Hardly were they up in the morning than a dozen miners and prospectors came shuffling around offering them various prices for this and that. Had they been willing to sell, they could have disposed of all they possessed by noon, but, cautioned by Foster Portney, they were firm, and nothing was allowed to change hands but a small bottle of cough syrup which the doctor sold for an ounce of gold, worth sixteen dollars, to a poor fellow suffering with a slight attack of pneumonia. The doctor wanted no pay, but the miner insisted on giving it, saying he would pay a thousand dollars if the physician would make him as well and strong as ever again.
After many careful inquiries, it was decided that the party should first try its luck on Gold Bottom Creek, at some spot near to where the watercourse was joined by Hunker and Last Chance creeks. They had learned that while Bonanza and El Dorado creeks were paying well, all the best claims in those localities were already staked out.
Two days later found them encamped at the entrance to a tiny watercourse, which flowed into Gold Bottom Creek. They had come in from the Klondike with their outfits on their backs and half a dozen Indians to aid them, for the trail was over rough rocks and through lowlands of berry bushes and tundra,—a wearisome walk which to Randy, at least, seemed to have no end. Often they sank up to their knees in the muck and cold water, and once the doctor got "stuck" and had to be
