He pushed toward each of the
other players one red chip and two white ones.
"Can't make it," he announced. "I needed a jack of clubs."
The men counted their chips and settled up in time to reach the deck
rail just as the gangplank was thrown out to the wharf. The crew
transferred to the landing a pouch of mail, half a ton of sacked
potatoes, some mining machinery, and several boxes containing provisions
and dry goods.
A man came to the end of the wharf carrying a suitcase. He was well-set,
thick in the chest, and broad-shouldered. He came up the gangplank with
the strong, firm tread of a man in his prime. Looking down from above,
Gordon Elliot guessed him to be in the early thirties.
Mrs. Mallory was the first to recognize him, which she did with a
drawling little shout of welcome. "Oh you, Mr. Man. I knew you first.
I speak for you," she cried.
The man on the gangplank looked up, smiled, and lifted to her his broad
gray Stetson in a wave of greeting.
"How do you do, Mrs. Mallory? Glad to see you."
The miners from Frozen Gulch were grouped together on the lower deck.
At sight of the man with the suitcase a sullen murmur rose among them.
Those in the rear pushed forward and closed the lane leading to the
cabins.
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