"That's the mystery," Rex woefully ruminated, aloud. "I wonder if that snake of a Thron-Diuck followed us and perpetrated this deed! You remember we heard what we thought was a dog-train coming behind us through the Klondike Cañon?"
"Ah! yes," responded his companion, "that I recall–curse him!" Lessari's eyes were vindictive and full of a strange wildness as he stared at Britton.
"Of course that is only a supposition," said Rex, judicially, "but I know how jealous the Indian tribes are of gold-laden creeks. The Thron-Diucks know a good many secrets, but they will not divulge them, and fearing the wrath of his fellows if we located on this deposit, the red wretch may have repented his bargain and taken steps to prevent our profiting by it."
"Look for tracks!" exclaimed the Corsican, on sudden inspiration, but Britton shook his head.
"No use," he lamented, pointing to the pine-banked curve of the river, shining like glass, "the ice is too clean!"
"Curse him! Curse him!" exploded Lessari, again, growing more violent of speech.
"There's no use in cursing, either," Britton said seriously. "We're facing death, Lessari, but we must keep alive as long as possible. We have a tent and some food, and we'll make a strong fight."
The Corsican studied his dubious expression. "Go back?" he asked.
"It can't be done," said Rex. "Our provisions will not last half the time required to make the journey on foot, and there is nothing to shoot over those barren stretches."
"Go on where gold is, then?" Lessari inquired dismally.