There was not much to attract a white man in the desolation of tangled bush, but as he glanced across it, looking to the North, a hint of mystery in its silence appealed to Thirlwell.

He felt that the wilderness challenged him to find a clue to the treasure it hid.

Then he reflected with a smile that it was taking much for granted to admit that there was treasure there, and he went back into the shack and lighted the lamp.
A week later, he went up the river bank, one evening, with a fishing rod, and stopped at dusk at the tail of the Grand Rapid.

He had gone farther than he meant and was tired after scrambling across slippery rocks and among the driftwood that lay about the bank.

There was, however, a shorter way back, and lighting his pipe he sat down upon the gravel and looked about.
The sun had set some time since, but the light would not quite die out until just before the dawn, and the pines across the river rose against the green sky in a dark, broken-topped wall.