The evening shadows were beginning to fall when Basco was again reached. On the main street of the little town Earl halted to think matters over. Why wouldn't it be a good thing to let folks know that they wanted to sell out their household goods and their tools and other things? He made his way to the general store.
"Well, Portney, I heard you had been put off your place," was the greeting received from the general storekeeper.
"We have not been put off—we are going to leave it, Mr. Andrews."
"Oh! Where are you going?"
"To Alaska."
"Alaska? You must be joking."
"No, sir. My uncle, Foster Portney, has sent for Randy and me to come to San Francisco, and the three of us are going to some new gold fields."
"Well, what about my bill?" asked the storekeeper, anxiously. He was interested in but little outside of his business. "Of course that has got to be settled before you leave."
"We will pay up, never fear. But we want to sell off all our stuff first. Will you let me write out a notice to that effect and post it outside?"
"Yes, you can do that. Going to sell off, eh? What have you got?"