"How d'you know?"
"It's this way. I met a fellow as I came out from town—he'd just come over—one of the discoverers. He showed me the gold. It's coarse; one nugget weighed three hundred dollars and there's only six men in the party. They went up the Tanana last fall, prospecting, and only just struck it. Three of 'em are down with scurvy, so this one came over the mountains for fresh grub. It'll be the biggest stampede this camp ever saw." Maynard became incoherent.
"How long ago did you meet him?" Crowley inquired, excitedly.
"About an hour. I came on the run, because he'll get into camp by eleven, and midnight will see five hundred men on the trail. Look at this—he gave me a map." The speaker gloatingly produced a scrap of writing-paper and continued, "Boys, you've got five hours' start of them."
"We can't go; we haven't got any dogs," said Buck. "Those people from town would catch us in twenty miles."
"You don't want dogs," Maynard answered. "It's too soft. You'll have to make a quick run with packs or the spring break-up will catch you. I wish I could go. It's big, I tell you. Lord! How I wish I could go!"
They were huddled together, their eyes feverish, their fingers tracing the pencil-markings. A smell of burning food filled the room, but there is no obsession more absolute than the gold-lust.
"Get the packs together while me and Buck eats a bite. We'll take the fox-robe and the Navajo. Glad I've got a new pair of mukluks, 'cause we need light footgear; but what will you wear, boy? Them hip-boots is too heavy—you'd never make it."
"Here," said Maynard, "try these." He slipped off his light gossamer sporting-boots, and Buck succeeded in stamping his feet into them.
"Little tight, but they'll go."