“Better turn in, boys, and get some sleep,” he said. “We've got a hard day to-morrow.” He stooped to light his pipe at the fire. When he had again straightened his back after rather a prolonged interval, the group had already disintegrated. A few minutes later the cookee scattered the brands of the fire from before a sleeping camp. Thorpe had listened non-committally to the colloquy. He had maintained the suspended attitude of a man who is willing to allow the trial of other methods, but who does not therefore relinquish his own. At the favorable termination of the discussion he turned away without comment. He expected to gain this result. Had he been in a more judicial state of mind he might have perceived at last the reason, in the complicated scheme of Providence, for his long connection with John Radway. Chapter LI Before daylight Injin Charley drifted into the camp to find Thorpe already out. With a curt nod the Indian seated himself by the fire, and, producing a square plug of tobacco and a knife, began leisurely to fill his pipe. Thorpe watched him in silence. Finally Injin Charley spoke in the red man's clear-cut, imitative English, a pause between each sentence. “I find trail three men,” said he. “Both dam, three men. One man go down river. Those men have cork-boot. One man no have cork-boot. He boss.” The Indian suddenly threw his chin out, his head back, half closed his eyes in a cynical squint. As by a flash Dyer, the scaler, leered insolently from behind the Indian's stolid mask. “How do you know?” said Thorpe. For answer the Indian threw his shoulders forward in Dyer's nervous fashion. “He make trail big by the toe, light by the heel. He make trail big on inside.” Charley arose and walked, after Dyer's springy fashion, illustrating his point in the soft wood ashes of the immediate fireside. Thorpe looked doubtful. “I believe you are right, Charley,” said he. “But it is mighty little to go on. You can't be sure.” “I sure,” replied Charley. He puffed strongly at the heel of his smoke, then arose, and without farewell disappeared in the forest. Thorpe ranged the camp impatiently, glancing often at the sky. At length he laid fresh logs on the fire and aroused the cook. It was bitter cold in the early morning. After a time the men turned out of their own accord, at first yawning with insufficient rest, and then becoming grimly tense as their returned wits reminded them of the situation.