His next thought was of supplies. The simple matter of food and warmth is the first issue in the wilderness; already she had learned this lesson. Her eyes glanced about the walls. There were two or three sacks, perhaps filled with provisions, hanging from the ceiling, safely out of the reach of the omnivorous pack-rats that often wreak such havoc in unoccupied cabins. But further than this the place seemed bare of food. Blankets were in plenty; there were a few kitchen utensils hanging back of the stove, and some sort of an ancient rifle lay across a pair of deer horns. Whether or not there were any cartridges for this latter article she could not say. Strangest of all, a small and battered phonograph, evidently packed with difficulty into the hills, and a small stack of records sat on the crude, wooden table. Evidently a real and fervent love of music had not been omitted from Bill's make-up. Then Bill stirred in his sleep. She lay still, watching. She saw his eyes open. And his first glance was toward her. He flashed her a smile, and she tried pitifully to answer it. "How are you?" he asked. "Awfully lame and sore and tired. Maybe I'll be better soon. And you----?" "A little stiff, not much. I'm hard to damage, Miss Tremont. I've seen too much of hardship. But I've overslept--and there isn't another second to be lost. I've got to dress and go and locate Vosper and Lounsbury." "I suppose you'd better--right away. They'll be terribly distressed--thinking we're drowned." She turned her back to him, without nonsense or embarrassment, and he started to dress. She didn't see the slow smile, half-sardonic, that was on his lips. "I'm not worrying about their distress," he told her. "I only want to be sure and catch them before they give us up for lost--and turn back. I can never forgive myself for failing to waken. It was just that I was so tired----" "I won't let you blame yourself for that," the girl replied, slowly but earnestly. "Besides, Uncle Kenly won't go away for two or three days at least. He's been my guardian--I'm his ward--and I'm sure he'll make every effort to learn what happened to us." "I suppose you're right. You know whether or not you can trust Lounsbury. I only know--that I can't trust Vosper." "They'll be waiting for us, don't fear for that," the girl went on. She tried to put all the assurance she could into her tone. "But how can we get across?" "That remains to be seen. If they're there to help, with the horses, we might find a way." The man finished dressing, then turned to go. "I'm sorry I can't even take time to light your fire. You must stay in bed, anyway--all day."