ed little devil!"

One hand left his paddle and landed on the back of his neck with a sharp
slap. He put a fresh daub of clay on the injured part, swearing
sulphurously the while. Kink Mitchell was not in the least amused. He
merely improved the opportunity by putting a thicker coating of clay on
his own neck.

They crossed the Yukon to its west bank, shot down-stream with easy
stroke, and at the end of forty minutes swung in close to the left around
the tail of an island. Forty Mile spread itself suddenly before them.
Both men straightened their backs and gazed at the sight. They gazed
long and carefully, drifting with the current, in their faces an
expression of mingled surprise and consternation slowly gathering. Not a
thread of smoke was rising from the hundreds of log-cabins. There was no
sound of axes biting sharply into wood, of hammering and sawing. Neither
dogs nor men loitered before the big store. No steamboats lay at the
bank, no canoes, nor scows, nor poling-boats. The river was as bare of
craft as the town was of life.

"Kind of looks like Gabriel's tooted his little horn, and you an' me has
turned up missing," remarked Hootchinoo Bill.

His remark was casual, as though there was nothing unusual about the
occurrence. Kink Mitchell's reply was just as casual as though he, too,
were unaware of any strange perturbation of spirit.

"Looks as they was all Baptists, then, and took the boats to go by
water," was his contribution.

"My ol' dad was a Baptist," Hootchinoo Bill supplemented. "An' he always
did hold it was forty thousand miles nearer that way."

This was the end of their levity. They ran the canoe in and climbed the
high earth bank. A feeling of awe descended upon them as they walked the
deserted streets. The sunlight streamed placidly over the town. A
gentle wind tapped the halyards against the flagpole before the closed
doors of the Caledonia Dance Hall. Mosquitoes buzzed, robins sang, and
moose birds tripped hungrily among the cabins; but there was no human
life nor sign of human life.

"I'm just dyin' for a drink," Hootchinoo Bill said and unconsciously his
voice sank to a hoarse whisper.

His partner nodded his head, loth to hear his own voice break the
stillness. They trudged on in uneasy silence till surprised by an open
door. Above this door, and stretching the width of the building, a rude
sign announced the same as the "Monte Carlo." But beside the door, hat
ov