drowned coming back."

"Strange wouldn't tell Black Steve where he thought the lode was,"
Thirlwell objected. "I understand they only kept together until they had
portaged their outfit across the divide."

"Strange would leave a trail a trapper could follow. Then I don't see
why Steve stops here instead of locating on better hunting ground. It
looks as if he didn't want to leave the Shadow."

"I don't see how stopping here would help him to find the lode," said
Thirlwell, who went to the door.

It was getting dark and except for the turmoil of the river the bush was
very still. The green behind the pines had faded, and they rose against
the sky indistinctly in smears of shadowy blue. They had neither height
nor beauty, but straggled back, battered and stunted by the winds,
among the rocks until they faded from sight. There was not much to
attract a white man in the desolation of tangled bush, but as he glanced
across it, looking to the North, a hint of mystery in its silence
appealed to Thirlwell. He felt that the wilderness challenged him to
find a clue to the treasure it hid. Then he reflected with a smile that
it was taking much for granted to admit that there was treasure there,
and he went back into the shack and lighted the lamp.

A week later, he went up the river bank, one evening, with a fishing
rod, and stopped at dusk at the tail of the Grand Rapid. He had gone
farther than he meant and was tired after scrambling across slippery
rocks and among the driftwood that lay about the bank. There was,
however, a shorter way back, and lighting his pipe he sat down upon the