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 to-morrow try once more, for orders is orders, and I'm right certain he'll find us somewheres, or we'll find him."

So they made camp. Freegift wandered out, looking for wood and for trails. He came in.

"I see tracks, Terry. Two men have been along here—white men, I judge; travellin' down river."

"Only two, you say?"

"Yes. Fresh tracks, just the same."

They all looked, and found the fresh tracks of two men pointing eastward.

"I tell you! Those are the doctor and Brown hunting," Terry proposed. "Wish they'd left some meat. But we may ketch 'em to-morrow. Even tracks are a godsend."

They three had eaten nothing all day; there was nothing to eat, to-night. To Stub, matters looked rather desperate, again. Empty stomach and empty tracks and empty country, winter-bound, gave one a sort of a hopeless feeling. He and Freegift and Terry trudged and trudged and trudged, and hauled and shoved, and never got anywhere. For all they knew, they might be drawing farther and farther away from the lieutenant. But, as Terry said, "orders were orders."

"Well, if we ketch the doctor he'll be mighty interested in that head o' yourn," Freegift asserted, to