Young Benton was on the point of interrupting, but the old-timer silenced him. “Now don’t start to tell me that all you’ve got to do is to go over to Caribou Crick an’ get Joe Murtry to give you the right to take what water you want, for Joe ain’t that kind. He ain’t only the luckiest man in Alasky—he’s the meanest. If he’s worth a dime, he’s worth a half million right now, but even so, he wouldn’t give a man daylight in a dark cellar. You just forget you ever staked a claim on that little gulch an’ start out prospectin’ for something that’ll do you some good.”
Young Benton thanked the old man for his advice. “But,” he added, “I’m not going to start out prospectin’, when I’ve already discovered gold—unless I’m forced to do so. I’m going over to see Murtry at once.”
“All right; but be ready to run if he comes at you. He’s the meanest man in Alasky, bar none. Joe Murtry never done no man a favor, an’ he never will. Mark what I tell you, son. He’ll chase you off his ground just as soon as you show up an’ tell him what you want. You’re just wastin’ your time. But, then, that’s the trouble with all chechahcos; they won’t listen to an old-timer’s advice.”
Young Benton went at once to Caribou Creek. In spite of what he had heard of Joe Murtry, he was not convinced. There was an abundance of water in Caribou Creek, and surely no man would be mean enough to refuse to allow the use of the surplus. This line of reasoning gave him great confidence, but his first glimpse of Murtry caused his heart to sink.
Murtry was not tall, but he was as broad as two average-sized men. Yet he was not fat. His arms were unusually long, and, due to a slight stoop to his powerful shoulders, his huge hands hung slightly ahead of his knees. Young Benton looked at him and instantly thought of a gorilla. With two others, Murtry was setting up a string of sluice boxes.
Benton watched them for a time; twice, without waiting to be asked, he gave them a hand. Murtry, who had barely spoken, paused at last and sized up his caller. What he saw evidently satisfied him.
“Want a job?” he asked gruffly. “I’m taking one of these men upriver tomorrow, an’ if you’re lookin’ for work, you can stay here an’ help Sam. Do whatever he tells you.”
Here was a golden opportunity. Surely if he favored Murtry, he might expect the big fellow to reciprocate. “I’m not looking for work for the season,” he said, “but I’ll be glad to help out for a few days—if that will do you any good.”
Murtry grunted. “All I need,” he said. “I’ve got a foreman an’ fifteen men waitin’ for me upriver. They mush in from the coast—their time starts the first of June whether they’re here or not. Hunderd an’ fifty miles from here. I’m goin’ up in my boat an’ bring ’em down. You stay an’ help Sam out till I come back with my men, an’ I’ll pay you the goin’ wages—ten bucks an’ grub.”
Sam soon shuffled off to cook the evening meal, and Benton decided to say nothing about his sluice head of water until after they had eaten. Their pipes going, he thought it time to broach the subject.