"You seem to have had enough to buy whiskey," remarked Roswell, who had had a whiff of his breath, and placed no faith in his story. The man looked angrily at them, but restrained himself, in hopes of receiving help.
"There's where you're mistaken, my friends; I haven't had anything to eat for two days, and when a stranger offered me a swallow of whiskey to keep up my strength, I took it, as a medicine. If it hadn't been for that, I'd have flunked right in the street—sure as you live. What are you doing, if I may ask, in Juneau?"
"We are listening to you just now, but we are on our way to the gold fields," replied Roswell.
"Not alone?"
"We are going with two men, one of whom has been there before."
"That's more sensible. Let me give you a little advice—"
"We really do not feel the need of it," interposed Roswell, who liked the man less each minute. "You must excuse us, as we wish to join them at the hotel. Good-day."
"See here," said the fellow angrily, as he laid his hand on the arm of Frank; "ain't you going to stake me a bit?"
The lad shook off his grasp.
"Even if we wished to do so, we could not, for our friend at the hotel has all the funds that belong to our party. Perhaps if you go there, and he believes the story, Mr. Graham may do something for you, but Tim McCabe has not the means with which to help anybody."