“Perhaps I shall meet him.”

“You wouldn’t like him if you did; nobody likes him, except me, and I hate him.”  Linton sighed.  “He’s a handicap to a young man like me.”

“Why don’t you send him home?”

“Home?  Old Jerry would die before he’d turn back.  He’d lift his muzzle and bay at the very idea until some stranger terminated him.  Well, he’s my cross; I s’pose I’ve got to bear him.”

“Who is Mr. Linton?” the Countess inquired, as she and Pierce left the village behind them.

“Just an ordinary stampeder, like the rest of us.  I think.”

“He’s more than that.  He’s the kind who’ll go through and make good.  I dare say his partner is just like him.”

Phillips approved of the Countess Courteau this morning even more thoroughly than he had on the evening previous, and they had not walked far before he realized that as a traveler she was the equal of him or of any man.  She was lithe and strong and light of foot; the way she covered ground awoke his sincere admiration.  She did not trouble to talk much and she dispensed with small talk in others; she appeared to be absorbed in her own affairs, and only when they rested did she engage in conversation.  The more Phillips studied her and the better acquainted he became with her the larger proportions did she assume.  Not only was she completely mistress of herself, but she had a forceful, compelling way with others; there was a natural air of authority about her, and she managed in some subtle manner to invest herself and her words with importance.  She was quite remarkable.

Now, the trail breeds its own peculiar intimacy; although the two talked little, they nevertheless got to know each other quite well, and when they reached the Summit, about midday, Phillips felt a keen regret that their journey was so near its end.

A mist was drifting up from the sea; it obscured the valley below and clung to the peaks like ragged garments.  Up and out of this fog came the interminable procession of burden-bearers.  The Countess paused to observe them and to survey the accumulation of stores which crowned the watershed.

“I didn’t dream so many were coming,” said she.

“It’s getting worse daily,” Pierce told her.  “Dyea is jammed, and so is Skagway.  The trails are alive with men.”

“How many do you think will come?”

“There’s no telling.  Twenty, thirty, fifty thousand, perhaps.  About half of them turn back when they see the Chilkoot.”

“And the rest will wish they had.  It’s a hard country; not one in a hundred will prosper.”

They picked their way down the drunken descent to the Scales, then breasted the sluggish human current to Sheep Camp.

A group of men were reading a notice newly posted upon the wall of the log building which served as restaurant and hotel, and after scanning it Pierce explained: 

“It’s another call for a miners’ meeting.  We’re having quite a time with cache-robbers.  If we catch them we’ll hang them.”