brilliantly lighted dance-house and saloon, whose blare of brassy
instruments reached his unwilling ears at that distance; the still, cold
air of an Arctic night being a perfect conductor of sound. Under the
sheltering, furry fringe of his cap his forehead gathered itself into a
scowl.

"What fools!" he muttered. "If one must carouse why come here? That sort
of thing can be done on the 'outside', but in here where grub is worth
its weight in gold, and none expect comforts, why waste time? We came
here for that we cannot obtain in the States--at least I did--for
gold,--gold, and I'll have it, too, by Gad!" Then pricking up his ears
again at the end of his soliloquy, he listened and laughed aloud.

"Hear those malamute cusses! How they do whoop it up, to be sure," as a
familiar canine chorus surged clearcut through the frosty air. "I'd
rather listen any time to the brutes zig-zagging up and down their
scales than to the giggling 'box rustlers' from the Monte Carlo crossing
yonder to the dance-house; but where's that blooming Indian, I wonder? I
must find him," and the stalwart Canadian moved on more quickly up the
main street.

An hour later he again smoked in his cabin with his brother. Opposite
them sat an Indian with long, black hair. The latter held in his hand a
whiskey glass, now almost drained, the contents of which had no doubt
called up the good-humored expression at the corners of the native's
habitually unsmiling mouth.

The Canadians smoked; their chair-backs tilted against the wall. There
was no hurry. The elder MacDougall re-filled the Indian's glass with
liquor, and leisurely and carefully knocking the ashes from his pipe,
placed it upon a shelf. He then took from an inside pocket a half dozen
cigars of reputable brand and placed one between his lips, by chance,
probably, glancing toward his visitor, whose fingers now twitched at
sight of the much relished tobacco stick.

"Plenty gold where you come from?" carelessly interrogated MacDougall,
his eyes on the lighted end of his cigar, and flirting away the match he
had been using.

"Yes," grunted the Indian in answer.

"Can we find it, too, Pete?" queried the white man, at the same moment
holding one of the cigars toward his visitor, who eagerly seized it.

"I tink."

"Will you show us a gold creek, Pete?" continued the patiently
questioning Canadian.

"How much you give?"

"I'll give you a gallon of whiskey and a box of good cigars if you wil