“What’s the good?” rasped Mac.  “Every foot staked for seventy miles.”

“For my part,” admitted the Boy, “I’m less grand than I was.  I meant to make some poor devil dig out my Minook gold for me.  It’ll be the other way about:  I’ll dig gold for any man on Bonanza that’ll pay me wages.”

They sat slapping at the mosquitoes till a whistle screamed on the Lower River.  The Boy called to Nig, and went down to the town to hear the news.  By-and-by Mac came out with a pack, and said he’d be back in a day or two.  After he had disappeared among the tents—­a conquering army that had forced its way far up the hill by now—­the Colonel got up and went to the spring for a drink.  He stood there a long time looking out wistfully, not towards the common magnet across the Klondyke, but quite in the other direction towards the nearer gate of exit—­towards home.

“What special brand of fool am I to be here?”

Down below, Nig, with hot tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth, now followed, now led, his master, coming briskly up the slope.

“That was the Weare we heard whistlin’,” said the Boy, breathless.  “And who d’you think’s aboard?”

“Who?”

“Nicholas a’ Pymeut, pilot.  An’ he’s got Princess Muckluck along.”

“No,” laughed the Colonel, following the Boy to the tent.  “What’s the Princess come for?”

“How should I know?”

“Didn’t she say?”

“Didn’t stop to hear.”

“Reckon she was right glad to see you,” chaffed the Colonel.  “Hey? 
Wasn’t she?”

“I—­don’t think she noticed I was there.”

“What! you bolted?” No reply.  “See here, what you doin’?”

“Packin’ up.”

“Where you goin’?”

“Been thinkin’ for some time I ain’t wealthy enough to live in this metropolis.  There may be a place for a poor man, but Dawson isn’t It.”

“Well, I didn’t think you were that much of a coward—­turnin’ tail like this just because a poor little Esquimaux—­Besides, she may have got over it.  Even the higher races do.”  And he went on poking his fun till suddenly the Boy said: 

“You’re in such high spirits, I suppose you must have heard Maudie’s up from Minook.

“You’re jokin’!”

“It ain’t my idea of a joke.  She’s comin’ up here soon’s she’s landed her stuff.”

“She’s not comin’ up here!”

“Why not?  Anybody can come up on the Moosehide, and everybody’s doin’ it.  I’m goin’ to make way for some of ’em.”

“Did she see you?”

“Well, she’s seen Potts, anyhow.”

“You’re right about Dawson,” said the Colonel suddenly; “it’s too rich for my blood.”

They pinned a piece of paper on the tent-flap to say they were “Gone prospecting:  future movements uncertain.”