the project grow. But afterwards, when he had taken up geological work
again, they had met only at long intervals; at times he had lost all trace
of Weatherbee, and he had not realized the scheme had such a hold. Still,
he should have understood; he should have had at least a suspicion before
that letter reached him at Nome. And even then he had been blind. With
that written proof in his hands, he had failed to grasp its meaning. The
tragedy! the shame of it! That he should have hesitated,--thrown away four
days.

He looked off once more to the harbor, and his eyes gathered their
far-sighted expression, as though they went seeking that white trail
through the solitudes stretching limitless under the cold Arctic night.
His face hardened. When finally the features stirred, disturbed by forces
far down, he had come to that make-believe orchard of spruce twigs.

After a while he folded the drawing to put it away, but as his glance fell
on the contents of the box, he laid the plan on the table to take up the
miner's poke tucked in a corner made by a packet of letters, and drew out
Weatherbee's watch. It was valuable but the large monogram deeply engraved
on the gold case may have made it unnegotiable. That probably was why
David never had parted with it. Tisdale wound it, and set the hands. The
action seemed suddenly to bring Weatherbee close. He felt his splendid
personality there beside him, as he used to feel it still nights up under
the near Yukon stars. It was as though he was back to one night, the last
on a long trail, when they were about to part company. He had been urging
him to come out with him to the States, but Weatherbee had as steadily
refused. "Not yet," he persisted. "Not until I have something to show."
And again: "No, Hollis, don't ask me to throw away all these years. I have
the experience now, and I've got to make good." Then he spoke of his wife--
for an instant Tisdale seemed to see him once more, bending to hold his
open watch so that the light of the camp-fire played on her picture set in
the lower rim. "You see Alaska is no place for a woman like her," he said,
"but she is worth waiting for and working for. You ought to understand,
Hollis, how the thought of her buoys me through."

But it was a long time to remember a picture seen only by the flicker of a
camp-fire and starshine, and the woman of Tisdale's imagination clouded
out the face he tried to recall. "Still Weatherbee was so sensitive, so