“He’s up on Gold Bottom,” Carmack
explained. “We made the strike coming
back.”
A burst of laughter was his reward.
“Who-all’ll go pardners with me and pull
out in a poling-boat to-morrow for this here Bonanza?”
Daylight asked.
No one volunteered.
“Then who-all’ll take a job from me, cash
wages in advance, to pole up a thousand pounds of
grub?”
Curly Parsons and another, Pat Monahan, accepted,
and, with his customary speed, Daylight paid them
their wages in advance and arranged the purchase of
the supplies, though he emptied his sack in doing
so. He was leaving the Sourdough, when he suddenly
turned back to the bar from the door.
“Got another hunch?” was the query.
“I sure have,” he answered. “Flour’s
sure going to be worth what a man will pay for it
this winter up on the Klondike. Who’ll
lend me some money?”
On the instant a score of the men who had declined
to accompany him on the wild-goose chase were crowding
about him with proffered gold-sacks.
“How much flour do you want?” asked the
Alaska Commercial Company’s storekeeper.
“About two ton.”
The proffered gold-sacks were not withdrawn, though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.”
