"I don't know. Why?"

"His laymen have give up. They've cross-cut his ground and the pay
ain't there, so they've quit work for good."

"He drew a blank, eh?"

"Worse'n that--three of them. The creek is spotteder than a leopard.
Runnion's men, for instance, are into it bigger than a house, while
Poleon's people can't raise a color. I call it tough luck--yes,
worse'n tough: it's hard-biled and pickled. To them as has shall it
be given, and to them as hasn't shall be took even what they 'ain't
got, as the poet says. Look at Necia! She'll be richer than a cream
puff. Guess I'll step around and see her."

"She's gone," said the trader, wearily, turning his haggard face
from the prospector.

"Gone! Where?"

"Up-river with Runnion. They got her away from me last night."

"Sufferin' snakes!" ejaculated Lee. "So that's why!" Then he added,
simply, "Let's go and git her, John."

The trader looked at him queerly.

"Maybe I won't--on the first boat! I'm eating my heart out hour by
hour waiting--waiting--waiting for some kind of a craft to come, and
so is Burrell."