Pack-animals were being imported, bridges were being built, the swamps were being hastily corduroyed; there was talk of a tramway up the side of the Chilkoot, but the gold rush increased daily, and, despite better means of transportation, the call for packers went unanswered and the price per pound stayed up.  New tribes of Indians from down the coast had moved thither, babies and baggage, and they were growing rich.  The stampede itself resembled the spring run of the silver salmon—­it was equally mad, equally resistless.  It was equally wasteful, too, for birds and beasts of prey fattened upon it and the outsetting current bore a burden of derelicts.

Values were extravagant; money ran like water; the town was wide open and it took toll from every new-comer.  The ferment was kept active by a trickle of outgoing Klondikers, a considerable number of whom passed through on their way back to the States.  These men had been educated to the liberal ways of the “inside” country and were prodigal spenders.  The scent of the salt sea, the sight of new faces, the proximity of the open world, were like strong drink to them, hence they untied their mooseskin “pokes” and scattered the contents like sawdust.  Their tales of the new El Dorado stimulated a similar recklessness among their hearers.

To a boy like Pierce Phillips, in whom the spirit of youth was a flaming torch, all this spelled glorious abandon, a supreme riot of Olympic emotions.

Precisely what reason he had for coming to town this morning he did not know; nevertheless, he was drawn seaward as by a mighty magnet.  He told himself that ordinary gratitude demanded that he thank the Countess Courteau for her service to him, but as a matter of fact he was less interested in voicing his gratitude than in merely seeing her again.  He was not sure but that she would resent his thanks; nevertheless, it was necessary to seek her out, for already her image was nebulous, and he could not piece together a satisfactory picture of her.  She obsessed his thoughts, but his intense desire to fix her indelibly therein had defeated its purpose and had blurred the photograph.  Who was she?  What was she?  Where was she going?  What did she think of him?  The possibility that she might leave Dyea before answering those questions spurred him into a gait that devoured the miles.

But when he turned into the main street of the town his haste vanished and a sudden embarrassment overtook him.  What would he say to her, now that he was here?  How would he excuse or explain his obvious pursuit?  Would she see through him?  If so, what light would kindle in those ice-blue eyes?  The Countess was an unusual woman.  She knew men, she read them clearly, and she knew how to freeze them in their tracks.  Pierce felt quite sure that she would guess his motives, therefore he made up his mind to dissemble cunningly.  He decided to assume a casual air and to let chance arrange their actual meeting.  When he did encounter her, a quick smile of pleased surprise on his part, a few simple words of thanks, a manly statement that he was glad she had not left before his duties permitted him to look her up, and she would be completely deceived.  Thereafter fate would decree how well or how badly they got acquainted.  Yes, that was the way to go about it.