"You gave me your word," she said. "You never go back on your word--you said so." He uttered a groan. "It was fifty thousand," she said in level tones. "I shall not forget." "Angela!" "Plus ten per cent. interest," she added tensely. CHAPTER XVIII A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE Another week, and Jim had recovered all his old strength. With the spring in close proximity, and the food supply running dangerously short, he spared neither himself nor the dogs in his last feverish endeavor to achieve success. Angela's attitude puzzled him not a little. Since that fierce passage of words in the shack she had made no single reference to the future. She carried on the housekeeping with increased zest. Never again were the breakfast plates found unwashed at the next meal. She began to take a pride in making the cabin as comfortable as circumstances would allow, even going to the trouble of seeking berried evergreens in the woods and transforming these into table decoration. Occasionally she went out to meet the disappointed Jim coming back from his fruitless expeditions, and mushed the dogs while he sat on the sled. It seemed that she had succeeded in reconciling the situation--in making the best of a bad job. One morning Jim announced his intention of exploring a small creek not a great distance from the shack. He started off with shovel and pick and the eternal washing-pan under a leaden sky. It was then an idea came to Angela. On her journey back from her abortive flight she had noticed a creek which displayed all the characteristics of those rich, shallow claims of which the Klondyke yields so many examples. Why not undertake a prospecting trip on her own account? There was a spare shovel, pick, and pan, and she had bored holes in frozen gravel before. She decided to harness up the sled and put her plan into execution. At noon she started off with her team on the eight-mile journey. A close study of the map had convinced her that by taking the overland route she would save at least two miles either way. But her knowledge of maps was not great, and she entirely neglected to take into consideration the contour markings, which would immediately have warned any experienced traveler against such a passage. The trail led up over a big hill and down a ravine, and for a mile or two was good "going." Coming out of the ravine the configuration changed. A jumbled mass of precipitous hills and canyons confronted her. She drove the dogs to an elevated point and looked before her. The great serpentine river came to view, clearly outlined by its wooded banks, and no more than two miles distant. On the near side of the river ran the creek she sought.