Circle City was not deserted, nor was money tight. The miners
were in from Moseyed Creek and the other diggings to the west,
the summer washing had been good, and the men's pouches were
heavy with dust and nuggets. The Klondike had not yet been
discovered, nor had the miners of the Yukon learned the
possibilities of deep digging and wood-firing. No work was done
in the winter, and they made a practice of hibernating in the
large camps like Circle City during the long Arctic night. Time
was heavy on their hands, their pouches were well filled, and the
only social diversion to be found was in the saloons. Yet the
Shovel was practically deserted, and the Virgin, standing by the
stove, yawned with uncovered mouth and said to Charley Bates:-

"If something don't happen soon, I'm gin' to bed. What's the
matter with the camp, anyway? Everybody dead?"

Bates did not even trouble to reply, but went on moodily rolling
a cigarette. Dan MacDonald, pioneer saloonman and gambler on the
upper Yukon, owner and proprietor of the Tivoli and all its
games, wandered forlornly across the great vacant space of floor
and joined the two at the stove.

"Anybody dead?" the Virgin asked him.

"Looks like it," was the answer.

"Then it must be the whole camp," she said with an air of
finality and with another yawn.

MacDonald grinned and nodded, and opened his mouth to speak, when