Ainley still was in a fog, but when they had landed and had started to follow a well-defined path through the forest, he understood. The direction they were following would bring them to the bank of the tributary river, perhaps a mile and a half from the meeting of the waters; and the path which the stranger was following would bring him out on the opposite side of the river. If Joe were right the lower portage was the shorter, and, notwithstanding that the other man had the start, they could reach the river first and would be able to force a meeting on him however much he wished to avoid them.
After half an hour's steady trudging through the woods, they came in sight of the water once more, and set their burdens down behind a screen of bushes.
"We first," said the Indian after a cautious survey of the empty river. "Wait! He come."
Seated behind the screening bushes they waited, watching the other side of the river. Half an hour passed and the man for whom they watched did not appear. Then the Indian spoke.
"The man know," he said. "He wait till we go."
"But why should he be afraid?" asked Ainley sharply.
"I not know! But he wait."
"Then if the mountain won't come to Mahomet, Mahomet must go to the mountain."
"What that?" asked the Indian.
"We will cross the river," said Ainley. "We will go look for him."