The dark spruces had grown sharper in form; he could see some distance between the trunks, but everything was still.
"You had better see if the horses are there," Harding suggested, coming out of the tent.
Blake failed to find them near the muskeg, but as the light got clearer he saw tracks leading through the bush.

Following these for a distance, he came upon the Indian pony, still hobbled, but the other, a powerful range horse, was missing.

Mounting the pony, he rode back to camp, where he found Harding looking grave.
"The fellow's gone and taken some provisions with him," he said.

"He left this for us." It was a strip of paper, apparently torn from a notebook, with a few lines expressing Benson's regret at having to leave them in such an unceremonious fashion, and stating that he would leave the horse, hobbled, at a spot about two days' ride away.
"He seems to think he's showing us some consideration in not riding the beast down to the settlement," Blake remarked with a dubious smile, feeling strongly annoyed with himself for not taking more precautions.
With the cunning which the lust for drink breeds in its victims Benson had outwitted him by feigning acquiescence.

"Anyway," he added, "I'll have to go after him.