The campfire burned brightly in a straggling bluff at the edge of the plain. The scattered trees were small and let in the cold wind, and the men were gathered close round the fire in a semi-circle on the side away from the smoke. Sergeant Lane held a notebook in his hand, while Emile repacked a quantity of provisions, the weight of which they had been carefully estimating. The sergeant’s calculations were not reassuring, and he frowned.
“The time we lost turning back to the Stony village has made a big hole in our grub,” he said. “Guess we’ll have to cut the menoo down and do a few more miles a day.”
“Our party’s used to that,” Blake answered with a smile. “I suggest another plan. You have brought us a long way, and Sweetwater’s a bit off your line. Suppose you give us food enough to la
