Amy eyed him doubtfully, then smiled.
"I'm glad you happened along," said she. "I feel better. Now I believe I'll be able to do something with my biscuits."
"I could do justice to some of them," remarked Bob, "and it would be the real thing without any precedents in that line whatever."
"Come around later and you'll have the chance," invited Amy, again addressing herself to the stove.
Still smiling at this wholesale and feminine way of leaping directly to a despotically desired ideal result, Bob took the trail to his own camp. Here he found Jack Pollock poring over an old illustrated paper.
"Hullo, Jack!" he called cheerfully. "Not out on duty, eh?"
"I come in," said Jack, rising to his feet and folding the old paper carefully. He said nothing more, but stood eyeing his colleague gravely.
"You want something of me?" asked Bob.
"No," denied Jack, "I don't know nothing I want of you. But I was told to come and get a piece of paper and maybe some money that a stranger was goin' to leave by our chimbley. It ain't there. You ain't seen it, by any chance?"
"It may have got shoved among some of my things by mistake," replied Bob gravely. "I haven't had a chance of looking. I'm just in from the Basin." At these last words he looked at Jack keenly, but that young man's expression remained inscrutable. "I'll look when I get back," he continued after a moment; "just now I've got to ride over to the mill to see Mr. Welton."