"Can you locate him?" he asked in trembling tones. Mark nodded.
"Come on, then!"
In silence the two departed. Pa hardly noticed them; the burning fat claimed his entire attention.
Mark strode ahead toward the Hills and Billy, with the swing of the lonely patrols, brought up the rear.
It was the dining hour and Quinton was almost deserted in the hot August noon.
"Don't let's get het up," advised Mark presently; "city folks is powerful clever 'bout keepin' cool inside an' out."
"I'm already het!" panted Billy.
"Let's take it easier;" Mark paused in the path, and wiped his streaming face. They did not speak again until Thornly's hut was almost at their feet. Billy's face was grim and threatening, but Mark's showed signs of doubt and wavering. His recollections of city calm and coolness were not uplifting in this emergency. Folks in town had always outwitted Mark by their calmness.
Thornly's door was set open to strangers and whatever air was stirring. He, himself, was sitting inside, his back to his coming guests and his eyes upon the unfinished picture upon the easel.
Remnants of a chafing-dish meal were spread upon a small table, and silence brooded over all. It was only when Mark and Billy stood at the door that Thornly turned. The look of expectancy died in his eyes as he saw the weather-beaten countenance of Billy, and the shamefaced features of Mark.