The Son of the Wolf

Jack London

1900

Contains

 The White Silence The Son of the Wolf The Men of Forty Mile In a Far Country To the Man on the Trail The Priestly Prerogative The Wisdom of the Trail The Wife of a King An Odyssey of the North

The White Silence

'Carmen won't last more than a couple of days. ' Mason spat out a chunkof ice and surveyed the poor animal ruefully, then put her foot in hismouth and proceeded to bite out the ice which clustered cruelly betweenthe toes. 

'I never saw a dog with a highfalutin' name that ever was worth a rap, 'he said, as he concluded his task and shoved her aside. 'They just fadeaway and die under the responsibility. Did ye ever see one go wrongwith a sensible name like Cassiar, Siwash, or Husky? No, sir! Take alook at Shookum here, he's--' Snap! The lean brute flashed up, thewhite teeth just missing Mason's throat. 

'Ye will, will ye?' A shrewd clout behind the ear with the butt of thedog whip stretched the animal in the snow, quivering softly, a yellowslaver dripping from its fangs. 

'As I was saying, just look at Shookum here--he's got the spirit. Betye he eats Carmen before the week's out. ' 'I'll bank anotherproposition against that, ' replied Malemute Kid, reversing the frozenbread placed before the fire to thaw. 'We'll eat Shookum before thetrip is over. What d'ye say, Ruth?' The Indian woman settled the coffeewith a piece of ice, glanced from Malemute Kid to her husband, then atthe dogs, but vouchsafed no reply. It was such a palpable truism thatnone was necessary. Two hundred miles of unbroken trail in prospect, with a scant six days' grub for themselves and none for the dogs, couldadmit no other alternative. The two men and the woman grouped about thefire and began their meager meal. The dogs lay in their harnesses forit was a midday halt, and watched each mouthful enviously. 

'No more lunches after today, ' said Malemute Kid. 'And we've got tokeep a close eye on the dogs--they're getting vicious. They'd just assoon pull a fellow down as not, if they get a chance. ' 'And I waspresident of an Epworth once, and taught in the Sunday school. ' Havingirrelevantly delivered himself of this, Mason fell into a dreamycontemplation of his steaming moccasins, but was aroused by Ruthfilling his cup. 

'Thank God, we've got slathers of tea! I've seen it growing, down inTennessee. What wouldn't I give for a hot corn pone just now! Nevermind, Ruth; you won't starve much longer, nor wear moccasins either. 'The woman threw off her gloom at this, and in her eyes welled up agreat love for her white lord--the first white man she had everseen--the first man whom she had known to treat a woman as somethingbetter than a mere animal or beast of burden. 

'Yes, Ruth, ' continued her husband, having recourse to the macaronicjargon in which it was alone possible for them to understand eachother; 'wait till we clean up and pull for the Outside. We'll take theWhite Man's canoe and go to the Salt Water. Yes, bad water, roughwater--great mountains dance up and down all the time. And so big, sofar, so far away--you travel ten sleep, twenty sleep, forty sleep'--hegraphically enumerated the days on his fingers--'all the time water, bad water. Then you come to great village, plenty people, just the samemosquitoes next summer. Wigwams oh, so high--ten, twenty pines. 

'Hi-yu skookum!' He paused impotently, cast an appealing glance atMalemute Kid, then laboriously placed the twenty pines, end on end, bysign language. Malemute Kid smiled with cheery cynicism; but Ruth'seyes were wide with wonder, and with pleasure; for she half believed hewas joking, and such condescension pleased her poor woman's heart. 

'And then you step into a--a box, and pouf! up you go. ' He tossed hisempty cup in the air by way of illustration and, as he deftly caughtit, cried: 'And biff! down you come. Oh, great medicine men! You goFort Yukon. I go Arctic City--twenty-five sleep--big string, all thetime--I catch him string--I say, "Hello, Ruth! How are ye?"--and yousay, "Is that my good husband?"--and I say, "Yes"--and you say, "No canbake good bread, no more soda"--then I say, "Look in cache, underflour; good-by. " You look and catch plenty soda. All the time you FortYukon, me Arctic City. Hi-yu medicine man!' Ruth smiled so ingenuouslyat the fairy story that both men burst into laughter. A row among thedogs cut short the wonders of the Outside, and by the time the snarlingcombatants were separated, she had lashed the sleds and all was readyfor the trail. --'Mush! Baldy! Hi! Mush on!' Mason worked his whipsmartly and, as the dogs whined low in the traces, broke out the sledwith the gee pole. Ruth followed with the second team, leaving MalemuteKid, who had helped her start, to bring up the rear. Strong man, brutethat he was, capable of felling an ox at a blow, he could not bear tobeat the poor animals, but humored them as a dog driver rarelydoes--nay, almost wept with them in their misery. 

'Come, mush on there, you poor sore-footed brutes!' he murmured, afterseveral ineffectual attempts to start the load. But his patience was atlast rewarded, and though whimpering with pain, they hastened to jointheir fellows. 

No more conversation; the toil of the trail will not permit suchextravagance. 

And of all deadening labors, that of the Northland trail is the worst. Happy is the man who can weather a day's travel at the price ofsilence, and that on a beaten track. And of all heartbreaking labors, that of breaking trail is the worst. At every step the great webbedshoe sinks till the snow is level with the knee. Then up, straight up, the deviation of a fraction of an inch being a certain precursor ofdisaster, the snowshoe must be lifted till the surface is cleared; thenforward, down, and the other foot is raised perpendicularly for thematter of half a yard. He who tries this for the first time, if haplyhe avoids bringing his shoes in dangerous propinquity and measures nothis length on the treacherous footing, will give up exhausted at theend of a hundred yards; he who can keep out of the way of the dogs fora whole day may well crawl into his sleeping bag with a clearconscience and a pride which passeth all understanding; and he whotravels twenty sleeps on the Long Trail is a man whom the gods may envy. 

The afternoon wore on, and with the awe, born of the White Silence, thevoiceless travelers bent to their work. Nature has many trickswherewith she convinces man of his finity--the ceaseless flow of thetides, the fury of the storm, the shock of the earthquake, the longroll of heaven's artillery--but the most tremendous, the moststupefying of all, is the passive phase of the White Silence. Allmovement ceases, the sky clears, the heavens are as brass; theslightest whisper seems sacrilege, and man becomes timid, affrighted atthe sound of his own voice. Sole speck of life journeying across theghostly wastes of a dead world, he trembles at his audacity, realizesthat his is a maggot's life, nothing more. 

Strange thoughts arise unsummoned, and the mystery of all thingsstrives for utterance. 

And the fear of death, of God, of the universe, comes over him--thehope of the Resurrection and the Life, the yearning for immortality, the vain striving of the imprisoned essence--it is then, if ever, manwalks alone with God. 

So wore the day away. The river took a great bend, and Mason headed histeam for the cutoff across the narrow neck of land. But the dogs balkedat the high bank. Again and again, though Ruth and Malemute Kid wereshoving on the sled, they slipped back. Then came the concerted effort. The miserable creatures, weak from hunger, exerted their last strength. Up--up--the sled poised on the top of the bank; but the leader swungthe string of dogs behind him to the right, fouling Mason's snowshoes. The result was grievous. 

Mason was whipped off his feet; one of the dogs fell in the traces; andthe sled toppled back, dragging everything to the bottom again. 

Slash! the whip fell among the dogs savagely, especially upon the onewhich had fallen. 

'Don't, --Mason, ' entreated Malemute Kid; 'the poor devil's on its lastlegs. Wait and we'll put my team on. ' Mason deliberately withheld thewhip till the last word had fallen, then out flashed the long lash, completely curling about the offending creature's body. 

Carmen--for it was Carmen--cowered in the snow, cried piteously, thenrolled over on her side. 

It was a tragic moment, a pitiful incident of the trail--a dying dog, two comrades in anger. 

Ruth glanced solicitously from man to man. But Malemute Kid restrainedhimself, though there was a world of reproach in his eyes, and, bendingover the dog, cut the traces. No word was spoken. The teams weredoublespanned and the difficulty overcome; the sleds were under wayagain, the dying dog dragging herself along in the rear. As long as ananimal can travel, it is not shot, and this last chance is accordedit--the crawling into camp, if it can, in the hope of a moose beingkilled. 

Already penitent for his angry action, but too stubborn to make amends, Mason toiled on at the head of the cavalcade, little dreaming thatdanger hovered in the air. The timber clustered thick in the shelteredbottom, and through this they threaded their way. Fifty feet or morefrom the trail towered a lofty pine. For generations it had stoodthere, and for generations destiny had had this one end inview--perhaps the same had been decreed of Mason. 

He stooped to fasten the loosened thong of his moccasin. The sleds cameto a halt, and the dogs lay down in the snow without a whimper. Thestillness was weird; not a breath rustled the frost-encrusted forest;the cold and silence of outer space had chilled the heart and smote thetrembling lips of nature. A sigh pulsed through the air--they did notseem to actually hear it, but rather felt it, like the premonition ofmovement in a motionless void. Then the great tree, burdened with itsweight of years and snow, played its last part in the tragedy of life. He heard the warning crash and attempted to spring up but, almosterect, caught the blow squarely on the shoulder. 

The sudden danger, the quick death--how often had Malemute Kid facedit! The pine needles were still quivering as he gave his commands andsprang into action. Nor did the Indian girl faint or raise her voice inidle wailing, as might many of her white sisters. At his order, shethrew her weight on the end of a quickly extemporized handspike, easingthe pressure and listening to her husband's groans, while Malemute Kidattacked the tree with his ax. The steel rang merrily as it bit intothe frozen trunk, each stroke being accompanied by a forced, audiblerespiration, the 'Huh!' 'Huh!' of the woodsman. 

At last the Kid laid the pitiable thing that was once a man in thesnow. But worse than his comrade's pain was the dumb anguish in thewoman's face, the blended look of hopeful, hopeless query. Little wassaid; those of the Northland are early taught the futility of words andthe inestimable value of deeds. With the temperature at sixty-fivebelow zero, a man cannot lie many minutes in the snow and live. So thesled lashings were cut, and the sufferer, rolled in furs, laid on acouch of boughs. Before him roared a fire, built of the very wood whichwrought the mishap. Behind and partially over him was stretched theprimitive fly--a piece of canvas, which caught the radiating heat andthrew it back and down upon him--a trick which men may know who studyphysics at the fount. 

And men who have shared their bed with death know when the call issounded. Mason was terribly crushed. The most cursory examinationrevealed it. 

His right arm, leg, and back were broken; his limbs were paralyzed fromthe hips; and the likelihood of internal injuries was large. Anoccasional moan was his only sign of life. 

No hope; nothing to be done. The pitiless night crept slowly by--Ruth'sportion, the despairing stoicism of her race, and Malemute Kid addingnew lines to his face of bronze. 

In fact, Mason suffered least of all, for he spent his time in easternTennessee, in the Great Smoky Mountains, living over the scenes of hischildhood. And most pathetic was the melody of his long-forgottenSouthern vernacular, as he raved of swimming holes and coon hunts andwatermelon raids. It was as Greek to Ruth, but the Kid understood andfelt--felt as only one can feel who has been shut out for years fromall that civilization means. 

Morning brought consciousness to the stricken man, and Malemute Kidbent closer to catch his whispers. 

'You remember when we foregathered on the Tanana, four years come nextice run? I didn't care so much for her then. It was more like she waspretty, and there was a smack of excitement about it, I think. But d'yeknow, I've come to think a heap of her. She's been a good wife to me, always at my shoulder in the pinch. And when it comes to trading, youknow there isn't her equal. D'ye recollect the time she shot theMoosehorn Rapids to pull you and me off that rock, the bullets whippingthe water like hailstones?--and the time of the famine atNuklukyeto?--when she raced the ice run to bring the news?

'Yes, she's been a good wife to me, better'n that other one. Didn'tknow I'd been there?

'Never told you, eh? Well, I tried it once, down in the States. That'swhy I'm here. Been raised together, too. I came away to give her achance for divorce. She got it. 

'But that's got nothing to do with Ruth. I had thought of cleaning upand pulling for the Outside next year--her and I--but it's too late. Don't send her back to her people, Kid. It's beastly hard for a womanto go back. Think of it!--nearly four years on our bacon and beans andflour and dried fruit, and then to go back to her fish and caribou. It's not good for her to have tried our ways, to come to know they'rebetter'n her people's, and then return to them. Take care of her, Kid, why don't you--but no, you always fought shy of them--and you nevertold me why you came to this country. Be kind to her, and send her backto the States as soon as you can. But fix it so she can comeback--liable to get homesick, you know. 

'And the youngster--it's drawn us closer, Kid. I only hope it is a boy. Think of it!--flesh of my flesh, Kid. He mustn't stop in this country. And if it's a girl, why, she can't. Sell my furs; they'll fetch atleast five thousand, and I've got as much more with the company. Andhandle my interests with yours. I think that bench claim will show up. See that he gets a good schooling; and Kid, above all, don't let himcome back. This country was not made for white men. 

'I'm a gone man, Kid. Three or four sleeps at the best. You've got togo on. You must go on! Remember, it's my wife, it's my boy--O God! Ihope it's a boy! You can't stay by me--and I charge you, a dying man, to pull on. '

'Give me three days, ' pleaded Malemute Kid. 'You may change for thebetter; something may turn up. '

'No. '

'Just three days. '

'You must pull on. '

'Two days. '

'It's my wife and my boy, Kid. You would not ask it. '

'One day. '

'No, no! I charge--'

'Only one day. We can shave it through on the grub, and I might knockover a moose. '

'No--all right; one day, but not a minute more. And, Kid, don't--don'tleave me to face it alone. Just a shot, one pull on the trigger. Youunderstand. Think of it! Think of it! Flesh of my flesh, and I'll neverlive to see him!

'Send Ruth here. I want to say good-by and tell her that she must thinkof the boy and not wait till I'm dead. She might refuse to go with youif I didn't. Goodby, old man; good-by. 

'Kid! I say--a--sink a hole above the pup, next to the slide. I pannedout forty cents on my shovel there. 

'And, Kid!' He stooped lower to catch the last faint words, the dyingman's surrender of his pride. 'I'm sorry--for--you know--Carmen. 'Leaving the girl crying softly over her man, Malemute Kid slipped intohis parka and snowshoes, tucked his rifle under his arm, and crept awayinto the forest. He was no tyro in the stern sorrows of the Northland, but never had he faced so stiff a problem as this. In the abstract, itwas a plain, mathematical proposition--three possible lives as againstone doomed one. But now he hesitated. For five years, shoulder toshoulder, on the rivers and trails, in the camps and mines, facingdeath by field and flood and famine, had they knitted the bonds oftheir comradeship. So close was the tie that he had often beenconscious of a vague jealousy of Ruth, from the first time she had comebetween. And now it must be severed by his own hand. 

Though he prayed for a moose, just one moose, all game seemed to havedeserted the land, and nightfall found the exhausted man crawling intocamp, lighthanded, heavyhearted. An uproar from the dogs and shrillcries from Ruth hastened him. 

Bursting into the camp, he saw the girl in the midst of the snarlingpack, laying about her with an ax. The dogs had broken the iron rule oftheir masters and were rushing the grub. 

He joined the issue with his rifle reversed, and the hoary game ofnatural selection was played out with all the ruthlessness of itsprimeval environment. Rifle and ax went up and down, hit or missed withmonotonous regularity; lithe bodies flashed, with wild eyes anddripping fangs; and man and beast fought for supremacy to the bitterestconclusion. Then the beaten brutes crept to the edge of the firelight, licking their wounds, voicing their misery to the stars. 

The whole stock of dried salmon had been devoured, and perhaps fivepounds of flour remained to tide them over two hundred miles ofwilderness. Ruth returned to her husband, while Malemute Kid cut up thewarm body of one of the dogs, the skull of which had been crushed bythe ax. Every portion was carefully put away, save the hide and offal, which were cast to his fellows of the moment before. 

Morning brought fresh trouble. The animals were turning on each other. Carmen, who still clung to her slender thread of life, was downed bythe pack. The lash fell among them unheeded. They cringed and criedunder the blows, but refused to scatter till the last wretched bit haddisappeared--bones, hide, hair, everything. 

Malemute Kid went about his work, listening to Mason, who was back inTennessee, delivering tangled discourses and wild exhortations to hisbrethren of other days. 

Taking advantage of neighboring pines, he worked rapidly, and Ruthwatched him make a cache similar to those sometimes used by hunters topreserve their meat from the wolverines and dogs. One after the other, he bent the tops of two small pines toward each other and nearly to theground, making them fast with thongs of moosehide. Then he beat thedogs into submission and harnessed them to two of the sleds, loadingthe same with everything but the furs which enveloped Mason. These hewrapped and lashed tightly about him, fastening either end of the robesto the bent pines. A single stroke of his hunting knife would releasethem and send the body high in the air. 

Ruth had received her husband's last wishes and made no struggle. Poorgirl, she had learned the lesson of obedience well. From a child, shehad bowed, and seen all women bow, to the lords of creation, and it didnot seem in the nature of things for woman to resist. The Kid permittedher one outburst of grief, as she kissed her husband--her own peoplehad no such custom--then led her to the foremost sled and helped herinto her snowshoes. Blindly, instinctively, she took the gee pole andwhip, and 'mushed' the dogs out on the trail. Then he returned toMason, who had fallen into a coma, and long after she was out of sightcrouched by the fire, waiting, hoping, praying for his comrade to die. 

It is not pleasant to be alone with painful thoughts in the WhiteSilence. The silence of gloom is merciful, shrouding one as withprotection and breathing a thousand intangible sympathies; but thebright White Silence, clear and cold, under steely skies, is pitiless. 

An hour passed--two hours--but the man would not die. At high noon thesun, without raising its rim above the southern horizon, threw asuggestion of fire athwart the heavens, then quickly drew it back. Malemute Kid roused and dragged himself to his comrade's side. He castone glance about him. The White Silence seemed to sneer, and a greatfear came upon him. There was a sharp report; Mason swung into hisaerial sepulcher, and Malemute Kid lashed the dogs into a wild gallopas he fled across the snow. 

The Son of the Wolf

Man rarely places a proper valuation upon his womankind, at least notuntil deprived of them. He has no conception of the subtle atmosphereexhaled by the sex feminine, so long as he bathes in it; but let it bewithdrawn, and an ever-growing void begins to manifest itself in hisexistence, and he becomes hungry, in a vague sort of way, for asomething so indefinite that he cannot characterize it. If his comradeshave no more experience than himself, they will shake their headsdubiously and dose him with strong physic. But the hunger will continueand become stronger; he will lose interest in the things of hiseveryday life and wax morbid; and one day, when the emptiness hasbecome unbearable, a revelation will dawn upon him. 

In the Yukon country, when this comes to pass, the man usuallyprovisions a poling boat, if it is summer, and if winter, harnesses hisdogs, and heads for the Southland. A few months later, supposing him tobe possessed of a faith in the country, he returns with a wife to sharewith him in that faith, and incidentally in his hardships. This butserves to show the innate selfishness of man. It also brings us to thetrouble of 'Scruff' Mackenzie, which occurred in the old days, beforethe country was stampeded and staked by a tidal-wave of theche-cha-quas, and when the Klondike's only claim to notice was itssalmon fisheries. 

'Scruff' Mackenzie bore the earmarks of a frontier birth and a frontierlife. 

His face was stamped with twenty-five years of incessant struggle withNature in her wildest moods, --the last two, the wildest and hardest ofall, having been spent in groping for the gold which lies in the shadowof the Arctic Circle. When the yearning sickness came upon him, he wasnot surprised, for he was a practical man and had seen other men thusstricken. But he showed no sign of his malady, save that he workedharder. All summer he fought mosquitoes and washed the sure-thing barsof the Stuart River for a double grubstake. Then he floated a raft ofhouselogs down the Yukon to Forty Mile, and put together as comfortablea cabin as any the camp could boast of. In fact, it showed such cozypromise that many men elected to be his partner and to come and livewith him. But he crushed their aspirations with rough speech, peculiarfor its strength and brevity, and bought a double supply of grub fromthe trading-post. 

As has been noted, 'Scruff' Mackenzie was a practical man. If he wanteda thing he usually got it, but in doing so, went no farther out of hisway than was necessary. Though a son of toil and hardship, he wasaverse to a journey of six hundred miles on the ice, a second of twothousand miles on the ocean, and still a third thousand miles or so tohis last stamping-grounds, --all in the mere quest of a wife. Life wastoo short. So he rounded up his dogs, lashed a curious freight to hissled, and faced across the divide whose westward slopes were drained bythe head-reaches of the Tanana. 

He was a sturdy traveler, and his wolf-dogs could work harder andtravel farther on less grub than any other team in the Yukon. Threeweeks later he strode into a hunting-camp of the Upper Tanana Sticks. They marveled at his temerity; for they had a bad name and had beenknown to kill white men for as trifling a thing as a sharp ax or abroken rifle. 

But he went among them single-handed, his bearing being a deliciouscomposite of humility, familiarity, sang-froid, and insolence. Itrequired a deft hand and deep knowledge of the barbaric mindeffectually to handle such diverse weapons; but he was a past-master inthe art, knowing when to conciliate and when to threaten with Jove-likewrath. 

He first made obeisance to the Chief Thling-Tinneh, presenting him witha couple of pounds of black tea and tobacco, and thereby winning hismost cordial regard. Then he mingled with the men and maidens, and thatnight gave a potlach. 

The snow was beaten down in the form of an oblong, perhaps a hundredfeet in length and quarter as many across. Down the center a long firewas built, while either side was carpeted with spruce boughs. Thelodges were forsaken, and the fivescore or so members of the tribe gavetongue to their folk-chants in honor of their guest. 

'Scruff' Mackenzie's two years had taught him the not many hundredwords of their vocabulary, and he had likewise conquered their deepgutturals, their Japanese idioms, constructions, and honorific andagglutinative particles. So he made oration after their manner, satisfying their instinctive poetry-love with crude flights ofeloquence and metaphorical contortions. After Thling-Tinneh and theShaman had responded in kind, he made trifling presents to the menfolk, joined in their singing, and proved an expert in their fifty-two-stickgambling game. 

And they smoked his tobacco and were pleased. But among the younger menthere was a defiant attitude, a spirit of braggadocio, easilyunderstood by the raw insinuations of the toothless squaws and thegiggling of the maidens. They had known few white men, 'Sons of theWolf, ' but from those few they had learned strange lessons. 

Nor had 'Scruff' Mackenzie, for all his seeming carelessness, failed tonote these phenomena. In truth, rolled in his sleeping-furs, he thoughtit all over, thought seriously, and emptied many pipes in mapping out acampaign. One maiden only had caught his fancy, --none other thanZarinska, daughter to the chief. In features, form, and poise, answering more nearly to the white man's type of beauty, she was almostan anomaly among her tribal sisters. He would possess her, make her hiswife, and name her--ah, he would name her Gertrude! Having thusdecided, he rolled over on his side and dropped off to sleep, a trueson of his all-conquering race, a Samson among the Philistines. 

It was slow work and a stiff game; but 'Scruff' Mackenzie maneuveredcunningly, with an unconcern which served to puzzle the Sticks. He tookgreat care to impress the men that he was a sure shot and a mightyhunter, and the camp rang with his plaudits when he brought down amoose at six hundred yards. Of a night he visited in ChiefThling-Tinneh's lodge of moose and cariboo skins, talking big anddispensing tobacco with a lavish hand. Nor did he fail to likewisehonor the Shaman; for he realized the medicine-man's influence with hispeople, and was anxious to make of him an ally. But that worthy washigh and mighty, refused to be propitiated, and was unerringly markeddown as a prospective enemy. 

Though no opening presented for an interview with Zarinska, Mackenziestole many a glance to her, giving fair warning of his intent. And wellshe knew, yet coquettishly surrounded herself with a ring of womenwhenever the men were away and he had a chance. But he was in no hurry;besides, he knew she could not help but think of him, and a few days ofsuch thought would only better his suit. 

At last, one night, when he deemed the time to be ripe, he abruptlyleft the chief's smoky dwelling and hastened to a neighboring lodge. Asusual, she sat with squaws and maidens about her, all engaged in sewingmoccasins and beadwork. They laughed at his entrance, and badinage, which linked Zarinska to him, ran high. But one after the other theywere unceremoniously bundled into the outer snow, whence they hurriedto spread the tale through all the camp. 

His cause was well pleaded, in her tongue, for she did not know his, and at the end of two hours he rose to go. 

'So Zarinska will come to the White Man's lodge? Good! I go now to havetalk with thy father, for he may not be so minded. And I will give himmany tokens; but he must not ask too much. If he say no? Good! Zarinskashall yet come to the White Man's lodge. '

He had already lifted the skin flap to depart, when a low exclamationbrought him back to the girl's side. She brought herself to her kneeson the bearskin mat, her face aglow with true Eve-light, and shylyunbuckled his heavy belt. He looked down, perplexed, suspicious, hisears alert for the slightest sound without. 

But her next move disarmed his doubt, and he smiled with pleasure. Shetook from her sewing bag a moosehide sheath, brave with brightbeadwork, fantastically designed. She drew his great hunting-knife, gazed reverently along the keen edge, half tempted to try it with herthumb, and shot it into place in its new home. Then she slipped thesheath along the belt to its customary resting-place, just above thehip. For all the world, it was like a scene of olden time, --a lady andher knight. 

Mackenzie drew her up full height and swept her red lips with hismoustache, the, to her, foreign caress of the Wolf. It was a meeting ofthe stone age and the steel; but she was none the less a woman, as hercrimson cheeks and the luminous softness of her eyes attested. 

There was a thrill of excitement in the air as 'Scruff' Mackenzie, abulky bundle under his arm, threw open the flap of Thling-Tinneh'stent. Children were running about in the open, dragging dry wood to thescene of the potlach, a babble of women's voices was growing inintensity, the young men were consulting in sullen groups, while fromthe Shaman's lodge rose the eerie sounds of an incantation. 

The chief was alone with his blear-eyed wife, but a glance sufficed totell Mackenzie that the news was already told. So he plunged at onceinto the business, shifting the beaded sheath prominently to the foreas advertisement of the betrothal. 

'O Thling-Tinneh, mighty chief of the Sticks And the land of theTanana, ruler of the salmon and the bear, the moose and the cariboo!The White Man is before thee with a great purpose. Many moons has hislodge been empty, and he is lonely. And his heart has eaten itself insilence, and grown hungry for a woman to sit beside him in his lodge, to meet him from the hunt with warm fire and good food. He has heardstrange things, the patter of baby moccasins and the sound ofchildren's voices. And one night a vision came upon him, and he beheldthe Raven, who is thy father, the great Raven, who is the father of allthe Sticks. And the Raven spake to the lonely White Man, saying: "Bindthou thy moccasins upon thee, and gird thy snow-shoes on, and lash thysled with food for many sleeps and fine tokens for the ChiefThling-Tinneh. For thou shalt turn thy face to where the mid-spring sunis wont to sink below the land and journey to this great chief'shunting-grounds. There thou shalt make big presents, and Thling-Tinneh, who is my son, shall become to thee as a father. In his lodge there isa maiden into whom I breathed the breath of life for thee. This maidenshalt thou take to wife. " 'O Chief, thus spake the great Raven; thus doI lay many presents at thy feet; thus am I come to take thy daughter!'The old man drew his furs about him with crude consciousness ofroyalty, but delayed reply while a youngster crept in, delivered aquick message to appear before the council, and was gone. 

'O White Man, whom we have named Moose-Killer, also known as the Wolf, and the Son of the Wolf! We know thou comest of a mighty race; we areproud to have thee our potlach-guest; but the king-salmon does not matewith the dogsalmon, nor the Raven with the Wolf. ' 'Not so!' criedMackenzie. 'The daughters of the Raven have I met in the camps of theWolf, --the squaw of Mortimer, the squaw of Tregidgo, the squaw ofBarnaby, who came two ice-runs back, and I have heard of other squaws, though my eyes beheld them not. ' 'Son, your words are true; but it wereevil mating, like the water with the sand, like the snow-flake with thesun. But met you one Mason and his squaw' No?

He came ten ice-runs ago, --the first of all the Wolves. And with himthere was a mighty man, straight as a willow-shoot, and tall; strong asthe bald-faced grizzly, with a heart like the full summer moon; his-''Oh!' interrupted Mackenzie, recognizing the well-known Northlandfigure, 'Malemute Kid!' 'The same, --a mighty man. But saw you aught ofthe squaw? She was full sister to Zarinska. ' 'Nay, Chief; but I haveheard. Mason--far, far to the north, a spruce-tree, heavy with years, crushed out his life beneath. But his love was great, and he had muchgold. With this, and her boy, she journeyed countless sleeps toward thewinter's noonday sun, and there she yet lives, --no biting frost, nosnow, no summer's midnight sun, no winter's noonday night. '

A second messenger interrupted with imperative summons from the council. 

As Mackenzie threw him into the snow, he caught a glimpse of theswaying forms before the council-fire, heard the deep basses of the menin rhythmic chant, and knew the Shaman was fanning the anger of hispeople. Time pressed. He turned upon the chief. 

'Come! I wish thy child. And now, see! Here are tobacco, tea, many cupsof sugar, warm blankets, handkerchiefs, both good and large; and here, a true rifle, with many bullets and much powder. ' 'Nay, ' replied theold man, struggling against the great wealth spread before him. 'Evennow are my people come together. They will not have this marriage. '

'But thou art chief. ' 'Yet do my young men rage because the Wolves havetaken their maidens so that they may not marry. ' 'Listen, OThling-Tinneh! Ere the night has passed into the day, the Wolf shallface his dogs to the Mountains of the East and fare forth to theCountry of the Yukon. And Zarinska shall break trail for his dogs. ''And ere the night has gained its middle, my young men may fling to thedogs the flesh of the Wolf, and his bones be scattered in the snow tillthe springtime lay them bare. ' It was threat and counter-threat. Mackenzie's bronzed face flushed darkly. He raised his voice. The oldsquaw, who till now had sat an impassive spectator, made to creep byhim for the door. 

The song of the men broke suddenly and there was a hubbub of manyvoices as he whirled the old woman roughly to her couch of skins. 

'Again I cry--listen, O Thling-Tinneh! The Wolf dies with teethfast-locked, and with him there shall sleep ten of thy strongestmen, --men who are needed, for the hunting is not begun, and the fishingis not many moons away. And again, of what profit should I die? I knowthe custom of thy people; thy share of my wealth shall be very small. Grant me thy child, and it shall all be thine. And yet again, mybrothers will come, and they are many, and their maws are never filled;and the daughters of the Raven shall bear children in the lodges of theWolf. My people are greater than thy people. It is destiny. Grant, andall this wealth is thine. ' Moccasins were crunching the snow without. Mackenzie threw his rifle to cock, and loosened the twin Colts in hisbelt. 

'Grant, O Chief!' 'And yet will my people say no. ' 'Grant, and thewealth is thine. Then shall I deal with thy people after. ' 'The Wolfwill have it so. I will take his tokens, --but I would warn him. 'Mackenzie passed over the goods, taking care to clog the rifle'sejector, and capping the bargain with a kaleidoscopic silk kerchief. The Shaman and half a dozen young braves entered, but he shoulderedboldly among them and passed out. 

'Pack!' was his laconic greeting to Zarinska as he passed her lodge andhurried to harness his dogs. A few minutes later he swept into thecouncil at the head of the team, the woman by his side. He took hisplace at the upper end of the oblong, by the side of the chief. To hisleft, a step to the rear, he stationed Zarinska, her proper place. Besides, the time was ripe for mischief, and there was need to guardhis back. 

On either side, the men crouched to the fire, their voices lifted in afolk-chant out of the forgotten past. Full of strange, halting cadencesand haunting recurrences, it was not beautiful. 'Fearful' mayinadequately express it. At the lower end, under the eye of the Shaman, danced half a score of women. Stern were his reproofs of those who didnot wholly abandon themselves to the ecstasy of the rite. Half hiddenin their heavy masses of raven hair, all dishevelled and falling totheir waists, they slowly swayed to and fro, their forms rippling to anever-changing rhythm. 

It was a weird scene; an anachronism. To the south, the nineteenthcentury was reeling off the few years of its last decade; hereflourished man primeval, a shade removed from the prehistoriccave-dweller, forgotten fragment of the Elder World. The tawnywolf-dogs sat between their skin-clad masters or fought for room, thefirelight cast backward from their red eyes and dripping fangs. Thewoods, in ghostly shroud, slept on unheeding. 

The White Silence, for the moment driven to the rimming forest, seemedever crushing inward; the stars danced with great leaps, as is theirwont in the time of the Great Cold; while the Spirits of the Poletrailed their robes of glory athwart the heavens. 

'Scruff' Mackenzie dimly realized the wild grandeur of the setting ashis eyes ranged down the fur-fringed sides in quest of missing faces. They rested for a moment on a newborn babe, suckling at its mother'snaked breast. It was forty below, --seven and odd degrees of frost. Hethought of the tender women of his own race and smiled grimly. Yet fromthe loins of some such tender woman had he sprung with a kinglyinheritance, --an inheritance which gave to him and his dominance overthe land and sea, over the animals and the peoples of all the zones. Single-handed against fivescore, girt by the Arctic winter, far fromhis own, he felt the prompting of his heritage, the desire to possess, the wild danger--love, the thrill of battle, the power to conquer or todie. 

The singing and the dancing ceased, and the Shaman flared up in rudeeloquence. 

Through the sinuosities of their vast mythology, he worked cunninglyupon the credulity of his people. The case was strong. Opposing thecreative principles as embodied in the Crow and the Raven, hestigmatized Mackenzie as the Wolf, the fighting and the destructiveprinciple. Not only was the combat of these forces spiritual, but menfought, each to his totem. They were the children of Jelchs, the Raven, the Promethean fire-bringer; Mackenzie was the child of the Wolf, or inother words, the Devil. For them to bring a truce to this perpetualwarfare, to marry their daughters to the arch-enemy, were treason andblasphemy of the highest order. No phrase was harsh nor figure vileenough in branding Mackenzie as a sneaking interloper and emissary ofSatan. There was a subdued, savage roar in the deep chests of hislisteners as he took the swing of his peroration. 

'Aye, my brothers, Jelchs is all-powerful! Did he not bringheaven-borne fire that we might be warm? Did he not draw the sun, moon, and stars, from their holes that we might see? Did he not teach us thatwe might fight the Spirits of Famine and of Frost? But now Jelchs isangry with his children, and they are grown to a handful, and he willnot help. 

'For they have forgotten him, and done evil things, and trod badtrails, and taken his enemies into their lodges to sit by their fires. And the Raven is sorrowful at the wickedness of his children; but whenthey shall rise up and show they have come back, he will come out ofthe darkness to aid them. O brothers! the Fire-Bringer has whisperedmessages to thy Shaman; the same shall ye hear. Let the young men takethe young women to their lodges; let them fly at the throat of theWolf; let them be undying in their enmity! Then shall their womenbecome fruitful and they shall multiply into a mighty people! And theRaven shall lead great tribes of their fathers and their fathers'fathers from out of the North; and they shall beat back the Wolves tillthey are as last year's campfires; and they shall again come to ruleover all the land! 'Tis the message of Jelchs, the Raven. ' Thisforeshadowing of the Messiah's coming brought a hoarse howl from theSticks as they leaped to their feet. Mackenzie slipped the thumbs ofhis mittens and waited. There was a clamor for the 'Fox, ' not to bestilled till one of the young men stepped forward to speak. 

'Brothers! The Shaman has spoken wisely. The Wolves have taken ourwomen, and our men are childless. We are grown to a handful. The Wolveshave taken our warm furs and given for them evil spirits which dwell inbottles, and clothes which come not from the beaver or the lynx, butare made from the grass. 

And they are not warm, and our men die of strange sicknesses. I, theFox, have taken no woman to wife; and why? Twice have the maidens whichpleased me gone to the camps of the Wolf. Even now have I laid by skinsof the beaver, of the moose, of the cariboo, that I might win favor inthe eyes of Thling-Tinneh, that I might marry Zarinska, his daughter. Even now are her snow-shoes bound to her feet, ready to break trail forthe dogs of the Wolf. Nor do I speak for myself alone. 

As I have done, so has the Bear. He, too, had fain been the father ofher children, and many skins has he cured thereto. I speak for all theyoung men who know not wives. The Wolves are ever hungry. Always dothey take the choice meat at the killing. To the Ravens are left theleavings. 

'There is Gugkla, ' he cried, brutally pointing out one of the women, who was a cripple. 

'Her legs are bent like the ribs of a birch canoe. She cannot gatherwood nor carry the meat of the hunters. Did the Wolves choose her?''Ai! ai!' vociferated his tribesmen. 

'There is Moyri, whose eyes are crossed by the Evil Spirit. Even thebabes are affrighted when they gaze upon her, and it is said thebald-face gives her the trail. 

'Was she chosen?' Again the cruel applause rang out. 

'And there sits Pischet. She does not hearken to my words. Never hasshe heard the cry of the chit-chat, the voice of her husband, thebabble of her child. 

'She lives in the White Silence. Cared the Wolves aught for her? No!Theirs is the choice of the kill; ours is the leavings. 

'Brothers, it shall not be! No more shall the Wolves slink among ourcampfires. The time is come. ' A great streamer of fire, the auroraborealis, purple, green, and yellow, shot across the zenith, bridginghorizon to horizon. With head thrown back and arms extended, he swayedto his climax. 

'Behold! The spirits of our fathers have arisen and great deeds areafoot this night!' He stepped back, and another young man somewhatdiffidently came forward, pushed on by his comrades. He towered a fullhead above them, his broad chest defiantly bared to the frost. He swungtentatively from one foot to the other. 

Words halted upon his tongue, and he was ill at ease. His face washorrible to look upon, for it had at one time been half torn away bysome terrific blow. At last he struck his breast with his clenchedfist, drawing sound as from a drum, and his voice rumbled forth as doesthe surf from an ocean cavern. 

'I am the Bear, --the Silver-Tip and the Son of the Silver-Tip! When myvoice was yet as a girl's, I slew the lynx, the moose, and the cariboo;when it whistled like the wolverines from under a cache, I crossed theMountains of the South and slew three of the White Rivers; when itbecame as the roar of the Chinook, I met the bald-faced grizzly, butgave no trail. ' At this he paused, his hand significantly sweepingacross his hideous scars. 

'I am not as the Fox. My tongue is frozen like the river. I cannot makegreat talk. My words are few. The Fox says great deeds are afoot thisnight. Good! Talk flows from his tongue like the freshets of thespring, but he is chary of deeds. 

'This night shall I do battle with the Wolf. I shall slay him, andZarinska shall sit by my fire. The Bear has spoken. ' Though pandemoniumraged about him, 'Scruff' Mackenzie held his ground. 

Aware how useless was the rifle at close quarters, he slipped bothholsters to the fore, ready for action, and drew his mittens till hishands were barely shielded by the elbow gauntlets. He knew there was nohope in attack en masse, but true to his boast, was prepared to diewith teeth fast-locked. But the Bear restrained his comrades, beatingback the more impetuous with his terrible fist. As the tumult began todie away, Mackenzie shot a glance in the direction of Zarinska. It wasa superb picture. She was leaning forward on her snow-shoes, lips apartand nostrils quivering, like a tigress about to spring. Her great blackeyes were fixed upon her tribesmen, in fear and defiance. So extremethe tension, she had forgotten to breathe. With one hand pressedspasmodically against her breast and the other as tightly gripped aboutthe dog-whip, she was as turned to stone. Even as he looked, reliefcame to her. Her muscles loosened; with a heavy sigh she settled back, giving him a look of more than love--of worship. 

Thling-Tinneh was trying to speak, but his people drowned his voice. Then Mackenzie strode forward. The Fox opened his mouth to a piercingyell, but so savagely did Mackenzie whirl upon him that he shrank back, his larynx all agurgle with suppressed sound. His discomfiture wasgreeted with roars of laughter, and served to soothe his fellows to alistening mood. 

'Brothers! The White Man, whom ye have chosen to call the Wolf, cameamong you with fair words. He was not like the Innuit; he spoke notlies. He came as a friend, as one who would be a brother. But your menhave had their say, and the time for soft words is past. 

'First, I will tell you that the Shaman has an evil tongue and is afalse prophet, that the messages he spake are not those of theFire-Bringer. His ears are locked to the voice of the Raven, and out ofhis own head he weaves cunning fancies, and he has made fools of you. He has no power. 

'When the dogs were killed and eaten, and your stomachs were heavy withuntanned hide and strips of moccasins; when the old men died, and theold women died, and the babes at the dry dugs of the mothers died; whenthe land was dark, and ye perished as do the salmon in the fall; aye, when the famine was upon you, did the Shaman bring reward to yourhunters? did the Shaman put meat in your bellies? Again I say, theShaman is without power. Thus I spit upon his face!' Though taken abackby the sacrilege, there was no uproar. Some of the women were evenfrightened, but among the men there was an uplifting, as though inpreparation or anticipation of the miracle. All eyes were turned uponthe two central figures. The priest realized the crucial moment, felthis power tottering, opened his mouth in denunciation, but fledbackward before the truculent advance, upraised fist, and flashingeyes, of Mackenzie. He sneered and resumed. 

'Was I stricken dead? Did the lightning burn me? Did the stars fallfrom the sky and crush me? Pish! I have done with the dog. Now will Itell you of my people, who are the mightiest of all the peoples, whorule in all the lands. At first we hunt as I hunt, alone. 

'After that we hunt in packs; and at last, like the cariboo-run, wesweep across all the land. 

'Those whom we take into our lodges live; those who will not come die. Zarinska is a comely maiden, full and strong, fit to become the motherof Wolves. Though I die, such shall she become; for my brothers aremany, and they will follow the scent of my dogs. 

'Listen to the Law of the Wolf: Whoso taketh the life of one Wolf, theforfeit shall ten of his people pay. In many lands has the price beenpaid; in many lands shall it yet be paid. 

'Now will I deal with the Fox and the Bear. It seems they have casteyes upon the maiden. So? Behold, I have bought her! Thling-Tinnehleans upon the rifle; the goods of purchase are by his fire. Yet will Ibe fair to the young men. To the Fox, whose tongue is dry with manywords, will I give of tobacco five long plugs. 

'Thus will his mouth be wetted that he may make much noise in thecouncil. But to the Bear, of whom I am well proud, will I give ofblankets two; of flour, twenty cups; of tobacco, double that of theFox; and if he fare with me over the Mountains of the East, then will Igive him a rifle, mate to Thling-Tinneh's. If not? Good! The Wolf isweary of speech. Yet once again will he say the Law: Whoso taketh thelife of one Wolf, the forfeit shall ten of his people pay. '

Mackenzie smiled as he stepped back to his old position, but at hearthe was full of trouble. The night was yet dark. The girl came to hisside, and he listened closely as she told of the Bear's battle-trickswith the knife. 

The decision was for war. In a trice, scores of moccasins were wideningthe space of beaten snow by the fire. There was much chatter about theseeming defeat of the Shaman; some averred he had but withheld hispower, while others conned past events and agreed with the Wolf. TheBear came to the center of the battle-ground, a long nakedhunting-knife of Russian make in his hand. The Fox called attention toMackenzie's revolvers; so he stripped his belt, buckling it aboutZarinska, into whose hands he also entrusted his rifle. She shook herhead that she could not shoot, --small chance had a woman to handle suchprecious things. 

'Then, if danger come by my back, cry aloud, "My husband!" No; thus, "My husband!"'

He laughed as she repeated it, pinched her cheek, and reentered thecircle. Not only in reach and stature had the Bear the advantage ofhim, but his blade was longer by a good two inches. 'Scruff' Mackenziehad looked into the eyes of men before, and he knew it was a man whostood against him; yet he quickened to the glint of light on the steel, to the dominant pulse of his race. 

Time and again he was forced to the edge of the fire or the deep snow, and time and again, with the foot tactics of the pugilist, he workedback to the center. Not a voice was lifted in encouragement, while hisantagonist was heartened with applause, suggestions, and warnings. Buthis teeth only shut the tighter as the knives clashed together, and hethrust or eluded with a coolness born of conscious strength. At firsthe felt compassion for his enemy; but this fled before the primalinstinct of life, which in turn gave way to the lust of slaughter. Theten thousand years of culture fell from him, and he was a cave-dweller, doing battle for his female. 

Twice he pricked the Bear, getting away unscathed; but the third timecaught, and to save himself, free hands closed on fighting hands, andthey came together. 

Then did he realize the tremendous strength of his opponent. Hismuscles were knotted in painful lumps, and cords and tendons threatenedto snap with the strain; yet nearer and nearer came the Russian steel. He tried to break away, but only weakened himself. The fur-clad circleclosed in, certain of and anxious to see the final stroke. But withwrestler's trick, swinging partly to the side, he struck at hisadversary with his head. Involuntarily the Bear leaned back, disturbinghis center of gravity. Simultaneous with this, Mackenzie trippedproperly and threw his whole weight forward, hurling him clear throughthe circle into the deep snow. The Bear floundered out and came backfull tilt. 

'O my husband!' Zarinska's voice rang out, vibrant with danger. 

To the twang of a bow-string, Mackenzie swept low to the ground, and abonebarbed arrow passed over him into the breast of the Bear, whosemomentum carried him over his crouching foe. The next instant Mackenziewas up and about. The bear lay motionless, but across the fire was theShaman, drawing a second arrow. Mackenzie's knife leaped short in theair. He caught the heavy blade by the point. There was a flash of lightas it spanned the fire. Then the Shaman, the hilt alone appearingwithout his throat, swayed and pitched forward into the glowing embers. 

Click! Click!--the Fox had possessed himself of Thling-Tinneh's rifleand was vainly trying to throw a shell into place. But he dropped it atthe sound of Mackenzie's laughter. 

'So the Fox has not learned the way of the plaything? He is yet a woman. 

'Come! Bring it, that I may show thee!' The Fox hesitated. 

'Come, I say!' He slouched forward like a beaten cur. 

'Thus, and thus; so the thing is done. ' A shell flew into place and thetrigger was at cock as Mackenzie brought it to shoulder. 

'The Fox has said great deeds were afoot this night, and he spoke true. There have been great deeds, yet least among them were those of theFox. Is he still intent to take Zarinska to his lodge? Is he minded totread the trail already broken by the Shaman and the Bear?

'No? Good!'

Mackenzie turned contemptuously and drew his knife from the priest'sthroat. 

'Are any of the young men so minded? If so, the Wolf will take them bytwo and three till none are left. No? Good! Thling-Tinneh, I now givethee this rifle a second time. If, in the days to come, thou shouldstjourney to the Country of the Yukon, know thou that there shall alwaysbe a place and much food by the fire of the Wolf. The night is nowpassing into the day. I go, but I may come again. And for the lasttime, remember the Law of the Wolf!' He was supernatural in their sightas he rejoined Zarinska. She took her place at the head of the team, and the dogs swung into motion. A few moments later they were swallowedup by the ghostly forest. Till now Mackenzie had waited; he slippedinto his snow-shoes to follow. 

'Has the Wolf forgotten the five long plugs?' Mackenzie turned upon theFox angrily; then the humor of it struck him. 

'I will give thee one short plug. ' 'As the Wolf sees fit, ' meeklyresponded the Fox, stretching out his hand. 

The Men of Forty Mile

When Big Jim Belden ventured the apparently innocuous proposition thatmush-ice was 'rather pecooliar, ' he little dreamed of what it wouldlead to. 

Neither did Lon McFane, when he affirmed that anchor-ice was even moreso; nor did Bettles, as he instantly disagreed, declaring the veryexistence of such a form to be a bugaboo. 

'An' ye'd be tellin' me this, ' cried Lon, 'after the years ye've spintin the land! An' we atin' out the same pot this many's the day!' 'Butthe thing's agin reasin, ' insisted Bettles. 

'Look you, water's warmer than ice--' 'An' little the difference, onceye break through. '

'Still it's warmer, because it ain't froze. An' you say it freezes onthe bottom?' 'Only the anchor-ice, David, only the anchor-ice. An' haveye niver drifted along, the water clear as glass, whin suddin, belike acloud over the sun, the mushy-ice comes bubblin' up an' up till frombank to bank an' bind to bind it's drapin' the river like a firstsnowfall?' 'Unh, hunh! more'n once when I took a doze at thesteering-oar. But it allus come out the nighest side-channel, an' notbubblin' up an' up. ' 'But with niver a wink at the helm?'

'No; nor you. It's agin reason. I'll leave it to any man!' Bettlesappealed to the circle about the stove, but the fight was on betweenhimself and Lon McFane. 

'Reason or no reason, it's the truth I'm tellin' ye. Last fall, a yeargone, 'twas Sitka Charley and meself saw the sight, droppin' down theriffle ye'll remember below Fort Reliance. An' regular fall weather itwas--the glint o' the sun on the golden larch an' the quakin' aspens;an' the glister of light on ivery ripple; an' beyand, the winter an'the blue haze of the North comin' down hand in hand. It's well ye knowthe same, with a fringe to the river an' the ice formin' thick in theeddies--an' a snap an' sparkle to the air, an' ye a-feelin' it throughall yer blood, a-takin' new lease of life with ivery suck of it. 'Tisthen, me boy, the world grows small an' the wandtherlust lays ye by theheels. 

'But it's meself as wandthers. As I was sayin', we a-paddlin', withniver a sign of ice, barrin' that by the eddies, when the Injun liftshis paddle an' sings out, "Lon McFane! Look ye below!" So have I heard, but niver thought to see! As ye know, Sitka Charley, like meself, niverdrew first breath in the land; so the sight was new. Then we drifted, with a head over ayther side, peerin' down through the sparkly water. For the world like the days I spint with the pearlers, watchin' thecoral banks a-growin' the same as so many gardens under the sea. Thereit was, the anchor-ice, clingin' an' clusterin' to ivery rock, afterthe manner of the white coral. 

'But the best of the sight was to come. Just after clearin' the tail ofthe riffle, the water turns quick the color of milk, an' the top of itin wee circles, as when the graylin' rise in the spring, or there's asplatter of wet from the sky. 'Twas the anchor-ice comin' up. To theright, to the lift, as far as iver a man cud see, the water was coveredwith the same. 

An' like so much porridge it was, slickin' along the bark of the canoe, stickin' like glue to the paddles. It's many's the time I shot theself-same riffle before, and it's many's the time after, but niver awink of the same have I seen. 'Twas the sight of a lifetime. ' 'Dotell!' dryly commented Bettles. 'D'ye think I'd b'lieve such a yarn?I'd ruther say the glister of light'd gone to your eyes, and the snapof the air to your tongue. ' ''Twas me own eyes that beheld it, an' ifSitka Charley was here, he'd be the lad to back me. ' 'But facts isfacts, an' they ain't no gettin' round 'em. It ain't in the nature ofthings for the water furtherest away from the air to freeze first. ''But me own eyes-' 'Don't git het up over it, ' admonished Bettles, asthe quick Celtic anger began to mount. 

'Then yer not after belavin' me?' 'Sence you're so blamed forehandedabout it, no; I'd b'lieve nature first, and facts. '

'Is it the lie ye'd be givin' me?' threatened Lon. 'Ye'd better beaskin' that Siwash wife of yours. I'll lave it to her, for the truth Ispake. ' Bettles flared up in sudden wrath. The Irishman had unwittinglywounded him; for his wife was the half-breed daughter of a Russianfur-trader, married to him in the Greek Mission of Nulato, a thousandmiles or so down the Yukon, thus being of much higher caste than thecommon Siwash, or native, wife. It was a mere Northland nuance, whichnone but the Northland adventurer may understand. 

'I reckon you kin take it that way, ' was his deliberate affirmation. 

The next instant Lon McFane had stretched him on the floor, the circlewas broken up, and half a dozen men had stepped between. 

Bettles came to his feet, wiping the blood from his mouth. 'It hain'tnew, this takin' and payin' of blows, and don't you never think butthat this will be squared. ' 'An' niver in me life did I take the liefrom mortal man, ' was the retort courteous. 'An' it's an avil day I'llnot be to hand, waitin' an' willin' to help ye lift yer debts, barrin'no manner of way. '

'Still got that 38-55?' Lon nodded. 

'But you'd better git a more likely caliber. Mine'll rip holes throughyou the size of walnuts. '

'Niver fear; it's me own slugs smell their way with soft noses, an'they'll spread like flapjacks against the coming out beyand. An'when'll I have the pleasure of waitin' on ye? The waterhole's astrikin' locality. ' ''Tain't bad. Jest be there in an hour, and youwon't set long on my coming. ' Both men mittened and left the Post, their ears closed to the remonstrances of their comrades. It was such alittle thing; yet with such men, little things, nourished by quicktempers and stubborn natures, soon blossomed into big things. 

Besides, the art of burning to bedrock still lay in the womb of thefuture, and the men of Forty-Mile, shut in by the long Arctic winter, grew high-stomached with overeating and enforced idleness, and becameas irritable as do the bees in the fall of the year when the hives areoverstocked with honey. 

There was no law in the land. The mounted police was also a thing ofthe future. Each man measured an offense, and meted out the punishmentinasmuch as it affected himself. 

Rarely had combined action been necessary, and never in all the drearyhistory of the camp had the eighth article of the Decalogue beenviolated. 

Big Jim Belden called an impromptu meeting. Scruff Mackenzie was placedas temporary chairman, and a messenger dispatched to solicit FatherRoubeau's good offices. Their position was paradoxical, and they knewit. By the right of might could they interfere to prevent the duel; yetsuch action, while in direct line with their wishes, went counter totheir opinions. While their rough-hewn, obsolete ethics recognized theindividual prerogative of wiping out blow with blow, they could notbear to think of two good comrades, such as Bettles and McFane, meetingin deadly battle. Deeming the man who would not fight on provocation adastard, when brought to the test it seemed wrong that he should fight. 

But a scurry of moccasins and loud cries, rounded off with apistol-shot, interrupted the discussion. Then the storm-doors openedand Malemute Kid entered, a smoking Colt's in his hand, and a merrylight in his eye. 

'I got him. ' He replaced the empty shell, and added, 'Your dog, Scruff. ' 'Yellow Fang?'

Mackenzie asked. 

'No; the lop-eared one. ' 'The devil! Nothing the matter with him. ''Come out and take a look. ' 'That's all right after all. Buess he's got'em, too. Yellow Fang came back this morning and took a chunk out ofhim, and came near to making a widower of me. Made a rush for Zarinska, but she whisked her skirts in his face and escaped with the loss of thesame and a good roll in the snow. Then he took to the woods again. Hopehe don't come back. Lost any yourself?' 'One--the best one of thepack--Shookum. Started amuck this morning, but didn't get very far. Ranfoul of Sitka Charley's team, and they scattered him all over thestreet. And now two of them are loose, and raging mad; so you see hegot his work in. The dog census will be small in the spring if we don'tdo something. '

'And the man census, too. ' 'How's that? Who's in trouble now?' 'Oh, Bettles and Lon McFane had an argument, and they'll be down by thewaterhole in a few minutes to settle it. ' The incident was repeated forhis benefit, and Malemute Kid, accustomed to an obedience which hisfellow men never failed to render, took charge of the affair. Hisquickly formulated plan was explained, and they promised to follow hislead implicitly. 

'So you see, ' he concluded, 'we do not actually take away theirprivilege of fighting; and yet I don't believe they'll fight when theysee the beauty of the scheme. Life's a game and men the gamblers. They'll stake their whole pile on the one chance in a thousand. 

'Take away that one chance, and--they won't play. ' He turned to the manin charge of the Post. 'Storekeeper, weight out three fathoms of yourbest half-inch manila. 

'We'll establish a precedent which will last the men of Forty-Mile tothe end of time, ' he prophesied. Then he coiled the rope about his armand led his followers out of doors, just in time to meet the principals. 

'What danged right'd he to fetch my wife in?' thundered Bettles to thesoothing overtures of a friend. ''Twa'n't called for, ' he concludeddecisively. ''Twa'n't called for, ' he reiterated again and again, pacing up and down and waiting for Lon McFane. 

And Lon McFane--his face was hot and tongue rapid as he flauntedinsurrection in the face of the Church. 'Then, father, ' he cried, 'it'swith an aisy heart I'll roll in me flamy blankets, the broad of me backon a bed of coals. Niver shall it be said that Lon McFane took a lie'twixt the teeth without iver liftin' a hand! An' I'll not ask ablessin'. The years have been wild, but it's the heart was in the rightplace. ' 'But it's not the heart, Lon, ' interposed Father Roubeau; 'It'spride that bids you forth to slay your fellow man. ' 'Yer Frinch, ' Lonreplied. And then, turning to leave him, 'An' will ye say a mass if theluck is against me?' But the priest smiled, thrust his moccasined feetto the fore, and went out upon the white breast of the silent river. Apacked trail, the width of a sixteen-inch sled, led out to thewaterhole. On either side lay the deep, soft snow. The men trod insingle file, without conversation; and the black-stoled priest in theirmidst gave to the function the solemn aspect of a funeral. It was awarm winter's day for Forty-Mile--a day in which the sky, filled withheaviness, drew closer to the earth, and the mercury sought theunwonted level of twenty below. But there was no cheer in the warmth. There was little air in the upper strata, and the clouds hungmotionless, giving sullen promise of an early snowfall. And the earth, unresponsive, made no preparation, content in its hibernation. 

When the waterhole was reached, Bettles, having evidently reviewed thequarrel during the silent walk, burst out in a final ''Twa'n't calledfor, ' while Lon McFane kept grim silence. Indignation so choked himthat he could not speak. 

Yet deep down, whenever their own wrongs were not uppermost, both menwondered at their comrades. They had expected opposition, and thistacit acquiescence hurt them. It seemed more was due them from the menthey had been so close with, and they felt a vague sense of wrong, rebelling at the thought of so many of their brothers coming out, as ona gala occasion, without one word of protest, to see them shoot eachother down. It appeared their worth had diminished in the eyes of thecommunity. The proceedings puzzled them. 

'Back to back, David. An' will it be fifty paces to the man, or doublethe quantity?'

'Fifty, ' was the sanguinary reply, grunted out, yet sharply cut. 

But the new manila, not prominently displayed, but casually coiledabout Malemute Kid's arm, caught the quick eye of the Irishman, andthrilled him with a suspicious fear. 

'An' what are ye doin' with the rope?' 'Hurry up!' Malemute Kid glancedat his watch. 

'I've a batch of bread in the cabin, and I don't want it to fall. Besides, my feet are getting cold. ' The rest of the men manifestedtheir impatience in various suggestive ways. 

'But the rope, Kid' It's bran' new, an' sure yer bread's not that heavyit needs raisin' with the like of that?' Bettles by this time had facedaround. Father Roubeau, the humor of the situation just dawning on him, hid a smile behind his mittened hand. 

'No, Lon; this rope was made for a man. ' Malemute Kid could be veryimpressive on occasion. 

'What man?' Bettles was becoming aware of a personal interest. 

'The other man. ' 'An' which is the one ye'd mane by that?' 'Listen, Lon--and you, too, Bettles! We've been talking this little trouble ofyours over, and we've come to one conclusion. We know we have no rightto stop your fighting-' 'True for ye, me lad!' 'And we're not going to. But this much we can do, and shall do--make this the only duel in thehistory of Forty-Mile, set an example for every che-cha-qua that comesup or down the Yukon. The man who escapes killing shall be hanged tothe nearest tree. Now, go ahead!'

Lon smiled dubiously, then his face lighted up. 'Pace her off, David--fifty paces, wheel, an' niver a cease firin' till a lad's downfor good. 'Tis their hearts'll niver let them do the deed, an' it'swell ye should know it for a true Yankee bluff. '

He started off with a pleased grin on his face, but Malemute Kid haltedhim. 

'Lon! It's a long while since you first knew me?' 'Many's the day. ''And you, Bettles?'

'Five year next June high water. ' 'And have you once, in all that time, known me to break my word' Or heard of me breaking it?' Both men shooktheir heads, striving to fathom what lay beyond. 

'Well, then, what do you think of a promise made by me?' 'As good asyour bond, ' from Bettles. 

'The thing to safely sling yer hopes of heaven by, ' promptly endorsedLon McFane. 

'Listen! I, Malemute Kid, give you my word--and you know what thatmeans that the man who is not shot stretches rope within ten minutesafter the shooting. ' He stepped back as Pilate might have done afterwashing his hands. 

A pause and a silence came over the men of Forty-Mile. The sky drewstill closer, sending down a crystal flight of frost--little geometricdesigns, perfect, evanescent as a breath, yet destined to exist tillthe returning sun had covered half its northern journey. 

Both men had led forlorn hopes in their time--led with a curse or ajest on their tongues, and in their souls an unswerving faith in theGod of Chance. But that merciful deity had been shut out from thepresent deal. They studied the face of Malemute Kid, but they studiedas one might the Sphinx. As the quiet minutes passed, a feeling thatspeech was incumbent on them began to grow. At last the howl of awolf-dog cracked the silence from the direction of Forty-Mile. Theweird sound swelled with all the pathos of a breaking heart, then diedaway in a long-drawn sob. 

'Well I be danged!' Bettles turned up the collar of his mackinaw jacketand stared about him helplessly. 

'It's a gloryus game yer runnin', Kid, ' cried Lon McFane. 'All thepercentage of the house an' niver a bit to the man that's buckin'. TheDevil himself'd niver tackle such a cinch--and damned if I do. ' Therewere chuckles, throttled in gurgling throats, and winks brushed awaywith the frost which rimed the eyelashes, as the men climbed theice-notched bank and started across the street to the Post. But thelong howl had drawn nearer, invested with a new note of menace. A womanscreamed round the corner. There was a cry of, 'Here he comes!' Then anIndian boy, at the head of half a dozen frightened dogs, racing withdeath, dashed into the crowd. And behind came Yellow Fang, a bristle ofhair and a flash of gray. Everybody but the Yankee fled. 

The Indian boy had tripped and fallen. Bettles stopped long enough togrip him by the slack of his furs, then headed for a pile of cordwoodalready occupied by a number of his comrades. Yellow Fang, doublingafter one of the dogs, came leaping back. The fleeing animal, free ofthe rabies, but crazed with fright, whipped Bettles off his feet andflashed on up the street. Malemute Kid took a flying shot at YellowFang. The mad dog whirled a half airspring, came down on his back, then, with a single leap, covered half the distance between himself andBettles. 

But the fatal spring was intercepted. Lon McFane leaped from thewoodpile, countering him in midair. Over they rolled, Lon holding himby the throat at arm's length, blinking under the fetid slaver whichsprayed his face. Then Bettles, revolver in hand and coolly waiting achance, settled the combat. 

''Twas a square game, Kid, ' Lon remarked, rising to his feet andshaking the snow from out his sleeves; 'with a fair percentage tomeself that bucked it. ' That night, while Lon McFane sought theforgiving arms of the Church in the direction of Father Roubeau'scabin, Malemute Kid talked long to little purpose. 

'But would you, ' persisted Mackenzie, 'supposing they had fought?''Have I ever broken my word?' 'No; but that isn't the point. Answer thequestion. Would you?' Malemute Kid straightened up. 'Scruff, I've beenasking myself that question ever since, and--'

'Well?'

'Well, as yet, I haven't found the answer. '

In a Far Country

When a man journeys into a far country, he must be prepared to forgetmany of the things he has learned, and to acquire such customs as areinherent with existence in the new land; he must abandon the old idealsand the old gods, and oftentimes he must reverse the very codes bywhich his conduct has hitherto been shaped. To those who have theprotean faculty of adaptability, the novelty of such change may even bea source of pleasure; but to those who happen to be hardened to theruts in which they were created, the pressure of the alteredenvironment is unbearable, and they chafe in body and in spirit underthe new restrictions which they do not understand. This chafing isbound to act and react, producing divers evils and leading to variousmisfortunes. It were better for the man who cannot fit himself to thenew groove to return to his own country; if he delay too long, he willsurely die. 

The man who turns his back upon the comforts of an elder civilization, to face the savage youth, the primordial simplicity of the North, mayestimate success at an inverse ratio to the quantity and quality of hishopelessly fixed habits. He will soon discover, if he be a fitcandidate, that the material habits are the less important. Theexchange of such things as a dainty menu for rough fare, of the stiffleather shoe for the soft, shapeless moccasin, of the feather bed for acouch in the snow, is after all a very easy matter. But his pinch willcome in learning properly to shape his mind's attitude toward allthings, and especially toward his fellow man. For the courtesies ofordinary life, he must substitute unselfishness, forbearance, andtolerance. Thus, and thus only, can he gain that pearl of greatprice--true comradeship. He must not say 'thank you'; he must mean itwithout opening his mouth, and prove it by responding in kind. Inshort, he must substitute the deed for the word, the spirit for theletter. 

When the world rang with the tale of Arctic gold, and the lure of theNorth gripped the heartstrings of men, Carter Weatherbee threw up hissnug clerkship, turned the half of his savings over to his wife, andwith the remainder bought an outfit. There was no romance in hisnature--the bondage of commerce had crushed all that; he was simplytired of the ceaseless grind, and wished to risk great hazards in viewof corresponding returns. Like many another fool, disdaining the oldtrails used by the Northland pioneers for a score of years, he hurriedto Edmonton in the spring of the year; and there, unluckily for hissoul's welfare, he allied himself with a party of men. 

There was nothing unusual about this party, except its plans. Even itsgoal, like that of all the other parties, was the Klondike. But theroute it had mapped out to attain that goal took away the breath of thehardiest native, born and bred to the vicissitudes of the Northwest. Even Jacques Baptiste, born of a Chippewa woman and a renegade voyageur(having raised his first whimpers in a deerskin lodge north of thesixty-fifth parallel, and had the same hushed by blissful sucks of rawtallow), was surprised. Though he sold his services to them and agreedto travel even to the never-opening ice, he shook his head ominouslywhenever his advice was asked. 

Percy Cuthfert's evil star must have been in the ascendant, for he, too, joined this company of argonauts. He was an ordinary man, with abank account as deep as his culture, which is saying a good deal. Hehad no reason to embark on such a venture--no reason in the world savethat he suffered from an abnormal development of sentimentality. Hemistook this for the true spirit of romance and adventure. Many anotherman has done the like, and made as fatal a mistake. 

The first break-up of spring found the party following the ice-run ofElk River. It was an imposing fleet, for the outfit was large, and theywere accompanied by a disreputable contingent of half-breed voyageurswith their women and children. Day in and day out, they labored withthe bateaux and canoes, fought mosquitoes and other kindred pests, orsweated and swore at the portages. Severe toil like this lays a mannaked to the very roots of his soul, and ere Lake Athabasca was lost inthe south, each member of the party had hoisted his true colors. 

The two shirks and chronic grumblers were Carter Weatherbee and PercyCuthfert. The whole party complained less of its aches and pains thandid either of them. Not once did they volunteer for the thousand andone petty duties of the camp. A bucket of water to be brought, an extraarmful of wood to be chopped, the dishes to be washed and wiped, asearch to be made through the outfit for some suddenly indispensablearticle--and these two effete scions of civilization discovered sprainsor blisters requiring instant attention. 

They were the first to turn in at night, with score of tasks yetundone; the last to turn out in the morning, when the start should bein readiness before the breakfast was begun. 

They were the first to fall to at mealtime, the last to have a hand inthe cooking; the first to dive for a slim delicacy, the last todiscover they had added to their own another man's share. If theytoiled at the oars, they slyly cut the water at each stroke and allowedthe boat's momentum to float up the blade. They thought nobody noticed;but their comrades swore under their breaths and grew to hate them, while Jacques Baptiste sneered openly and damned them from morning tillnight. But Jacques Baptiste was no gentleman. 

At the Great Slave, Hudson Bay dogs were purchased, and the fleet sankto the guards with its added burden of dried fish and pemican. Thencanoe and bateau answered to the swift current of the Mackenzie, andthey plunged into the Great Barren Ground. Every likely-looking'feeder' was prospected, but the elusive 'pay-dirt' danced ever to thenorth. At the Great Bear, overcome by the common dread of the UnknownLands, their voyageurs began to desert, and Fort of Good Hope saw thelast and bravest bending to the towlines as they bucked the currentdown which they had so treacherously glided. 

Jacques Baptiste alone remained. Had he not sworn to travel even to thenever-opening ice? The lying charts, compiled in main from hearsay, were now constantly consulted. 

And they felt the need of hurry, for the sun had already passed itsnorthern solstice and was leading the winter south again. Skirting theshores of the bay, where the Mackenzie disembogues into the ArcticOcean, they entered the mouth of the Little Peel River. Then began thearduous up-stream toil, and the two Incapables fared worse than ever. Towline and pole, paddle and tumpline, rapids and portages--suchtortures served to give the one a deep disgust for great hazards, andprinted for the other a fiery text on the true romance of adventure. One day they waxed mutinous, and being vilely cursed by JacquesBaptiste, turned, as worms sometimes will. But the half-breed thrashedthe twain, and sent them, bruised and bleeding, about their work. Itwas the first time either had been manhandled. 

Abandoning their river craft at the headwaters of the Little Peel, theyconsumed the rest of the summer in the great portage over the Mackenziewatershed to the West Rat. This little stream fed the Porcupine, whichin turn joined the Yukon where that mighty highway of the Northcountermarches on the Arctic Circle. 

But they had lost in the race with winter, and one day they tied theirrafts to the thick eddy-ice and hurried their goods ashore. That nightthe river jammed and broke several times; the following morning it hadfallen asleep for good. 'We can't be more'n four hundred miles from theYukon, ' concluded Sloper, multiplying his thumb nails by the scale ofthe map. The council, in which the two Incapables had whined toexcellent disadvantage, was drawing to a close. 

'Hudson Bay Post, long time ago. No use um now. ' Jacques Baptiste'sfather had made the trip for the Fur Company in the old days, incidentally marking the trail with a couple of frozen toes. 

Sufferin' cracky!' cried another of the party. 'No whites?' 'Narywhite, ' Sloper sententiously affirmed; 'but it's only five hundred moreup the Yukon to Dawson. Call it a rough thousand from here. ' Weatherbeeand Cuthfert groaned in chorus. 

'How long'll that take, Baptiste?' The half-breed figured for a moment. 'Workum like hell, no man play out, ten--twenty--forty--fifty days. Umbabies come' (designating the Incapables), 'no can tell. Mebbe whenhell freeze over; mebbe not then. ' The manufacture of snowshoes andmoccasins ceased. Somebody called the name of an absent member, whocame out of an ancient cabin at the edge of the campfire and joinedthem. The cabin was one of the many mysteries which lurk in the vastrecesses of the North. Built when and by whom, no man could tell. 

Two graves in the open, piled high with stones, perhaps contained thesecret of those early wanderers. But whose hand had piled the stones?The moment had come. Jacques Baptiste paused in the fitting of aharness and pinned the struggling dog in the snow. The cook made muteprotest for delay, threw a handful of bacon into a noisy pot of beans, then came to attention. Sloper rose to his feet. His body was aludicrous contrast to the healthy physiques of the Incapables. Yellowand weak, fleeing from a South American fever-hole, he had not brokenhis flight across the zones, and was still able to toil with men. Hisweight was probably ninety pounds, with the heavy hunting knife thrownin, and his grizzled hair told of a prime which had ceased to be. Thefresh young muscles of either Weatherbee or Cuthfert were equal to tentimes the endeavor of his; yet he could walk them into the earth in aday's journey. And all this day he had whipped his stronger comradesinto venturing a thousand miles of the stiffest hardship man canconceive. He was the incarnation of the unrest of his race, and the oldTeutonic stubbornness, dashed with the quick grasp and action of theYankee, held the flesh in the bondage of the spirit. 

'All those in favor of going on with the dogs as soon as the ice sets, say ay. ' 'Ay!' rang out eight voices--voices destined to string a trailof oaths along many a hundred miles of pain. 

'Contrary minded?' 'No!' For the first time the Incapables were unitedwithout some compromise of personal interests. 

'And what are you going to do about it?' Weatherbee added belligerently. 

'Majority rule! Majority rule!' clamored the rest of the party. 

'I know the expedition is liable to fall through if you don't come, 'Sloper replied sweetly; 'but I guess, if we try real hard, we canmanage to do without you. 

What do you say, boys?' The sentiment was cheered to the echo. 

'But I say, you know, ' Cuthfert ventured apprehensively; 'what's a chaplike me to do?'

'Ain't you coming with us. ' 'No--o. ' 'Then do as you damn well please. We won't have nothing to say. ' 'Kind o' calkilate yuh might settle itwith that canoodlin' pardner of yourn, ' suggested a heavy-goingWesterner from the Dakotas, at the same time pointing out Weatherbee. 'He'll be shore to ask yuh what yur a-goin' to do when it comes tocookin' an' gatherin' the wood. ' 'Then we'll consider it all arranged, 'concluded Sloper. 

'We'll pull out tomorrow, if we camp within five miles--just to geteverything in running order and remember if we've forgotten anything. 'The sleds groaned by on their steel-shod runners, and the dogs strainedlow in the harnesses in which they were born to die. 

Jacques Baptiste paused by the side of Sloper to get a last glimpse ofthe cabin. The smoke curled up pathetically from the Yukon stovepipe. The two Incapables were watching them from the doorway. 

Sloper laid his hand on the other's shoulder. 

'Jacques Baptiste, did you ever hear of the Kilkenny cats?' Thehalf-breed shook his head. 

'Well, my friend and good comrade, the Kilkenny cats fought tillneither hide, nor hair, nor yowl, was left. You understand?--tillnothing was left. Very good. 

Now, these two men don't like work. They'll be all alone in that cabinall winter--a mighty long, dark winter. Kilkenny cats--well?' TheFrenchman in Baptiste shrugged his shoulders, but the Indian in him wassilent. Nevertheless, it was an eloquent shrug, pregnant with prophecy. Things prospered in the little cabin at first. The rough badinage oftheir comrades had made Weatherbee and Cuthfert conscious of the mutualresponsibility which had devolved upon them; besides, there was not somuch work after all for two healthy men. And the removal of the cruelwhiphand, or in other words the bulldozing half-breed, had brought withit a joyous reaction. At first, each strove to outdo the other, andthey performed petty tasks with an unction which would have opened theeyes of their comrades who were now wearing out bodies and souls on theLong Trail. 

All care was banished. The forest, which shouldered in upon them fromthree sides, was an inexhaustible woodyard. A few yards from their doorslept the Porcupine, and a hole through its winter robe formed abubbling spring of water, crystal clear and painfully cold. But theysoon grew to find fault with even that. The hole would persist infreezing up, and thus gave them many a miserable hour of ice-chopping. The unknown builders of the cabin had extended the sidelogs so as tosupport a cache at the rear. In this was stored the bulk of the party'sprovisions. 

Food there was, without stint, for three times the men who were fatedto live upon it. But the most of it was the kind which built up brawnand sinew, but did not tickle the palate. 

True, there was sugar in plenty for two ordinary men; but these twowere little else than children. They early discovered the virtues ofhot water judiciously saturated with sugar, and they prodigally swamtheir flapjacks and soaked their crusts in the rich, white syrup. 

Then coffee and tea, and especially the dried fruits, made disastrousinroads upon it. The first words they had were over the sugar question. And it is a really serious thing when two men, wholly dependent uponeach other for company, begin to quarrel. 

Weatherbee loved to discourse blatantly on politics, while Cuthfert, who had been prone to clip his coupons and let the commonwealth jog onas best it might, either ignored the subject or delivered himself ofstartling epigrams. But the clerk was too obtuse to appreciate theclever shaping of thought, and this waste of ammunition irritatedCuthfert. 

He had been used to blinding people by his brilliancy, and it workedhim quite a hardship, this loss of an audience. He felt personallyaggrieved and unconsciously held his muttonhead companion responsiblefor it. 

Save existence, they had nothing in common--came in touch on no singlepoint. 

Weatherbee was a clerk who had known naught but clerking all his life;Cuthfert was a master of arts, a dabbler in oils, and had written not alittle. The one was a lower-class man who considered himself agentleman, and the other was a gentleman who knew himself to be such. From this it may be remarked that a man can be a gentleman withoutpossessing the first instinct of true comradeship. The clerk was assensuous as the other was aesthetic, and his love adventures, told atgreat length and chiefly coined from his imagination, affected thesupersensitive master of arts in the same way as so many whiffs ofsewer gas. He deemed the clerk a filthy, uncultured brute, whose placewas in the muck with the swine, and told him so; and he wasreciprocally informed that he was a milk-and-water sissy and a cad. Weatherbee could not have defined 'cad' for his life; but it satisfiedits purpose, which after all seems the main point in life. 

Weatherbee flatted every third note and sang such songs as 'The BostonBurglar' and 'the Handsome Cabin Boy, ' for hours at a time, whileCuthfert wept with rage, till he could stand it no longer and fled intothe outer cold. But there was no escape. The intense frost could not beendured for long at a time, and the little cabin crowded them--beds, stove, table, and all--into a space of ten by twelve. The very presenceof either became a personal affront to the other, and they lapsed intosullen silences which increased in length and strength as the days wentby. Occasionally, the flash of an eye or the curl of a lip got thebetter of them, though they strove to wholly ignore each other duringthese mute periods. 

And a great wonder sprang up in the breast of each, as to how God hadever come to create the other. 

With little to do, time became an intolerable burden to them. Thisnaturally made them still lazier. They sank into a physical lethargywhich there was no escaping, and which made them rebel at theperformance of the smallest chore. One morning when it was his turn tocook the common breakfast, Weatherbee rolled out of his blankets, andto the snoring of his companion, lighted first the slush lamp and thenthe fire. The kettles were frozen hard, and there was no water in thecabin with which to wash. But he did not mind that. Waiting for it tothaw, he sliced the bacon and plunged into the hateful task ofbread-making. Cuthfert had been slyly watching through his half-closedlids. 

Consequently there was a scene, in which they fervently blessed eachother, and agreed, henceforth, that each do his own cooking. A weeklater, Cuthfert neglected his morning ablutions, but none the lesscomplacently ate the meal which he had cooked. Weatherbee grinned. After that the foolish custom of washing passed out of their lives. 

As the sugar-pile and other little luxuries dwindled, they began to beafraid they were not getting their proper shares, and in order thatthey might not be robbed, they fell to gorging themselves. The luxuriessuffered in this gluttonous contest, as did also the men. 

In the absence of fresh vegetables and exercise, their blood becameimpoverished, and a loathsome, purplish rash crept over their bodies. Yet they refused to heed the warning. 

Next, their muscles and joints began to swell, the flesh turning black, while their mouths, gums, and lips took on the color of rich cream. Instead of being drawn together by their misery, each gloated over theother's symptoms as the scurvy took its course. 

They lost all regard for personal appearance, and for that matter, common decency. The cabin became a pigpen, and never once were the bedsmade or fresh pine boughs laid underneath. Yet they could not keep totheir blankets, as they would have wished; for the frost wasinexorable, and the fire box consumed much fuel. The hair of theirheads and faces grew long and shaggy, while their garments would havedisgusted a ragpicker. But they did not care. They were sick, and therewas no one to see; besides, it was very painful to move about. 

To all this was added a new trouble--the Fear of the North. This Fearwas the joint child of the Great Cold and the Great Silence, and wasborn in the darkness of December, when the sun dipped below the horizonfor good. It affected them according to their natures. 

Weatherbee fell prey to the grosser superstitions, and did his best toresurrect the spirits which slept in the forgotten graves. It was afascinating thing, and in his dreams they came to him from out of thecold, and snuggled into his blankets, and told him of their toils andtroubles ere they died. He shrank away from the clammy contact as theydrew closer and twined their frozen limbs about him, and when theywhispered in his ear of things to come, the cabin rang with hisfrightened shrieks. Cuthfert did not understand--for they no longerspoke--and when thus awakened he invariably grabbed for his revolver. Then he would sit up in bed, shivering nervously, with the weapontrained on the unconscious dreamer. Cuthfert deemed the man going mad, and so came to fear for his life. 

His own malady assumed a less concrete form. The mysterious artisan whohad laid the cabin, log by log, had pegged a wind-vane to theridgepole. Cuthfert noticed it always pointed south, and one day, irritated by its steadfastness of purpose, he turned it toward theeast. He watched eagerly, but never a breath came by to disturb it. Then he turned the vane to the north, swearing never again to touch ittill the wind did blow. But the air frightened him with its unearthlycalm, and he often rose in the middle of the night to see if the vanehad veered--ten degrees would have satisfied him. But no, it poisedabove him as unchangeable as fate. 

His imagination ran riot, till it became to him a fetish. Sometimes hefollowed the path it pointed across the dismal dominions, and allowedhis soul to become saturated with the Fear. He dwelt upon the unseenand the unknown till the burden of eternity appeared to be crushinghim. Everything in the Northland had that crushing effect--the absenceof life and motion; the darkness; the infinite peace of the broodingland; the ghastly silence, which made the echo of each heartbeat asacrilege; the solemn forest which seemed to guard an awful, inexpressible something, which neither word nor thought could compass. 

The world he had so recently left, with its busy nations and greatenterprises, seemed very far away. Recollections occasionallyobtruded--recollections of marts and galleries and crowdedthoroughfares, of evening dress and social functions, of good men anddear women he had known--but they were dim memories of a life he hadlived long centuries agone, on some other planet. This phantasm was theReality. Standing beneath the wind-vane, his eyes fixed on the polarskies, he could not bring himself to realize that the Southland reallyexisted, that at that very moment it was a-roar with life and action. 

There was no Southland, no men being born of women, no giving andtaking in marriage. 

Beyond his bleak skyline there stretched vast solitudes, and beyondthese still vaster solitudes. 

There were no lands of sunshine, heavy with the perfume of flowers. Such things were only old dreams of paradise. The sunlands of the Westand the spicelands of the East, the smiling Arcadias and blissfulIslands of the Blest--ha! ha! His laughter split the void and shockedhim with its unwonted sound. There was no sun. 

This was the Universe, dead and cold and dark, and he its only citizen. Weatherbee? At such moments Weatherbee did not count. He was a Caliban, a monstrous phantom, fettered to him for untold ages, the penalty ofsome forgotten crime. 

He lived with Death among the dead, emasculated by the sense of his owninsignificance, crushed by the passive mastery of the slumbering ages. The magnitude of all things appalled him. Everything partook of thesuperlative save himself--the perfect cessation of wind and motion, theimmensity of the snow-covered wildness, the height of the sky and thedepth of the silence. That wind-vane--if it would only move. If athunderbolt would fall, or the forest flare up in flame. 

The rolling up of the heavens as a scroll, the crash of Doom--anything, anything! But no, nothing moved; the Silence crowded in, and the Fearof the North laid icy fingers on his heart. 

Once, like another Crusoe, by the edge of the river he came upon atrack--the faint tracery of a snowshoe rabbit on the delicatesnow-crust. It was a revelation. 

There was life in the Northland. He would follow it, look upon it, gloat over it. 

He forgot his swollen muscles, plunging through the deep snow in anecstasy of anticipation. The forest swallowed him up, and the briefmidday twilight vanished; but he pursued his quest till exhaustednature asserted itself and laid him helpless in the snow. 

There he groaned and cursed his folly, and knew the track to be thefancy of his brain; and late that night he dragged himself into thecabin on hands and knees, his cheeks frozen and a strange numbnessabout his feet. Weatherbee grinned malevolently, but made no offer tohelp him. He thrust needles into his toes and thawed them out by thestove. A week later mortification set in. 

But the clerk had his own troubles. The dead men came out of theirgraves more frequently now, and rarely left him, waking or sleeping. Hegrew to wait and dread their coming, never passing the twin cairnswithout a shudder. One night they came to him in his sleep and led himforth to an appointed task. Frightened into inarticulate horror, heawoke between the heaps of stones and fled wildly to the cabin. But hehad lain there for some time, for his feet and cheeks were also frozen. 

Sometimes he became frantic at their insistent presence, and dancedabout the cabin, cutting the empty air with an axe, and smashingeverything within reach. 

During these ghostly encounters, Cuthfert huddled into his blankets andfollowed the madman about with a cocked revolver, ready to shoot him ifhe came too near. 

But, recovering from one of these spells, the clerk noticed the weapontrained upon him. 

His suspicions were aroused, and thenceforth he, too, lived in fear ofhis life. They watched each other closely after that, and faced aboutin startled fright whenever either passed behind the other's back. Theapprehensiveness became a mania which controlled them even in theirsleep. Through mutual fear they tacitly let the slush-lamp burn allnight, and saw to a plentiful supply of bacon-grease before retiring. The slightest movement on the part of one was sufficient to arouse theother, and many a still watch their gazes countered as they shookbeneath their blankets with fingers on the trigger-guards. 

What with the Fear of the North, the mental strain, and the ravages ofthe disease, they lost all semblance of humanity, taking on theappearance of wild beasts, hunted and desperate. Their cheeks andnoses, as an aftermath of the freezing, had turned black. 

Their frozen toes had begun to drop away at the first and secondjoints. Every movement brought pain, but the fire box was insatiable, wringing a ransom of torture from their miserable bodies. Day in, dayout, it demanded its food--a veritable pound of flesh--and they draggedthemselves into the forest to chop wood on their knees. Once, crawlingthus in search of dry sticks, unknown to each other they entered athicket from opposite sides. 

Suddenly, without warning, two peering death's-heads confronted eachother. Suffering had so transformed them that recognition wasimpossible. They sprang to their feet, shrieking with terror, anddashed away on their mangled stumps; and falling at the cabin's door, they clawed and scratched like demons till they discovered theirmistake. 

Occasionally they lapsed normal, and during one of these saneintervals, the chief bone of contention, the sugar, had been dividedequally between them. They guarded their separate sacks, stored up inthe cache, with jealous eyes; for there were but a few cupfuls left, and they were totally devoid of faith in each other. 

But one day Cuthfert made a mistake. Hardly able to move, sick withpain, with his head swimming and eyes blinded, he crept into the cache, sugar canister in hand, and mistook Weatherbee's sack for his own. 

January had been born but a few days when this occurred. The sun hadsome time since passed its lowest southern declination, and at meridiannow threw flaunting streaks of yellow light upon the northern sky. Onthe day following his mistake with the sugar-bag, Cuthfert foundhimself feeling better, both in body and in spirit. As noontime drewnear and the day brightened, he dragged himself outside to feast on theevanescent glow, which was to him an earnest of the sun's futureintentions. Weatherbee was also feeling somewhat better, and crawledout beside him. They propped themselves in the snow beneath themoveless wind-vane, and waited. 

The stillness of death was about them. In other climes, when naturefalls into such moods, there is a subdued air of expectancy, a waitingfor some small voice to take up the broken strain. Not so in the North. The two men had lived seeming eons in this ghostly peace. 

They could remember no song of the past; they could conjure no song ofthe future. This unearthly calm had always been--the tranquil silenceof eternity. 

Their eyes were fixed upon the north. Unseen, behind their backs, behind the towering mountains to the south, the sun swept toward thezenith of another sky than theirs. Sole spectators of the mightycanvas, they watched the false dawn slowly grow. A faint flame began toglow and smoulder. It deepened in intensity, ringing the changes ofreddish-yellow, purple, and saffron. So bright did it become thatCuthfert thought the sun must surely be behind it--a miracle, the sunrising in the north! Suddenly, without warning and without fading, thecanvas was swept clean. There was no color in the sky. The light hadgone out of the day. 

They caught their breaths in half-sobs. But lo! the air was aglint withparticles of scintillating frost, and there, to the north, thewind-vane lay in vague outline of the snow. 

A shadow! A shadow! It was exactly midday. They jerked their headshurriedly to the south. A golden rim peeped over the mountain's snowyshoulder, smiled upon them an instant, then dipped from sight again. 

There were tears in their eyes as they sought each other. A strangesoftening came over them. They felt irresistibly drawn toward eachother. The sun was coming back again. It would be with them tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. 

And it would stay longer every visit, and a time would come when itwould ride their heaven day and night, never once dropping below theskyline. There would be no night. 

The ice-locked winter would be broken; the winds would blow and theforests answer; the land would bathe in the blessed sunshine, and liferenew. 

Hand in hand, they would quit this horrid dream and journey back to theSouthland. They lurched blindly forward, and their hands met--theirpoor maimed hands, swollen and distorted beneath their mittens. 

But the promise was destined to remain unfulfilled. The Northland isthe Northland, and men work out their souls by strange rules, whichother men, who have not journeyed into far countries, cannot come tounderstand. 

An hour later, Cuthfert put a pan of bread into the oven, and fell tospeculating on what the surgeons could do with his feet when he gotback. Home did not seem so very far away now. Weatherbee was rummagingin the cache. Of a sudden, he raised a whirlwind of blasphemy, which inturn ceased with startling abruptness. The other man had robbed hissugar-sack. Still, things might have happened differently, had not thetwo dead men come out from under the stones and hushed the hot words inhis throat. They led him quite gently from the cache, which he forgotto close. That consummation was reached; that something they hadwhispered to him in his dreams was about to happen. They guided himgently, very gently, to the woodpile, where they put the axe in hishands. 

Then they helped him shove open the cabin door, and he felt sure theyshut it after him--at least he heard it slam and the latch fall sharplyinto place. And he knew they were waiting just without, waiting for himto do his task. 

'Carter! I say, Carter!' Percy Cuthfert was frightened at the look onthe clerk's face, and he made haste to put the table between them. 

Carter Weatherbee followed, without haste and without enthusiasm. Therewas neither pity nor passion in his face, but rather the patient, stolid look of one who has certain work to do and goes about itmethodically. 

'I say, what's the matter?'

The clerk dodged back, cutting off his retreat to the door, but neveropening his mouth. 

'I say, Carter, I say; let's talk. There's a good chap. ' The master ofarts was thinking rapidly, now, shaping a skillful flank movement onthe bed where his Smith & Wesson lay. Keeping his eyes on the madman, he rolled backward on the bunk, at the same time clutching the pistol. 

'Carter!' The powder flashed full in Weatherbee's face, but he swunghis weapon and leaped forward. The axe bit deeply at the base of thespine, and Percy Cuthfert felt all consciousness of his lower limbsleave him. Then the clerk fell heavily upon him, clutching him by thethroat with feeble fingers. The sharp bite of the axe had causedCuthfert to drop the pistol, and as his lungs panted for release, hefumbled aimlessly for it among the blankets. Then he remembered. Heslid a hand up the clerk's belt to the sheath-knife; and they drew veryclose to each other in that last clinch. 

Percy Cuthfert felt his strength leave him. The lower portion of hisbody was useless, The inert weight of Weatherbee crushed him--crushedhim and pinned him there like a bear under a trap. The cabin becamefilled with a familiar odor, and he knew the bread to be burning. Yetwhat did it matter? He would never need it. And there were all of sixcupfuls of sugar in the cache--if he had foreseen this he would nothave been so saving the last several days. Would the wind-vane evermove? Why not' Had he not seen the sun today? He would go and see. No;it was impossible to move. He had not thought the clerk so heavy a man. 

How quickly the cabin cooled! The fire must be out. The cold wasforcing in. 

It must be below zero already, and the ice creeping up the inside ofthe door. He could not see it, but his past experience enabled him togauge its progress by the cabin's temperature. The lower hinge must bewhite ere now. Would the tale of this ever reach the world? How wouldhis friends take it? They would read it over their coffee, most likely, and talk it over at the clubs. He could see them very clearly, 'PoorOld Cuthfert, ' they murmured; 'not such a bad sort of a chap, afterall. ' He smiled at their eulogies, and passed on in search of a Turkishbath. It was the same old crowd upon the streets. 

Strange, they did not notice his moosehide moccasins and tatteredGerman socks! He would take a cab. And after the bath a shave would notbe bad. No; he would eat first. 

Steak, and potatoes, and green things how fresh it all was! And whatwas that? Squares of honey, streaming liquid amber! But why did theybring so much? Ha! ha! he could never eat it all. 

Shine! Why certainly. He put his foot on the box. The bootblack lookedcuriously up at him, and he remembered his moosehide moccasins and wentaway hastily. 

Hark! The wind-vane must be surely spinning. No; a mere singing in hisears. 

That was all--a mere singing. The ice must have passed the latch bynow. More likely the upper hinge was covered. Between the moss-chinkedroof-poles, little points of frost began to appear. How slowly theygrew! No; not so slowly. There was a new one, and there another. Two--three--four; they were coming too fast to count. There were twogrowing together. And there, a third had joined them. 

Why, there were no more spots. They had run together and formed a sheet. 

Well, he would have company. If Gabriel ever broke the silence of theNorth, they would stand together, hand in hand, before the great WhiteThrone. And God would judge them, God would judge them!

Then Percy Cuthfert closed his eyes and dropped off to sleep. 

To the Man on the Trail

'Dump it in!. ' 'But I say, Kid, isn't that going it a little toostrong? Whisky and alcohol's bad enough; but when it comes to brandyand pepper sauce and-' 'Dump it in. Who's making this punch, anyway?'And Malemute Kid smiled benignantly through the clouds of steam. 'Bythe time you've been in this country as long as I have, my son, andlived on rabbit tracks and salmon belly, you'll learn that Christmascomes only once per annum. 

And a Christmas without punch is sinking a hole to bedrock with nary apay streak. '

'Stack up on that fer a high cyard, ' approved Big Jim Belden, who hadcome down from his claim on Mazy May to spend Christmas, and who, aseveryone knew, had been living the two months past on straight moosemeat. 'Hain't fergot the hooch we-uns made on the Tanana, hey yeh?''Well, I guess yes. Boys, it would have done your hearts good to seethat whole tribe fighting drunk--and all because of a glorious fermentof sugar and sour dough. That was before your time, ' Malemute Kid saidas he turned to Stanley Prince, a young mining expert who had been intwo years. 'No white women in the country then, and Mason wanted to getmarried. Ruth's father was chief of the Tananas, and objected, like therest of the tribe. Stiff? Why, I used my last pound of sugar; finestwork in that line I ever did in my life. You should have seen thechase, down the river and across the portage. ' 'But the squaw?' askedLouis Savoy, the tall French Canadian, becoming interested; for he hadheard of this wild deed when at Forty Mile the preceding winter. 

Then Malemute Kid, who was a born raconteur, told the unvarnished taleof the Northland Lochinvar. More than one rough adventurer of the Northfelt his heartstrings draw closer and experienced vague yearnings forthe sunnier pastures of the Southland, where life promised somethingmore than a barren struggle with cold and death. 

'We struck the Yukon just behind the first ice run, ' he concluded, 'andthe tribe only a quarter of an hour behind. But that saved us; for thesecond run broke the jam above and shut them out. When they finally gotinto Nuklukyeto, the whole post was ready for them. 

'And as to the forgathering, ask Father Roubeau here: he performed theceremony. ' The Jesuit took the pipe from his lips but could onlyexpress his gratification with patriarchal smiles, while Protestant andCatholic vigorously applauded. 

'By gar!' ejaculated Louis Savoy, who seemed overcome by the romance ofit. 'La petite squaw: mon Mason brav. By gar!' Then, as the first tincups of punch went round, Bettles the Unquenchable sprang to his feetand struck up his favorite drinking song: 'There's Henry Ward BeecherAnd Sunday-school teachers, All drink of the sassafras root; But youbet all the same, If it had its right name, It's the juice of theforbidden fruit. '

'Oh, the juice of the forbidden fruit, ' roared out the bacchanalianchorus, 'Oh, the juice of the forbidden fruit; But you bet all thesame, If it had its right name, It's the juice of the forbidden fruit. '

Malemute Kid's frightful concoction did its work; the men of the campsand trails unbent in its genial glow, and jest and song and tales ofpast adventure went round the board. 

Aliens from a dozen lands, they toasted each and all. It was theEnglishman, Prince, who pledged 'Uncle Sam, the precocious infant ofthe New World'; the Yankee, Bettles, who drank to 'The Queen, God blessher'; and together, Savoy and Meyers, the German trader, clanged theircups to Alsace and Lorraine. 

Then Malemute Kid arose, cup in hand, and glanced at the greased-paperwindow, where the frost stood full three inches thick. 'A health to theman on trail this night; may his grub hold out; may his dogs keep theirlegs; may his matches never miss fire. ' Crack!

Crack! heard the familiar music of the dog whip, the whining howl ofthe Malemutes, and the crunch of a sled as it drew up to the cabin. Conversation languished while they waited the issue. 

'An old-timer; cares for his dogs and then himself, ' whispered MalemuteKid to Prince as they listened to the snapping jaws and the wolfishsnarls and yelps of pain which proclaimed to their practiced ears thatthe stranger was beating back their dogs while he fed his own. 

Then came the expected knock, sharp and confident, and the strangerentered. 

Dazzled by the light, he hesitated a moment at the door, giving to alla chance for scrutiny. He was a striking personage, and a mostpicturesque one, in his Arctic dress of wool and fur. Standing six foottwo or three, with proportionate breadth of shoulders and depth ofchest, his smooth-shaven face nipped by the cold to a gleaming pink, his long lashes and eyebrows white with ice, and the ear and neck flapsof his great wolfskin cap loosely raised, he seemed, of a verity, theFrost King, just stepped in out of the night. 

Clasped outside his Mackinaw jacket, a beaded belt held two largeColt's revolvers and a hunting knife, while he carried, in addition tothe inevitable dog whip, a smokeless rifle of the largest bore andlatest pattern. As he came forward, for all his step was firm andelastic, they could see that fatigue bore heavily upon him. 

An awkward silence had fallen, but his hearty 'What cheer, my lads?'put them quickly at ease, and the next instant Malemute Kid and he hadgripped hands. Though they had never met, each had heard of the other, and the recognition was mutual. A sweeping introduction and a mug ofpunch were forced upon him before he could explain his errand. 

How long since that basket sled, with three men and eight dogs, passed?' he asked. 

'An even two days ahead. Are you after them?' 'Yes; my team. Run themoff under my very nose, the cusses. I've gained two days on themalready--pick them up on the next run. ' 'Reckon they'll show spunk?'asked Belden, in order to keep up the conversation, for Malemute Kidalready had the coffeepot on and was busily frying bacon and moose meat. 

The stranger significantly tapped his revolvers. 

'When'd yeh leave Dawson?' 'Twelve o'clock. ' 'Last night?'--as a matterof course. 

'Today. ' A murmur of surprise passed round the circle. And well itmight; for it was just midnight, and seventy-five miles of rough rivertrail was not to be sneered at for a twelve hours' run. 

The talk soon became impersonal, however, harking back to the trails ofchildhood. As the young stranger ate of the rude fare Malemute Kidattentively studied his face. Nor was he long in deciding that it wasfair, honest, and open, and that he liked it. Still youthful, the lineshad been firmly traced by toil and hardship. 

Though genial in conversation, and mild when at rest, the blue eyesgave promise of the hard steel-glitter which comes when called intoaction, especially against odds. The heavy jaw and square-cut chindemonstrated rugged pertinacity and indomitability. Nor, though theattributes of the lion were there, was there wanting the certainsoftness, the hint of womanliness, which bespoke the emotional nature. 

'So thet's how me an' the ol' woman got spliced, ' said Belden, concluding the exciting tale of his courtship. '"Here we be, Dad, " sezshe. "An' may yeh be damned, " sez he to her, an' then to me, "Jim, yeh--yeh git outen them good duds o' yourn; I want a right peart sliceo' thet forty acre plowed 'fore dinner. " An' then he sort o' sniffledan' kissed her. An' I was thet happy--but he seen me an' roars out, "Yeh, Jim!" An' yeh bet I dusted fer the barn. ' 'Any kids waiting foryou back in the States?' asked the stranger. 

'Nope; Sal died 'fore any come. Thet's why I'm here. ' Beldenabstractedly began to light his pipe, which had failed to go out, andthen brightened up with, 'How 'bout yerself, stranger--married man?'For reply, he opened his watch, slipped it from the thong which servedfor a chain, and passed it over. Belden picked up the slush lamp, surveyed the inside of the case critically, and, swearing admiringly tohimself, handed it over to Louis Savoy. With numerous 'By gars!' hefinally surrendered it to Prince, and they noticed that his handstrembled and his eyes took on a peculiar softness. And so it passedfrom horny hand to horny hand--the pasted photograph of a woman, theclinging kind that such men fancy, with a babe at the breast. Those whohad not yet seen the wonder were keen with curiosity; those who hadbecame silent and retrospective. They could face the pinch of famine, the grip of scurvy, or the quick death by field or flood; but thepictured semblance of a stranger woman and child made women andchildren of them all. 

'Never have seen the youngster yet--he's a boy, she says, and two yearsold, ' said the stranger as he received the treasure back. A lingeringmoment he gazed upon it, then snapped the case and turned away, but notquick enough to hide the restrained rush of tears. Malemute Kid ledhim to a bunk and bade him turn in. 

'Call me at four sharp. Don't fail me, ' were his last words, and amoment later he was breathing in the heaviness of exhausted sleep. 

'By Jove! He's a plucky chap, ' commented Prince. 'Three hours' sleepafter seventy-five miles with the dogs, and then the trail again. Whois he, Kid?' 'Jack Westondale. Been in going on three years, withnothing but the name of working like a horse, and any amount of badluck to his credit. I never knew him, but Sitka Charley told me abouthim. ' 'It seems hard that a man with a sweet young wife like his shouldbe putting in his years in this Godforsaken hole, where every yearcounts two on the outside. ' 'The trouble with him is clean grit andstubbornness. He's cleaned up twice with a stake, but lost it bothtimes. ' Here the conversation was broken off by an uproar from Bettles, for the effect had begun to wear away. And soon the bleak years ofmonotonous grub and deadening toil were being forgotten in roughmerriment. Malemute Kid alone seemed unable to lose himself, and castmany an anxious look at his watch. Once he put on his mittens andbeaver-skin cap, and, leaving the cabin, fell to rummaging about in thecache. 

Nor could he wait the hour designated; for he was fifteen minutes aheadof time in rousing his guest. The young giant had stiffened badly, andbrisk rubbing was necessary to bring him to his feet. He totteredpainfully out of the cabin, to find his dogs harnessed and everythingready for the start. The company wished him good luck and a shortchase, while Father Roubeau, hurriedly blessing him, led the stampedefor the cabin; and small wonder, for it is not good to faceseventy-four degrees below zero with naked ears and hands. 

Malemute Kid saw him to the main trail, and there, gripping his handheartily, gave him advice. 

'You'll find a hundred pounds of salmon eggs on the sled, ' he said. 'The dogs will go as far on that as with one hundred and fifty of fish, and you can't get dog food at Pelly, as you probably expected. ' Thestranger started, and his eyes flashed, but he did not interrupt. 'Youcan't get an ounce of food for dog or man till you reach Five Fingers, and that's a stiff two hundred miles. Watch out for open water on theThirty Mile River, and be sure you take the big cutoff above Le Barge. ''How did you know it? Surely the news can't be ahead of me already?' 'Idon't know it; and what's more, I don't want to know it. But you neverowned that team you're chasing. Sitka Charley sold it to them lastspring. But he sized you up to me as square once, and I believe him. I've seen your face; I like it. And I've seen--why, damn you, hit thehigh places for salt water and that wife of yours, and--' Here the Kidunmittened and jerked out his sack. 

'No; I don't need it, ' and the tears froze on his cheeks as heconvulsively gripped Malemute Kid's hand. 

'Then don't spare the dogs; cut them out of the traces as fast as theydrop; buy them, and think they're cheap at ten dollars a pound. You canget them at Five Fingers, Little Salmon, and Hootalinqua. And watch outfor wet feet, ' was his parting advice. 'Keep a-traveling up totwenty-five, but if it gets below that, build a fire and change yoursocks. '

Fifteen minutes had barely elapsed when the jingle of bells announcednew arrivals. The door opened, and a mounted policeman of the NorthwestTerritory entered, followed by two half-breed dog drivers. LikeWestondale, they were heavily armed and showed signs of fatigue. Thehalf-breeds had been borne to the trail and bore it easily; but theyoung policeman was badly exhausted. Still, the dogged obstinacy of hisrace held him to the pace he had set, and would hold him till hedropped in his tracks. 

'When did Westondale pull out?' he asked. 'He stopped here, didn't he?'This was supererogatory, for the tracks told their own tale too well. 

Malemute Kid had caught Belden's eye, and he, scenting the wind, replied evasively, 'A right peart while back. ' 'Come, my man; speakup, ' the policeman admonished. 

'Yeh seem to want him right smart. Hez he ben gittin' cantankerous downDawson way?'

'Held up Harry McFarland's for forty thousand; exchanged it at the P. C. Store for a check on Seattle; and who's to stop the cashing of it if wedon't overtake him? When did he pull out?'

Every eye suppressed its excitement, for Malemute Kid had given thecue, and the young officer encountered wooden faces on every hand. 

Striding over to Prince, he put the question to him. Though it hurthim, gazing into the frank, earnest face of his fellow countryman, hereplied inconsequentially on the state of the trail. 

Then he espied Father Roubeau, who could not lie. 'A quarter of an hourago, ' the priest answered; 'but he had four hours' rest for himself anddogs. ' 'Fifteen minutes' start, and he's fresh! My God!' The poorfellow staggered back, half fainting from exhaustion anddisappointment, murmuring something about the run from Dawson in tenhours and the dogs being played out. 

Malemute Kid forced a mug of punch upon him; then he turned for thedoor, ordering the dog drivers to follow. But the warmth and promise ofrest were too tempting, and they objected strenuously. The Kid wasconversant with their French patois, and followed it anxiously. 

They swore that the dogs were gone up; that Siwash and Babette wouldhave to be shot before the first mile was covered; that the rest werealmost as bad; and that it would be better for all hands to rest up. 

'Lend me five dogs?' he asked, turning to Malemute Kid. 

But the Kid shook his head. 

'I'll sign a check on Captain Constantine for five thousand--here's mypapers--I'm authorized to draw at my own discretion. '

Again the silent refusal. 

'Then I'll requisition them in the name of the Queen. ' Smilingincredulously, the Kid glanced at his well-stocked arsenal, and theEnglishman, realizing his impotency, turned for the door. But the dogdrivers still objecting, he whirled upon them fiercely, calling themwomen and curs. The swart face of the older half-breed flushed angrilyas he drew himself up and promised in good, round terms that he wouldtravel his leader off his legs, and would then be delighted to planthim in the snow. 

The young officer--and it required his whole will--walked steadily tothe door, exhibiting a freshness he did not possess. But they all knewand appreciated his proud effort; nor could he veil the twinges ofagony that shot across his face. Covered with frost, the dogs werecurled up in the snow, and it was almost impossible to get them totheir feet. The poor brutes whined under the stinging lash, for the dogdrivers were angry and cruel; nor till Babette, the leader, was cutfrom the traces, could they break out the sled and get under way. 

'A dirty scoundrel and a liar!' 'By gar! Him no good!' 'A thief!''Worse than an Indian!'

It was evident that they were angry--first at the way they had beendeceived; and second at the outraged ethics of the Northland, wherehonesty, above all, was man's prime jewel. 

'An' we gave the cuss a hand, after knowin' what he'd did. ' All eyesturned accusingly upon Malemute Kid, who rose from the corner where hehad been making Babette comfortable, and silently emptied the bowl fora final round of punch. 

'It's a cold night, boys--a bitter cold night, ' was the irrelevantcommencement of his defense. 'You've all traveled trail, and know whatthat stands for. Don't jump a dog when he's down. You've only heard oneside. A whiter man than Jack Westondale never ate from the same pot norstretched blanket with you or me. 

'Last fall he gave his whole clean-up, forty thousand, to Joe Castrell, to buy in on Dominion. Today he'd be a millionaire. But, while hestayed behind at Circle City, taking care of his partner with thescurvy, what does Castell do? Goes into McFarland's, jumps the limit, and drops the whole sack. Found him dead in the snow the next day. Andpoor Jack laying his plans to go out this winter to his wife and theboy he's never seen. You'll notice he took exactly what his partnerlost--forty thousand. Well, he's gone out; and what are you going to doabout it?' The Kid glanced round the circle of his judges, noted thesoftening of their faces, then raised his mug aloft. 'So a health tothe man on trail this night; may his grub hold out; may his dogs keeptheir legs; may his matches never miss fire. 

'God prosper him; good luck go with him; and--' 'Confusion to theMounted Police!' cried Bettles, to the crash of the empty cups. 

The Priestly Prerogative

This is the story of a man who did not appreciate his wife; also, of awoman who did him too great an honor when she gave herself to him. Incidentally, it concerns a Jesuit priest who had never been known tolie. He was an appurtenance, and a very necessary one, to the Yukoncountry; but the presence of the other two was merely accidental. Theywere specimens of the many strange waifs which ride the breast of agold rush or come tailing along behind. 

Edwin Bentham and Grace Bentham were waifs; they were also tailingalong behind, for the Klondike rush of '97 had long since swept downthe great river and subsided into the famine-stricken city of Dawson. When the Yukon shut up shop and went to sleep under a three-footice-sheet, this peripatetic couple found themselves at the Five FingerRapids, with the City of Gold still a journey of many sleeps to thenorth. 

Many cattle had been butchered at this place in the fall of the year, and the offal made a goodly heap. The three fellow-voyagers of EdwinBentham and wife gazed upon this deposit, did a little mentalarithmetic, caught a certain glimpse of a bonanza, and decided toremain. And all winter they sold sacks of bones and frozen hides to thefamished dog-teams. It was a modest price they asked, a dollar a pound, just as it came. Six months later, when the sun came back and the Yukonawoke, they buckled on their heavy moneybelts and journeyed back to theSouthland, where they yet live and lie mightily about the Klondike theynever saw. 

But Edwin Bentham--he was an indolent fellow, and had he not beenpossessed of a wife, would have gladly joined issued in the dog-meatspeculation. As it was, she played upon his vanity, told him how greatand strong he was, how a man such as he certainly was could overcomeall obstacles and of a surety obtain the Golden Fleece. So he squaredhis jaw, sold his share in the bones and hides for a sled and one dog, and turned his snowshoes to the north. Needless to state, GraceBentham's snowshoes never allowed his tracks to grow cold. Nay, eretheir tribulations had seen three days, it was the man who followed inthe rear, and the woman who broke trail in advance. Of course, ifanybody hove in sight, the position was instantly reversed. Thus didhis manhood remain virgin to the travelers who passed like ghosts onthe silent trail. There are such men in this world. 

How such a man and such a woman came to take each other for better andfor worse is unimportant to this narrative. These things are familiarto us all, and those people who do them, or even question them tooclosely, are apt to lose a beautiful faith which is known as EternalFitness. 

Edwin Bentham was a boy, thrust by mischance into a man's body, --a boywho could complacently pluck a butterfly, wing from wing, or cower inabject terror before a lean, nervy fellow, not half his size. He was aselfish cry-baby, hidden behind a man's mustache and stature, andglossed over with a skin-deep veneer of culture and conventionality. Yes; he was a clubman and a society man, the sort that grace socialfunctions and utter inanities with a charm and unction which isindescribable; the sort that talk big, and cry over a toothache; thesort that put more hell into a woman's life by marrying her than canthe most graceless libertine that ever browsed in forbidden pastures. We meet these men every day, but we rarely know them for what they are. Second to marrying them, the best way to get this knowledge is to eatout of the same pot and crawl under the same blanket with themfor--well, say a week; no greater margin is necessary. 

To see Grace Bentham, was to see a slender, girlish creature; to knowher, was to know a soul which dwarfed your own, yet retained all theelements of the eternal feminine. This was the woman who urged andencouraged her husband in his Northland quest, who broke trail for himwhen no one was looking, and cried in secret over her weakling woman'sbody. 

So journeyed this strangely assorted couple down to old Fort Selkirk, then through fivescore miles of dismal wilderness to Stuart River. Andwhen the short day left them, and the man lay down in the snow andblubbered, it was the woman who lashed him to the sled, bit her lipswith the pain of her aching limbs, and helped the dog haul him toMalemute Kid's cabin. Malemute Kid was not at home, but Meyers, theGerman trader, cooked great moose-steaks and shook up a bed of freshpine boughs. Lake, Langham, and Parker, were excited, and not unduly sowhen the cause was taken into account. 

'Oh, Sandy! Say, can you tell a porterhouse from a round? Come out andlend us a hand, anyway!' This appeal emanated from the cache, whereLangham was vainly struggling with divers quarters of frozen moose. 

'Don't you budge from those dishes!' commanded Parker. 

'I say, Sandy; there's a good fellow--just run down to the MissouriCamp and borrow some cinnamon, ' begged Lake. 

'Oh! oh! hurry up! Why don't--' But the crash of meat and boxes, in thecache, abruptly quenched this peremptory summons. 

'Come now, Sandy; it won't take a minute to go down to the Missouri--'

'You leave him alone, ' interrupted Parker. 'How am I to mix thebiscuits if the table isn't cleared off?'

Sandy paused in indecision, till suddenly the fact that he wasLangham's 'man' dawned upon him. Then he apologetically threw down thegreasy dishcloth, and went to his master's rescue. 

These promising scions of wealthy progenitors had come to the Northlandin search of laurels, with much money to burn, and a 'man' apiece. Luckily for their souls, the other two men were up the White River insearch of a mythical quartz-ledge; so Sandy had to grin under theresponsibility of three healthy masters, each of whom was possessed ofpeculiar cookery ideas. Twice that morning had a disruption of thewhole camp been imminent, only averted by immense concessions from oneor the other of these knights of the chafing-dish. But at last theirmutual creation, a really dainty dinner, was completed. 

Then they sat down to a three-cornered game of 'cut-throat, '--aproceeding which did away with all casus belli for future hostilities, and permitted the victor to depart on a most important mission. 

This fortune fell to Parker, who parted his hair in the middle, put onhis mittens and bearskin cap, and stepped over to Malemute Kid's cabin. And when he returned, it was in the company of Grace Bentham andMalemute Kid, --the former very sorry her husband could not share withher their hospitality, for he had gone up to look at the HendersonCreek mines, and the latter still a trifle stiff from breaking traildown the Stuart River. 

Meyers had been asked, but had declined, being deeply engrossed in anexperiment of raising bread from hops. 

Well, they could do without the husband; but a woman--why they had notseen one all winter, and the presence of this one promised a new era intheir lives. 

They were college men and gentlemen, these three young fellows, yearning for the flesh-pots they had been so long denied. ProbablyGrace Bentham suffered from a similar hunger; at least, it meant muchto her, the first bright hour in many weeks of darkness. 

But that wonderful first course, which claimed the versatile Lake forits parent, had no sooner been served than there came a loud knock atthe door. 

'Oh! Ah! Won't you come in, Mr. Bentham?' said Parker, who had steppedto see who the newcomer might be. 

'Is my wife here?' gruffly responded that worthy. 

'Why, yes. We left word with Mr. Meyers. ' Parker was exerting his mostdulcet tones, inwardly wondering what the deuce it all meant. 'Won'tyou come in? Expecting you at any moment, we reserved a place. And justin time for the first course, too. ' 'Come in, Edwin, dear, ' chirpedGrace Bentham from her seat at the table. 

Parker naturally stood aside. 

'I want my wife, ' reiterated Bentham hoarsely, the intonation savoringdisagreeably of ownership. 

Parker gasped, was within an ace of driving his fist into the face ofhis boorish visitor, but held himself awkwardly in check. Everybodyrose. Lake lost his head and caught himself on the verge of saying, 'Must you go?' Then began the farrago of leave-taking. 'So nice ofyou--' 'I am awfully sorry' 'By Jove! how things did brighten--''Really now, you--'

'Thank you ever so much--' 'Nice trip to Dawson--' etc. , etc. 

In this wise the lamb was helped into her jacket and led to theslaughter. Then the door slammed, and they gazed woefully upon thedeserted table. 

'Damn!' Langham had suffered disadvantages in his early training, andhis oaths were weak and monotonous. 'Damn!' he repeated, vaguelyconscious of the incompleteness and vainly struggling for a more virileterm. It is a clever woman who can fill out the many weak places in aninefficient man, by her own indomitability, re-enforce his vacillatingnature, infuse her ambitious soul into his, and spur him on to greatachievements. And it is indeed a very clever and tactful woman who cando all this, and do it so subtly that the man receives all the creditand believes in his inmost heart that everything is due to him and himalone. 

This is what Grace Bentham proceeded to do. Arriving in Dawson with afew pounds of flour and several letters of introduction, she at onceapplied herself to the task of pushing her big baby to the fore. It wasshe who melted the stony heart and wrung credit from the rude barbarianwho presided over the destiny of the P. C. Company; yet it was EdwinBentham to whom the concession was ostensibly granted. It was she whodragged her baby up and down creeks, over benches and divides, and on adozen wild stampedes; yet everybody remarked what an energetic fellowthat Bentham was. It was she who studied maps, and catechised miners, and hammered geography and locations into his hollow head, tilleverybody marveled at his broad grasp of the country and knowledge ofits conditions. Of course, they said the wife was a brick, and only afew wise ones appreciated and pitied the brave little woman. 

She did the work; he got the credit and reward. In the NorthwestTerritory a married woman cannot stake or record a creek, bench, orquartz claim; so Edwin Bentham went down to the Gold Commissioner andfiled on Bench Claim 23, second tier, of French Hill. And when Aprilcame they were washing out a thousand dollars a day, with many, manysuch days in prospect. 

At the base of French Hill lay Eldorado Creek, and on a creek claimstood the cabin of Clyde Wharton. At present he was not washing out adiurnal thousand dollars; but his dumps grew, shift by shift, and therewould come a time when those dumps would pass through his sluice-boxes, depositing in the riffles, in the course of half a dozen days, severalhundred thousand dollars. He often sat in that cabin, smoked his pipe, and dreamed beautiful little dreams, --dreams in which neither the dumpsnor the half-ton of dust in the P. C. Company's big safe, played a part. 

And Grace Bentham, as she washed tin dishes in her hillside cabin, often glanced down into Eldorado Creek, and dreamed, --not of dumps nordust, however. They met frequently, as the trail to the one claimcrossed the other, and there is much to talk about in the Northlandspring; but never once, by the light of an eye nor the slip of atongue, did they speak their hearts. 

This is as it was at first. But one day Edwin Bentham was brutal. Allboys are thus; besides, being a French Hill king now, he began to thinka great deal of himself and to forget all he owed to his wife. On thisday, Wharton heard of it, and waylaid Grace Bentham, and talked wildly. This made her very happy, though she would not listen, and made himpromise to not say such things again. Her hour had not come. 

But the sun swept back on its northern journey, the black of midnightchanged to the steely color of dawn, the snow slipped away, the waterdashed again over the glacial drift, and the wash-up began. Day andnight the yellow clay and scraped bedrock hurried through the swiftsluices, yielding up its ransom to the strong men from the Southland. 

And in that time of tumult came Grace Bentham's hour. 

To all of us such hours at some time come, --that is, to us who are nottoo phlegmatic. 

Some people are good, not from inherent love of virtue, but from sheerlaziness. But those of us who know weak moments may understand. 

Edwin Bentham was weighing dust over the bar of the saloon at theForks--altogether too much of his dust went over that pine board--whenhis wife came down the hill and slipped into Clyde Wharton's cabin. Wharton was not expecting her, but that did not alter the case. Andmuch subsequent misery and idle waiting might have been avoided, hadnot Father Roubeau seen this and turned aside from the main creektrail. 'My child, --' 'Hold on, Father Roubeau! Though I'm not of yourfaith, I respect you; but you can't come in between this woman and me!''You know what you are doing?' 'Know! Were you God Almighty, ready tofling me into eternal fire, I'd bank my will against yours in thismatter. ' Wharton had placed Grace on a stool and stood belligerentlybefore her. 

'You sit down on that chair and keep quiet, ' he continued, addressingthe Jesuit. 'I'll take my innings now. You can have yours after. '

Father Roubeau bowed courteously and obeyed. He was an easy-going manand had learned to bide his time. Wharton pulled a stool alongside thewoman's, smothering her hand in his. 

'Then you do care for me, and will take me away?' Her face seemed toreflect the peace of this man, against whom she might draw close forshelter. 

'Dear, don't you remember what I said before? Of course I-' 'But howcan you?--the wash-up?' 'Do you think that worries? Anyway, I'll givethe job to Father Roubeau, here. 

'I can trust him to safely bank the dust with the company. ' 'To thinkof it!--I'll never see him again. ' 'A blessing!' 'And to go--O, Clyde, I can't! I can't!' 'There, there; of course you can, just let me planit. --You see, as soon as we get a few traps together, we'll start, and-' 'Suppose he comes back?' 'I'll break every-' 'No, no! Nofighting, Clyde! Promise me that. ' 'All right! I'll just tell the mento throw him off the claim. They've seen how he's treated you, andhaven't much love for him. '

'You mustn't do that. You mustn't hurt him. ' 'What then? Let him comeright in here and take you away before my eyes?' 'No-o, ' she halfwhispered, stroking his hand softly. 

'Then let me run it, and don't worry. I'll see he doesn't get hurt. Precious lot he cared whether you got hurt or not! We won't go back toDawson. I'll send word down for a couple of the boys to outfit and polea boat up the Yukon. We'll cross the divide and raft down the IndianRiver to meet them. Then--' 'And then?' Her head was on his shoulder. 

Their voices sank to softer cadences, each word a caress. The Jesuitfidgeted nervously. 

'And then?' she repeated. 

'Why we'll pole up, and up, and up, and portage the White Horse Rapidsand the Box Canon. ' 'Yes?' 'And the Sixty-Mile River; then the lakes, Chilcoot, Dyea, and Salt Water. ' 'But, dear, I can't pole a boat. ' 'Youlittle goose! I'll get Sitka Charley; he knows all the good water andbest camps, and he is the best traveler I ever met, if he is an Indian. All you'll have to do, is to sit in the middle of the boat, and singsongs, and play Cleopatra, and fight--no, we're in luck; too early formosquitoes. '

'And then, O my Antony?' 'And then a steamer, San Francisco, and theworld! Never to come back to this cursed hole again. Think of it! Theworld, and ours to choose from! I'll sell out. Why, we're rich! TheWaldworth Syndicate will give me half a million for what's left in theground, and I've got twice as much in the dumps and with the P. C. Company. We'll go to the Fair in Paris in 1900. We'll go to Jerusalem, if you say so. 

'We'll buy an Italian palace, and you can play Cleopatra to yourheart's content. No, you shall be Lucretia, Acte, or anybody yourlittle heart sees fit to become. But you mustn't, you really mustn't-''The wife of Caesar shall be above reproach. ' 'Of course, but--' 'But Iwon't be your wife, will I, dear?' 'I didn't mean that. ' 'But you'lllove me just as much, and never even think--oh! I know you'll be likeother men; you'll grow tired, and--and-'

'How can you? I--' 'Promise me. ' 'Yes, yes; I do promise. ' 'You say itso easily, dear; but how do you know?--or I know? I have so little togive, yet it is so much, and all I have. O, Clyde! promise me youwon't?'

'There, there! You mustn't begin to doubt already. Till death do uspart, you know. '

'Think! I once said that to--to him, and now?' 'And now, littlesweetheart, you're not to bother about such things any more. 

Of course, I never, never will, and--' And for the first time, lipstrembled against lips. 

Father Roubeau had been watching the main trail through the window, butcould stand the strain no longer. 

He cleared his throat and turned around. 

'Your turn now, Father!' Wharton's face was flushed with the fire ofhis first embrace. 

There was an exultant ring to his voice as he abdicated in the other'sfavor. He had no doubt as to the result. Neither had Grace, for a smileplayed about her mouth as she faced the priest. 

'My child, ' he began, 'my heart bleeds for you. It is a pretty dream, but it cannot be. '

'And why, Father? I have said yes. ' 'You knew not what you did. You didnot think of the oath you took, before your God, to that man who isyour husband. It remains for me to make you realize the sanctity ofsuch a pledge. ' 'And if I do realize, and yet refuse?'

'Then God'

'Which God? My husband has a God which I care not to worship. Theremust be many such. ' 'Child! unsay those words! Ah! you do not meanthem. I understand. I, too, have had such moments. ' For an instant hewas back in his native France, and a wistful, sad-eyed face came as amist between him and the woman before him. 

'Then, Father, has my God forsaken me? I am not wicked above women. Mymisery with him has been great. Why should it be greater? Why shall Inot grasp at happiness? I cannot, will not, go back to him!' 'Rather isyour God forsaken. Return. Throw your burden upon Him, and the darknessshall be lifted. O my child, --' 'No; it is useless; I have made my bedand so shall I lie. I will go on. And if God punishes me, I shall bearit somehow. You do not understand. You are not a woman. ' 'My mother wasa woman. '

'But--' 'And Christ was born of a woman. ' She did not answer. A silencefell. Wharton pulled his mustache impatiently and kept an eye on thetrail. Grace leaned her elbow on the table, her face set with resolve. The smile had died away. Father Roubeau shifted his ground. 

'You have children?'

'At one time I wished--but now--no. And I am thankful. ' 'And a mother?''Yes. ' 'She loves you?' 'Yes. ' Her replies were whispers. 

'And a brother?--no matter, he is a man. But a sister?' Her headdrooped a quavering 'Yes. ' 'Younger? Very much?' 'Seven years. ' 'Andyou have thought well about this matter? About them? About your mother?And your sister? She stands on the threshold of her woman's life, andthis wildness of yours may mean much to her. Could you go before her, look upon her fresh young face, hold her hand in yours, or touch yourcheek to hers?'

To his words, her brain formed vivid images, till she cried out, 'Don't! don't!' and shrank away as do the wolf-dogs from the lash. 

'But you must face all this; and better it is to do it now. ' In hiseyes, which she could not see, there was a great compassion, but hisface, tense and quivering, showed no relenting. 

She raised her head from the table, forced back the tears, struggledfor control. 

'I shall go away. They will never see me, and come to forget me. Ishall be to them as dead. And--and I will go with Clyde--today. ' Itseemed final. Wharton stepped forward, but the priest waved him back. 

'You have wished for children?' A silent 'Yes. ' 'And prayed for them?''Often. ' 'And have you thought, if you should have children?' FatherRoubeau's eyes rested for a moment on the man by the window. 

A quick light shot across her face. Then the full import dawned uponher. She raised her hand appealingly, but he went on. 

'Can you picture an innocent babe in your arms? A boy? The world is notso hard upon a girl. Why, your very breast would turn to gall! And youcould be proud and happy of your boy, as you looked on otherchildren?--' 'O, have pity! Hush!' 'A scapegoat--'

'Don't! don't! I will go back!' She was at his feet. 

'A child to grow up with no thought of evil, and one day the world tofling a tender name in his face. A child to look back and curse youfrom whose loins he sprang!'

'O my God! my God!' She groveled on the floor. The priest sighed andraised her to her feet. 

Wharton pressed forward, but she motioned him away. 

'Don't come near me, Clyde! I am going back!' The tears were coursingpitifully down her face, but she made no effort to wipe them away. 

'After all this? You cannot! I will not let you!' 'Don't touch me!' Sheshivered and drew back. 

'I will! You are mine! Do you hear? You are mine!' Then he whirled uponthe priest. 'O what a fool I was to ever let you wag your silly tongue!Thank your God you are not a common man, for I'd--but the priestlyprerogative must be exercised, eh? Well, you have exercised it. Now getout of my house, or I'll forget who and what you are!' Father Roubeaubowed, took her hand, and started for the door. But Wharton cut themoff. 

'Grace! You said you loved me?' 'I did. ' 'And you do now?' 'I do. ' 'Sayit again. '

'I do love you, Clyde; I do. ' 'There, you priest!' he cried. 'You haveheard it, and with those words on her lips you would send her back tolive a lie and a hell with that man?'

But Father Roubeau whisked the woman into the inner room and closed thedoor. 'No words!' he whispered to Wharton, as he struck a casualposture on a stool. 'Remember, for her sake, ' he added. 

The room echoed to a rough knock at the door; the latch raised andEdwin Bentham stepped in. 

'Seen anything of my wife?' he asked as soon as salutations had beenexchanged. 

Two heads nodded negatively. 

'I saw her tracks down from the cabin, ' he continued tentatively, 'andthey broke off, just opposite here, on the main trail. ' His listenerslooked bored. 

'And I--I thought--'

'She was here!' thundered Wharton. 

The priest silenced him with a look. 'Did you see her tracks leading upto this cabin, my son?' Wily Father Roubeau--he had taken good care toobliterate them as he came up the same path an hour before. 

'I didn't stop to look, I--' His eyes rested suspiciously on the doorto the other room, then interrogated the priest. The latter shook hishead; but the doubt seemed to linger. 

Father Roubeau breathed a swift, silent prayer, and rose to his feet. 'If you doubt me, why--' He made as though to open the door. 

A priest could not lie. Edwin Bentham had heard this often, andbelieved it. 

'Of course not, Father, ' he interposed hurriedly. 'I was only wonderingwhere my wife had gone, and thought maybe--I guess she's up at Mrs. Stanton's on French Gulch. Nice weather, isn't it? Heard the news?Flour's gone down to forty dollars a hundred, and they say theche-cha-quas are flocking down the river in droves. 

'But I must be going; so good-by. ' The door slammed, and from thewindow they watched him take his guest up French Gulch. A few weekslater, just after the June high-water, two men shot a canoe intomid-stream and made fast to a derelict pine. This tightened the painterand jerked the frail craft along as would a tow-boat. Father Roubeauhad been directed to leave the Upper Country and return to his swarthychildren at Minook. The white men had come among them, and they weredevoting too little time to fishing, and too much to a certain deitywhose transient habitat was in countless black bottles. 

Malemute Kid also had business in the Lower Country, so they journeyedtogether. 

But one, in all the Northland, knew the man Paul Roubeau, and that manwas Malemute Kid. Before him alone did the priest cast off thesacerdotal garb and stand naked. And why not? These two men knew eachother. Had they not shared the last morsel of fish, the last pinch oftobacco, the last and inmost thought, on the barren stretches of BeringSea, in the heartbreaking mazes of the Great Delta, on the terriblewinter journey from Point Barrow to the Porcupine? Father Roubeaupuffed heavily at his trail-worn pipe, and gazed on the reddisked sun, poised somberly on the edge of the northern horizon. 

Malemute Kid wound up his watch. It was midnight. 

'Cheer up, old man!' The Kid was evidently gathering up a broken thread. 

'God surely will forgive such a lie. Let me give you the word of a manwho strikes a true note: If She have spoken a word, remember thy lipsare sealed, And the brand of the Dog is upon him by whom is the secretrevealed. 

If there be trouble to Herward, and a lie of the blackest can clear, Lie, while thy lips can move or a man is alive to hear. '

Father Roubeau removed his pipe and reflected. 'The man speaks true, but my soul is not vexed with that. The lie and the penance stand withGod; but--but--'

'What then? Your hands are clean. ' 'Not so. Kid, I have thought much, and yet the thing remains. I knew, and made her go back. ' The clearnote of a robin rang out from the wooden bank, a partridge drummed thecall in the distance, a moose lunged noisily in the eddy; but the twainsmoked on in silence. 

The Wisdom of the Trail

Sitka Charley had achieved the impossible. Other Indians might haveknown as much of the wisdom of the trail as he did; but he alone knewthe white man's wisdom, the honor of the trail, and the law. But thesethings had not come to him in a day. The aboriginal mind is slow togeneralize, and many facts, repeated often, are required to compass anunderstanding. Sitka Charley, from boyhood, had been thrown continuallywith white men, and as a man he had elected to cast his fortunes withthem, expatriating himself, once and for all, from his own people. Eventhen, respecting, almost venerating their power, and pondering over it, he had yet to divine its secret essence--the honor and the law. And itwas only by the cumulative evidence of years that he had finally cometo understand. Being an alien, when he did know, he knew it better thanthe white man himself; being an Indian, he had achieved the impossible. 

And of these things had been bred a certain contempt for his ownpeople--a contempt which he had made it a custom to conceal, but whichnow burst forth in a polyglot whirlwind of curses upon the heads ofKah-Chucte and Gowhee. They cringed before him like a brace of snarlingwolf dogs, too cowardly to spring, too wolfish to cover their fangs. They were not handsome creatures. Neither was Sitka Charley. All threewere frightful-looking. There was no flesh to their faces; theircheekbones were massed with hideous scabs which had cracked and frozenalternately under the intense frost; while their eyes burned luridlywith the light which is born of desperation and hunger. Men sosituated, beyond the pale of the honor and the law, are not to betrusted. Sitka Charley knew this; and this was why he had forced themto abandon their rifles with the rest of the camp outfit ten daysbefore. His rifle and Captain Eppingwell's were the only ones thatremained. 

'Come, get a fire started, ' he commanded, drawing out the preciousmatchbox with its attendant strips of dry birchbark. 

The two Indians fell sullenly to the task of gathering dead branchesand underwood. They were weak and paused often, catching themselves, inthe act of stooping, with giddy motions, or staggering to the center ofoperations with their knees shaking like castanets. 

After each trip they rested for a moment, as though sick and deadlyweary. At times their eyes took on the patient stoicism of dumbsuffering; and again the ego seemed almost burst forth with its wildcry, 'I, I, I want to exist!'--the dominant note of the whole livinguniverse. 

A light breath of air blew from the south, nipping the exposed portionsof their bodies and driving the frost, in needles of fire, through furand flesh to the bones. So, when the fire had grown lusty and thawed adamp circle in the snow about it, Sitka Charley forced his reluctantcomrades to lend a hand in pitching a fly. It was a primitive affair, merely a blanket stretched parallel with the fire and to windward ofit, at an angle of perhaps forty-five degrees. This shut out the chillwind and threw the heat backward and down upon those who were to huddlein its shelter. Then a layer of green spruce boughs were spread, thattheir bodies might not come in contact with the snow. When this taskwas completed, Kah-Chucte and Gowhee proceeded to take care of theirfeet. Their icebound moccasins were sadly worn by much travel, and thesharp ice of the river jams had cut them to rags. 

Their Siwash socks were similarly conditioned, and when these had beenthawed and removed, the dead-white tips of the toes, in the variousstages of mortification, told their simple tale of the trail. 

Leaving the two to the drying of their footgear, Sitka Charley turnedback over the course he had come. He, too, had a mighty longing to sitby the fire and tend his complaining flesh, but the honor and the lawforbade. He toiled painfully over the frozen field, each step aprotest, every muscle in revolt. Several times, where the open waterbetween the jams had recently crusted, he was forced to miserablyaccelerate his movements as the fragile footing swayed and threatenedbeneath him. In such places death was quick and easy; but it was nothis desire to endure no more. 

His deepening anxiety vanished as two Indians dragged into view round abend in the river. They staggered and panted like men under heavyburdens; yet the packs on their backs were a matter of but a fewpounds. He questioned them eagerly, and their replies seemed to relievehim. He hurried on. Next came two white men, supporting between them awoman. They also behaved as though drunken, and their limbs shook withweakness. But the woman leaned lightly upon them, choosing to carryherself forward with her own strength. At the sight of her a flash ofjoy cast its fleeting light across Sitka Charley's face. He cherished avery great regard for Mrs. Eppingwell. He had seen many white women, but this was the first to travel the trail with him. When CaptainEppingwell proposed the hazardous undertaking and made him an offer forhis services, he had shaken his head gravely; for it was an unknownjourney through the dismal vastnesses of the Northland, and he knew itto be of the kind that try to the uttermost the souls of men. 

But when he learned that the captain's wife was to accompany them, hehad refused flatly to have anything further to do with it. Had it beena woman of his own race he would have harbored no objections; but thesewomen of the Southland--no, no, they were too soft, too tender, forsuch enterprises. 

Sitka Charley did not know this kind of woman. Five minutes before, hedid not even dream of taking charge of the expedition; but when shecame to him with her wonderful smile and her straight clean English, and talked to the point, without pleading or persuading, he hadincontinently yielded. Had there been a softness and appeal to mercy inthe eyes, a tremble to the voice, a taking advantage of sex, he wouldhave stiffened to steel; instead her clear-searching eyes andclear-ringing voice, her utter frankness and tacit assumption ofequality, had robbed him of his reason. He felt, then, that this was anew breed of woman; and ere they had been trail mates for many days heknew why the sons of such women mastered the land and the sea, and whythe sons of his own womankind could not prevail against them. Tenderand soft! Day after day he watched her, muscle-weary, exhausted, indomitable, and the words beat in upon him in a perennial refrain. Tender and soft! He knew her feet had been born to easy paths and sunnylands, strangers to the moccasined pain of the North, unkissed by thechill lips of the frost, and he watched and marveled at them twinklingever through the weary day. 

She had always a smile and a word of cheer, from which not even themeanest packer was excluded. As the way grew darker she seemed tostiffen and gather greater strength, and when Kah-Chucte and Gowhee, who had bragged that they knew every landmark of the way as a child didthe skin bails of the tepee, acknowledged that they knew not where theywere, it was she who raised a forgiving voice amid the curses of themen. She had sung to them that night till they felt the weariness fallfrom them and were ready to face the future with fresh hope. And whenthe food failed and each scant stint was measured jealously, she it waswho rebelled against the machinations of her husband and Sitka Charley, and demanded and received a share neither greater nor less than that ofthe others. 

Sitka Charley was proud to know this woman. A new richness, a greaterbreadth, had come into his life with her presence. Hitherto he had beenhis own mentor, had turned to right or left at no man's beck; he hadmoulded himself according to his own dictates, nourished his manhoodregardless of all save his own opinion. For the first time he had felta call from without for the best that was in him, just a glance ofappreciation from the clear-searching eyes, a word of thanks from theclear-ringing voice, just a slight wreathing of the lips in thewonderful smile, and he walked with the gods for hours to come. It wasa new stimulant to his manhood; for the first time he thrilled with aconscious pride in his wisdom of the trail; and between the twain theyever lifted the sinking hearts of their comrades. The faces of the twomen and the woman brightened as they saw him, for after all he was thestaff they leaned upon. But Sitka Charley, rigid as was his wont, concealing pain and pleasure impartially beneath an iron exterior, asked them the welfare of the rest, told the distance to the fire, andcontinued on the back-trip. 

Next he met a single Indian, unburdened, limping, lips compressed, andeyes set with the pain of a foot in which the quick fought a losingbattle with the dead. All possible care had been taken of him, but inthe last extremity the weak and unfortunate must perish, and SitkaCharley deemed his days to be few. The man could not keep up for long, so he gave him rough cheering words. After that came two more Indians, to whom he had allotted the task of helping along Joe, the third whiteman of the party. They had deserted him. Sitka Charley saw at a glancethe lurking spring in their bodies, and knew they had at last cast offhis mastery. So he was not taken unawares when he ordered them back inquest of their abandoned charge, and saw the gleam of the huntingknives that they drew from the sheaths. A pitiful spectacle, three weakmen lifting their puny strength in the face of the mighty vastness; butthe two recoiled under the fierce rifle blows of the one and returnedlike beaten dogs to the leash. Two hours later, with Joe reelingbetween them and Sitka Charley bringing up the rear, they came to thefire, where the remainder of the expedition crouched in the shelter ofthe fly. 

'A few words, my comrades, before we sleep, ' Sitka Charley said afterthey had devoured their slim rations of unleavened bread. He wasspeaking to the Indians in their own tongue, having already given theimport to the whites. 'A few words, my comrades, for your own good, that ye may yet perchance live. I shall give you the law; on his ownhead by the death of him that breaks it. We have passed the Hills ofSilence, and we now travel the head reaches of the Stuart. It may beone sleep, it may be several, it may be many sleeps, but in time weshall come among the men of the Yukon, who have much grub. It were wellthat we look to the law. Today Kah-Chucte and Gowhee, whom I commandedto break trail, forgot they were men, and like frightened children ranaway. 

'True, they forgot; so let us forget. But hereafter, let them remember. If it should happen they do not. .. ' He touched his rifle carelessly, grimly. 'Tomorrow they shall carry the flour and see that the white manJoe lies not down by the trail. The cups of flour are counted; shouldso much as an ounce be wanting at nightfall. .. Do ye understand? Todaythere were others that forgot. Moose Head and Three Salmon left thewhite man Joe to lie in the snow. Let them forget no more. With thelight of day shall they go forth and break trail. Ye have heard thelaw. Look well, lest ye break it. ' Sitka Charley found it beyond him tokeep the line close up. From Moose Head and Three Salmon, who broketrail in advance, to Kah-Chucte, Gowhee, and Joe, it straggled out overa mile. Each staggered, fell or rested as he saw fit. 

The line of march was a progression through a chain of irregular halts. Each drew upon the last remnant of his strength and stumbled onwardtill it was expended, but in some miraculous way there was alwaysanother last remnant. Each time a man fell it was with the firm beliefthat he would rise no more; yet he did rise, and again and again. Theflesh yielded, the will conquered; but each triumph was a tragedy. TheIndian with the frozen foot, no longer erect, crawled forward on handand knee. He rarely rested, for he knew the penalty exacted by thefrost. 

Even Mrs. Eppingwell's lips were at last set in a stony smile, and hereyes, seeing, saw not. Often she stopped, pressing a mittened hand toher heart, gasping and dizzy. 

Joe, the white man, had passed beyond the stage of suffering. He nolonger begged to be let alone, prayed to die; but was soothed andcontent under the anodyne of delirium. Kah-Chucte and Gowhee draggedhim on roughly, venting upon him many a savage glance or blow. To themit was the acme of injustice. 

Their hearts were bitter with hate, heavy with fear. Why should theycumber their strength with his weakness? To do so meant death; not todo so--and they remembered the law of Sitka Charley, and the rifle. 

Joe fell with greater frequency as the daylight waned, and so hard washe to raise that they dropped farther and farther behind. Sometimes allthree pitched into the snow, so weak had the Indians become. Yet ontheir backs was life, and strength, and warmth. 

Within the flour sacks were all the potentialities of existence. Theycould not but think of this, and it was not strange, that which came topass. They had fallen by the side of a great timber jam where athousand cords of firewood waited the match. Near by was an air holethrough the ice. Kah-Chucte looked on the wood and the water, as didGowhee; then they looked at each other. 

Never a word was spoken. Gowhee struck a fire; Kah-Chucte filled a tincup with water and heated it; Joe babbled of things in another land, ina tongue they did not understand. 

They mixed flour with the warm water till it was a thin paste, and ofthis they drank many cups. They did not offer any to Joe; but he didnot mind. He did not mind anything, not even his moccasins, whichscorched and smoked among the coals. 

A crystal mist of snow fell about them, softly, caressingly, wrappingthem in clinging robes of white. And their feet would have yet trodmany trails had not destiny brushed the clouds aside and cleared theair. Nay, ten minutes' delay would have been salvation. 

Sitka Charley, looking back, saw the pillared smoke of their fire, andguessed. And he looked ahead at those who were faithful, and at Mrs. Eppingwell. 'So, my good comrades, ye have again forgotten that youwere men? Good! Very good. There will be fewer bellies to feed. ' SitkaCharley retied the flour as he spoke, strapping the pack to the one onhis own back. He kicked Joe till the pain broke through the poordevil's bliss and brought him doddering to his feet. Then he shoved himout upon the trail and started him on his way. The two Indiansattempted to slip off. 

'Hold, Gowhee! And thou, too, Kah-Chucte! Hath the flour given suchstrength to thy legs that they may outrun the swift-winged lead? Thinknot to cheat the law. Be men for the last time, and be content that yedie full-stomached. 

Come, step up, back to the timber, shoulder to shoulder. Come!' The twomen obeyed, quietly, without fear; for it is the future which pressedupon the man, not the present. 

'Thou, Gowhee, hast a wife and children and a deerskin lodge in theChipewyan. What is thy will in the matter?' 'Give thou her of the goodswhich are mine by the word of the captain--the blankets, the beads, thetobacco, the box which makes strange sounds after the manner of thewhite men. Say that I did die on the trail, but say not how. ' 'Andthou, Kah-Chucte, who hast nor wife nor child?' 'Mine is a sister, thewife of the factor at Koshim. He beats her, and she is not happy. Givethou her the goods which are mine by the contract, and tell her it werewell she go back to her own people. Shouldst thou meet the man, and beso minded, it were a good deed that he should die. He beats her, andshe is afraid. ' 'Are ye content to die by the law?' 'We are. ' 'Thengood-bye, my good comrades. May ye sit by the well-filled pot, in warmlodges, ere the day is done. ' As he spoke he raised his rifle, and manyechoes broke the silence. Hardly had they died away when other riflesspoke in the distance. Sitka Charley started. 

There had been more than one shot, yet there was but one other rifle inthe party. 

He gave a fleeting glance at the men who lay so quietly, smiledviciously at the wisdom of the trail, and hurried on to meet the men ofthe Yukon. 

The Wife of a King

Once when the northland was very young, the social and civic virtueswere remarkably alike for their paucity and their simplicity. When theburden of domestic duties grew grievous, and the fireside mood expandedto a constant protest against its bleak loneliness, the adventurersfrom the Southland, in lieu of better, paid the stipulated prices andtook unto themselves native wives. It was a foretaste of Paradise tothe women, for it must be confessed that the white rovers gave farbetter care and treatment of them than did their Indian copartners. Ofcourse, the white men themselves were satisfied with such deals, aswere also the Indian men for that matter. Having sold their daughtersand sisters for cotton blankets and obsolete rifles and traded theirwarm furs for flimsy calico and bad whisky, the sons of the soilpromptly and cheerfully succumbed to quick consumption and other swiftdiseases correlated with the blessings of a superior civilization. 

It was in these days of Arcadian simplicity that Cal Galbraithjourneyed through the land and fell sick on the Lower River. It was arefreshing advent in the lives of the good Sisters of the Holy Cross, who gave him shelter and medicine; though they little dreamed of thehot elixir infused into his veins by the touch of their soft hands andtheir gentle ministrations. Cal Galbraith, became troubled with strangethoughts which clamored for attention till he laid eyes on the Missiongirl, Madeline. Yet he gave no sign, biding his time patiently. Hestrengthened with the coming spring, and when the sun rode the heavensin a golden circle, and the joy and throb of life was in all the land, he gathered his still weak body together and departed. 

Now, Madeline, the Mission girl, was an orphan. Her white father hadfailed to give a bald-faced grizzly the trail one day, and had diedquickly. Then her Indian mother, having no man to fill the wintercache, had tried the hazardous experiment of waiting till thesalmon-run on fifty pounds of flour and half as many of bacon. Afterthat, the baby, Chook-ra, went to live with the good Sisters, and to bethenceforth known by another name. 

But Madeline still had kinsfolk, the nearest being a dissolute unclewho outraged his vitals with inordinate quantities of the white man'swhisky. He strove daily to walk with the gods, and incidentally, hisfeet sought shorter trails to the grave. When sober he sufferedexquisite torture. He had no conscience. To this ancient vagabond CalGalbraith duly presented himself, and they consumed many words and muchtobacco in the conversation that followed. Promises were also made; andin the end the old heathen took a few pounds of dried salmon and hisbirch-bark canoe, and paddled away to the Mission of the Holy Cross. 

It is not given the world to know what promises he made and what lieshe told--the Sisters never gossip; but when he returned, upon hisswarthy chest there was a brass crucifix, and in his canoe his nieceMadeline. That night there was a grand wedding and a potlach; so thatfor two days to follow there was no fishing done by the village. But inthe morning Madeline shook the dust of the Lower River from hermoccasins, and with her husband, in a poling-boat, went to live on theUpper River in a place known as the Lower Country. And in the yearswhich followed she was a good wife, sharing her husband's hardships andcooking his food. And she kept him in straight trails, till he learnedto save his dust and to work mightily. In the end, he struck it richand built a cabin in Circle City; and his happiness was such that menwho came to visit him in his home-circle became restless at the sightof it and envied him greatly. 

But the Northland began to mature and social amenities to make theirappearance. 

Hitherto, the Southland had sent forth its sons; but it now belchedforth a new exodus--this time of its daughters. Sisters and wives theywere not; but they did not fail to put new ideas in the heads of themen, and to elevate the tone of things in ways peculiarly their own. Nomore did the squaws gather at the dances, go roaring down the center inthe good, old Virginia reels, or make merry with jolly 'Dan Tucker. 'They fell back on their natural stoicism and uncomplainingly watchedthe rule of their white sisters from their cabins. 

Then another exodus came over the mountains from the prolific Southland. 

This time it was of women that became mighty in the land. Their wordwas law; their law was steel. They frowned upon the Indian wives, whilethe other women became mild and walked humbly. There were cowards whobecame ashamed of their ancient covenants with the daughters of thesoil, who looked with a new distaste upon their dark-skinned children;but there were also others--men--who remained true and proud of theiraboriginal vows. When it became the fashion to divorce the nativewives. Cal Galbraith retained his manhood, and in so doing felt theheavy hand of the women who had come last, knew least, but who ruledthe land. 

One day, the Upper Country, which lies far above Circle City, waspronounced rich. Dog-teams carried the news to Salt Water; goldenargosies freighted the lure across the North Pacific; wires and cablessang with the tidings; and the world heard for the first time of theKlondike River and the Yukon Country. Cal Galbraith had lived the yearsquietly. He had been a good husband to Madeline, and she had blessedhim. But somehow discontent fell upon him; he felt vague yearnings forhis own kind, for the life he had been shut out from--a general sort ofdesire, which men sometimes feel, to break out and taste the prime ofliving. Besides, there drifted down the river wild rumors of thewonderful El Dorado, glowing descriptions of the city of logs andtents, and ludicrous accounts of the che-cha-quas who had rushed in andwere stampeding the whole country. 

Circle City was dead. The world had moved on up river and become a newand most marvelous world. 

Cal Galbraith grew restless on the edge of things, and wished to seewith his own eyes. 

So, after the wash-up, he weighed in a couple of hundred pounds of duston the Company's big scales, and took a draft for the same on Dawson. Then he put Tom Dixon in charge of his mines, kissed Madeline good-by, promised to be back before the first mush-ice ran, and took passage onan up-river steamer. 

Madeline waited, waited through all the three months of daylight. Shefed the dogs, gave much of her time to Young Cal, watched the shortsummer fade away and the sun begin its long journey to the south. Andshe prayed much in the manner of the Sisters of the Holy Cross. Thefall came, and with it there was mush-ice on the Yukon, and Circle Citykings returning to the winter's work at their mines, but no CalGalbraith. Tom Dixon received a letter, however, for his men sledded upher winter's supply of dry pine. The Company received a letter for itsdogteams filled her cache with their best provisions, and she was toldthat her credit was limitless. 

Through all the ages man has been held the chief instigator of the woesof woman; but in this case the men held their tongues and swore harshlyat one of their number who was away, while the women failed utterly toemulate them. So, without needless delay, Madeline heard strange talesof Cal Galbraith's doings; also, of a certain Greek dancer who playedwith men as children did with bubbles. Now Madeline was an Indianwoman, and further, she had no woman friend to whom to go for wisecounsel. She prayed and planned by turns, and that night, being quickof resolve and action, she harnessed the dogs, and with Young Calsecurely lashed to the sled, stole away. 

Though the Yukon still ran free, the eddy-ice was growing, and each daysaw the river dwindling to a slushy thread. Save him who has done thelike, no man may know what she endured in traveling a hundred miles onthe rim-ice; nor may they understand the toil and hardship of breakingthe two hundred miles of packed ice which remained after the riverfroze for good. But Madeline was an Indian woman, so she did thesethings, and one night there came a knock at Malemute Kid's door. Thereat he fed a team of starving dogs, put a healthy youngster to bed, and turned his attention to an exhausted woman. He removed her iceboundmoccasins while he listened to her tale, and stuck the point of hisknife into her feet that he might see how far they were frozen. 

Despite his tremendous virility, Malemute Kid was possessed of asofter, womanly element, which could win the confidence of a snarlingwolf-dog or draw confessions from the most wintry heart. Nor did heseek them. Hearts opened to him as spontaneously as flowers to the sun. Even the priest, Father Roubeau, had been known to confess to him, while the men and women of the Northland were ever knocking at hisdoor--a door from which the latch-string hung always out. To Madeline, he could do no wrong, make no mistake. She had known him from the timeshe first cast her lot among the people of her father's race; and toher half-barbaric mind it seemed that in him was centered the wisdom ofthe ages, that between his vision and the future there could be nointervening veil. 

There were false ideals in the land. The social strictures of Dawsonwere not synonymous with those of the previous era, and the swiftmaturity of the Northland involved much wrong. Malemute Kid was awareof this, and he had Cal Galbraith's measure accurately. 

He knew a hasty word was the father of much evil; besides, he wasminded to teach a great lesson and bring shame upon the man. So StanleyPrince, the young mining expert, was called into the conference thefollowing night as was also Lucky Jack Harrington and his violin. Thatsame night, Bettles, who owed a great debt to Malemute Kid, harnessedup Cal Galbraith's dogs, lashed Cal Galbraith, Junior, to the sled, andslipped away in the dark for Stuart River. 

II

'So; one--two--three, one--two--three. Now reverse! No, no! Start upagain, Jack. See--this way. ' Prince executed the movement as one shouldwho has led the cotillion. 

'Now; one--two--three, one--two--three. Reverse! Ah! that's better. Tryit again. I say, you know, you mustn't look at your feet. One--two--three, one--two--three. Shorter steps! You are not hanging tothe gee-pole just now. Try it over. 

'There! that's the way. One--two--three, one--two--three. ' Round andround went Prince and Madeline in an interminable waltz. The table andstools had been shoved over against the wall to increase the room. Malemute Kid sat on the bunk, chin to knees, greatly interested. JackHarrington sat beside him, scraping away on his violin and followingthe dancers. 

It was a unique situation, the undertaking of these three men with thewoman. 

The most pathetic part, perhaps, was the businesslike way in which theywent about it. 

No athlete was ever trained more rigidly for a coming contest, norwolf-dog for the harness, than was she. But they had good material, forMadeline, unlike most women of her race, in her childhood had escapedthe carrying of heavy burdens and the toil of the trail. Besides, shewas a clean-limbed, willowy creature, possessed of much grace which hadnot hitherto been realized. It was this grace which the men strove tobring out and knock into shape. 

'Trouble with her she learned to dance all wrong, ' Prince remarked tothe bunk after having deposited his breathless pupil on the table. 'She's quick at picking up; yet I could do better had she never danceda step. But say, Kid, I can't understand this. ' Prince imitated apeculiar movement of the shoulders and head--a weakness Madelinesuffered from in walking. 

'Lucky for her she was raised in the Mission, ' Malemute Kid answered. 'Packing, you know, --the head-strap. Other Indian women have it bad, but she didn't do any packing till after she married, and then only atfirst. Saw hard lines with that husband of hers. They went through theForty-Mile famine together. ' 'But can we break it?' 'Don't know. 

'Perhaps long walks with her trainers will make the riffle. Anyway, they'll take it out some, won't they, Madeline?' The girl noddedassent. If Malemute Kid, who knew all things, said so, why it was so. That was all there was about it. 

She had come over to them, anxious to begin again. Harrington surveyedher in quest of her points much in the same manner men usually dohorses. It certainly was not disappointing, for he asked with suddeninterest, 'What did that beggarly uncle of yours get anyway?' 'Onerifle, one blanket, twenty bottles of hooch. Rifle broke. ' She saidthis last scornfully, as though disgusted at how low her maiden-valuehad been rated. 

She spoke fair English, with many peculiarities of her husband'sspeech, but there was still perceptible the Indian accent, thetraditional groping after strange gutturals. Even this her instructorshad taken in hand, and with no small success, too. 

At the next intermission, Prince discovered a new predicament. 

'I say, Kid, ' he said, 'we're wrong, all wrong. She can't learn inmoccasins. 

'Put her feet into slippers, and then onto that waxed floor--phew!'Madeline raised a foot and regarded her shapeless house-moccasinsdubiously. In previous winters, both at Circle City and Forty-Mile, shehad danced many a night away with similar footgear, and there had beennothing the matter. 

But now--well, if there was anything wrong it was for Malemute Kid toknow, not her. 

But Malemute Kid did know, and he had a good eye for measures; so heput on his cap and mittens and went down the hill to pay Mrs. Eppingwell a call. Her husband, Clove Eppingwell, was prominent in thecommunity as one of the great Government officials. 

The Kid had noted her slender little foot one night, at the Governor'sBall. And as he also knew her to be as sensible as she was pretty, itwas no task to ask of her a certain small favor. 

On his return, Madeline withdrew for a moment to the inner room. Whenshe reappeared Prince was startled. 

'By Jove!' he gasped. 'Who'd a' thought it! The little witch! Why mysister--' 'Is an English girl, ' interrupted Malemute Kid, 'with anEnglish foot. This girl comes of a small-footed race. Moccasins justbroadened her feet healthily, while she did not misshape them byrunning with the dogs in her childhood. ' But this explanation failedutterly to allay Prince's admiration. Harrington's commercial instinctwas touched, and as he looked upon the exquisitely turned foot andankle, there ran through his mind the sordid list--'One rifle, oneblanket, twenty bottles of hooch. ' Madeline was the wife of a king, aking whose yellow treasure could buy outright a score of fashion'spuppets; yet in all her life her feet had known no gear save red-tannedmoosehide. At first she had looked in awe at the tiny white-satinslippers; but she had quickly understood the admiration which shone, manlike, in the eyes of the men. Her face flushed with pride. For themoment she was drunken with her woman's loveliness; then she murmured, with increased scorn, 'And one rifle, broke!' So the training went on. Every day Malemute Kid led the girl out on long walks devoted to thecorrection of her carriage and the shortening of her stride. 

There was little likelihood of her identity being discovered, for CalGalbraith and the rest of the Old-Timers were like lost children amongthe many strangers who had rushed into the land. Besides, the frost ofthe North has a bitter tongue, and the tender women of the South, toshield their cheeks from its biting caresses, were prone to the use ofcanvas masks. With faces obscured and bodies lost in squirrel-skinparkas, a mother and daughter, meeting on trail, would pass asstrangers. 

The coaching progressed rapidly. At first it had been slow, but later asudden acceleration had manifested itself. This began from the momentMadeline tried on the white-satin slippers, and in so doing foundherself. The pride of her renegade father, apart from any naturalself-esteem she might possess, at that instant received its birth. Hitherto, she had deemed herself a woman of an alien breed, of inferiorstock, purchased by her lord's favor. Her husband had seemed to her agod, who had lifted her, through no essential virtues on her part, tohis own godlike level. But she had never forgotten, even when Young Calwas born, that she was not of his people. As he had been a god, so hadhis womenkind been goddesses. She might have contrasted herself withthem, but she had never compared. 

It might have been that familiarity bred contempt; however, be that asit may, she had ultimately come to understand these roving white men, and to weigh them. 

True, her mind was dark to deliberate analysis, but she yet possessedher woman's clarity of vision in such matters. On the night of theslippers she had measured the bold, open admiration of her threeman-friends; and for the first time comparison had suggested itself. Itwas only a foot and an ankle, but--but comparison could not, in thenature of things, cease at that point. She judged herself by theirstandards till the divinity of her white sisters was shattered. Afterall, they were only women, and why should she not exalt herself totheir midst? In doing these things she learned where she lacked andwith the knowledge of her weakness came her strength. And so mightilydid she strive that her three trainers often marveled late into thenight over the eternal mystery of woman. 

In this way Thanksgiving Night drew near. At irregular intervalsBettles sent word down from Stuart River regarding the welfare of YoungCal. The time of their return was approaching. More than once a casualcaller, hearing dance-music and the rhythmic pulse of feet, entered, only to find Harrington scraping away and the other two beating time orarguing noisily over a mooted step. Madeline was never in evidence, having precipitately fled to the inner room. 

On one of these nights Cal Galbraith dropped in. Encouraging news hadjust come down from Stuart River, and Madeline had surpassedherself--not in walk alone, and carriage and grace, but in womanlyroguishness. They had indulged in sharp repartee and she had defendedherself brilliantly; and then, yielding to the intoxication of themoment, and of her own power, she had bullied, and mastered, andwheedled, and patronized them with most astonishing success. Andinstinctively, involuntarily, they had bowed, not to her beauty, herwisdom, her wit, but to that indefinable something in woman to whichman yields yet cannot name. 

The room was dizzy with sheer delight as she and Prince whirled throughthe last dance of the evening. Harrington was throwing in inconceivableflourishes, while Malemute Kid, utterly abandoned, had seized the broomand was executing mad gyrations on his own account. 

At this instant the door shook with a heavy rap-rap, and their quickglances noted the lifting of the latch. But they had survived similarsituations before. Harrington never broke a note. Madeline shot throughthe waiting door to the inner room. The broom went hurtling under thebunk, and by the time Cal Galbraith and Louis Savoy got their heads in, Malemute Kid and Prince were in each other's arms, wildly schottischingdown the room. 

As a rule, Indian women do not make a practice of fainting onprovocation, but Madeline came as near to it as she ever had in herlife. For an hour she crouched on the floor, listening to the heavyvoices of the men rumbling up and down in mimic thunder. Like familiarchords of childhood melodies, every intonation, every trick of herhusband's voice swept in upon her, fluttering her heart and weakeningher knees till she lay half-fainting against the door. It was well shecould neither see nor hear when he took his departure. 

'When do you expect to go back to Circle City?' Malemute Kid askedsimply. 

'Haven't thought much about it, ' he replied. 'Don't think till afterthe ice breaks. ' 'And Madeline?'

He flushed at the question, and there was a quick droop to his eyes. Malemute Kid could have despised him for that, had he known men less. As it was, his gorge rose against the wives and daughters who had comeinto the land, and not satisfied with usurping the place of the nativewomen, had put unclean thoughts in the heads of the men and made themashamed. 

'I guess she's all right, ' the Circle City King answered hastily, andin an apologetic manner. 'Tom Dixon's got charge of my interests, youknow, and he sees to it that she has everything she wants. ' MalemuteKid laid hand upon his arm and hushed him suddenly. They had steppedwithout. Overhead, the aurora, a gorgeous wanton, flaunted miracles ofcolor; beneath lay the sleeping town. Far below, a solitary dog gavetongue. 

The King again began to speak, but the Kid pressed his hand forsilence. The sound multiplied. Dog after dog took up the strain tillthe full-throated chorus swayed the night. 

To him who hears for the first time this weird song, is told the firstand greatest secret of the Northland; to him who has heard it often, itis the solemn knell of lost endeavor. It is the plaint of torturedsouls, for in it is invested the heritage of the North, the sufferingof countless generations--the warning and the requiem to the world'sestrays. 

Cal Galbraith shivered slightly as it died away in half-caught sobs. The Kid read his thoughts openly, and wandered back with him throughall the weary days of famine and disease; and with him was also thepatient Madeline, sharing his pains and perils, never doubting, nevercomplaining. His mind's retina vibrated to a score of pictures, stern, clear-cut, and the hand of the past drew back with heavy fingers on hisheart. It was the psychological moment. Malemute Kid was half-temptedto play his reserve card and win the game; but the lesson was too mildas yet, and he let it pass. The next instant they had gripped hands, and the King's beaded moccasins were drawing protests from the outragedsnow as he crunched down the hill. 

Madeline in collapse was another woman to the mischievous creature ofan hour before, whose laughter had been so infectious and whoseheightened color and flashing eyes had made her teachers for the whileforget. Weak and nerveless, she sat in the chair just as she had beendropped there by Prince and Harrington. 

Malemute Kid frowned. This would never do. When the time of meeting herhusband came to hand, she must carry things off with high-handedimperiousness. It was very necessary she should do it after the mannerof white women, else the victory would be no victory at all. So hetalked to her, sternly, without mincing of words, and initiated herinto the weaknesses of his own sex, till she came to understand whatsimpletons men were after all, and why the word of their women was law. 

A few days before Thanksgiving Night, Malemute Kid made another call onMrs. Eppingwell. She promptly overhauled her feminine fripperies, paida protracted visit to the dry-goods department of the P. C. Company, and returned with the Kid to make Madeline's acquaintance. After thatcame a period such as the cabin had never seen before, and what withcutting, and fitting, and basting, and stitching, and numerous otherwonderful and unknowable things, the male conspirators were more oftenbanished the premises than not. At such times the Opera House openedits double storm-doors to them. 

So often did they put their heads together, and so deeply did theydrink to curious toasts, that the loungers scented unknown creeks ofincalculable richness, and it is known that several checha-quas and atleast one Old-Timer kept their stampeding packs stored behind the bar, ready to hit the trail at a moment's notice. 

Mrs. Eppingwell was a woman of capacity; so, when she turned Madelineover to her trainers on Thanksgiving Night she was so transformed thatthey were almost afraid of her. Prince wrapped a Hudson Bay blanketabout her with a mock reverence more real than feigned, while MalemuteKid, whose arm she had taken, found it a severe trial to resume hiswonted mentorship. Harrington, with the list of purchases still runningthrough his head, dragged along in the rear, nor opened his mouth onceall the way down into the town. When they came to the back door of theOpera House they took the blanket from Madeline's shoulders and spreadit on the snow. Slipping out of Prince's moccasins, she stepped upon itin new satin slippers. The masquerade was at its height. She hesitated, but they jerked open the door and shoved her in. Then they ran aroundto come in by the front entrance. 

III

'Where is Freda?' the Old-Timers questioned, while the che-cha-quaswere equally energetic in asking who Freda was. The ballroom buzzedwith her name. 

It was on everybody's lips. Grizzled 'sour-dough boys, ' day-laborers atthe mines but proud of their degree, either patronized thespruce-looking tenderfeet and lied eloquently--the 'sour-dough boys'being specially created to toy with truth--or gave them savage looks ofindignation because of their ignorance. Perhaps forty kings of theUpper and Lower Countries were on the floor, each deeming himself hoton the trail and sturdily backing his judgment with the yellow dust ofthe realm. An assistant was sent to the man at the scales, upon whomhad fallen the burden of weighing up the sacks, while several of thegamblers, with the rules of chance at their finger-ends, made upalluring books on the field and favorites. 

Which was Freda? Time and again the 'Greek Dancer' was thought to havebeen discovered, but each discovery brought panic to the betting ringand a frantic registering of new wagers by those who wished to hedge. Malemute Kid took an interest in the hunt, his advent being haileduproariously by the revelers, who knew him to a man. The Kid had a goodeye for the trick of a step, and ear for the lilt of a voice, and hisprivate choice was a marvelous creature who scintillated as the 'AuroraBorealis. ' But the Greek dancer was too subtle for even hispenetration. The majority of the gold-hunters seemed to have centeredtheir verdict on the 'Russian Princess, ' who was the most graceful inthe room, and hence could be no other than Freda Moloof. 

During a quadrille a roar of satisfaction went up. She was discovered. At previous balls, in the figure, 'all hands round, ' Freda haddisplayed an inimitable step and variation peculiarly her own. As thefigure was called, the 'Russian Princess' gave the unique rhythm tolimb and body. A chorus of I-told-you-so's shook the squaredroof-beams, when lo! it was noticed that 'Aurora Borealis' and anothermasque, the 'Spirit of the Pole, ' were performing the same trickequally well. And when two twin 'Sun-Dogs' and a 'Frost Queen' followedsuit, a second assistant was dispatched to the aid of the man at thescales. 

Bettles came off trail in the midst of the excitement, descending uponthem in a hurricane of frost. His rimed brows turned to cataracts as hewhirled about; his mustache, still frozen, seemed gemmed with diamondsand turned the light in varicolored rays; while the flying feet slippedon the chunks of ice which rattled from his moccasins and German socks. A Northland dance is quite an informal affair, the men of the creeksand trails having lost whatever fastidiousness they might have at onetime possessed; and only in the high official circles are conventionsat all observed. Here, caste carried no significance. Millionaires andpaupers, dog-drivers and mounted policemen joined hands with 'ladies inthe center, ' and swept around the circle performing most remarkablecapers. Primitive in their pleasure, boisterous and rough, theydisplayed no rudeness, but rather a crude chivalry more genuine thanthe most polished courtesy. 

In his quest for the 'Greek Dancer, ' Cal Galbraith managed to get intothe same set with the 'Russian Princess, ' toward whom popular suspicionhad turned. 

But by the time he had guided her through one dance, he was willing notonly to stake his millions that she was not Freda, but that he had hadhis arm about her waist before. When or where he could not tell, butthe puzzling sense of familiarity so wrought upon him that he turnedhis attention to the discovery of her identity. Malemute Kid might haveaided him instead of occasionally taking the Princess for a few turnsand talking earnestly to her in low tones. But it was Jack Harringtonwho paid the 'Russian Princess' the most assiduous court. Once he drewCal Galbraith aside and hazarded wild guesses as to who she was, andexplained to him that he was going in to win. That rankled the CircleCity King, for man is not by nature monogamic, and he forgot bothMadeline and Freda in the new quest. 

It was soon noised about that the 'Russian Princess' was not FredaMoloof. Interest deepened. Here was a fresh enigma. They knew Fredathough they could not find her, but here was somebody they had foundand did not know. Even the women could not place her, and they knewevery good dancer in the camp. Many took her for one of the officialclique, indulging in a silly escapade. Not a few asserted she woulddisappear before the unmasking. Others were equally positive that shewas the woman-reporter of the Kansas City Star, come to write them upat ninety dollars per column. And the men at the scales worked busily. 

At one o'clock every couple took to the floor. The unmasking began amidlaughter and delight, like that of carefree children. There was no endof Oh's and Ah's as mask after mask was lifted. The scintillating'Aurora Borealis' became the brawny negress whose income from washingthe community's clothes ran at about five hundred a month. The twin'Sun-Dogs' discovered mustaches on their upper lips, and wererecognized as brother Fraction-Kings of El Dorado. In one of the mostprominent sets, and the slowest in uncovering, was Cal Galbraith withthe 'Spirit of the Pole. ' Opposite him was Jack Harrington and the'Russian Princess. ' The rest had discovered themselves, yet the 'GreekDancer' was still missing. All eyes were upon the group. Cal Galbraith, in response to their cries, lifted his partner's mask. Freda'swonderful face and brilliant eyes flashed out upon them. A roar wentup, to be squelched suddenly in the new and absorbing mystery of the'Russian Princess. ' Her face was still hidden, and Jack Harrington wasstruggling with her. The dancers tittered on the tiptoes of expectancy. He crushed her dainty costume roughly, and then--and then the revelersexploded. The joke was on them. They had danced all night with atabooed native woman. 

But those that knew, and they were many, ceased abruptly, and a hushfell upon the room. 

Cal Galbraith crossed over with great strides, angrily, and spoke toMadeline in polyglot Chinook. But she retained her composure, apparently oblivious to the fact that she was the cynosure of all eyes, and answered him in English. She showed neither fright nor anger, andMalemute Kid chuckled at her well-bred equanimity. The King feltbaffled, defeated; his common Siwash wife had passed beyond him. 

'Come!' he said finally. 'Come on home. ' 'I beg pardon, ' she replied;'I have agreed to go to supper with Mr. Harrington. Besides, there's noend of dances promised. '

Harrington extended his arm to lead her away. He evinced not theslightest disinclination toward showing his back, but Malemute Kid hadby this time edged in closer. The Circle City King was stunned. Twicehis hand dropped to his belt, and twice the Kid gathered himself tospring; but the retreating couple passed through the supper-room doorwhere canned oysters were spread at five dollars the plate. 

The crowd sighed audibly, broke up into couples, and followed them. Freda pouted and went in with Cal Galbraith; but she had a good heartand a sure tongue, and she spoiled his oysters for him. What she saidis of no importance, but his face went red and white at intervals, andhe swore repeatedly and savagely at himself. 

The supper-room was filled with a pandemonium of voices, which ceasedsuddenly as Cal Galbraith stepped over to his wife's table. Since theunmasking considerable weights of dust had been placed as to theoutcome. Everybody watched with breathless interest. 

Harrington's blue eyes were steady, but under the overhangingtablecloth a Smith & Wesson balanced on his knee. Madeline looked up, casually, with little interest. 

'May--may I have the next round dance with you?' the King stuttered. 

The wife of the King glanced at her card and inclined her head. 

An Odyssey of the North

The sleds were singing their eternal lament to the creaking of theharness and the tinkling bells of the leaders; but the men and dogswere tired and made no sound. The trail was heavy with new-fallen snow, and they had come far, and the runners, burdened with flint-likequarters of frozen moose, clung tenaciously to the unpacked surface andheld back with a stubbornness almost human. 

Darkness was coming on, but there was no camp to pitch that night. Thesnow fell gently through the pulseless air, not in flakes, but in tinyfrost crystals of delicate design. It was very warm--barely ten belowzero--and the men did not mind. Meyers and Bettles had raised their earflaps, while Malemute Kid had even taken off his mittens. 

The dogs had been fagged out early in the after noon, but they nowbegan to show new vigor. Among the more astute there was a certainrestlessness--an impatience at the restraint of the traces, anindecisive quickness of movement, a sniffing of snouts and pricking ofears. These became incensed at their more phlegmatic brothers, urgingthem on with numerous sly nips on their hinder quarters. Those, thuschidden, also contracted and helped spread the contagion. At last theleader of the foremost sled uttered a sharp whine of satisfaction, crouching lower in the snow and throwing himself against the collar. The rest followed suit. 

There was an ingathering of back hands, a tightening of traces; thesleds leaped forward, and the men clung to the gee poles, violentlyaccelerating the uplift of their feet that they might escape goingunder the runners. The weariness of the day fell from them, and theywhooped encouragement to the dogs. The animals responded with joyousyelps. They were swinging through the gathering darkness at a rattlinggallop. 

'Gee! Gee!' the men cried, each in turn, as their sleds abruptly leftthe main trail, heeling over on single runners like luggers on the wind. 

Then came a hundred yards' dash to the lighted parchment window, whichtold its own story of the home cabin, the roaring Yukon stove, and thesteaming pots of tea. But the home cabin had been invaded. Threescorehuskies chorused defiance, and as many furry forms precipitatedthemselves upon the dogs which drew the first sled. The door was flungopen, and a man, clad in the scarlet tunic of the Northwest Police, waded knee-deep among the furious brutes, calmly and impartiallydispensing soothing justice with the butt end of a dog whip. After thatthe men shook hands; and in this wise was Malemute Kid welcomed to hisown cabin by a stranger. 

Stanley Prince, who should have welcomed him, and who was responsiblefor the Yukon stove and hot tea aforementioned, was busy with hisguests. There were a dozen or so of them, as nondescript a crowd asever served the Queen in the enforcement of her laws or the delivery ofher mails. They were of many breeds, but their common life had formedof them a certain type--a lean and wiry type, with trail-hardenedmuscles, and sun-browned faces, and untroubled souls which gazedfrankly forth, clear-eyed and steady. 

They drove the dogs of the Queen, wrought fear in the hearts of herenemies, ate of her meager fare, and were happy. They had seen life, and done deeds, and lived romances; but they did not know it. 

And they were very much at home. Two of them were sprawled uponMalemute Kid's bunk, singing chansons which their French forebears sangin the days when first they entered the Northwest land and mated withits Indian women. Bettles' bunk had suffered a similar invasion, andthree or four lusty voyageurs worked their toes among its blankets asthey listened to the tale of one who had served on the boat brigadewith Wolseley when he fought his way to Khartoum. 

And when he tired, a cowboy told of courts and kings and lords andladies he had seen when Buffalo Bill toured the capitals of Europe. Ina corner two half-breeds, ancient comrades in a lost campaign, mendedharnesses and talked of the days when the Northwest flamed withinsurrection and Louis Riel was king. 

Rough jests and rougher jokes went up and down, and great hazards bytrail and river were spoken of in the light of commonplaces, only to berecalled by virtue of some grain of humor or ludicrous happening. Prince was led away by these uncrowned heroes who had seen historymade, who regarded the great and the romantic as but the ordinary andthe incidental in the routine of life. He passed his precious tobaccoamong them with lavish disregard, and rusty chains of reminiscence wereloosened, and forgotten odysseys resurrected for his especial benefit. 

When conversation dropped and the travelers filled the last pipes andlashed their tight-rolled sleeping furs. Prince fell back upon hiscomrade for further information. 

'Well, you know what the cowboy is, ' Malemute Kid answered, beginningto unlace his moccasins; 'and it's not hard to guess the British bloodin his bed partner. As for the rest, they're all children of thecoureurs du bois, mingled with God knows how many other bloods. The twoturning in by the door are the regulation 'breeds' or Boisbrules. Thatlad with the worsted breech scarf--notice his eyebrows and the turn ofhis jaw--shows a Scotchman wept in his mother's smoky tepee. And thathandsome looking fellow putting the capote under his head is a Frenchhalf-breed--you heard him talking; he doesn't like the two Indiansturning in next to him. You see, when the 'breeds' rose under the Rielthe full-bloods kept the peace, and they've not lost much love for oneanother since. ' 'But I say, what's that glum-looking fellow by thestove? I'll swear he can't talk English. He hasn't opened his mouth allnight. ' 'You're wrong. He knows English well enough. Did you follow hiseyes when he listened? I did. But he's neither kith nor kin to theothers. When they talked their own patois you could see he didn'tunderstand. I've been wondering myself what he is. Let's find out. ''Fire a couple of sticks into the stove!'

Malemute Kid commanded, raising his voice and looking squarely at theman in question. 

He obeyed at once. 

'Had discipline knocked into him somewhere. ' Prince commented in a lowtone. 

Malemute Kid nodded, took off his socks, and picked his way amongrecumbent men to the stove. There he hung his damp footgear among ascore or so of mates. 

'When do you expect to get to Dawson?' he asked tentatively. 

The man studied him a moment before replying. 'They say seventy-fivemile. So? Maybe two days. ' The very slightest accent was perceptible, while there was no awkward hesitancy or groping for words. 

'Been in the country before?' 'No. ' 'Northwest Territory?' 'Yes. ' 'Bornthere?' 'No. '

'Well, where the devil were you born? You're none of these. ' MalemuteKid swept his hand over the dog drivers, even including the twopolicemen who had turned into Prince's bunk. 'Where did you come from?I've seen faces like yours before, though I can't remember just where. ''I know you, ' he irrelevantly replied, at once turning the drift ofMalemute Kid's questions. 

'Where? Ever see me?' 'No; your partner, him priest, Pastilik, longtime ago. Him ask me if I see you, Malemute Kid. Him give me grub. I nostop long. You hear him speak 'bout me?' 'Oh! you're the fellow thattraded the otter skins for the dogs?' The man nodded, knocked out hispipe, and signified his disinclination for conversation by rolling upin his furs. Malemute Kid blew out the slush lamp and crawled under theblankets with Prince. 

'Well, what is he?' 'Don't know--turned me off, somehow, and then shutup like a clam. 

'But he's a fellow to whet your curiosity. I've heard of him. All thecoast wondered about him eight years ago. Sort of mysterious, you know. He came down out of the North in the dead of winter, many a thousandmiles from here, skirting Bering Sea and traveling as though the devilwere after him. No one ever learned where he came from, but he musthave come far. He was badly travel-worn when he got food from theSwedish missionary on Golovin Bay and asked the way south. We heard ofall this afterward. Then he abandoned the shore line, heading rightacross Norton Sound. Terrible weather, snowstorms and high winds, buthe pulled through where a thousand other men would have died, missingSt. Michaels and making the land at Pastilik. He'd lost all but twodogs, and was nearly gone with starvation. 

'He was so anxious to go on that Father Roubeau fitted him out withgrub; but he couldn't let him have any dogs, for he was only waiting myarrival, to go on a trip himself. Mr. Ulysses knew too much to start onwithout animals, and fretted around for several days. He had on hissled a bunch of beautifully cured otter skins, sea otters, you know, worth their weight in gold. There was also at Pastilik an old Shylockof a Russian trader, who had dogs to kill. Well, they didn't dickervery long, but when the Strange One headed south again, it was in therear of a spanking dog team. Mr. Shylock, by the way, had the otterskins. I saw them, and they were magnificent. We figured it up andfound the dogs brought him at least five hundred apiece. And it wasn'tas if the Strange One didn't know the value of sea otter; he was anIndian of some sort, and what little he talked showed he'd been amongwhite men. 

'After the ice passed out of the sea, word came up from Nunivak Islandthat he'd gone in there for grub. Then he dropped from sight, and thisis the first heard of him in eight years. Now where did he come from?and what was he doing there? and why did he come from there? He'sIndian, he's been nobody knows where, and he's had discipline, which isunusual for an Indian. Another mystery of the North for you to solve, Prince. ' 'Thanks awfully, but I've got too many on hand as it is, ' hereplied. 

Malemute Kid was already breathing heavily; but the young miningengineer gazed straight up through the thick darkness, waiting for thestrange orgasm which stirred his blood to die away. And when he didsleep, his brain worked on, and for the nonce he, too, wandered throughthe white unknown, struggled with the dogs on endless trails, and sawmen live, and toil, and die like men. The next morning, hours beforedaylight, the dog drivers and policemen pulled out for Dawson. But thepowers that saw to Her Majesty's interests and ruled the destinies ofher lesser creatures gave the mailmen little rest, for a week laterthey appeared at Stuart River, heavily burdened with letters for SaltWater. 

However, their dogs had been replaced by fresh ones; but, then, theywere dogs. 

The men had expected some sort of a layover in which to rest up;besides, this Klondike was a new section of the Northland, and they hadwished to see a little something of the Golden City where dust flowedlike water and dance halls rang with never-ending revelry. But theydried their socks and smoked their evening pipes with much the samegusto as on their former visit, though one or two bold spiritsspeculated on desertion and the possibility of crossing the unexploredRockies to the east, and thence, by the Mackenzie Valley, of gainingtheir old stamping grounds in the Chippewyan country. 

Two or three even decided to return to their homes by that route whentheir terms of service had expired, and they began to lay plansforthwith, looking forward to the hazardous undertaking in much thesame way a city-bred man would to a day's holiday in the woods. 

He of the Otter Skins seemed very restless, though he took littleinterest in the discussion, and at last he drew Malemute Kid to oneside and talked for some time in low tones. 

Prince cast curious eyes in their direction, and the mystery deepenedwhen they put on caps and mittens and went outside. When they returned, Malemute Kid placed his gold scales on the table, weighed out thematter of sixty ounces, and transferred them to the Strange One's sack. Then the chief of the dog drivers joined the conclave, and certainbusiness was transacted with him. 

The next day the gang went on upriver, but He of the Otter Skins tookseveral pounds of grub and turned his steps back toward Dawson. 

'Didn't know what to make of it, ' said Malemute Kid in response toPrince's queries; 'but the poor beggar wanted to be quit of the servicefor some reason or other--at least it seemed a most important one tohim, though he wouldn't let on what. You see, it's just like the army:he signed for two years, and the only way to get free was to buyhimself out. He couldn't desert and then stay here, and he was justwild to remain in the country. 

'Made up his mind when he got to Dawson, he said; but no one knew him, hadn't a cent, and I was the only one he'd spoken two words with. So hetalked it over with the lieutenant-governor, and made arrangements incase he could get the money from me--loan, you know. Said he'd pay backin the year, and, if I wanted, would put me onto something rich. Never'd seen it, but he knew it was rich. 

'And talk! why, when he got me outside he was ready to weep. Begged andpleaded; got down in the snow to me till I hauled him out of it. Palavered around like a crazy man. 

'Swore he's worked to this very end for years and years, and couldn'tbear to be disappointed now. Asked him what end, but he wouldn't say. 

'Said they might keep him on the other half of the trail and hewouldn't get to Dawson in two years, and then it would be too late. Never saw a man take on so in my life. And when I said I'd let him haveit, had to yank him out of the snow again. Told him to consider it inthe light of a grubstake. Think he'd have it? No sir! Swore he'd giveme all he found, make me rich beyond the dreams of avarice, and allsuch stuff. Now a man who puts his life and time against a grubstakeordinarily finds it hard enough to turn over half of what he finds. Something behind all this, Prince; just you make a note of it. We'llhear of him if he stays in the country--' 'And if he doesn't?' 'Then mygood nature gets a shock, and I'm sixty some odd ounces out. ' The coldweather had come on with the long nights, and the sun had begun to playhis ancient game of peekaboo along the southern snow line ere aught washeard of Malemute Kid's grubstake. And then, one bleak morning in earlyJanuary, a heavily laden dog train pulled into his cabin below StuartRiver. He of the Otter Skins was there, and with him walked a man suchas the gods have almost forgotten how to fashion. Men never talked ofluck and pluck and five-hundred-dollar dirt without bringing in thename of Axel Gunderson; nor could tales of nerve or strength or daringpass up and down the campfire without the summoning of his presence. And when the conversation flagged, it blazed anew at mention of thewoman who shared his fortunes. 

As has been noted, in the making of Axel Gunderson the gods hadremembered their old-time cunning and cast him after the manner of menwho were born when the world was young. Full seven feet he towered inhis picturesque costume which marked a king of Eldorado. His chest, neck, and limbs were those of a giant. To bear his three hundred poundsof bone and muscle, his snowshoes were greater by a generous yard thanthose of other men. Rough-hewn, with rugged brow and massive jaw andunflinching eyes of palest blue, his face told the tale of one who knewbut the law of might. Of the yellow of ripe corn silk, hisfrost-incrusted hair swept like day across the night and fell far downhis coat of bearskin. 

A vague tradition of the sea seemed to cling about him as he swung downthe narrow trail in advance of the dogs; and he brought the butt of hisdog whip against Malemute Kid's door as a Norse sea rover, on southernforay, might thunder for admittance at the castle gate. 

Prince bared his womanly arms and kneaded sour-dough bread, casting, ashe did so, many a glance at the three guests--three guests the like ofwhich might never come under a man's roof in a lifetime. The StrangeOne, whom Malemute Kid had surnamed Ulysses, still fascinated him; buthis interest chiefly gravitated between Axel Gunderson and AxelGunderson's wife. She felt the day's journey, for she had softened incomfortable cabins during the many days since her husband mastered thewealth of frozen pay streaks, and she was tired. She rested against hisgreat breast like a slender flower against a wall, replying lazily toMalemute Kid's good-natured banter, and stirring Prince's bloodstrangely with an occasional sweep of her deep, dark eyes. For Princewas a man, and healthy, and had seen few women in many months. And shewas older than he, and an Indian besides. But she was different fromall native wives he had met: she had traveled--had been in his countryamong others, he gathered from the conversation; and she knew most ofthe things the women of his own race knew, and much more that it wasnot in the nature of things for them to know. She could make a meal ofsun-dried fish or a bed in the snow; yet she teased them withtantalizing details of many-course dinners, and caused strange internaldissensions to arise at the mention of various quondam dishes whichthey had well-nigh forgotten. She knew the ways of the moose, the bear, and the little blue fox, and of the wild amphibians of the Northernseas; she was skilled in the lore of the woods, and the streams, andthe tale writ by man and bird and beast upon the delicate snow crustwas to her an open book; yet Prince caught the appreciative twinkle inher eye as she read the Rules of the Camp. These rules had beenfathered by the Unquenchable Bettles at a time when his blood ran high, and were remarkable for the terse simplicity of their humor. 

Prince always turned them to the wall before the arrival of ladies; butwho could suspect that this native wife--Well, it was too late now. 

This, then, was the wife of Axel Gunderson, a woman whose name and famehad traveled with her husband's, hand in hand, through all theNorthland. At table, Malemute Kid baited her with the assurance of anold friend, and Prince shook off the shyness of first acquaintance andjoined in. But she held her own in the unequal contest, while herhusband, slower in wit, ventured naught but applause. And he was veryproud of her; his every look and action revealed the magnitude of theplace she occupied in his life. He of the Otter Skins ate in silence, forgotten in the merry battle; and long ere the others were done hepushed back from the table and went out among the dogs. Yet all toosoon his fellow travelers drew on their mittens and parkas and followedhim. 

There had been no snow for many days, and the sleds slipped along thehardpacked Yukon trail as easily as if it had been glare ice. Ulyssesled the first sled; with the second came Prince and Axel Gunderson'swife; while Malemute Kid and the yellow-haired giant brought up thethird. 

'It's only a hunch, Kid, ' he said, 'but I think it's straight. He'snever been there, but he tells a good story, and shows a map I heard ofwhen I was in the Kootenay country years ago. I'd like to have you goalong; but he's a strange one, and swore point-blank to throw it up ifanyone was brought in. But when I come back you'll get first tip, andI'll stake you next to me, and give you a half share in the town sitebesides. ' 'No! no!' he cried, as the other strove to interrupt. 'I'mrunning this, and before I'm done it'll need two heads. 

'If it's all right, why, it'll be a second Cripple Creek, man; do youhear?--a second Cripple Creek! It's quartz, you know, not placer; andif we work it right we'll corral the whole thing--millions uponmillions. I've heard of the place before, and so have you. We'll builda town--thousands of workmen--good waterways--steamship lines--bigcarrying trade--light-draught steamers for head reaches--survey arailroad, perhaps--sawmills--electric-light plant--do our ownbanking--commercial company--syndicate--Say! Just you hold your hushtill I get back!' The sleds came to a halt where the trail crossed themouth of Stuart River. An unbroken sea of frost, its wide expansestretched away into the unknown east. 

The snowshoes were withdrawn from the lashings of the sleds. AxelGunderson shook hands and stepped to the fore, his great webbed shoessinking a fair half yard into the feathery surface and packing the snowso the dogs should not wallow. His wife fell in behind the last sled, betraying long practice in the art of handling the awkward footgear, The stillness was broken with cheery farewells; the dogs whined; and Heof the Otter Skins talked with his whip to a recalcitrant wheeler. 

An hour later the train had taken on the likeness of a black pencilcrawling in a long, straight line across a mighty sheet of foolscap. 

II

One night, many weeks later, Malemute Kid and Prince fell to solvingchess problems from the torn page of an ancient magazine. The Kid hadjust returned from his Bonanza properties and was resting uppreparatory to a long moose hunt. 

Prince, too, had been on creek and trail nearly all winter, and hadgrown hungry for a blissful week of cabin life. 

'Interpose the black knight, and force the king. No, that won't do. See, the next move-'

'Why advance the pawn two squares? Bound to take it in transit, andwith the bishop out of the way-' 'But hold on! That leaves a hole, and-' 'No; it's protected. Go ahead! You'll see it works. ' It was veryinteresting. Somebody knocked at the door a second time before MalemuteKid said, 'Come in. ' The door swung open. Something staggered in. 

Prince caught one square look and sprang to his feet. The horror in hiseyes caused Malemute Kid to whirl about; and he, too, was startled, though he had seen bad things before. The thing tottered blindly towardthem. Prince edged away till he reached the nail from which hung hisSmith & Wesson. 

'My God! what is it?' he whispered to Malemute Kid. 

'Don't know. Looks like a case of freezing and no grub, ' replied theKid, sliding away in the opposite direction. 'Watch out! It may bemad, ' he warned, coming back from closing the door. 

The thing advanced to the table. The bright flame of the slush lampcaught its eye. It was amused, and gave voice to eldritch cackles whichbetokened mirth. 

Then, suddenly, he--for it was a man--swayed back, with a hitch to hisskin trousers, and began to sing a chantey, such as men lift when theyswing around the capstan circle and the sea snorts in their ears:Yan-kee ship come down de ri-ib-er, Pull! my bully boys! Pull! D'yehwant--to know de captain ru-uns her? Pull! my bully boys! Pull!Jon-a-than Jones ob South Caho-li-in-a, Pull! my bully. He broke offabruptly, tottered with a wolfish snarl to the meat shelf, and beforethey could intercept was tearing with his teeth at a chunk of rawbacon. The struggle was fierce between him and Malemute Kid; but hismad strength left him as suddenly as it had come, and he weaklysurrendered the spoil. Between them they got him upon a stool, where hesprawled with half his body across the table. 

A small dose of whiskey strengthened him, so that he could dip a spooninto the sugar caddy which Malemute Kid placed before him. After hisappetite had been somewhat cloyed, Prince, shuddering as he did so, passed him a mug of weak beef tea. 

The creature's eyes were alight with a somber frenzy, which blazed andwaned with every mouthful. There was very little skin to the face. Theface, for that matter, sunken and emaciated, bore little likeness tohuman countenance. 

Frost after frost had bitten deeply, each depositing its stratum ofscab upon the half-healed scar that went before. This dry, hard surfacewas of a bloody-black color, serrated by grievous cracks wherein theraw red flesh peeped forth. His skin garments were dirty and intatters, and the fur of one side was singed and burned away, showingwhere he had lain upon his fire. 

Malemute Kid pointed to where the sun-tanned hide had been cut away, strip by strip--the grim signature of famine. 

'Who--are--you?' slowly and distinctly enunciated the Kid. 

The man paid no heed. 

'Where do you come from?' 'Yan-kee ship come down de ri-ib-er, ' was thequavering response. 

'Don't doubt the beggar came down the river, ' the Kid said, shaking himin an endeavor to start a more lucid flow of talk. 

But the man shrieked at the contact, clapping a hand to his side inevident pain. He rose slowly to his feet, half leaning on the table. 

'She laughed at me--so--with the hate in her eye; andshe--would--not--come. ' His voice died away, and he was sinking backwhen Malemute Kid gripped him by the wrist and shouted, 'Who? Who wouldnot come?' 'She, Unga. She laughed, and struck at me, so, and so. Andthen-' 'Yes?'

'And then--' 'And then what?' 'And then he lay very still in the snow along time. He is-still in--the--snow. ' The two men looked at each otherhelplessly. 

'Who is in the snow?' 'She, Unga. She looked at me with the hate in hereye, and then--'

'Yes, yes. ' 'And then she took the knife, so; and once, twice--she wasweak. I traveled very slow. And there is much gold in that place, verymuch gold. ' 'Where is Unga?' For all Malemute Kid knew, she might bedying a mile away. He shook the man savagely, repeating again andagain, 'Where is Unga? Who is Unga?' 'She--is--in--the--snow. ' 'Go on!'The Kid was pressing his wrist cruelly. 

'So--I--would--be--in--the snow--but--I--had--a--debt--to--pay. It--was--heavy--I--had--a-debt--to--pay--a--debt--to--pay I--had-' Thefaltering monosyllables ceased as he fumbled in his pouch and drewforth a buckskin sack. 'A--debt--to--pay--five--pounds--of--gold-grub--stake--Mal--e--mute--Kid--I--y--' The exhausted head dropped upon thetable; nor could Malemute Kid rouse it again. 

'It's Ulysses, ' he said quietly, tossing the bag of dust on the table. 'Guess it's all day with Axel Gunderson and the woman. Come on, let'sget him between the blankets. He's Indian; he'll pull through and tella tale besides. ' As they cut his garments from him, near his rightbreast could be seen two unhealed, hard-lipped knife thrusts. 

III

'I will talk of the things which were in my own way; but you willunderstand. I will begin at the beginning, and tell of myself and thewoman, and, after that, of the man. ' He of the Otter Skins drew over tothe stove as do men who have been deprived of fire and are afraid thePromethean gift may vanish at any moment. Malemute Kid picked up theslush lamp and placed it so its light might fall upon the face of thenarrator. Prince slid his body over the edge of the bunk and joinedthem. 

'I am Naass, a chief, and the son of a chief, born between a sunset anda rising, on the dark seas, in my father's oomiak. All of a night themen toiled at the paddles, and the women cast out the waves which threwin upon us, and we fought with the storm. The salt spray froze upon mymother's breast till her breath passed with the passing of the tide. But I--I raised my voice with the wind and the storm, and lived. 

'We dwelt in Akatan--' 'Where?' asked Malemute Kid. 

'Akatan, which is in the Aleutians; Akatan, beyond Chignik, beyondKardalak, beyond Unimak. As I say, we dwelt in Akatan, which lies inthe midst of the sea on the edge of the world. We farmed the salt seasfor the fish, the seal, and the otter; and our homes shouldered aboutone another on the rocky strip between the rim of the forest and theyellow beach where our kayaks lay. We were not many, and the world wasvery small. There were strange lands to the east--islands like Akatan;so we thought all the world was islands and did not mind. 

'I was different from my people. In the sands of the beach were thecrooked timbers and wave-warped planks of a boat such as my peoplenever built; and I remember on the point of the island which overlookedthe ocean three ways there stood a pine tree which never grew there, smooth and straight and tall. It is said the two men came to that spot, turn about, through many days, and watched with the passing of thelight. These two men came from out of the sea in the boat which lay inpieces on the beach. And they were white like you, and weak as thelittle children when the seal have gone away and the hunters come homeempty. I know of these things from the old men and the old women, whogot them from their fathers and mothers before them. These strangewhite men did not take kindly to our ways at first, but they grewstrong, what of the fish and the oil, and fierce. And they built themeach his own house, and took the pick of our women, and in timechildren came. Thus he was born who was to become the father of myfather's father. 

'As I said, I was different from my people, for I carried the strong, strange blood of this white man who came out of the sea. It is said wehad other laws in the days before these men; but they were fierce andquarrelsome, and fought with our men till there were no more left whodared to fight. Then they made themselves chiefs, and took away our oldlaws, and gave us new ones, insomuch that the man was the son of hisfather, and not his mother, as our way had been. They also ruled thatthe son, first-born, should have all things which were his father'sbefore him, and that the brothers and sisters should shift forthemselves. And they gave us other laws. They showed us new ways in thecatching of fish and the killing of bear which were thick in the woods;and they taught us to lay by bigger stores for the time of famine. Andthese things were good. 

'But when they had become chiefs, and there were no more men to facetheir anger, they fought, these strange white men, each with the other. And the one whose blood I carry drove his seal spear the length of anarm through the other's body. Their children took up the fight, andtheir children's children; and there was great hatred between them, andblack doings, even to my time, so that in each family but one lived topass down the blood of them that went before. Of my blood I was alone;of the other man's there was but a girl. Unga, who lived with hermother. Her father and my father did not come back from the fishing onenight; but afterward they washed up to the beach on the big tides, andthey held very close to each other. 

'The people wondered, because of the hatred between the houses, and theold men shook their heads and said the fight would go on when childrenwere born to her and children to me. They told me this as a boy, till Icame to believe, and to look upon Unga as a foe, who was to be themother of children which were to fight with mine. I thought of thesethings day by day, and when I grew to a stripling I came to ask whythis should be so. 

'And they answered, "We do not know, but that in such way your fathersdid. " And I marveled that those which were to come should fight thebattles of those that were gone, and in it I could see no right. Butthe people said it must be, and I was only a stripling. 

'And they said I must hurry, that my blood might be the older and growstrong before hers. This was easy, for I was head man, and the peoplelooked up to me because of the deeds and the laws of my fathers, andthe wealth which was mine. Any maiden would come to me, but I foundnone to my liking. And the old men and the mothers of maidens told meto hurry, for even then were the hunters bidding high to the mother ofUnga; and should her children grow strong before mine, mine wouldsurely die. 

'Nor did I find a maiden till one night coming back from the fishing. The sunlight was lying, so, low and full in the eyes, the wind free, and the kayacks racing with the white seas. Of a sudden the kayak ofUnga came driving past me, and she looked upon me, so, with her blackhair flying like a cloud of night and the spray wet on her cheek. As Isay, the sunlight was full in the eyes, and I was a stripling; butsomehow it was all clear, and I knew it to be the call of kind to kind. 

'As she whipped ahead she looked back within the space of twostrokes--looked as only the woman Unga could look--and again I knew itas the call of kind. The people shouted as we ripped past the lazyoomiaks and left them far behind. But she was quick at the paddle, andmy heart was like the belly of a sail, and I did not gain. The windfreshened, the sea whitened, and, leaping like the seals on thewindward breech, we roared down the golden pathway of the sun. ' Naasswas crouched half out of his stool, in the attitude of one driving apaddle, as he ran the race anew. Somewhere across the stove he beheldthe tossing kayak and the flying hair of Unga. The voice of the windwas in his ears, and its salt beat fresh upon his nostrils. 

'But she made the shore, and ran up the sand, laughing, to the house ofher mother. And a great thought came to me that night--a thought worthyof him that was chief over all the people of Akatan. So, when the moonwas up, I went down to the house of her mother, and looked upon thegoods of Yash-Noosh, which were piled by the door--the goods ofYash-Noosh, a strong hunter who had it in mind to be the father of thechildren of Unga. Other young men had piled their goods there and takenthem away again; and each young man had made a pile greater than theone before. 

'And I laughed to the moon and the stars, and went to my own housewhere my wealth was stored. And many trips I made, till my pile wasgreater by the fingers of one hand than the pile of Yash-Noosh. Therewere fish, dried in the sun and smoked; and forty hides of the hairseal, and half as many of the fur, and each hide was tied at the mouthand big bellied with oil; and ten skins of bear which I killed in thewoods when they came out in the spring. And there were beads andblankets and scarlet cloths, such as I got in trade from the people wholived to the east, and who got them in trade from the people who livedstill beyond in the east. 

'And I looked upon the pile of Yash-Noosh and laughed, for I was headman in Akatan, and my wealth was greater than the wealth of all myyoung men, and my fathers had done deeds, and given laws, and put theirnames for all time in the mouths of the people. 

'So, when the morning came, I went down to the beach, casting out ofthe corner of my eye at the house of the mother of Unga. My offer yetstood untouched. 

'And the women smiled, and said sly things one to the other. Iwondered, for never had such a price been offered; and that night Iadded more to the pile, and put beside it a kayak of well-tanned skinswhich never yet had swam in the sea. But in the day it was yet there, open to the laughter of all men. The mother of Unga was crafty, and Igrew angry at the shame in which I stood before my people. So thatnight I added till it became a great pile, and I hauled up my oomiak, which was of the value of twenty kayaks. And in the morning there wasno pile. 

'Then made I preparation for the wedding, and the people that livedeven to the east came for the food of the feast and the potlatch token. Unga was older than I by the age of four suns in the way we reckonedthe years. I was only a stripling; but then I was a chief, and the sonof a chief, and it did not matter. 

'But a ship shoved her sails above the floor of the ocean, and grewlarger with the breath of the wind. From her scuppers she ran clearwater, and the men were in haste and worked hard at the pumps. On thebow stood a mighty man, watching the depth of the water and givingcommands with a voice of thunder. His eyes were of the pale blue of thedeep waters, and his head was maned like that of a sea lion. And hishair was yellow, like the straw of a southern harvest or the manilarope yarns which sailormen plait. 

'Of late years we had seen ships from afar, but this was the first tocome to the beach of Akatan. The feast was broken, and the women andchildren fled to the houses, while we men strung our bows and waitedwith spears in hand. But when the ship's forefoot smelled the beach thestrange men took no notice of us, being busy with their own work. Withthe falling of the tide they careened the schooner and patched a greathole in her bottom. So the women crept back, and the feast went on. 

'When the tide rose, the sea wanderers kedged the schooner to deepwater and then came among us. They bore presents and were friendly; soI made room for them, and out of the largeness of my heart gave themtokens such as I gave all the guests, for it was my wedding day, and Iwas head man in Akatan. And he with the mane of the sea lion was there, so tall and strong that one looked to see the earth shake with the fallof his feet. He looked much and straight at Unga, with his arms folded, so, and stayed till the sun went away and the stars came out. Then hewent down to his ship. After that I took Unga by the hand and led herto my own house. And there was singing and great laughter, and thewomen said sly things, after the manner of women at such times. But wedid not care. Then the people left us alone and went home. 

'The last noise had not died away when the chief of the sea wandererscame in by the door. And he had with him black bottles, from which wedrank and made merry. You see, I was only a stripling, and had livedall my days on the edge of the world. So my blood became as fire, andmy heart as light as the froth that flies from the surf to the cliff. Unga sat silent among the skins in the corner, her eyes wide, for sheseemed to fear. And he with the mane of the sea lion looked upon herstraight and long. Then his men came in with bundles of goods, and hepiled before me wealth such as was not in all Akatan. There were guns, both large and small, and powder and shot and shell, and bright axesand knives of steel, and cunning tools, and strange things the like ofwhich I had never seen. When he showed me by sign that it was all mine, I thought him a great man to be so free; but he showed me also thatUnga was to go away with him in his ship. 

'Do you understand?--that Unga was to go away with him in his ship. Theblood of my fathers flamed hot on the sudden, and I made to drive himthrough with my spear. But the spirit of the bottles had stolen thelife from my arm, and he took me by the neck, so, and knocked my headagainst the wall of the house. And I was made weak like a newbornchild, and my legs would no more stand under me. 

'Unga screamed, and she laid hold of the things of the house with herhands, till they fell all about us as he dragged her to the door. Thenhe took her in his great arms, and when she tore at his yellow hairlaughed with a sound like that of the big bull seal in the rut. 

'I crawled to the beach and called upon my people, but they wereafraid. Only Yash-Noosh was a man, and they struck him on the head withan oar, till he lay with his face in the sand and did not move. Andthey raised the sails to the sound of their songs, and the ship wentaway on the wind. 

'The people said it was good, for there would be no more war of thebloods in Akatan; but I said never a word, waiting till the time of thefull moon, when I put fish and oil in my kayak and went away to theeast. I saw many islands and many people, and I, who had lived on theedge, saw that the world was very large. I talked by signs; but theyhad not seen a schooner nor a man with the mane of a sea lion, and theypointed always to the east. And I slept in queer places, and ate oddthings, and met strange faces. Many laughed, for they thought me lightof head; but sometimes old men turned my face to the light and blessedme, and the eyes of the young women grew soft as they asked me of thestrange ship, and Unga, and the men of the sea. 

'And in this manner, through rough seas and great storms, I came toUnalaska. There were two schooners there, but neither was the one Isought. So I passed on to the east, with the world growing ever larger, and in the island of Unamok there was no word of the ship, nor inKadiak, nor in Atognak. And so I came one day to a rocky land, wheremen dug great holes in the mountain. And there was a schooner, but notmy schooner, and men loaded upon it the rocks which they dug. This Ithought childish, for all the world was made of rocks; but they gave mefood and set me to work. When the schooner was deep in the water, thecaptain gave me money and told me to go; but I asked which way he went, and he pointed south. I made signs that I would go with him, and helaughed at first, but then, being short of men, took me to help workthe ship. So I came to talk after their manner, and to heave on ropes, and to reef the stiff sails in sudden squalls, and to take my turn atthe wheel. But it was not strange, for the blood of my fathers was theblood of the men of the sea. 

'I had thought it an easy task to find him I sought, once I got amonghis own people; and when we raised the land one day, and passed betweena gateway of the sea to a port, I looked for perhaps as many schoonersas there were fingers to my hands. But the ships lay against thewharves for miles, packed like so many little fish; and when I wentamong them to ask for a man with the mane of a sea lion, they laughed, and answered me in the tongues of many peoples. And I found that theyhailed from the uttermost parts of the earth. 

'And I went into the city to look upon the face of every man. But theywere like the cod when they run thick on the banks, and I could notcount them. And the noise smote upon me till I could not hear, and myhead was dizzy with much movement. So I went on and on, through thelands which sang in the warm sunshine; where the harvests lay rich onthe plains; and where great cities were fat with men that lived likewomen, with false words in their mouths and their hearts black with thelust of gold. And all the while my people of Akatan hunted and fished, and were happy in the thought that the world was small. 

'But the look in the eyes of Unga coming home from the fishing was withme always, and I knew I would find her when the time was met. Shewalked down quiet lanes in the dusk of the evening, or led me chasesacross the thick fields wet with the morning dew, and there was apromise in her eyes such as only the woman Unga could give. 

'So I wandered through a thousand cities. Some were gentle and gave mefood, and others laughed, and still others cursed; but I kept my tonguebetween my teeth, and went strange ways and saw strange sights. Sometimes I, who was a chief and the son of a chief, toiled formen--men rough of speech and hard as iron, who wrung gold from thesweat and sorrow of their fellow men. Yet no word did I get of my questtill I came back to the sea like a homing seal to the rookeries. 

'But this was at another port, in another country which lay to thenorth. And there I heard dim tales of the yellow-haired sea wanderer, and I learned that he was a hunter of seals, and that even then he wasabroad on the ocean. 

'So I shipped on a seal schooner with the lazy Siwashes, and followedhis trackless trail to the north where the hunt was then warm. And wewere away weary months, and spoke many of the fleet, and heard much ofthe wild doings of him I sought; but never once did we raise him abovethe sea. We went north, even to the Pribilofs, and killed the seals inherds on the beach, and brought their warm bodies aboard till ourscuppers ran grease and blood and no man could stand upon the deck. Then were we chased by a ship of slow steam, which fired upon us withgreat guns. But we put sail till the sea was over our decks and washedthem clean, and lost ourselves in a fog. 

'It is said, at this time, while we fled with fear at our hearts, thatthe yellow-haired sea wanderer put in to the Pribilofs, right to thefactory, and while the part of his men held the servants of thecompany, the rest loaded ten thousand green skins from the salt houses. I say it is said, but I believe; for in the voyages I made on the coastwith never a meeting the northern seas rang with his wildness anddaring, till the three nations which have lands there sought him withtheir ships. 

'And I heard of Unga, for the captains sang loud in her praise, and shewas always with him. She had learned the ways of his people, they said, and was happy. But I knew better--knew that her heart harked back toher own people by the yellow beach of Akatan. 

'So, after a long time, I went back to the port which is by a gatewayof the sea, and there I learned that he had gone across the girth ofthe great ocean to hunt for the seal to the east of the warm land whichruns south from the Russian seas. 

'And I, who was become a sailorman, shipped with men of his own race, and went after him in the hunt of the seal. And there were few shipsoff that new land; but we hung on the flank of the seal pack andharried it north through all the spring of the year. And when the cowswere heavy with pup and crossed the Russian line, our men grumbled andwere afraid. For there was much fog, and every day men were lost in theboats. They would not work, so the captain turned the ship back towardthe way it came. But I knew the yellow-haired sea wanderer wasunafraid, and would hang by the pack, even to the Russian Isles, wherefew men go. So I took a boat, in the black of night, when the lookoutdozed on the fo'c'slehead, and went alone to the warm, long land. And Ijourneyed south to meet the men by Yeddo Bay, who are wild andunafraid. And the Yoshiwara girls were small, and bright like steel, and good to look upon; but I could not stop, for I knew that Ungarolled on the tossing floor by the rookeries of the north. 

'The men by Yeddo Bay had met from the ends of the earth, and hadneither gods nor homes, sailing under the flag of the Japanese. Andwith them I went to the rich beaches of Copper Island, where our saltpiles became high with skins. 

'And in that silent sea we saw no man till we were ready to come away. Then one day the fog lifted on the edge of a heavy wind, and therejammed down upon us a schooner, with close in her wake the cloudyfunnels of a Russian man-of-war. We fled away on the beam of the wind, with the schooner jamming still closer and plunging ahead three feet toour two. And upon her poop was the man with the mane of the sea lion, pressing the rails under with the canvas and laughing in his strengthof life. And Unga was there--I knew her on the moment--but he sent herbelow when the cannons began to talk across the sea. 

As I say, with three feet to our two, till we saw the rudder lift greenat every jump--and I swinging on to the wheel and cursing, with my backto the Russian shot. For we knew he had it in mind to run before us, that he might get away while we were caught. And they knocked our mastsout of us till we dragged into the wind like a wounded gull; but hewent on over the edge of the sky line--he and Unga. 

'What could we? The fresh hides spoke for themselves. So they took usto a Russian port, and after that to a lone country, where they set usto work in the mines to dig salt. And some died, and--and some did notdie. ' Naass swept the blanket from his shoulders, disclosing thegnarled and twisted flesh, marked with the unmistakable striations ofthe knout. Prince hastily covered him, for it was not nice to look upon. 

'We were there a weary time and sometimes men got away to the south, but they always came back. So, when we who hailed from Yeddo Bay rosein the night and took the guns from the guards, we went to the north. And the land was very large, with plains, soggy with water, and greatforests. And the cold came, with much snow on the ground, and no manknew the way. Weary months we journeyed through the endless forest--Ido not remember, now, for there was little food and often we lay downto die. But at last we came to the cold sea, and but three were left tolook upon it. One had shipped from Yeddo as captain, and he knew in hishead the lay of the great lands, and of the place where men may crossfrom one to the other on the ice. And he led us--I do not know, it wasso long--till there were but two. When we came to that place we foundfive of the strange people which live in that country, and they haddogs and skins, and we were very poor. We fought in the snow till theydied, and the captain died, and the dogs and skins were mine. Then Icrossed on the ice, which was broken, and once I drifted till a galefrom the west put me upon the shore. And after that, Golovin Bay, Pastilik, and the priest. Then south, south, to the warm sunlands wherefirst I wandered. 

'But the sea was no longer fruitful, and those who went upon it afterthe seal went to little profit and great risk. The fleets scattered, and the captains and the men had no word of those I sought. So I turnedaway from the ocean which never rests, and went among the lands, wherethe trees, the houses, and the mountains sit always in one place and donot move. I journeyed far, and came to learn many things, even to theway of reading and writing from books. It was well I should do this, for it came upon me that Unga must know these things, and that someday, when the time was met--we--you understand, when the time was met. 

'So I drifted, like those little fish which raise a sail to the windbut cannot steer. But my eyes and my ears were open always, and I wentamong men who traveled much, for I knew they had but to see those Isought to remember. At last there came a man, fresh from the mountains, with pieces of rock in which the free gold stood to the size of peas, and he had heard, he had met, he knew them. They were rich, he said, and lived in the place where they drew the gold from the ground. 

'It was in a wild country, and very far away; but in time I came to thecamp, hidden between the mountains, where men worked night and day, outof the sight of the sun. Yet the time was not come. I listened to thetalk of the people. He had gone away--they had gone away--to England, it was said, in the matter of bringing men with much money together toform companies. I saw the house they had lived in; more like a palace, such as one sees in the old countries. In the nighttime I crept inthrough a window that I might see in what manner he treated her. I wentfrom room to room, and in such way thought kings and queens must live, it was all so very good. And they all said he treated her like a queen, and many marveled as to what breed of woman she was for there was otherblood in her veins, and she was different from the women of Akatan, andno one knew her for what she was. Aye, she was a queen; but I was achief, and the son of a chief, and I had paid for her an untold priceof skin and boat and bead. 

'But why so many words? I was a sailorman, and knew the way of theships on the seas. I followed to England, and then to other countries. Sometimes I heard of them by word of mouth, sometimes I read of them inthe papers; yet never once could I come by them, for they had muchmoney, and traveled fast, while I was a poor man. Then came troubleupon them, and their wealth slipped away one day like a curl of smoke. The papers were full of it at the time; but after that nothing wassaid, and I knew they had gone back where more gold could be got fromthe ground. 

'They had dropped out of the world, being now poor, and so I wanderedfrom camp to camp, even north to the Kootenay country, where I pickedup the cold scent. They had come and gone, some said this way, and somethat, and still others that they had gone to the country of the Yukon. And I went this way, and I went that, ever journeying from place toplace, till it seemed I must grow weary of the world which was solarge. But in the Kootenay I traveled a bad trail, and a long trail, with a breed of the Northwest, who saw fit to die when the faminepinched. He had been to the Yukon by an unknown way over the mountains, and when he knew his time was near gave me the map and the secret of aplace where he swore by his gods there was much gold. 

'After that all the world began to flock into the north. I was a poorman; I sold myself to be a driver of dogs. The rest you know. I met himand her in Dawson. 

'She did not know me, for I was only a stripling, and her life had beenlarge, so she had no time to remember the one who had paid for her anuntold price. 

'So? You bought me from my term of service. I went back to bring thingsabout in my own way, for I had waited long, and now that I had my handupon him was in no hurry. 

'As I say, I had it in mind to do my own way, for I read back in mylife, through all I had seen and suffered, and remembered the cold andhunger of the endless forest by the Russian seas. As you know, I ledhim into the east--him and Unga--into the east where many have gone andfew returned. I led them to the spot where the bones and the curses ofmen lie with the gold which they may not have. 

'The way was long and the trail unpacked. Our dogs were many and atemuch; nor could our sleds carry till the break of spring. We must comeback before the river ran free. So here and there we cached grub, thatour sleds might be lightened and there be no chance of famine on theback trip. At the McQuestion there were three men, and near them webuilt a cache, as also did we at the Mayo, where was a hunting camp ofa dozen Pellys which had crossed the divide from the south. 

'After that, as we went on into the east, we saw no men; only thesleeping river, the moveless forest, and the White Silence of theNorth. As I say, the way was long and the trail unpacked. Sometimes, ina day's toil, we made no more than eight miles, or ten, and at night weslept like dead men. And never once did they dream that I was Naass, head man of Akatan, the righter of wrongs. 

'We now made smaller caches, and in the nighttime it was a small matterto go back on the trail we had broken and change them in such way thatone might deem the wolverines the thieves. Again there be places wherethere is a fall to the river, and the water is unruly, and the icemakes above and is eaten away beneath. 

'In such a spot the sled I drove broke through, and the dogs; and tohim and Unga it was ill luck, but no more. And there was much grub onthat sled, and the dogs the strongest. 

'But he laughed, for he was strong of life, and gave the dogs that wereleft little grub till we cut them from the harnesses one by one and fedthem to their mates. We would go home light, he said, traveling andeating from cache to cache, with neither dogs nor sleds; which wastrue, for our grub was very short, and the last dog died in the tracesthe night we came to the gold and the bones and the curses of men. 

'To reach that place--and the map spoke true--in the heart of the greatmountains, we cut ice steps against the wall of a divide. One lookedfor a valley beyond, but there was no valley; the snow spread away, level as the great harvest plains, and here and there about us mightymountains shoved their white heads among the stars. And midway on thatstrange plain which should have been a valley the earth and the snowfell away, straight down toward the heart of the world. 

'Had we not been sailormen our heads would have swung round with thesight, but we stood on the dizzy edge that we might see a way to getdown. And on one side, and one side only, the wall had fallen away tillit was like the slope of the decks in a topsail breeze. I do not knowwhy this thing should be so, but it was so. "It is the mouth of hell, "he said; "let us go down. " And we went down. 

'And on the bottom there was a cabin, built by some man, of logs whichhe had cast down from above. It was a very old cabin, for men had diedthere alone at different times, and on pieces of birch bark which werethere we read their last words and their curses. 

'One had died of scurvy; another's partner had robbed him of his lastgrub and powder and stolen away; a third had been mauled by a baldfacegrizzly; a fourth had hunted for game and starved--and so it went, andthey had been loath to leave the gold, and had died by the side of itin one way or another. And the worthless gold they had gatheredyellowed the floor of the cabin like in a dream. 

'But his soul was steady, and his head clear, this man I had led thusfar. "We have nothing to eat, " he said, "and we will only look uponthis gold, and see whence it comes and how much there be. Then we willgo away quick, before it gets into our eyes and steals away ourjudgment. And in this way we may return in the end, with more grub, andpossess it all. " So we looked upon the great vein, which cut the wallof the pit as a true vein should, and we measured it, and traced itfrom above and below, and drove the stakes of the claims and blazed thetrees in token of our rights. Then, our knees shaking with lack offood, and a sickness in our bellies, and our hearts chugging close toour mouths, we climbed the mighty wall for the last time and turned ourfaces to the back trip. 

'The last stretch we dragged Unga between us, and we fell often, but inthe end we made the cache. And lo, there was no grub. It was well done, for he thought it the wolverines, and damned them and his gods in onebreath. But Unga was brave, and smiled, and put her hand in his, till Iturned away that I might hold myself. "We will rest by the fire, " shesaid, "till morning, and we will gather strength from our moccasins. "So we cut the tops of our moccasins in strips, and boiled them half ofthe night, that we might chew them and swallow them. And in the morningwe talked of our chance. The next cache was five days' journey; wecould not make it. We must find game. 

'"We will go forth and hunt, " he said. 

'"Yes, " said I, "we will go forth and hunt. " 'And he ruled that Ungastay by the fire and save her strength. And we went forth, he in questof the moose and I to the cache I had changed. But I ate little, sothey might not see in me much strength. And in the night he fell manytimes as he drew into camp. And I, too, made to suffer great weakness, stumbling over my snowshoes as though each step might be my last. Andwe gathered strength from our moccasins. 

'He was a great man. His soul lifted his body to the last; nor did hecry aloud, save for the sake of Unga. On the second day I followed him, that I might not miss the end. And he lay down to rest often. Thatnight he was near gone; but in the morning he swore weakly and wentforth again. He was like a drunken man, and I looked many times for himto give up, but his was the strength of the strong, and his soul thesoul of a giant, for he lifted his body through all the weary day. Andhe shot two ptarmigan, but would not eat them. He needed no fire; theymeant life; but his thought was for Unga, and he turned toward camp. 

'He no longer walked, but crawled on hand and knee through the snow. Icame to him, and read death in his eyes. Even then it was not too lateto eat of the ptarmigan. He cast away his rifle and carried the birdsin his mouth like a dog. I walked by his side, upright. And he lookedat me during the moments he rested, and wondered that I was so strong. I could see it, though he no longer spoke; and when his lips moved, they moved without sound. 

'As I say, he was a great man, and my heart spoke for softness; but Iread back in my life, and remembered the cold and hunger of the endlessforest by the Russian seas. Besides, Unga was mine, and I had paid forher an untold price of skin and boat and bead. 

'And in this manner we came through the white forest, with the silenceheavy upon us like a damp sea mist. And the ghosts of the past were inthe air and all about us; and I saw the yellow beach of Akatan, and thekayaks racing home from the fishing, and the houses on the rim of theforest. And the men who had made themselves chiefs were there, thelawgivers whose blood I bore and whose blood I had wedded in Unga. Aye, and Yash-Noosh walked with me, the wet sand in his hair, and his warspear, broken as he fell upon it, still in his hand. And I knew thetime was meet, and saw in the eyes of Unga the promise. 

'As I say, we came thus through the forest, till the smell of the campsmoke was in our nostrils. And I bent above him, and tore the ptarmiganfrom his teeth. 

'He turned on his side and rested, the wonder mounting in his eyes, andthe hand which was under slipping slow toward the knife at his hip. ButI took it from him, smiling close in his face. Even then he did notunderstand. So I made to drink from black bottles, and to build highupon the snow a pile--of goods, and to live again the things which hadhappened on the night of my marriage. I spoke no word, but heunderstood. Yet was he unafraid. There was a sneer to his lips, andcold anger, and he gathered new strength with the knowledge. It was notfar, but the snow was deep, and he dragged himself very slow. 

'Once he lay so long I turned him over and gazed into his eyes. Andsometimes he looked forth, and sometimes death. And when I loosed himhe struggled on again. In this way we came to the fire. Unga was at hisside on the instant. His lips moved without sound; then he pointed atme, that Unga might understand. And after that he lay in the snow, verystill, for a long while. Even now is he there in the snow. 

'I said no word till I had cooked the ptarmigan. Then I spoke to her, in her own tongue, which she had not heard in many years. Shestraightened herself, so, and her eyes were wonder-wide, and she askedwho I was, and where I had learned that speech. 

'"I am Naass, " I said. 

'"You?" she said. "You?" And she crept close that she might look uponme. 

'"Yes, " I answered; "I am Naass, head man of Akatan, the last of theblood, as you are the last of the blood. " 'And she laughed. By all thethings I have seen and the deeds I have done may I never hear such alaugh again. It put the chill to my soul, sitting there in the WhiteSilence, alone with death and this woman who laughed. 

'"Come!" I said, for I thought she wandered. "Eat of the food and letus be gone. It is a far fetch from here to Akatan. " 'But she shoved herface in his yellow mane, and laughed till it seemed the heavens mustfall about our ears. I had thought she would be overjoyed at the sightof me, and eager to go back to the memory of old times, but this seemeda strange form to take. 

'"Come!" I cried, taking her strong by the hand. "The way is long anddark. Let us hurry!" "Where?" she asked, sitting up, and ceasing fromher strange mirth. 

'"To Akatan, " I answered, intent on the light to grow on her face atthe thought. But it became like his, with a sneer to the lips, and coldanger. 

'"Yes, " she said; "we will go, hand in hand, to Akatan, you and I. Andwe will live in the dirty huts, and eat of the fish and oil, and bringforth a spawn--a spawn to be proud of all the days of our life. We willforget the world and be happy, very happy. It is good, most good. Come!Let us hurry. Let us go back to Akatan. " And she ran her hand throughhis yellow hair, and smiled in a way which was not good. And there wasno promise in her eyes. 

'I sat silent, and marveled at the strangeness of woman. I went back tothe night when he dragged her from me and she screamed and tore at hishair--at his hair which now she played with and would not leave. Then Iremembered the price and the long years of waiting; and I gripped herclose, and dragged her away as he had done. And she held back, even ason that night, and fought like a she-cat for its whelp. And when thefire was between us and the man. I loosed her, and she sat andlistened. And I told her of all that lay between, of all that hadhappened to me on strange seas, of all that I had done in strangelands; of my weary quest, and the hungry years, and the promise whichhad been mine from the first. Aye, I told all, even to what had passedthat day between the man and me, and in the days yet young. And as Ispoke I saw the promise grow in her eyes, full and large like the breakof dawn. And I read pity there, the tenderness of woman, the love, theheart and the soul of Unga. And I was a stripling again, for the lookwas the look of Unga as she ran up the beach, laughing, to the home ofher mother. The stern unrest was gone, and the hunger, and the wearywaiting. 

'The time was met. I felt the call of her breast, and it seemed there Imust pillow my head and forget. She opened her arms to me, and I cameagainst her. Then, sudden, the hate flamed in her eye, her hand was atmy hip. And once, twice, she passed the knife. 

'"Dog!" she sneered, as she flung me into the snow. "Swine!" And thenshe laughed till the silence cracked, and went back to her dead. 

'As I say, once she passed the knife, and twice; but she was weak withhunger, and it was not meant that I should die. Yet was I minded tostay in that place, and to close my eyes in the last long sleep withthose whose lives had crossed with mine and led my feet on unknowntrails. But there lay a debt upon me which would not let me rest. 

'And the way was long, the cold bitter, and there was little grub. ThePellys had found no moose, and had robbed my cache. And so had thethree white men, but they lay thin and dead in their cabins as Ipassed. After that I do not remember, till I came here, and found foodand fire--much fire. ' As he finished, he crouched closely, evenjealously, over the stove. For a long while the slush-lamp shadowsplayed tragedies upon the wall. 

'But Unga!' cried Prince, the vision still strong upon him. 

'Unga? She would not eat of the ptarmigan. She lay with her arms abouthis neck, her face deep in his yellow hair. I drew the fire close, thatshe might not feel the frost, but she crept to the other side. And Ibuilt a fire there; yet it was little good, for she would not eat. Andin this manner they still lie up there in the snow. '

'And you?' asked Malemute Kid. 

'I do not know; but Akatan is small, and I have little wish to go backand live on the edge of the world. Yet is there small use in life. Ican go to Constantine, and he will put irons upon me, and one day theywill tie a piece of rope, so, and I will sleep good. Yet--no; I do notknow. ' 'But, Kid, ' protested Prince, 'this is murder!' 'Hush!'commanded Malemute Kid. 'There be things greater than our wisdom, beyond our justice. The right and the wrong of this we cannot say, andit is not for us to judge. ' Naass drew yet closer to the fire. Therewas a great silence, and in each man's eyes many pictures came and went. 

The End