Roy Norton

“ Bill Wilton rubbed his hands across his eyes, bewildered, as if the words had recalled something of his past, some other day, when he had been asked to stay, and had refused. I don't think he could grasp that intangible memory; but he suddenly cried—and Heaven knows it is pitiful to hear a strong man cry—carried his pack back inside the cabin, and was docile again. ”

“ He came toward me with his long, sturdy step, and laid a hand on my arm.
“Don't forget to say nothing about the nugget,” he cautioned. “Men believe it a mere childish legend, and that Bill Wilton never found anything to prove it otherwise. Don't be so reckless as to start a stampede to unknown places, even if there is nothing in—well—in the native superstition. It is best that men, especially these tenderfeet, continue to believe it a myth.” ”

“ The light was turning again from a heavy dusk, somnolent and soporific to the paler gold of an arctic dawn—and there is nothing in the world more beautiful.
From up the river I saw something shaping itself upon its breast. It forged ahead, and I saw that it was a boatman in a native canoe. The paddle rose and fell with steady, dignified deliberation. Evidently the man was in no haste, and was not familiar with his landing place. ”