“Why not?” A tremor shot through the man with the secret.
“Why? Because it’s in the air.”
Mar clasped and unclasped his big walking-stick as if about to rise.
“Before another year,” Cheviot went on, “the whole of Alaska will swarm with prospectors.”
“Do you think so?”
“Sure. Why, it’s begun. I don’t believe there’s a single Yukon tributary where there isn’t a man wandering about this minute with a shovel and a pan.”
“The Yukon! Well, that’s a good way to the south!”
“Those men that stopped at the mission last night—they were miners.”
“They—they were after galena!” said Mar, almost angrily. “They knew that fairly good ore had been brought down Fish River off and on since ’81.”
Cheviot laughed. “Well, if you imagine they won’t so much as look for gold, let’s smuggle your witch to St. Michaels and take the first steamer home. I’ve had enough of the North.”