"What, after I'd given the galoot the envelope? He makes a sign an' half a dozen o' his gang comes down out o' the rocks where they've been hidin'. They gather up the guns an' the bags o' dust lyin' on the beach, while some more o' them goes over an' searches the other four men.
"'What's the next turn?' I asks the chief.
"'I don't do things in a small way,' he says. 'Your nerve's good. For bein' willin' to stand by your pardner, when the rest run like rabbits. I'll leave you five thousand in dust, an' see you get back to the border. Unless you want to join our band?'
"'I don't!' I answers, snappy like.
"But he was as good as his word. He weighs out an' hands over the dust, an' two of the gang takes me back to the line. There they gives me back my shootin'-irons, though, o' course without any ammunition. Next day I'm back in Forty-Mile."
"And the other four men?" queried Owens.
"Two joined the gang, an' later, started to get funny on the Canadian side. A Vigilance committee strung 'em up. The other two turned up at Circle City and I never heard no more about 'em.
"I staked out another claim—though there wasn't much to choose from, then—an' begins to pan again. But the luck had turned, an' I didn't strike nothin' rich.
"I stayed at Forty-Mile that winter, buildin' fires at night on the frozen dirt to thaw it, an', next day, shovelin' an' haulin' it up to the top o' my little shaft on the windlass I'd made myself. The pile o' pay dirt had to be left till the spring thaws for cleanin' up.
"Ten years I stayed inside, goin' from one placer on the Yukon to another, makin' a livin', an' that's about all. Now an' again, when I gets a bit ahead, I sends a bag o' dust to Bull's little gal.