"Are not you going to take a rifle?"
"I hadn't thought of doing so."
"You'd better: all the others have rifles."
"You didn't tell me."
"Then I tell you now. No—not the police rifle," as Hope picked up a carbine. "Take this sporting rifle. Don't let 'em see you are a policeman, and use your wits!"
Hope strapped on his bundle—it weighed full sixty pounds—and with a "Good-bye, kid," from his Sergeant was off.
He made a detour far up the Klondike to gain a more gradual ascent, and on the way did a powerful lot of thinking. The fact that many men were climbing the Dome was some foundation for the idea that a gathering was to take place there on Wednesday. He sat down to rest on the flat, or, as it was called in the diggings, bench, half-way up the Klondike bluffs. There was ample time, for it was still the season of perpetual light; and if he awaited some other pilgrim would certainly come along, from whom he might find out something. Sure enough a recruit to the forces of the rebellion came into sight before five minutes had passed. The man was heavily laden and struggling up the steep ascent. He clawed at the brush in his efforts to pull himself up; and when finally he succeeded flung himself down by the side of the policeman, his face streaming with perspiration.
"A fellow will need a fat job when things get righted to pay for this!"
"He sure will," said Hope.
"I'm looking for a job collecting gold-dust."