“Oui! Dey pass a camp which is Gargrave’s an’ with ze darkness falling, dey push on five, six mile, an’ dere pitch camp, an’ ze stranger mans say he wait for Gargrave dere. It begins to snow, an’ dere is wind, an’ dey crouch by ze fire, an’ sleep, one hour, two hours, tree—I know not. Den Paslik an’ Sibou dey wake suddenly, an’ dere is the roll of thunder in their ears. Dey listen in wonder and again dey hear it, a crash like dat among ze hills when the sun scorches ze grass an’ ze earth it shake an’ tremble.
“Dey look about. Ze white-man’s sleeping bag it is empty, and he is not dere. Dey wait a long time. Ze thunder sound no more, but ze snow still fall, an’ presently, ze stranger mans he return. He hav’ on ze snowshoes an’ he hav’ been on a journey. He tell Paslik an’ Sibou dat he not sleep, dat he hav’ been for little walk to help him. But he is vaire tired, an’ dere is a strange look on his face, and Paslik he whisper to Sibou dat the stranger man hav’ been a long journey.... Den ze snow still falling, dey all sleep till dawn....
“All next day, in ze camp dere, dey wait for ze coming of Gargrave, but he come not, and Paslik he see dat after a time ze mans look not towards ze river-trail, an’ dat dare is a pleased look on his face, a look as of one who has his desire given unto him. Ze next morning, they strike camp, an’ ze stranger mans he say dey go back and look for Gargrave. To Paslik an’ Sibou, ze way of the white man is foolishness, but dey go back, an’ tree miles down ze trail dey find the ice hav’ been broken in. It hav’ frozen over again, but ze snow about have melt an’ frozen in with ze ice, an’ it is rotten. Also dere are great chunks of ice thrown far out over ze snow, which is a strange thing.... Dey cross the broken trail with care, an’ at the far side, dey come on ze tracks of two sleds that hav’ moved in ze direction of ze rotten ice.
“Ze stranger mans he look at dese an’ den he looks back at ze broken trail, an’ den he whistle cheerfully all to himself. Paslik he look, an’ he read ze signs, an’ he whisper dat ze sleds hav’ gone in, ze sleds an’ ze mans, an’ den dey go forward till dey reach ze camp of Gargrave dat dey pass on ze way. He is not dere, ze camp is remove, an’ ze ashes of ze fire are cold. Ze white mans he look, an’ he laugh, but it was ze laugh of a man who is not disappointed, you understand.
“‘We hav’ missed him,’ he say. ‘We return to Dawson.’
“So Paslik an’ Sibou, dey go to Dawson with him, an’ dere dey hear that Gargrave is lost, because of ze bottom dropping from ze trail an’ casting him in ze river. One mans he have crawled out, he tell ze tale an’ die. An’ Paslik an’ Sibou say nothing, an’ ze stranger mans he give them his dogs an’ sled an’ stores and leave Dawson, and presently when ze river is open dey come back, and whisper to me the tale of their wanderings, and I say ze trail it not fall in, but it is blown out.”
The half-breed broke off, and lighting his pipe, puffed at it stolidly, staring into the fire. For a full half-minute the corporal did not speak. The implications of the other’s story were very clear to him, but they seemed incredible.
“But what makes you so sure?” he asked at last.
Chief Louis rose from his seat and without speaking passed from the tepee. After a few minutes he returned bringing with him a wooden box with a hinged lid. He opened it, and held it towards the corporal, who looked in curiously. Inside half-wrapped in cotton wool were four cakes of some reddish brown material, and when the corporal’s eyes fell on them, he gave vent to a sudden exclamation.