another, no boats had got to the Upper River. Not even
the arrival from Dawson of the Montana Kid, pugilist and gambler, could
raise spirits so cast down, not even though he was said to bring
strange news from outside.

There was war in the world down yonder--war had been formally declared
between America and Spain.

Windy slapped his thigh in humourous despair.

"Why hadn't he thought o' gettin' off a josh like that?"

To those who listened to the Montana Kid, to the fretted spirits of men
eight months imprisoned, the States and her foreign affairs were far
away indeed, and as for the other party to the rumoured war--Spain?
They clutched at school memories of Columbus, Americans finding through
him the way to Spain, as through him Spaniards had found the way to
America. So Spain was not merely a State historic! She was still in the
active world. But what did these things matter? Boats mattered: the
place where the Klondykers were caught, this Minook, mattered. And so
did the place they wanted to reach--Dawson mattered most of all. By the
narrowed habit of long months, Dawson was the centre of the universe.

More little boats going down, and still nothing going up. Men said
gloomily:

"We're done for! The fellows who go by the Canadian route will get
everything. The Dawson season will be half over before we're in the
field--if we ever are!"

The 28th of May! Still no steamer had come, but the mosquitoes
had--bloodthirsty beyond any the temperate climates know. It was clear
that some catastrophe had befallen the Woodworth boats. And Nig had
been lured away by his quondam master! No, they had not gone back to
the gulch--that was too easy. The man had a mind to keep the dog, and,
since he was not allowed to buy him, he would do the other thing.

He had not been gone an hour, rumour said--had taken a scow and
provisions, and dropped down the river. Utterly desperate, the Boy
seized his new Nulato gun and somebody else's canoe. Without so much as
inquiring whose, he shot down the swift current after the dog-thief. He
roared back to the remonstrating Colonel that he didn't care if an
up-river steamer did come while he was gone--he was goin' gunnin'.

At the same time he shared the now general opinion that a Lower River
boat would reach them first, and he was only going to meet her, meting
justice by the way.

He had gone safely more than ten miles down, when suddenly, as he was
passing an island, he stood up in hi