m-looking mouth. He was perhaps
thirty-six, had been "in" ten years, and had mined before that in
Idaho. Under his striped parki he was dressed in spotted deer-skin,
wore white deer-skin mucklucks, Arctic cap, and moose mittens. Pinned
on his inner shirt was the badge of the Yukon Order of Pioneers--a
footrule bent like the letter A above a scroll of leaves, and in the
angle two linked O's over Y. P.

It was the other man--the western towns are full of General
Lighters--who did the talking. An attorney from Seattle, he had come up
in the July rush with very little but boundless assurance, fell in with
an old miner who had been grubstaked by Captain Rainey out of the
_Oklahoma's_ supplies, and got to Minook before the river went to
sleep.

"No, we're not pardners exactly," he said, glancing good-humouredly at
Dillon; "we've worked separate, but we're going home two by two like
animals into the Ark. We've got this in common. We've both 'struck
ile'--haven't we, Dillon?"

Dillon nodded.

"Little Minook's as rich a camp as Dawson, and the gold's of higher
grade--isn't it, Dillon?"

"That's right."

"One of the many great advantages of Minook is that it's the _nearest_
place on the river where they've struck pay dirt." says the General.
"And another great advantage is that it's on the American side of the
line."

"What advantage is that?" Mac grated out.

"Just the advantage of not having all your hard earnings taken away by
an iniquitous tax."

"Look out! this fella's a Britisher--"

"Don't care if he is, and no disrespect to you, sir. The Canadians in
the Klondyke are the first to say the tax is nothing short of highway
robbery. You'll see! The minute they hear of gold across the line
there'll be a stampede out of Dawson. I can put you in the way of
getting a claim for eight thousand dollars that you can take eighty
thousand out of next August, with no inspector coming round to check
your clean-up, and no Government grabbing at your royalties."

"Why aren't you taking out that eighty thousand yourself?" asked Mac
bluntly.

"Got more 'n one man can handle," answered the General. "Reckon we've
earned a holiday."

Dillon backed him up.

"Then it isn't shortage in provisions that takes you outside," said the
Boy.

"Not much."

"Plenty of food at Rampart City; that's the name o' the town where the
Little Minook meets the Yukon."

"Food at gold-craze prices, I suppose."

"No. Just about the same they