“I vish you every happiness. Bon voyage!”
They saw her waving her handkerchief as they entered the woods and headed for their destination.
Traveling was pleasant enough, though the packs were heavy. Now that the following day would see them at Dawson, the question of the future loomed larger than ever. Broke, travel-stained, and tormented by the thought of parting, Jim could find little conversation, though Angela seemed cheerful enough. They came to the creek where Jim had rested but an hour or two before, and waded across it at the shallowest part. Traversing the opposite bank, Angela stopped and stared at the newly excavated hole.
“Someone has been digging here!” she exclaimed. 297
“Me,” said Jim. “This morning.”
“To find what we always find—muck?”
“I didn’t wash it. Chips turned up and was in trouble——”
She stared at him in amazement.
“You dug all that and didn’t wash it?”
“What’s the use? It didn’t look good to me.”