friends on shore, suddenly remembered something and sprang to the rail.

"Oh, Fred!" he bawled. "Oh, Fred!"

The "Fred" desired thrust a strapping pair of shoulders through the
forefront of the crowd on the bank and tried to catch Louis Bondell's
message. The latter grew red in the face with vain vociferation. Still
the water widened between steamboat and shore.

"Hey, you, Captain Scott!" he yelled at the pilot-house. "Stop the
boat!"

The gongs clanged, and the big stern wheel reversed, then stopped. All
hands on steamboat and on bank took advantage of this respite to exchange
final, new, and imperative farewells. More futile than ever was Louis
Bondell's effort to make himself heard. The _Seattle No_. 4 lost way and
drifted down-stream, and Captain Scott had to go ahead and reverse a
second time. His head disappeared inside the pilot-house, coming into
view a moment later behind a big megaphone.

Now Captain Scott had a remarkable voice, and the "Shut up!" he launched
at the crowd on deck and on shore could have been heard at the top of
Moosehide Mountain and as far as Klondike City. This official
remonstrance from the pilot-house spread a film of silence over the
tumult.

"Now, what do you want to say?" Captain Scott demanded.

"Tell Fred Churchill--he's on the bank there--tell him to go to
Macdonald. It's in his safe--a small gripsack of mine. Tell him to get