“Bill Mitchell,” he replied with the shrug and the aggrieved look that were characteristic of him. “Who the hell are you?”
“I am Conacher of the surveying outfit, and this is Miss Blackburn.”
“Blackburn’s daughter!” exclaimed the old man with widening eyes. “Do you mean to tell me you’ve come down from Blackburn’s Post this away!”
Conacher was not anxious to go into lengthy explanations. “We’re expecting to join my outfit on the Sinclair River,” he said quickly. “How far are we from the Sinclair?”
“Matter of ten mile. There’s one rapid between.”
“Well, thank God!” cried Conacher fervently. “Have you seen the surveying outfit?”
“Spelled with them three days since,” replied the old man. “They’re working up-stream slow. Ought to be off the mouth of the Mud River some time to-morrow.”
Conacher and Loseis exchanged a beaming look. All their troubles rolled away. “Well, we didn’t manage that so badly,” said the former, conceitedly.
“What are you doing here?” Conacher asked of the old man.
“Me?” he answered with his disgruntled look; “what do you think I’m doin’? I’m prospectin’ this river. It ain’t never been prospected.”