"Good!" said the Indian.
Five minutes later they were afloat once more, and in a few minutes had landed on the further side.
"You stop here with the canoe, Joe," said Ainley picking up his rifle. "I'll go and hunt up the fellow. If you hear me call, come along at once."
The Indian nodded and proceeded to fill a pipe, whilst the white man, following the track made by many feet portaging from one river to the other, moved into the woods. He made no attempt at concealment, nor did he move with caution, for he was assured that in the dense wood a man burdened with a canoe could not turn aside from the path without disaster overtaking him. If he kept straight on he was bound to meet the man whom he sought.
That conviction proved to be well-grounded. He had been walking less than ten minutes when he caught sight of the canoe lying directly in his way, with the man who had been carrying it, seated on the ground with his back against a tree, smoking. As the man caught sight of him he started to his feet and stretched his hand towards a gun reposing against a trunk. Holding his own rifle ready for action, Ainley shouted reassuring words to the man, and then moved quickly forward. The man, a half-breed, the same man who had stolen Stane's canoe, gave one keen glance at him and then dropping his hand from the gun, awaited his coming.
"Why did you run away when I shouted a while back?" asked Ainley sharply.
"I not run," answered the half-breed, insolently. "I carry the canoe, an' I tink I not wait. Dat is all."
Ainley looked at the man thoughtfully. There was something furtive about the fellow, and he was sure that the reason given was not the real one.
"Then why are you waiting here?" he asked with a directness that in no way nonplussed the other.
"I take what you call a breather," answered the man stolidly. "What matter to you?"