Norah shook her head dully. She could not do it; and
Jim, knowing how he would have felt were he in her place, did not press
her, although he was miserably anxious. They sat down together on an
old log, finding a shred of comfort in each other's nearness.
It was a silent party that gathered round when black Billy had the big
quart pots of tea ready. No one seemed to have anything to say. Norah
thought, with a catch at her heart, of the last time they had picnicked
in the scrub; the happy talk and laughter, the dear foolish jokes and
merriment. This was indeed a strange picnic--each man eating rapidly and
in silence, and everywhere stern preoccupied faces. There was no
waiting afterwards for the usual "smoke oh"; the men sprang up as soon
as the hurried meal was over, and lit their pipes as they strode away.
Soon the temporary camp was deserted--black Billy, the last to leave,
muttering miserably to himself, hurrying back into the bush. The search
went on.
There was no riding in the afternoon; they were in country where the
tangle of dogwood and undergrowth was so thick that to take a horse
through it meant only lost time, and hindered the thoroughness of the
quest. Norah fought her way through, keeping her line just as the men
kept theirs; her white coat stained and torn now, her riding skirt
showing a hundred rents, her boots cut through in many places.
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