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 prospecting2, filled to repletion4 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 irritability6 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 heartiness7 in his funereal8 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 mingled11 surprise and consternation12 slowly gathering13. 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 unaware14 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 levity15. They ran the canoe in and climbed the high earth bank. A feeling of awe16 descended17 upon them as they walked the deserted18 streets. The sunlight streamed placidly19 over the town. A gentle wind tapped the halyards against the flagpole before the closed doors of the Caledonia Dance Hall. Mosquitoes buzzed, robins20 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 hoarse21 whisper.
His partner nodded his head, loth to hear his own voice break the stillness. They trudged22 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 tilted23 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 lamely25, 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 rattling26 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 scrawled27 his initials on the dust-covered bar.
“Gone,” was the ancient bar-keeper’s reply, in a voice thin and aged30 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, rummaging31 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?”
“Ain’t never heered of Dawson, eh?” The old man chuckled exasperatingly34. “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 testy35 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?”
“Who struck it?”
“Carmack.”
At mention of the discoverer’s name the partners stared at each other disgustedly. Then they winked37 with great solemnity.
“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 plumb40 lazy to fish his own salmon41. 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-keeper nodded. “Sure, an’ what’s more, all Forty Mile, exceptin’ me an’ a few cripples.”
“And drunks,” added Kink Mitchell.
“No-sir-ee!” the old man shouted emphatically.
“I bet you the drinks Honkins ain’t in on it!” Hootchinoo Bill cried with certitude.
Ol’ Jim’s face lighted up. “I takes you, Bill, an’ you loses.”
“The ties him down an’ throws him in the bottom of a polin’-boat,” ol’ Jim explained. “Come right in here, they did, an’ takes him out of that there chair there in the corner, an’ three more drunks they finds under the pianny. I tell you-alls the whole camp hits up the Yukon for Dawson jes’ like Sam Scratch was after them,—wimmen, children, babes in arms, the whole shebang. Bidwell comes to me an’ sez, sez he, ‘Jim, I wants you to keep tab on the Monte Carlo. I’m goin’.’
“‘Where’s Barlow?’ sez I. ‘Gone,’ sez he, ‘an’ I’m a-followin’ with a load of whisky.’ An’ with that, never waitin’ for me to decline, he makes a run for his boat an’ away he goes, polin’ up river like mad. So here I be, an’ these is the first drinks I’ve passed out in three days.”
The partners looked at each other.
“Gosh darn my buttoms!” said Hootchinoo Bill. “Seems likes you and me, Kink, is the kind of folks always caught out with forks when it rains soup.”
“Wouldn’t it take the saleratus out your dough43, now?” said Kink Mitchell. “A stampede of tin-horns, drunks, an’ loafers.”
“An’ squaw-men,” added Bill. “Not a genooine miner in the whole caboodle.”
“Genooine miners like you an’ me, Kink,” he went on academically, “is all out an’ sweatin’ hard over Birch Creek way. Not a genooine miner in this whole crazy Dawson outfit44, and I say right here, not a step do I budge for any Carmack strike. I’ve got to see the colour of the dust first.”
“Same here,” Mitchell agreed. “Let’s have another drink.”
Having wet this resolution, they beached the canoe, transferred its contents to their cabin, and cooked dinner. But as the afternoon wore along they grew restive45. They were men used to the silence of the great wilderness46, but this gravelike silence of a town worried them. They caught themselves listening for familiar sounds—“waitin’ for something to make a noise which ain’t goin’ to make a noise,” as Bill put it. They strolled through the deserted streets to the Monte Carlo for more drinks, and wandered along the river bank to the steamer landing, where only water gurgled as the eddy48 filled and emptied, and an occasional salmon leapt flashing into the sun.
They sat down in the shade in front of the store and talked with the consumptive storekeeper, whose liability to hemorrhage accounted for his presence. Bill and Kink told him how they intended loafing in their cabin and resting up after the hard summer’s work. They told him, with a certain insistence49, that was half appeal for belief, half challenge for contradiction, how much they were going to enjoy their idleness. But the storekeeper was uninterested. He switched the conversation back to the strike on Klondike, and they could not keep him away from it. He could think of nothing else, talk of nothing else, till Hootchinoo Bill rose up in anger and disgust.
“Gosh darn Dawson, say I!” he cried.
“Same here,” said Kink Mitchell, with a brightening face. “One’d think something was doin’ up there, ’stead of bein’ a mere9 stampede of greenhorns an’ tinhorns.”
But a boat came into view from down-stream. It was long and slim. It hugged the bank closely, and its three occupants, standing50 upright, propelled it against the stiff current by means of long poles.
“Circle City outfit,” said the storekeeper. “I was lookin’ for ’em along by afternoon. Forty Mile had the start of them by a hundred and seventy miles. But gee52! they ain’t losin’ any time!”
“We’ll just sit here quiet-like and watch ’em string by,” Bill said complacently53.
As he spoke54, another boat appeared in sight, followed after a brief interval55 by two others. By this time the first boat was abreast56 of the men on the bank. Its occupants did not cease poling while greetings were exchanged, and, though its progress was slow, a half-hour saw it out of sight up river.
Still they came from below, boat after boat, in endless procession. The uneasiness of Bill and Kink increased. They stole speculative57, tentative glances at each other, and when their eyes met looked away in embarrassment58. Finally, however, their eyes met and neither looked away.
Kink opened his mouth to speak, but words failed him and his mouth remained open while he continued to gaze at his partner.
“Just what I was thinken’, Kink,” said Bill.
They grinned sheepishly at each other, and by tacit consent started to walk away. Their pace quickened, and by the time they arrived at their cabin they were on the run.
“Can’t lose no time with all that multitude a-rushin’ by,” Kink spluttered, as he jabbed the sour-dough can into the beanpot with one hand and with the other gathered in the frying-pan and coffee-pot.
“Should say not,” gasped59 Bill, his head and shoulders buried in a clothes-sack wherein were stored winter socks and underwear. “I say, Kink, don’t forget the saleratus on the corner shelf back of the stove.”
Half-an-hour later they were launching the canoe and loading up, while the storekeeper made jocular remarks about poor, weak mortals and the contagiousness60 of “stampedin’ fever.” But when Bill and Kink thrust their long poles to bottom and started the canoe against the current, he called after them:-
“Well, so-long and good luck! And don’t forget to blaze a stake or two for me!”
They nodded their heads vigorously and felt sorry for the poor wretch61 who remained perforce behind.
* * * * *
Kink and Bill were sweating hard. According to the revised Northland Scripture62, the stampede is to the swift, the blazing of stakes to the strong, and the Crown in royalties63, gathers to itself the fulness thereof. Kink and Bill were both swift and strong. They took the soggy trail at a long, swinging gait that broke the hearts of a couple of tender-feet who tried to keep up with them. Behind, strung out between them and Dawson (where the boats were discarded and land travel began), was the vanguard of the Circle City outfit. In the race from Forty Mile the partners had passed every boat, winning from the leading boat by a length in the Dawson eddy, and leaving its occupants sadly behind the moment their feet struck the trail.
“Huh! couldn’t see us for smoke,” Hootchinoo Bill chuckled, flirting65 the stinging sweat from his brow and glancing swiftly back along the way they had come.
Three men emerged from where the trail broke through the trees. Two followed close at their heels, and then a man and a woman shot into view.
“Come on, you Kink! Hit her up! Hit her up!”
“I declare if they ain’t lopin’!”
“And here’s one that’s loped himself out,” said Bill, pointing to the side of the trail.
A man was lying on his back panting in the culminating stages of violent exhaustion67. His face was ghastly, his eyes bloodshot and glazed68, for all the world like a dying man.
“Chechaquo!” Kink Mitchell grunted69, and it was the grunt70 of the old “sour dough” for the green-horn, for the man who outfitted71 with “self-risin’” flour and used baking-powder in his biscuits.
The partners, true to the old-timer custom, had intended to stake down-stream from the strike, but when they saw claim 81 BELOW blazed on a tree,—which meant fully10 eight miles below Discovery,—they changed their minds. The eight miles were covered in less than two hours. It was a killing72 pace, over so rough trail, and they passed scores of exhausted73 men that had fallen by the wayside.
At Discovery little was to be learned of the upper creek. Cormack’s Indian brother-in-law, Skookum Jim, had a hazy74 notion that the creek was staked as high as the 30’s; but when Kink and Bill looked at the corner-stakes of 79 ABOVE, they threw their stampeding packs off their backs and sat down to smoke. All their efforts had been vain. Bonanza was staked from mouth to source,—“out of sight and across the next divide.” Bill complained that night as they fried their bacon and boiled their coffee over Cormack’s fire at Discovery.
“Try that pup,” Carmack suggested next morning.
“That pup” was a broad creek that flowed into Bonanza at 7 ABOVE. The partners received his advice with the magnificent contempt of the sour dough for a squaw-man, and, instead, spent the day on Adam’s Creek, another and more likely-looking tributary75 of Bonanza. But it was the old story over again—staked to the sky-line.
For threes days Carmack repeated his advice, and for three days they received it contemptuously. But on the fourth day, there being nowhere else to go, they went up “that pup.” They knew that it was practically unstaked, but they had no intention of staking. The trip was made more for the purpose of giving vent51 to their ill-humour than for anything else. They had become quite cynical76, sceptical. They jeered77 and scoffed78 at everything, and insulted every chechaquo they met along the way.
At No. 23 the stakes ceased. The remainder of the creek was open for location.
“Moose pasture,” sneered Kink Mitchell.
But Bill gravely paced off five hundred feet up the creek and blazed the corner-stakes. He had picked up the bottom of a candle-box, and on the smooth side he wrote the notice for his centre-stake:-
THIS MOOSE PASTURE IS RESERVED FOR THE
SWEDES AND CHECHAQUOS.
—BILL RADER.
Kink read it over with approval, saying:-
So the name of Charles Mitchell was added to the notice; and many an old sour dough’s face relaxed that day at sight of the handiwork of a kindred spirit.
“How’s the pup?” Carmack inquired when they strolled back into camp.
“To hell with pups!” was Hootchinoo Bill’s reply. “Me and Kink’s goin’ a-lookin’ for Too Much Gold when we get rested up.”
Too Much Gold was the fabled80 creek of which all sour doughs81 dreamed, whereof it was said the gold was so thick that, in order to wash it, gravel47 must first be shovelled82 into the sluice-boxes. But the several days’ rest, preliminary to the quest for Too Much Gold, brought a slight change in their plan, inasmuch as it brought one Ans Handerson, a Swede.
Ans Handerson had been working for wages all summer at Miller83 Creek over on the Sixty Mile, and, the summer done, had strayed up Bonanza like many another waif helplessly adrift on the gold tides that swept willy-nilly across the land. He was tall and lanky84. His arms were long, like prehistoric85 man’s, and his hands were like soup-plates, twisted and gnarled, and big-knuckled from toil86. He was slow of utterance87 and movement, and his eyes, pale blue as his hair was pale yellow, seemed filled with an immortal88 dreaming, the stuff of which no man knew, and himself least of all. Perhaps this appearance of immortal dreaming was due to a supreme89 and vacuous90 innocence91. At any rate, this was the valuation men of ordinary clay put upon him, and there was nothing extraordinary about the composition of Hootchinoo Bill and Kink Mitchell.
The partners had spent a day of visiting and gossip, and in the evening met in the temporary quarters of the Monte Carlo—a large tent were stampeders rested their weary bones and bad whisky sold at a dollar a drink. Since the only money in circulation was dust, and since the house took the “down-weight” on the scales, a drink cost something more than a dollar. Bill and Kink were not drinking, principally for the reason that their one and common sack was not strong enough to stand many excursions to the scales.
“Say, Bill, I’ve got a chechaquo on the string for a sack of flour,” Mitchell announced jubilantly.
Bill looked interested and pleased. Grub as scarce, and they were not over-plentifully supplied for the quest after Too Much Gold.
“Flour’s worth a dollar a pound,” he answered. “How like do you calculate to get your finger on it?”
“Trade ’m a half-interest in that claim of ourn,” Kink answered.
“What claim?” Bill was surprised. Then he remembered the reservation he had staked off for the Swedes, and said, “Oh!”
“I wouldn’t be so clost about it, though,” he added. “Give ’m the whole thing while you’re about it, in a right free-handed way.”
Bill shook his head. “If I did, he’d get clean scairt and prance92 off. I’m lettin’ on as how the ground is believed to be valuable, an’ that we’re lettin’ go half just because we’re monstrous93 short on grub. After the dicker we can make him a present of the whole shebang.”
“If somebody ain’t disregarded our notice,” Bill objected, though he was plainly pleased at the prospect3 of exchanging the claim for a sack of flour.
“She ain’t jumped,” Kink assured him. “It’s No. 24, and it stands. The chechaquos took it serious, and they begun stakin’ where you left off. Staked clean over the divide, too. I was gassin’ with one of them which has just got in with cramps94 in his legs.”
It was then, and for the first time, that they heard the slow and groping utterance of Ans Handerson.
“Ay like the looks,” he was saying to the bar-keeper. “Ay tank Ay gat a claim.”
The partners winked at each other, and a few minutes later a surprised and grateful Swede was drinking bad whisky with two hard-hearted strangers. But he was as hard-headed as they were hard-hearted. The sack made frequent journeys to the scales, followed solicitously95 each time by Kink Mitchell’s eyes, and still Ans Handerson did not loosen up. In his pale blue eyes, as in summer seas, immortal dreams swam up and burned, but the swimming and the burning were due to the tales of gold and prospect pans he heard, rather than to the whisky he slid so easily down his throat.
“Don’t mind me, my friend,” Hootchinoo Bill hiccoughed, his hand upon Ans Handerson’s shoulder. “Have another drink. We’re just celebratin’ Kink’s birthday here. This is my pardner, Kink, Kink Mitchell. An’ what might your name be?”
This learned, his hand descended resoundingly on Kink’s back, and Kink simulated clumsy self-consciousness in that he was for the time being the centre of the rejoicing, while Ans Handerson looked pleased and asked them to have a drink with him. It was the first and last time he treated, until the play changed and his canny98 soul was roused to unwonted prodigality99. But he paid for the liquor from a fairly healthy-looking sack. “Not less ’n eight hundred in it,” calculated the lynx-eyed Kink; and on the strength of it he took the first opportunity of a privy100 conversation with Bidwell, proprietor101 of the bad whisky and the tent.
“Here’s my sack, Bidwell,” Kink said, with the intimacy102 and surety of one old-timer to another. “Just weigh fifty dollars into it for a day or so more or less, and we’ll be yours truly, Bill an’ me.”
Thereafter the journeys of the sack to the scales were more frequent, and the celebration of Kink’s natal103 day waxed hilarious104. He even essayed to sing the old-timer’s classic, “The Juice of the Forbidden Fruit,” but broke down and drowned his embarrassment in another round of drinks. Even Bidwell honoured him with a round or two on the house; and he and Bill were decently drunk by the time Ans Handerson’s eyelids105 began to droop106 and his tongue gave promise of loosening.
Bill grew affectionate, then confidential107. He told his troubles and hard luck to the bar-keeper and the world in general, and to Ans Handerson in particular. He required no histrionic powers to act the part. The bad whisky attended to that. He worked himself into a great sorrow for himself and Bill, and his tears were sincere when he told how he and his partner were thinking of selling a half-interest in good ground just because they were short of grub. Even Kink listened and believed.
Ans Handerson’s eyes were shining unholily as he asked, “How much you tank you take?”
Bill and Kink did not hear him, and he was compelled to repeat his query108. They appeared reluctant. He grew keener. And he swayed back and forward, holding on to the bar and listened with all his ears while they conferred together on one side, and wrangled109 as to whether they should or not, and disagreed in stage whispers over the price they should set.
“Two hundred and—hic!—fifty,” Bill finally announced, “but we reckon as we won’t sell.”
“Which is monstrous wise if I might chip in my little say,” seconded Bidwell.
“Yes, indeedy,” added Kink. “We ain’t in no charity business a-disgorgin’ free an’ generous to Swedes an’ white men.”
“Ay tank we haf another drink,” hiccoughed Ans Handerson, craftily110 changing the subject against a more propitious111 time.
And thereafter, to bring about that propitious time, his own sack began to see-saw between his hip5 pocket and the scales. Bill and Kink were coy, but they finally yielded to his blandishments. Whereupon he grew shy and drew Bidwell to one side. He staggered exceedingly, and held on to Bidwell for support as he asked—
“They ban all right, them men, you tank so?”
“Sure,” Bidwell answered heartily112. “Known ’em for years. Old sour doughs. When they sell a claim, they sell a claim. They ain’t no air-dealers.”
But by now he was dreaming deeply, and he proclaimed he would have the whole claim or nothing. This was the cause of great pain to Hootchinoo Bill. He orated grandly against the “hawgishness” of chechaquos and Swedes, albeit114 he dozed115 between periods, his voice dying away to a gurgle, and his head sinking forward on his breast. But whenever roused by a nudge from Kink or Bidwell, he never failed to explode another volley of abuse and insult.
Ans Handerson was calm under it all. Each insult added to the value of the claim. Such unamiable reluctance116 to sell advertised but one thing to him, and he was aware of a great relief when Hootchinoo Bill sank snoring to the floor, and he was free to turn his attention to his less intractable partner.
Kink Mitchell was persuadable, though a poor mathematician117. He wept dolefully, but was willing to sell a half-interest for two hundred and fifty dollars or the whole claim for seven hundred and fifty. Ans Handerson and Bidwell laboured to clear away his erroneous ideas concerning fractions, but their labour was vain. He spilled tears and regrets all over the bar and on their shoulders, which tears, however, did not wash away his opinion, that if one half was worth two hundred and fifty, two halves were worth three times as much.
In the end,—and even Bidwell retained no more than hazy recollections of how the night terminated,—a bill of sale was drawn118 up, wherein Bill Rader and Charles Mitchell yielded up all right and title to the claim known as 24 ELDORADO, the same being the name the creek had received from some optimistic chechaquo.
When Kink had signed, it took the united efforts of the three to arouse Bill. Pen in hand, he swayed long over the document; and, each time he rocked back and forth119, in Ans Handerson’s eyes flashed and faded a wondrous120 golden vision. When the precious signature was at last appended and the dust paid over, he breathed a great sigh, and sank to sleep under a table, where he dreamed immortally121 until morning.
But the day was chill and grey. He felt bad. His first act, unconscious and automatic, was to feel for his sack. Its lightness startled him. Then, slowly, memories of the night thronged122 into his brain. Rough voices disturbed him. He opened his eyes and peered out from under the table. A couple of early risers, or, rather, men who had been out on trail all night, were vociferating their opinions concerning the utter and loathsome123 worthlessness of Eldorado Creek. He grew frightened, felt in his pocket, and found the deed to 24 ELDORADO.
Ten minutes later Hootchinoo Bill and Kink Mitchell were roused from their blankets by a wild-eyed Swede that strove to force upon them an ink-scrawled and very blotty piece of paper.
“Ay tank Ay take my money back,” he gibbered. “Ay tank Ay take my money back.”
Tears were in his eyes and throat. They ran down his cheeks as he knelt before them and pleaded and implored124. But Bill and Kink did not laugh. They might have been harder hearted.
“First time I ever hear a man squeal125 over a minin’ deal,” Bill said. “An’ I make free to say ’tis too onusual for me to savvy126.”
“Same here,” Kink Mitchell remarked. “Minin’ deals is like horse-tradin’.”
They were honest in their wonderment. They could not conceive of themselves raising a wail127 over a business transaction, so they could not understand it in another man.
“The poor, ornery chechaquo,” murmured Hootchinoo Bill, as they watched the sorrowing Swede disappear up the trail.
“But this ain’t Too Much Gold,” Kink Mitchell said cheerfully.
And ere the day was out they purchased flour and bacon at exorbitant128 prices with Ans Handerson’s dust and crossed over the divide in the direction of the creeks129 that lie between Klondike and Indian River.
Three months later they came back over the divide in the midst of a snow-storm and dropped down the trail to 24 ELDORADO. It merely chanced that the trail led them that way. They were not looking for the claim. Nor could they see much through the driving white till they set foot upon the claim itself. And then the air lightened, and they beheld130 a dump, capped by a windlass that a man was turning. They saw him draw a bucket of gravel from the hole and tilt24 it on the edge of the dump. Likewise they saw another, man, strangely familiar, filling a pan with the fresh gravel. His hands were large; his hair wets pale yellow. But before they reached him, he turned with the pan and fled toward a cabin. He wore no hat, and the snow falling down his neck accounted for his haste. Bill and Kink ran after him, and came upon him in the cabin, kneeling by the stove and washing the pan of gravel in a tub of water.
He was too deeply engaged to notice more than that somebody had entered the cabin. They stood at his shoulder and looked on. He imparted to the pan a deft131 circular motion, pausing once or twice to rake out the larger particles of gravel with his fingers. The water was muddy, and, with the pan buried in it, they could see nothing of its contents. Suddenly he lifted the pan clear and sent the water out of it with a flirt64. A mass of yellow, like butter in a churn, showed across the bottom.
Hootchinoo Bill swallowed. Never in his life had he dreamed of so rich a test-pan.
“Kind of thick, my friend,” he said huskily. “How much might you reckon that-all to be?”
Ans Handerson did not look up as he replied, “Ay tank fafty ounces.”
“You must be scrumptious rich, then, eh?”
Still Ans Handerson kept his head down, absorbed in putting in the fine touches which wash out the last particles of dross132, though he answered, “Ay tank Ay ban wort’ five hundred t’ousand dollar.”
“Gosh!” said Hootchinoo Bill, and he said it reverently133.
“Yes, Bill, gosh!” said Kink Mitchell; and they went out softly and closed the door.
该作者的其它作品
《白牙 White Fang》
《The People of the Abyss 深渊居民》
该作者的其它作品
《白牙 White Fang》
《The People of the Abyss 深渊居民》
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decided
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prospecting
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prospect
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repletion
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hip
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irritability
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heartiness
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| adj.悲哀的；送葬的 | |
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9
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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10
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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11
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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12
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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13
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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14
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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15
levity
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| n.轻率，轻浮，不稳定，多变 | |
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16
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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17
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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18
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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19
placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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20
robins
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| n.知更鸟，鸫( robin的名词复数 )；（签名者不分先后，以避免受责的）圆形签名抗议书（或请愿书） | |
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21
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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22
trudged
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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23
tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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24
tilt
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| v.(使)倾侧；(使)倾斜；n.倾侧；倾斜 | |
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25
lamely
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| 一瘸一拐地，不完全地 | |
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26
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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scrawled
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| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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28
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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29
geniality
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| n.和蔼，诚恳；愉快 | |
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30
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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31
rummaging
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的现在分词 )； 海关检查 | |
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32
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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33
creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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34
exasperatingly
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35
testy
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| adj.易怒的；暴躁的 | |
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36
bonanza
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| n.富矿带，幸运，带来好运的事 | |
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37
winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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38
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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39
sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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40
plumb
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| adv.精确地，完全地；v.了解意义，测水深 | |
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41
salmon
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| n.鲑，大马哈鱼，橙红色的 | |
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42
budge
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| v.移动一点儿；改变立场 | |
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43
dough
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| n.生面团；钱，现款 | |
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44
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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45
restive
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| adj.不安宁的，不安静的 | |
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46
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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47
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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48
eddy
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| n.漩涡，涡流 | |
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49
insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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50
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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51
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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52
gee
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| n.马；int.向右！前进！，惊讶时所发声音；v.向右转 | |
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53
complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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54
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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55
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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56
abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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57
speculative
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| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
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58
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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59
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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60
contagiousness
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| [医] （接）触（传）染性 | |
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61
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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62
scripture
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| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
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63
royalties
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| 特许权使用费 | |
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64
flirt
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| v.调情，挑逗，调戏；n.调情者，卖俏者 | |
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65
flirting
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的现在分词 ) | |
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66
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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67
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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68
glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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69
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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70
grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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71
outfitted
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| v.装备，配置设备，供给服装( outfit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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73
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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74
hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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75
tributary
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| n.支流；纳贡国；adj.附庸的；辅助的；支流的 | |
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76
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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77
jeered
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| v.嘲笑( jeer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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78
scoffed
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| 嘲笑，嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79
subscribe
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| vi.(to)订阅，订购；同意；vt.捐助，赞助 | |
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80
fabled
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| adj.寓言中的，虚构的 | |
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81
doughs
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| n.生面团，（用于制面包和糕点的）生面团( dough的名词复数 )；钱 | |
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82
shovelled
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| v.铲子( shovel的过去式和过去分词 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份 | |
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83
miller
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| n.磨坊主 | |
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84
lanky
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| adj.瘦长的 | |
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85
prehistoric
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| adj.（有记载的）历史以前的，史前的，古老的 | |
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86
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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87
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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88
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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89
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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90
vacuous
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| adj.空的，漫散的，无聊的，愚蠢的 | |
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91
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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92
prance
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| v.（马）腾跃，(人)神气活现地走 | |
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93
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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94
cramps
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| n. 抽筋, 腹部绞痛, 铁箍 adj. 狭窄的, 难解的 v. 使...抽筋, 以铁箍扣紧, 束缚 | |
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95
solicitously
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| adv.热心地，热切地 | |
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96
boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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97
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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98
canny
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| adj.谨慎的，节俭的 | |
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99
prodigality
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| n.浪费，挥霍 | |
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100
privy
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| adj.私用的；隐密的 | |
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101
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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102
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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103
natal
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| adj.出生的，先天的 | |
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104
hilarious
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| adj.充满笑声的，欢闹的；[反]depressed | |
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105
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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106
droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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107
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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108
query
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| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
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109
wrangled
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| v.争吵，争论，口角( wrangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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110
craftily
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| 狡猾地，狡诈地 | |
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111
propitious
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| adj.吉利的；顺利的 | |
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112
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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113
tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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114
albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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115
dozed
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| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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116
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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117
mathematician
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| n.数学家 | |
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118
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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119
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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120
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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121
immortally
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| 不朽地，永世地，无限地 | |
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122
thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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123
loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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124
implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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125
squeal
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| v.发出长而尖的声音；n.长而尖的声音 | |
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126
savvy
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| v.知道，了解；n.理解能力，机智，悟性；adj.有见识的，懂实际知识的，通情达理的 | |
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127
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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128
exorbitant
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| adj.过分的；过度的 | |
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129
creeks
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| n.小湾( creek的名词复数 )；小港；小河；小溪 | |
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130
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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131
deft
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| adj.灵巧的，熟练的（a deft hand 能手） | |
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132
dross
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| n.渣滓；无用之物 | |
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133
reverently
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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