It was like a stab to him. She saw it and was pleased. But later on she was a little ashamed of that throb of transient joy. She would have liked to express her regrets, but her pride prevented such a descent. 181
They found the horse, pawing impatiently at the ground. He whinnied plaintively as he heard Jim’s footfall and the call that the latter’s lips gave utterance to. Without a word Jim lifted Angela into the saddle and mounted behind her. A “cluck” from his lips, and the mare went galloping across the uneven country towards Red Ruin. They arrived there just as the first flakes of snow began to fall.
For a whole week no single word passed between them. The first snow had come, and every day found the thermometer registering a lower temperature. In a week or two the whole land would be in the grip of the pitiless winter. What were Jim’s intentions? She saw him pondering over a map and marking routes. After a trip into Dawson he came back with a team of dogs and a new sled, plus dog-feed, snow-shoes, and sundry other gear. One evening he broke the silence.
“Angela!”
She lifted her head from the book that she was reading.
“We’re hitting the trail to-morrow.” 182
“To where?”
“North—the Chandalar River district. There’s nothing left worth staking down here. But there’s gold up there, and we can’t afford to waste time.”
“Very well,” she said icily, and turned to the book again.