Mabel　all　the　time〃
  〃Precisely　the　way　of　it；〃　Pentfield　replied　slowly。　　〃But　I　can
  see　now。　　The　reporter　got　the　names　mixed。　　The　Seattle　and
  Portland　paper　copied。〃
  He　stood　silently　for　a　minute。　　Mabel's　face　was　turned　toward　him
  again；　and　he　could　see　the　glow　of　expectancy　in　it。　　Corry　was
  deeply　interested　in　the　ragged　toe　of　one　of　his　moccasins；　while
  Dora　was　stealing　sidelong　glances　at　the　immobile　face　of　Lashka
  sitting　on　the　sled。　　Lawrence　Pentfield　stared　straight　out　before
  him　into　a　dreary　future；　through　the　grey　vistas　of　which　he　saw
  himself　riding　on　a　sled　behind　running　dogs　with　lame　Lashka　by
  his　side。
  Then　he　spoke；　quite　simply；　looking　Mabel　in　the　eyes。
  〃I　am　very　sorry。　　I　did　not　dream　it。　　I　thought　you　had　married
  Corry。　　That　is　Mrs。　Pentfield　sitting　on　the　sled　over　there。〃
  Mabel　Holmes　turned　weakly　toward　her　sister；　as　though　all　the
  fatigue　of　her　great　journey　had　suddenly　descended　on　her。　　Dora
  caught　her　around　the　waist。　　Corry　Hutchinson　was　still　occupied
  with　his　moccasins。　　Pentfield　glanced　quickly　from　face　to　face；
  then　turned　to　his　sled。
  〃Can't　stop　here　all　day；　with　Pete's　baby　waiting；〃　he　said　to
  Lashka。
  The　long　whip…lash　hissed　out；　the　dogs　sprang　against　the　breast
  bands；　and　the　sled　lurched　and　jerked　ahead。
  〃Oh；　I　say；　Corry；〃　Pentfield　called　back；　〃you'd　better　occupy　the
  old　cabin。　　It's　not　been　used　for　some　time。　　I've　built　a　new　one
  on　the　hill。〃
  TOO　MUCH　GOLD
  This　being　a　storyand　a　truer　one　than　it　may　appearof　a　mining
  country；　it　is　quite　to　be　expected　that　it　will　be　a　hard…luck
  story。　　But　that　depends　on　the　point　of　view。　　Hard　luck　is　a　mild
  way　of　terming　it　so　far　as　Kink　Mitchell　and　Hootchinoo　Bill　are
  concerned；　and　that　they　have　a　decided　opinion　on　the　subject　is　a
  matter　of　common　knowledge　in　the　Yukon　country。
  It　was　in　the　fall　of　1896　that　the　two　partners　came　down　to　the
  east　bank　of　the　Yukon；　and　drew　a　Peterborough　canoe　from　a　moss…
  covered　cache。　　They　were　not　particularly　pleasant…looking
  objects。　　A　summer's　prospecting；　filled　to　repletion　with　hardship
  and　rather　empty　of　grub；　had　left　their　clothes　in　tatters　and
  themselves　worn　and　cadaverous。　　A　nimbus　of　mosquitoes　buzzed
  about　each　man's　head。　　Their　faces　were　coated　with　blue　clay。
  Each　carried　a　lump　of　this　damp　clay；　and；　whenever　it　dried　and
  fell　from　their　faces；　more　was　daubed　on　in　its　place。　　There　was
  a　querulous　plaint　in　their　voices；　an　irritability　of　movement　and
  gesture；　that　told　of　broken　sleep　and　a　losing　struggle　with　the
  little　winged　pests。
  〃Them　skeeters'll　be　the　death　of　me　yet；〃　Kink　Mitchell　whimpered；
  as　the　canoe　felt　the　current　on　her　nose；　and　leaped　out　from　the
  bank
  〃Cheer　up；　cheer　up。　　We're　about　done；〃　Hootchinoo　Bill　answered；
  with　an　attempted　heartiness　in　his　funereal　tones　that　was
  ghastly。　　〃We'll　be　in　Forty　Mile　in　forty　minutes；　and　then
  cursed　little　devil！〃
  One　hand　left　his　paddle　and　landed　on　the　back　of　his　neck　with　a
  sharp　slap。　　He　put　a　fresh　daub　of　clay　on　the　injured　part；
  swearing　sulphurously　the　while。　　Kink　Mitchell　was　not　in　the
  least　amused。　　He　merely　improved　the　opportunity　by　putting　a
  thicker　coating　of　clay　on　his　own　neck。
  They　crossed　the　Yukon　to　its　west　bank；　shot　down…stream　with　easy
  stroke；　and　at　the　end　of　forty　minutes　swung　in　close　to　the　left
  around　the　tail　of　an　island。　　Forty　Mile　spread　itself　suddenly
  before　them。　　Both　men　straightened　their　backs　and　gazed　at　the
  sight。　　They　gazed　long　and　carefully；　drifting　with　the　current；
  in　their　faces　an　expression　of　mingled　surprise　and　consternation
  slowly　gathering。　　Not　a　thread　of　smoke　was　rising　from　the
  hundreds　of　log…cabins。　　There　was　no　sound　of　axes　biting　sharply
  into　wood；　of　hammering　and　sawing。　　Neither　dogs　nor　men　loitered
  before　the　big　store。　　No　steamboats　lay　at　the　bank；　no　canoes；
  nor　scows；　nor　poling…boats。　　The　river　was　as　bare　of　craft　as　the
  town　was　of　life。
  〃Kind　of　looks　like　Gabriel's　tooted　his　little　horn；　and　you　an'
  me　has　turned　up　missing；〃　remarked　Hootchinoo　Bill。
  His　remark　was　casual；　as　though　there　was　nothing　unusual　about
  the　occurrence。　　Kink　Mitchell's　reply　was　just　as　casual　as　though
  he；　too；　were　unaware　of　any　strange　perturbation　of　spirit。
  〃Looks　as　they　was　all　Baptists；　then；　and　took　the　boats　to　go　by
  water；〃　was　his　contribution。
  〃My　ol'　dad　was　a　Baptist；〃　Hootchinoo　Bill　supplemented。　　〃An'　he
  always　did　hold　it　was　forty　thousand　miles　nearer　that　way。〃
  This　was　the　end　of　their　levity。　　They　ran　the　canoe　in　and
  climbed　the　high　earth　bank。　　A　feeling　of　awe　descended　upon　them
  as　they　walked　the　deserted　streets。　　The　sunlight　streamed
  placidly　over　the　town。　　A　gentle　wind　tapped　the　halyards　against
  the　flagpole　before　the　closed　doors　of　the　Caledonia　Dance　Hall。
  Mosquitoes　buzzed；　robins　sang；　and　moose　birds　tripped　hungrily
  among　the　cabins；　but　there　was　no　human　life　nor　sign　of　human
  life。
  〃I'm　just　dyin'　for　a　drink；〃　Hootchinoo　Bill　said　and
  unconsciously　his　voice　sank　to　a　hoarse　whisper。
  His　partner　nodded　his　head；　loth　to　hear　his　own　voice　break　the
  stillness。　　They　trudged　on　in　uneasy　silence　till　surprised　by　an
  open　door。　　Above　this　door；　and　stretching　the　width　of　the
  building；　a　rude　sign　announced　the　same　as　the　〃Monte　Carlo。〃　　But
  beside　the　door；　hat　over　eyes；　chair　tilted　back；　a　man　sat
  sunning　himself。　　He　was　an　old　man。　　Beard　and　hair　were　long　and
  white　and　patriarchal。
  〃If　it　ain't　ol'　Jim　Cummings；　turned　up　like　us；　too　late　for
  Resurrection！〃　said　Kink　Mitchell。
  〃Most　like　he　didn't　hear　Gabriel　tootin'；〃　was　Hootchinoo　Bill's
  suggestion。
  〃Hello；　Jim！　　Wake　up！〃　he　shouted。
  The　old　man　unlimbered　lamely；　blinking　his　eyes　and　murmuring
  automatically：　　〃What'll　ye　have；　gents？　　What'll　ye　have？〃
  They　followed　him　inside　and　ranged　up　against　the　long　bar　where
  of　yore　a　half…dozen　nimble　bar…keepers　found　little　time　to　loaf。
  The　great　room；　ordinarily　aroar　with　life；　was　still　and　gloomy　as
  a　tomb。　　There　was　no　rattling　of　chips；　no　whirring　of　ivory
  balls。　　Roulette　and　faro　tables　were　like　gravestones　under　their
  canvas　covers。　　No　women's　voices　drifted　merrily　from　the　dance…
  room　behind。　　Ol'　Jim　Cummings　wiped　a　glass　with　palsied　hands；
  and　Kink　Mitchell　scrawled　his　initials　on　the　dust…covered　bar。
  〃Where's　the　girls？〃　Hootchinoo　Bill　shouted；　with　affected
  geniality。
  〃Gone；〃　was　the　ancient　bar…keeper's　reply；　in　a　voice　thin　and
  aged　as　himself；　and　as　unsteady　as　his　hand。
  〃Where's　Bidwell　and　Barlow？〃
  〃Gone。〃
  〃And　Sweetwater　Charley？〃
  〃Gone。〃
  〃And　his　sister？〃
  〃Gone　too。〃
  〃Your　daughter　Sally；　then；　and　her　little　kid？〃
  〃Gone；　all　gone。〃　　The　old　man　shook　his　head　sadly；　rummaging　in
  an　absent　way　among　the　dusty　bottles。
  〃Great　Sardanapolis！　　Where？〃　Kink　Mitchell　exploded；　unable　longer
  to　restrain　himself。　　〃You　don't　say　you've　had　the　plague？〃
  〃Why；　ain't　you　heerd？〃　　The　old　man　chuckled　quietly。　　〃They…all's
  gone　to　Dawson。〃
  〃What…like　is　that？〃　Bill　demanded。　　〃A　creek？　or　a　bar？　or　a
  place？〃
  〃Ain't　never　heered　of　Dawson；　eh？〃　　The　old　man　chuckled
  exasperatingly。　　〃Why；　Dawson's　a　town；　a　city；　bigger'n　Forty
  Mile。　　Yes；　sir；　bigger'n　Forty　Mile。〃
  〃I've　ben　in　this　land　seven　year；〃　Bill　announced　emphatically；
  〃an'　I　make　free　to　say　I　never　heard　tell　of　the　burg　before。
  Hold　on！　　Let's　have　some　more　of　that　whisky。　　Your　information's
  flabbergasted　me；　that　it　has。　　Now　just　whereabouts　is　this
  Dawson…place　you　was　a…mentionin'？〃
  〃On　the　big　flat　jest　below　the　mouth　of　Klondike；〃　ol'　Jim
  answered。　　〃But　where　has　you…all　ben　this　summer？〃
  〃Never　you　mind　where　we…all's　ben；〃　was　Kink　Mitchell's　testy
  reply。　　〃We…all's　ben　where　the　skeeters　is　that　thick　you've　got
  to　throw　a　stick　into　the　air　so　as　to　see　the　sun　and　tell　the
  time　of　day。　　Ain't　I　right；　Bill？〃
  〃Right　you　are；〃　said　Bill。　　〃But　speakin'　of　this　Dawson…place　how
  like　did　it　happen　to　be；　Jim？〃
  〃Ounce　to　the　pan　on　a　creek　called　Bonanza；　an'　they　ain't　got　to
  bed…rock　yet。〃
  〃Who　struck　it？〃
  〃Carmack。〃
  At　mention　of　the　discoverer's　name　the　partners　stared　at　each
  other　disgustedly。　　Then　they　winked　with　great　solemnity。
  〃Siwash　George；〃　sniffed　Hootchinoo　Bill。
  〃That　squaw…man；〃　sneered　Kink　Mitchell。
  〃I　wouldn't　put　on　my　moccasins　to　stampede　after　anything　he'd
  ever　find；〃　said　Bill。
  〃Same　here；〃　announced　his　partner。　　〃A　cuss　that's　too　plumb　lazy
  to　fish　his　own　salmon。　　That's　why　he　took　up　with　the　Indians。
  S'pose　that　black　brother…in…law　of　his；lemme　see；　Skookum　Jim；
  eh？s'pose　he's　in　on　it？〃
  The　old　bar…ke