-stained.

"Lucky beggar," I said, "to have some one who cares so much about his
going."

"Unlucky, you mean, lad. You don't want to have any strings on you when
you play this game."

He pointed to a long-haired young man in a flowing-end tie.

"See that pale-faced, artistic-looking guy alongside him. That's his
partner. Ineffectual, moony sort of a mut. He's a wood-carver; they call
him Globstock; told me his knowledge of wood-carving would come in handy
when we came to make boats at Lake Bennett. Then there's a third. See
that little fellow shooting off his face?"

I saw a weazened, narrow-chested mannikin, with an aggressive certainty
of feature.

"He's a professor, plumb-full of book dope on the Yukon. He's Mister
Wise Mike. He knows it all. Hear his monologue on 'How It Should Be
Done.' He's going to live on deck to inure himself to the rigours of the
Arctic climate. Works with a pair of spring dumb-bells to get up his
muscle so's he can shovel out the nuggets."

Our eyes roved round from group to group, picking out characteristic
figures.

"See that big bleached-blond Englishman? Came over with me on the
Pullman from New York. 'Awfully bored, don't you know.' When we got to
'Frisco, he says to me: 'Thank God, old chappie, the worst part of the
journey's over.' Then there's Romulus and Remus, the twins, strapping
young fellows. Only way I know them apart is one laces his boots tight,
the other slack. They think the world of each other."

He swung around to where Salvation Jim was talking to two men.

"There's a pair of winners. I put my money on them. Nothing on earth can
stop those fellows, native-born Americans, all grit and get-up. See that
tall one smoking a cigar and looking at the women? He's an athlete.
Name's Mervin; all whipcord and whalebone; springy as a bent bow. He's a
type of the Swift. He's bound to get there. See the other. Hewson's his
name; solid as a tower; muscled like a bear; built from the ground up.
He represents the Strong. Look at the grim, determined face of him. You
can't down a man like that."

He indicated another group.

"Now there's three birds of prey. Bullhammer, Marks and Mosher. The big,
pig-eyed heavy-jowled one is Bullhammer. He's in the saloon business.
The middle-sized one in the plug hat is Marks. See his oily, yellow face
dotted with pimples. He's a phoney piece of work; calls himself a mining
broker. The third's Jake Mosher. He's an out-and-out gambler, a
su