The others agreed that it would be advisable, but most of the things
were heavy, and it was some little time later when Weston lighted a
fish-oil lamp in the heading and held it up. The narrow tunnel seemed
half-full of rolled-up blankets, flour-bags and slabs of pork, and a
group of men, some of whose faces were blackened, sat among them.

"Our lot came in first. Have you got it all?" Weston asked.

They found the flour and pork, the tea and Saunders' rifle, as well as
a couple of hammers and several drills; but Weston did not seem
satisfied.

"Where are my clothes?" he asked.

None of them seemed to know, though it became evident that his city
garments were, at least, not in the adit.

"Guess they'll be frizzled quite out of fashion if you left them in
the shack," said one of the men. "A miner has no use for getting
himself up like a bank clerk anyway."

Weston held up the lamp so the rest could see him. His face was black,
and the sleeve of his duck jacket had several big holes in it. His
trousers were rent in places, and one of his long boots was burst,
while Devine's hat, which was too big for him, hung shapeless and
dotted with charred holes on his head.

"I'm going back to Montreal in a day or two. Can I call on big
stock-jobbers and company floaters like this?"

"Guess you can buy new ones in Montreal," said the miner.

"You can," agreed Weston, "when you have the money. The trouble is, I
haven't. Saunders, I'm going back for those clothes."

They went with him to the mouth of the adit and saw the shack outlined
against a dazzling blaze. It did not seem to be burning yet, but none
of Weston's companions believed that it would be possible for him to
reach it. The smoke had risen, and now rolled among the tops of the
firs, but, though they stood at some distance from the fire, the air
scorched their faces. Weston's showed up in the lurid radiance worn
and very grim, and it was evident to Devine that the curious moodiness
which had troubled him since he came back from the city was at least
as strong as it had been.

"You can't get them now," he expostulated.

"Give me your jacket," said Weston, sharply. "It's thicker than the
thing I have on."

The surveyor hesitated. He could see the sparks and blazing fragments
stream past the shack, and he had no wish to encourage his comrade in
the rashness he contemplated.

"Well," said Weston, "I'll go as I am."

Then Saunders remembered something, and