Having laid out this admirable program, he immediately defied it by making a bee-line for the main hotel, a big board structure still in process of erection.  His feet carried him thither in spite of himself.  Like a homing-pigeon he went, and instinct guided him unerringly, for he found the Countess Courteau in the office.

She was dressed as on the day before, but by some magic she had managed to freshen and to brighten herself.  In her hand she held her traveling-bag; she was speaking to the proprietor as Pierce stepped up behind her.

“Fifteen thousand dollars as it stands,” he heard her say.  “That’s my price.  I’ll make you a present of the lumber.  The Queen leaves in twenty minutes.”

The proprietor began to argue, but she cut him short:  “That’s my last word.  Three hundred per cent, on your money.”

“But—­”

“Think it over!” Her tone was cool, her words were crisp.  “I take the lighter in ten minutes.”  She turned to find Phillips at her shoulder.

“Good morning!” Her face lit up with a smile; she extended her hand, and he seized it as a fish swallows a bait.  He blushed redly.

“I’m late,” he stammered.  “I mean I—­I hurried right in to tell you—­”

“So they didn’t hang you?”

“No!  You were wonderful!  I couldn’t rest until I had told you how deeply grateful—­”

“Nonsense!” The Countess shrugged her shoulders.  “I’m glad you came before I left.”

“You’re not—­going away?” he queried, with frank apprehension.

“In ten minutes.”

“See here!” It was the hotel proprietor who addressed the woman.  “You can’t possibly make it before snow flies, and the boats are overloaded coming north; they can’t handle the freight they’ve got.”

“I’ll be back in three weeks,” the Countess asserted, positively.  “I’ll bring my own pack-train.  If something should delay me, I’ll open up here and put you out of business.  This town will be good for a year or two.”

“You can’t threaten me,” the fellow blustered.  “Twenty thousand is my price.”

“Good-by!” The Countess turned once more to Pierce.

“Are you leaving for good?” he inquired, despondently, unable to dissemble.

“Bless you, no!  I’ll probably die in this country.  I’m going out on business, but I’ll be back in Dawson ahead of the ice.  You’ll be going across soon, I dare say.  Come, walk down to the beach with me.”

Together they left the building and found their way to the landing-place, where a lighter was taking on passengers for the steamship Queen.

“I suppose you know how sorry I am for what happened yesterday,” Pierce began.

The Countess looked up from her abstracted contemplation of the scene; there was a faint inquiry in her face.

“Sorry?  I should think you’d be about the happiest boy in Dyea.”

“I mean what Jim McCaskey said.  I’d have—­killed him if I could.  I tried to!”