returned. It's possible that Strange confused his memory by his subsequent trips, but the agent heard his story when the matter was fresh."
Thirlwell did not answer, and Scott cut some tobacco. When he had finished he looked up the river.
"The bateaux! Antoine has made good time."
Two craft drew out of the shadow of the pines, slid down the swift current, and presently grounded on a gravel beach. They were of the canoe type, but larger, and their bottoms were flat, since they were rather built for carrying goods than paddling fast. There was a good water route to the rocky height of land, across which the cargo was brought on the freighters' backs from a river that joined the wagon trail to the settlements. As soon as they landed, the crews began to carry up boxes and packages, but a young man left the group and came towards the shack. He wore neat store-clothes that were not much the worse for the journey, and although his skin was somewhat dark, looked like a young business man from the cities.
"Which of you is Mr. Thirlwell?" he asked.
"I am," said Thirlwell. "Who are you?"
"Ian Drummond; the boys call me Jake. A son of Hector Drummond's of Longue Sault factory."
"Ah," said Scott, "this gets interesting! Did Hector Drummond send you?"