The infolding
timber shut off the outlook. Forest-clad heights upreared here and
there, but no landmark that she could place and use for a guide. She
could not guess whether Cariboo Meadows was a mile distant, or ten, nor
in what direction it might lie. If she had not done so before, she now
understood how much she had to depend on Roaring Bill Wagstaff.
"Do you suppose I can get home in time to open school?" she inquired
anxiously.
Roaring Bill smiled. "I don't know," he answered. "It all depends."
Upon what it depended he did not specify, but busied himself packing
up. In half an hour or less they were ready to start. Bill spent a
few minutes longer shortening the stirrups, then signified that she
should mount. He seemed more thoughtful, less inclined to speech.
"You know where you are now, don't you?" she asked.
"Not exactly," he responded. "But I will before long--I hope."
The ambiguity of his answer did not escape her. She puzzled over it
while Silk ambled sedately behind the other horses. She hoped that
Bill Wagstaff knew where he was going. If he did not--but she refused
to entertain the alternative. And she began to watch eagerly for some
sign of familiar ground.
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