Upon the fifth or sixth day, to rid himself of annoyance, Wentworth
essayed a journey to the rapids, and because no one could be spared
from the post, he ventured forth alone. When not more than ten miles
from the post, he turned his head, as he topped a rock-ribbed ridge for
a casual survey of the broad _brule_ he had just crossed. The next
instant he brought up rigidly erect as his eye caught a swift blur of
motion far back on his trail at the opposite edge of the _brule_. He
looked again but could make out only an army of blackened stumps.
Entering the scrub with a vague sense of uneasiness, he circled among
the stunted trees and took up a position under cover of a granite
outcropping that gave him a view of his back trail. He had hardly
settled himself before a man stepped from behind a stump and struck out
rapidly upon his trail. The man was traveling light, apparently
studying the ground as he walked. Wentworth glanced about him and
noted that the rocky ridge would give the man scant opportunity for
trailing him to his position. The figure was coming up the ridge now.
As it passed a twisted pine, Wentworth got a good look into his face,
and the sight of it sent cold shivers up his spine that prickled
uncomfortably at the roots of his hair. For the face was that of Alex
Thumb, and at close range Wentworth could see that the black eyes
glittered evilly.
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