There was a big pile of wet green twigs, Harry." Alton smiled curiously.

"You made one fire ?" "Yes," said Seaforth, wondering.

"We don't usually make two." His sight was not equal to his comrade's, but he could see a smear of blue vapour curl athwart the pines, for he had banked the fire with wet fuel, so that it should smoke all day in case Tom of Okanagan had overtaken the horse and was following their trail.
"Well," said Alton dryly, "there is another one." Seaforth swept his gaze twice across the valley before he saw anything beyond the crowded pines, and then for a moment he caught sight of a second faint streak athwart their sombreness.

It was a mere film that vanished and rose again, illusory and almost imperceptible, but for some reason it troubled him.
"It might be Tom," he said.
Alton laughed in a curious fashion.

"I don't think it is.