Jim shrugged.
“Maybe at a walk.”
“Wal, git right on.”
Jim obeyed. It would have been madness to refuse. But his brain was desperately busy.
They rode back to the river bank at the point where the fugitive had taken to the water. Most of the men dismounted, and, with noses to the ground, they studied the tracks. Two or three moved along the bank vainly endeavoring to discover the man’s further direction; and two of them rode across to the opposite side. But the banks told them nothing. Their quarry had obviously not crossed the water. A quarter of an hour was spent thus, Jim helping all he knew; then finally Doc Crombie called his men together.
“We’ll git right on,” he declared authoritatively.
“Which way?” inquired Smallbones. He was angry, but looked depressed.
The doctor considered a moment, and the men stood round waiting.
“We’ll head up-stream for the hills,” he said at last. “Guess he’ll make that way. We’ll divide up on either side of the river. Guess you best take three men, Smallbones, an’ cross over. You, Thorpe, ’ll stop with me.”
But Thorpe shook his head. He saw an opportunity to 300 play a big hand for Eve, and, win or lose, he meant to play it. He would not have attempted it on a man less keen than the doctor.