THE BROKEN RANGE The fortnight Agatha agreed to had nearly gone when, early one morning, Thirlwell and Drummond climbed a hill behind the camp and stood on the summit, looking about.

Thin mist drifted across the low ground in front, but some miles off a forest-covered ridge rose against the sky.

It was hardly a range of hills, but rather what prospectors call a height of land; a moderately elevated watershed marking off two river basins.
Running roughly east and west as far as he could see, it limited Thirlwell's view and had puzzled him for some days.
Since the rivers that drained the country flowed northeast to Hudson Bay, it was obvious that there must be an opening in the ridge, but he had been unable to find one.

Moreover, as Strange's creek ran south before it turned east, he imagined it was on his side of the heighth of land, but he had seen no stream flowing in either direction.

Strange's notes were incomplete; and although Thirlwell calculated that he was about thirty miles from the spot where the ore outcropped, he had found none of the landmarks.