“That is the man,” he said, and by the complete silence that followed he knew that his reply had caused a sensation that would have made white men swear. “What know you of Iron Hair, Nawa?” “Oh, Snow-Burner,” said Nawa dolefully, “our tribe knows of Iron Hair to its sorrow. Two moons ago the big man with the hair like a porcupine was at Fifty Mile for whisky and food. He hired Small Eyes and Broken Wing of our tribe to haul the food to his camp, a day’s travelling each way, so he said. The pay was to be big. Small Eyes and Broken Wing went. So much people know. Nothing more. The sledges did not come back. Small Eyes and Broken Wing did not come back. So much do we know of Iron Hair. Nawa has spoken.” “Once there were men in these tepees,” said Reivers, looking high above Nawa’s head. “Once there were men who would have gone from their tepees to follow to the end the trail of their brothers who go and do not come back. Now there are no men. They sit in the tepees with the women and keep warm. Perhaps Small Eyes and Broken Wing were men and did not care to come back to people who sit by their fires and do not seek to find their brothers who disappear.” “We have sought, oh, Snow-Burner,” said Nawa hopelessly. “Do not think we have only sat by our fires. We sought to follow the trail of Iron Hair out of Fifty Mile——” “How ran the trail?” interrupted Reivers. “Between the north and the west. We went to hunt our brothers. But a storm had blotted out the trail. Iron Hair had gone out in the storm. Who can follow when there is no trail to see?” “Once,” resumed Reivers in the tone of contempt, “there were strong dog-drivers and sharp eyes here. They would have found the camp of Iron Hair in those days.” “Our dogs still are strong, our young men drive well, our eyes are sharp even now, Snow-Burner,” came Nawa’s weary reply. “We searched. Even as we searched for the caribou we searched for the camp of Iron Hair. We found no camp. There is no white man’s camp in this country. There is no camp at all. We searched till nothing the size of a man’s cap could be hidden. The white men from Dumont’s Camp and Fifty Mile have searched for the gold which white men are mad for. They found nothing. At the settlements the white men say, ‘This man must be the devil himself and go to hell for his gold, because his camp certainly is not in this world where men can see it with their eyes.’” “And the caribou were not in this world, either?” mocked Reivers. Nawa shook his head. “White men, too, have looked for the camp of Iron Hair.” “Many white men,” supplemented old Little Bear. “White men always look when they hear of gold. They find gold if it is to be found. The earth gives up its secrets to them. Snow-Burner, they could not find the place where Iron Hair digs his gold.” “Nawa and his hunters could not find the caribou,” said Reivers. There was no reply. He had driven his will home.