took the piece of gum from its case.

"I guess you have seen nothing like this round here?"

"No," said Robertson, who examined it carefully. "I have made it my
business to study the natural products o' the district, and it's my
opinion ye'll find no gum of this kind in the northern timber belt."

"I expect you're right. Leaving furs out, if the country's rich in
anything, it's probably minerals."

"There's copper and some silver, but I've seen no ore that would pay
for working when ye consider the transport."

"I don't suppose you're anxious to encourage prospecting," Benson
suggested.

Robertson smiled. "If there was a rich strike, we would no object.
We're here to trade, and supplying miners is no quite so chancy as
dealing in furs; but to have a crowd from the settlements disturbing
our preserves and going away after finding nothing of value would not
suit us. Still I'm thinking, it's no likely; the distance and the
winter will keep them out."

"Did you ever see signs of oil?"

"No here; there's petroleum three hundred miles south, but no enough,
in my opinion, to pay for driving wells. Onyway, the two prospecting
parties that once came up didna come back again."

He left them presently, and when they heard him moving about an
adjoining room, Harding said, "We'll stay here for a time and then look
for that petroleum on our way to the settlements."

Blake, who agreed, thought this determination was characteristic of his
comrade. Harding's project had failed, but instead of being crushed by
disappointment, he was already considering another. While they talked
about it Robertson returned, and shortly afterwards they went to sleep.

CHAFFER XXV

THE BACK TRAIL

Blake and his friends spent three weeks at the Hudson's Bay post, and
throughout the first fortnight an icy wind hurled the snow against the
quivering building. It was dangerous to venture as far as a
neighbouring bluff where fuel had been cut, and one evening Benson and
the agent, who were hauling cordwood home, narrowly escaped from death
in the suddenly freshening storm. None of the half-breeds could reach
the factory and Robertson confessed to some anxiety about them; there
was little that could be done, and they spent the dreary days lounging
about the red-hot stove, and listening to the roar of the gale. In the
long evenings Robertson told them grim stories of the North.

Then there came a week of still, clear weather with i