wolfish smile. It would be difficult, very difficult
indeed for a wife to explain his possession of such a trifle. . . . He
held it against his mouth. The faint perfume of the white woman
thrilled him. His nostrils twitched. He felt his eyes grow narrow as
when he sighted game on the trail. . . . Suddenly, as if in decision,
he turned and walked rapidly up the beach toward his quarters at the
trading-post.

In his living-room, dark now except for a few dull embers in the
fireplace, he lighted a candle and crossed to the corner beneath the
high shelf of books. He drew aside a large hair-seal wall-pocket of
Indian make, and fumbled a moment. A small door swung open revealing a
hollow in the log wall.

Very carefully the White Chief wrapped the lock of hair in a
handkerchief and laid it away in the hiding place. As carefully he
drew out a small moose-hide poke and putting the candle on a nearby
table, sat down before it. He removed the tag attached to the top and
read the inscription: "Eldorado Creek gold," then he loosened the
string.

On the wall behind the man, weird, gigantic shadows, born of the
flickering candle flame, leaped and danced. In the crude light and
shade his barbaric gorgeousness became doubly sinister, as he pushed
the strange shaman headdress farther back on his dark head.

He wiped an ash-tray carefully and poured the contents of the poke into
it. Beautifully yellow and gleaming it fell in a golden
stream--perhaps two ounces of gold dust. With a satisfied nod he put
the poke of dust into his pocket and a few minutes later stepped out
into the night.

The sound of drums and dancing came up from the Village as he crossed
the dim courtyard toward the light that shone palely from Silvertip's
window. As he entered the cabin the Swede, still nursing the broken
head that kept him from participating in the Potlatch festivities,
groaned dismally in greeting.

There were a few perfunctory words, then for half an hour Kilbuck
talked earnestly. Silvertip protested; he whined; but he listened.
There was mention of Boreland and beach sand; of gold dust and Kon
Klayu. After much persuasion Silvertip consented to do what the White
Chief outlined.

Kilbuck held out the small bag of gold and the pale-eyed Swede reached
for it and put it away under his pillow.

The trader rose to go. As he draped his robe about him, his eye caught
a movement among the blankets in the top bunk. He started.