Jim laughed carelessly. He had little doubt that the location was bad, but it went against his nature to quit before he had carried out his task. The first man stuck a wad of tobacco between his back teeth. "That pardner o' yourn don't seem to take kindly to diggin'," he ejaculated. Jim stared at him, and then tightened his lips. "No need to fly off the handle, Cap. I had a pard like him once, strong on paper but liked the other fellow to do the diggin'." "What the blazes are you talkin' about?" demanded Jim. "I ain't inviting you to give opinions. What's more, she ain't a _him_. You go to hell--and quick about it!" The man looked at his comrade and they both grinned. Jim put down the spade in a way that caused them to stare blankly. "Wal, you're some joker. Pete, am I blind? It's no odds, anyway, and no offense meant, but by ginger! it's the first time I've seen a woman smoke a two-dollar cigar." "What's that?" Jim suddenly felt dazed as a new explanation entered his mind. He stepped down towards the boat. "What's all this?" he inquired. "I'm kinder interested." The first man explained. "I bin campin' way back there. The other guys who abandoned them claims played hell with the timber--gormandized the whole lot--must have gone in for the timber business. So I bin cuttin' spruce up there on the hill. Wal, I often seen you drilling holes in this muck, but damn me if I ever seen your pard put a hand to the spade. He seems to live in that darned tent. I seen him twice hiking out--to Dawson, for a jag, I guess. Didn't seem on the level to me----" Jim's mouth twitched. He had no doubt about the veracity of this statement. Someone had been visiting Angela, and she had said nothing of it. "Didn't know he went to Dawson," he replied evasively. "Thanks for the information. I'll sure talk to him about it." They nodded and began to pole down the creek and out into the river. Jim sat down on a pile of muck and mopped his brow. The tent was approachable from the river on the other side of the bluff. The spruce-trees that surrounded it hid it from the view of one working by the creek, though any occupant would have the advantage of seeing without being seen. He remembered reaching the tent a few days before, to find Angela singularly embarrassed. Was that the day on which the stranger had called? Despite his heartache he could think no wrong of her. She was lonely, pining for the life she had left. Between him and her loomed an apparently unbridgeable gulf. If she had found a friend in that mixed crowd back in Dawson, hadn't she a right to see him and speak with him? His heart answered in the affirmative, but it hurt just the same.