“Never in my life. Saw that map, though, didn’t I?”
“The map? But—but you didn’t commit it to memory, did you?”
“Only the most important part of it,” said the Shark simply. “Few of the elevations—that sort of thing. They were marked down plain as print.”
“I didn’t notice ’em,” Varley confessed.
The Shark’s lip curled. “Huh! What do you have eyes for?” Then he recalled that the other was in a sense a stranger and a guest. “I mean, it’s a mighty good scheme, when you see figures, to jot ’em down in memory. Then, if you’ve got nothing else to do, you can have fun thinking ’em over and setting yourself little problems with ’em. Now, this valley’d fool you. Lot less slope to the floor of it than you’d suppose. And the way the hills line up—say, though, didn’t notice that, either, did you?”
“I—I guess I didn’t.”
“It would have paid you. That government marker we’re looking for is right between the two highest hills—one on each side of the valley. That is, it is, if the map’s accurate. So far, everything’s working out all right. I schemed on hitting the river a little below the real point and working up, and I think I’ve done it. Now let’s get along. Ready?”
“After you,” said Varley.
“Good!” cried the Shark, and off he set, not keeping to the bank of the stream, but bearing away from it on a long diagonal.
Varley pursued him. By this time there could be no doubt that the rain was heavier. Underfoot, even where there were no puddles, the snow was a clammy mush of penetrating chill. Varley began to suspect the worth of that guarantee of his new shoes. Very gladly he would have turned back, had he been alone; but, being with the Shark, he followed his leader, who plodded on, giving no heed to rain or snow. Again they came to clumps of brush, and made detours about them. At intervals the Shark halted briefly, scanned his surroundings, grunted and went on. Varley felt sure they were getting far from the island, though he would have been put to it to make an estimate of the distance.