In all directions
up the hillside the tents and shacks had stretched, dance halls were
gay, freighters plied along the winding road to the south. The man's
mother had been one of the first women in the camp; and one of the last
to go. The mines were fabulously rich; tens of thousands in dust were
often taken in a single day by a lone miner, fortunes were made and lost
at the gambling tables, and even the terrible winters could not triumph
over the gold seekers. But in a little while the mines gave out, one
terrible winter night the whole town was destroyed by fire, and now that
the miners were drifting to other camps, few of the shacks were rebuilt.
Of the six thousand that had been, scarcely threescore remained. A few
trappers ran their lines out from the town, a few men had placer claims
in the old diggings, two or three woodsmen made precarious livings as
guides for such wealthy men as came to hunt moose and caribou, and
Bradleyburg's course was run. The winter cold had triumphed at last,
and its curse was over the city from October till June. The spruce
forest, cleared away to make room for the cabins, had sprung up again
and was steadily marching toward the main street of the town.

But the man on the hilltop felt no regret. Except for a few memories of
his young days he had no particular fondness for the little cluster of
shacks. Long ago the wilderness had claimed him for its own; his home
was the dark forest from which even now he was emerging. Bradleyburg
was simply his source of supplies and his post office, the market for
his furs. He had reached back and stroked the warm nose of his horse.

"Another half mile, old fellow," he said gently. "Then oats--rice and
meat for me at Johnson's--and oats--honest-to-goodness oats--for
you. What you think about that, eh, Mulvaney? Then show a little speed
this last half-mile."

The man swung on his horse, and even the cattlemen of the plains would
have found something to admire in the ease and grace with which his body
slipped down into the saddle. The horse moved forward, the pack animals
pushed on behind him. A few minutes later they had swung down into the
still street of the town. Tired as he was, his hands were swift and
strong as he unpacked the animals and tied them in the bar back of
Johnson's,--the little frontier inn. As always, after the supper
hour, a group of the townsmen were gathered about the hotel stove; and
all of them spoke to him a