Finally he took his pipe from his mouth, pressed the tobacco hard down with his horny middle finger and stuck it in his pocket.
"Mebbe so," he said slowly, a slight grin distorting his wizened little face, "mebbe so, but t'ink not--me." "Well, Jerry, where could they have gone?
They might ride straight to Crowfoot's Reserve, but I think that is extremely unlikely.

They certainly would not go to the Bloods, therefore they must be up this canyon.

We will go up, Jerry, for ten miles or so and see what we can see." "Good," said Jerry with a grunt, his tone conveying his conviction that where the chief scout of the North West Mounted Police had said it was useless to search, any other man searching would have nothing but his folly for his pains.
"Have a sleep first, Jerry.

We need not start for a couple of hours." Jerry grunted his usual reply, rolled himself in his blanket and, lying down at the back of a rock, was asleep in a minute's time.
In two hours to the minute he stood beside his pony waiting for Cameron, who had been explaining his plan to the two constables and giving them his final orders.
The orders were very brief and simple.

They were to wait where they were till noon.