resume his journey east. If they had found out their mistake, they
would take it for granted that he was a confederate of the man they
followed and most likely calculate on his trying to reach the new
Canadian Northern line. Foster felt angry with the fellow who had
lured him into the adventure and resolved to extricate himself from it
as soon as possible.

Getting up, he started west along the track, and after a time found
himself embarrassed by the fur coat. It was heavy and too warm, but he
would need it when he stopped. Then he wore thin city boots, and the
track, as usual, was roughly ballasted with coarse gravel. The stones
rolled about under his feet, and the ties were irregularly spaced, so
that he could not step from one to another except by an awkward stride.
He went on, however, and by and by began to wonder where he could get a
drink, for the struggle or the shock had made him thirsty.

The big coat proved troublesome to carry when he took it off. After a
time his feet got sore and he tried to walk in the shallow drain beside
the line, but this was filled with ice, on which he slipped. He had
traveled by rougher trails and carried heavy loads, but that was some
years ago and he wore different boots and fastened on his pack by
proper straps. Moreover, one got soft when leading a business life.

By and by he heard the roar of water and pushing on faster came to a
foaming creek that plunged down a stony ravine. A bridge crossed the
gorge, and leaving the track he clambered down the rocky bank. Where
the spray had fallen there were patches of ice, but Foster felt that he
must get a drink. When he was half-way down his foot slipped and he
slid the rest of the distance, bringing up with a shock at the edge of
the water, where he struck a projecting stone. He felt shaken, but got