| OCR Text |
Show 103 J. Erickson: Hear W. Ogilvie is off to adjust claims on the creek hills. You might find something. Might not. Partners are better. Now I'm sick. Sam I wrote back: Thanks, Sam. Guess I'm a gambler, too. Your friend, J. Erickson And Tip and I were off to the gold fields. We walked eastward through town, casually, so as not to start a stampede, and found a trail leading up the hill. We followed it through an undergrowth of alder and willow, although the hillside was almost stripped of trees. Tents were perched awkwardly on the muddy slope, and my heart thumped like a drum as I passed each one. Near the top I whispered, "Do you think anyone is following?" "Should I turn around?" Tip asked, "Sure," I xjhispered. "If I'm leading a pack, I want to know." Tip stooped down as if to tie her bootlaces, and peered around. "Nobody," she said, disgusted. |
