o
heavy--you'd never make it."

"Here," said Maynard, "try these." He slipped off his light gossamer
sporting-boots, and Buck succeeded in stamping his feet into them.

"Little tight, but they'll go."

They snatched bites of food, meanwhile collecting their paraphernalia,
Maynard helping as he could.

Each selected a change of socks and mittens. Then the grub was divided
evenly--tea, flour, bacon, baking-powder, salt, sugar. There was nothing
else, for spring on the Yukon finds only the heel of the grub-stake.
Each rolled his portion in his blanket and lashed it with light rope.
Then an end of the bundle was thrust into the waist of a pair of
overalls and the garment closely cinched to it. The legs were brought
forward and fastened, forming two loops, through which they slipped
their arms, balancing the packs, or shifting a knot here and there. A
light ax, a coffee-pot, frying-pan, and pail were tied on the outside,
and they stood ready for the run. They stored carefully wrapped bundles
of matches in pockets, packs, and in the lining of their caps. The
preparations had not taken twenty minutes.

"Too bad we ain't got some cooked grub, like chocolate or dog-biscuits,"
said Crowley, "but seeing as we've got five hours' start over everybody
we won't have to kill ourselves."

Maynard spoke hesitatingly. "Say, I told Sully about it as I came
along."

"What!" Crowley interrupted him sharply.

"Yes! I told him to get ready, and I promised to give him the location
an hour after you left. You see, he did me a good turn once and I had to
get back at him somehow. He and Knute are getting fixed now. Why, what's
up?"

He caught a queer, quick glance between his partners and noted a
hardness settle into the lined face of the elder.

"Nothing much," Buck took up. "I guess you didn't know about the
trouble, eh? Crowley knocked him down day before yesterday and Sully
swears he'll kill him on sight. It came up over that fraction on Buster
Creek."

"Well, well," said Maynard, "that's bad, isn't it? I promised, though,
so I'll have to tell him."

"Sure! That's all right," Crowley agreed, quietly, though his lip
curled, showing the strong, close-shut, ivory teeth. His nostrils
dilated, also, giving his face a passing wolfish hint. "There's neither
white man nor Swede that can gain an hour on us, and if he should happen
to--he wouldn't pass."

Be it known that many great placer fortunes have been won by those who
stepped i