Suddenly Bill sprang to his feet and held out his hand. In an instant the Indian was on his feet, and his dark face was even smiling. His tenacious hand closed over that of the whiteman.
“That’s all right, Usak,” Bill said quietly. “I’m glad to take your hand. You’re a big man. You’re a big Indian savage. But you’re a good man, anyway. Get right back to your shanty now, an’ take that darn old gun with you. You don’t need that fer shooting me up, anyway. Just keep it—to guard the Kid, and those others. Just one word before you go. Marty kept his gold secret. You keep it secret, too, until the Kid lets you speak. I’ve got to make a big trip to secure the claims before we can talk. When I done that talk don’t matter. Say, an’ not a word to the Kid of our talk. Not one word. I want to marry her. And being white folk it’s our way to ask the girl first. See? I haven’t asked her yet. An’ if you were to boost in your spoke, maybe she’d get angry, and—”
The Indian was grinning in a fashion that left the whiteman satisfied. Their hands fell apart, and Usak picked up his gun. Then he turned away without another word and the night swallowed him up.
Wilder stood gazing after him, There was no smile in his eyes. He was thinking hard. And his thought was of that one, big, last trip the Indian had threatened to make.
Bill Wilder and Chilcoot moved slowly up from the water’s edge. The outlook was grey and the wind was piercing. The river behind them was ruffled out of its usual oily calm, and the two small laden canoes, lying against the bank, and the final stowing of which the men had been engaged upon, were rocking and straining at their raw-hide moorings.
The change of season was advancing with that suddenness which drives the northern man hard. Still, however, the first snow had not yet fallen, although for days the threat of it had hung over the world. The ground was iron hard with frost, and each morning a skin of ice stretched out on the waters of the river from the low, shelving banks. But the grip of it was not permanent. There was still melting warmth in the body of the stream, and, each day, the ice yielded up its hold.
It was three days since the camp had witnessed the gathering of children about its camp fire. Three days which Bill had devoted to those preparations, careful in the last detail, for the rush down to Placer before the world was overwhelmed by the long winter terror. Now, at last, all was in readiness for the start on the morrow. All, that is, but the one important matter of Red Mike’s return to camp. Until that happened the start would have to be delayed.