John and his fellow prospector were working with hammer and drill on their quartz claims, three weeks after they had staked them, when Hugh Spencer and Corte paid them a first visit. Hugh scrutinized the quartz his friends had mined.

"Well, this is poverty rock, for sure; why don't you quit it?"

"That's what we've been thinking lately," George confessed; "but what shall we do—go to work for wages?"

"Better earn ten dollars a day than get nothing here after blowing in your money buying grub and powder; but why not take a chance in the new stampede to Australia Creek, that runs into Dominion Creek on the Indian River side of the Divide? That's what we hunted you up for."

John and George gazed at one another. Not a word was said. John walked to the tent and began taking it down. Four packs were made of the camp and the equipment, and the party, well-loaded, returned to Dawson. So John passed from a place of many dreams.

Hugh had already made his plans.

"Australia Creek is already taken up," he said, "and, besides, it is too far away. It's two days' trip out there, about sixty miles. My idea is to hunt up a creek for ourselves. I hear the grafters in the Gold Commissioner's office already refuse applications on the grounds that the creek is all applied for. There was some sort of a row in the office when the discoverers came in to record. Things is getting pretty bad when even a discoverer is refused a record!"

"He, he! it's about time for Uncle Sam to come along," chaffed Frank, exploiting once more his set theory.

The party reached the home-camp, deposited their loads, and passed on into the town to make purchases for their projected trip. As they passed up the main street they saw a crowd collected, yelling itself hoarse. Revolvers were being fired in the air, and a frenzy of passion seemed to govern a number of individuals. A man, wild of eye, and with a disordered beard, came running down the street.

" ... man Dooey (Dewey) has knocked hell out of the Spaniards at Manilla!" he shouted.

Frank gave a cock-crow, and was off at a dive into the crowd, where a man, standing on a pile of lumber, was reading a newspaper. He would read a line, then yell and wave the paper over his head. He would again and again return to the headlines and shout them out. "Biggest sea battle since Trafalgar!"—yells—cheers—revolver shots!—"Dooey ranks with Nelson!"—more uproar!—"Rebels cut the cables, but the Eye-Opener gets account by special dispatch boat!"

When exhaustion had overtaken the first reader another took his place, till the owner of the newspaper was inspired to claim it and cry,

"To the Pioneer Hall, boys, and hear the full account of the biggest sea fight that was ever pulled off!—admission only one dollar."

It is said that the celebration of Admiral Dewey's victory at Manilla caused the dogs in Dawson, numbering many thousands, to leave for the hills and stay there for the space of three days!

Having bought the supplies, the next problem before the companions was to find Frank. They entered the Borealis: he was not there. Hugh suggested that his two companions should wait in the saloon while he sought the truant in other places of revelry. They remained, glad to sit, watch, and smoke, in the shaded comfort of a curtained recess.

Presently a man of giant heavy figure, with face coarse and brutal in every line, stalked into the motley crowd. His massive forehead suggested a power of brain; while his lower face showed the lines of a masterful spirit. A part of his left ear was missing; and, from the size and shape of the cut, one could readily believe the popular legend that this disfigurement had been gained in a camp brawl, and was caused by another man's teeth! To complete this awesome personality, there was a cast in one eye.

A whisper went through the crowd—"Poo-Bah!"

This, then, was the prince of grafters, the all-powerful of that region. As Poo-Bah walked towards the dancers every eye was on him; and if any face denoted anything save disgust and loathing, it was fear. A girl slid up to him and said, in a tone of confident familiarity, "Hullo! Poo-Bah. How's my baby to-night?"

"I told you not to call me that!" he answered fiercely.

"What—baby?"

"No, Poo-Bah!"

"That's what they call you," she said with a strange affectation of simplicity.

"Well, they won't make friends with me by doing so," he boomed, "and I'm a pretty good friend to have."

"Ain't you going to buy the wine?"

"I suppose so; but ain't you got that thirst of yours wet up yet?"

"I've got to live."

Just then Poo-Bah and the girl, popularly known as "Round-Eyes," were joined by two men. One was a strong big fellow with a bronzed face, who had been a master-mariner. The other was Hardman, the record clerk of the Gold Commissioner's office, evil-looking and a weakling. His small black eyes were watery.

"Hullo, fellows! The lady has suggested wine. Will you help us clean up a bottle or two?"

"Sure thing!" replied the "Cap."

Hardman was glad to agree. His eyes were watching the face of his lord, with the same expression as shines in the eyes of a hungry cur watching his master feast. Both the Cap and he had tales of woe to tell: their troubles lay sore upon them.

The party entered the booth against which John and George were sitting. As they entered and seated themselves, the two friends could hear their voices through the hangings. At first there was nothing in the words they spoke that their brazen natures would not have willingly advanced to all the world—at least, to all Dawson's world; but later the wine made them forget. They had not realized that the wall of their compartment was only a blanket.

"Two bottles of wine!" Poo-Bah demanded. The waiter brought the bottles and glasses, and Poo-Bah signed the "tab."

"Now you pay that tab, or I don't get no percentage," said the girl.

"Suppose I don't pay," answered he: "you know these damn fools from the creeks will buy all kinds of wine just to have the honour of drinking with my girl—ain't that right?"

"I guess it is," she answered, with a cold unpleasant laugh. "Because men are fools makes life easy for you and me—ain't that right?"

"Look here, I've got a kick coming," said the mariner, thumping his knee with a fist like mahogany.

"What's the matter, Cap?"

"I wrote the doctor to get me appointed as Collector of Royalty."

"You did, sure; and I backed you up: but I heard you got your appointment in the mail that got in to-day."

"Sure thing, I did."

"Well—what are you growling about? You don't want to be told how to make a dollar or two on a job like that!"

"It's going all wrong."

"What's the trouble?"

"I went down to see Smoothbore" (Smoothbore was the nickname of the head of the police), "and told him I had orders for him to put me on collecting. I guess I may have looked a little bit as if I thought I owned the earth; but I sure reckoned myself on easy street as soon as I got collecting! Well, Smoothbore, he sizes me up a bit. I guess he kind of felt I knew how to take a few ounces out of a poke and make up the weight in black sand—and then he says: 'I guess I'll send you to Thistle Creek'—Thistle Creek!—hell! They won't clean up a hundred dollars in that creek this summer; and if you'll show me how I can work a graft there, I'll be obliged."

"Anyhow, two hundred and fifty dollars a month will keep you going till something better turns up."

"Two hundred and fifty dollars a month ain't even a flea-bite, seeing what it costs to live like a gentleman in Dawson. You can't eat under ten dollars a day!" His voice faded in a growl. Poo-Bah took up the running.

"The thing is, we've got to get Smoothbore relieved from command here. He puts backbone even into Hi-u Bill" (Hi-u Bill was the District Commissioner). "We've got to get a putty man."

The others agreed cordially. John and his companion, who had before felt like going, looked at each other, and silently decided to stay.

"What kick have you got, Hardie?" they heard Poo-Bah ask.

"Kick!" whined the little man. "I've got lots of kick. We had a row in the office to-day."

"I heard something of that. What was the row?"

"Some Australians came in." John and George looked at each other and grimly smiled. "I sized it up that they had staked something rich. I tried to tell them that the creek they wanted to record on was all taken up—intending, of course, to put you in on discovery."

"Yes, yes."

"Well—the cockneys just pulled five guns and said, 'Record those claims.' I made a break as if to get the books, intending to get out the back door; but the old man comes out of his office and catches on. He turns white around the gills, and says, 'Record those claims.' Of course, I just had to give record!"

"But where does Smoothbore come in?"

"He comes in all right. I'm just from him now. I went down after supper to see him to find out if an example could not be made of the cockneys—thinking if we got them on the wood-pile[9] we would have a chance at their claims after all. He was alone, walking up and down the mess. 'Sit down,' he says, and I sits. 'What is it?' I had to tell him the story straight. You see, he is a hard man to lie to, and I knew he already had the story. After I got down to telling him of the old man ordering me to record the claims, he says, 'And you recorded them?' 'Yes,' says I. 'The men did not ask you for any money?' 'No.' 'In fact, they only desired to assist your memory to the point that you had never before recorded the claims they asked for?' 'I guess so,' says I. 'This is what you must say if you give evidence against them.' And then I thinks a bit, and I says, 'You couldn't give them twenty-four hours to get out of the country, could you?' 'No,' says he; 'if I do anything I arrest them and bring them to trial, which I will do as soon as you swear out information.' 'I guess I won't do that,' I says. Now, look here, Poo-B——, oh, all right, Smoothbore ain't with us, he's against us, and it's up to you to get him fired." Hardman had ended his long speech.

"It might not be easy," said the heavy man thoughtfully.

"Yes, it will; Laurier will do anything our boss says these days: you fix it!"

"That's right," the Cap put in. "Hardie's right again!"

"You'd be a long time in Nova Scotia before you'd earn two hundred and fifty dollars a month! Eh, Cap?" sneered the girl.

"Earn! How much do you earn here? You graft same as the rest of us."

"Quit fighting," Poo-Bah broke in, and their querulous voices ceased. "Cap, I think I see how you can make a dollar or two: and you'll be near our friend, Hardie, here; besides being in a position to pick up information for the benefit of yours truly. I'll see the Gold Commissioner, and get you put on as special door-keeper instead of a policeman. Guess your dignity will stand up under this! You will have the right to let fellows into the office on special appointment—see?—which will cost a ten or a twenty!"

"Not so bad!" slowly muttered the Cap, while the girl gurgled her appreciation. "The thing looks to have possibilities, and I guess my dignity will stand it."

Just then Hugh, with Frank at his heels, came in.

"Wait till I have just one dance," cried Frank, and was off to the room where music was to be heard. John motioned to Hugh to be still. They listened eagerly.

"Now, I've got some news—blamed noise those people make!—came in the mail to-day," went on Poo-Bah. "Orders have come from Ottawa throwing open the hillside claims of Dominion. I won't mind you fellows getting a claim or two; but I want to get a bunch."

"You'll get hold of yours before the news is made public," suggested the Cap.

"No, that won't hardly do," drawled Poo-Bah; "you see there'll be hell enough raised when it is found I get a bunch of claims; and while Ottawa is ready enough to take our explanation of things, there is such a thing as being too coarse, even here—besides, it ain't necessary. No, in a few days the news will be made public: till then keep your heads shut, see?"

"We'll trust you to work the graft," said the girl.

"You can certainly rely on me! Now, people, I've got to pull my freight."

Hugh gripped John's arm, but he released it as he saw the party were leaving the box. The friends shrank back further into the shadows. When they were gone he whispered,

"Did you hear that? Dominion hillsides to be thrown open! Some of the richest ground in the country."

"I heard them talking about grafts, and I heard complaints about Smoothbore—who ever that may be."

"The Colonel at the Barracks."

"They appear to find him in the way." John hurriedly gave some account of what they had overheard. Hugh's eyes glistened.

"Sure thing! Smoothbore is in the way. He's straight; but this last about Dominion is the news. We'll get in on the hillsides of Dominion, and do our best to hold them."

It was late enough for rest, especially for weary workers such as they: so they passed through the streets directly for the home-camp. Dawson was now the home of twenty thousand people, ninety-nine per cent. adult males. Its streets were a wide range of strange sights and wild scenes. Its outskirts were of tents, and yet more tents.

They went to bed with the waking dreams of wealth very close to them. John Berwick, who had some qualms at taking advantage of what he had overheard, felt it was an unsatisfactory condition of things in which such a malefactor as Poo-Bah could swagger and flourish.