"Fort by big lake. White man,--mission,--teach um Indian," unconcernedly, as though it was of every day occurrence, and there was no further explanation necessary. "Do they talk as we do?" asked MacDougall. "No." "What do you call them?" "Father Petroff,--teach um. Indian sick,--fix um. Heap good man," and Pete turned away, thinking this sufficient. "Ask him how far it is to the Fort, Mac," said one of the men. "Not now. He has had enough quizzing for this time. It is evidently a Russian Mission on one of the big lakes,--which mission, and what lake, I don't know. But we must pitch our tents, cook our supper, and feed the dogs. Poor fellows! They shall have a good long rest soon for they've well earned it," and George MacDougall patted the snow white head of the nearest malamute looking up into his face for sympathy. Next day the men had eaten, slept and rested. They had listened the evening before to the old accordian in the hands of Pete's wife; they had trotted the infant of the family on their knees; they had propounded another hundred questions to their uncommunicative host and gotten monosyllabic answers; but they had heard only that which was good to hear, and that which confirmed the leader in his mind that he had made a capital move in coming into this country with the Indians. Pete had exhibited nuggets and gold dust of astonishing richness. Kicking a bear skin from the center of the room, he disclosed a box embedded in the earth, the sight of which, when uncovered, caused the white men to feel repaid for coming. There were chunks and hunks of the precious yellow metal larger than the thumbs of the brawny handed miners; besides gold dust in moose-hide sacks tied tightly and placed systematically side by side in rows. The surprise of the white men was great. They did not imagine that Pete mined gold to any extent, but thought he had secured enough in a desultory way for his present use. The trusting native had no fear of the men, having unreservedly laid bare his treasure house. "I no lie. I tell um truf," said Pete, looking toward Thomas MacDougall, remembering that the doubter had frequently called into question his word. "We see your gold, Pete, but you must show us a gold creek, too," was Tom's answer to the Indian. "I show you. Come!" * * * * * Three years passed. The great lakes south of the headwaters of the Mackenzie River were again frozen. Darkness claimed the land except when the brilliant low-swinging moon lighted the heavens and snowy earth below, and the sun for a few brief hours consented to coldly shine upon the denizens of the wilderness at midday. A gang of miners worked like beavers in the bed of the stream. With fires they thawed the ground, after having diverted the creek waters the previous summer.