piece
of land. Saloons were filled with mobs clamoring for drink and food.
Around the Yukon agent's office were crowds waiting to register "claims"
that might or might not make their owners millionaires. All the creeks
within miles of Dawson had been staked long since, and late-comers were
staking likely spots further afield. News came of rich yields in some
barren God-forsaken place and immediately a stampede was made for it.

Angela, who had pined for any kind of civilization rather than a
continuance of the eternal snows, wondered if this were any better. Jim
pitched the tent under some spruce-trees and high up on a bluff beyond the
city.

"Wal, we're here," he said.

"Yes," she replied bitterly. "You've got so far. And what next?"

"We're going to git gold. Yep, we sure are--and you're going to help."

She shut her mouth grimly. This was a big city; there were men here going
back to civilization after making their fortunes. In a few weeks the river
would be free and steamers would be making Vancouver. It oughtn't to be so
difficult to find someone who would help her to escape from a man like
this!

CHAPTER IX

HIGH STAKES

Before many days had passed Angela realized how wisely Jim had traded in
Vancouver. At the time she had wondered why he had been so prodigal in the
matter of food. It seemed to her sheer lunacy to travel over icy mountains
with what appeared to be enough food for a traveling circus. Now she saw
that but for his foresight they might have felt the fine edge of
starvation as others were doing.

With remarkable suddenness the cold had vanished and the thermometer
mounted daily. A dank, warm atmosphere embraced the country. Under the
vanishing snow were green buds that burst into bloom at the first direct
rays of the sun. An unwelcome visitor invaded the camp--the mosquito. He
rose from the swampy river in myriads, and made life a torture.

Jim had got his usual hustle on. Very quickly he became a popular figure
in the town. But two days after his arrival he met an old friend--a gaunt,
lanky figure, with a beard a foot long.

"Why, darn me if it ain't Colorado Jim!"

He turned and saw Dan, late owner of the Medicine Bow Hotel, looking
wonderfully prosperous and happy.

"Hello, Dan!"

"Gosh, you ain't altered none. Come and hev' some poison."

They pushed their way into a crowded saloon, and Dan flung down a small
poke of gold-dust for a bottle of whisky, from which he receive