"If so, he is only worth from ten to twenty dollars; or he may be a black fox, worth fifty or sixty; or what we call a 'cross'-- a mixture of silver and black--worth from seventy-five to a hundred.

Or--" "Heap big silver!" interrupted Mukoki with another chuckle.
"Yes, or a silver," finished Wabi.

"A poor silver is worth two hundred dollars, and a good one from five hundred to a thousand! Now do you see why we would like to have a difference in the tracks?
If that was a silver, a black or a 'cross,' we'd follow him; but in all probability he is red." Every hour added to Rod's knowledge of the wilderness and its people.
For the first time in his life he saw the big dog-like tracks made by wolves, the dainty hoof-prints of the red deer and the spreading imprints of a traveling lynx; he pictured the hugeness of the moose that made a track as big as his head, discovered how to tell the difference between the hoof-print of a small moose and a big caribou, and in almost every mile learned something new.
Half a dozen times during the morning the hunters stopped to rest.

By noon Wabi figured that they had traveled twenty miles, and, although very tired, Rod declared that he was still "game for another ten." After dinner the aspect of the country changed.

The river which they had been following became narrower and was so swift in places that it rushed tumultuously between its frozen edges.