"What kind of a job?"
"An engineering job. How would you like to be my assistant in the operation of this dredging proposition?"
Brent shook his head: "It wouldn't work."
"Why not?"
Brent smiled: "Too close to Dawson. I like the hooch too well. And, aside from that, you don't need me. You will be laying off men now. Not hiring them."
"Laying off laborers, yes. But there is plenty of work along that creek this winter for the right man—for me, and for you, if you will assume it."
Again Brent shook his head: "There is another reason," he objected, "I have got to make another strike—and a good one. I have an obligation to meet—an obligation that in all probability will involve more money than any salary I could earn."
"Small chance of a rich strike, now. The whole country is staked."
"Around here, yes. But not where I'm going."
"Where is that?"