At that they all fell silent. Night was descending upon them.
“If only we could have a fire to-night,” the girl said wearily. “I feel as if I should die of fear in the dark.”
“But look!” cried Johnny as they rounded a turn. “The good banshee has granted your wish. There is a scrub forest not ten minutes away.”
It was true. The gnarled trees, twisted and bent, were scarce six feet tall, but dead trunks were dry as tinder. Soon, in a sheltered spot, they had built a roaring fire and were preparing to boil coffee and roast the goat’s meat they had packed across the mountain.
“To-morrow,” said Gordon Duncan, “we shall see the valley of green gold.”
CHAPTER XVI
DOWN WITH THE AVALANCHE
The sun was setting over a wilderness of snow and winter-washed, bleak, bare land, as late next day the three travelers, rounding a towering granite crag, came at last into full view of all that lay beyond. It was the promised land, the valley of green gold.
For a full moment they stood there, motionless. The scene that lay before them, glistening snow turned to a rosy hue by the setting sun, crags, torrents, mists, rushing little streams, all that go to make mountains, valleys and rugged hills, all that is the spring break-up in a land of ice and snow was here. Many days before they had started for this divide. Weeks of toilsome travel, weeks of perils and adventure had come into their lives since Gordon Duncan had said, “There is the knife. The trail leads up this ridge.”
Now they were at the divide, ready to descend into a wild valley. And why? Perhaps Gordon Duncan knew all. Johnny and Faye knew little enough. Yet, with the tender feeling of youth for an old man who was perhaps on his last long journey, his final joyous adventure, they had followed his lead. Now here they stood.
“There’s a great river yonder,” said Johnny, lifting his field glasses to his eyes. “Wouldn’t be surprised if it were the headwaters of the Yukon.”