At last he stopped and began to scrub his forehead against the rough bark of a tree, endeavoring to remove the bandage. After a time he worked it above his eyes, although it still bound his head like a turban.
He could see the crisp stars through the interlocking branches. He found the pole star. But as he had been unable to guess the direction his captor had taken in leaving the camp, the points of the compass mattered little in this wilderness, where all was strange.
Parker went on, reflecting uneasily that every step might be taking him directly back to Colonel Ward's camp. His grotesque garb hampered his movements. He lumbered along as awkwardly as a bear. After a time he came through some little spruces that whipped his face, and discovered a tote-road that had been long abandoned, for the bushes grew in it and the crust was unmarked.
He pondered a while. Then he shut his eyes, whirled until he dropped, scrambled up, and started away in the direction in which chance had faced him. He smiled as he thought upon this childish resource, but in that bewildering region he had at least been enabled to make up his mind quickly by the device.
The rosy light of the dawn touched him as he plodded along. His advance was slow, for the sleeves of the fur coat impeded free use of his legs. The day was clear and cold, with a stinging wind that tossed the roaring branches of the spruce-trees. The crust held firm. Parker's constrained arms were aching and his hands were numb. He jerked and twisted at the thongs until his wrists were raw, but the knots were too strong for him.
He had passed so many crossings and fork-ings of the bush-grown road that he gave up trying to keep the ramifications in mind for his use should he find it necessary to turn back. He now went on doggedly, choosing this way or that, as it chanced, hoping to hear a ringing ax or a hunter's gun or a teamster's shout somewhere in those solitudes.
In the late afternoon the road led him to an ice-sheathed stream. Here the way divided.
He took the road that led down-stream. It undoubtedly ended at a lake, thought he. Log-landings are on lakes. There would be men to release him from the torture of aching muscles and gnawing stomach. Parker would have welcomed the sight of Colonel Gideon Ward himself when that second night came through the trees.