He carried out his intention, and they afterwards pushed on up the valley during the rest of the day. It grew more level as they proceeded, and in spite of the frost, which bound the feeding snows, there was a steady flow of water down the river, which was free from rocky barriers. Vane, who now and then glanced at the latter attentively, stopped when dusk was drawing near, and fixed his gaze on the long ranks of trees that stretched away in front of him; fretted spires of sombre greenery lifted high above a colonnade of mighty trunks. "Does anything in connection with this bush strike you?" he asked. "Its stiffness, if that's what you mean," Carroll suggested, smiling. "These big conifers look as if they'd been carved. They're impressive, in a way, but they're too artificial." "That's not what I mean," Vane informed him impatiently. "To tell the truth," said Carroll, "I didn't suppose it was. Anyway, these trees aren't spruce. They're red cedar, the stuff they make the roofing shingles of." "Precisely. Just now, shingles are in good demand in the Province, and with the wooden towns springing up on the prairie, Western millers can hardly send roofing material across the Rockies fast enough. Besides this, I haven't struck a creek more adapted for running logs down, and the last sharp drop to tidewater would give power for a mill. I'm only puzzled that none of the timber-lease prospectors has recorded the place." "That's easy to understand," said Carroll. "Like you, they'd no doubt first search the most difficult spots to get at." They went on in another minute, and pitched their light tent beside the creek when darkness fell. "By the by, I thought you were disappointed when you got no mail at Comox," Carroll remarked at length, feeling that he was making something of a venture. "I was," said Vane. This was not encouraging, but Carroll persisted. "That's strange, because your hearing nothing from Nairn left you free to go ahead, which, one would suppose, was what you wanted." Vane, as it happened, was in a confidential mood; though usually averse from sharing his troubles, he felt he needed sympathy. "I'd better confess I wrote Miss Chisholm a few lines from Nanaimo." "Ah!" said Carroll softly; "and she didn't answer you. Now, I couldn't well help noticing that you were rather in her bad graces that night at Nairn's. No doubt, you're acquainted with the reason?" "I'm not," Vane replied. "That's just the trouble." Carroll reflected. He had an idea that Miss Horsfield was somehow connected with the matter, but this was a suspicion he could not mention. "Well," he said, "as I pointed out, you're addicted to taking the hardest way. When we came up here before, you marched past this valley, chiefly because it was close at hand; but I don't want to dwell on that. Has it occurred to you that you did something of the same kind when you were at the Dene? The way that was then offered you was easy."