ot exactly," he responded. "But I will before long--I hope."

The ambiguity of his answer did not escape her. She puzzled over it
while Silk ambled sedately behind the other horses. She hoped that
Bill Wagstaff knew where he was going. If he did not--but she refused
to entertain the alternative. And she began to watch eagerly for some
sign of familiar ground.

For two hours Roaring Bill tramped through aisles bordered with pine
and spruce and fir, through thickets of berry bush, and across limited
areas of grassy meadow. Not once did they cross a road or a trail.
With the clouds hiding the sun, she could not tell north from south
after they left camp. Eventually Bill halted at a small stream to get
a drink. Hazel looked at her watch. It was half past eight.

"Aren't we ever going to get there?" she called impatiently.

"Pretty soon," he called back, and struck out briskly again.

Another hour passed. Ahead of her, leading one pack horse and letting
the other follow untrammeled, Roaring Bill kept doggedly on, halting
for nothing, never looking back. If he did not know where he was
going, he showed no hesitation. And Hazel had no choice but to follow.

They crossed a ravine and slanted up a steep hillside. Presently Hazel
could look away over an area of woodland undulating like a heavy ground
swell at sea. Here and there ridges stood forth boldly above the
general roll, and distantly she could descry a white-capped mountain
range. They turned the end of a thick patch of pine scrub, and Bill
pulled up in a small opening. From a case swinging at his belt he took
out a pair of field glasses, and leisurely surveyed the country.

"Well?" Hazel interrogated.

She herself had cast an anxious glance over the wide sweep below and
beyond, seeing nothing but timber and hills, with the silver thread of
a creek winding serpent-wise through the green. But of habitation or
trail there was never a sign. And it was after ten o'clock. They were
over four hours from their camp ground.

"Nothing in sight, is there?" Bill said thoughtfully. "If the sun was
out, now. Funny I can't spot that Soda Creek Trail."

"Don't you know this country at all?" she asked gloomily.

"I thought I did," he replied. "But I can't seem to get my bearings to
work out correctly. I'm awfully sorry to keep you in such a pickle.
But it can't be helped."

Thus he disarmed her for the time being. She could not find fault with
a man w