e of it? Can't you see, Sam? Tom was trying to think.
He wanted to get something that was hidden away in his memory--his own
name, and mine and yours, and Nellie's, and the name of Brill. Maybe a
flash of his real self came back to him."

"Oh, if it only would, Dick! Yes, you must be right. First he tried
his best to write Tom Rover, but all he got was To Ro, and then he went
to Bri for Brill and Nel for Nellie, and Di and S for Dick and Sam.
It's as plain as day. It's just like a little child trying to write."

"And it's enough to make a fellow cry," was the sober response.

The two boys studied the paper for a long time and let Jack Wumble look
at it. Then, somewhat silently, all sat down to supper. Their hard
walk had made them hungry and they ate every scrap of what had been
prepared.

By the time they were ready to turn in, it had begun to snow. The had
found a shelter under a cliff of rocks, with some brushwood to keep off
the most of the wind. They rolled themselves in their blankets and
soon all were in the land of dreams.

Dick had slumbered the best part of several hours, when he suddenly
awoke with a start. Some furry body had swept across his face. He sat
up in bewilderment and looked around the camp, lit up only by the
flickering rays of the dying fire. Then he gave a gasp. From beyond
the dying fire two savage eyes were gazing at him intently. Without
hesitation he reached down under his blanket, brought out the pistol he
carried, and fired.

CHAPTER XXI

AT THE FOOT OF THE CLIFF

Crack!

The report of the pistol in that confined space sounded loud and clear,
and brought Sam and Jack Wumble to their feet with a bound.

"What's the matter, Dick?"

"What ye firing at?"

"Some wild animal. It just leaped over me!" cried the one who had used
the firearm. Dick was now on his feet, too, and all stepped away from
the shelter of the cliff.

Following the discharge of the weapon had come a short sharp bark or
yelp, showing that the animal had been hit. Now followed more barks
and yelps from a distance.

"A fox--an Alaskan fox, thet's wot it was," said Jack Wumble. "An' I
reckon as how ye hit him, Dick."

"I'm sure I did, for I aimed right at him, and he wasn't over twenty
feet away," was the reply. "Wonder if he'll come back?"

"I don't think so--not if he's hurted," returned the old miner. "He
must have been putty hungry to come so clost. Must have smelt our
grub."