"I'm t'ink dat kultus gol' she cross to de Red Tail Lak'," he grumbled. And as they pushed forward Connie^s thoughts recurred to the great misshapen nugget of pure gold with its uncanny streaks of red, and to the graves that marked its trail.
At Tilton Lake Post, Connie interviewed MacFarland. But the Scotchman could add nothing to what he had already written. Whereupon, the boy turned his attention to the Indians.
With much gravity the chief of the band expounded: "In the first days of the dripping moon came a white man and a woman to Red Tail Lake. They came from the north-westward and not from the country of the Mackenzie. And upon the shore of a spruce-sheltered bay, they built a cabin. The man did not seek to trade, nor did he give any presents of tobacco, or fish-hooks, or files.
"For the space of a moon they lived in the cabin, and each day his canoe was to be seen on the lake where, always in company with the woman, he fished and hunted to obtain his winter supply of meat. Always the man appeared to be afraid. Always his eyes searched the shores. And always he scanned the faces of the Indians who approached
