Nancy slipped out. “I'm unpacked,” said she. “Oh, what a splendid hill to go down! We'll go like anything.”
“Yes, that surely is the trail,” Clallam pursued. “I can see away down where somebody's left a wheel among them big stones. But where does he keep his ferry-boat? And where does he keep himself?”
“Now, John, if it's here we're to go down, don't you get to studying over something else. It'll be time enough after we're at the bottom. Nancy, here's your chair.” Mrs. Clallam began lifting the lighter things from the wagon.
“Mart,” said the father, “we'll have to chain lock the wheels after we're empty. I guess we'll start with the worst. You and me'll take the stove apart and get her down somehow. We're in luck to have open country and no timber to work through. Drop that bedding mother! Yourself is all you're going to carry. We'll pack that truck on the horses.”
“Then pack it now and let me start first. I'll make two trips while you're at the stove.”
“There's the man!” said Nancy.
A man—a white man—was riding up the other side of the river. Near the cabin he leaned to see something on the ground. Ten yards more and he was off the horse and picked up something and threw it away. He loitered along, picking up and throwing till he was at the door. He pushed it open and took a survey of the interior. Then he went to his horse, and when they saw him going away on the road he had come, they set up a shouting, and Mart fired a signal. The rider dived from his saddle and made headlong into the cabin, where the door clapped to like a trap. Nothing happened further, and the horse stood on the bank.
“That's the funniest man I ever saw,” said Nancy.
“They're all funny over there,” said Mart. “I'll signal him again.” But the cabin remained shut, and the deserted horse turned, took a few first steels of freedom, then trotted briskly down the river.
“Why, then, he don't belong there at all,” said Nancy.