Luckily the snow furnished better going, the wind ceased, our hearts leaped again, and the stern solemnity of that alpine land strangely elated us. At night now, the sun almost sank below the horizon, but its decline was the signal for the noiseless evocation of half lights and shadows, spectral tints, pale ghosts of mist curling over the endless desert of snow, a retinue of chiaroscuros that glided hither, thither, never quiet, yet never restless. And far south we thought we saw the crystal light of half eclipsed auroras. It all entranced me. I often stole outside our tent to watch the voiceless drama of the night, and often Goritz stood beside me. And now—poor fellow—”
(The speaker paused in his story, a sob choked his voice; then it was over and he continued.)
The Professor was right; the snowdrifts thinned away to bare ground. It was warmer, at first some ten degrees, then more, and the land descended. Had not Goritz lost? Should we not, according to the protocol of our agreement, search the new land? Goritz was unconvinced and inclined to temporize. Yes, the land was lower, perhaps; it was warmer, but how did we know it would keep so; a small decline here might change into an ascent further away; we were on a tableland, but another axis of elevation might arise from it, and remember in these solitudes there was not much life, no game, and our stores would in ten days be exhausted, not counting the dogs, some of whom must now be sacrificed for the others.
This had the appearance of tergiversation. The Professor was vehement, I and Hopkins leaned in his favor, but I think all of us would have succumbed to Goritz’s wish and certainly to his command—the sweetest, bravest, most generous soul I have ever known! At length, at Hopkins’ suggestion, we compromised again on a reconnaissance.
It was a pivotal point. We were in a sandy plain, with much bare rock, and soily places now greenish with moss or lichen. The surprising feature was the sudden onsets of rain with the east winds. It was rather misty all the time, and the fogs made it abysmally cheerless. It was easy to see that this excessive moisture formed the fathomless snows among the mountains we had ploughed over.
On the day of the reconnaissance we all separated. Goritz went north, the Professor, pertinacious in his convictions, went due west, with the aneroid, Hopkins and myself southward. Our reports were to be made at the conference at night. We reassembled, all except Goritz turning up at the tent at almost the same time. Hopkins said that for stone breaking, the country he had walked over was the most promising he had ever encountered. He couldn’t imagine a better place for a penal establishment. A reservation like it alongside of New York City would raise the moral standard of that city almost as high as anyone would like to go. He thought perhaps we’d better turn back.
The Professor disheartedly admitted that the land after sinking rose abruptly, and that there might be another axis of elevation—the Professor pronounced the technical observation with evident disgust. The fogs grew so dense it was impossible to determine. He concluded dolefully that, as much had been accomplished, it might be well for self preservation to return.
I corroborated Hopkins, and also suggested a return. We had been talking informally, sharing our observations, but their detailed presentation awaited Goritz’s presence. And where was he? We had been back an hour, and our hunger remonstrated bitterly against his tardiness. Still another hour passed, and nature refused to tolerate a further deference to custom or respect. We ate our evening rations—already they were being shortened—concluding to go out on a search for Goritz, if he did not soon come in. Another hour hurried by, and yet no Goritz. We began to be alarmed, and yet that seemed absurd. What harm could come to a man in that flat land? And to a man of Goritz’s strength and resources? Hardly had we thus reassured ourselves when the tent flap was pushed aside, and there stood Antoine Goritz, with one hand behind his back.
His melodious voice was raised, his eyes shone, his frame seemed expanded with excitement, his face was flushed, and the disengaged hand opened and shut convulsively.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “we shall go on. Krocker Land is inhabited, and—it is a LAND OF GOLD!”