At the top of the bench a few hundred yards from where Jack was working, the trail from over the portage divided. One branch came down to Camp Trangmar and the river; the other turned west along the edge of the bench, and became the Fort Erskine trail. A mile or two up the valley the latter was joined by the trail that led directly west from Camp Trangmar.
As Jack stood breathing himself after a spell of chopping, he became aware of the sound of horses' footfalls coming along the Fort Erskine trail. There was no sound of a bell. Struck by this fact, he bent his head to listen attentively. It is exceptional for the horses to stray away from the one of their number who is belled. Moreover, to Jack's experienced ears, these had the sound of laden horses. He could not guess who it might be, but Indians or whites, they would hardly ride so near to Camp Trangmar without coming in, unless they had a reason to avoid observation. He therefore dropped his axe, and ran up the hill to intercept whoever was coming, and make them account for themselves.
At the forks of the trail to his astonishment he came face to face with Mary and Davy mounted, and leading their two pack-horses. The bell of the leading horse had been silenced with a wisp of grass. At the sight of Jack they pulled up in obvious embarrassment. Jack's heart went down like a stone in deep water.
"You're pulling out?" he faltered.
"What else was there for us to do?" said Mary coldly.
"Without telling me?" cried Jack reproachfully.
"I didn't want to," put in Davy eagerly. "Mary said we had to."
Pride, indignation, and exquisite discomfort struggled in Mary's face. "It seemed easier," she said. "I'm sorry we met you. There's nothing to say!"
"But Mary—Mary!" urged Jack, scarcely knowing what he said, but filled with his need of her. "Not like this! Wait until to-morrow. Who knows what may happen to-morrow!"
"What can happen?" said Mary. "More humiliating scenes?"