Part 33 (2/2)

”No, sir. You were a piece to the west of that.”

”You think so?”

The man laughed harshly.

”Sure! I was raised among the timber; guess I've broken too many trails not to know where I'm going.”

”Well,” said Gerald in a confidential tone, ”I didn't mention it before because I didn't want to make you uneasy, but I'm afraid this compa.s.s is unreliable. It hasn't been swiveling as it ought; oil frozen on the cap, perhaps, or the card warped against the gla.s.s. I tried to adjust it once or twice, but my fingers were too cold.” He held it out awkwardly for them to examine, and it dropped from his mittens. Clutching at it, he lost his balance and crushed the compa.s.s beneath the wooden bow of his shoe.

Then he stepped back with an exclamation, and the packer, dropping on his knees, groped in the snow until he brought out the compa.s.s with its case badly bent.

”You've fixed her for good this time; there's an old log where she fell,” he said; and he and his comrade waited in gloomy silence while Gerald watched them.

They did not suspect him: the thing had pa.s.sed for an accident; but Gerald felt daunted by the deadly cold and silence of the bush. His companions' faces were indistinct and their figures had lost their sharpness; they looked s.h.a.ggy and scarcely human in their ragged skin-coats.

One of the packers suddenly threw down his load.

”We're going to camp right here and talk this thing out,” he said, and taking off his net shoe began to sc.r.a.pe up the snow.

Half an hour later they sat beside a snapping fire, eating morsels of salt pork and flinty bannocks out of a frying-pan, with a black pannikin of tea between them. The smoke went straight up; now and then a ma.s.s of snow fell from the bending needles with a soft thud, though there was scarcely a breath of wind.

”I reckon we've been going about west-northwest since we left the settlement,” one of the men said to Gerald. ”Where does that put you?”

”Some way to the south of where I meant to be. Twenty degrees off our line is a big angle; you can see how it lengthens the base we've been working along while McCarthy makes his two sides. That means we've lost most of our advantage in cutting across the corner. Then we were held up once or twice, and we'll probably be behind instead of ahead of him at the intersection of the lines. Tell me the distances you think we have made.”

After some argument, they agreed upon them, and Gerald drew a rude triangle in the snow, though its base stopped short of joining one side.

”If you're right about course and distance, our position's somewhere here,” he said, indicating the end of the broken line.

This placed the responsibility for any mistake upon his companions; but one of them had a suggestion.

”If we head a few points north, we'll certainly cut McCarthy's track.”

”Yes; but we'd be behind him and he can't wait.”

”Then if we stick to the line we're on, we'll join.”

”If we run it far enough, but we'll have to go a long way first. It's difficult to catch a man who's marching as fast as you are when you have to converge at a small angle upon his track.”

This was obvious as they looked at the diagram.

”What are you going to do about it?” one of the packers asked.

Gerald hesitated, because his plan might daunt them; moreover he must be careful not to rouse their suspicion.

”We want food first of all, and we'll have to sacrifice a day or two in finding the cache. To do so, we'll cut McCarthy's line; this won't be hard if he's blazed it.”

”You'll follow him after you find the grub?”

”No,” said Gerald, ”I don't think so. He can't leave us much, and we'd probably use it all before we caught him up. The best thing we can do is to strike nearly north for the Hudson Bay post. We might get there before the food runs out.”

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