The peak above them was fading in the growing night, and the stillness of the great desolation seemed intensified by the soft patter of the rain.

Then Weston roused himself with an effort, for there was something to be done.
"We can't leave him lying there," he said.

"There is a little soil among the stones.

It's a pity we didn't bring the shovel." The shovel was in the cache with one or two other prospector's tools, which, as the reef they desired to find was uncovered in one place, they had not thought it worth while to carry over that high ridge; so they set to work in silence with the rifle butt and their naked hands.
Fortunately, the stones were large, and the soil beneath them soft, and in about twenty minutes they were ready for the rest of their task.

It was one from which they shrank, but they accomplished it, and Grenfell straightened himself wearily as they laid the last stone on the little mound.
"It's all we can do, but I should feel considerably better if I could get a hard drink now," he said.
Then he made a little forceful gesture.
"After all, he's well out of it.