the region
they were pushing their way into, and Seaforth once more felt a curious
depression as he glanced up the lonely valley. It stretched away
before them, a road to the unknown, and he fancied that a future which
was fraught with great and perilous possibilities lay hidden beyond the
drifting mist.

They had, it seemed, set out upon a journey which led farther than the
silver Jimmy had found, but knowing that his comrade would go on to the
end of it, Seaforth shook off his misgivings, and assisted him to load
and launch the craft. They made fast the pack-horse by a halter, and
in ten minutes had landed the beast upon an island. Then, somewhat to
Seaforth's regret, they took up the paddles and went on again. Alton
smiled curiously as he glanced towards the firs that slid by them
half-seen through the mist.

"We're taking Jimmy's road. He was the last man to come down here, and
I wonder what he was thinking about," he said. "There would have been
an ice fringe along the bank, and Jimmy was hungry. I think he knew he
wouldn't get through, and it was only because of the woman he held on
so tight."

Seaforth shivered a little, as his fancy called up the scene. The
starving man crouching half-frozen with the paddle clenched in
stiffened fingers had watched those trees slide by him, knowing that on
their speed depended his fast-failing chance of life. He had, Seaforth
fancied, stared at the crawling boulders with despair in his dimming
eyes, and the weary man turned towards his comrade almost savagely.

"Can't you think of anything a little more pleasant?" he said.

Alton smiled gravely. "It comes to all of us one day, and the trail of
the treasure-seeker leads most often to the unknown hunting grounds,"
he said. "We have got to keep faith with Jimmy. He did his best, and
I think he knew I would come up here after him."

Seaforth said nothing further, but bent over his paddle, until an hour
later they landed on a point and set up the tent. Neither was
communicative over the supper, and Seaforth went early to sleep. The
last thing he saw was Alton sitting, a black motionless figure,
apparently staring into the darkness from the door of the tent, with
his face towards the north.

It was raining when he awakened next morning. The tent was saturated,
the fire ill to light, and that day was spent in unremitting toil. The
stream ran strong against them, and Seaforth's wet hands grew blistered
from the