In the morning the partners, accompanied by O'Brien, said good-bye to the men of Eagle and headed down the great river for the mouth of the Ten Bow. On the third day, only a short distance above the place where the Ten Bow trail swerved from the Yukon between two high bluffs, they came upon the camp of an Indian. The red man was travelling light. He had just come out of the hills, and with him were Waseche Bill's dogs—the malamutes whose sudden stampede had led the lost wayfarers through the narrow pass to the crest of the Kandik divide, and—Alaska!
"Wheah'd yo' get them dawgs?" asked Waseche, pointing to the malamutes. The Indian waved his arm in the direction of the hills, and Waseche nodded:
"Them's my dawgs—nika komooks."
The Indian scowled and shook his head.
"Dem Pete Mateese dog," he grunted surlily.
"Pete Mateese!" cried Connie. "Do you know Pete Mateese? Who is he? Where is he? We want to find him."
The Indian glowered sullenly.
"W'at y'u wan' Pete Mateese?" he asked.
"We want to find him. We've got good news for him. He's rich—plenty gold." At the words the Indian laughed—not a mirthful laugh, but a sneering, sardonic laugh of unbelief.