Dressing, the girl noted minutely the personal articles scattered about the cabin, striving to derive therefrom some fresh hint of the characteristics of the owners.  First, there was an elaborate, copper-backed toilet-set, all richly ornamented and leather-bound.  The metal was magnificently hand-worked and bore Glenister’s initial.  It spoke of elegant extravagance, and seemed oddly out of place in an Arctic miner’s equipment, as did also a small set of De Maupassant.

Next, she picked up Kipling’s Seven Seas, marked liberally, and felt that she had struck a scent.  The roughness and brutality of the poems had always chilled her, though she had felt vaguely their splendid pulse and swing.  This was the girl’s first venture from a sheltered life.  She had not rubbed elbows with the world enough to find that Truth may be rough, unshaven, and garbed in homespun.  The book confirmed her analysis of the junior partner.

Pendent from a hook was a worn and blackened holster from which peeped the butt of a large Colt’s revolver, showing evidence of many years’ service.  It spoke mutely of the white-haired Dextry, who, before her inspection was over, knocked at the door, and, when she admitted him, addressed her cautiously: 

“The boy’s down forrad, teasin’ grub out of a flunky.  He’ll be up in a minute.  How’d ye sleep?”

“Very well, thank you,” she lied, “but I’ve been thinking that I ought to explain myself to you.”

“Now, see here,” the old man interjected, “there ain’t no explanations needed till you feel like givin’ them up.  You was in trouble—­that’s unfortunate; we help you—­that’s natural; no questions asked—­that’s Alaska.”

“Yes—­but I know you must think—­”

“What bothers me,” the other continued irrelevantly, “is how in blazes we’re goin’ to keep you hid.  The steward’s got to make up this room, and somebody’s bound to see us packin’ grub in.”

“I don’t care who knows if they won’t send me back.  They wouldn’t do that, would they?” She hung anxiously on his words.

“Send you back?  Why, don’t you savvy that this boat is bound for Nome?  There ain’t no turnin’ back on gold stampedes, and this is the wildest rush the world ever saw.  The captain wouldn’t turn back—­he couldn’t—­his cargo’s too precious and the company pays five thousand a day for this ship.  No, we ain’t puttin’ back to unload no stowaways at five thousand per.  Besides, we passengers wouldn’t let him—­time’s too precious.”  They were interrupted by the rattle of dishes outside, and Dextry was about to open the door when his hand wavered uncertainly above the knob, for he heard the hearty greeting of the ship’s captain.

“Well, well, Glenister, where’s all the breakfast going?”

“Oo!” whispered the old man—­“that’s Cap’ Stephens.”

“Dextry isn’t feeling quite up to form this morning,” replied Glenister easily.