nswers and figures up the estimates on the counter, and, by Gawd! in
less 'n quarter of an hour Butts, just standin' there and listenin', as
you'd think--he'd got that di'mon' watch off'n the chain an' had it in
his pocket. I knew he done it, though I ain't exactly seen _how_ he
done it. The others who were in the game, they swore he hadn't got it
yet, but, by Gawd, Butts says he'll think over McQuestion's terms, and
wonders what time it is. He takes that di'mon' watch out of his pocket,
glances at it, and goes off smooth as cream, sayin' 'Good-night.' Then
he come a grinnin' over to us. 'Jest you go an' ask the Father o' the
Yukon Pioneers what time it is, will yer?' An' I done it. Well, sir,
when he put his hand in his pocket, by Gawd! I wish y' could a' saw
McQuestion's face. Yes, sir, Butts is brains to his boots."

"How far out are the diggin's?"

"What diggin's?"

"Yours."

"Oh--a--my gulch ain't fur."

There was a noise about the door. Someone bustled in with a torrent of
talk, and the pianola was drowned in a pandemonium of shouts and
laughter.

"Windy Jim's reely got back!"

Everybody crowded forward. Maudie was at the Colonel's elbow explaining
that the little yellow-bearded man with the red nose was the
letter-carrier. He had made a contract early in the winter to go to
Dawson and bring down the mail for Minook. His agreement was to make
the round trip and be back by the middle of February. Since early March
the standing gag in the camp had been: "Well, Windy Jim got in last
night."

The mild jest had grown stale, and the denizens of Minook had given up
the hope of ever laying eyes on Windy again, when lo! here he was with
twenty-two hundred letters in his sack. The patrons of the Gold Nugget
crowded round him like flies round a lump of sugar, glad to pay a
dollar apiece on each letter he handed out. "And you take _all_ that's
addressed to yer at that price or you get none." Every letter there had
come over the terrible Pass. Every one had travelled twelve hundred
miles by dog-team, and some had been on the trail seven months.

"Here, Maudie, me dear." The postman handed her two letters. "See how
he dotes on yer."

"Got anything fur--what's yer names?" says the mackinaw man, who seemed
to have adopted the Colonel and the Boy.

He presented them without embarrassment to "Windy Jim Wilson, of Hog'em
Junction, the best trail mail-carrier in the 'nited States."

Those who had already got letters w