“Plenty of ’em stakes first an’ find the gold afterward—if there’s any to be found.” The old man’s rheumy eyes were mildly disapproving. “I wouldn’t worry too much about makin’ my discovery, if I was you. Most any gravel you find around here carries some gold. Trouble is to find it in payin’ quantities. So hurry up an’ stake yourself a claim or two, before some of these ground hogs comes in on the first boat this summer an’ grabs it all. Us old-timers takes just what we can work to good advantage, but most greenhorns’ll wear out a pair of hobnail shoes just a-racin’ over the country stakin’. You’re lucky to be here among the first, so hurry up an’ get busy.”
“Thanks for the tip. I’ll——”
“It’s none of my business,” the old-timer suddenly interrupted, “but what in thunder have you brought into the country in that?”
Benton had placed his five-gallon can of lubricating oil near the cache, and it was that which had elicited the question. He was somewhat puzzled.
“Why, that’s my oil,” he said. “How do you carry yours?”
The ancient sour dough had all he could do to keep a straight face. This green chechahco had actually brought kerosene into this wilderness!
“You won’t have no use for a lamp,” he said gently. “All summer you can read fine print right in your tent—any hour of the night, too. I thought ev’ry-body knowed——”
“I have no lamp,” young Benton interrupted impatiently. “I’m green but I’m not quite a fool—I hope. That isn’t oil for a lamp; it’s about four gallons of lubricating oil that I had left over from my winter’s sledding.”
“I see.” The old man shifted his weight from one moccasined foot to the other, swallowing his Adam’s apple twice before he once more found his voice. “I understand you but I don’t know what you mean,” he said. “How much of this oil did you use an’ how did you use it?”
“Well, I used about a gallon.” Young Benton was looking doubtfully at the old man. “I think I see what you’re driving at now. I allowed that storekeeper to sell me five gallons when one was all that I needed.”