Over a round of drinks, Moosehide Charlie voiced the general opinion of the camp: “You done right, MacShane. There’s no fool like an old fool. You done it for his own good--but, at that, there ain’t many of us would have wanted it to do.” Later, MacShane called Camillo Bill and Moosehide to one side: “Where’s this claim of Gordon’s,” he asked casually. “It’s up the river a little ways, on a crick that runs in from the north.” “Does he live there?” “No, he’s got a cabin here in camp. He’s got a little shack on the claim where he stays part of the time.” “I want you boys to come with me.” “Where to?” asked Moosehide, quickly. “To Gordon’s claim.” A moment of constrained silence greeted the announcement, during which Camillo Bill regarded the speaker with steady gaze. The more mercurial Moosehide, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, was the first to speak: “What for?” he asked. “Just want to look it over,” answered MacShane. “Well, talkin’ about me I’m too busy,” retorted Moosehide. “I got you wrong, a while back, an’ I guess there’s lots of others did, too. You kin save yerself that trip, though. There’s plenty of us here that will take Old Man Gordon’s word that his claim’s worth ten thousan’. If you want to give him a run fer his money tomorrow I guess he’ll be able to stack up the dust agin yourn.” And so saying, he turned abruptly away. MacShane listened in silence, not a muscle of his face changing, and when Moosehide had mingled with the crowd, he turned to Camillo Bill: “How about you?” he asked, in a voice that gave no hint of anger. Now the first thought that leaped into Camillo Bill’s head at MacShane’s words was the same thought that Moosehide Charlie had expressed. But whether it was because he was slower to jump at conclusions or because the thought could not be made to tally with his own estimate of MacShane, which was, he knew, the estimate of the North, is immaterial. Camillo Bill withheld judgment. “What do you say?” insisted MacShane, with just a trace of impatience in his tone. “Let’s go,” answered Camillo, bluntly, and together the two passed out the door. CHAPTER V NORTH The journey to the Gordon claim was made in silence, and in silence MacShane pushed aside the poles that covered the mouth of the shaft against snow, and dropped lightly in. Peering curiously over the edge, by the light of the glittering stars, Camillo Bill saw MacShane drop to his knees, thrust a hand into his pocket, withdraw a sack of dust and methodically sprinkle it into the gravel at the bottom of the shaft. Another and another sack followed until all the gold he had won from Gordon had been returned to the gravel, then, with the aid of the windlass rope, he drew himself from the shaft. As he stooped to fasten the thongs of his snowshoes Camillo Bill’s mittened hand descended upon his shoulder with a thump that threatened to send him sprawling into the snow: