and silver leads as fantastic as
those of the genii-guarded treasures of the East, and the men who have
been out on the gold trail generally believe them.

On the surface Grenfell's task seemed easy. He had to find a lonely
lake cradled in a range; and there are, as the maps show, three great
ranges running roughly north and south in the Pacific Province. Still,
in practice, it is difficult to tell where one leaves off and the
other begins, for that wild land has been aptly termed a sea of
mountains. They seem piled on one another, peak on peak; and spur on
spur, and among their hollows lie lonely lakes and frothing rivers
almost without number, while valley and hill-slopes are usually
shrouded in tremendous forest to the line where the dwindling pines
meet the gleaming snow. Weston was, of course, aware of this, and he
felt, somewhat naturally, that it complicated the question.

Then Grenfell turned to him and his companion.

"I've made you my offer--a third-share each," he said. "Are you
coming?"

The track-grader shook his head.

"No," he replied, "I guess not. I'm making good wages here. So long as
I can keep from riling Cassidy they're sure." Then he grinned at
Weston. "It's your call."

Weston sat silent for a full minute, but his heart was beating faster
than usual, and he glanced up from the piles of gravel and blackened
fir stumps by the track to the gleaming snow. A sudden distaste for
the monotonous toil with the shovel came upon him, and he felt the
call of the wilderness. Besides, he was young enough to be sanguine,
although, for that matter, older men, worn by disappointments and
toilsome journeys among the hills, have set out once more on the gold
trail with an optimistic faith that has led them to their death.
Ambition awoke in him, and he recognized now that the week or two
spent in Kinnaird's camp had rendered it impossible for him to remain
a track-grader. At length he turned to Grenfell.

"Well," he said, "if you're still in the same mind to-morrow I'll
come. Still, if you think better of it, you can cry off then."

His sense of fairness demanded that; for he would not bind a man whose
senses were, it seemed reasonable to suppose, not particularly clear.
Grenfell evidently understood him, and drew himself up with an attempt
at dignity.

"My head's quite right when I'm sitting down; it's my knees," he said.
"Want to put the thing through now--half-share each. We'll call it a
bargain."