Had he not, only a few days before, seen Carmack loafing with his Indians and with never a thought of prospecting?
But at eleven that night, sitting on the edge of his bunk and unlacing his moccasins, a thought came to him.

He put on his coat and hat and went back to the Sourdough.

Carmack was still there, flashing his coarse gold in the eyes of an unbelieving generation.

Daylight ranged alongside of him and emptied Carmack's sack into a blower.

This he studied for a long time.