"I was just a squaw," she broke in.

"I hadn't intended to say that. I was remembering that it was on Squaw
Creek that I discovered you had feet."

"And I can never forget that you saved them for me," she said. "I've
been wanting to see you ever since to thank you--" (He shrugged his
shoulders deprecatingly). "And that's why you are here to-night."

"You asked the Colonel to invite me?"

"No! Mrs. Bowie. And I asked her to let me have you at table. And here's
my chance. Everybody's talking. Listen, and don't interrupt. You know
Mono Creek?"

"Yes."

"It has turned out rich--dreadfully rich. They estimate the claims as
worth a million and more apiece. It was only located the other day."

"I remember the stampede."

"Well, the whole creek was staked to the sky-line, and all the feeders,
too. And yet, right now, on the main creek, Number Three below
Discovery is unrecorded. The creek was so far away from Dawson that
the Commissioner allowed sixty days for recording after location. Every
claim was recorded except Number Three below. It was staked by Cyrus
Johnson. And that was all. Cyrus Johnson has disappeared. Whether he
died, whether he went down river or up, nobody knows. Anyway, in six
days, the time for recording will be up. Then the man who stakes it, and
reaches Dawson first and records it, gets it."

"A million dollars," Smoke murmured.

"Gilchrist, who has the next claim below, has got six hundred dollars
in a single pan off bedrock. He's burned one hole down. And the claim on
the other side is even richer. I know."

"But why doesn't everybody know?" Smoke queried skeptically.

"They're beginning to know. They kept it secret for a long time, and it
is only now that it's coming out. Good dog-teams will be at a premium
in another twenty-four hours. Now, you've got to get away as decently as
you can as soon as dinner is over. I've arranged it. An Indian will come
with a message for you. You read it, let on that you're very much put
out, make your excuses, and get away."

"I--er--I fail to follow."

"Ninny!" she exclaimed in a half-whisper. "What you must do is to get
out to-night and hustle dog-teams. I know of two. There's Hanson's
team, seven big Hudson Bay dogs--he's holding them at four hundred each.
That's top price to-night, but it won't be to-morrow. And Sitka Charley
has eight Malemutes he's asking thirty-five hundred for. To-morrow he'll
laugh at an offer of five thousand. Then you've got y