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Updated: May 28, 2025
"They didn't find him," returned Billy simply, "it was my hound dog. He was yelling down at the lake shore this morning, like he'd treed a wildcat, and when I went down it was Thompson he'd found, lying right on shore in the daylight! You know how that fool Lac Tremblant behaves; the water in it had gone down to nothing this morning, and on the bare stones it had left was Thompson.
For the depth of Lac Tremblant, or its fairway, were two things no man might ever count on. It would fall in a night to shallows a child could wade through, among bristling needles of rocks no one had ever guessed at; and rise in a morning to the tops of the spruce scrub on its banks, a sweet spread of water with not a rock to be seen. What hidden spring fed it was a mystery.
There was nothing to do for both of us but to keep on crossing Lac Tremblant. Missteps might be death, but turning back was worse for her, anyway. I yelled, "Keep wide! Get abreast of me don't take any direction you don't see me take. But keep wide!" Because what held one of us would never hold two, and behind me, running in my tracks Well, even a light girl would not run long!
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