n, but when he came to the ditch
which carried water from the stream through a hundred and fifty feet of
sluice-boxes he stopped and examined with eager interest the methods
used for saving fine gold, for, keen as was his hunger, the miner's
instinct within him was keener.

"Will you look at the lumber he's whip-sawed!" Astonishment was in his
voice! "Whip-sawin' lumber is the hardest work a man ever did. I'll bet
the squaw was on the other end of that saw; I never heard of Dubois
hiring help. Uh-huh, he uses the Carriboo riffles. Look at the work he's
been to--punchin' all those holes in that sheet-iron. And here's two
boxes of pole riffles, and a set of Hungarian riffles, not to mention
three distributin' boxes and a table. Say, he isn't takin' any chances
on losin' anything, is he? But it's all right--you gotta be careful with
this light gold and heavy sand. I'm liable to learn something down
here. Lord I'm hungry! Come on, Baldy!"

As he pulled his saddle horse in the direction of the smoke he noticed
that there were no footprints in the trail and a stillness which
impressed him as peculiar pervaded the place. There was something which
he missed--what was it? To be sure--dogs! There were no barking dogs to
greet him. It was curious, he thought, for these isolated families
always had plenty of dogs and no "breed" or "Injun" outfit ever kept
fewer than six. There were no shrill voices of children at play, no
sound of an axe or a saw or a hammer.

"Blamed funny," he muttered, yet he knew where there was smoke there
must be human beings.

He stopped short at some sound and listened attentively. A whimpering
minor wail reached him faintly. It was unlike any sound he ever had
heard, yet he knew it was a woman's voice. There was something in the
cadence which sent a chill over him. He dropped the bridle reins and
walked softly down the trail. Suddenly he halted and his lips parted in
a whispered ejaculation of astonishment and horror. He was young then,
Dick Kincaid, but the sight which met his eyes stayed with him distinct
in every detail, through all his adventurous life.

Two children, boys of eleven and thirteen or thereabouts, were roasting
a ground squirrel in the smouldering embers of what had been a cabin. A
dead baby lay on a ragged soogan near a partially dug grave.
Cross-legged on the ground beside it was a woman wailing unceasingly as
she rocked her gaunt and nearly naked body to and fro. The eagerness of