The Colonel could not stoop to the obvious retort. His pardner came round the pile and his eyes fell on their common sleeping-bag, the two Nulato rifles, and other "traps," that meant more to him than any objects inanimate in all the world.
"What? you were goin' to carry off my things too?" exclaimed the Boy.
"That's all you get," Maudie burst out indignantly—"all you get for packin' his stuff down to the landin', to have it all ready for him, and worryin' yourself into shoe-strings for fear he'd miss the boat."
Mac, O'Flynn, and Potts condoled with the Colonel, while the fire of the old feud flamed and died.
"Yes," the Colonel admitted, "I'd give five hundred dollars for a ticket on that steamer."
He looked in each of the three faces, and knew the vague hope behind his words was vain. But the Boy had only laughed, and caught up the baggage as the last whistle set the Rampart echoes flying, piping, like a lot of frightened birds.
"Come along, then."
"Look here!" the Colonel burst out. "That's my stuff."
"It's all the same. You bring mine. I've got the tickets. You and me and Nig's goin' to the Klondyke."