withdrawn a full two hours from the valley, shone directly upon the ice-peaks, so that fairyland seemed to leap in full glory from the black pall of night. For many minutes the two officers of the Mounted gazed, speechless, upon the sight.
"Oh, isn't it wonderful!" breathed the boy.
"Yes, son, it's wonderful," answered Sergeant McKeever, softly. "Us—up here in the North—we ain't got many of what you might call luxuries, but, son—" he pointed toward the gilded mountains, "seems like God more'n makes it up to us, with sights like that, an' the aurora, an'"
"I love it all!" exclaimed the boy, "it's so big, and free, and grand! I love even the cold, and the white snow-levels, and the roaring rapids, and the grinding ice! Why, I wouldn't live back there," his hand swept the southern horizon, "for all the money in the world!"
"No, son—you won't go back," said McKeever, gravely, "the big North has got you. You're a sure enough tillicum—an' you can't go back!" The Sergeant paused, and his next observation drew the boy's mind from the beauties of nature to the affairs of the world of men.
"I seen Bill Cosgrieve in Dawson."
