d as a
bondage to which his sex had no right to submit. He was with his
friend Peter, helping him in his never-ending quest for gold. Hunting
for gold. It sounded good in the boy's ears. Gold. Everybody dreamed
of gold; everybody sought it--even his sister. But this--this was a
new life.

There were Peter's tools, there was their camp, there was the work in
process. There was his own little A tent, which Peter insisted that he
should sleep in, while, for himself, he required only the starry sky
as a roofing, and good thick blankets, to prevent the heat going out
of his body while he slept. Yes; the boy was happy in his own curious
way. He was living on "sow-belly" and "hardtack," and extras in the
way of "canned truck," and none of the good things which his sister
had ever made for him had tasted half so sweet as the rough cooking of
this wholesome food by Peter. Something like happiness was his just
now; but he regretted that it could only last until his sister
returned to Barnriff. The boy's interest in the coming day's work now
inspired his words.

"We go on with this sinking?" he inquired; and there was a boyish
pride in the use of the plural.

Peter nodded. His eyes were watching the fire, to see that it played
no trick on him.

"Yep, laddie," he said, in his kindly way. "We've got a bully prospect
here. We'll see it through after we've had breakfast. Sleepy?"

Elia returned him an unsmiling negative. Smiling was apparently
unnatural to him. The lack of it and the lack of expression in his
eyes, except when stirred by terror, showed something of the warp of
his mind.

"You aren't damp, or--or anything? There's a heap of dew around." The
man was throwing strips of "sow-belly" into the pan, and the coffee
water was already set upon the flaming wood.

"You needn't to worry 'bout them things for me, Peter," Elia declared
peevishly. "Wimmin folks are like that, an' it sure makes me sick."

The other laughed good-naturedly as he took a couple of handfuls of
the "hardtack" out of a sack.

"You'd be a man only they won't let you, eh? You've the grit, laddie,
there's no denying."

The boy felt pleased. Peter understood him. He liked Peter, only
sometimes he wished the man wasn't so big and strong. Why wasn't he
hump-backed with a bent neck and a "game" leg? Why wasn't he afraid of
things? Then he never remembered seeing Peter hurt anything, and he
loved to hurt. He felt as if he'd like to thrust a burning bran