It was three o'clock in the afternoon when he came to a great ridge, and on its highest pinnacle he stopped.
Peter had grown restless again, and a little more suspicious of Breault.
He was not afraid of him, but all that day he had found no scent of Nada or Jolly Roger, and slowly the conviction was impinging itself upon him that he should seek for himself in the wilderness.
Breault saw this restlessness, and understood it.
"I'll keep my eye on the dog," he thought.

"He has a nose, and an uncanny sixth sense, and I haven't either.

He will bear watching.
I believe McKay and the girl cannot be far away.

Possibly they have traveled more slowly than I thought, and haven't passed this ridge; or it may be they are down there, in the plain.

If so I should catch sign of smoke or fire--in time." For an hour he kept watch over the plain through his binoculars, seeking for a wisp of smoke that might rise at any time over the treetops.