They were nearing the tragic scenes of long ago, and old Donald was about to reap the reward of a search that had gone faithfully and untiringly through the winters and summers of forty years.

He spoke seldom that day.

There were strange lights in his eyes.

And once his voice was husky and strained when he said to Aldous: "I guess we'll make it to-morrow, Johnny--jus' about as the sun's going down." They camped early, and Aldous rolled himself in his blanket when Joanne extinguished the candle in her tent.

He found that he could not sleep, and he relieved MacDonald at eleven o'clock.
"Get all the rest you can, Mac," he urged.