of the gold, commencing with the smaller amounts. When they had
finished, they had thrown out all their last month's work, and still
the canoe was by no means steady.

Spurling, with the foresight and thrift of a man who has a long life
before him, went into the hut and, bringing out a spade, commenced to
dig. When he had made a hole of sufficient width and depth, he buried
the abandoned nuggets and gold dust.

Granger watched him to the end. Then, with a touch of bitterness in
his tones, he asked, "And what's that for?"

"In case I should ever be able to come back," said Spurling, "and so
that no one else may find it."

"Don't you worry yourself, you'll be in El Dorado before that time,
or else hanged. In either case, a trifle like that won't matter."

He scowled; Granger's flippancies on the subject of death, especially
death with a rope about his neck, always made him feel unhappy. He
tried to take his place in the stern, but Granger would not trust him
there; he signed to him to take the forward paddle, where he would
have no opportunity of making a surprise attack. They pushed off and
quickly lost sight of the hut, the discovery of which had meant so
much to them. Now that they had procured their wealth and abandoned
their diggings, all their eagerness was for escape.

The sunset lay behind them, and before, like a black-mailed host,
preparing to dispute their passage, the shadows of night were
gathered. During the past month the forest leaves had turned from
green, and gray, into copper, yellow, and flaming red. The branches of
the tallest of the underbrush were already bare and, clustered
together beneath the tree-trunks, created the effect of scarves of
mist which shifted from silver to lavender. The floor of the forest
was of gold, where the fallen foliage had scattered; but, where the
scrub-oak grew, it was golden splashed with blood. The dominant tone
of the landscape was of gold and blood; through the heart of which ran
the river, changing by infinitesimal, overlapping shadings from yellow
into red, from red into night-colour, from night-colour into
nothingness. Down this roadway passed the trespassers, with the thing
which they had stolen weighing down their canoe to the point of
danger; murder was in their hearts, and grey fear ran before them.
Instinctively they bowed their heads, suspicious of one another,
peering ahead into the distance for an enemy who awaited them, and
from side to side or behi