“Well, I’ll be damned! MacShane, I--I--Oh, hell! I’ll be damned!” “Um-hum,” grunted MacShane, regaining his feet, “I reckon we all will--accordin’ to the preachers. But there ain’t no call to go braggin’ about it.” “You son-of-a-gun!” rumbled Camillo Bill, admiringly, “Gawd, I’m glad I ain’t Moosehide!” MacShane regarded him with a twisted grin: “Moosehide’s all right, accordin’ to his lights,” he said, “I ain’t blamin’ him none--an’ you ain’t got any call to blame him. You thought the same as he did--only you took the trouble to make sure. You don’t need to say nothin’ about this. It ain’t no one’s business but mine. It was the woman an’ the kid--they need the dust, an’ I don’t. Hope the old man learnt his lesson, though.” “The hell I won’t say nothin’ about it!” cried Camillo Bill, “The hell I won’t! It’s too good a one to keep. Jest wait till the boys hears about it! Moosehide’s prob’ly spilt it all over the place that the reason you wouldn’t give Old Man Gordon a run for his money was because you wouldn’t take his word that his claim was worth what he said it was worth without slippin’ up an’ seein’ for yourself. You wait an’ see. I’ll bet you the drinks you won’t be near so pop’lar when you hit the Golden North as what you have be’n.” “I don’t give a damn what they think,” said MacShane, “Only don’t go gettin’ excited if Gordon comes rompin’ in the first time he mucks out his shaft, claimin’ he washed four or five hundred dollars out of a pan. I tried to salt her even, but I reckon maybe she’s spread a little thick in spots.” “Maybe you don’t care what they think, but I do. It ain’t you they’d say much to, nohow. There ain’t many of ’em would be huntin’ fer a chance to mix it up with you. But, me, it’s different. Whenever you wasn’t around they’d be damnin’ you off amongst theirselves, an’ knowin’ what I know an’ they don’t, I’d jest naturally have to sail in an’ knock hell out of some of ’em an’ there’s some of ’em that could knock hell out of me if I tried it--an’ there you are!” MacShane laughed: “You’re all right, Camillo. But, anyway, don’t say anything about it till I’m out of the country.” “Out of the country!” cried Camillo Bill, “What do you mean--out of the country?” “Plumb out of the Yukon,” answered MacShane, “I’m hittin’ the trail. You know how it is with me, Camillo. I kind of get tired of a place. An’ besides it ain’t goin’ to be anyways fit to live here as soon as spring comes, with the _chechakos_ pourin’ down the river, an’ swarmin’ all over the country.” “You’re hittin’ the trail,” breathed Camillo, dumfounded, “An’ only last night you was tellin’ of washin’ a hundred an’ forty dollars to the pan! Be you plumb crazy, or what?”