Thorpe recognized the voice instantly as that of Radway's scaler. His hand crisped in a gesture of disgust. The man had always been obnoxious to him.
Two days later he stumbled on their camp. He paused in wonder at what he saw.
The packs lay open, their contents scattered in every direction. The fire had been hastily extinguished with a bucket of water, and a frying pan lay where it had been overturned. If the thing had been possible, Thorpe would have guessed at a hasty and unpremeditated flight.
He was about to withdraw carefully lest he be discovered, when he was startled by a touch on his elbow. It was Injin Charley.
“Dey go up river,” he said. “I come see what de row.”
The Indian examined rapidly the condition of the little camp.
“Dey look for somethin',” said he, making his hand revolve as though rummaging, and indicating the packs.
“I t'ink dey see you in de woods,” he concluded. “Dey go camp gettum boss. Boss he gone on river trail two t'ree hour.”
“You're right, Charley,” replied Thorpe, who had been drawing his own conclusions. “One of them knows me. They've been looking in their packs for their note-books with the descriptions of these sections in them. Then they piled out for the boss. If I know anything at all, the boss'll make tracks for Detroit.”
“W'ot you do?” asked Injin Charley curiously.