It showed the pack-horse standing close by, and Devine stretched out beneath his blanket, a shadowy, shapeless figure, but there was, as far as Weston could see, no sign of Grenfell anywhere.

He called out sharply as soon as he was sure of this, and his voice rang hollowly up the valley, but there was no answer until Devine slowly shook clear of his blankets.
"What's the matter ?" he asked.
"Grenfell's gone." "Gone!" Devine was on his feet in a moment.
"It looks like it," said Weston, sharply.

"Can you see him ?" Devine gazed into the shadows, but he saw nothing beyond the rows of dusky trunks.
"Where's he gone ?" "That," said Weston, "is naturally just what I don't know.

It's up to us to find out." Then he briefly related his conversation with Grenfell, and the two looked at each other.

There was just light enough to show the anxiety in their faces.
"Well," said Devine, "it's quite clear to me that he's on the trail; and it's fortunate in one way that he's left a plain trail behind him.
Whether the whole thing's a delusion on his part, or whether he did strike that lode, I don't know, but I didn't like the man's looks yesterday.