was to have given them a degree of independence, and above all else
the little hoard that its sale would have brought them was to have
lightened Lem's burden of labour during his declining years.

Eli Horn was a big, broad-shouldered, swarthy young man of few words.
For an hour after he heard his father's detailed story of Indian
Jake's visit to the cabin, he sat in sullen silence by the stove.
Suddenly he arose, lifted his rifle from the pegs upon which it rested
against the wall, dropped some ammunition into his cartridge bag, and
swinging it over his shoulder strode toward the door.

"Where you goin', Eli?" asked Lem from his bunk.

"To hunt Indian Jake," said Eli as he closed the door behind him and
passed out into the night.




CHAPTER VI

THE TRACKS IN THE SAND


A smart south-west breeze had sprung up. White caps were dotting the
Bay, and with all sails set the boat bowled along at a good speed.

David held the tiller, while Andy and Jamie busied themselves with
their handbooks. They were an hour out of Horn's Bight when David
sighted the Horn boat beating up against the wind. Drawing within