“You bet he does!” put in Billy.
Hugh’s compliment was not without effect on the guide, who was already growing weary of Alec’s continued rudeness to the Wolf leader.
They were some three or four hundred feet above the lake, and behind them lay the notch amid the mountains through which they had come. Although the descent to the lake was steep in places, they would have very little trouble in getting down.
“It’s great up here,” remarked Spike Welling. “I say, Hugh, what’s that little white mist blowing away from us down there above those trees? It looks like an Indian smoke signal, but if someone were lost in the woods there’d be two of them.”
“Joe, what do you make of that?” asked Hugh.
The guide was leaning against a projecting point of rock, gazing down at the lake without the least sign of emotion. Suddenly he straightened himself and sniffed the air.
“Hunters down there, make fire, cook bacon,” he announced solemnly.
“You mean to say you can smell frying bacon, at this distance?” queried Blake. “Joe, that nose of yours is sure a wonder!”
Joe grunted and grinned. “Hungry,” he explained. “Nose good; better when hungry.”
“Come on, let’s have some grub, ourselves,” suggested Billy. “Then we——”