of some other listener. "You know Squaw Creek?--empties in on the
other side of the Yukon thirty miles up?"

"Nothing doing there," was Smoke's judgment. "It was prospected years
ago."

"So were all the other rich creeks. Listen! It's big. Only eight to
twenty feet to bedrock. There won't be a claim that don't run to half a
million. It's a dead secret. Two or three of my close friends let me in
on it. I told my wife right away that I was going to find you before
I started. Now, so long. My pack's hidden down the bank. In fact, when
they told me, they made me promise not to pull out until Dawson was
asleep. You know what it means if you're seen with a stampeding outfit.
Get your partner and follow. You ought to stake fourth or fifth claim
from Discovery. Don't forget--Squaw Creek. It's the third after you pass
Swede Creek."

When Smoke entered the little cabin on the hillside back of Dawson, he
heard a heavy familiar breathing.

"Aw, go to bed," Shorty mumbled, as Smoke shook his shoulder. "I'm not
on the night shift," was his next remark, as the rousing hand became
more vigorous. "Tell your troubles to the barkeeper."

"Kick into your clothes," Smoke said. "We've got to stake a couple of
claims."

Shorty sat up and started to explode, but Smoke's hand covered his
mouth.

"Ssh!" Smoke warned. "It's a big strike. Don't wake the neighborhood.
Dawson's asleep."

"Huh! You got to show me. Nobody tells anybody about a strike, of course
not. But ain't it plum amazin' the way everybody hits the trail just the
same?"

"Squaw Creek," Smoke whispered. "It's right. Breck gave me the tip.
Shallow bedrock. Gold from the grass-roots down. Come on. We'll sling a
couple of light packs together and pull out."

Shorty's eyes closed as he lapsed back into sleep. The next moment his
blankets were swept off him.

"If you don't want them, I do," Smoke explained.

Shorty followed the blankets and began to dress.

"Goin' to take the dogs?" he asked.

"No. The trail up the creek is sure to be unbroken, and we can make
better time without them."

"Then I'll throw 'em a meal, which'll have to last 'em till we get back.
Be sure you take some birch-bark and a candle."

Shorty opened the door, felt the bite of the cold, and shrank back to
pull down his ear-flaps and mitten his hands.

Five minutes later he returned, sharply rubbing his nose.

"Smoke, I'm sure opposed to makin' this stampede. It's colder than
the hinges of