A REMARKABLE LETTER. 19 
"What would you say, John, to fifty tons a year, or 
even one hundred? In the countries I have mentioned, 
the ore crops out, or is found below the surface, in narrow 
veins, among much schist and slate. What would you 
say to a whole mountain of cinnabar ! " 
Mr. Button looked up with a prolonged " Whew-w ! " 
and Carlo gave a short yelp. As no one else seemed 
disposed to conversation, the letter was resumed. 
" To make a long story short (for I can see now that 
you are getting excited, as plainly as if I were sitting with 
you in your cosey dining-room, in Sheldon, where you will 
probably read this letter), the following facts have recently 
come to light ; no one, until this letter was read, John, 
knew of them. No one knows of them now, except your 
family, myself, and Peeschee. The last named gentle- 
man is a Chilkat Indian, whose name in honest English 
is ' The Fox.' Call him which you like, he has served us 
a good turn. This is how it came about. 
"I was off hunting with a party of Indians from the 
vicinity of the fort. We were in camp about twenty 
miles inland from Wrangel, when something came bound- 
ing into the circle of firelight like a deer. It was the 
Fox, who threw himself panting at our feet, his teeth 
chattering, and his face fairly gray with terror. As soon 
as he could talk we made out his story. He had left his 
village a week before, on a trapping expedition. While 
