“We’ve got all our lives to—­to find it in,” said Keith.

Duggan puffed out a huge cloud of smoke and heaved a great sigh of pleasure.  Then he grunted and chuckled.  “Lord, what a little firebrand that sister of Conniston’s is!” he exclaimed.  “Johnny, I bet if you’d walk in on her now, she’d kill you with her own hands.  Don’t see why she hates you so, just because you tried to save your life.  Of course you must ha’ lied like the devil.  Couldn’t help it.  But a lie ain’t nothin’.  I’ve told some whoppers, an’ no one ain’t never wanted to kill me for it.  I ain’t afraid of McDowell.  Everyone said the Chink was a good riddance.  It’s the girl.  There won’t be a minute all her life she ain’t thinkin’ of you, an’ she won’t be satisfied until she’s got you.  That is, she thinks she won’t.  But we’ll fool the little devil, Johnny.  We’ll keep our eyes open—­an’ fool her!”

“Let’s talk of pleasanter things,” said Keith.  “I’ve got fifty traps in the pack, Andy.  You remember how we used to plan on trapping during the winter and hunting for gold during the summer?”

Duggan rubbed his hands until they made a rasping sound; he talked of lynx signs he had seen, and of marten and fox.  He had panned “colors” at a dozen places along the Little Fork and was ready to make his affidavit that it was the same gold he had dredged at McCoffin’s Bend.

“If we don’t find it this fall, we’ll be sittin’ on the mother lode next summer,” he declared, and from then until it was time to turn in he talked of nothing but the yellow treasure it had been his lifelong dream to find.  At the last, when they had rolled in their blankets, he raised himself on his elbow for a moment and said to Keith: 

“Johnny, don’t you worry about that Conniston girl.  I forgot to tell you I’ve took time by the forelock.  Two weeks ago I wrote an’ told her I’d learned you was hittin’ into the Great Slave country, an’ that I was about to hike after you.  So go to sleep an’ don’t worry about that pesky little rattlesnake.”

“I’m not worrying,” said Keith.

Fifteen minutes later he heard Duggan snoring.  Quietly he unwrapped his blanket and sat up.  There were still burning embers in the fire, the night—­like that first night of his flight—­was a glory of stars, and the moon was rising.  Their camp was in a small, meadowy pocket in the center of which was a shimmering little lake across which he could easily have thrown a stone.  On the far side of this was the sheer wall of a mountain, and the top of this wall, thousands of feet up, caught the glow of the moon first.  Without awakening his comrade, Keith walked to the lake.  He watched the golden illumination as it fell swiftly lower over the face of the mountain.  He could see it move like a great flood.  And then, suddenly, his shadow shot out ahead of him, and he turned to find the moon itself glowing like a monstrous ball between the low shoulders of a mountain to the east.  The world about him