get near
enough with that twenty-foot rope. There was but one hope left--a huge
overhanging pine tree a little above the falls--perhaps he could help
the struggling man from its branches. But before he could even reach the
tree, let alone crawl out above the river, the dark, drifting mass, with
its struggling arms and white face, had already been sucked far past
its furthest branches. Beside Jack, whose straining eyes watched for
the inevitable end, stood Fox-Foot, his arms folded tightly across his
chest, his gaze riveted on the drifting speck. Then both boys shuddered,
for the swirling speck seemed suddenly to stand erect, then plunged feet
foremost over the brink.

Larry returned very slowly, his legs lagging heavily at every step. All
day they searched in the river far below the falls, but not a trace
could be found of the man in the mackinaw.

"Is there a particle of chance that the poor fellow _could_ escape
death?" asked Larry of Fox-Foot that night, when, wearied and thoroughly
played out, they pitched their camp for the last night in the forest.

"Yes; one chance in fifty. My father he knows two men escape long
time ago."

"It strikes me," said Larry, grimly, "that if there is a ghost of a
chance he'll get it."

"I hope so," declared Jack, fervently. "My neck will be purple from his
claws for some time yet, but, oh! I _hope_ he escaped."

"Yes," echoed Larry, solemnly, "it would be miserable to think that
I had secured this gold at the price of a man's life, no matter how
degraded that man may be. No, I would not want the gold at that price."

So with this shadow surrounding them, their last day in the wilds was
very quiet, and, when at last they paddled into the little settlement,
it was with a sigh of both regret and relief that Matt Larson lifted
his gold sacks from the canoe.

The Hudson's Bay trader greeted them cordially. "Got any furs for me,
Larry?" was the first thing he asked.

Then Matt Larson threw back his head and laughed heartily for the first
time in days. He had forgotten all about that old tale that he was going
north for "furs." So now he related all his story, showing his gold to
the bluff, old, honest trader.

"You're lucky to get it to the front," said that person. "There's been
one of our notorious Northern 'bad men' up in the bush for weeks. If
you'd come across him now, you would never have got those nuggets here
safely. But you're all right from now on. He drifted in here