The proffered gold-sacks were not withdrawn, though their owners were guilty of an outrageous burst of merriment.
"What are you going to do with two tons?" the store-keeper demanded.
"Son," Daylight made reply, "you-all ain't been in this country long enough to know all its curves.
I'm going to start a sauerkraut factory and combined dandruff remedy."
He borrowed money right and left, engaging and paying six other men to bring up the flour in half as many more poling-boats.
Again his sack was empty, and he was heavily in debt.
Curly Parsons bowed his head on the bar with a gesture of despair.
"What gets me," he moaned, "is what you're going to do with it all."
"I'll tell you-all in simple A, B, C and one, two, three."
Daylight held up one finger and began checking off.
"Hunch number one: a big strike coming in Upper Country.
Hunch number two: Carmack's made it.
Hunch number three: ain't no hunch at all. It's a cinch.
If one and two is right, then flour just has to go sky-high.
If I'm riding hunches one and two, I just got to ride this cinch, which is number three.
If I'm right, flour'll balance gold on the scales this winter.
I tell you-all boys, when you-all got a hunch, play it for all it's worth.
What's luck good for, if you-all ain't to ride it?
And when you-all ride it, ride like hell.
I've been years in this country, just waiting for the right hunch to come along.
And here she is.
Well, I'm going to play her, that's all.
Good night, you-all; good night."
CHAPTER X
Still men were without faith in the strike.
When Daylight, with his heavy outfit of flour, arrived at the mouth of the Klondike, he found the big flat as desolate and tenantless as ever.
Down close by the river, Chief Isaac and his Indians were camped beside the frames on which they were drying salmon.
Several old-timers were also in camp there.
Having finished their summer work on Ten Mile Creek, they had come down the Yukon, bound for Circle City. But at Sixty Mile they had learned of the strike, and stopped off to look over the ground.
They had just returned to their boat when Daylight landed his flour, and their report was pessimistic.
"Damned moose-pasture," quoth one, Long Jim Harney, pausing to blow into his tin mug of tea.
"Don't you have nothin' to do with it, Daylight.
It's a blamed rotten sell.
They're just going through the motions of a strike.
Harper and Ladue's behind it, and Carmack's the stool-pigeon.
Whoever heard of mining a moose-pasture half a mile between rim-rock and God alone knows how far to bed-rock!"
Daylight nodded sympathetically, and considered for a space.
"Did you-all pan any?" he asked finally.
"Pan hell!" was the indignant answer.
"Think I was born yesterday!
Only a chechaquo'd fool around that pasture long enough to fill a pan of dirt.
You don't catch me at any such foolishness. One look was enough for me.
We're pulling on in the morning for Circle City.
I ain't never had faith in this Upper Country.
Head-reaches of the Tanana is good enough for me from now on, and mark my words, when the big strike comes, she'll come down river.
Johnny, here, staked a couple of miles below Discovery, but he don't know no better."
Johnny looked shamefaced.
"I just did it for fun," he explained.
"I'd give my chance in the creek for a pound of Star plug."
"I'll go you," Daylight said promptly.