"Are you, now?" the shell-man mocked. "I s'pose you got it all
framed with the Canucks to let you through? I s'pose the chief of
police knows you and likes you, eh? You and him is cousins, or
something?"

"Coppers is all alike; there's always a way to square 'em--"

"Lay off that 'squaring' stuff," cautioned a renegade crook,
disguised by a suit of mackinaws and a week's growth of beard into
the likeness of a stampeder. "A thousand bucks and a ton of grub,
that's what the sign says, and that's what it means. They wouldn't
let you over the Line with nine hundred and ninety-nine fifty."

"Right!" agreed a third capper. "It's a closed season on broken
stiffs. You can't monkey with the Mounted Police. When they put
over an edict it lays there till it freezes. They'll make you show
your 'openers' at the Boundary. Gee! If I had 'em I wouldn't
bother to go 'inside.' What's a guy want with more than a thousand
dollars and a ton of grub, anyhow?"

"All the same, I'm about set to hit the trail," stubbornly
maintained the man with the alfalfa pack. "I ain't broke. When you
boys get to Dawson, just ask for Kid Bridges' saloon and I'll open
wine. These woollys can have their mines; me for a hootch-mill on
Main Street."

Lucky addressed his bevy of boosters. "Have I nursed a serpent in
my breast, or has the Kid met a banker's son? Gimme room, boys.
I'm going to shuffle the shells for him and let him double his
money. Keep your eye on the magic pea, Mr. Bridges. Three tiny