He planned to enter Forty Mile under a new name, and as a traveller from one of the interior Hudson Bay trading-posts, who was ignorant of the lower Yukon, its people, and its happenings. He was confident that Jalap Coombs would never appear to contradict him, and almost equally certain that Simon Goldollar would never reach Forty Mile. If by a miracle he should recover from his illness, he was helpless to continue his journey before the boats came up in the summer, by which time the man who had robbed and deserted him would be lost to sight amid the season’s rush of prospectors. In the meantime he had plenty of money to live on until he should meet with an opportunity for making a strike of some kind.
Thus it was that on a pleasant day of late January Mr. Strengel approached the mining camp of Forty Mile, riding comfortably in Jalap Coombs’s own sledge, with a light heart and no intimation of aught but an agreeable reception by its citizens. But in all his carefully-worked-out plans he had made several miscalculations.
It had never occurred to him that there was any other route than the one he had followed by which this point might be reached from the lower river. Nor did he believe it possible that any word of Gerald Hamer’s expedition could have come up the river unknown to him. Finally, his gravest mistake lay in supposing the population of this camp to be of the same lawless class as is to be found in most Western mining camps, and believing that here he should meet only with as great rascals as himself. In this he displayed great ignorance of Forty Mile, which was wholly in the hands of honorable old-time miners, who had framed a simple set of laws for the regulation of their isolated little community that they were determined should be respected. They had chosen one of their own number as judge, and from his decisions they allowed no appeal. They had also elected a marshal, whom they loyally assisted in the discharge of his duties. Several lawless characters had already been driven from the camp, and many others warned not to venture within its limits.
As Forty Mile had received warning of the expected coming of Goldollar and Strengel, and had learned many interesting things concerning the previous history of these gentlemen, their arrival was eagerly anticipated. Thus, upon Phil Ryder’s announcement that sledges were coming up the river, an expectant throng was quickly gathered at the landing.
Mr. Strengel fired several shots from his rifle as he drew near, and was surprised that his salute was not answered in kind. He was, of course, gratified to observe the sensation that his approach was creating, and undertook to arouse some enthusiasm among the silent spectators by yelling, “Hurrah for Forty Mile! Hurrah for the diggings! Hurrah for our side!” Then, as his sledge reached the bank and he sprang out, he cried, in tones meant to convey hearty good-fellowship:
“How are you, boys? You bet I’m mighty glad to see white men again after camping with a lot of low-lived Injuns for more than two months. You see, I’ve just come down from Pierre’s House on the Porcupine. My name’s Bradwick, and—”
Here the speaker’s fluent words seemed suddenly to fail him, his face turned pale, and his eyes were fixed in a bewildered stare. He had caught sight of the Yukon Trading Company’s sign.
“Ha, ha!” he laughed, recovering himself with an effort. “Seeing the name of an old friend who’s long since dead kinder give me a turn. But, as I was saying—”
“Yes, you were just about to tell us what had become of Goldollar,” interrupted Mr. Platt Riley, who had received word from Phil that the new-comer was Strengel.