"But what signs does Coffee Jack see?" inquired Roly. "There are plenty of places where I can't see any path, but he goes right along." "The marks are various," said his father. "It may be that the grass is matted or less vigorous or of an altered hue where it has been trodden, or a twig may be broken, or a mouldering tree-trunk rubbed a little, but I presume that in such a place as this the boy is guided partly by his knowledge that the trail follows the side of these hills at about this height." Coffee Jack discovered footprints of the moose and the caribou in several places, and took delight in pointing them out to his companions, whose powers of observation he evidently did not rate very high. He gave them, too, a glimpse of a large lake to the northwest which was not on the map. Late the second afternoon they circled a small lake, swung around the southern slopes of the mountains on their left, and entered the main trail on the summit of the great hill above the Stik village. How changed was the valley of the Alsek since last they looked upon it! Where before were snow and ice now smiled a landscape of rich green. Below them clustered the Indian houses in a grassy clearing by the river. The sound of voices and the barking of dogs came plainly up. It was difficult to realize that they were not looking on a white man's village, yet not until they reached the trading-post, now surrounded with the white tents of incoming prospectors, would they see any members of their own race. Ike Martin received them cordially, and after the sugar and salt had been weighed out he suddenly exclaimed, "By the way, here's something more for you!" and took from the drawer of an old desk a batch of letters, which he handed to Mr. Bradford, remarking that an Indian had brought them in with mail for the Thirty-six. To say that these were received with delight would be putting it mildly. The wanderers repaired in haste to their tent, where the missives from home were eagerly read; and although the latest letter was just a month old, yet so long had they been exiled that all this news seemed fresh and recent. At home all were well and in good spirits. Knowing how anxious her husband and sons would be for accounts of the war, Mrs. Bradford had sent many clippings from newspapers, which Mr. Bradford and Roly devoured with hungry eyes, reading and re-reading them far into the night. Early next morning, before his father was awake, Roly, acting on a hint from Ike, stole over to the Klukshu River where it joins the Alsek, and with red salmon-roe supplied by the obliging storekeeper coaxed forth half a dozen handsome brook trout. These he supplemented with some of the fresh dandelion leaves which grew abundantly near the storehouse, and the three had a most enjoyable breakfast. "Better stop at the Stik village," advised Ike, as they were preparing to return. "There's going to be a cremation, and it'll be worth seeing."