Together they made their way through the night, along the rough trail, and after much stumbling reached the Indian village. Here they paused and listened. No light was to be seen, and no human voice could they hear. The camp was deserted.
"Let us go farther," suggested Mr. Radhurst. "We may find out something lower down."
Through the midst of the lodges they moved for several hundred yards along the high bank of the Kaslo. The waters were now surging tumultuously on their left. They could hear the ice groaning and tearing in its onward sweep, but could see nothing. When the last house had been reached they stood straining their eyes in an effort to pierce the darkness.
"What's that?" cried Constance, grasping her father's arm more firmly.
"I heard nothing but the waters," was the reply.
"But I did, father, and it sounded like a shout far ahead. Oh, let us go on along the bank! I am afraid something terrible has happened!"
They had groped their way but a short distance when a light fell upon their eyes. Small at first, it soon grew larger, and then they knew it was a watch-fire upon the shores. Forms of men were seen flitting here and there, gathering sticks to throw upon the flames, which ere long developed into a magnificent blaze. Guided by this they soon reached the spot, and great was the miners' surprise to behold the gray-haired man and the hooded maiden emerge from the darkness.
"What's wrong?" inquired Mr. Radhurst, looking from one to another.
"Wrong?" replied a husky fellow, who had just deposited an armful of wood, "everything's wrong to-night! Flood and death, that's what's wrong!"
Constance's face paled as she listened to these words.