e by, than there's
letter and telegram both to the engineer that the work wasn't paying,
and he's to shut down at once."

The members of the expedition look at one another, but the leader,
Andresen himself, has not lost courage yet.

"You may just as well turn back and go home again," is Aronsen's
advice.

"We're not doing that," says Andresen, and packs up the coffee-pot.

Aronsen stares at the three of them in turn. "You're mad, then," says
he.

Look you, Andresen he cares little now for what his master that was
can say; he's master himself now, leader of an expedition equipped at
his own expense for a journey to distant parts; 'twould lose him his
prestige to turn back now where he is.

"Well, where will you go?" asks Aronsen irritably.

"Can't say," answers Andresen. But he's a notion of his own all the
same, no doubt; thinking, maybe, of the natives, and coming down into
the district three men strong, with glass beads and finger rings.
"We'll be getting on," says he to the rest.

Now, Aronsen had thought like enough to go farther up that morning,
seeing he'd come so far, wanting, maybe, to see if all the place was
quite deserted, if it could be true every man on the place was gone.
But seeing these pedlar-folk so set on going on, it hinders him, and
he tells them again and again they're mad to try. Aronsen is furious
himself, marches down in front of the caravan, turning round and
shouting at them, barking at them, trying to keep them out of his
district. And so they come down to the huts in the mining centre.

A little town of huts, but empty and desolate. Most of the tools and
implements are housed under cover, but poles and planks, broken carts
and cases and barrels, lie all about in disorder; here and there a
notice on a door declares "No admittance."

"There you are," cries Aronsen. "What did I say? Not a soul in the
place." And he threatens the caravan with disaster--he will send for
the Lensmand; anyway, he's going to follow them every step now, and
if he can catch them at any unlawful trading 'tis penal servitude and
slavery, no mistake!

All at once somebody calls out for Sivert. The place is not altogether
dead, after all, not utterly deserted; here is a man standing
beckoning at the corner of a house. Sivert trundles over with his
load, and sees at once who it is--Geissler.

"Funny meeting you here," says Geissler. His face is red and
flourishing, but his eyes apparently cannot stand the