A half-smile lingered a moment at the woodsman's lips. There was no choice of trails into Clearwater. He might have told Lounsbury that once they were out of sight of the roofs of the town they were venturing into the Unknown, a land where the caribou and the moose made trails through the forest but where men came not, a land of beasts rather than men, of primeval grandeur but savage might. "Have you any orders to give?" he asked the girl again. "None. All I can do is tell you what I have already done--and then let you do the best you can. As you know, he left six years ago." "I know. I saw him when he came through." His eyes were fast upon her, and he saw her start. Her face seemed to flame. Stranger as he was to the hearts of women, Bill could understand. It was word of her lover, a message from the dead, and it moved her to the depths. But he couldn't understand the curious weight of depression that descended upon him. "You did?" she answered quickly. "Was he all right--then?" "All right, but that was just after he came to the North. I was camping on this side of Grizzly River, and he stayed to eat with me. He said his name was Lounsbury. I've never heard of him since." The surface lights died in her eyes. "Then that doesn't help us much, except to know that he got that far, at least," she went on. "I'll tell you the whole thing, simply; maybe it will help you in deciding where to look for him. He was twenty-seven then--and he'd spent the fortune his father left him. He had to have more, and he came up here--to look for gold. "Like many other men--before him," Bill interrupted gravely. "He had some sort of definite plan--a vacation place to go--but he never told me what it was. He told me he was going into Clearwater. He had to have money--he was in debt and besides, he was engaged to marry me. The last word I ever heard of him was a note he wrote from Bradleyburg. I was just a girl then--and I've waited ever since. His friends, his aunt, sometimes even his uncle thought that he was dead. I've always felt, just as sure as I am here, that he was still alive--and in some trouble--and he couldn't come back. Mr. Lounsbury has hired detectives, but none of them have ever made a real search. He's financing this trip now--I've been able to persuade him at last to make one great try to find him. What's what we've hired you to do." "It's a big order," Bill spoke softly. "There's just one thing we can do--to look into the country where he's gone and try to trace him. Every man who goes through Clearwater leaves his mark--there's not so many of them that their trails get crossed. My plan would be to watch for the camps he made--there'd be some sign of 'em yet--the trees he cut and the trails he blazed--and trace him clear to the Valley of the Yuga." "And what is there?"