Sam Kirby’s outfit was one of the largest, one of the costliest, and one of the most complete that had ever been landed on the Dyea beach, for Kirby was a man who did things in a large way.  He was a plunger; he had long since become case-hardened to risks and he knew how to weigh probabilities; hence the fact that he had staked his all upon one throw did not in the least disturb him.  Many a time he had done the same and the dice had never failed to come out for him.  Possessing a wide practical knowledge of new countries, he had shrewdly estimated the Klondike discovery at its true worth and had realized that the opportunity for a crowning triumph, a final clean-up, had come his way.  This accounted for the energetic manner in which he had set about improving it.

Most men are successful in direct proportion to their ability to select and retain capable assistants.  Fortune had favored Sam Kirby by presenting him with a daughter whose caution and good sense admirably supplemented his own best qualities, and he was doubly blessed in possessing the intense, nay, the ferocious, loyalty of one Danny Royal, a dependable retainer who had graduated from various minor positions into a sort of castellan, an Admirable Crichton, a good left hand to replace that missing member which Kirby had lost during the white-hot climax of a certain celebrated feud—­a feud, by the way, which had added a notch to the ivory handle of Sam’s famous six-shooter.  This Danny Royal was all things.  He could take any shift in a gambling-house, he was an accomplished fixer, he had been a jockey and had handled the Kirby string of horses.  He was a miner of sorts, too, having superintended the Rouletta Mine during its brief and prosperous history; as a trainer he was without a peer.  He had made book on many tracks; he it was who had brought out the filly Rouletta, Sam Kirby’s best-known thoroughbred, and “mopped up” with her.  Both mine and mare Danny had named after Kirby’s girl, and under Danny’s management both had been quick producers.  All in all, Royal was considered by those who knew him best as a master of many trades and a Jack of none.  He was an irreligious man, but he possessed a code which he lived up to strictly; epitomized it ran as follows, “Sam Kirby’s will be done!” He believed in but one god, and that Rouletta Kirby was his profit.

Equipped with the allegiance of such a man as Royal, together with several tons of high-proof spirits, a stock of case-goods and cigars, some gambling paraphernalia, and a moderate bank roll with which to furnish the same, old Sam felt safe in setting out for any country where gold was mined and where the trails were new.

Of course he took his daughter with him.  Sooner than leave her behind he would have severed his remaining hand.  Rouletta and Agnes, they constituted the foundation upon which the Kirby fortunes rested, they were the rocks to which Sam clung, they were his assets and his liabilities, his adjuncts and his adornments.  Agnes was his gun.