“Damn shame. Well, kind of chilly out here, guess I’ll—–”

“And now the real gold in Alaska—do you know where that is?”

Kennedy had turned away. But something in the man’s earnest face and manner cautioned him to wait and hear. “Where’s that at?”

“The rivers. The inlets. The bays. There are millions and millions there, waiting to be discovered.” His words were exciting but his tone was quiet, thoughtful.

Zebedee Kennedy was thoughtful now, too. He had turned back to the giant. “Gold in the rivers, huh? Anybody knows that. Rivers and creeks. This feller Steller write something special about that, did he? In his book—De Something?”

“Not gold. Fish.”

“Fish!” Kennedy yelled, in disappointment and anger. “That’s the dumbest joke I ever did hear. I don’t need any dumb Swede to tell me there’s fish in Alaska.”

Storm seemed not to have heard. “Millions of fish,” he repeated, musingly. “Salmon. Millions and millions of salmon, enough to supply the world. For years and years and years. And timber. And coal. And metals. Those are the things to make Alaska a place of permanent value. Long after this little gold rush, as they call it, is over, those still will be there. Basic industries to make an empire out of a wilderness.”

Kennedy thought (with one small part of his quick mind only) that this fellow sounded like one of those Fourth of July orators back home. But he no longer felt chilly. He stared hard into the man’s face, his own face tense. He tried to be casual. “Yeah? What else besides?”

“Land, I suppose. Town land in a new world like this.”

“Take a lot of money—fish canneries, timbering, real estate.”

“I don’t know about that part of it. I only know what I know. You said you had—what was that word?—connections—you said you had important connections in Seattle. Perhaps they would furnish the money.”

Kennedy coughed a little preliminary cough. “We been standing here, gabbing, I didn’t even tell you my name. Kennedy is my name—Z. Kennedy. Stands for Zebedee, out of the Bible. Zeb, everybody calls me. Pardon me being blunt, but I don’t make you out, exactly. You talk like you know what you’re talking about, you can see you’re a man of education and so on. Next minute you’re an explorer like Columbus or the Vikings. I only went through sixth grade but I know about the Vikings, a little anyway. You got the yellow hair, but you’re lacking the helmet and spear and so on. I don’t believe I got your name, sir.”

“My name is Storm. Thor Storm. Thor after one of the Vikings, you know. Remember?”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” His right arm extended, the two men clasped hands. “You sure appear to know a lot about Alaska.”

“It isn’t what I know. That isn’t much. It’s what I feel. This can be Valhalla. We can be gods.”

Kennedy began to look uncomfortable again. “Well, I don’t know’s I want to be any god, exactly. I just figure to make my pile and get out.”