Purposely Breault had left a lump of desiccated potato as big as his fist, and this Peter ate as ravenously as he had eaten the bacon.

Then, just as Breault knew he would do, he began following the raft.
Breault did not hurry, and he did not rest.

There was something almost mechanically certain in his slow but steady progress, though he knew it was possible for the canoe to outdistance him three to one.

He was missing nothing along the shore.

Three times during the forenoon he saw where the canoe had landed, and he chuckled each time, thinking of the old story of the tortoise and the hare.