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"We'll strike it in the afternoon," Vane assured him. They reslung their packs and set out wearily. Carroll, limping and stumbling along, was soon troubled by a distressful stitch in his side. He managed to keep pace with Vane, however, and some time after noon a twinkling gleam among the trees caught their eye.
The scent of the air, its sickly sweetness, had entirely passed as he breathed under the mask. He returned to his pack and fastened it up. Then he reslung it upon his shoulders. When he passed from the summit of the hill the mask that was to serve him when the danger line was reached had been removed. Steve laboured on sweatily. He had halved the weight of his pack.
Dripping from the waist with snow water, he reslung his traps, glanced back at the sombre bush behind him and then plunged into that ahead, while the dusk was closing in when he stood panting amidst the stumps of smaller trees. The mark of the axe was on them, and somebody had piled up a mound of rock and stones. Alton drew in a long breath and shook off his burden. "Jimmy's claim," he said.
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