The track by this time had been extended considerably beyond the lower crossing—­a circumstance which rendered their boat journey to the glaciers considerably shorter than the one Dan had taken with his cargo of dynamite.  When the engine finally stopped it was in the midst of a tent village beside which flowed one of the smaller branches of the Salmon.  In the distance the grade stretched out across the level swamps like a thin, lately healed scar, and along its crest gravel-trains were slowly creeping.  An army of men like a row of ants were toiling upon it, and still farther away shone the white sides of another encampment.

“Oh!  That’s Gordon’s track,” Eliza cried, quickly.  “Why, you’re nearly up to him.  How do you intend to get across?”

O’Neil nodded at the long thin line of moiling men in the distance.

“There’s a loose handle in each one of those picks,” he said.

“Somebody will be killed in that kind of a racket.”

“That rests with Gordon.  I’m going through.”

“Suppose he had said that when Dan stopped him at the canon?”

“If he’d said it and meant it he’d probably have done it.  He bluffs; I don’t!  I have to go on; he didn’t.  Now lunch is served; and since this is our last glimpse of civilization, I advise you to fortify yourselves.  From here on we shall see nothing but the wilderness.”

He led them to a spotless tent which had been newly erected at the edge of the spruce.  It was smoothly stretched upon a framework of timber, its walls and floor were of dressed lumber, and within were two cots all in clean linen.  There were twin washstands also, and dressers and rocking-chairs, a table and a stove.  On the floor beside the beds lay a number of deep, soft bear-rugs.  A meal was spread amid glass and figured china and fresh new napery.

“How cozy!  Why, it’s a perfect dear of a house!” exclaimed Natalie.

“You will leave everything but your necessaries here, for we are going light,” Murray told them.  “You will stop here on our way back to Kyak, and I’ll warrant you’ll be glad to see the place by that time.”

“You built this just for us,” Eliza said, accusingly.

“Yes.  But it didn’t take long.  I ’phoned this morning that you were coming.”  He ran a critical eye over the place to see that its equipment was complete, then drew out their chairs for them.

A white-coated cook-boy served a luncheon in courses, the quality of which astonished the visitors, for there was soup, a roast, delicious vegetables, crisp salad, a camembert which O’Neil had imported for his private use, and his own particular blend of coffee.

The girls ate with appetites that rivaled those of the men in the mess-tent near by.  Their presence in the heart of a great activity, the anticipation of adventure to come, the electric atmosphere of haste and straining effort on every hand excited them.  Eliza began to be less conscious of her secret intention, and Natalie showed a gaiety rare in her since the shadow of her mother’s shame had fallen upon her life.