Just then Laurance swung out with his dog-train, starting back to Indian River.
"I'm off, son," he cried to Britton. "Are you goin' to bolt for Dawson? It's five hours from here!"
Rex nodded at the sleigh, gliding leisurely along the trail in the distance, and observed:
"I'll wait! I'm not anxious for their company on the route, and morning will suit me as well. So she's the Rose of the Yukon!"
"Sure!" said Laurance, putting his dog-whip in his armpit in order to light the inevitable pipe. "Kind of romantic fiction, ain't it, to find she's your angelic ideal? Haw, haw!"
"She's not, for there's no bandage over my eyes now," Britton declared, with conviction. "But, by heaven, there is an ideal," he continued in strange triumph evoked without volition, "and I feel in my bones as if I'll meet that ideal some time again."
"Um!" puffed Jim Laurance. "Again? Yes, I may say again! But take an old-timer's advice, son, and see that you stick to one search at a time. You understand?"
"I couldn't forget that if I wished to," Britton replied, smiling rather bitterly. "I'm going up Samson Creek at once. If that search doesn't prove worth while, there won't be any necessity for the other."
Laurance gripped Britton's palm tightly, saying: "You know where to come if stranded, son."
The negative motion of Britton's head showed the pride that prompted his refusal; and Laurance shook out his leader.