ass in and out which could
hardly be seen from below. Across this he fixed the canvas; were that
glimpsed, its grimy-white would appear but a lighter-hued streak of
granite.

"If you will come with me, I will show you your hiding-place."

She lifted her head and looked at him. No word had passed between them
during the back-breaking hours of his labouring. Again, she thought
swiftly, he was seeking to command, to dictate. Doubtless, in the end
she would have arisen and gone with him, since to refuse were madness.
But he had not waited. He had gone alone into the depths of the cavern;
she heard his slow, measured steps receding; she heard them again, slow
and measured, as he came back.

"It's only about thirty paces, straight back," he was saying. "My steps,
remember, but shortened so that it would be about the same for you. Say
thirty-five. There I have made a little pile of rocks; you can't miss
it. That marks the place, just at the side of the rock pile. That's
where I found the gold. There is a blind cave back there, just under
this one; there's only a small entrance to it, straight down, a ragged
hole in the floor, hardly more than big enough for a man to drop down
through. I had it hidden by dragging a boulder over it. Now I have
shoved the boulder just far enough to one side to let you go through.
Also, I have set bits of stone under its outside edge so that it is
fairly balanced; if you go through, a quick tug at it will topple it
over to cover the hole again. There's air down there, that comes up from
below. And it's a better place to be than here--if any one should come."

She shuddered. But he had not seen. There remained much to do and the
hours fled so swiftly. He set to work making the clumsy snow-shoes. He
imitated a crude native shoe he had once seen in Alaska; he bent willow
wands he had brought from along the edge of the stream, whipping them
about with narrow strips of canvas, binding other wands crosswise,
making, also of canvas strips, a sort of stirrup for each foot. The last
of the weak daylight passed and died gloomily and he was still at his
task, bending now by his fire, working on with infinite care. The
sticks, brittle with the cold weather, broke under his strong fingers;
patiently he inserted others or strengthened the cracking pieces with
string. His face, ruddy in the firelight, was impassive; Gloria, looking
at him, saw no mere man but a senseless thing of machine levers and
steel coi