The ascent made, they went down the hill at an awkward run, the horses slipping with the sled pressing on them, colliding with small trees, smashing through matted brush, until they heard a hail. It was answered and another body of men appeared and escorted them into camp. Drowsy voices called to them and here and there a man looked out as they passed the lines of shacks and tents, but no word was spoken until they reached their leader’s cabin. The cases were carried in and while two of the company took the horses away the others were given hot coffee and afterward sat down to wait for morning. It was very cold and icy draughts crept in, but they were undisturbed until daybreak, when there was a cry outside:
“Here’s Mitcham wanting to talk to you!”
A weary man, white with snow, entered and looked eagerly round the shack.
“I’ve come for those cases,” he said, pointing to the pile.
“What right have you to them?” Kermode inquired.
“What right?” cried the other. “They’re my property; I bought them!”
“You hear that; you’ll remember it, boys.”
Mitcham’s face grew dark as he saw the trap he had fallen into.
“Anyhow, I want them,” he muttered. “You won’t be wise to keep them.”