People began to go about their usual avocations.  The empty Gold Nugget filled again.  Men sat, as they had done all the winter, drinking, and reading the news of eight months before, out of soiled and tattered papers.

Late the following day everyone started up at a new sound.  Again miners, Indians, and dogs lined the bank, saw the piled ice masses tremble, heard a crashing and grinding as of mountains of glass hurled together, saw the barrier give way, and the frozen wastes move down on the bosom of the flood.  Higher yet the water rose—­the current ran eight miles an hour.  And now the ice masses were less enormous, more broken.  Somewhere far below another jam.  Another long bout of waiting.

Birds are singing everywhere.  Between the white snowdrifts the Arctic moss shows green and yellow, white flowers star the hills.

Half the town is packed, ready to catch the boat 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.”