It was the other man—the western towns are full of General Lighters—who did the talking. An attorney from Seattle, he had come up in the July rush with very little but boundless assurance, fell in with an old miner who had been grubstaked by Captain Rainey out of the Oklahoma's supplies, and got to Minóok before the river went to sleep.
"No, we're not pardners exactly," he said, glancing good-humouredly at Dillon; "we've worked separate, but we're going home two by two like animals into the Ark. We've got this in common. We've both 'struck ile'—haven't we, Dillon?"
Dillon nodded.
"Little Minóok's as rich a camp as Dawson, and the gold's of higher grade—isn't it, Dillon?"
"That's right."
"One of the many great advantages of Minóok is that it's the nearest place on the river where they've struck pay dirt." says the General. "And another great advantage is that it's on the American side of the line."
"What advantage is that?" Mac grated out.
"Just the advantage of not having all your hard earnings taken away by an iniquitous tax."
"Look out! this fella's a Britisher—"
"Don't care if he is, and no disrespect to you, sir. The Canadians in the Klondyke are the first to say the tax is nothing short of highway robbery. You'll see! The minute they hear of gold across the line there'll be a stampede out of Dawson. I can put you in the way of getting a claim for eight thousand dollars that you can take eighty thousand out of next August, with no inspector coming round to check your clean-up, and no Government grabbing at your royalties."