“Where are we going?” asked Wentworth.

“To the mill site.  I want to look it over and return here by the day after to-morrow.  All ready?”

The guides swung their packs to their backs and struck into the timber, followed closely by the others of the party.

The following day, Orcutt and Wentworth stood at the head of the rapids and Orcutt listened as the engineer, with the aid of his field notes and maps, explained the construction of the dam, and roughly indicated the contour of the reservoir.  “But what’s this line—­the dotted one, that crosses the river just above us?”

“That is our western property line.  It crosses about a mile above here, and we are standing about the same distance above the mill site.”

“Do you mean that we own only a mile of timber on the big river above this point?”

“Just about a mile.  Our property runs a long way up Gods River, and both sides of the Shamattawa below the dotted line.”

Orcutt studied the map for a moment.  “Who owns the land above here?” he asked sharply.

“The Hudson’s Bay Company on the north side, and the Government on the south.”

“Well, what in hell is to prevent someone—­McNabb, for instance—­from buying up that land and starting operations above us?  Even if they didn’t put in a dam they could raise the devil with us by driving their stuff through.  John McNabb knows every trick of the logging game, and when he finds out what has happened he’ll go the limit to buck us.”

Wentworth considered.  “I guess he could do that, all right.  We would have to let his stuff through—­”

“I’ll fix him!” cried Orcutt.  “I’ll beat him to it!  Where do we do business with the Government and the Hudson’s Bay Company?”

“With the Government in Ottawa, and the Company in Winnipeg.”

“Hell’s bells!” cried Orcutt.  “That means we’ll be gallivanting all over Canada for the next week or ten days.  Well, it can’t be helped.  I know John McNabb well enough not to leave any loop-hole for him to take advantage of.”  He called to the guides.  “Hey, you Injuns!  What’s the quickest way to the railroad?”

The guides pointed due north.  “Mebbe-so wan hondre mile,” announced one.

“But,” cried Wentworth, “we’re going back by way of the post, aren’t we?”

“We’re going to hit for the railway the quickest way God will let us!”

“But, I—­I left something—­that is, I have nothing to travel in but these field clothes, and they’re shockingly soiled and tattered.”

“Soiled and tattered—­hell!  What’s that got to do with saving years of trouble at the mill?  Maybe you ain’t as pretty as you’d like to be—­but, you’ve got enough on so they can’t arrest you——­”

Wentworth felt a decidedly uncomfortable thrill at the word “arrest.”  He was thinking of a certain Russian sable coat that lay in his trunk at the cabin, and guarded from prying eyes by only a flimsy trunk lock.  He thought, also, of Downey—­and wondered.  He would have given much to have returned to that cabin, but a single glance into Orcutt’s face stilled any thought of further objection, and he reluctantly acquiesced.