He divided the twig in three small pieces—one shorter than the rest. He turned his back as he arranged them in his hand.
The unpleasant choice of remaining to guard the camp fell to Dick. For a moment his face clouded with disappointment as he gazed at the tell-tale straw.
“O well,” he comforted himself, “I’ll have my chance later on.”
Sandy and Toma rose joyfully to their feet, slung on their shoulder-packs and otherwise prepared for an immediate departure.
“We’ll be back before lunch time,” Sandy sang out, as the two made their way across the comparatively level piece of ground, and headed for the ravine.
“Good luck!” shouted Dick.
A few moments later they had disappeared.
“I hope they find it,” Dick mused, turning away. “Sandy will be overjoyed.”
He walked back to the packs, his thoughts in a whirl of excitement. A few feet away the packhorse grazed contentedly. The camp, since the departure of his two friends, had become strangely quiet. There was only the sound of the river to break the heavy, all-pervading silence.
Digging down in one of the packs, Dick brought forth presently a hook and line and afterward, cutting a pole from a clump of bushes and procuring a small piece of moose meat for bait, he turned his attention to the river.