. They were hardy
young fellows, and used the accent of born Canadians. They were
brothers, and the elder was speaking.

"What's the use of our hanging 'round here all winter doing nothing? The
best creeks are all staked, and there isn't the ghost of a show for us
to get any first class ground hereabouts. Let's light out, blaze a new
trail for ourselves, and prospect in the likeliest places during the
winter instead of idling away our time here, eating up high-priced grub
and hating ourselves. I'm sick of this camp. What do you say?"

"Which way shall we go?"

"Any old way. No, it would be better to have some definite idea of the
point we wish to reach, of course. We might make for the headwaters of
the Klondyke and then east into the unknown country where only a few
poor Indians live."

"They might prove ugly. What then?"

"We could manage them. We would take plenty of grub and ammunition, and
a couple of white men, at least, with us."

"What makes you think there's gold there? It wouldn't pay us to risk our
lives for nothing in such a wilderness. I would be willing to go if I
thought our time and efforts might turn up something good."

"I have been watching the Indians who come here for supplies from that
direction, and they are far from penniless. They carry good-sized pokes
of nuggets and dust which they use in trading. They must get these from
some of the creeks over east," said the elder of the two men.

"They are mum as oysters; one can't get any information from them."

"What'll you bet I can't?"

"A box of cigars," laughed the younger, whose name seemed appropriately
bestowed, for it was Thomas, and he often doubted.

With that George MacDougall drew on his fur coat and mittens and quitted
the cabin. He would find a certain long haired Indian he had seen that
day, and prove to his brother that he was not simply a boaster.

It was early in the evening; but for the matter of that, the hour made
little difference, for time slipped by unreckoned in the Klondyke in
winter. Night was more often than not turned into day by the restless
denizens of the mining camp, and belated breakfast sometime the
following afternoon was the sequel.

Just now the moon shown brightly above the camp, the deep frozen river
and the high hills. George MacDougall could plainly hear the loud
talking and shouts of those bent on dissipation while crossing the ice
by dog-team to West Dawson. Glancing in that direction he saw the