water. He waded to the bank, and then turned to Lisle, who was close behind.
“Thanks,” he gasped. “I owe you something for that.”
“Pshaw!” disclaimed the other. “I only pulled you back. You’d have got badly hammered if you’d tried to cross that ledge. I’d noticed the inshore swirl close below it when we were packing along the bank, and remembered that we could land in it.”
“But you had hold of the canoe. I saw you close beside her.”
“I only wanted her to take me past the ledge,” Lisle explained. “I’d no notion of going right through with her. Now we’ll make for camp.”
On arriving there as darkness closed down, they found that Jake had recovered the craft. The paddles had gone, but he could make another pair in an hour or two. They had a few dry things to put on, and as they lay beside the fire after supper they were sensible that the slight constraint both had felt for the last two days had vanished. Neither would have alluded to the feeling which had replaced it, nor, indeed, could have clearly expressed his thoughts, but mutual liking, respect and confidence had suddenly changed to something stronger. During the few minutes they spent in the water a bond, indefinite, indescribable, but not to be broken, had been forged between the two.
The next morning it was clear and cold, and they made good progress until they landed late in the afternoon. Then, after scrambling some distance over loose gravel, Lisle and Nasmyth stopped beside a slight hollow in a wall of rock. A few large stones had been rudely placed on one another to form a shelter; there were still some small spruce branches, which had evidently been used for a roof, scattered about; and the remains of a torn and moldering blanket lay near by. In another place was a holed frying-pan and a battered kettle.
Nasmyth gravely took off his shapeless hat, and stood glancing about him with a fixed expression.
“This,” he said quietly, “is where my friend died—as you have heard, they afterward took his body out. There are few men who could compare with that one; I can’t forget him.”
There was nothing to be done, and little that could be said; and they turned away from the scene of the tragedy, where a man, who to the last had thought first of his companions, had met his lonely end. Launching the canoe, they sped on down-river, making a few easier portages, and four days later they landed on the bank of a turbulent reach shut in by steep, stony slopes. There was a little brushwood here and there, but not a tree of any kind.
“It was on this beach that Gladwyne made one cache,” said Lisle. “If there had been a cypress or a cedar near, he’d have blazed a mark on it. As it is, we’d better look for a heap of stones.”
They searched for some time without finding anything, for straight beach and straight river presented no prominent feature which any one making a cache would fix upon as guide. Lisle directed Nasmyth’s attention to this.
“There was deep snow when Vernon came down the gorge, on this side,” he pointed out. “It doesn’t follow that he was with the others when they buried the stores—he might have been carrying up a load—and it’s possible they couldn’t give him a very exact description. If I’m right in this, he’d have a long stretch of beach to search, and a man’s senses aren’t as keen as usual when he’s badly played out.”
Nasmyth made no comment, but his expression suggested that he would not be disappointed if they failed to strike the cache. Shortly afterward, however, Jake called out, and on joining him they saw a cross scratched on a slab of slightly projecting rock. Even with that to guide them, it was some time before they came upon a few stones roughly piled together and almost hidden in a bank of shingle.
“First of all, I want you to notice that this gravel has slipped down from the bluff after the cache was made,” Lisle said to Nasmyth. “With snow on the ground and the slab yonder covered, it would be almost impossible to locate it.” He turned to Jake. “How long would you say it was since the rain or frost brought that small stuff down?”
Jake glanced at the young brushwood growing higher up the slope. It was shorter than that surrounding it, and evidently covered the spot which the mass of débris had laid bare in its descent.
“Part of one summer and all the next,” he answered decidedly.
“Tell us how you figured it out.”
Jake climbed the bank and returned with two or three young branches which he handed to Lisle.
“The thing’s plain enough to you.” He turned toward Nasmyth. “No growth except in the summer—they’d had a few warm months to start them, but they don’t fork until the second year. See these shoots?”
“As winter was beginning when the Gladwyne party came down, that small landslide must have taken place some time before then,” declared Lisle.
They set to work and carefully moved aside the stones. First they uncovered three cans of preserved meat, and then a small flour bag which had rotted and now disclosed a hard and moldy mass inside. There was also another bag which had evidently contained sugar; and a few other things. All examined them in silence, and then sat down grave in face.
“It’s unfortunate that nobody could positively state whether this cache has been opened or not since it was made, but there are a few points to guide us,” said Lisle. “Do you know what kind of food civilized men who’ve been compelled to work to exhaustion on insufficient rations, helped out by a little fish or game, generally long for most?”
“No,” answered Nasmyth, with a feeble attempt at levity. “I’ve now and then remembered with regret the kind of dinner I used to get in England.”
“You have scarcely felt the pinch,” Lisle informed him. “The two things are farinaceous stuff and sugar. No doubt, it will occur to you that Vernon might have taken a can or two of meat; but that’s not likely.”
“If you’re right about the longing for flour and sweet-stuff, it’s a strong point,” Nasmyth declared. “Where did you learn the fact?”
Lisle looked at Jake, and the packer smiled in a significant manner.
“He’s right,” he vouched. “We know.”
“Then,” continued Lisle, indicating the sugar bag, which had been wrapped in a waterproof sheet, “can you imagine a starving man, in desperate haste, making up this package as it was when we found it?”
“No,” admitted Nasmyth; “it’s most improbable.”
Somewhat to his astonishment, the usually taciturn Jake broke in.
“You’re wasting time! Vernon never struck this cache—he told the folks at the post so. Worked with him once trail-cutting—what that man said goes!”
“You never told me you knew Vernon!” exclaimed Lisle.
“Quite likely,” Jake drawled. “It didn’t seem any use till now.”
For the first time since they landed, Nasmyth laughed—he felt that something was needed to relieve the tension.
“If people never talked unless they had something useful to say, there would be a marvelous change,” he declared.
Lisle disregarded this, but he was a little less grave when he resumed:
“There’s another point to bear in mind. Two of Gladwyne’s party left him; and of those two which would be the more likely to succumb to extreme exertion, exposure, and insufficient food?”
“Against the answer you expect, there’s the fact that Vernon made the longer journey,” Nasmyth objected.
“It doesn’t count for much. Was Clarence Gladwyne accustomed to roughing it and going without his dinner? Would you expect him to survive where you would perish, even if you had a little more to bear?”
“No,” confessed Nasmyth; “he’s rather a self-indulgent