aken the
news to the outside world, and by midwinter the earliest members of a
treasure-hunting horde were rushing into the country by snow-shoe and
dog-sledge. Other finds came thick and fast. The McFarlane was rich in
free gold, and miners by the score staked out their claims along it and
began work. Latecomers swung to new fields farther north and east, and
to Fort Smith came rumors of "finds" richer than those of the Yukon. A
score of men at first--then a hundred, five hundred, a thousand--rushed
into the new country. Most of these were from the prairie countries to
the south, and from the placer beds of the Saskatchewan and the Frazer.
From the far North, traveling by way of the Mackenzie and the Liard,
came a smaller number of seasoned prospectors and adventurers from the
Yukon--men who knew what it meant to starve and freeze and die by
inches.

One of these late comers was Sandy McTrigger. There were several reasons
why Sandy had left the Yukon. He was "in bad" with the police who
patrolled the country west of Dawson, and he was "broke." In spite of
these facts he was one of the best prospectors that had ever followed
the shores of the Klondike. He had made discoveries running up to a
million or two, and had promptly lost them through gambling and drink.
He had no conscience, and little fear. Brutality was the chief thing
written in his face. His undershot jaw, his wide eyes, low forehead and
grizzly mop of red hair proclaimed him at once as a man not to be
trusted beyond one's own vision or the reach of a bullet. It was
suspected that he had killed a couple of men, and robbed others, but as
yet the police had failed to get anything "on" him. But along with this
bad side of him, Sandy McTrigger possessed a coolness and a courage
which even his worst enemies could not but admire, and also certain
mental depths which his unpleasant features did not proclaim.

Inside of six months Red Gold City had sprung up on the McFarlane, a
hundred and fifty miles from Fort Smith, and Fort Smith was five hundred
miles from civilization. When Sandy came he looked over the crude
collection of shacks, gambling houses and saloons in the new town, and
made up his mind that the time was not ripe for any of his "inside"
schemes just yet. He gambled a little, and won sufficient to buy himself
grub and half an outfit. A feature of this outfit was an old
muzzle-loading rifle. Sandy, who always carried the latest Savage on
the market, la