“Maybe it was a hunch. A man ought to ride a hunch. I’ve got a kind of a hunch I’d maybe ought to hit out on his back trail. He might not be so damn batty. An’ I never seen no red gold.” The proprietor grinned: “That’s what folks always does when they make a big strike--go off an’ leave it, an’ tell the first bunch of strangers right where to go an’ locate it. This here specimen made his real good by colorin’ it red. I guess your hunch ain’t workin’ very strong, an’ I got one that beats it all to hell. It says we ort to start a game of stud.” The miner laughed: “You win,” he agreed, “Your hunch is strongest. Let’s ride it!” Out on the trail MacShane grinned as he mushed up the Kobuk. “The only stampede I ever tried to start--an’ she fizzled. Men are fools!” Instead of following down the Alatna to its mouth and up the Koyukuk, he cut northeastward across the heads of John River, Wild Creek, and North Fork, and two weeks later struck Myrtle Creek almost at its headwaters, and swung his dogs down stream. One after another he passed the deserted cabins that told the story of the creek’s abandonment. What if the Gordons had gone, too? It was slow trailing, and he was very tired. The short noonday twilight had faded into night, and overhead the stars twinkled in cold brilliance. He knew he ought to camp, but doggedly pushed on. An hour later as he rounded a bend a dull square of light showed through the frosted pane of a cabin. MacShane’s heart was pounding wildly as he urged on his dogs. It was the Gordon claim! There, rearing its black bulk out of the snow, was a boiler. But--it was cold! The door of the cabin opened, and MacShane paused as his eyes drank in the figure of the girl who stood framed in the doorway. It was she--the one woman in all the world--his woman! She was peering at him through the gloom. The next instant the door closed with a bang. The figure was gone. MacShane frowned. Why was the boiler cold? Where was Gordon? And why had the girl slammed the door? The hospitality of the people of the Koyukuk was proverbial throughout all the North. Slowly he advanced to the door. Should he call to her? Should he tell her who he was? And why he had come? He paused before the closed door. No, not yet, he decided. Then, purposely gruffening his voice, he called, loudly. * * * * *