"I think I know what it is!" was the whispered reply.
"It's the Little Brass God!" whispered George excitedly. "And I'm going to sneak over there and lay my hands on it before that fellow wakes up!"
"You never can do it!" advised Thede.
"I've just got to do it!"
"If that is the real Little Brass God, how did it ever get here?" whispered Thede. "Strangest thing I ever heard of."
"Gee whiz!" whispered George. "We mustn't stand around wondering how it got here. The thing for us to do right now is to get possession of it. I believe I can get over there without waking that fellow up."
"Let me take your gun, then," Thede advised, "and if he moves or makes any funny breaks, I'll keep him under cover!"
George handed his gun over to the boy without a word and moved on toward the fire. It was clear that the man was asleep, his chin resting on his breast, his shoulders supported by a wall of rock.
The thing which glittered on the ledge, now almost within reaching distance, was unquestionably the Little Brass God, the quest of which had brought the boys into the Hudson Bay country.
George had never set eyes on the toy, but there was no mistaking the crossed legs, the folded arms, the paunchy stomach, and the misshapen, leering face. The boy heard a soft warning whispered from the opposite side of the room and turned his eyes from a greedy contemplation of the Little Brass God to the figure of the man crouching before the blaze.