Adventure came soon enough that day. But first they arrived at that which appeared to be an impasse in their journey.
The trail that morning led for three miles across a barren tundra. There it lost itself in a tangled wilderness of trees and bushes. The trusty dogs did not so much as falter. Their senses were sure; their aim true.
But what was this? After an hour of travel through the silent forest they came to an abrupt halt. Before them lay a tangled mass of freshly cut boughs.
“He made camp here last night,” said Faye as her heart gave a great leap. “Per—perhaps he is still here.”
Certainly she hoped this might be true. The trail had been long, very, very long, and she was weary. It was not the weariness that comes from one day of strenuous toil, but the bone weariness of the long, long trail.
“He’s gone!” Gordon Duncan said a moment later. “Gone down the river.”
“Not—not down the river!” Faye passed round the pile of brush, to drop weakly to earth as she read unmistakable signs of a raft built and pushed off from the shore.
“To think,” she said, her eyes reflecting the tragedy of her heart, “he was here working while we slept! And now he is gone; gone forever. And we have come all this way but to know defeat!”
“We must follow,” said Gordon Duncan.
“The break-up will come. We will perish!”