Sergeant Silk shook his head.
"It isn't that," he decided. "It's not the best time of the year to start for the diggings, winter coming on. And besides, a woman—a girl—would hardly be going alone on a journey like that."
Young Rapson looked at him sharply.
"A girl?" he repeated wonderingly. "But you can't possibly see her, all this way off! How do you know?"
"Come to that, I don't know—with any certainty," Silk returned. "And, of course, as you say, I couldn't see her all this distance off, even if she were not hidden under the awning. Who could?"
"But you never say things like that at random," pursued Rapson. "You've always got a good reason for everything you do and say."
"Exactly," Silk nodded. "But it's only my surmise that there's a girl in that wagon. I don't insist that she's alone. There's the teamster and the off man taking charge of the outfit, even if their passenger had no other companion than her dog. She's young," he went on, as if speaking to himself, "and I guess she has fair hair. A bit of an artist, I believe. Paints landscapes. I'm inclined to promise that if you were to overhaul her fixings, Percy, you'd find she has a sketch of Minnewanka Peak in her portfolio."
"My hat!" exclaimed Percy. "Say, you're clever to have figured out all that!"
The sergeant shrugged his shoulders.
"Clever? Not at all," he protested. "I've only found out what you or Medlicott or any one else might have discovered equally well. It's quite simple. I merely happened to notice a few little things back along the trail where we halted to have our grub. You noticed yourself that somebody'd been camping there in front of us, didn't you?"