The
unexpected, for which both were eager-eyed, lurked on the shoulder of
each mountain, in the hollow of every cool canon, or met them boldly in
the open, naked and unafraid.
Bearing up to where the Nachaco debouches from Fraser Lake, with a
Hudson's Bay fur post and an Indian mission on its eastern fringe, they
came upon a blazed line in the scrub timber. Roaring Bill pulled up,
and squinted away down the narrow lane fresh with ax marks.
"Well," said he, "I wonder what's coming off now? That looks like a
survey line of some sort. It isn't a trail--too wide. Let's follow it
a while.
"I'll bet a nickel," he asserted next, "that's a railroad survey."
They had traversed two miles more or less, and the fact was patent that
the blazed line sought a fairly constant level across country. "A land
survey runs all same latitude and longitude. Huh!"
Half an hour of easy jogging set the seal of truth on his assertion.
They came upon a man squinting through a brass instrument set on three
legs, directing, with alternate wavings of his outspread hands, certain
activities of other men ahead of him.
"Well, I'll be--" he bit off the sentence, and stared a moment in frank
astonishment at Hazel.
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