Now Dave was as true as the Pole Star， and she was asfalse as a magnetic needle in a cargo of loadstone. Davewas as steady and solid as she was fickle and fly-away， andin some way Dave， who never doubted anybody， doubtedher. It was the jealousy of his love， perhaps， and maybeit was the message ticked off from her soul to his； but atany rate Dave was worried by fear of her inconstancy. Hewas afraid to trust her till the next year， he had so to trusther， and he was pretty well beside himself. Some of it I gotfrom old Victor Chauvet afterwards， and from all that Ihave pieced together I conclude that there was somethingof a scene before Dave pulled north with his dogs. Hestood up before the old Frenchman， with Flush of Goldbeside him， and announced that they were plighted toeach other. He was very dramatic， with fire in his eyes，old Victor said. He talked something about ‘until deathdo us part’； and old Victor especially remembered that atone place Dave took her by the shoulder with his greatpaw and almost shook her as he said： ‘Even unto death areyou mine， and I would rise from the grave to claim you.’
Old Victor distinctly remembered those words ‘Even untodeath are you mine， and I would rise from the grave toclaim you.’ And he told me afterwards that Flush of Goldwas pretty badly frightened， and that he afterwards tookDave to one side privately and told him that that wasn’tthe way to hold Flush of Gold—that he must humour herand gentle her if he wanted to keep her.
“There is no discussion in my mind but that Flushof Gold was frightened. She was a savage herself in hertreatment of men， while men had always treated her asa soft and tender and too utterly-utter something thatmust not be hurt. She didn’t know what harshness was until Dave Walsh， standing his six feet four， a big bull，gripped her and pawed her and assured her that she washis until death， and then some. And besides， in Dawson，that winter， was a music-player—one of those macaronieating，greasy-tenor-Eye-talian-dago propositions—andFlush of Gold lost her heart to him. Maybe it was onlyfascination—I don’t know. Sometimes it seems to me thatshe really did love Dave Walsh. Perhaps it was becausehe had frightened her with that even-unto-death， risefrom-the-grave stunt of his that she in the end inclinedto the dago music-player. But it is all guesswork， and thefacts are， sufficient. He wasn’t a dago； he was a Russiancount—this was straight； and he wasn’t a professionalpiano-player or anything of the sort. He played the violinand the piano， and he sang—sang well—but it was for hisown pleasure and for the pleasure of those he sang for. Hehad money， too—and right here let me say that Flush ofGold never cared a rap for money. She was fickle， but shewas never sordid.
“But to be getting along. She was plighted to Dave，and Dave was coming up on the first steamboat to gether—that was the summer of ’98， and the first steamboatwas to be expected the middle of June. And Flush of Goldwas afraid to throw Dave down and face him afterwards.
It was all planned suddenly. The Russian music-player， theCount， was her obedient slave. She planned it， I know. Ilearned as much from old Victor afterwards. The Counttook his orders from her， and caught that first steamboatdown. It was the Golden Rocket. And so did Flush ofGold catch it. And so did I. I was going to Circle City， andI was flabbergasted when I found Flush of Gold on board.
I didn’t see her name down on the passenger list. She waswith the Count fellow all the time， happy and smiling， andI noticed that the Count fellow was down on the list ashaving his wife along. There it was， stateroom， number， andall. The first I knew that he was married， only I didn’t seeanything of the wife ... unless Flush of Gold was so counted.
I wondered if they’d got married ashore before starting.
There’d been talk about them in Dawson， you see， and betshad been laid that the Count fellow had cut Dave out.