"An' how lang will ye stay doon yon? Will ye no wark?"
"Make a livin', man? I'm not a-worrin' about that. All my life long the good Lord has provided fer me better than I desarved, an' if He cares fer the flowers an' the birds He'll not abandon an old man, never ye fear that. But thar'll be wark, Alec, an' these rough hands'll not be idle as long as life is in this carcase."
"May God bless ye, Pete!" and Alec stretched out his horny right hand. Then in the silence of that little cabin these two hardy prospectors joined hands, while their eyes filled with tears, at what they felt was at last the parting of the ways.
Some time before Pete reached Klassan the trail became so bad that it was impossible for the dogs to drag the sled with its load of meat and the prospector's small outfit. The only thing to do was to cache the supplies up between three trees, on a triangular scaffold made of fir poles.
"Thar, laddies," said Pete, when the task was finished, "it's safe at any rate, an'll keep till we kin come fer it."
With a small pack on his back and rifle in his hand, he pushed forward, with the dogs bounding along by his side, glad of the freedom from harness. Night had shut down over the land when at length the lights of Klassan came into view.
"We'll soon be thar, b'ys," encouraged the old man, "an' I reckon yer master'll be mighty glad to see us. Mebbe he'll have some supper ready, though it is late, an' we won't be sorry, hey, Yukon?" and he gave the faithful brute an affectionate pat on the head.
Into the village he strode, past the store, the miners' cabins, and up the trail toward the Indian encampment. He had just reached the forks of the road when a heart-rending cry for help split the air. Pete paused in amazement, while with a roar Brisko bounded forward. It was a woman's voice, he was sure of that, and his heart beat fast when he realized that there was only one white woman in the place. With Pete to think was to act, and springing up the trail with huge strides, he soon reached the spot where the prostrate woman lay. He saw the dark figure on the ground and heard the crashing of the bushes through which Pritchen was struggling, at the same time beating off the furious onset of the dog.
Pete lost not an instant, but drawing forth his match case, made of two cartridge shells fitted closely together, he struck a light, and as it flashed upon Constance's face so still and white, a deep groan escaped his lips.
"My God," he cried, looking wildly around. "Whar is the villain who has done this?"