It mattered not whether he sat at dinner in the gold commissioner's house, called for the drinks in a dancehall, or submitted to an interview from the woman representative of the New York Sun, one and all of them held out their arms.
There was one exception, and that was Freda, the girl that danced, and to whom he had given the flour.

She was the only woman in whose company he felt at ease, for she alone never reached out her arms.

And yet it was from her that he was destined to receive next to his severest fright.

It came about in the fall of 1897.

He was returning from one of his dashes, this time to inspect Henderson, a creek that entered the Yukon just below the Stewart.