image. God's mercy helped us back on that darn glacier when we
were beat like dead men. It's a sort of dream I just can't remember, and
don't want to anyway. Say, do you guess a miracle was sent down to us,
which kept us clear of going over that darn precipice with the ice? Was
it a miracle that carried us where there wasn't worse than a flow
banking on the slope of this valley? Was the mercy of it all sent to
have us quit now, with the end of things coming right to our hand? I
just guess not. It's there ahead. Somewhere down this valley. We can
smell it so plain we'll need the poison masks in a day's journey.
There's going to be no quitting. The sleds'll have to stop right here.
And the dogs. You boys, too. Guess I'm going on afoot. When I've located
the stuff," he went on, his eyes lighting, and his words coming
sharply, "when I locate the stuff in full growth, the harvest we're
yearning to cut, why, then I'll get right back here, and we'll go afoot,
all three of us, and we'll cut it, and bale it, and portage it right
here to the sleds. And when we've got all we can haul we'll cast for
that trail the Sleepers make in summer, and just cut out all that hell
of ice we came over. That's how I see it. And we're going to put it
right through if it breaks us, and beats us to death."

Steve spoke with his eyes fixed upon the far-off lights of Unaga. His
words were the words of a man obsessed. But there was nothing in his
manner to suggest a mind weakening under its burden. It was simple, sane
determination that looked out of his eyes.

Julyman answered him, and a world of relief was in his tone.

"Him dog. Him sled. All him Indian man him stop by camp. Oh, yes."

Steve nodded. Then he pointed out down the river.

"It's a crazy territory anyway," he said. "Those darn fires have turned
it summer when winter's freezing up the marrow of things. When summer
gets around I guess it's likely the next thing to hell. But the thing
we're yearning for is lying there, somewhere ahead. And I'm after it if
I never make the fort again, and the folks we've left behind. Come on.
We'll get right back to camp. I need to fix things for the big chance
I'm going to take, and you boys'll wait around till I get back. If
things go wrong, and this thing beats me, why, just hang on till you
figger the food trucks liable to leave you short, then hit a trail over
the southern hills and work around back to the fort with word to Marcel
and An-ina. Guess