"If I could only make you feel just what I think of you!" he said slowly. "But we're both trying to do just what can't be done. Let's drop it and find the hoss. Better foller behind, and not try running away. Maybe you think it amuses me to yank you back like this every time--but it don't." He began to tramp along a beaten path that wound up over the hill. Angela followed, with swift steps, for a cold wind blew down the valley and set her teeth chattering. Overhead thick gray clouds obliterated the sun. A mile farther on Jim stopped and, slipping off his coat, went to her. "You're cold. Put it on." "No--thanks." "Put it on!" "Why this sudden regard for my welfare?" It was like a stab to him. She saw it and was pleased. But later on she was a little ashamed of that throb of transient joy. She would have liked to express her regrets, but her pride prevented such a descent. They found the horse, pawing impatiently at the ground. He whinnied plaintively as he heard Jim's footfall and the call that the latter's lips gave utterance to. Without a word Jim lifted Angela into the saddle and mounted behind her. A "cluck" from his lips, and the mare went galloping across the uneven country towards Red Ruin. They arrived there just as the first flakes of snow began to fall. For a whole week no single word passed between them. The first snow had come, and every day found the thermometer registering a lower temperature. In a week or two the whole land would be in the grip of the pitiless winter. What were Jim's intentions? She saw him pondering over a map and marking routes. After a trip into Dawson he came back with a team of dogs and a new sled, plus dog-feed, snow-shoes, and sundry other gear. One evening he broke the silence. "Angela!" She lifted her head from the book that she was reading. "We're hitting the trail to-morrow." "To where?" "North--the Chandalar River district. There's nothing left worth staking down here. But there's gold up there, and we can't afford to waste time." "Very well," she said icily, and turned to the book again. He put his arm across and closed the book. "Better git this thing clear." "Isn't it clear?" "Nope. Listen here--we got enough grub to carry us over the winter, that and no more. My last wad of dollars went to buy them dawgs. I guess you think I'm trash, and perhaps I am, but up here in the North men stick by their pardners till they strike gold or leave their bones on the trail. You're my pard now--won't you act on that and make the best of it?" Her eyes shone defiantly in the glare of the paraffin lamp. Appealing to her sense of justice was useless in the face of circumstances.