"To the headwaters," prompted Britton.
"Yes, to big chief waters! There five hills like heap big beaver houses all by one dam. White River run through. There place of heap big gold!"
Rex wiped the beads of perspiration from his forehead.
"This is the way I understand you," he said. "Listen and tell me if I'm right! The place lies straight up the Klondike at its headwaters, right in the middle of five beaver-house hills which the stream cuts through. Is that correct?"
"Right, heap right," replied the Thron-Diuck, overjoyed at being properly understood. He reached for the whiskey again, but Britton was not yet done.
"Wait till I draw a sketch," he said quickly, "and you shall mark these hills in the exact spot."
Rex found his map of the Klondike River in his breast pocket and drew the stream on a larger scale upon a sheet from a notebook. At the river's mouth was a deserted Indian village, lately occupied by Thron-Diucks who had moved back into the fastnesses of the snowy mountains, and no other trace of habitation marked the frozen waterway, which lost itself in bleak heights away to the north, unexplored except by Indians and a few venturesome white trappers.
"Now," said Britton, when he had outlined the sketch, "show me exactly where these hills stand from the source or headwaters of the river."
The Indian touched his talons to the drawing just below a group of low mountains, named on the map the Klondike Hills.
"How far below?" Rex questioned very earnestly.