“Oh, you mustn’t judge of a place first sight; but I must say it aren’t pretty. People seems to chuck everything they don’t want out o’ doors, like the fisher folk down at home in Cornwall. But it’s worse here, for they’ve got no sea to come up and wash the rubbish away.”
“Nor yet a river,” said Dallas. “I expected the Yukon to be a grand flowing stream.”
“Well, give it a chance, my son,” said the big fellow cheerily. “A river can’t flow till it begins to thaw a bit. Chap tells me it’s very late this year, but it’ll break up and clear itself in a few hours. Says it’s a sight worth seeing.”
“But we did not come to see sights,” said Abel peevishly. “Where’s that other man?”
“Gone. Told me to tell you both that he was very grateful for the help you had given him, and that now he’s going to shift for himself.”
“The way of the world!” said Dallas dismally.
“Oh, I don’t know, my son. He’s right enough. Said if he had the luck to find a good claim up one of the creeks he should peg out five more alongside of it and come and look us up, and made me promise I’d do the same to him. What do you think of that?”
“Nothing,” said Dallas. “I’m too tired out to think of anything but eating and sleeping, and there seems to be no chance of finding a place to do either.”
“No, my son; it’s a case of help yourself. I’ve been having a look round, and the only thing I can find anybody wants to sell is whisky.”
“Yes, that was all they had at the store I went to. That’s the place with the iron roof and the biscuit-tin sides—yonder, where those howling dogs are tied up.”