"I hunt alone, Stampede. The place is supposed to
be haunted, you know. Ghost Kloof, I call it, and no Eskimo will enter
it. The bones of dead men lie up there."
"Never prospected it?" persisted Stampede.
"Never."
Alan heard the other's grunt of disgust.
"You're reindeer-crazy," he grumbled. "There's gold in this canyon.
Twice I've found it where there were dead men's bones. They bring me
good luck."
"But these were Eskimos. They didn't come for gold."
"I know it. The Boss settled that for me. When she heard what was the
matter with this place, she made me take her into it. Nerve? Say, I'm
telling you there wasn't any of it left out of her when she was born!"
He was silent for a moment, and then added: "When we came to that
dripping, slimy rock with the big yellow skull layin' there like a
poison toadstool, she didn't screech and pull back, but just gave a
little gasp and stared at it hard, and her fingers pinched my arm until
it hurt. It was a devilish-looking thing, yellow as a sick orange and
soppy with the drip of the wet moss over it. I wanted to blow it to
pieces, and I guess I would if she hadn't put a hand on my gun. An' with
a funny little smile she says: 'Don't do it, Stampede. It makes me think
of someone I know--and I wouldn't want you to shoot him.' Darned funny
thing to say, wasn't it? Made her think of someone she knew! Now, who
the devil could look like a rotten skull?"
Alan made no effort to reply, except to shrug his shoulders.
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