"We can't be far from camp?" he queried.
"About three miles. We ought to see it when we're through the timber on the lower bench. Graham had wood enough to keep a good fire going."
They pressed on, slipping down the steeper slopes, stumbling now and then, for both had regretted the necessity for leaving Graham alone, and at sunset they had seen the tracks of wolves. At last they plunged into a thick belt of spruce, where the trees were fairly large and there was not much fallen wood. Here and there a broad patch of moonlight glittered on the snow, confusing after the deep gloom, but the men could get through on their snow-shoes and avoid the trunks. They made good speed and when they broke out into the open Andrew stopped. Where a bright blaze should have marked Graham's fire there were only a few dying embers. The old man was nowhere to be seen.
CHAPTER XVI
THE CACHE
The two prospectors forgot their weariness as they rushed to the dying fire. Carnally looked at the embers.
"Can't have been gone long," he declared.
"Shout, Jake!" cried Andrew. "I'm out of breath."
Carnally called, and Andrew's heart throbbed when a faint cry rose in answer. His anxiety had not been groundless: a lonely man runs many risks in the frozen North. Following the sound, they hastened up the ravine, and as they rounded a projecting boulder, a red glow flashed out a little distance ahead, died down, and rose more clearly.
"That's mighty good to see!" Carnally exclaimed.