Miller continued to meet the younger man’s eyes for several long seconds in a challenging way. He said truculently, “Well, if you ain’t goin’ to take anythin’, come on! We’ve got to be movin’. Been wastin’ enough time as it is.” Steel, looking squarely at the other, shook his head. “You can go along if you want to,” he said. “I’m staying here.” “What?” Miller stared at him. “I’m staying here,” Steel repeated in the same tones, and Miller laughed. “Say, you gone crazy?” he asked. “No,” said Steel. “What are you gonna stay here for?” “To do what he asked,” was Steel’s reply. Miller snorted. “Well, you damn’ fool!” he said. “That’s all I can say for you.” “That’s all you have to say, Miller. Goodby. The door’s open.” Miller went toward the entrance, the newly acquired moccasins and rifle in his hand. He picked up the ax where he had stood it against the door-jamb a few moments before. Turning, he said, “You needn’t think I’m goin’ to wait for you. I can get through them damned trails alone, without your help.” “I hope you can,” said Steel. “I’m not asking you to wait for me. In fact, the sooner I see that back of yours, Miller, the happier I’ll be.” Still Miller hesitated in the doorway, as if realizing that starting on alone would more than double the task of getting through to Fairbanks. “Well, it’s your funeral, but you’d better think it over,” he said. “Stay here, and you’ll be up against it.” “Don’t worry about me, Miller. Don’t concern yourself. There’s food enough here in the cabin to last till spring, if something else doesn’t turn up. I’ll make out all right.” Again Miller shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said, and without another word went down the drifted slope to where the sled waited. A moment later the jingling bells of the departing team drifted back through the still, frosty air to the young man. * * * * * For two days Steel worked. The frozen ground was indeed like solid concrete. Even the pick which he had found in the shed adjoining the rear of the cabin failed to make much impression. That six-foot-by-three hole seemed to include the universe. His back by the end of the second day seemed to be on fire, and the muscles of his arms and shoulders throbbed from the ceaseless jarring of steel on unyielding ground. And still he was only down a foot and a half. Scarcely that. He leaned on the pick at the end of the second day, and surveyed the pitiable results of his labor. And he was a little ashamed of himself for thinking now that maybe he had been a fool, as Miller said. What did it matter, he asked himself, whether a man were buried or not? Out here in the wilderness what difference did it make? It all amounted to the same thing. Death was a stern, inexorable thing, and graves meant nothing.