the next morning prescott awakened in the dark and set to work, shivering, to rekindle his fire. day broke with a transitory brightness while he had breakfast and soon afterward he entered the ravine. it was steep, and filled with ice in places, but freshly dislodged stones and scratches on the rocks showed him that the prospectors had gone that way. the ascent was difficult: it cost him a tense effort now and then to gain a slippery ledge or to scramble up a slab, and he had frequently to stop and consider how he could best force a passage.

he was tired and damp with perspiration when he reached the top and met an icy wind that swept across a tableland. the high plain was strewn with rocky fragments, the peaks above were lost in vapor, but he saw by a glance at the watery sun that it ran roughly west; and footprints led across it with an inclination toward the south. this was comforting, because the line of track ran to the south, and if he could strike that, it would serve as a guide; moreover it confirmed prescott’s conclusion that kermode, who had evidently found the mineral vein worthless, would hold on toward the sea. he was not the man to haunt familiar ground when a wide, newly opened country lay before him.

then a few stinging flakes struck prescott’s face, the pale sunshine was blotted out, and a savage blast 196 drove him back to the shelter of the ravine. for an hour he sat, shivering, among the rocks while the gorge was swept by snow. when it ceased he came out; but there was no sign of a footprint now and, to make things worse, the new snow was soft. but he plodded through it, heading southwest, so as to strike the track again, a little farther on.

he spent the day on the high ground; at times toilsomely picking a way across banks of stones buried in snow that hid the dangerous gaps between them. now and then he sank through the treacherous covering and plunged into a hollow, at the risk of breaking his leg; but walking was easier between these tracts, and when evening came he reached a few large fallen rocks, among which he camped and lay awake, half frozen, without a fire. starting as soon as day broke, he felt that he must make the surveyed line before dark. he was growing afraid of the white desolation and wanted to get into touch with something that would lead him to the haunts of men.

it was afternoon when he came to a great dip. a valley lay beneath him with a frozen river winding through its depths, and he felt convinced that it was one the track would follow. the trouble, however, was to get down, for the hillside fell away in a vast scarp, broken here and there by dark crags that showed through the snow. there was a belt of timber a long way down, but the slope was too steep for him to reach it, and he walked along the summit in search of a spot from which the descent could be made, until he came to a long declivity that looked a little less sharp. then, strapping his fur coat on his pack, he kicked a step in the snow and began to climb down, facing inward toward the bank. 197

for a while, he made steady progress; and then the snow grew harder. its surface had melted and frozen again, resulting in a crust that could scarcely be penetrated. he thought about his ax, but he could not see how he could use it in cutting steps beneath him without falling down, and this was not the place for hazardous experiments. he went on very cautiously, finding the work of kicking hollows for his feet extremely severe, until, when he supposed that half an hour had passed, he drove his toes in deep and lay down to rest. on looking up, he seemed to have come a very short distance, and when he glanced below he felt appalled at the length of the declivity he must still creep down. his limbs ached; his mittens were worn and his hands badly numbed; and one boot was coming to pieces.

the descent, however, must be continued, and he began to move again, very warily. presently he found he could not break through the crust with his foot. clinging hard to his handhold, he lowered himself to feel for a softer spot. his toe went in a little way; he ventured to trust to the slight support; but as he did so the treacherous snow broke beneath him. for a few tense moments his numbed fingers held him to the slope. he tried in terror to kick another hole; the attempt failed, his hands slipped away, and he began to slide downward, the snow driving up into his face. the pace grew rapidly faster; he could not keep himself straight, but slid on his side; then his pack caught something that turned him farther round so that his head was lowest. he could see nothing; his pace grew frightful, and he drove on, unable to make the least effort.

how long this continued he had no idea. it was a 198 terrifying experience; but at length, to his dull astonishment, his speed slackened suddenly and he stopped. he found that he was whole in limb, and on getting up cautiously he was forced to the conclusion that he was little the worse for his rapid descent. his clothes were packed with snow, but it was easily shaken out. after recovering a little, he saw that he had brought up on a slope that fell less sharply and that it would be possible to walk down it without much trouble. the timber was close ahead, and he smiled as he remembered his horror; it looked as if he might have made the descent uninjured if he had calmly sat down and let himself go.

moving downward among the trees, he had almost reached the bottom of the valley when he came upon a belt of rugged stones, and in picking a path across them slipped and fell. he was not much hurt, but when he went on again his foot felt sore and he was limping when he reached the river. one or two trees near it had been chopped, and a spur of rock lower down had its summit marked by a pole. he had reached the line of track, and he followed it west, having heard there was a camp farther on, though his informants did not know whether it was now occupied. it was, however, a relief to stop among a clump of spruce at dusk. when he had made a fire he examined his foot. there was no sign of injury except that ankle and instep were rather red, and he went to sleep reassured.

in the morning he was surprised to find that the foot was painful and that the back of his leg felt strained. he would have been tempted to remain in camp only that his provisions were nearly exhausted, and after a meager breakfast he resumed the march. the bottom of the valley was level, the timber thin, but there was a 199 good deal of brush to be struggled through and before long he was forced to take to the winding river. by noon it cost him a determined effort to walk, for his foot was extremely painful and his leg getting sore. as he did not know how far off the camp was, it seemed prudent to save the food he had left, and he limped on, his lips tight-set.

the snow-covered ice was smooth, but the bends of the river increased the distance wofully; there was a keen wind, and the dark pines stretched on without a break as far as he could see. as he entered each fresh loop of the stream he looked eagerly for an opening or sign of life, but there were only rows of ragged spires, cutting sharply against the sky. he felt inexpressibly lonely and badly afraid; the desolation was growing appalling, and he could not keep on his feet much longer. he had food enough for two scanty meals, and then, if no help came, he must starve.

there was now a pain which grew rapidly worse in his left side; his shoulders ached beneath his load, and every joint was sore with the effort it cost him to save his injured foot. the sun sank lower, and the trees still ran on ahead. indeed, they were growing thicker, and he could see only a short distance into the avenues between the great colonnades of trunks. the loops of the river doubled more closely; in spite of his exertion he was getting very little farther down the valley; but an attempt to push through the forest led him into such tangles of fallen trunks and branches that he was forced back to the ice.

at length he reached a spot where a fire had swept the bush. branches and clustering needles had been burned away; the trees ran up in bare, charred columns, black 200 when looked at closely, in the distance a curious silvery gray. prescott could see ahead between them, and he stopped with his heart beating rapidly, for on the white hillside some distance off stood a few shacks. this was the camp, and in spite of the pain it cost him he increased his pace, driven by keen suspense. he did not know if there were men yonder, and he could see no smoke. the doubt grew tormenting; leaving the stream farther on, he struck into unburned bush that hid the camp from him. there were thorny brakes and thickets of withered ferns, but though progress was excruciatingly painful he smashed through them furiously. he was hot and breathless; it was insufferable that he should be delayed among the timber in anxiety. breaking out into the open, he sent up a hoarse cry, for a thin trail of vapor curled above one of the shacks. then a man appeared in the doorway and waved a hand to him.

prescott felt suddenly limp and nerveless; now that help was near at hand, he wanted to sit down; but he held on until he limped into the hut, where two men stood awaiting him. they were strong, weather-beaten fellows, dressed in quaintly patched garments, and they looked good-humored.

“come right in,” said one. “pull that box up to the fire and sit down.”

prescott was glad to obey, and when he had taken off his pack he looked about the shack. it was substantially built: stones and soil had been used in its construction as well as boards and bark. it was warmed by a big open fire and contained a table, besides a few tubs and cases which served as seats. a bunk neatly made of split boards and filled with spruce twigs and swamp hay ran along one end. 201

“can you take me in for a day or two?” he asked. “i’ve hurt my foot.”

“sure,” said the second man. “i noticed you were walking lame. we’re well stocked in groceries and steve got a deer a day or two ago.”

“how did you get your stores?”

“the contractor brought them up. there was quite a camp here; company putting in all the preliminary work that could be done with the shovel. they shut down when the frost came, but we figured we’d stay on, and took over part of the supplies. the boss had more truck than he could pack down to the other camps.”

“then there’s nobody else about the place?”

“no, sir,” said the first man; “they’re all gone. it’s kind of lonely, but we’re doing some chopping for the road, and we’ll be right here with money saved when work begins in spring. bought a piece of fruit land, part on mortgage, at a snap, and with good luck we’ll have it clear when we go back.”

the short explanation supplied a clue to the characters of the men, who with an eye to the future preferred to face the rigors of the north rather than to spend the winter hanging round the saloons on the warmer coast.

“well,” inquired the other, “where did you come from?”

prescott mentioned the last camp he had visited and gave them a few particulars about his journey.

“and so you came down the long bench—pretty tough proposition that! and kept the trail on short rations!” one of his hosts remarked. “suppose you take a smoke, and i’ll get supper a little earlier.”

before long he was given a share of a simple but abundant meal, and after it was over sat talking with his 202 hosts. it was dark outside now, but although the men had run out of oil for the lamp, the fire gave them light, and pungent odors issued from the resinous logs. the room was warm and, by comparison with the frozen wilderness, supremely comfortable.

“what’s the matter with your foot?” one of the men asked when prescott took off his boot.

prescott described how it felt, though he explained that he could find no sign of injury, and the other nodded.

“ricked it a bit; got one of the ligaments or something kinked,” he said. “known that happen when there wasn’t much to show. you had better lie off for a while.”

it occurred to prescott that he might be in much worse quarters, though he shrank from the delay a rest would entail.

“what took you up the gully and over the bench, anyway?” the man went on.

prescott explained and then asked: “have you come across my partner or the other fellow, hollin?”

“never seen your partner.” the man looked at his comrade and laughed. “but we know hollin, all right. got an idea that he’s a boss prospector and froze on to the railroad job because it took him into the mountains. been all round looking for minerals; got fired for it at one or two camps, and never struck anything worth speaking of. it’s a point on which he’s certainly a crank.”

it was characteristic of kermode, prescott thought, that he should be willing to accompany a man with a craze of the kind.

“i’d expected to find them here. i understood they didn’t mean to go back to the camp at butler ridge,” he said. 203

“we haven’t seen their tracks, and if they were heading west, they’d have to come down this valley; but i guess nobody could tell where hollin would make for. of course, you can’t prospect much in winter with everything frozen up and the snow about, but so long as he can trail through the mountains and find a few clean rocks the man will be happy; and i’ll allow that he’s smart at it. knows how to fix a camp, and find a deer, if there’s one in the country. it’s a sure thing he’ll have to strike for a camp or store sooner or later; but it’s likely he has crossed the line south and is trying to make the fraser and the settlements along the canadian pacific railroad.”

it was bad news to prescott. he knew enough about the pacific province to realize that if his host’s suppositions were correct, he would have a vast area to search; a region of stony uplands, mountain chains, and rock-walled valleys.

“would it be possible for me to get through?” he asked.

“no, sir! you don’t want to think of it. guess your partner will be pretty safe with hollin; but you’re a plainsman and you’d sure get lost in a day or two and starve when your grub ran out.”

“that’s right,” agreed the other man. “the thing can’t be done.”

prescott fell in with his opinion. it would, he thought, require a number of expert mountaineers to trace the men he sought through the desolation of rock and forest to the south. besides, british columbia was well populated along the canadian pacific line, from which many avenues of communication opened up, and there would be a strong probability of his missing kermode.

“well,” he said reluctantly, “perhaps, i had better 204 stop round here in case they keep this track; and my foot’s too sore to let me move. could you put me up for a week or two? i’ll try to make it worth your while.”

“stop as long as you want,” steve responded. “we’ll have to charge you for the grub, because we paid quite a pile for it, but we’ll only strike you for your share.”

“thank you,” said prescott, and the others began to talk of hollin.

“if that man would let up on prospecting he’d get rich,” declared one. “when a survey outfit goes up into the bush, hollin’s picked for the boss packer’s job, and when there’s a new wagon road to be staked out they generally put him on. a smart man at striking the easiest line through rough country.”

“that’s so,” agreed steve. “trouble is that he can’t stay with it. soon as he collects some pay, he goes off on the prospecting trail, and then heads for vancouver with a bag of specimens that aren’t worth anything. when the mineral men hear of a new hollin discovery they smile. guess he’s found most everything—gold, copper, zinc, and platinum—and never made fifty cents out of them, ’cept once when, so the boys say, a mining company fellow gave him five dollars to promise he wouldn’t worry him again. now they’ve orders in all the offices that if hollin comes round with any more specimens they’re not to let him in.”

prescott laughed. the man he had heard described was kermode’s companion, and he could imagine their wandering up and down the province, one as irresponsible as the other; meeting with strange experiences, stubbornly braving the perils of the wilds; making themselves a nuisance to business men in the cities. the matter had, however, a more serious aspect. prescott had spent 205 some time on the useless search and he could not continue it throughout the winter. it would be futile to speculate on the movements of men so erratic as those he had followed. he could not neglect his farm, and he had a heavy crop to haul in and sell: this was a duty that must be attended to.

if he went back without jernyngham, and curtis still clung to his theory, the police might give him trouble; but he must run that risk. though convinced of it, he had no means of proving that jernyngham was wandering through british columbia in company with a crazy prospector.

after a while he grew drowsy and got into the bunk, where he lay down, enjoying the warmth and softness of the spruce twigs until he went to sleep.