on came to him. He saw the feverish city of his dream--the
gold metropolis of the North, perched above the Yukon on a high
earth-bank and far-spreading across the flat. He saw the river
steamers tied to the bank and lined against it three deep; he saw the
sawmills working and the long dog-teams, with double sleds behind,
freighting supplies to the diggings. And he saw, further, the
gambling-houses, banks, stock-exchanges, and all the gear and chips and
markers, the chances and opportunities, of a vastly bigger gambling
game than any he had ever seen. It was sure hell, he thought, with the
hunch a-working and that big strike coming, to be out of it all. Life
thrilled and stirred at the thought and once more began uttering his
ancient lies.

Daylight rolled over and off the boat, leaning against it as he sat on
the ice. He wanted to be in on that strike. And why shouldn't he?
Somewhere in all those wasted muscles of his was enough strength, if he
could gather it all at once, to up-end the boat and launch it. Quite
irrelevantly the idea suggested itself of buying a share in the
Klondike town site from Harper and Joe Ladue. They would surely sell a
third interest cheap. Then, if the strike came on the Stewart, he
would be well in on it with the Elam Harnish town site; if on the
Klondike, he would not be quite out of it.

In the meantime, he would gather strength. He stretched out on the ice
full length, face downward, and for half an hour he lay and rested.
Then he arose, shook the flashing blindness from his eyes, and took
hold of the boat. He knew his condition accurately. If the first
effort failed, the following efforts were doomed to fail. He must pull
all his rallied strength into the one effort, and so thoroughly must he
put all of it in that there would be none left for other attempts.

He lifted, and he lifted with the soul of him as well as with the body,
consuming himself, body and spirit, in the effort. The boat rose. He
thought he was going to faint, but he continued to lift. He felt the
boat give, as it started on its downward slide. With the last shred of
his strength he precipitated himself into it, landing in a sick heap on
Elijah's legs. He was beyond attempting to rise, and as he lay he
heard and felt the boat take the water. By watching the tree-tops he
knew it was whirling. A smashing shock and flying fragments of ice
told him that it had struck the bank. A dozen times it whirled