He had been a good husband to
Madeline, and she had blessed him. But somehow discontent fell
upon him; he felt vague yearnings for his own kind, for the life
he had been shut out from--a general sort of desire, which men
sometimes feel, to break out and taste the prime of living.
Besides, there drifted down the river wild rumors of the
wonderful El Dorado, glowing descriptions of the city of logs and
tents, and ludicrous accounts of the che-cha-quas who had rushed
in and were stampeding the whole country.
Circle City was dead. The world had moved on up river and become
a new and most marvelous world.
Cal Galbraith grew restless on the edge of things, and wished to
see with his own eyes.
So, after the wash-up, he weighed in a couple of hundred pounds
of dust on the Company's big scales, and took a draft for the
same on Dawson. Then he put Tom Dixon in charge of his mines,
kissed Madeline good-by, promised to be back before the first
mush-ice ran, and took passage on an up-river steamer.
Madeline waited, waited through all the three months of daylight.
She fed the dogs, gave much of her time to Young Cal, watched the
short summer fade away and the sun begin its long journey to the
south.
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