To Alan there was tragedy in his aloneness as he stood in the gray
of the morning. Twenty times a millionaire, he knew that Stampede Smith
was broke again.
"Good morning," he said so unexpectedly that the little man jerked
himself round like the lash of a whip, a trick of the old gun days. "Why
so much loneliness, Stampede?"
Stampede grinned wryly. He had humorous, blue eyes, buried like an
Airedale's under brows which bristled even more fiercely than his
whiskers. "I'm thinkin'," said he, "what a fool thing is money. Good
mornin', Alan!"
He nodded and chuckled, and continued to chuckle in the face of the
lifting fog, and Alan saw the old humor which had always been Stampede's
last asset when in trouble. He drew nearer and stood beside him, so that
their shoulders touched as they leaned over the rail.
"Alan," said Stampede, "it ain't often I have a big thought, but I've
been having one all night. Ain't forgot Bonanza, have you?"
Alan shook his head. "As long as there is an Alaska, we won't forget
Bonanza, Stampede."
"I took a million out of it, next to Carmack's Discovery--an' went
busted afterward, didn't I?"
Alan nodded without speaking.
"But that wasn't a circumstance to Gold Run Creek, over the Divide,"
Stampede continued ruminatively. "Ain't forgot old Aleck McDonald, the
Scotchman, have you, Alan? In the 'wash' of Ninety-eight we took up
seventy sacks to bring our gold back in and we lacked thirty of doin'
the job.
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