“Why all this secrecy?” Johnny asked himself. “They know; I do not.” He felt annoyed by it all. He turned to the girl, and was about to speak when, putting one hand to her lips, she pointed with the other.
A stout dog team had appeared down the trail. Behind the sled, clad in the blue trousers and red jacket of the Mounties, trotted a strapping six-footer.
“It’s all right.” A look of relief spread over Gordon Duncan’s face. “It’s Corporal Simons of the Mounted. He has been in the wilderness for months. We’ll go to meet him. He may be able to tell us of a way across the river.”
“Queer business,” Johnny thought to himself as he followed Gordon Duncan back to the trail.
“My old friend Gordon Duncan, as I live!” exclaimed the sturdy Corporal as he caught sight of them. “And Faye. But Man!” he exclaimed. “Why so far back into this great beyond? Is it safe? You with your bows and arrows.”
“No place is far in this fair land of ours,” said Gordon Duncan. “As for the bows and arrows, you’ll find fresh meat in our packs.”
“That’s more than you’ll find in mine,” said the Corporal, “but I’ve been traveling light and fast on the King’s business. Sad business it is to be, I fear. But say! The sun is about down. Back on my trail a half mile or so is a cabin of a sort. There’s a rough fireplace and a Dutch oven on the hearth. I thought of putting up there for the night. Since you’re here I’ll turn back. When a man’s been on the trail among Indians and Eskimos he welcomes a woman’s hand at the cooking. I’ve a few supplies back there.” He gave Faye a warm smile.
“But who is this?” There was a note of distrust in his tone as he spoke. He had seen Johnny for the first time.
“Only another nimrod we picked up by the way,” said Gordon Duncan.
“Well, we’ll be getting on. Gee!” the Corporal spoke to his leader. The team whirled about. Grasping Faye’s pack, the driver dropped it on the sled, then tossed her after it.