Raising a shaking hand to his forehead, Wentworth withdrew it wet and glistening with sweat.  His brain conjured fantastic stories of the powers of the Indian tracker, and fearfully he scanned the rocks over which he had come.  Suddenly it occurred to him that if the man were still upon his trail, he would have come up with him before this.  Evidently the tracker was wasting no time on the broad rocky ridge, but taking it for granted that his quarry would proceed on his way, figured on picking up the trail again in the softer ground of the next valley; in which case he would soon discover his error and circle to correct it.  Discarding his pack, the terrified man swiftly descended the ridge and crossed the brule at a run.  Gaining the shelter of the forest he paused and looked back.  The wide clearing was tenantless, and regaining his breath, he resumed his flight, crashing through patches of underbrush, and splashing through streams until, just at dusk, the lights of the Gods Lake campfires came into view.

Completely done up, he staggered into his cabin and, closing the door, fell sprawling upon his bunk, where for an hour he lay while his overtaxed muscles slowly regained their strength.  Then he stood up, lighted his candle, and proceeded to remove the record of his mad flight from his scratched skin and torn clothing.

That evening at supper he was surprised to find that Downey had returned to the post.  And he wondered if he only fancied that the officer eyed him meaningly.

He said nothing of his experience, but thereafter he was content to remain at the post, never venturing alone beyond the boundaries of the clearing.  He became more and more nervous with the passing of the days.  One by one, he checked them off, and during the latter days of June he spent hours pacing restlessly up and down, or making the round of the clearing, shunned by Indian dogs and Indian children, and ignored by their elders.  And always three questions were uppermost in his mind:  Would Orcutt come?  Would McNabb come?  Would they both come?  And finding no answer, he would continue his restless pacing, or raise the imaginary stakes in his game of solitaire to stupendous proportions.

He became more and more irritable as the tension increased.  The breaking of a shoe lace called forth a flow of profanity, and when the mainspring of his watch snapped, he hurled the instrument against the log wall in his senseless rage.

XVII

The morning of June 29th brought Cameron, armed with credentials which empowered him to transact any and all business connected with the pulp-wood holdings of the Canadian Wild Lands Company, Ltd.  Murchison introduced him to Wentworth, who insisted that the man share his cabin.

“So you are McNabb’s man?” queried Cameron with a smile, as he swung his pack to the floor and seated himself upon the edge of a bunk.  “Do you know, we rather hoped I would not find you here.”