It was quite a different sight that met his eyes when he stepped inside. The Yukon Kid was the center of the crowd of miners, who, pressing around him, were loudly demanding news of the upper Yukon. Two bartenders were, with forced smiles on their faces, serving the crowd with drinks on the house. The others were mopping up the spilled liquor from the broken bottles.
The crowd was so dense that Clay could not force his way in so he stood on its edge striving to signal the Kid. “Great man, the Kid,” volunteered a miner next him. “Came into this country just a kid and hasn’t been outside since. Carries the mail back and forth as far as Dawson. Never misses a trip, and let me tell you that’s a trip but few dare to make in the middle of winter. Don’t reckon he’s so very rich—gives away too much. But, I reckon, he’s known better and trusted more than any man in the North. He’s a good man to tie to for he’s always reliable in peace or trouble.”
Clay studied the Kid’s face closely as the man talked. In spite of the roughness and scars placed there by Mother North, it was a young, comely, strong face, and set off with twinkling steel gray eyes. Their eyes met and the Kid pushed through the crowd to his side.
“Hello,” he said. “You back?”
“I wanted to thank you for what you have done for us,” Clay said gratefully.
“Bosh!” exclaimed the Kid, the red mounting to his face. “What little I did for you I’d do for any chekako who was staked up against odds,” he chuckled. “That’s a fire-eating little partner you’ve got. He’ll make a sour dough all right if he doesn’t get killed in the making.”
“I have got another partner just as gamey.” Clay said proudly. “He is not as quick tempered as Alex but he’s all right. I wanted to ask you if you had heard or seen anything of him. The two left the boat at the same time, but soon got separated. He had a big white bull dog with him. I am afraid something has happened to him.”
“No, I haven’t seen or heard anything of him, but wait a bit, some of this crowd may have heard of him. I’ll inquire.”
“He was gone but a moment then returned to Clay. “I’ve found out where he was an hour ago, but Lord only knows where he is now. Wait! I’ll go with you. You couldn’t find the place alone.” He moved up to the bar and called for drinks, taking a glass of root beer for himself. “My parting round, boys,” he said friendly. “Have something yourself, Charley,” to the white-clad bartender. “What I’m trying to figure out is who’s going to pay for that mirror and the wasted liquor—about $3,000, I calculate,” scoffed the bartender.
“It’s your own fault, Charley,” said the Kid, lightly. “You can’t collect it out of the boys—they are minors any way. Better charge it up as advertising.”