on a
portage. Clark's office always frightened him a little. The rumble of
the adjoining power house, the great bulk of the buildings just
outside, the masses of documents,--all of this spoke of an external
power that puzzled and, in a way, worried him. He halted suddenly in
front of the desk.

"Well?" said Clark, without offering him a seat, for Fisette was more
at ease when he stood.

The half breed felt in his pockets. The other unrolled a duplicate of
the map he had shown Baudette and held out his hand, in which Fisette
placed some pieces of rock.

At the weight and chill of them, Clark experienced a peculiar thrill,
then, under a magnifying glass he examined each with extreme care,
turning them so that the light fell fair on edge and fracture. One
after another he scrutinized, while the breed stood motionless.

"Where do they come from?" he said shortly.

The breed made a little noise in his throat, and his dark eyes rested
luminously on the keen face. After a little he gathered the samples
and disposed them on the map, laying each in that corner of the
wilderness from which it had been broken. He did this with the
deliberation of one who knew beyond all question. He had brought
months of hardship and exposure in his pocket. By swamp and hill,
valley and lake and rapid he had journeyed alone in search of the gray,
heavy, shiny rock of which Clark had, months before, given him a
fragment, with curt orders to seek the like. The small, angular pieces
were all arranged, and his chief stared at them with profound
geological interest. Fisette did not move. He had looked forward to
this moment.

"They're no good," came the level voice, after a pause, "but you're in
the right country. Go back for another two months. You'll get it yet.
It should be near this," he picked up a sample. "Take what men you
want, or no, don't take any. I want you to do this yourself, and don't
talk. Good morning."

Fisette nodded dumbly. The moment had come and gone and he felt a
little paralyzed.

"Here, have a cigar."

He took one, such a cigar as he had never seen, large, dark and fat
with a golden band around its plump middle. He glanced at Clark, who
apparently had forgotten him, and went silently out. On the doorstep
he paused, slid off the golden band and put it in his pocketbook,
cupped a lighted match between his polished palms, took one long
luxurious breath and started thoughtfully to town with worship