Samson Creek was a tributary of the famous Eldorado, and on account of its proximity to fully exploited fields offered great promise of pay dirt.
Britton took the ice-trail up the frozen Klondike, veered off to the right, and rounded the great, cone-shaped, snow-laden mountain in whose chasms the most noted gold streams, including the Bonanza, have their origin. He travelled fast, unimpeded by snow-crust on the white, glistening surface of the river, and on nearing the south branch of the Samson, overtook many who had started out before him.
"Got anything staked?" panted a miner, as Britton went by.
"Not yet," Rex answered.
"Then you can't get in," the man said.
"Why?" Britton cried impatiently.
"Why?" echoed his informant. "Ge-mima!–why? Look there!"
They had topped the glacial slope of the watershed and paused for breath upon the crest, overlooking the creek's bed. Britton beheld the valley, freshly staked as far as his eye could reach, with endless processions of men moving upstream.
"Get in?" said the miner. "Not much! I must hike down and see nobody squats on the claims I took last fall."
The man moved off, and Britton, angry disappointment raging within him, stood and watched the burden-bearing lines below.