"Well, two weeks after Windy left we worked out of that rich spot and drifted into barren ground. Instead of a fortune, we'd sunk onto the only yellow spot in the whole claim. We cross-cut in three places, and never raised a colour, but we kept gophering around till March, in hopes.
"'Why did I write that letter?' he asked one day. 'I'd give anything to stop it before it gets out. Think of her disappointment when she hears I'm broke!'
"'Nobody can't look into the ground,' says I. 'I don't mind losin' out myself, for I've done it for twenty years and I sort of like it now, but I'm sorry for the girl.'
"'It means another whole season,' he says. 'I wanted to see them this summer, or bring them in next fall.'
"'Sufferin' sluice-boxes! Are you plumb daffy? Bring a woman into the Yukon—and a little baby.'
"'She'd follow me anywhere. She's awful proud; proud as a Kentucky girl can be, and those people would make your uncle Lucifer look like a cringing cripple, but she'd live in an Indian hut with me.'
"'Sure! And follerin' out the simile, nobody but a Siwash would let her. If she don't like some other feller better while you're gone, what're you scared about?'
"He never answered; just looked at me pityfyin', as much as to say,
'Well, you poor, drivelin, old polyp!'
"One day Denny, the squaw-man, drove up the creek:
"'Windy Jim is back with the mail,' says he, and we hit for camp on the run. Only fifteen mile, she is, but I was all in when we got there, keepin' up with Justus. His eyes outshone the snow-glitter and he sang—all the time he wasn't roasting me for being so slow—claimed I was active as a toad-stool. A man ain't got no license to excite hisself unless he's struck pay dirt—or got a divorce.