"Well, I know that a lot of fellows would 'go through' for her at the drop of a hat. She could have most anything they've got, I guess. Most any of them miners at Nome would give his right eye, or his only child, or any little thing like that if she asked it."
"What else?"
"Well, she was always considered a right good-looking party—"
"Yes, yes, of course. But what do you know about the girl herself? Who is she? What is her history?"
"Now, sir, I'm an awful poor detective," confessed "Fingerless" Fraser. "I've often noticed that about myself. If I was the kind that goes snooping around into other people's business, listening to all the gossip I'm told, I'd make a good witness. But I ain't. No, sir! I'm a rotten witness."
Despite this indirect rebuke, Boyd might have continued his questioning had not George Balt's heavy step sounded outside. A moment later the big fellow entered.
"What did you find at the traps?" asked Emerson, eagerly.
"Nothing." George spoke shortly. "The fish struck in this morning, but our trap is corked." He wrenched off his rubber boots and flung them savagely under a bench.
"What luck with the boats?"
"Not much. Marsh's men are trying to surround our gill-netters, and we ain't got enough boats to protect ourselves." He looked up meaningly from under his heavy brows, and inquired: "How much longer are we going to stand for this?"