"Any old way. No, it would be better to have some definite idea of the point we wish to reach, of course. We might make for the headwaters of the Klondyke and then east into the unknown country where only a few poor Indians live."
"They might prove ugly. What then?"
"We could manage them. We would take plenty of grub and ammunition, and a couple of white men, at least, with us."
"What makes you think there's gold there? It wouldn't pay us to risk our lives for nothing in such a wilderness. I would be willing to go if I thought our time and efforts might turn up something good."
"I have been watching the Indians who come here for supplies from that direction, and they are far from penniless. They carry good-sized pokes of nuggets and dust which they use in trading. They must get these from some of the creeks over east," said the elder of the two men.
"They are mum as oysters; one can't get any information from them."
"What'll you bet I can't?"
"A box of cigars," laughed the younger, whose name seemed appropriately bestowed, for it was Thomas, and he often doubted.
With that George MacDougall drew on his fur coat and mittens and quitted the cabin. He would find a certain long haired Indian he had seen that day, and prove to his brother that he was not simply a boaster.
It was early in the evening; but for the matter of that, the hour made little difference, for time slipped by unreckoned in the Klondyke in winter. Night was more often than not turned into day by the restless denizens of the mining camp, and belated breakfast sometime the following afternoon was the sequel.