The weeks came and went, but Daylight never encountered the other man.
However, he found moose plentiful, and he and his dogs prospered on the meat diet.
He found "pay" that was no more than "wages" on a dozen surface bars, and from the generous spread of flour gold in the muck and gravel of a score of creeks, he was more confident than ever that coarse gold in quantity was waiting to be unearthed.
Often he turned his eyes to the northward ridge of hills, and pondered if the gold came from them.
In the end, he ascended Dominion Creek to its head, crossed the divide, and came down on the tributary to the Klondike that was later to be called Hunker Creek.
While on the divide, had he kept the big dome on his right, he would have come down on the Gold Bottom, so named by Bob Henderson, whom he would have found at work on it, taking out the first pay-gold ever panned on the Klondike.
Instead, Daylight continued down Hunker to the Klondike, and on to the summer fishing camp of the Indians on the Yukon.
Here for a day he camped with Carmack, a squaw-man, and his Indian brother-in-law, Skookum Jim, bought a boat, and, with his dogs on board, drifted down the Yukon to Forty Mile.
August was drawing to a close, the days were growing shorter, and winter was coming on.
Still with unbounded faith in his hunch that a strike was coming in the Upper Country, his plan was to get together a party of four or five, and, if that was impossible, at least a partner, and to pole back up the river before the freeze-up to do winter prospecting.
But the men of Forty Mile were without faith.
The diggings to the westward were good enough for them.
Then it was that Carmack, his brother-in-law, Skookum Jim, and Cultus Charlie, another Indian, arrived in a canoe at Forty Mile, went straight to the gold commissioner, and recorded three claims and a discovery claim on Bonanza Creek.
After that, in the Sourdough Saloon, that night, they exhibited coarse gold to the sceptical crowd.
Men grinned and shook their heads. They had seen the motions of a gold strike gone through before.
This was too patently a scheme of Harper's and Joe Ladue's, trying to entice prospecting in the vicinity of their town site and trading post.
And who was Carmack?
A squaw-man.
And who ever heard of a squaw-man striking anything?
And what was Bonanza Creek?
Merely a moose pasture, entering the Klondike just above its mouth, and known to old-timers as Rabbit Creek.
Now if Daylight or Bob Henderson had recorded claims and shown coarse gold, they'd known there was something in it.
But Carmack, the squaw-man!
And Skookum Jim!
And Cultus Charlie!
No, no; that was asking too much.
Daylight, too, was sceptical, and this despite his faith in the Upper Country.
Had he not, only a few days before, seen Carmack loafing with his Indians and with never a thought of prospecting?
But at eleven that night, sitting on the edge of his bunk and unlacing his moccasins, a thought came to him. He put on his coat and hat and went back to the Sourdough.
Carmack was still there, flashing his coarse gold in the eyes of an unbelieving generation.
Daylight ranged alongside of him and emptied Carmack's sack into a blower. This he studied for a long time.
Then, from his own sack, into another blower, he emptied several ounces of Circle City and Forty Mile gold. Again, for a long time, he studied and compared.
Finally, he pocketed his own gold, returned Carmack's, and held up his hand for silence.
"Boys, I want to tell you-all something," he said.
"She's sure come—the up-river strike.
And I tell you-all, clear and forcible, this is it.
There ain't never been gold like that in a blower in this country before.
It's new gold.
It's got more silver in it.
You-all can see it by the color.
Carmack's sure made a strike.
Who-all's got faith to come along with me?"
There were no volunteers.
Instead, laughter and jeers went up.
"Mebbe you got a town site up there," some one suggested.
"I sure have," was the retort, "and a third interest in Harper and Ladue's.
And I can see my corner lots selling out for more than your hen-scratching ever turned up on Birch Creek."
"That's all right, Daylight," one Curly Parson interposed soothingly.
"You've got a reputation, and we know you're dead sure on the square.
But you're as likely as any to be mistook on a flimflam game, such as these loafers is putting up.