cked off the three opened ones
in the pail. An' I got a last thing to say. You an' me is legitimate
prospectors an' practical gold-miners. But when it comes to fi-nance
we're sure the fattest suckers that ever fell for the get-rich-quick
bunco. After this it's you an' me for the high rocks an' tall timber,
an' if you ever mention eggs to me we dissolve pardnership there an'
then. Get me?"

XI. THE TOWN-SITE OF TRA-LEE

Smoke and Shorty encountered each other, going in opposite directions,
at the corner where stood the Elkhorn saloon. The former's face wore
a pleased expression, and he was walking briskly. Shorty, on the other
hand, was slouching along in a depressed and indeterminate fashion.

"Whither away?" Smoke challenged gaily.

"Danged if I know," came the disconsolate answer. "Wisht I did. They
ain't nothin' to take me anywheres. I've set two hours in the deadest
game of draw--nothing excitin', no hands, an' broke even. Played a
rubber of cribbage with Skiff Mitchell for the drinks, an' now I'm that
languid for somethin' doin' that I'm perambulatin' the streets on the
chance of seein' a dogfight, or a argument, or somethin'."

"I've got something better on hand," Smoke answered. "That's why I was
looking for you. Come on along."

"Now?"

"Sure."

"Where to?"

"Across the river to make a call on old Dwight Sanderson."

"Never heard of him," Shorty said dejectedly. "An' never heard of no one
living across the river anyway. What's he want to live there for? Ain't
he got no sense?"

"He's got something to sell," Smoke laughed.

"Dogs? A gold-mine? Tobacco? Rubber boots?"

Smoke shook his head to each question. "Come along on and find out,
because I'm going to buy it from him on a spec, and if you want you can
come in half."

"Don't tell me it's eggs!" Shorty cried, his face twisted into an
expression of facetious and sarcastic alarm.

"Come on along," Smoke told him. "And I'll give you ten guesses while
we're crossing the ice."

They dipped down the high bank at the foot of the street and came out
upon the ice-covered Yukon. Three-quarters of a mile away, directly
opposite, the other bank of the stream uprose in precipitous bluffs
hundreds of feet in height. Toward these bluffs, winding and twisting in
and out among broken and upthrown blocks of ice, ran a slightly traveled
trail. Shorty trudged at Smoke's heels, beguiling the time with guesses
at what Dwight Sanderson had to sell.

"R