They had to decide whether they would go back or go on, and both of them realized what the decision would be.

Their guide had left them, and the last expectation of finding the lead had melted away.

At first the sight of his dead comrade had driven all other thoughts from Weston's mind, but now he was compelled to admit that he had wasted time and money on a delusion.

That perhaps was no great matter in itself, but it made it clear that all he could look for was to earn food and shelter as a packer, logging-hand, or wandering laborer.

Impassable barriers divided Ida Stirling from a man of that kind, and he dare no longer dream of the possibility of tearing them down.