Dick steeled himself and looked down. Ahead and far below he perceived a faint effulgence—like glow-worms shining feebly across a vale of darkness.
Not long afterward they began to descend. Hills took shape. The wide ribbon of the Peace and the Hart, cascading down through the hills to join it. The shape of trees, the rugged contours of the land and, finally, straight below them, a level field, which seemed to come up, up, up to meet them, and upon which, a short time later, they landed in safety.
“Here!” exclaimed the jovial voice of Alderby.
In the chill, gray light of dawn, Dick followed Randall past the hangar and into the town. His heart was beating jubilantly.
His companion led the way through the streets of the little town, pausing at length in front of a small brick building, which served as an office for the government telegraph. The door was locked, but following a short rattling at the knob, they were admitted by a sleepy operator, who demanded to know their business.
In a few words, Randall explained the reason for their early call.
“We would like to know,” he continued, “if you have any information concerning a smallpox epidemic in the north, or of a relief party which has been sent out from Edmonton?”
“Yes, I know something about it.”
The operator invited them inside and switched on the lights. He in turn asked a question of Randall:
“Is this one of the young men Cameron instructed to come here to meet the relief party?”