not know them as Paul will, after a week in the woods with them."

The colonel had missed the drift of the girls' discussion. He was
considering, privately, whether he had not better send a special messenger
on the young men's trail. His assurances to the women left a wide margin
for personal doubt as to the prudence of the trip. Aside from the lateness
of the start, it was, undoubtedly, an ill-assorted company for the woods.
There was a wide margin also for suspense, as all mail facilities ceased
at Challis.




VIII


A HUNTER'S DIARY

Early in November, about a week before the hunters were expected home, a
packet came addressed to Moya. It was a journal letter from Paul, mailed
by some returning prospector chance encountered in the forest as the party
were going in. Moya read it aloud, with asterisks, to a family audience
which did not include her father.

"To-day," one of the first entries read, "we halt at Twelve-Mile Cabin,
the last roof we shall sleep under. There are pine-trees near the cabin
cut off fifteen feet above the ground, felled in winter, John tells us,
_at the level of the snow!_

"These cabins are all deserted now; the tide of prospecting has turned