"He did, and I got away by the skin of my teeth by climbing a cliff," replied Mr. Glenn. "I've been living up in the hills ever since. Time and again I've tried to find another way out, but there isn't one, and for the life of me I didn't dare risk conclusions a second time with the mammoth."
"I reckon he won't trouble us no more," said Rube dryly. "Say, though, I'd like to have had them tusks. They'd be worth a mint o' money in the States."
"They'd be awkward to carry," smiled Mr. Glenn. "They'd weigh about a quarter of a ton apiece. What do you suppose they'd be worth?"
"A thousand dollars, I reckon," said Rube. Such a sum represented wealth untold to the old trapper.
Mr. Glenn put a hand in his coat pocket, and pulled out a lump of dull yellow metal as big as his fist.
"This isn't worth quite that much," he said quietly, as he handed it to Rube. "But I'd be glad if you'd take it as a sort of consolation prize."
"Great gosh! It's a twenty-ounce nugget!" gasped Rube.
"Yes, and plenty more where that came from," said the prospector.
He turned to his son.
"Roger, I've made the strike of a lifetime. Now to get back to Dawson before the snow comes."