Constable Hope pondered over these words, and after copying them into his notebook replaced the original where he had found it. He then made his way to his Sergeant and the mid-day meal. No sooner, however, had he come to Galbraith than he changed his mind. He would carry his news to the Commandant himself, and not waste it on this discouraging minor light.

"You're somewhat glum. Seen a ghost?" asked the Sergeant.

"No, Sergeant, no!"

"Been drinking the wrong kind of hootch, I guess!"

"No, Sergeant, no!"

The first thing Hope did after lunch was to search the cell occupied by Five Ace Dan. There he found, stuffed between the logs which comprised one wall of the cell, the first missive written by Long Shorty. He searched but could discover nothing else, but that would do. Off he went to the Commandant.

"I have discovered something, sir, which I have thought sufficiently important to bring direct to you."

"What is it?"

"One of the men I am watching is communicating with a prisoner--Five Ace Dan. I heard him mention the name on the Dome, on Sat.u.r.day. To-day I followed up the clue and intercepted a note."

Constable Hope took out his notebook. He was a bit nervous and excited.

He knew he was running a risk by not reporting, according to regulations, by way of the Sergeant. Smoothbore was eyeing him intently.

Constable Hope handed the letter found in the cell, and his notebook containing the copy of the missive left that morning, to the Commandant, who read them with stern eyes.

"You think these are not the idle words of some partially demented prospector?"

"I do not, sir. The big Yankee has nothing about him to indicate he has lost his wits."

"So you think this is right, that there will be a ma.s.sing of forces about the Dome on Wednesday?"

"I do, sir."

"And if there is a display of force on Wednesday, an attack will be made on Friday?"

"On Sat.u.r.day, sir."

"On Sat.u.r.day; then if we see a ma.s.sing of forces on Wednesday we may expect trouble by Sat.u.r.day?"

"That is my idea, sir."

"What have you done with the original of the note you found to-day?"

"Put it where I found it, sir."

"And what do you intend doing with the one you found in the prisoner's cell?"

"I had thought to replace it, sir."

"Very good; we can see if to-day's note is hidden in the same place to-morrow."

Constable Hope was a proud man as he strode along the bank of the Yukon to the town. He had ventured much, and won. Visions of himself holding a commission pa.s.sed through his mind. The possibility seemed more tangible now. Whom should he meet but the Sergeant?

"Well, young fellow, been hunting for more noiseless reports?"

"I've been keeping my eyes open."

"Seen anything?"

"Nothing much to trouble you with, Sergeant."

"Well, I've seen something I couldn't help but see. A stampede seems to have set in to the top of the Dome. Scores of fellows have been climbing up there, packs on their backs. You had better join the crowd."

"Not a bad idea."

In fifteen minutes Constable Hope had reached the Town Station, and made a roll of some blankets, in which he stowed several tins of bully beef and some biscuits. He was just setting out when his Sergeant arrived.

"Are not you going to take a rifle?"

"I hadn't thought of doing so."

"You'd better: all the others have rifles."

"You didn't tell me."

"Then I tell you now. No--not the police rifle," as Hope picked up a carbine. "Take this sporting rifle. Don't let 'em see you are a policeman, and use your wits!"

Hope strapped on his bundle--it weighed full sixty pounds--and with a "Good-bye, kid," from his Sergeant was off.

He made a detour far up the Klondike to gain a more gradual ascent, and on the way did a powerful lot of thinking. The fact that many men were climbing the Dome was some foundation for the idea that a gathering was to take place there on Wednesday. He sat down to rest on the flat, or, as it was called in the diggings, bench, half-way up the Klondike bluffs. There was ample time, for it was still the season of perpetual light; and if he awaited some other pilgrim would certainly come along, from whom he might find out something. Sure enough a recruit to the forces of the rebellion came into sight before five minutes had pa.s.sed.

The man was heavily laden and struggling up the steep ascent. He clawed at the brush in his efforts to pull himself up; and when finally he succeeded flung himself down by the side of the policeman, his face streaming with perspiration.

"A fellow will need a fat job when things get righted to pay for this!"

"He sure will," said Hope.

"I'm looking for a job collecting gold-dust."

"But there won't be any royalty then."

"That's right; that's right," and a thoughtful look came into the man's eye. "I was promised a job--I wonder what kind of a job I can get? I really had made up my mind to hold out for a job collecting. It must be an all-fired good job if a fellow reckons on the dust these fellows who hold it now blow in on the girls and wine. One year would be enough for me: I'd save, and quit the country."

"Are you quite sure you'd save?"

"Sure thing, I'm sure--at least I think I'm sure."

"Now don't you think if you were given the job of collecting royalty, that you might feel tempted to go to a restaurant, order a steak with chechacho potatoes,[12] and buy a bottle of wine to round things off?"

[12] Fresh potatoes as distinguished from evaporated potatoes.

The man gazed into vacancy a bit, and then looked Hope in the eye, and slapped his knee, as he said,