“Dave never took part in the big stampede to Dawson when Carmack made the Bonanza strike.  You see, Dave was just then over on Mammon Creek strikin’ it himself.  He discovered Mammon Creek.  Cleaned eighty-four thousand up that winter, and opened up the claim so that it promised a couple of hundred thousand for the next winter.  Then, summer bein’ on and the ground sloshy, he took a trip up the Yukon to Dawson to see what Carmack’s strike looked like.  And there he saw Flush of Gold.  I remember the night.  I shall always remember.  It was something sudden, and it makes one shiver to think of a strong man with all the strength withered out of him by one glance from the soft eyes of a weak, blond, female creature like Flush of Gold.  It was at her dad’s cabin, old Victor Chauvet’s.  Some friend had brought Dave along to talk over town sites on Mammon Creek.  But little talking did he do, and what he did was mostly gibberish.  I tell you the sight of Flush of Gold had sent Dave clean daffy.  Old Victor Chauvet insisted after Dave left that he had been drunk.  And so he had.  He was drunk, but Flush of Gold was the strong drink that made him so.

“That settled it, that first glimpse he caught of her.  He did not start back down the Yukon in a week, as he had intended.  He lingered on a month, two months, all summer.  And we who had suffered understood, and wondered what the outcome would be.  Undoubtedly, in our minds, it seemed that Flush of Gold had met her master.  And why not?  There was romance sprinkled all over Dave Walsh.  He was a Mammon King, he had made the Mammon Creek strike; he was an old sour dough, one of the oldest pioneers in the land—­men turned to look at him when he went by, and said to one another in awed undertones, ‘There goes Dave Walsh.’  And why not?  He stood six feet four; he had yellow hair himself that curled on his neck; and he was a bull—­a yellow-maned bull just turned thirty-one.

“And Flush of Gold loved him, and, having danced him through a whole summer’s courtship, at the end their engagement was made known.  The fall of the year was at hand, Dave had to be back for the winter’s work on Mammon Creek, and Flush of Gold refused to be married right away.  Dave put Dusky Burns in charge of the Mammon Creek claim, and himself lingered on in Dawson.  Little use.  She wanted her freedom a while longer; she must have it, and she would not marry until next year.  And so, on the first ice, Dave Walsh went alone down the Yukon behind his dogs, with the understanding that the marriage would take place when he arrived on the first steamboat of the next year.