"I think so. Copper's hard to smelt and when transport's expensive speculators stick to gold, but things will be different now the country's opening up. We will hold the patent until you are willing to sell."
"Thank you," said Carrie. "It cost you something to prove the vein, up there in the melting snow, and no greedy city man is going to get your reward. However, we'll get on. If they give you the telegraph contract, I'm going North."
Jim turned to his comrade. "She can't go! You had better tell her it's impossible."
"I'll leave it to you. There's not much use in telling Carrie she can't do a thing when she thinks she can."
Jim began a labored argument about the hardships and the ruggedness of the country and Carrie listened with inscrutable calm. Then she said, "You don't want me to go?"
"It isn't that. You don't know what you are up against."
"I have a notion," Carrie remarked with some dryness. "Perhaps you imagine all goes smooth and I have a soft job here?"
Jim was silent. He was sometimes sorry for Carrie, but she resumed: "You haven't lived in a shabby street, doing chores you don't like and trying to please people who are often rude. Well, I've stood for it a long time, for mother's sake; but now cousin Belle is coming, and she knows all there is to know about keeping store. Do you think a girl ought to be kept at home? That she never hears the call of adventure like the rest of you?"
"Adventure palls. One soon gets enough," said Jim. Then he saw Jake's smile and added: "After all, I don't know——"
"I know," said Carrie. "You are going back, and I am going too. But you won't have to take care of me. I mean to manage things."