“I don't know about that. But I'll get him some time or he'll get me,” replied Cameron as his face settled into grim lines. “Let's get back.”
“Are you quite fit?” inquired the Superintendent.
“Fit enough. Sore a bit in the head, but can navigate.”
“I can't tell you how disappointed and chagrined I feel. It isn't often that my wits are so slow but—” The Superintendent's jaws here cut off his speech with a snap. The one crime reckoned unpardonable in the men under his own command was that of failure and his failure to capture old Copperhead thus delivered into his hands galled him terribly.
“Well, good-night, Cameron,” said the Superintendent, looking out into the black night. “We shall let you know to-morrow the result of our scouting, though I don't expect much from it. He is much too clever to be caught in the open in this country.”
“Perhaps he'll skidoo,” said Dr. Martin hopefully.
“No, he's not that kind,” replied the Superintendent. “You can't scare him out. You have got to catch him or kill him.”
“I think you are right, sir,” said Cameron. “He will stay till his work is done or till he is made to quit.”
“That is true, Cameron—till he is made to quit—and that's your job,” said the Superintendent solemnly.
“Yes, that is my job, sir,” replied Cameron simply and with equal solemnity. “I shall do my best.”