"You can't track her," the breed said scornfully.
"My partner is waiting for me at the Forks," lied Ralph. "He's got a dugout."
"Where the hell did you pick up a pardner?" Joe burst out, forgetting himself.
Ralph opened his eyes wide in affected surprise. "Well, say, give me time," he drawled, "and I'll tell you all my private business!"
The laugh was fairly on Joe. He flung away with a muttered curse.
Ralph, embarking, paddled no farther than around the first bend. Here he made his camp on the same side of the river as the others. He thought it likely Stack would try to communicate with him during the night. Ralph was highly satisfied with the results of the evening's entertainment. Besides winning about fifty dollars, he had shown them he was not afraid, and he had put them, he hoped, on a false scent as to his destination.
He made a little fire, and retired under his shelter, but not to sleep. He had plenty to occupy his mind. After an hour or so he heard a rustle in the underbrush, and presently a scared voice whispering:
"Doctor Cowdray! Doctor Cowdray!"
Ralph sprang up.
"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" cried the voice in terror. "It's only me, Stack."