“As I understand it,” Sandy broke forth enthusiastically, “Sergeant Richardson is sending us out to the coast because he believes we can find the cache.”
“Yes,” answered Dick. “It’s an important undertaking, and we ought to be proud that the police have faith in our ability. Of course, we would never have been given the chance if Inspector Cameron wasn’t so short of men.”
“We make ’em mounted police glad they give us chance to go,” cut in Toma. “If cache anywhere along coast, we find it.”
“We certainly will,” said Sandy.
Walking leisurely along the banks of the river, the boys made their plans. So interested had they become, so absorbed in the contemplation of the proposed journey, that they found themselves presently out of sight of the trading post. They were crossing a narrow gulch, when Dick stopped short, glancing about him.
“No use going any farther,” he declared laughingly. “Let’s return to the post.”
Sandy took note of their surroundings and he too broke forth into an amused chuckle.
“Can you beat that!” he exclaimed. “We’ve been sauntering along not paying the least bit of attention. I had no idea we’d gone so far. We’re five miles from Fort Good Faith. A hundred yards on the other side of this gulch is where Run River trail crosses the river.”
As Sandy spoke, he turned back and led the way to the top of the gulch. Spruce and poplar grew thickly along the trail ahead. A light snow of a few days before, sifting down through the trees, had only partially covered the heavy carpet of dry leaves and grass.
“It will be several weeks yet before winter sets in in earnest,” observed Dick. “I hope the mounted police give us instructions to leave for the west coast before it does come. If we travel light, we’ll reach the Yellowhead Pass long before the extremely cold weather arrives.”