“Mebbe—dunno how fas' he go,” said Jerry.
“By the way, Jerry, when do we eat?” inquired Cameron.
“Pull belt tight,” said Jerry with a grin. “Hit at cache on trail.”
“Do you mean to say you had the good sense to cache some grub, Jerry, on your way down?”
“Jerry lak' squirrel,” replied the half-breed. “Cache grub many place—sometam come good.”
“Great head, Jerry. Now, where is the cache?”
“Halfway Kananaskis to Ghost Reever.”
“Then, Jerry, we must make that Ghost River trail and make it quick if we are to intercept Copperhead.”
“Bon! We mus' mak' beeg speed for sure.” And “make big speed” they did, with the result that by midday they struck the trail not far from Jerry's cache. As they approached the trail they proceeded with extreme caution, for they knew that at any moment they might run upon Copperhead and his band or upon some of their Indian pursuers who would assuredly be following them hard. A careful scrutiny of the trail showed that neither Copperhead nor their pursuers had yet passed by.
“Come now ver' soon,” said Jerry, as he left the trail, and, plunging into the brush, led the way with unerring precision to where he had made his cache. Quickly they secured the food and with it made their way back to a position from which they could command a view of the trail.