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He turned towards the river and glanced up at the sky. Len laughed.

“That’s all right, Jim. I’m ready all the time,” he said. “It ain’t work gettin’ back on the river. It’s play. Come on. We’re going to get out half a ton of stuff,” he laughed, as he sprang to his feet. “Then I’ll make Perth, an’ buy up that tramp skipper.”

He moved off beside his partner, leaving his golden pile just where it lay. And together they passed out of the shelter of the trees.

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THE woman was standing in the doorway of her log-built home. She was gazing out over the waters of the creek below her which flowed gently on to the distant Alsek River. A mood of quiet contemplative happiness was shining in her dark eyes. It was the mother soul in her that was stirred to a deep sense of happy satisfaction.

Rebecca Carver was a smallish, sturdy, vigorous creature something past the middle of life. She had lived hardly enough in the harsh Alaskan territory that had bred her and had always remained her home. And even now, with advancing years, and a body sometimes only barely equal to the onslaught of its pitiless climate, she had not even a momentary desire to leave it.