at five minutes'
notice. With door barred and red curtain down, Maudie is doing up her
gold-dust for the Colonel to take to Dawson. The man who had washed it
out of a Birch Creek placer, and "blowed it in fur the girl"--up on the
hillside he sleeps sound.

The two who had broken the record for winter travel on the Yukon, side
by side in the sunshine, on a plank laid across two mackerel firkins,
sit and watch the brimming flood. They speak of the Big Chimney men,
picture them, packed and waiting for the Oklahoma, wonder what they
have done with Kaviak, and what the three months have brought them.

"When we started out that day from the Big Chimney, we thought we'd be
made if only we managed to reach Minook."

"Well, we've got what we came for--each got a claim."

"Oh, yes."

"A good claim, too."

"Guess so."

"Don't you know the gold's there?"

"Yes; but where are the miners? You and I don't propose to spend the
next ten years in gettin' that gold out."

"No; but there are plenty who would if we gave 'em the chance. All we
have to do is to give the right ones the chance."

The Colonel wore an air of reflection.

"The district will be opened up," the Boy went on cheerfully, "and
we'll have people beggin' us to let 'em get out our gold, and givin' us
the lion's share for the privilege."

"Do you altogether like the sound o' that?"

"I expect, like other people, I'll like the result."

"We ought to see some things clearer than other people. We had our
lesson on the trail," said the Colonel quietly. "Nobody ought ever to
be able to fool us about the power and the value of the individual
apart from society. Seems as if association did make value. In the
absence of men and markets a pit full of gold is worth no more than a
pit full of clay."

"Oh, yes; I admit, till the boats come in, we're poor men."

"Nobody will stop here this summer--they'll all be racing on to
Dawson."

"Dawson's 'It,' beyond a doubt."

The Colonel laughed a little ruefully.

"We used to say Minook."

"I said Minook, just to sound reasonable, but, of course, I meant
Dawson."

And they sat there thinking, watching the ice-blocks meet, crash, go
down in foam, and come up again on the lower reaches, the Boy idly
swinging the great Katharine's medal to and fro. In his buckskin pocket
it has worn so bright it catches at the light like a coin fresh from
the mint.

No doubt Muckluck is on the river-bank at Pymeut; the one-eyed Pri