“I never dreamed you’d get through,” he told them, when greetings had passed.  “Did you come in one boat or in two?”

Jerry grinned.  “We sawed up that outlaw four times.  We’d have split her end to end finally, only we run out of pitch to cork her up.”

“That boat was about worn out with our bickerings,” Tom declared.  “She ain’t over half the length she was—­all the rest is sawdust.  If the nail-holes in her was laid end to end they’d reach to Forty Mile.  We were the last outfit in, as it was, and we’d of missed a landing if a feller hadn’t run out on the shore ice and roped us.  First town I ever entered on the end of a lariat.  Hope I don’t leave it the same way.”

“Guess who drug us in,” Jerry urged.

“I’ve no idea,” said Pierce.

“Big Lars Anderson.”

“Big Lars of El Dorado?”

“He’s the party.  He was just drunk enough to risk breakin’ through.  When he found who we was—­well, he gave us the town; he made us a present of Dawson and all points north, together with the lands, premises, privileges, and hereditaments appurtenant thereto.  I still got a kind of a hangover headache and have to take soda after my meals.”

“Lars was a sheepman when we knew him,” Tom explained.  “Jerry and I purloined him from some prominent cow-gentlemen who had him all decorated up ready to hang, and he hasn’t forgotten it.  He got everybody full the night we landed, and wound up by buying all the fresh eggs in camp.  Forty dozen.  We had ’em fried.  He’s a prince with his money.”

“He owns more property than anybody,” said pierce.

“Right!  And he gave us a ‘lay.’”

Phillips’ eyes opened.  “A lay?  On El Dorado?” he queried, in frank amazement.

“No.  Hunker.  He says it’s a good creek.  We’re lookin’ for a pardner.”

“What kind of a partner?”

It was Linton who answered.  “Well, some nice, easy-going, hard-working young feller.  Jerry and I are pretty old to wind a windlass, but we can work underground where it’s warm.”

“‘Easy-goin’,’ that’s the word,” Jerry nodded.  “Tom and me get along with each other like an order of buckwheat cakes, but we’re set in our ways and we don’t want anybody to come between us.”

“How would I do?” Pierce inquired, with a smile.

Tom answered promptly.  “If your name was put to a vote I know one of us that wouldn’t blackball you.”

“Sure!” cried his partner.  “The ballot-box would look like a settin’ of pigeon eggs.  Think it over and let us know.  We’re leavin’ to-morrow.”

A lease on Hunker Creek sounded good to Phillips.  Big Lars Anderson had been one of the first arrivals from Circle City; already he was rated a millionaire, for luck had smiled upon him; his name was one to conjure with.  Pierce was about to accept the offer made when Jerry said: 

“Who d’you s’pose got the lay below ours?  That feller McCaskey and his brother.”