The old buffalo-skin on the sleigh was such as was common, but the way it was stretched upon a heap of sacks made him remember the sleigh that he had yesterday passed upon the river, and the keen sinister face of the driver, which had ill contrasted with his apparent sleep and stupidity.
Courthope tossed aside the skin with a jerk.

A rum bottle, a small hoard of frozen bread and bacon, a heavy blanket folded beneath, all seemed to prove that the driver had made provision for a longer journey.

The horse had no food before it; no blanket was upon its back.

Probably its driver had not intended to leave it here so long.

Where was the driver?
This quickly became in Courthope's mind the all-important question.