From a case swinging at his belt he took
out a pair of field glasses, and leisurely surveyed the country.
"Well?" Hazel interrogated.
She herself had cast an anxious glance over the wide sweep below and
beyond, seeing nothing but timber and hills, with the silver thread of
a creek winding serpent-wise through the green. But of habitation or
trail there was never a sign. And it was after ten o'clock. They were
over four hours from their camp ground.
"Nothing in sight, is there?" Bill said thoughtfully. "If the sun was
out, now. Funny I can't spot that Soda Creek Trail."
"Don't you know this country at all?" she asked gloomily.
"I thought I did," he replied. "But I can't seem to get my bearings to
work out correctly. I'm awfully sorry to keep you in such a pickle.
But it can't be helped."
Thus he disarmed her for the time being. She could not find fault with
a man who was doing his best to help her. If Roaring Bill were unable
to bear straight for the Meadows, it was unfortunate for her, but no
fault of his. At the same time, it troubled her more than she would
admit.
"Well, we won't get anywhere standing on this hill," he remarked at
length.
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