“All right, boys! Mush!” she would cry. And away they would fly.
On days when one of these teams was not in use, she would go for a long drive into the great unknown. It made little difference what direction she took, for all this world about her was new.
Often, because the dogs traveled best when following a scent, she allowed them to choose their own course. Invariably they took up some trail. At times it was only the tracks of a man on skis or snowshoes, at others it was the mark of some dog sled. Whatever it might be, though the trail was windblown and three days old, they followed it with unerring steps.
On the day when Curlie Carson took up the flight of the pigeon, she started on one of these dog team jaunts. Once more she allowed the team to take its course. This day the leader chose the tracks of a man on snowshoes.
“One of our men,” she told herself. “Be just time to come up with him before sunset. He’ll enjoy a ride home.”
As we have said, Joyce was no weakling. While training her mind, she had developed her body as well. This day she rode only a part of the way.
Trotting after a dog team rouses the drowsy blood and sends it coursing through the veins. It stimulates thoughts. This girl’s thoughts on that day were long, long thoughts. At times she dreamed of gold, placer gold, great moose-hide sacks bulging with nuggets. She knew that Lloyd, the young Canadian of their outfit, had studied the aerial photographs that were taken a hundred miles from the camp, and then had gone into a brown study.
“Looks like quartz, gold, up there,” she had heard him murmur. “Why not placer gold in the streams farther down?” He had disappeared on a strange mission early next morning. When he returned late that evening, if he had anything to report he had made no mention of it. A strange, silent fellow, this Canadian.
“Gold,” she said aloud. “Gold. What will it not buy? Comfort; ease; education; a home. Some even believe it will buy friends. But not true friends, I am sure of that.”
Gold! Would they find it? And if they did, what then? A frown gathered like a storm cloud on her brow. She had thought again of Johnny’s strange revelation. “One of your men is a thief,” she seemed to hear him say.