Lander, who was anxious to have done with the disagreeable trip and its possible tragedy, asked:
"How far to the cache?"
Deschamps eyed him stolidly as if not understanding. Phinny repeated the query sternly. With a sullen duck of his head the breed held up one finger.
"One day!" cried Lander in disgust. "It won't do. We should be turning back to-morrow."
"One sleep," corrected Deschamps.
"Means we can camp here to-night, raise the cache to-morrow and start back," said Phinny. "It must be near as he has left the pack mules there."
"Sleep, then go. Mules there," grunted Deschamps.
They called to Porker and told him their plans. He made no reply but hobbled the mules. He made no offer to help with the evening meal, but after some meat had broiled he seized a portion and withdrew and attacked it ravenously for a few minutes; then seemed to lose his appetite.
Suddenly he began to laugh, not his usual boisterous guffaw, but a strident, interminable cackling with a peculiar metallic quality in his voice.
