g pile of wet green twigs, Harry."

Alton smiled curiously. "You made one fire?"

"Yes," said Seaforth, wondering. "We don't usually make two."

His sight was not equal to his comrade's, but he could see a smear of
blue vapour curl athwart the pines, for he had banked the fire with wet
fuel, so that it should smoke all day in case Tom of Okanagan had
overtaken the horse and was following their trail.

"Well," said Alton dryly, "there is another one."

Seaforth swept his gaze twice across the valley before he saw anything
beyond the crowded pines, and then for a moment he caught sight of a
second faint streak athwart their sombreness. It was a mere film that
vanished and rose again, illusory and almost imperceptible, but for
some reason it troubled him.

"It might be Tom," he said.

Alton laughed in a curious fashion. "I don't think it is. One fire
would be enough for Tom to make his supper with, and that one's nearer
us."

"But," said Seaforth, "I can scarcely see the smoke."

Alton raised one hand impatiently. "No," he said. "Whoever made that
fire didn't want you to, and there's no need to make much smoke if you
keep clear of sap and twigs."

Seaforth's face grew grave. "Is there any reason why you can't tell me
a little more? If the man would sooner we did not see it, what did he
make the fire for?"

Alton smiled grimly. "I don't know any more, but a man must eat," he
said. "In the meanwhile it seems to me that fellow understands his
business, and I've a kind of notion we shall hear from him or see him
presently."

Seaforth glanced back along the blue-grey trail that led towards the
bare hill shoulder, which rose a mere ridge of the great mountain side
that swept round the hollow.

"There is no controverting that, and he needn't have much difficulty in
finding us if he wants to. Is there anything to be done?" he said.

"No," said Alton dryly. "If there was, I'd sit down here and wait for
him, but there's nothing to stop a free miner prospecting round where
it suits him in this country."

CHAPTER XVII

ALONE

The frost held for two days, and the men made small progress through
the dusty snow. On the third it grew softer as they floundered wearily
down into a valley, and Seaforth was aching in every limb when at last
they halted at the edge of a river. Not far below them it plunged
frothing into a gloomy canon, and the roar of its turmoil came out of
the thin white vapour whi