“Come along, Colonel; let’s go and look for real timber—­”

“And let’s find it nearer water-level—­where the steamers can see it right away.”

“What about the kid?”

“Me come,” said Kaviak, with a highly obliging air.

“No; you stay at home.”

“No; go too.”

“Go too, thou babbler!  Kaviak’s a better trail man than some I could mention.”

“We’ll have to carry him home,” objected Potts.

“Now don’t tell us you’ll do any of the carryin’, or we’ll lose confidence in you, Potts.”

The trail was something awful, but on their Canadian snowshoes they got as far as an island, six miles off.  One end of it was better wooded than any easily accessible place they had seen.

“Why, this is quite like real spruce,” said the Boy, and O’Flynn admitted that even in California “these here would be called ‘trees’ wid no intintion o’ bein’ sarcaustic.”

So they cut holes in the ice, and sounded for the channel.

“Yes, sir, the steamers can make a landin’ here, and here’s where we’ll have our wood-rack.”

They went home in better spirits than they had been in since that welter of gold had lain on the Big Cabin table.

* * * * *

But a few days sufficed to wear the novelty off the new wood camp for most of the party.  Potts and O’Flynn set out in the opposite direction one morning with a hand-sled, and provisions to last several days.  They were sick of bacon and beans, and were “goin’ huntin’.”  No one could deny that a moose or even a grouse—­anything in the shape of fresh meat—­was sufficiently needed.  But Potts and O’Flynn were really sick and sore from their recent slight attack of wood-felling.  They were after bigger game, too, as well as grouse, and a few days “off.”  It had turned just enough colder to glaze the trail and put it in fine condition.  They went down the river to the Oklahoma, were generously entertained by Captain Rainey, and learned that, with earlier contracts on his hands, he did not want more wood from them than they had already corded.  They returned to the camp without game, but with plenty of whisky, and information that freed them from the yoke of labour, and from the lash of ironic comment.  In vain the Colonel urged that the Oklahoma was not the only steamer plying the Yukon, that with the big rush of the coming season the traffic would be enormous, and a wood-pile as good as a gold mine.  The cause was lost.

“You won’t get us to make galley-slaves of ourselves on the off-chance of selling.  Rainey says that wood camps have sprung up like mushrooms all along the river.  The price of wood will go down to—­”

“All along the river!  There isn’t one between us and Andreievsky, nor between here and Holy Cross.”

But it was no use.  The travellers pledged each other in Oklahoma whisky, and making a common cause once more, the original Trio put in a night of it.  The Boy and the Colonel turned into their bunks at eleven o’clock.  They were roused in the small hours, by Kaviak’s frightened crying, and the noise of angry voices.