Half an hour later as he left the cabin his face wore a set look that boded ill for the man on whose trail he followed.
CHAPTER XVIII
ADRIAN RAYNER’S STORY
“JOE, I thought I heard the yelping of dogs. Did you hear anything?”
The Indian shook his head and Dick Bracknell sank back on his improvised couch of spruce, with a sigh.
“Of course,” he muttered, “I’m dreaming. No, by Jove! I’m not. There it is again. Don’t you hear it, Joe?” This time the Indian nodded and going to the door of the cabin looked down the creek. Three men and a dog sled were coming up the trail. He turned and informed Bracknell of the fact. A thoughtful frown came on the sick man’s face.
“Who can they be? Not Roger, certainly, for it is but two days since he was here, and he had but one man with him. Perhaps——” Then as a thought struck him he broke off and cried excitedly, “I say, Joe, does one of the men look at all like a prisoner?”
The Indian shook his head.