bare neck, and the wind played among the
streaming mass of his black hair. But she had no eyes for this. From the
moment when he had unceremoniously forced her on this journey of horror
and desolation her wounded pride had smothered every other emotion. Her
soul hungered for one thing--escape. Thwarted though her other attempts
had been, she meant to try again. To try, and try, until he grew sick of
holding a woman against her will. The unexpected genesis of D'Arcy raised
her hopes to high pitch.

They ultimately entered the narrow, sluggish creek, and Jim beached the
boat on the northern side. She saw several stakes driven in the earth, and
realized that these marked the boundaries of the two claims.

They pitched the tent some distance from the claims--high up on the bank,
to guard against the trickling water that ran down the bluff and into the
creek.

On the morrow Jim started digging. She condescended to take a little
interest in this, for the experience was novel. A lucky strike might mean
freedom from this life of hardship and misery. Once back in England----
The thought was tantalizing. She watched Jim commence to drive a hole
through the matted undergrowth, exhibiting surprise when the pick rang
hard on the frozen earth beneath.

"Rock?" she queried.

"Nope--earth. It's froze right down for a hundred feet. Bed-rock ought to
be three or four feet down. That's where the gold is--or ought to be."

"And if it isn't there?"

"Sink another hole, an' keep on doin' it till I git it."

Later in the day he reached bed-rock, at a depth of six feet from the
surface. The washing-pan came into operation, and he sought eagerly for
the golden dust--in vain.

"Muck!" he ejaculated.

The next pan, and the next, produced similar results. He commenced another
hole about six feet from the first, driving through fallen trees and
vegetable matter that had lain there for tens of centuries. When the
evening came no sign of gold had appeared. He went to the tent and partook
of the meal that Angela had prepared.

"Any luck?" she asked.

"Nope, but it'll come. If not here, then somewhere else. But there's five
hundred feet of frontage to be bored yet."

Angela shrugged her shoulders. He talked as though time was of no
importance. She knew he would go on and on until he had achieved what he
set out to do. The summer was short--a brief four months. In October down
would come the winter, freezing everything solid for eight l