A GIRL OF THE KLONDIKE

By

VICTORIA CROSS

"_Quid non mortalia pectora cogisAuri sacra fames?_"

NEW YORKTHE MACAULAY COMPANY

_A Girl of the Klondike is now issuedin America for the first timeby arrangement with the author. _

CONTENTS

 PAGE

 CHAPTER I A NIGHT IN TOWN 9

 CHAPTER II AT THE WEST GULCH 49

 CHAPTER III KATRINE'S NEIGHBOURS 99

 CHAPTER IV GOD'S GIFT 167

 CHAPTER V GOLD-PLATED 211

 CHAPTER VI MAMMON'S PAY 265

 L'ENVOI 314

CHAPTER I

A NIGHT IN TOWN

Night had fallen over Alaska--black, uncompromising night; a veil ofimpenetrable darkness had dropped upon the snow wastes and theice-fields and the fettered Yukon, sleeping under its ice-chains, andupon the cruel passes where the trails had been made by tracks of blood. Day by day, as long as the light of day--God's glorious gift to man--hadlasted, these trails across the passes, between the snowy peaks, thepeaks themselves, had been the theatre of hideous scenes of humancruelty, of human lust and greed, of human egoism. Day by day a slowterrible stream of humanity had wound like a dark and sluggish riverthrough these passes, bringing with it sweat and toil and agony, tortureand suffering and death. As long as the brilliant sun in the placidazure of the summer heavens above had guided them, bands of men hadlaboured and fought and struggled over these passes, deaf to all pity ormercy or justice, deaf to all but the clamour of greed within them thatwas driving them on, trampling down the weak and the old, crushing thefallen, each man clutching and grasping his own, hoarding his strengthand even refusing a hand to his neighbour, starving the patient beastsof burden they had brought with them, friends who were willing to sharetheir toil without sharing their reward, driving on the poor staggeringstrengthless brutes with open knives, and clubbing them to death whenthey fell beneath their loads with piteous eyes, or leaving them tofreeze slowly where they lay, pressing forward, hurrying, fighting, slaughtering, so the men went into the gold camps all the summer, andthe passes were the silent witnesses of the horror of it all and of theinnocent blood shed. Then Nature herself intervened, and winter camedown like a black curtain on the world, and the passes closed up behindthe men and were filled with drifts of snow that covered the bones andthe blood and the deep miry slides, marked with slipping tracks wherestruggling, gasping lives had gone out, and the river closed up behindthe men and the ice thickened there daily, and the men were in the campsand there was no way out. 

And now, in the darkness of the winter night, in the coldness in whichno man could live, there was peace. There was no sound, for the snow onthe tall pines never melted and never fell, the water in the creeks wassolid as the rocks and made no murmur, there was no footfall of bird norbeast, no leaf to rustle, no twig to fall. 

But beyond the silent peaks and the desolate passes, beyond the rigidpines, low down in the darkness, there was a reddish glow in the air, astrange, yellowish, quivering mist of light that hovered and movedrestlessly, and yet kept its place where it hung suspended between whiteearth and black sky. All around was majestic peace and calm andstillness, nature wrapped in silence, but the flickering, wavering mistof light jumped feverishly in the darkness and spoke of man. It was thecloud of restless light that hung over the city of Dawson. 

Within the front parlour of the "Pistol Shot, " the favourite and mostsuccessful, besides being the most appropriately named saloon in Dawson, the cold had been pretty well fought down; a huge stove stood at eachend of the room, crammed as full as it would hold with fuel, all windowswere tightly closed, and lamps flared merrily against the white-washedwalls. 

At this hour the room was full, and the single door, facing the bar, was pushed open every half minute to admit one or two or more figures tojoin the steaming, drinking, noisy crowd within. It was snowing outside. As the door swung open one could see the white sheet of falling flakesin the darkness; the air was full of snow--that cruel, light, dry snow, fine and sharp like powdered ice, borne down on a North wind. Thefigures that entered brought it in with them, the light frosty powderresting on their furs and lying deep in the upturned rims of their sealcaps. 

There had been a successful strike made that afternoon, and the men wereall excited and eager about it. Every one pressed to the "Pistol Shot"to hear the latest details, to discuss and gossip over it. There was asmuch talk as digging done in Dawson. Men who had no chance and no meansto win success, who owned no claims and never saw gold except in anotherman's hands, loved to talk work and talk claims and talk gold with therest. It was exhilarating and exciting, and there was only that onetopic in the world for them. They were like invalids in a smallcommunity afflicted by a common disease who never meet withoutdiscussing their symptoms. They were all invalids in reality, allsuffering from the same horrible plague and fever, the gold fever thatwas eating into their brains. 

At one end of the bar counter, between it and the back wall, a girl wasstanding idly surveying with indifferent eyes the animated crowd thatmoved and swayed round her, the men jostling each other in their effortsto push up to the thickly surrounded counter. She was tall rather thanshort, and her figure well made, showing good lines even in the roughdress she was wearing; long rubber boots came to her knees, where theymet her short buckskin skirt, and above this, in place of bodice, shewore merely a rough straight jacket drawn into the waist by a broadleather belt, in which was stuck, not ostentatiously but stillsufficiently conspicuously a brace of revolvers. Her hair was cut short, and only a few dark silky rings showed themselves beneath the edge ofher sealskin cap, pushed down close to her dark eyebrows. The dark eyesbeneath looked out upon the scene before her with a half-disdainful, half-wearied expression which deepened into scorn now and then as shewatched the bar-tender rake over the counter double and three times theprice of a drink in the generous pinch of gold dust laid there by someminer almost too drunk to stagger to the bar. She had a very attractiveface, to which one's eyes would wander again and again trying toreconcile the peculiar resolution, even hardness of the expression withthe soft, well-moulded features and the sweet youthful lips full offreshness and colour. The miners took very little notice of her, and shecertainly made no effort to attract it, leaning listlessly against thebar with one elbow on the counter, a silent and motionless spectator ofall this excited eager humanity. There was no thought in their mind, noword on their lips just then but gold. Gold! gold! The thought possessedthem with a grip on their brains like the grip of fever on the body, andthe word sounded pleasant as the sweetest music to their ears. Gold! Thesyllable went round and passed from mouth to mouth, till the very airseemed to be getting a yellow tint above the grey fumes of tobacco. 

Amongst the last batch of incomers was a slim young fellow of twenty oddyears, and when he had worked his way with difficulty up to the crowdedcounter, he found himself near the girl's corner. She looked at him, letting her dark eyes wander critically over his face. He formed astrong contrast to the figures around him, being slight and delicate inbuild, with a pale good-looking face that had a tender sympatheticexpression like a woman's. Feeling the girl's gaze upon him, he glancedher way, and then having looked once, looked again. After a series ofglances between drinks from his glass, the furtive looks began to amusethe girl, and the next time their eyes met she laughed openly, and theyboth spoke simultaneously. 

"You're a new comer, aren't you?" she said. 

"I haven't seen you here before, " was his remark. 

"You might have done, I should think, " answered the girl carelessly;"but I don't come here very often, although my father is running thisplace. "

"Are you Poniatovsky's daughter?" he asked in surprise, unable toconnect this splendid young creature with the ugly little Pole he knewas the proprietor of the saloon. 

The girl nodded. "Yes, Katrine Poniatovsky is my name--what's yours?"

"Stephen Wood, " he answered meekly. 

"What have you come here for--mining?" she asked next. Although herqueries were direct there was nothing rude in the fresh young voicemaking them. 

The young fellow coloured deeply, the rush of blood passed over his faceup to his light smooth hair and deep down into his neck till it was lostbeneath his coat collar. 

"No--yes--that is--well, I mean--I do mine now, " he stammered after aminute. 

The girl said nothing, and when Stephen glanced around at her he saw shewas regarding him with astonished eyes under elevated eyebrows. Thisexpression made the pretty oval face fairly beautiful, and the youngman's heart opened to her. 

"I came with the intention of doing some good here amongst thepeople--in a missionary, religious way I mean, but"--and he stoppedagain in painful embarrassment. 

Katrine laughed. 

"For the present you've laid religion aside and you're going to do alittle mining and make a fortune, and then the religion can be taken upagain, " she said. 

The young fellow only flushed deeper and turned his glass aroundnervously on the counter. 

"That's all right, " the girl said soothingly, after a second. "Thisplace is a corner of the world where we all are different from what weare anywhere else. As soon as men come here they get changed. Theyforget everything else and just go in for gold. It's a sort of madnessthat's in the air. You'd be able to missionise somewhere else all right, but here you are obliged just to dig like the rest, you can't help it. Got a claim?"

The young man's face paled again. 

"Yes, " he answered in a low tone. "It was the claim that tempted me. It's one of the best, I believe, over in the west gulch, only about tenmiles from here. "

There was a pressing movement round them as some fresh miners camepushing their way through to the bar, and Stephen and Katrine movedaway, to make room for them, towards the wall of the room; they puttheir backs against it and looked over the mass of moving heads towardsthe door. 

"Look at this fellow coming in now, " Stephen said to his companionsuddenly, as the door swung open, to a mist of whirling whiteness, andtwo or three men entered: "Henry Talbot. He has the claim next mine inthe gulch. He has just struck a fresh lot of gold, and he'll soon be oneof the richest men here. "

The girl craned her neck to get a good view between the interveningheads, and though she had not been told which of the incoming figuresto look at, she fixed her eyes as if by instinct on the right one. A manof rather tall, slight figure, pale face, and marked features. He madehis way towards the bar, and then catching Stephen's signals to him, hesmiled and came their way. 

"What are you doing down here?" he said, speaking to Stephen but lookingat Katrine, who in her turn was scanning his face closely. 

"Why, enjoying Miss Poniatovsky's society, " answered Stephen, with abow. His friend bowed too, and then they all three laughed and feltinstinctively they were friends. There is nothing truer than the saying, "Good looks are perpetual letters of introduction. " These three carriedtheir letters of introduction on their faces, and they were all mutuallysatisfied. 

"I know your father quite well, " remarked Talbot to her. "This 'PistolShot' has been an institution longer than I have been here, but I neverknew he had a daughter. "

"No, " said Katrine, tranquilly, "I daresay not. Father and I quarrelleda little while ago, and since then I have been living by myself in oneof those little cabins in Good Luck Row. Do you know it?"

"No, " answered Talbot. "I come into town very seldom, only when I wantfresh supplies. I stay up at the claim nearly all the time. Do you liveall by yourself then?" he added, wondering to himself as he looked ather, for her beauty was quite striking, and she was certainly not overtwenty, yet there was something in the strong, noble outlines of herfigure, in the tranquil calm of her manner, the self-reliance of herwhole bearing, and the business-like way those pistols were thrust inher belt, that modified the wonder a little. 

"Quite, " she said, with a laugh. "Oh, I've always been accustomed totake care of myself. "

"But don't you feel very dull and lonely?"

"Sometimes, " answered the girl; "but then I would much rather live alonethan with some one I can't agree with. "

Both the men knew the drunken habits of old Poniatovsky, so that theysilently sympathised with her, and there was a pause as they watchedother miners coming in. 

"Well, " said Katrine after a few seconds, straightening herself from herleaning attitude, "I think I will go home now; this place is getting sofull, we shan't be able to breathe soon. "

The men looked at each other, and then spoke simultaneously: "May we seeyou as far as your cabin?"

Katrine smiled, such a pretty arch smile, that dimpled the velvet cheeksand illumined the whole face. 

"Why yes, do, I shall be delighted. "

They all three went out together: the cold outside seemed so deadly thatTalbot drew his collar up over his mouth and nose, unable to face it;the girl, however, did not seem to notice it, but laughed and chattedgaily in the teeth of the wind, as they made their way down the street. It was still snowing--a peculiar fine powdery snow, light and almostimperceptible, filled the whole air. Katrine walked fast with springingsteps down the side-walk, and the two men plunged along beside her. Sucha side-walk it was: in the summer a mere mass of mud and melted snow andaccumulated rubbish--for in Dawson the inhabitants will not take thetrouble to convey their refuse to any definite spot, but simply throw itout from their cabins a few yards from their own door, with a vaguenotion that they may have moved elsewhere before it rots badly, --nowfrozen solid but horribly uneven, and worn into deep holes. On the topof this had been laid some narrow planks, covered now by a thick glazeof ice, which rendered them things to be avoided and a line of dangerdown the middle of the path. Katrine made nothing of these slightinconveniences of the ground, but went swinging on in her large rubberboots, and talking and jesting all the way. At the bottom of the street, at the corner, there was a large wooden building, a double log-cabinturned into a saloon. Lights were fixed outside in tin shades, and theword "Dancing" was painted in white letters on the lintel. Katrinestopped suddenly. 

"Let's go in and have a dance, " she said, and turned towards Talbot, asif she felt instinctively he was the more likely to assent. 

"If you like, " he answered from behind his collar. "But can you dance inthose boots?"

"Oh, I can dance in anything, " said Katrine, laughing. 

"Oh, don't go in, come on, " remonstrated Stephen, trying to push on pastthe saloon. 

"Why not?" said Katrine; "it's too early to go to bed. Come in, I'llpay, " and before either of them could answer she had pushed open thedoor, and was holding it for them with one hand, while with the othershe laid down three quarters on a small trestle inside, where an old manwas sitting as doorkeeper. 

It was a large oblong room, with a partition running half-way down themiddle, dividing it into the front part, where they were standing andwhere the bar was, and the back part, which was strictly the dancingportion. Stephen sat down on a bench that faced the inner portion, withthe determination of a man who was not to be moved from his seat. At theother side of the room was a low raised platform, where some veryseedy-looking musicians were sawing out a jerky tune from their feebleviolins. The room was fairly full, and a more heterogeneous collectionof human beings Stephen thought he had never seen. There were miners inthe roughest and thickest clothing, labourers, packers, a few Indians, some youths in extraordinary attempts at evening dress, some negrominstrels with real dress shirts on and diamond studs, girls with oldvelvet skirts and odd bodices that didn't match; and here and there, idling against the wall, looking on with absent eyes, one could find adifferent figure--that of student, or artist, or newspapercorrespondent, or gentleman miner; one need not despair of findingalmost any type of humanity in that room. 

Talbot looked at the girl's bright sparkling face as they entered, andthen without a word slipped his arm round her waist and they startedover the rough wooden floor. 

"You dance fine, " observed Katrine, after a long silence, in which theyhad both given themselves up to the pleasure of mere motion. "I guessyou have had lots of practice before you came out here. "

Talbot smiled down into her admiring eyes. 

"Yes, " he said, thinking of the foreign embassies, the Englishball-rooms, the many polished floors his feet had known, "in England. "

"My! I expect you're a great swell!" remarked the saloon-keeper'sdaughter. 

"All the same, " he answered, laughing, "I have never had a partner thatdanced so perfectly as you do. "

"Now that's real kind of you, " answered Katrine, with a flush ofpleasure, and then they gave themselves up to silent enjoyment again. 

At the end of the dance they came back to Stephen, and found him in thesame corner, watching the room with a doleful sadness on his face. Katrine, flushed and with sparkling eyes, sat down on the corner of thestep beside him. 

"You look so miserable, " she said. "Come and have a dance with me tocheer you up. "

"I can't dance, " said Stephen, shortly. 

"I'll teach you, " volunteered Katrine, leaning her chin on her hands andlooking up at him. 

Stephen flushed angrily. 

"It's not that--my conscience won't allow me to. "

"I'll make you forget your conscience, " with a very winning smile on hersweet scarlet lips. 

Stephen turned towards her and looked at her with a sudden horror in hiseyes. The girl looked back at him quite undisconcerted and unmoved. Shesaw nothing in what she had said. To her, conscience was a tiresomepossession, that might, she knew, trouble you suddenly at any time, andif any one could succeed in making you forget you had one, he was surelyentitled to your gratitude. Words failed Stephen, he only looked at herwith that silent horror and fear growing in his eyes. Katrine waitedwhat she considered a reasonable time for him to reply or to accept heroffer, and then she rose and turned to Talbot, who had been standinglooking down upon them both with amusement. 

"I'm very thirsty, let's go and have a drink, " she said, and they bothstrolled across the room, and then down into the farther end where thebar was. They elbowed their way to the counter and stood there waitingto be served. Most of the men seemed to know Katrine and made way forher, and she had a word of chaff, or a nod, or a smile or laugh orfriendly greeting, for nearly all of them. Talbot noted this, and notedalso that though the men seemed familiar, none of them were rude, andthough rough enough, there was apparently no disrespect for her. Talbotwondered whether this was due to her morals or her pistols. 

"Who's your friend?" asked two or three voices at her side while theystood waiting. 

"Mr. Talbot--one of the lucky ones!" replied Katrine promptly. "He has aclaim up the gulch that's bringing him in millions--or going to, " sheadded mischievously. The men looked Talbot up and down curiously. Evenin his rough miner's clothes, he looked a totally different figure fromthemselves. Slim and tall and trim, with his well-cut head and figure, with his long neck and refined quiet face, he was a type common enoughin Bond Street, London, or on Broadway, New York, but not so common inthe Klondike. 

"Well, if that's so, pardner, " slowly observed a thick-set, crop-hairedman, edging close up to him, "you won't mind standing a drink for us?"

"Delighted, " returned Talbot, with a pleasant smile. "Give it a name. "

The result of taking votes on this motion was the ordering of ten hotwhiskies and two hot rums, the latter for himself and Katrine. Talbotnever drank spirits at all, and the terrible concoctions of the cheapsaloons were an abomination to him. He took his glass, however, to showhis friendliness, had it filled nearly to the brim with water, and thencould hardly drink it. The fluid seared his throat like red-hotknife-blades. Katrine took hers straight as it was handed across thecounter and tossed it down her throat at one gulp, seeming to enjoy it. 

"Well, Jim, " she said to the young miner next her, "what luck have youhad lately?"

"None, " he replied gloomily. "Since I left the old place, I've lost allalong in the 'Sally White. '"

Talbot thought they were speaking of claims and that the man wasreferring to his work, and the next minute when Katrine turned her headto him and said rapidly, "The 'Sally White' is the third in the nextstreet, " he was rather mystified. He came so little into town, andmixed so little with the uncongenial life and company it offered, thathe was ignorant of its prevailing fashion, pastime, and vice--gambling. Fortunes were made and lost across the trestle tables of the saloonsquicker and easier than up on the claims. He did not now take muchnotice of what she had said, nor ask her for an explanation. The girlwas handsome and a beautiful dancer, but the company at the bar he didnot appreciate at all, and his only idea was to withdraw her from it. 

"Are you not ready for another dance?" he said, as the violin began tosqueak out another tune. 

Katrine nodded, and they had already turned away, when a voice said overher shoulder, "You won't quite forget me this evening, will you?"

Katrine, without turning her head, answered, "You shall have the next, if you come for it. "

Then they started, and for the next ten minutes Talbot tried to forget, to be oblivious of the sordid common scene around him, to get a glimpseback into his old life, which seemed so far away now, as one tries tore-dream a last night's dream. 

Stephen, sitting in his corner, whence he had never stirred, watched hersullenly. She was not dancing with Talbot now. Stephen could see thathe, too, was watching her from the other side of the room, standing withhis back to the wall. She was waltzing with a man Stephen had not seenbefore, evidently a stranger in every way to the place and thesurroundings. He was a young fellow, sufficiently good-looking, anddanced with as much ease as if he were in a New York ball-room. His lefthand clasped Katrine's and drew it high up close to his neck andshoulder, his right arm enclosed her waist and drew her to him so firmlythat the two figures seemed fused into one as they glided together overthe imperfect floor. Katrine was giving herself up wholly to thepleasure of the dance. Stephen saw, as her face turned towards him, thather eyes were half closed, and a little smile of deep satisfactionrested on her lips. The young fellow's face showed he was equallyabsorbed and lost to his surroundings, and there was something in itsexpression, coupled with the peculiar ease and sway of the two blentforms, which raised a savage and jealous anger in Stephen's breast. Toan absolutely unprejudiced eye, and one that saw only the extreme graceof the movement, which neither their rough clothes, the uneven floor, nor the wretched music could spoil, those two figures made a harmoniousand fascinating picture; to Stephen's view, naturally narrow and nowdarkened by the approaching blindness of a nascent passion, it was asinful and abhorrent sight. When they floated silently close by him thesecond time, still lost in their dream of pleasure, and the girl's eyesfell upon him beneath their drooping lids, obviously without seeing him, he started up as if to plant himself in their way, then checked himself, and when they had passed went across the room to where Talbot wasstanding. 

"You see her dancing?" he said excitedly, without any preface. 

Talbot nodded. 

"Did you notice how they are dancing? that's what I mean. "

Talbot laughed slightly. "That's not dancing, that's--"

Stephen flushed a dull red. "It's disgraceful; I'm going to stop her, "he muttered. 

"My dear fellow, remember you only met her this evening. "

"I don't care; she ought not to dance like that. "

"I don't like it myself, " answered Talbot, "but _you_ can't interfere. "

"I'm going to. "

"You'd much better not make an ass of yourself, " returned Talbot, putting his hand on the other's arm. 

"Leave me alone, " said Stephen, roughly shaking it off, as the twodelinquents, still in the same manner, came moving up towards them. 

Stephen waited till they were just opposite him, then he stepped forwardand seized the girl's arm and dragged it down from the level of theyoung fellow's neck where he had drawn it. Both the dancers stoppedabruptly, and the man faced Stephen with an angry flush and kindlingeyes. 

"What the devil do you mean, sir?" he said angrily, advancing close toStephen, who had his eyes fixed on Katrine's face, all warm tints andsmiling, as a child's roused from a happy dream. 

He ignored the man and addressed her. 

"You are not going to dance any more to-night, " he said with sombreemphasis. 

The young man's face went from red to purple. He put his hand to his hipwith an oath, and had half drawn his pistol, when Katrine sprang forwardand seized his wrist. 

"Now don't be silly; I'm tired anyway, Dick. I'll dance with youto-morrow night. This is Mr. Stephen Wood. Mr. Wood--Mr. Peters. Nowlet's go and have some drinks. I'm not going to have any fighting overme. "

She put herself, smiling, between the two men, who stood glaring at eachother in silence. She was annoyed at the dance being broken off, but shesaw in Stephen's interference the great tribute paid to her ownattraction, and therefore forgave him. At the same time she had no wishto have her vanity further gratified by bloodshed. There was a certainhardness but no cruelty in her nature. She turned from the men andstrolled very slowly in the direction of the bar, and they followed heras if her moving feet were shod with magnets and theirs with steel. Talbot went too, and in a few minutes the four were standing at thecounter with glasses in their hands. 

Peters kept close beside Katrine, and he and Stephen did not exchange aword. Katrine kept up the chatter between herself and the two other men. 

"May I see you home?" Peters said abruptly to her, interrupting thegeneral talk. 

"No, " returned Katrine, lightly; "to-morrow night, not to-night. I havemy escort, " and she smiled at Stephen and Talbot. 

"I will say good-night then, " and Peters, after a slight bow to Talbot, withdrew, taking no notice of Stephen, who since the girl's surrender ofthe dance had looked very self-contented and happy, and was now standingglass in hand, his eyes fixed upon her face. 

"I think I really will go home now, " she said. "We've had a jolly time. I only wish you'd have joined us. Are you always so very good?" she saidinnocently to Stephen. He flushed angrily and said nothing. 

A few seconds later they were on the way to Good Luck Row. One of theneatest-looking cabins in it had a light behind its yellow blind, andhere Katrine stopped and thanked them for their escort. They would bothhave liked to see the interior, but she did not suggest their coming in. She wished them good-night very sweetly, and before they had realised ithad disappeared inside. 

They walked on down the row slowly, side by side. The next thing to dowas to find a lodging for the night, and they both felt about ready toappreciate a bed and some hours' rest. 

"There's Bill Winters, " said Stephen, after a moment's silence. "He saidhe'd always put us up when we came down town; let's go and try him. "

"Do you know where his cabin is?"

"I think so. Turn down here; now it is the next street, where thoselittle black cabins are. "

They walked on quickly, following Stephen's directions, and made for ablock of cabins that had been pitched over and shone black and glossy inthe brilliant moonlight. When they got up to them the men were puzzled, each was so like its neighbour, and Stephen declared he had forgottenthe number, though Bill had given it to him. 

"Well, try any one, " said Talbot, impatiently, as Stephen stoppedbewildered. They were standing on the side-walk, now a slippery arch ofice, between two rows of the low black cabins. There was no light in anyof them; it was two o'clock; the moon alone shone up and down thestreet. Talbot felt his moustache freezing to his face, and his left eyebeing rapidly closed by the lashes freezing together, and that's enoughto make a man impatient. Stephen did not move, and Talbot went uphimself to the nearest cabin and knocked at the door. They waited a longtime, but at last a hand fumbled with the catch inside, and the door wasopened a little way; through the crack came out a stream of warm air, the fumes of tobacco and wood smoke; within was darkness. 

"Is this Bill Winters'?" Talbot asked, and the door opened wider. 

"I guess it is, " said a voice in reply. "Why, it's Mr. Talbot and Mr. Wood--come in, sirs. "

Talbot and Wood stepped over the threshold into the thick darkness, andthe door closed behind them. There was a shuffling sound for an instantas Mr. Winters groped for a light, then he struck a match and lighted upa little tin lamp on the wall. The light revealed a good-sized cabinwith a large stove in the centre, round which, with their feet towardsit, four or five men rolled up in skins or blankets were lying asleep. 

"You want a bed for the night, I expect, " Winters went on; "we've allturned in already, but I guess there's room for two more. "

Wood and Talbot both expressed their sense of contrition at disturbinghim, but Winters would not listen. 

"Oh, stow all that, " he said, as he set about dragging forward twotrestles and covering them with blankets. "You two fellows are so damnedpolite, you don't seem suited to this town, you don't seem natural here, that's a fact. "

He was stepping over and about amongst the prostrate forms, andsometimes on them, but none of them roused themselves sufficiently to domore than utter a sleepy ejaculation and turn into a fresh position. Wood and Talbot stood waiting close against the door. It washalf-an-hour before Bill had prepared their beds just as he wanted them, extinguished the lamp again, and retreated to his own corner. Thendarkness and stillness reigned again over the smoky interior. 

The low trestles on which the men lay were hard and unyielding, and adoubled-up blanket makes a poor mattress; the air of the cabin was thickand heavy, and the stove, which was close to Talbot's head, having beenstuffed to its utmost capacity with damp wood that it might burn throughthe night, let out thin spirals of acrid smoke from all its cracks. Stephen did not close his eyes long after they had lain down, and therewas utter silence in the place except for heavy breathings. He lay withopen eyes staring into the thick darkness, a thousand painful wearyingthoughts stinging his brain. Talbot, tired and worn out with bodilyfatigue, but with that mental calm that comes from an absolutesingleness of aim and hope and purpose, fell into a deep and tranquilsleep the moment his head touched the pillow. He lived now but to work;the night had come when he could not work, therefore he slept that hemight work again on the morrow. 

When the faint grey light of morning came creeping into the low andnarrow room, which was not very early, as the nights now were far longerthan the days, Talbot was the first of the sleepers to awake. Herefilled the stove, which had burned down in the long night hours, andthen let himself out. 

When he returned Bill and the other men were all stirring, and Stephensitting up on his trestle rubbing his red and weary-looking eyes. 

"Well, pardner, what are you going to do to-day?" he asked a few minuteslater, when they had the cabin to themselves for a moment. 

"Going to do?" replied Talbot in astonishment, looking up from turningthe coffee into the coffee-pot, according to Bill's orders. "Why, if wecollect together all the stores we want, and get back to the diggingsthis afternoon, we shall have about enough to do. "

"Oh, I meant about the girl. "

"What girl?" queried Talbot, now standing still and staring Stephen inthe face. 

"The girl you danced with last night--the saloon-keeper's daughter, Katrine Poniatovsky--do you want any more identification?" returnedStephen, sarcastically, opening his heavy lids a little wider. 

"Well, _what_ about her?" returned Talbot, looking at him expectantly. 

"Oh, well, I didn't know; I thought perhaps we wouldn't go back to-day, that's all, " answered Stephen, rather sheepishly. 

To his sympathetic, impulsive nature, open to every new impression, easily distracted like the butterfly which may be caught by the tint ofany chance flower in its path, the incident of last night was much. ToTalbot, self-concentrated, determined, and absorbed, it was nothing. Helooked at his friend now with something like contempt. 

"She's so handsome, and dances so well, " Stephen went on hurriedly, feeling foolish and uncomfortable before the other's gaze. 

"I did not come here to dance with girls, " remarked Talbot shortly, going over to the stove, and the entry of the other men at that momentstopped the conversation. 

They had breakfast together at the rough wood table in the centre of theroom. The coffee was the redeeming feature of the meal: from that brightbrown stream of boiling liquid the men seemed to gain new life; theywatched it lovingly, expectantly, eagerly, as Bill poured it out intotheir thick cups. 

The moment the meal was over Talbot crushed his hat on to his eyes, butbefore he left the cabin he glanced at Stephen, who was standingirresolutely by the stove. 

"I shall get all I want, " he said, "and be back here by two at thelatest. If you're here then, we can start up together; if not, I shallgo ahead;" and he went out. 

Stephen lingered by the stove, then he and Bill drifted into adiscussion over some of the latest discoveries of gold in Colorado, andthey both fell to wondering how much more had been found since theirlast news, seven months old; and they had a pipe together, and then Billthought he'd drop down to the "Pistol Shot, " and Stephen crushed on hisfur cap as determinedly as Talbot had done and went out--to Katrine'snumber in Good Luck Row. 

CHAPTER II

AT THE WEST GULCH

Talbot made his start back to the cabin later than he intended; he hadknocked at Winters' cabin before leaving the town, but all the occupantswere out, and there had been no response. 

It was afternoon, and already the uncompromising cold of evening hadentered into the air; the sky was grey everywhere, and dark, almostblack, in front of him; it seemed to hang low, frowning and ominous, over the desolate snowy waste that stretched before him: there was nosnow falling yet, only the threat of it written in the black and drearysky that faced him. His cheeks and chin felt stiff and frozen already, as if a thin mask of ice were drawn over them, and his eyes were soreand tired from the continuous glare of the snow. The little pony besidehim plodded along the path patiently, and his master at intervals drew ahand from a comfortable pocket to lay it encouragingly on his neck, atwhich familiar caress the pony would throw up his head and step outfaster for some paces. Talbot felt sorry for the little beast toilingalong under his heavy though carefully packed burden of stores, cans ofoil, loaves, and every sort of miscellaneous provisions, and would havespoken cheeringly to it, but his lips felt too stiff and painful to formthe words, and so man and brute toiled along in silence over the trailunder the angry sky. As he walked, Talbot's thoughts went backinvoluntarily to the picture of Stephen sitting smoking by the stove inthe snug interior of Bill Winters' cabin; he felt instinctively, assurely as if he had seen it, that he would so sit through theafternoon, and by evening he would be finding his way down to thenearest saloon and pass the hours there with Katrine; and he comparedhim vaguely with himself, tired with tramping through the town fromstore to store, half frozen while he stood to pack the pony, and nowlabouring up alone to his cabin in the gulch. 

He wondered dimly whether it would turn out that he should ever realisea reward for his toil, whether he should live to get out of this icycorner of the world, or whether he should die and rot here, caught inthis great snow-trap, in this open grave, where the living were buried. He wondered a little, but his mind was not one inclined to abstractthought. He spent very little time in retrospection, reflection, andcontemplation, very little time in thinking of any sort, and on thisaccount possessed so great a stock of energy for acting. Each humanbeing has only a certain amount of energy supplied him with which to dothe work of his life. Thinking, speaking, and acting are all portions ofthis work, and whatever of his energy he consumes in any one, so muchthe less has he for the others. Thinking, the formation of ideas, ishard work; speaking, the expression of ideas, is hard work; and acting, the carrying out of ideas, is hard work. It is false to suppose that thefirst two are natural, instinctive, involuntary movements of the brain, and that only the last requires effort. 

Talbot thought very little and spoke very little. His ideas came to himin simple form; they were not elaborated in his mind nor in his speech, they turned into actions immediately or died quietly without giving himany trouble or wasting his time. A decision once made he carried out. Henever thought about it afterwards, or frittered away his strength inhours of torturing doubt as to whether it was a good one to have made, or whether some other might not have been better. Once made, he kept toit, good or bad, leaving it to chance whether he died or succeeded inhis attempt to carry it out. And this conservation of energy in allother mental processes resulted in a splendid strength for action and alimitless endurance in the carrying out of his decisions. 

And as he walked now he thought very little, except in a resigned way, of the physical discomfort he was enduring, and of the time when heshould reach his cabin. Dusk had already fallen before he came to thegulch, and he had to strain his eyes to find the narrow trail whichdescended the side of the gorge. His log cabin, carefully and solidlyconstructed, stood half-way down the northern slope of the gulch, on asort of natural platform formed by the vagaries of the now narrowedstream in its younger and wilder days. Beneath the cabin stretched hisclaims, 500 feet of dry soil on the slope of the hill, 100 feet thisside of the stream and fairly in the creek, and 100 feet on the fartherside, a stretch of 700 feet in all, and of a quality that made it atthat time the richest claim for fifty miles round. Shafts, reaching downto bed rock, were sunk all over it, and great mounds of frozen gravelbeside them showed how untiringly they had been worked. In addition tothese, the man's native energy had prompted him to drive a tunnelhorizontally for some distance into the side of the hill that rosesteeply behind the cabin. The tunnel pierced the hill for 100 feet, andat the end a shaft had been sunk to bed rock, and it was from here atpresent that the highest grade ore was coming. Moved by an instinct toprotect what he intuitively felt would be his richest possession, Talbothad built his tunnel in one solid block with the cabin, and closed itsouter end with a huge door, well provided with bars and bolts. So longas this door was successfully held, no claim-jumper could penetrate intothe tunnel or reach the shaft at the end. By this means, too, a doubleprotection was afforded the living cabin, though of this he thoughtcomparatively little, for the face of the cabin presented nothing butits one small window and this huge solid door. Upon opening this youfound yourself in the tunnel; if you kept straight on you reached theshaft; if you entered the small door upon your left hand you foundyourself in the interior of the living cabin. 

The gulch ran east and west, and at sunset at some times in the year ared light from the dying sun would fall into it, like a tongue of flame, and the whole gulch would seem on fire. At such moments Talbot wouldcease his work and stand looking up the gorge, with the red lightfalling on his face and banishing its careworn pallor. No one knew whathe was thinking of in those moments, whether he was recalling Italianor Egyptian skies that had been as fair, or whether for a moment somevanished face seemed to look at him from out those brilliant hues, or ifmerely the great sheets of gold that spread above the gulch broughtvisions of that wealth he was giving his best years to attain. No onewho met him knew much about him, except that he was an Englishman, hadtravelled much and experienced many different forms of life, and finallycome to the Klondike, --but why this last? He was believed to have beenrich before he came: was it merely to increase his wealth, or was theresome other reason? Was there any one awaiting his return? There wereseveral portraits in his cabin of soft and lovely faces, but then thenumber was confusing, and the most curious of the men who worked underhim could not come to any satisfying conclusion. All they knew was thathe worked harder than any common miner, that his reserve was unbroken, and his life one continual self-denial. There were thirty men in all whoworked for him, and by them all he was respected and feared rather thanliked. There was a chilling reserve wrapped about him, an utter absenceof ingenuousness and frankness of character, that prevented anyaffection growing up amongst the men for their master, and his attitudetowards them was summed up in the answer he gave to an acquaintance whoonce asked him how he got on with his men, if he had any friends amongstthem. Talbot had raised his dark, marked eyebrows and merely saidcoldly, "I don't make friends of miners. "

Stephen Wood's cabin was a little higher up the gulch by several yards, and the claims of the two men had been staked out side by side. A greatfriendship had grown up between the two, such a friendship as commondanger, common privations, common aims, and Nature's awful lonelinessdrives any two human beings in each other's proximity into. But besidesthis friendship there was a quiet liking on Talbot's part for this weak, impulsive, boyish character, so unlike his own, and on Stephen's side awarm admiration for all Talbot's qualities that he could not and yetwished to emulate. He, as others, was completely excluded from the elderman's confidence, and knew nothing of his past or what was likely to behis future; but then Stephen was one of those people always so deeplyabsorbed in himself, his own aims and views, that he really nevernoticed that his manifold confidences were never returned in thesmallest degree. He would come over to Talbot's cabin in the evening, seat himself on the opposite side of the fire, and talk incessantly. Talbot would allow him to do so until he felt too much bored, when hewould rise and quietly tell him to go. Stephen would hastily apologiseand retire, to return the following night quite unabashed, with moreviews and aims to impart. In the first week of their acquaintance Talbothad heard all about his home life--about the little English village, andthe red brick, ivy-covered school-house, where he had been master sincehe was eighteen; of the village schoolmistress he had loved, because shewas so good, and had abandoned, presumably for the same reason; of hisdoubts, fears, hopes, wishes, and intentions, --and after ten months heknew no more of Talbot than he did the day of their first meeting. 

The cabins of the men employed by both Stephen and Talbot were dottedover the gulch, some higher and some lower than their own; while anumber of the men lived some distance off, a few of them even havinglodgings in the town. 

When at last Talbot reached his cabin door this evening darkness hadcompletely fallen; there was no light from within to guide him, butwith his half-frozen fingers he managed to unlock the outer door, and heand his tired beast went in together. The first thing he thought of whenhe had closed the great door behind him and lighted up the passage, wasto unpack the animal and put him up in the stable which he had builtopposite his own cabin door; and it was fully an hour before, havingseen the beast comfortably installed, he turned into his own room andstruck a light. Here there was only one living thing to greet him, andthat was a shabby little black cat that leaped off the bed in the cornerand came purring to meet him. One morning he had found this cat lying onhis claim with a broken leg and carried it back to his cabin, where hehad set the leg and nursed the miserable little creature into recovery. Denbigh, his foreman, who had seen Talbot sitting up for two wholenights to watch the helpless animal, had carried away the impressionthat the cold, quiet, hard and selfish man, as he appeared to theminers, had another side to his character that they never saw. It wasthis other side that the kitten was familiar with, and she came mewingand purring with delight towards him. Talbot, who was ready to sink tothe floor with exhaustion, stooped and stroked the animal, whichfollowed his steps everywhere as he set about lighting up his stove. Itwas very quiet, there was absolute silence all round him, and every stepof his heavy boots on the wooden floor, every crackle of the ignitingwood in the stove, seemed a loud and important sound in the stillness. It was always very quiet at the gulch, Nature's own solemn quiet, exceptin the summer time, when she filled it with the laughing voices of athousand streams and rills. 

That evening, when his domestic arrangements were all put into workingorder, his fire blazing, his coffee boiling on the hob, and his tablelaid, he sank back in his chair with a weary sigh, his hand idlystroking the cat, which had jumped purring on his knee. It seemed lonelywithout Stephen, and he foresaw that probably many evenings would passnow without his society. 

The next morning, when it was yet barely light, and the gulch washolding still all its damp black shadows of the night, Talbot was outtramping over the claims, showing his men where to start new fires, andcarefully scanning the fresh gravel as it was thawed and dug out. Allhis men had a pleasant salutation for him as he passed by, except one, who merely leaned over his work and threw out his spadeful of gravelsavagely, as Talbot stopped by the fire. He took no notice apparently ofthe man, and after a second's survey passed on to the next fire. The manlooked after him a moment sulkily and returned to his work. He was ahuge fellow, some six feet four, and with a massive frame and head tosuit his height. He had been working for many months with Talbot now, and was a valuable labourer on account of his great strength andcapacity for work. At first he had been rather a favorite with Talbot, and there hung now in his cabin a first-class six-shooter, the gift ofhis master when he first came up to the gulch. 

Dick Marley had had a devoted admiration for Talbot until the last fewmonths, when it had turned into a bitter, sullen resentment over amatter with which in reality Talbot had absolutely nothing to do. Dick, being a hard and constant worker, had managed to save out of his liberalwages quite a considerable sum, and this he had entrusted to a man onhis way to Seattle to invest for him in securities. After a time the mandisappeared, and Dick discovered his securities had never been bought, and that he was in fact robbed and cheated. In his first rage anddisappointment he cast about unconsciously in his mind for some onebesides himself to lay the blame upon, and finding no one he grew dailymore and more morose. Hour after hour, as he worked upon the claims, histhoughts would revolve sullenly round his loss, and the offender beingbeyond his reach, his anger burned against any and every man near him, and apparently chiefly against his employer. 

A week passed before Stephen reappeared at the gulch, then one eveningafter dark, when Talbot was sitting back in his chair, dozing after thecold and fatigue of the day's work, a loud banging came on his outerdoor, and when he opened it, Stephen, looking very flushed and animated, came into the quiet little room, laden with packages and with a generalair of city life about him. 

"Well, old man, how are you? Hello, Kitty!" this as he stumbled over thelittle black cat at his feet. "Well, I've had such a glorious time! Iwish you'd stayed down there too: that girl is just the finest creatureI've ever seen. Have you anything for a fellow to eat?--I'm perfectlyfamished. Look here, I've brought you up some cans of things and abottle of rye, the very best. I say, you look dreadfully blue--what'sthe matter?"

"Life in the west gulch in the winter isn't particularly exhilarating, "answered Talbot, quietly, as he went about his preparations forStephen's supper. 

"How have the men been--all right?" questioned Stephen, as he took offhis coat and settled himself in the best chair. 

"They have been working pretty steadily, but I notice a difference inthem since that fellow Marley has been here. He has been stirring themup, doing a lot of mischief, I think. "

"You must assert your authority, I suppose, " remarked Stephenpompously, stretching his feet out comfortably in the cheerful blaze. "Perhaps he doesn't know who's master here. "

"He will very soon find out then, " returned Talbot, so grimly thatStephen looked at him sharply. "Well, what's all your news?" askedTalbot, as if desirous to get away from the question of his men. 

"I don't know that there is much, except I've been having a good time. You've looked after my ground and seen to the workings, haven't you?Thanks, I knew you would, and so I felt I could stay down town a little:you're a better hand at managing men than I am, any way, --women too, forthat matter; do you know that you impressed Katrine awfully? She hastalked about you to me--you are so good-looking, so distinguished, shewants to know whether you are a Count or a Prince in disguise, and allsorts of things. "

Talbot smiled. "It is extremely kind of her, " he said quietly. 

"Oh, I know she's not the kind of girl you admire, " said Stephen, inrather a nettled tone. "You wouldn't look at a saloon-keeper's daughtersimply because she _is_ a saloon-keeper's daughter; you like a girl inyour own rank, all grace and dignity and good manners, and awfullyclever and intellectual, and gifted and educated, and all that. "

Talbot merely laughed and remained silent, a habit he had whichsuccessfully baffled questions, innuendoes, and suppositions alike. 

"And any way your passions are engaged somehow, somewhere. "

"How do you know that?" asked Talbot, with a hardening of his mouth. 

"Know it! why, otherwise you could not lead this dog's life as you do, and you could not be indifferent to a beautiful girl like Katrine, --forshe is beautiful, she's not 'pretty' or 'nice, ' but she's downrightbeautiful, " returned Stephen, emphasising his remarks by striking thetable. 

Talbot said nothing, but put more wood in the stove in silence. 

"Your supper is ready now; if you are famished, as you said, you'dbetter have it, and discuss Miss Poniatovsky afterwards, " he remarked. 

Stephen turned to the table. "Won't you have something too?" he said. 

Talbot shook his head. "No, thanks; I'm not hungry. "

"You ascetic creature, you never are, " replied Stephen, as he began tocarve into the cold bacon. 

"Well, you know how I detest her surroundings, " he began again after afew minutes, "and drinking, and saloons, and almost everything she does, but then I can't help liking her. She's so different from any girl I'veever seen. She attracts me, she holds my thoughts so, and if I could gether to give up all that, if I could alter her views--"

"You would be doing away with that difference from others that is thebasis of your attraction, " put in Talbot, dryly. 

"Well, " returned Stephen after a minute, in a sulky tone, "we are alllike that, --a man falls in love with a girl, because she _is_ a girl, and then immediately wants to turn her into a married woman. "

Talbot laughed. "Good!" he said. "You are quite right. "

"It's the altering process we like, and we want to do the alterationourselves. I showed her my pocket Greek testament yesterday, " hecontinued. 

"And was she interested?" inquired Talbot, dryly. 

"Not so much as she was in the shooting gallery, " admitted Stephen. "Itold her how a bible at a man's heart had often saved his life, and shesaid a pistol had done that too, and she'd rather trust the pistol. "

Talbot laughed. "You say you like altering. I should think in Katrineyou've a splendid field. If you want to get her down to theschoolmistress pattern, you've employment for a lifetime!"

Stephen flushed, as he always did at any allusion to the girl he hadloved as the type of all virtues, and yet had tired of. Good people arealways more or less interested in and attracted by the wicked, while thewicked are not generally the least interested in nor attracted by thegood. Stephen was drawn towards this reckless daughter of the saloonspartly through the sense of her general badness, it formed unconsciouslya sort of charm for him, whereas his goodness did not act at all in thesame way upon her. To her eyes it was his one great drawback, anoverwhelming disadvantage. 

He finished his supper in silence, and the two men drew in close to thefire to smoke. That is to say, Stephen did the smoking, as he did thetalking. He consumed Talbot's tobacco, and filled Talbot's cabin withits fumes. Talbot himself did not smoke. 

Stephen's return to his own claim freed Talbot from the double share ofwork he had been doing for the last week, and he remained on his ownclaims all day, tramping from one end to the other, directing where anew shaft should be made, overseeing closely all the work that went on, and doing a good deal of it himself; and in those days he became moreclearly conscious than ever of the difference that was growing up in hismen's manner towards him. There was a veiled insolence in their repliesto his questions, a certain want of promptness in obeying his orders, which caused a curious gleam to come into the quiet grey eyes as, apparently without noticing it, he passed on. 

He did not speak of it, not even to his foreman, Denbigh, the man whomhe liked and trusted most. He was accustomed to manage his own affairs, and rarely took counsel with any one. He was one of those men who areborn with the gift of governing others. He was an organiser, anadministrator, by nature. Had he been born to a throne, his kingdomwould have been well ruled from end to end, and rarely if ever embroiledwith other nations; and the same spirit that would have ruled a kingdomshowed itself here in the ruling and management of his seven hundredfeet of ground. 

He never bullied, never swore, no one had ever seen him in a passion. Hegave his orders in a pleasant friendly voice, his manner was quiet, evento gentleness, but he had a way of getting those orders invariablycarried out that was hard to analyse. If he said a thing was to be done, it was done, and no one knew of an instance where it was not. He nevercountermanded an order, and never receded from a position once taken, even if in his own heart he recognised later it was an unwise one. Butthe forethought and caution, the deliberation in decision that were hisby nature, made the occasions on which he regretted an order veryseldom, and if such there were, no matter, the order stood. He himselflooked upon his word as irrevocable, whether given in promise orcommand, and instinctively all who came in contact with him looked uponit in the same light. The men, when they made engagements with him andstipulated certain terms for certain work, and other details, neverasked for paper, and even refused it when offered. Whatever came fromthose silent, resolute lips they knew unalterable, unanswerable, final, and absolute; they all trusted his word completely, and it passedamongst them as other men's bond. 

Everything on the claims was well organised, all was kept in smoothworking order. The men had exact hours of work, exact time for changingoff, each his specified work and place on the ground, each his tools, for which he was accountable as long as he worked there. 

Talbot's forethought even went far enough to provide for thehappy-go-lucky and mostly ungrateful creatures who had no idea ofproviding for themselves. He established a sick fund, and to this eachof the men who worked for him was obliged to subscribe a trifle out ofhis weekly wages. Then in their not infrequent sickness there wasalleviation and comfort waiting for them. If the miners were not hisfriends they were his dependents, and as such he cared for them andlooked after them. He was always friendly in manner to them, alwaysready to help and assist them, to attend to their wants, to listen totheir complaints, and settle the frequent disputes amongst themselves, which they invariably brought to him for decision. If he had notinstilled affection into them, they felt an unlimited faith andconfidence in his absolute justice. 

"He's hard, real hard, " they said amongst themselves, "but he'll nevergo back on you;" and that was the received opinion amongst them. 

Although he was conscious now of the feeling growing up amongst his men, he appeared to ignore it entirely. As long as his instructions andcommands were carried out, he affected to be in ignorance whether it waswith a smiling or a scowling face. He felt certain that the disaffectionowed its origin to the man Marley, and he expected every day that somematter would bring this man and himself into a personal conflict, inwhich he meant to conquer, and he preferred to wait for this to happenthan to, in any way, take an initiative step in bringing the coverthostility to light. 

It was his method. On the same principle, when one of his debtors, having completely lost his head in blind rage against a quiet order thathe should pay what was due, shook his fist in the other's face andthreatened to wipe the floor with him, Talbot did not knock the mandown, as some might have done. He simply remarked in his dryest tone, "You'd better try it, " and for some reason or other the man did not. Shortly after the money was paid. 

So now he simply stood his own ground, saw that his work was properlydone, and waited until the man courted his own punishment. In themeantime, the men mistook his forbearance, his quietness, his smoothnessof tones and manner for weakness, and Marley, a bully by nature, andquite incapable of understanding his employer, grew elated andtriumphant. 

Stephen had been back at the gulch a fortnight or more, when Talbotfound late one afternoon some of his tools broken, and this, combinedwith other work he had to do in town, decided him to go down thatafternoon and return the following day before daylight failed. He gotready, locked up his house, and called upon Stephen to say he was going. Stephen looked quite surprised, Talbot went to town so seldom, and thenbegan to chaff him upon his motives and intentions. 

"As it happens, I'm going about some mending of spades, " Talbotreturned. 

"Are you sure it's not the breaking of hearts?" Stephen laughed backfrom the fire by which he was sitting. "Well, you'll see Katrine anyway. Tell her--"

"My dear fellow, " interrupted Talbot, impatiently, "I'm not going to seeher. I shall have as much as I can do to be back here before mid-dayto-morrow, " and he went out before the amazed Stephen could say anotherword. 

"Going down town and not going to see Katrine! why, he must be mad, "ejaculated Stephen mentally; "wonder what his own girl's like anyway. "Then he tossed himself back on the rug and looked at a littlepostage-stamp photograph Katrine had given him of herself, which he hadstuck on the fly-leaf of his Greek testament. 

The following morning, before it was fully light, found Talbot toilingup to the west gulch on foot. He had made an early start, as he wantedto be back before the men began work, and the air hung round one andagainst one's cheek like a sodden blanket in the dusky dawn. It took himover three hours to make the distance, and when he reached his cabin hefelt chilled through. All his muscles were stiff and numb from the longclimb. He felt a longing to sit down and rest and get a little warmthkindled in his half-frozen limbs. The first thing that encountered himat the main door, which led into the block composed of his own cabin andthe tunnel, was a sheet of smooth ice, only an inch deep perhaps, butglazing over the ground from where he stood to his own door. He saw atonce what had happened: the waste water from the workings had beendiverted from its proper outlet, and had simply run freely at its ownwill over the level ground. Talbot's face darkened as his eyes rested onit. It was Marley's business to see that the egress for the water waskept free and unblocked with ice, and only yesterday he had given himorders to attend to it. It was the second or third time he had returnedto find the entrance to his own house almost impassable. Crossing overwith difficulty the frozen stream, he looked into his cabin. There wasabout a foot of muddy water and ice covering the floor and floating hisslippers and some pairs of socks he had left by the hearth. The fire wasout, and the lower part of the stove filled with mud and water. The bedwas completely soddened, the blankets and quilt dabbling in the water. He did not go beyond the threshold. After a minute's survey he turnedand walked down the tunnel leading to the shaft where he knew the menwere working. 

"Marley!" he called down the shaft. 

"What is it?" came up from below in a surly tone. 

"You have allowed the waste to run into the tunnel again, and my cabinis flooded. "

"Well, clean it out then!"

"I think that is your business, " answered the dry cutting tones fromabove. "Come up at once, and see to it. "

"I'm not going to swab out your blasted, dirty old cabin, " shoutedMarley hoarsely from the bottom of the shaft. "Do it yourself. "

A strange look came over Talbot's quiet face. It whitened and set in thedarkness. He knew his men were gathered about Marley, listening to whatpassed, and this open defiance of his authority, this public insultbefore them, angered him excessively. He made his answer very quietly, however, only his voice was peculiarly hard, and the words seemed todrop like ice on the men standing listening below. 

"I allow no one to speak to me like that here, " he said. "This is thelast day that you work on the claim. "

"I'll work here as long as it suits me, " retorted Marley, with an oath. "You can't turn me out. "

"We will see about that, " returned Talbot, in the same even, frigidtone, and he turned away from the pit and walked back to his floodedcabin. 

He found Denbigh had arrived there. It was close to the luncheon hour bythis time, and he was doing what he could to get rid of the water. Helooked up, and saw at once from the other's face there had been someunusual incident. 

"What's up?" he inquired, standing still, with his mop in his hand. 

"That fellow Marley is making all the trouble he can, " returned Talbot. "I have just told him he has got to get out, that's all. "

Denbigh's face fell. "I think it's a bad job, " he remarked after aminute. "You know what a desperate devil he is; he would kill you, Ibelieve, if he had to give up his work. "

"Well, he has been trying to boss this business for some time now, "returned Talbot, "and I am tired of it. To-day he finished with a grossinsult before a lot of the men, and it's time, I think, to show him andthem who is boss here. "

"Couldn't you overlook it?" replied Denbigh, tentatively, with a scaredlook on his thin face. 

"I have no wish to, " replied Talbot, coldly. "There is bound to betrouble some time. It may just as well come now as later. "

Denbigh opened his mouth to make a further protest, but Talbot stoppedhim. 

"Don't let us discuss it any further, please, " he said curtly, andDenbigh closed his mouth and dropped back on his knees to hisfloor-mopping. 

Talbot drew out his pistol, glanced over it, and buckled it round hiswaist. 

When the room was reduced to some appearance of dry comfort again, thetwo men sat down to their luncheon in silence. Talbot was too excited toswallow a mouthful of the food. Although so calm outwardly, and withsuch absolute command over his passion, anger was with him, like a flameat white heat, rushing through his veins. 

As they sat they heard the miners tramping by the cabin door, and sawtheir heads pass the window as they went out to get their mid-day food. Denbigh himself, as soon as he had finished, made an excuse anddeparted. He was eager to join his companions before they came back towork and hear some more delectable details of the row than he could getfrom Talbot. When all his men had filed out from the tunnel, Talbot wentinto the passage and walked up to the heavy wooden door and shut it, barring it with a steady hand. This was the main entrance to the shaft, and at the present time the only one. The door was never, under ordinarycircumstances, closed, but stood open all day for the men to pass in andout to their work. When he had fastened it he walked back, turned intohis own cabin, and took up his place at the window. From here he couldsee the men as they came back. They began to return earlier than wastheir wont, knowing that trouble was in the air, and each one wasanxious to be on the spot for the crisis. All through the lunch hourTalbot's words and the possibility of Dick Marley being obliged to"quit" was the sole topic of conversation. 

Dick talked largely, and with a great many of the miners his oaths, andthe imputations of cowardice he heaped on his employer, carried the day. Some of the others, quieter men with keener perceptions, merely listenedin silence, and shook their heads when appealed to for an opinion. 

"I dunno. He's got grit, " remarked one between mouthfuls of bread andbacon, in response to a sanguinary burst of Dick's. 

"He's a slip, " answered Dick, contemptuously. 

"But a dead sure shot. "

"He'd funk it, " said Dick, his face paling a little. "He'd never standup to me. He's got no fight in him. Why, he's managed that claim therenow for two years and he's never so much as fired a shot over it. Nowthat fellow Robinson wot's got the claim a mile farther up the creek, he's the boy for me. Why, he hadn't been there two days before there wastrouble, and at the end of the week we was reckoning up he had made fivecorpses over it. "

He looked round the circle, and there was a murmur of admiring assent. 

The old miner nodded his head slowly as he munched his beans. 

"Yes, that's Talbot's way; he's just as smooth as butter as long as youknow he's the boss and act accordin', but jest as soon as you begin totry and boss him, you'll know you have your hands full. "

Dick took another pull at the tin whisky bottle, and tightened his belt. 

As the men returned to their work they were surprised to see theiremployer leaning idly against his window, and still more surprised whenthey passed round to the main entrance to find the great door shut. Talbot came himself and let each man in, in turn as they came up, shutting the door afterwards. Their curiosity at this unusual state ofthings was great, but there was a look on the pale, stern face theyencountered on the threshold that froze all open question or comment, and each man went by silently to his work. When they got down towardsthe shaft and out of hearing, however, their tongues were loosenedagain. 

"'E's waiting for Dick to come back, that's what he is, " volunteered oneof the miners; "and somehow or other I don't feel jest dying to be inDick's shoes when he do come. "

There was no dissent openly offered to this guarded opinion. Most of themen hung about in the tunnel, and seemed unwilling to quit the scene ofthe coming contest. 

At last, among the final batch of men, Marley came sauntering past thewindow. Talbot's eyes flashed as the tiger's when the brush crackles. He walked out to the great door and flung it wide open. Dick fell back astep, and the little crowd of miners who accompanied him closed in roundthe two, open mouthed and eyed, to see the battle. 

"You can't come in, " and the sentence had an accent of inflexibilitythat made it seem like a drawn sword across the entrance. 

"To hell I can't!" returned Dick, a dull red flush coming over his face. 

"No, you can't, " Talbot replied in the same calm, incisive way, thatcontrasted strongly with the coarse, whisky-thickened tone of the other. 

"Oh well, I guess I'm coming in any way, " answered Marley, and he made astep forward. A slight motion of Talbot's right hand to his belt was hisonly answer. 

Marley stopped, put his own hand, half involuntarily, to his hip, remembered he had no revolver with him, and turned pale and red inconfusion. 

By this time the loud voices and talking at the door had brought theremainder of the men upon the scene. Those who had already passed intothe shaft left their work and came up behind Talbot in the tunnel; thosein front pressed a little nearer. Talbot stood now completely surroundedby the crowd of rough working men. Marley's adherents were in fullforce. He was quite alone. He did not glance round them. He did notthink of himself, nor of his own danger should two or three of them backup their fellow and commence to hustle him. He felt nothing but a coolthough intensely savage determination to subdue this burly brute, todefend his position and title, though it cost him his life. 

"There can be only one boss here, " he said coldly, as Marley hesitatedbefore him. "If you are not satisfied who it is, go to your cabin andget your six-shooter, and we will settle it here on the dump. "

There was a movement and a murmur of satisfaction amongst the men. Nowthis was coming down to business and giving them something they couldunderstand. Here was a man willing to defend his rights in a good, square stand-up fight on the spot, and they one and all agreed in theirown minds that he was the right sort. They glanced at Dick expectantly, and some said to themselves he weakened. They were not going to takesides with either party. One of the men was their friend andfellow-worker, the other was their employer. The two had a difference, and they could settle it between themselves. They had no business tointerfere. All they had to do was to stand round and see a square fightand "with'old their judgment, " as they said afterwards, talking it overin the bar of the "Pistol Shot. " They waited, and Dick hesitated. Hefelt his opponent's eyes upon him; he glanced round the men, they werewatching him. 

"Fetch your six-shooter, " commanded Talbot again, with increasingsternness, and Dick, feeling he must do something, nodded sullenly andturned away towards his cabin. He strode up the incline in the directionof the miners' dwellings, and Talbot, whose brain seemed to himself halfsplitting with nervous, angry excitement, began to pace up and down ashort length before the door, waiting for him to come back. He did notorder his men away, and they stayed in their places. 

The excitement was intense amongst them as they waited; not one of themshifted his place on the log or bank where he had sat down; they hardlyseemed to draw their breath. All their eyes were fixed upon Talbot. Hewalked up and down in front of the door, his arms folded, his revolverstill in its case on his hip. The men watched him curiously. His facewas very white and exceedingly determined. 

The afternoon was placid and lovely. The temperature was not within manydegrees of zero, but the gold of the sunshine was bright, and the airdazzlingly clear. It was absolutely still, not a leaf rustled, not abreath stirred. Nature was in her calmest, gentlest mood; nowhere couldthere have been a more tranquil arena to witness the passions of men. There was perfect silence, except for the crack of the ice sometimes asit split beneath the firm, resolute steps of the man pacing up and down. His face was set as a stone mask, as immovable and as calm, but thepassion of anger increased within him as he waited; a mad impatience forhis adversary to return grew at each step that he walked to and fro, with the insult of the morning echoing in his ears. 

At last he stopped in his walk and fixed his gaze on the road which ledto the miners' cabins. All the men's eyes followed his, and they sawthe figure of their fellow-worker coming slowly down towards them. Ahuge, hulking form, contrasting strongly with the slim one of the manwaiting for him. Some of the miners glanced up at Talbot, wonderingsilently if he "funked it, " but there was something in that attitude andthat iron countenance that reassured them and stirred a dull admirationin their hearts. Talbot ceased to walk up and down. He planted himselfdirectly in front of the wide open door and waited there. Passion andexcitement had dilated his pupils until the usually calm light grey eyeslooked black; his nostrils quivered slightly as he watched his enemycoming up. As Marley drew nearer, the miners noted with satisfaction hisenormous six-shooter swinging in his belt; the sunlight caught the steelat every other step forward he made. Their hearts beat fast with keenanticipation. There would soon be some fine shooting, and one dead manperhaps, or two, for Marley meant business; and as for the other, helooked like the devil himself as he stood there. And he was a fine shot, there was no mistake about that. Denbigh stared hard at him with roundfixed eyes. He was thinking of the nights when he had watched Talbotteaching Dick to shoot straight--teaching the very man he had sent offnow to get his pistol to shoot himself with! He remembered how Talbothad stood with Marley at this very tunnel's mouth and showed him how tosnuff a candle at thirty yards! And Denbigh stared and glowed withadmiration. Marley drew nearer down the path, his heavy crunching stepsechoing through the serene and frosty air. A few minutes more and he wasclose upon the eager, expectant, silent circle; the men watched him withtheir breath suspended. On he came, sullenly, filled with a sort ofdogged, brutal animosity against the man he had wronged and insulted. Hestepped between the men, who made a short line, and then into the clearopen space, facing Talbot. 

For the first time he looked him full in the face, with a fugitive, fleeting glance, and his eyes shifted away. His pace slackened, but hedid not stop; his feet dragged loosely over the rough snow and gravel, his huge form seemed to shrink together, to lessen; while to thefascinated eyes of the men watching the two, that slight figure at thedoorway, motionless as a statue, seemed to dominate the scene. Marleyfelt a peculiar, sick paralysis stealing over him, a curious tuggingback of his muscles when he tried to get his hand to his hip, astrangling feeling in his throat: that glance seemed petrifying him. Theabsolute fearlessness, the indomitable will that filled it, seemed toovercome him. 

The very fact, perhaps, that Talbot had not even yet drawn his pistol, the extreme coolness that relied upon the swiftness of his wrist todraw it at a second's notice, staggered and scared him. He rememberedthe skill that had long been his admiration, and that he had at lastlearned to imitate, the sureness of aim and eye, the dexterity andquickness of that hand, and his tongue fairly cleaved to the roof of hisdry mouth. He struggled to draw his revolver, but his arm refused toobey his will. Yet it was not wholly cowardice that swept over him in asickly tide. As he had met those scornful, indignant eyes, there hadrushed back to his mind a thousand small benefits conferred upon him bythis man, a thousand instances of friendliness, the memory of the firstdays they had worked together, how he had slept under his roof, fed athis table, how, more than all, he had been given by him and instructedin the use of this very weapon that now would be turned to the giver'sown breast. A horror of killing this man, of wounding him, firing uponhim, combined with his terror of being killed, swept over him, andbetween these he felt cowed and beaten, unable to stand up and face him, unable to do anything but drag one trembling foot behind the other andgo by, keeping watch from the side of his eye that that deadly pistolwas not drawn upon him. But Talbot never moved, simply stood and watchedhim too, with fixed eyes; and Marley, overwhelmed by some power he didnot understand, as if dragged forward against his will, without anotherlook at his opponent, passed by them all and went on slowly down theroad leading to the town. Not a word was spoken, not a breath was drawn, no one moved. They watched his retreating figure, some half hoping, halfexpecting, some half fearing, he would turn and shoot from adistance, --all wondering greatly, and a little overawed. Then, as heneither turned nor looked back, but kept steadily ahead, his largefigure well outlined against the stretches of white snow, hissix-shooter glistening in the sun, his head hanging down, till at lastby a turn in the road he was lost to view, there was a long-drawn breathof surprise and wonder, a general turning of the eyes to Talbot. It wasa victory, though a bloodless one, and they felt it. Each one felt thatthe conqueror was before them. Talbot said nothing. He simply stoodaside from the door, to let the miners who were outside enter. The mentook it as a signification that they were to recommence work, andhastened to obey. They did not dare to speak to him, not even tocongratulate him. They were awed into submissive silence before him. Nota sound was uttered. The men filed silently into the tunnel like cowedsheep into their pen, leaving their master standing motionless in thesunshine. 

CHAPTER III

KATRINE'S NEIGHBOURS

Good Luck Row was a little row of small, insignificant cabins towardsthe back of the city, and at right angles to the direction of the mainstreet. Dawson faces the Yukon, and its main thoroughfare lies parallelwith the river. In the summer, when the Yukon and the Klondike, thatjoins it just above, are free, the waters of the two rivers united comerolling by in jubilant majesty, tossing loose blocks of ice, theremnants of their winter chains, on their swelling tide. They form alittle eddy in front of the city, and their waters roll outward andswirl back again to their course, as if the great stream made a bow tothe city front as it swept past. Here in the summer, with the steamboatsploughing through the rocking green water, and the sun streaming downupon the banks crowded with active human beings, glinting on the gaysigns of the saloons and the white and green painted doors of thewarehouses, with the brilliant azure sky stretched above, and far offthe tall green larches piercing it with their slender tops, --in thesummer this main street is a pleasant, cheerful sight; but now, with theriver solid and silent, the banks black and frozen, and the bleak, bitter sky above, it looked more desolate than the inner streets of thetown, more uninviting than Good Luck Row, which had little cabins oneach side, and where the inhabitants overlooked their oppositeneighbours' firelit interior instead of the frozen river. The side-walksof the row were like the other side-walks of the city, a wealth of softmud and slush and dirt through the warm weather, and now frozen hardinto uneven lumps, big depressions, and rough hummocks. The cabins wereuniform in size, small, with one fair-sized window in the front, besidethe door, which opened straight into the main room, where the frontwindow was. At the back there was another smaller room with a tinywindow, looking out over a black barren ice-field, for Good Luck Row wason the edge of the town. 

Katrine lived at No. 13. This cabin had been the last to be occupied onaccount of its unlucky number, but Katrine only laughed at it, andpainted it very large in white paint upon the door. Here Katrine livedalone, though her father, the little stunted Pole who kept the "PistolShot, " was one of the richest men in the city. 

And because she lived alone some of her neighbours declared she was notrespectable. As a matter of fact, she was more respectable than many ofthe married women living in the row, and Katrine knew many a story withwhich she could have startled an unsuspecting husband when he came intotown after a week or two's absence prospecting or at work on the claims;but she did not trouble about other people's affairs; she gave herfriendship to those who sought it, and heeded not at all those whocondemned her. 

On an afternoon about three weeks after her first meeting with Stephen, Katrine stood in front of her little glass in the corner of her cabin, smoothing her short glossy hair; when this was flattened withmathematical exactness to her well-shaped head--for Katrine was alwaystrim and neat in her appearance--she turned to the table and wrote on aslip of paper, "I'm next door;" this she pinned to the outside of herdoor, and then locking it went into the next cabin in the row. She hadgrown quite accustomed to Stephen's visits now, and generally left anote on her door when she went out, in case he should come unexpectedlyin her absence. The cabin she entered presented a different appearancefrom her own. There was the same large stove opposite the door, the samerough table in the centre and wooden chairs round, but the floor wasdirty and gritty, quite unlike Katrine's, which always maintained awhite and floury look from her constant attentions, and the stove lookedrusty and uncleaned. The small square panes of the window, too, hardlylet in any light, they were so obscured by dust inside and snow frozenon to them without. By the stove sat a young woman, in whose faceill-health and beauty struggled together for predominance. Her hair, twisted into a loose knot at the back of her head, was of the lightestgold colour, like a young child's, and her face brought to one's mindthe idea of milk and violets, the skin was so white and smooth and theeyes so blue. This was the beauty which no disease could kill, butill-health triumphed in the livid circles round the eyes, the drawnlines round the faded lips. Katrine entered with her brightest smile. 

"Well, Annie, are you better to-day?" she asked. 

The woman rose with an unsteady movement from the chair, and before shecould answer burst suddenly into a rain of tears. "Better? Oh, Katie, Ishall never be any better! But I wish I could go home to die!"

Katrine advanced and put her arms round her, drawing the frailattenuated form close against her own warm vigorous frame. 

"What nonsense!" she said gently. "You are not going to die at home oranywhere yet. Why, Will is going to make a big strike, and take you hometo live in style all the rest of your life. "

"No, " sobbed the girl, --for she was no more than a girl in age, --fallingback in her chair again. "No, it won't come in time for me. "

"Where is Will?" asked Katrine, looking round. 

"He's just got a job up at the west gulch on Mr. Stephen Wood's claim, "returned the other. "Oh, I am that thankful he's found some one toemploy him at last. "

"Yes, it's delightful, " returned Katrine, absently, as she sat down onthe other side of the rusty stove and looked round the dirty, cheerlessroom. It was due to her urgent pleading with Stephen that Will hadobtained the place on the claim, but his wife did not seem to know, andKatrine did not tell her. 

"But then it don't lead to nothing, " continued Annie, despairingly. "Hecan't look out for himself if he's working another man's ground. "

"Well, he only does a few hours' work, I believe, and has the rest ofthe day to look round for himself, " returned Katrine. 

"It don't amount to much, anyway; this time of the year there ain't noday to speak of, " replied the other, gazing plaintively through the dimglass of the window. "And then if he do see a bit of land he fancies, why, he can't buy it, he's got no money. "

"I think Mr. Wood will advance him enough to buy any ground he thinkswell of, " replied Katrine, gently. 

"Mr. Wood!" repeated Annie, opening her sunken eyes wide with the firstdisplay of interest she had shown. "Why should he help my man along?"

"I don't know, " returned Katrine, evasively, with heightened colour;"but he told me he would do so, and I know he will. How is Tim to-day?"she added suddenly, to divert the conversation. 

The mother looked round. 

"Tim!" she called; "where is that child? Katie, you go and look if youcan see him in the wood-shed. "

Katrine crossed the room to the lean-to attached to the cabin and lookedin. On the floor of the wood-shed, with the happy indifference to thecold usually displayed by Klondike infants, little Tim sat on the floorwith a pile of chips beside him. Great icicles hung from the raftersabove him, and his tiny hands were blue with cold, but he wascontentedly and silently piling up the wood on the frozen ground. Katrine picked him up and carried him into the next room, and put him bythe fire at his mother's feet. He did not cry nor offer any resistance, but when put in his new location looked round for a few minutes, andthen calmly leaned towards the stove and began to play with the cindersin place of his vanished wood chips. 

"What a good little fellow he is!" said Katrine, leaning over him. 

"Yes; he's his mother's darling, that's what he is!" returned the other, stooping to smooth the curly head that was only a shade lighter thanher own. 

"Will you have some coffee?" asked Annie presently, looking helplesslytowards the dirty stove, where a feeble fire was burning sulkily amongstthe old wood ash. 

"No, " returned Katrine, cheerfully; "you must be getting tired ofcoffee. I brought you some tea for a change, " and she extracted a neatlittle packet from one of her pockets. "May I do up the fire and makesome for you?"

"Why, it will make you so dirty; that stove is in an awful state, "replied Annie, looking over the other's neat dress and figure dubiously. 

"I don't mind that. Pick up the baby, " Katrine answered, rolling up hersleeves and displaying two rounded muscular arms white as the snowoutside. "You'd better move farther out of the dust, " she added, goingdown on her knees before the stove. Annie picked up the child andretreated to a chair by the window, from where she watched the otherwith a sort of helpless envy. 

"Lord! I've grown that weak lately I can't do nothing, " she said after aminute. "You know how nice I used to keep the place for Will when wefirst came. "

Katrine nodded in silence, and two bright tears fell amongst the woodash she was taking from the stove. She did remember the bright, activeyoung wife, the united little family moving into the cabin next her onlya year ago; she remembered the interior that had always been so neat andclean and cheerful to receive Will when he came home, the unceasingdevotion of his wife, and the mutual love and hope that had buoyed themup and made them face all hardships smilingly. Then she had watchedsorrowfully the gradual deterioration of the man under the constantdisappointment; she had met him more and more frequently in thesaloons, less and less at his home. She had seen day by day the rapiddecline of the bright, beautiful young creature he had brought with himinto this poor faded wraith dragging herself about in the neglected, cheerless cabin. 

"You'll get stronger again in the warm weather, " she said after aminute, when her voice was steady. 

"You wouldn't say that if you'd seen what I saw on the snow this morningwhen I'd been coughing there back of the wood-shed, " returned Annie, drearily leaning her tired head against the dingy pane. 

"What do you mean?" asked Katrine, looking up apprehensively. "Blood?"

The other nodded in silence, and there was quiet in the cabin except forthe crooning of the child. Then Katrine rose from the hearth impulsivelywith a flushed, lovely face and the ash dust on her hair and dress. Shewent over to Annie and drew her head on to her strong, warm bosom. 

"Oh, you poor, poor thing! What can we do?" she said desperately. 

"Nothing, " murmured Annie, closing her eyes in the girl's soothingembrace, "unless you could persuade Will to take me home, and nobodycould do that now, he's so set upon the gold. That's the second bleedingfrom the chest that I've had this month; now the third'll do for me. "

She shivered as if from cold, and Katrine kissed her and hastened backto her work at the fire. It is not a pleasant nor an easy thing to do toclean out a stove that has been left to itself for a week or more andfresh fires kindled on the old ashes every day, but in a few minutesKatrine had the work completed and the fresh wood crackling and fillingthe stove with red flame. Then she made the tea rapidly, and neither ofthem spoke again till Annie held a great tin mug of it to her whitelips. Katrine pulled her chair close to the stove again, and took Tim onher own lap, where he found a new toy in her cartridge belt. Anniesipped from her mug and gazed absently into the flames. 

"Lord, we were so happy, " she said musingly, a little colour coming intoher face under the influence of the hot tea and the warmth from there-invigorated fire. "We had the nicest little home down in Brixham. Idaresay you don't know where that is?" Katrine shook her head. "It'sjust the prettiest, sweetest village in the world, down in Devonshire;and we had a cottage there, quite in the country, with pink roses allover the front, --I can smell those roses now. Oh, it was lovely; andWill had regular work all the time, and he was the best husband womanever had. He used to bring his wages in Saturdays, and say to me, 'Annie, old girl, ain't there enough there to get you a new ribbon forSunday or a fresh sash for the baby?' He never spent a penny for drinknor tobacco. And Sunday we'd go out on the downs and stand looking atthe sea; it do come in so splendid there, and the wind from it seems toput new life in yer. We was as happy and as well as could be, all of us;and then them newspapers got to printing all those tales of the gold inthe Klondike, and Will he just got mad like, and nothing would do but hemust sell the house and come out here. He thought he'd come back sorich; well, so he may, but he won't have no wife to go back with. "

She lay back in her chair, and Katrine, gazing at her white face andtransparent hands, said nothing. 

"I'm glad I stuck to Will, though, " the woman went on softly after aminute, "and didn't let him come out here alone. A wife's place is byher husband wherever he goes, and I'd rather die with him than beseparated. But there, I do hate the name of gold. It broke up our home, it's broke up our lives, and it's just killed me, that's what it's done. And what's the good of it? Why, as I said to Will before we came, 'Wecan't be no more than happy, and we're that now. '"

Katrine said nothing. She was one of those women who in society wouldhave gained the name of a good conversationalist, for she alwayslistened attentively and spoke hardly at all. 

It grew rapidly darker outside and began to snow a little, the peculiarsharp, small snow of Alaska. The two women could hardly see each other'sfaces in the gloom, when Katrine rose and offered to light the lamp. 

"There ain't no oil left, " returned Annie, drearily. "I just sit in thedark most of the time; I don't mind as long as I have a bit of fire. Itdo seem more lonesome though when you've no light, " she added with asigh. 

"Haven't you any money to buy it with?"

Annie shook her head. "Not till Will comes back. "

"Well, here's enough to keep you in oil for the next three months, " saidKatrine, taking a little object from her belt which looked like awell-filled tobacco pouch and putting it on the shelf above her head. 

"What's that? dust?" said Annie. "Where-ever do you get so much money?"she added, staring at her. 

"I won that last night, " returned Katrine, lightly. "I do have suchluck. I wish you could come, Annie, and see the fun we have down town ofa night, instead of moping up here; and I do have such luck, " sherepeated again with a half sigh. "I don't know what I'd do if it shouldchange. I'd have to be bar-keep for a living, I suppose. Think I'd makea good bar-keep?" she said, getting up and stretching her arms above herhead. All her full lissom figure was revealed to advantage by theattitude, and the firelight fell softly on the gay, bewitching face, slanted over to one shoulder as she put the question. 

"I do that, " replied Annie, with emphasis. "Your bar would always becrammed by all the chaps in the place, my dear. "

Katrine laughed. "I'm glad you think so. I'll bring you some of my oilto burn for to-night, and then I must be off earning my living. "

She went into her own cabin and brought back a can of oil with her, trimmed and cleaned and lit Annie's lamp, and then with a kiss bade hergood-bye till next day, and took her way down to the main street. Shehad only a little dust in her belt, just enough to start playing with, and if luck should go against her she would have to return empty handed;but then she always trusted to luck, and it had never forsaken her. Hermode of life, precarious and uncertain, dangerous and unsatisfactory asit might seem to an onlooker, never troubled her. She was in that stateof glorious physical health and strength which lends an unlimitedconfidence to the mind, a sense of being able to cope with anydifficulty which might suddenly present itself, when every present orpossible trouble looks small, and when mere life itself, the meresensation of the blood being warm in one's veins, is a joy. She lovedthe excitement, even the uncertainty of her life, and she had morefriends in the town than she could count, who would be glad to lend herall she needed if her luck failed. 

That night, when Katrine lay fast asleep in her small inner room, hercurly head tucked down comfortably under the rugs, she dreamed she hearda knocking on her door. The sound seemed faint at first, but grewlouder, and after a minute she woke up, lifted her head, and listened. Yes, there was a tapping on her door, she heard it quite distinctly. She got up immediately, slipped into her fur coat and boots, and takingone of her pistols in her hand, went to the door. That there was dangerin answering such a summons at such an hour she knew quite well, butthat did not hinder her. She was accustomed to live with her life in herhand, and she felt instinctively confident of being able so to hold it, and meant to keep a tight grip on it. When she opened the door it was toa vivid moonlight, clear and brighter than day; the whole white worldwas shining under it. 

"Annie!" she exclaimed as her eyes fell on the slight, feeble figuremuffled in a blanket that stood on her steps. "What is the matter? Comein, " and she put the door wide open and stood back for her to pass. 

"Oh, Katie, " she said, seizing the other's hands when they stood insidethe room, "forgive me for waking you, but I want Will. I feel I'm goingto die to-night, and I can't without him--I can't, " and she burst into aflood of tears broken by short sobbing coughs. She had slipped to herknees and was holding Katrine's hands in a feverish clutch. The blankethad fallen from her head and shoulders, and showed to Katrine that shewas still in her day dress; it did not seem as if she had been to bed atall. There was a dark, half-dried stain upon the front of her bodice. 

"I'm dying! Oh, Katie, it's so dreadful all alone there. Will you go andbring Will to me? Oh, do. "

Katrine looked down upon her as she tried to raise her to her feet. Thefire was still burning brightly and filled the room with light. Manypeople older than Katrine would have laughed at the woman's statement inface of her ability to come to them and make it, but Katrine's keenperceptions read much, too much, in the bright glazed eyes that lookedup at her, in the hoarse grating tones that came from the sunken chest, and the feverish grasp of those burning fingers. She stooped down andput her arms round the kneeling figure and drew her up. 

"Why, of course I will. I will bring him to you. But you are only ill, dear; you're not dying. "

"Oh, I may not, I know; but if I should, and he not here! Katie, can yougo now?--it's so late, and so cold, and so far. I don't see how youcan. "

"He's working up on Mr. Wood's claim at the west gulch. I suppose if Igo to Mr. Wood's cabin he can tell me where to find Will. "

"Oh, yes, yes, " returned Annie, eagerly, a crimson flush now lighting upeach cheek; "go straight to Mr. Wood and ask him for Will. One of Will'sponies is down here, back of our house; you can take him and ride up. Oh, it may kill you to go; I ought not to ask it. Oh, what shall I do?"

Katrine laughed. "Kill me!" she said. "It would take more to kill methan that, I think. I shall be up there and Will down here before youknow where you are. Now you've just got to drink this brandy while I goand get some things on. You're just fretting for Will, that's what isthe matter with you. I believe you will feel all right when you see himagain. "

She put the trembling woman into a chair, and went back to her room toput her clothes on. She noticed that her boots, which had been damp thenight before, had frozen to the ground, and she had to break them fromit by force. 

"I shall be lucky if I get back with my feet unfrozen, " she thought toherself, looking regretfully at the warm bed she had left; but it neveronce, even remotely, occurred to her to refuse the unwelcome mission. She put on all her thickest garments, buckled her pistols on her hip, and went back to Annie, who was crouching over the fire in the nextroom. 

"I had better take the pony, " she said; "he'll get me there and backquicker than I can walk, if you think the little animal is up to it. "

Annie nodded. "He's well fed, " she said, "and has had nothing to dosince Will's been gone. "

Katrine shut the stove up, and the two women went out together. 

It was a still dead cold without, the sort of night on which your limbsmight freeze beyond recovery, and without your knowing it, so insidiousand so little aggressive was the cold. 

"You go in and keep warm, " said Katrine; "I'll find the pony and managehim, " and she pushed Annie gently within her own door, and went round tothe shed at the back of the cabin where the pony was. Her hands in thatshort time had grown so stiff with cold she could hardly put the saddleon and fasten the girth and straps. The pony knew her, and pricked hisears and snorted while she was getting him ready; he had been idle inhis stable two days, and by this time was willing to welcome any changein the monotony of life. When she had adjusted everything carefully bythe light of the strong moon falling through the little window, shethrew herself cross leg upon his back and rode him out of the shed. Annie had her face pressed eagerly against the back window of her cabin, watching for her to appear. Katrine smiled at her, lifted her fur capabove her head for an instant as a man would do, and then the nextmoment was cantering away over the snowy waste that stretched behindGood Luck Row. She went at a good pace, urged on by that last glimpse ofthe pale face, with the terrible look of haunted fear on it, pressed tothe window. 

The temperature was very low, but the absence of wind and dampness inthe air made the cold bearable. Katrine, haunted by the fear offrostbite, kept pinching her nose and pulling her ears and banging herfeet against the pony's side to keep the blood stirring in them. Insidethe first half-hour she was away some distance from the lights ofDawson, and nothing but great snowy stretches lay around her. 

That night up at the west gulch it happened that neither Stephen norTalbot had gone to bed. There is little to choose between night and daythere, since half of the day hours are dark as the blackest night, and aman can sleep in them as profitably or more so than in the moonlit hoursof the night. Three o'clock in the morning had come, and the two menwere still sitting talking on each side of the stove, with an openedwhisky bottle on the table between them, in Stephen's cabin, when thedull sound of a horse's footfall broke the blank silence of the gulch. Both sprang to their feet on the instant, and Talbot drew his pistolfrom his belt and stood listening with it in his hand. 

"I always said we oughtn't to keep our gold up here, " said Stephen, andhis face whitened. 

Talbot held up his hand to enjoin silence, and they waited while thesound of hoofs moving slowly over the treacherous and uneven soil camenearer. Then there was a pause, which seemed to the men inside endless. Then two distinct taps at the door. Talbot, who was nearer it, made aforward movement, but Stephen caught his arm. 

"What are you going to do?" he whispered. 

"Open it and fire, " returned Talbot, laconically, and he pushed back thelatch and raised his revolver as he opened the door. 

Stephen was close behind him, and Talbot almost stepped upon him as hedrew back with astonishment the next instant. Katrine jumped from thepony's back and stepped over the threshold without invitation. 

"How lucky I am to find you up!" she exclaimed, and then seeing Talbot'shastily lowered revolver in his right hand she burst out laughing. "Soyou were going to shoot, were you?" she said, drawing out her own. "Well, I was quite ready; I have been all the ride. I am sorry Ifrightened you. "

"Frightened us!" repeated the two men in a breath, with an indignantglance. 

"Oh no, of course I didn't mean that, " rejoined Katrine, laughing. "Disturbed you, I should say. Oh, Stephen, give me some of that whisky;I am almost dead with cold. "

Her face did indeed look frozen white with cold under her fur cap, andher dark eyes shone in it with a liquid splendour that made Stephen'sheart beat tumultuously against his side. He poured out some of thespirit for her and pushed her gently into a chair, commencing to pulloff her thick gloves for her. 

"I want Will Johnson, " she said, with her customary directness. "Stephen, I've come up to fetch him. He's one of your men. Tell me whereI can find him. "

"What do you want with him at this time of night?" questioned Stephen, while Talbot silently extracted a plate of bread and bacon from thecupboard and put it on the table at her elbow. 

"I don't want him for myself, " she answered mischievously. "His wife hassent me up to find him; she thinks she is dying, and wants to see himto-night. Where can I find him?"

"His cabin is a little higher up the gulch, but you mustn't go there; Iwill go after him, " said Stephen hastily. 

"I don't know, " replied Katrine; "I'd better ride up there and then takehim on home with me, hadn't I?"

"Ride back again to-night!" exclaimed Stephen. "What madness! It wasbad enough to make the ride once. She mustn't think of it, must she, Talbot?" and he turned to his friend for corroboration. 

"Certainly not, I should say, " returned Talbot, in his quiet but finalway. "I will ride up to Johnson's place and send him down home, and youcan make Katrine comfortable here. "

The girl sprang to her feet. 

"Why, what an idea!" she said, with a flush on her pale cheeks. "I onlycame to you to find Will. Of course I can't stay here all night. "

"Your mission will be accomplished, won't it, if Will goes to his wife?"returned Talbot quietly. "There is no need to risk your life again. There is no good in it; besides, it will save time if you let Will havethe pony at once to take him back. You can have one of ours in themorning. "

She looked up at him. She admired Talbot exceedingly. His voice was soinvariably gentle and quiet, so different from all the voices that sheheard round her daily. Stephen's, though his resembled it, had not thesame curious accent of refinement. His manner, too, had the same extremegentleness; and yet beneath this apparent softness she knew thereexisted a courage that equalled any in the whole camp. He looked veryhandsome too, she thought, at this moment, as she met a soft smile inhis eyes, and her tones were more hesitating as she repeated--

"I think I ought to return. "

"Well, I'm going to despatch Will for you, " replied Talbot, turningaway. "I leave it to you, Stephen, to persuade her to stay, " and hewalked out. A second later they heard the pony's hoofs going up thenarrow trail past the cabin. 

"You can have my room; I'll sleep here on the floor, " remarked Stephen. 

The girl got up. 

"No, " she said in her most decided tone. "I'll stay if you let me sleephere on the floor, or I'll go home. Turn you out of your own comfortablebed I will not. "

"Go home you can't, " said Stephen in an equally decided tone, "so I'llmake you up a bed here just in front of the stove. "

He went into the next room, and Katrine, left alone, drank up her whiskyand gazed round the cabin. It was not at all an interesting interior, and had not the faint suggestions of artistic taste that redeemedTalbot's. A few prints were on the walls, seemingly cut from illustratedpapers and principally consisting of views of cathedrals and schoolbuildings, which Katrine's eyes wandered over without interest. At thefarthest end from her there were some stout shelves nailed against thewall, and on these rested a row of flat tin pans; between the pans werepushed one or two books, and she recognised amongst them his Greektestament. She rose and strolled over to the shelf, and standing ontiptoe looked into the pans. As she thought, they contained thin layersof gold dust. She was standing there looking into them when Stephenreturned and came up behind her. 

"They look fine, don't they?" he said. "That's a thirty dollar pan. "

Katrine turned, and looking up was startled by the eager light in hisface and the greed written in every line of it. For herself, reckless, happy-go-lucky gambler that she was by nature, gold had little value forher except to toss by the handful on the tables to buy half-an-hour'sexcitement. With a sudden movement she seized the fullest pan by the rimin one hand and the Greek testament beside it in the other, and dancedaway from him to the other side of the room. Stephen turned with aninvoluntary cry, and followed her with anxious eyes. 

"Now which would you rather lose?" she said, laughing. 

His eyes were fixed upon the pan, which was heavy and as much as shecould support with one hand. He dreaded each minute to see it tip up andits golden treasure pour out on the floor. 

"Oh, I don't know. Don't be foolish, " he said in a vexed tone. 

Katrine sidled up to the window. 

"Answer, or I'll--"

Stephen turned white. He felt she was capable of doing any mad thingwhen he met those mocking, sparkling eyes. 

"Oh--I--I--would rather lose the book, " he stammered, in an agony to seethe gold safely put back. "I could replace that, you know. "

Katrine advanced to him, balancing the pan as if weighing it. 

"Stephen, this is very heavy, " she said, looking him straight in theeyes. 

"Let me take it from you, " he said, eagerly stretching out his hands. 

"Do you know what makes it so?" she said, still balancing it and stilllooking at him. "Your soul is in it!" and she gave it back to him. 

Stephen reddened angrily, and took both the book and the gold from herand replaced them sulkily on the shelf. Katrine had turned her back andwalked over to the fire, humming. 

"What a royal couch you've made me!" she remarked, breaking the awkwardsilence that followed, and looking down on the pile of red blankets hehad spread in front of the stove. 

He had, in fact, stripped his own bed and collected blankets from everycorner to make a comfortable resting-place for her. Before Stephen couldanswer he was summoned to the door. Talbot looked in upon them, butwould not come inside. 

"I've sent Will off, " he said; "he swore like anything, but he is gone. No, thanks, Steve, I won't come in. I'm tired, and going to my own cabinnow. See you at breakfast. Good-night, " and before Katrine could thankhim he was gone. 

The two thus left entirely alone in the deep quiet of the gulch to passthe night together looked at each other for a moment with a shade ofsilent embarrassment. But the girl, accustomed as she was to take careof herself in all sorts of situations and surroundings, and endued witha certain fierce chastity of nature, recovered herself instantly andspoke quite naturally. 

"I feel tired too, and would like to go to sleep now, if I may. "

"Certainly, " said Stephen. "You have this room to yourself. The stovewill burn till daylight, and you have the whisky if you feel cold in thenight. Good-night. "

His tone was very formal, for he would so much have liked it to beotherwise, and without looking at her he took a match from his pocketand went into the other room, shutting the door after him. The girlwaited a moment, then she shut the door of the stove and threw herselfdown on the soft pile of blankets, and drawing one of them over her toher ears, drew a deep, contented sigh, and was peacefully asleep in afew seconds. 

The next morning Stephen rose stiff and cramped from his denuded bed. When he was completely dressed he silently opened his door and creptnoiselessly into the adjoining room. The girl was not yet awake, and hestole softly over to the bed on the hearth and looked down at her. Shelay warm and sleeping comfortably amongst the blankets. She was fullydressed, just as she had been the previous evening, except that two orthree buttons were unfastened at the collar of her dress, and allowedthe solid white neck to show beneath the rounded chin. The little head, with its mass of dark silky curls, lay inclined towards the stove, andthe curled rosy lips had a softer smile than they generally wore in thedaytime. Stephen leaned over her, entranced and breathless. As his eyesfollowed the dark arch of the eyebrows, the sweet delicate contour ofthe cheek, he forgot the horror he felt of her sometimes in her wakingmoments, forgot the hideous background of the saloons, forgot all theevil there might be in her, and bowed before that supreme power thathuman beauty has over us; he worshipped her as he had never worshippedhis God. For a few seconds it was enough for him to gaze on her, thencame an overwhelming impulse to stoop and kiss the soft youthful lips, to touch them even if ever so lightly. If he could without awakeningher! But no, she was his guest, under his roof and protection. All thatwas best in his nature rose and held him motionless like a hand ofiron. After a few seconds Katrine stirred, and Stephen, feeling she wasabout to awake, would have moved away, but his eyes seemed fixed and asimpossible to remove from her face as one's hands are from an electricbattery. The next minute her lids were lifted, and her eyes, two wellsof living light, flashed up at him. 

"Good-morning, " she said, sitting up. "How dreadfully pale you look, Stephen! What is the matter?"

"Do I?" he answered, with a forced laugh, feeling the blood, which hadseemed to rest suspended in his veins for those few seconds, rush to hisheart again in great waves. 

"You do indeed, " she said, getting up. "I expect you want yourbreakfast. Tell me what I can do to make myself useful. "

She shook her hair straight, fastened the collar of her bodice, and, wasdressed. She needed no toilet apparently, but looked as clean and freshas a rose waking up in its garden. 

"Nothing, " returned Stephen hastily. "Go over and tell Talbot to come into breakfast, if you like; I'll have it ready when you come back. "

Katrine looked round regretfully, as if she would have liked to stay andhelp him; then concluding she had better do as she was told, she took upher fur cap and went out. 

The west gulch looks magnificent in the first early light, with alldegrees of shadows, some black, some dusky, some the clearest grey, lingering in its snowy recesses, and the first glimpse of gold fallingdown it from the east. Katrine stopped and gazed up at the impressivebeauty above and around her: trees in the gulch, now covered with athick snowy mantle, stood assuming all sorts of grotesque forms, andextending their arms as if calling the spectator to their cold embrace. It was beautiful, but to Katrine it seemed so silent, so overawing, andso death-like, that she shivered as she looked up and down from theflat plateau where she stood, and hurried on the few necessary yards toTalbot's cabin. 

When they came back together they found Stephen had all in readiness, the fire blazing on the hearth and the breakfast waiting on the table. He made Katrine sit at the head and pour out the coffee for them, whichshe did with pleased, smiling eyes. Talbot said good-bye to her and wentout to his claim immediately it was over, and Katrine and Stephen wereleft alone. He said he would go and get a pony for her and Katrine rose, but then Stephen hesitated and did not go after all. He turned to herinstead, and came back from the door to where she was standing. 

"Will you listen to something I want to say to you?" he said, his heartbeating wildly. 

"Why, certainly I will, " the girl answered simply, and she sat down inthe chair behind her and folded her hands. Then she looked upinquiringly, waiting for him to begin, but Stephen's voice was dried upin his throat. He stood in front of her, one damp hand nervouslyclasping the back of a chair, unable to articulate a word. Confusion andexcitement overwhelmed him, and he stood turning paler and paler, staring at the proud, handsome face framed in the living yellow sunshinebefore him. At last he felt he could not even stand, and he turned awaywith a groan and sank down on the nearest chair with his face in hishands. Katrine, who had been watching him anxiously for the last fewseconds, sprang up and went over to him. 

"What is the matter?" she said, laying her hand on his shoulder. "Areyou ill?"

"No, oh no, " said Stephen, catching the little hand in both of his. "No, I want to tell you I love you. Do you care for me? Will you marry meright away, and come up and live here with me?"

His voice had come back to him all right now, and he turned and gazedeagerly up at her. 

Katrine did not answer immediately, but she did not withdraw her handthat he was pressing hotly between his own, and a faint smile that cameover her face showed she was not displeased; and here Stephen missed hiscue--he should have taken the hesitating figure into his arms and kissedthe undecided lips. In the sudden awakening of womanly feeling, in themomentary excitement, in the glimpse into passion, Katrine would haveconsented, welcoming as her nature did any new emotion; but Stephen wasembarrassed and afraid. Fear and uncertainty held him back, the kissburned ungiven on his own lips, and Katrine uninfluenced by passioncould think clearly. 

What! come up here and live in this deathly quiet, away from even suchamusement as the camp offered? Submit to all his tiresome religiousconversations, and, above all, give up those feverish nights ofexcitement? the hazard and the stimulus of the long tables and thelittle heaps of gold dust? and her free life, her incomings andoutgoings, with no one to question her? No, it was an impossibility. 

The next thing Stephen knew was that she was smiling and looking downinto his eyes, shaking her head. 

"No, Stephen, I can't do that. I like you awfully, and should like youto come and see me; but I wouldn't do for your wife at all, and if youknew all about me you wouldn't want it either. "

Stephen clung fast to her hand. 

"What is it that I don't know?" he said desperately, putting, as peoplealways do, the worst construction he could upon her words, and at thesame time feeling he would forgive her everything, and in a sort ofbackground in his brain contemplating the figure of the forgivenMagdalen at the feet of Christ. 

Katrine dragged her hand away suddenly. She was not going to tell himshe was a gambler and devoted to the excitement of the tables. She knewthat if she did their pleasant talks in the evenings would be at an end. He could never come to see her without thinking it his duty to try toreform her; and as she knew she was not going to reform, what would bethe good of it?

"What does it matter to you? I am not your wife, and am not going to be;I am an acquaintance. If you like me as I am, very good; if you don't, no one cares. "

Stephen got up and faced her. He was as white as the snow outside. 

"You make me think the worst by refusing to confide in me. "

Katrine laughed contemptuously. 

"I don't care a curse what you think! Haven't I just told you so? Greatheavens, " she added, with a burst of conviction, "it would never do forus to marry! Never! Your one idea is to curtail a person's liberty. "

"No, " answered Stephen quietly, "not liberty in a general way; only theliberty to sin and do evil, the liberty to be ignorant and do thingswhich have terrible consequences that you don't know. "

He looked very well at this moment, his pale ascetic face andsympathetic eyes lighted up with enthusiasm. Katrine looked at him andthen smiled with her quick, impulsive smile. 

"Stephen, you are a good man, and perfectly charming at times; but I amnot a good woman, and don't want to be, and we should never get on. Sodon't let's bother any more about this question at all. "

An exceedingly pained expression came over Stephen's face, and Katrinewas quick enough to feel that from her words he judged her errors to beother than they were. In a few words she might have cleared his mindfrom the idea of her actual immorality, but she was too proud to standupon her own defence before him; besides, if her faults were not of thatclass, he would want to know what they were, and in his eyes a girl thatgambled and drank and swore, and preferred the dance halls and varietyshows to the mission church any day, was quite bad enough; so sheconcluded in her thoughts, "It doesn't matter if he is mixed. "

Stephen at the moment was afraid to press her further, and did not knowquite how to treat her; but he was not wholly discouraged, and hethought it best to retain the ground he already had. 

"Well, I shall be in town in a few days, " he said, "and I shall come tosee you as usual, mayn't I?"

"Of course, " returned Katrine, and they did not speak again till theywere outside and she was mounted at the head of the trail. 

What a morning it was! The crisp air was like a bath of sparklingsunlight; the untrodden snow glittered everywhere. Far above the trail aridge of dark green pine broke against the pale azure of the sky. Stephen leaned against the pony's side and gazed into the warm, lustrouseyes. 

"Good-bye, my darling--my own darling perhaps some day. "

"I don't think so, " she answered, with a mischievous smile, and set thepony at a trot down the trail. 

She had to pass Talbot's cabin on her way back, and as she approachedshe saw him a little way up the creek surrounded by his men. She reinedin her horse to a walk as she passed, and contemplated him. His figurealways pleased and arrested her eyes--it had a certain height andstrength and grace that marked it out distinctly from others; and thenwhat an advantage it was, she thought, he had no religion and believedin none of those things, and, in short, was quite as bad or worse thanshe herself was. She walked her horse on slowly, thinking. Somehow itseemed to her that life in his cabin would be far more piquant andamusing than in Stephen's. Yet he neither drank nor gambled, and as forthe dance halls and theatre, --well, he had told her he liked dancing;and what a waltz that had been they had had together! But life withStephen! He would be too good for her, and too stupid. She had a vaguesense that what she lived for, excitement, he condemned in all itsforms. Just what she cared for in drink, in play, in the dance, theelectric pleasure of them, was just what he shrank from as a wile of theEvil One. Even the religious services of the High Church he condemnedfor the same reason. No, it would never do; life with him would be ascold as the snow around her. She was glad that her answer had been as ithad. There was a level place in the trail here, and she put the horseto a gallop, and so came into town with her cheeks stung into richcrimson by the keen air, and her spirits exhilarated and ready for anymischief going. 

She went at once to No. 14 in the row, and found Will sitting by hiswife's bedside like a model husband. The girl was lying down, her weakwhite hand clasped in and nearly hidden by the swollen, rough red handof the miner. She gave a little cry as Katrine entered, and buried herhead under the blanket. 

"You are not angry with me for sending you up when it wasn't reallynecessary?" came a smothered voice. 

Katrine flung herself on her knees beside the bed and put her armsimpetuously round the thin form under the coverlet. 

"Angry with you for not dying!" she said, between laughing and crying. "Why, I think you're the best girl in the world, and Will's a prettygood doctor, too!" she added, glancing up at him. 

Will coloured and looked a little uneasy, remembering his oaths of lastnight when he was roused to a ten-mile ride; but Katrine couldn't orwouldn't notice anything amiss. She said sweet things to both of them, and then, unwilling to rob Annie of any part of Will's company, shewithdrew to her own cabin. 

Two or three weeks passed, and dreary weeks they were. The temperaturefell below the zero mark and stayed there, the sun hardly ever shone, the whole sky being blotted out as behind a thick grey curtain. The fewhours of daylight that each twenty-four hours brought round was littlemore than a dismal twilight. Times were dreary, too, provisions ranscarce and very high, and the cheerless cold and darkness seemed toparalyse the energies of the strongest and lay a grip upon the wholetown. Many months of the winter had already gone by, and strength andspirits were beginning to flag; health and courage had worn thin, andmen who had faced the bitterness of the cold with a joke when it hadfirst set in felt it keenly now like the rest. In Good Luck Row matterswere worse than anywhere else in the town; the occupants were mostlyvery poor, and the pressure of the high prices was sharpest upon them. In addition to all else they had to suffer, typhoid broke out amongstthem, and another horrible fear was added to the terror of the cold. Inthe universal gloom that hung over the city, under the mantle ofdarkness, want and starvation and fear and disease wrangled together, while Death walked silently and continually about the darkened streets. During all this time Katrine was about the only one who kept up herspirits and courage. She was the light and comfort of the row, there wasnot a cabin in it that had not been brightened and cheered by hersmiles and benefited by her gifts. She was absolutely without fearherself. The quality seemed to have been left out of her composition, orperhaps it was only that her great physical health and strength made herfeel unconsciously that it was impossible for any harm to come to her. She went in and out of the fever-stricken cabins all day, doing what shecould for each one of the inmates, and always with her brilliant smile, which was a tonic in itself, and half the night she would sit gamblingin the saloons, winning the money to spend upon her sick patients thefollowing day. 

As soon as Stephen learned that typhoid had broken out in the row, hecame down to her and urged her to marry him and come away to the westgulch, if only as an asylum. But Katrine simply laughed and joked, andwould not listen to him. Then he begged her to look upon herself merelyas his tenant; he and Talbot would share the same cabin, and she couldoccupy his in perfect peace and security, and be safely away from thedepressing influences of the town and its disease-laden atmosphere. Thenshe grew very grave, and said simply in a sweet tone that echoed throughall the chambers of his heart--

"Dear Stephen, you are very good to be so anxious for me, but I'm not abit anxious for myself. I should feel like a coward if I went away fromthe row now. These people are so dependent upon me, and I can do so manylittle things for them. I feel it's a duty to stay here, and I'd ratherdo it;" and Stephen had kissed her hand passionately and gone back tothe gulch, more in love with her than ever. 

She saw very little of him, and was too busy to think about him or notewhether he came or not, having so many anxieties on her mind just then, of which the heaviest was the girl-wife Annie in the next cabin. Sincethe semi-crisis in her illness, over which Katrine had helped her, thereseemed to be little change in her condition from day to day. That is, the change did not show itself externally; within the delicatestructure, the disease, aided by the cold, the foul damp air of thetown, and hopeless spirits, crept steadily and quickly on, but gavelittle or no outward sign, and Katrine hoped against hope that she couldpossibly tide her over the time till Will perhaps made a strike andcould take her away. She knew how the sick woman clung to this idea. Formonths now she had been shut off from all communication with the outerworld, she never saw a paper or a book, she could not move from hercabin, her whole sphere was bounded now by its four rough walls, and sothe one idea that was left to her starved brain and heart was that Willshould make a strike. And as a weed runs over a bare and neglectedgarden, so will one single idea completely absorb and fill a neglectedbrain, and grow and grow to gigantic strength. This was Annie's oneidea; she brooded over it, pondered over it, nursed it, slept with it, and talked to Katrine of it with burning eyes, till the latter felt ifit could only be fulfilled the joy of it would almost cure her. And itmight be fulfilled, she knew, any day. It was early days in the Klondikethen, and plenty of good ground lay around waiting to be discovered. Sheheard from Stephen that Will was steady and energetic, had given updrink, and was set upon the idea of prospecting for land of his own. Katrine's heart beat hard with pure sympathy as she heard, and shebegged Stephen as the one thing he could do for herself to facilitateWill's efforts in every way and aid him for her sake. Meanwhile, her owncare was to keep the fragile creature who was living upon hope still onthis side of the Great Divide. And to this end she worked night andday. She kept her cabin clean and well lighted and well warmed. Shebought and made soup, and gave fabulous prices for meat and wine, andsat with her long hours cheering her with stories heard in the saloonsand picked up in the streets, and scraps of news from the gulch andfarther points. 

The disease seemed so quiescent that Katrine began to hope more and morethat she should be rewarded, and one morning a hurried note scribbled inpencil was brought in to Annie while Katrine was scrubbing the cabinfloor, telling her in a few ill-spelt words that Will thought he mightget in to town that night. A bright flame of colour leaped over thewoman's pale face, and then the next moment faded as her hands with thenote in them fell listlessly to her lap. 

"He ain't made no strike yet, " Katrine heard her mutter to herself. 

"You don't know, " rejoined Katrine, looking up flushed and warm from herhard work. "He may have some good news to tell you any way. "

Annie merely shook her head and gazed out of the window. 

"He'd have told me, " she murmured, and that was all. 

Katrine had a long and heavy round of visits to make that day, and fortwo long hours she sat motionless by a dying woman's bedside, fearing towithdraw her hand, to which the poor terrified enterer into the Valleyof the Shadow was clinging. In her arms, and with her tired head onKatrine's young bosom, the woman drew her last breath; and Katrine, feeling her own soul wrenched asunder and her body aching with strainand shock, came round in the afternoon to Annie. She would not say aword to her of the death-bed from which she had come. With an effort shetalked of cheerful things, of the spring-time that was on its way tothem, of the pleasure of seeing Will again, and so on, till her headached. She did a few domestic offices for the girl, and then feeling shemust break down herself if she stayed longer, she said she needed sleep, and if Annie could take care of herself for a time she would go and liedown. Annie noticed how heavy the lids were over her eyes and begged herto go at once, though a strange fear, like a child's of the dark, cameover her. 

"Will will be soon with you now--the best company, " Katrine said, with atired smile; "and if you want me, a knock on the wall here will bring meto you, " and Annie was left alone. 

As the afternoon closed in her cough seemed to grow more and moretroublesome; the pain in her chest, too, had never been so bad; she hadto keep her hand there all the time as she laboured round the roomputting everything to rights, making sure that the cabin was neat andtidy against Will's return. At last she sat down in the circle of hotlight round the fire, and little Tim crawled into her lap. She put herarms round him and held him absently. She was thinking over Katrine'swords. The Spring! were they really near it? "so near, " she had said, "it was almost here. " Her eyes looking upwards to the darkening windowscaught the old and smoke-hued almanac pinned up to the wall beside it. She set the child down, and getting up walked slowly over to it and ranone trembling finger down the dates. Each one from December, when theyhad first hung it up, had a heavy black line against it, where she hadscratched it out with eager fingers; only the last days had no markagainst them. She had been too weary, too heart sick, to note them anylonger. What did it matter to her when the Spring came? the almanac forher would have come to an end before that. But now a fresh gleam ofhope seemed to have entered her heart, and with a feverish movement shedrew the old stump of pencil from her pocket and scratched off theunmarked days, and then stood gazing at the date of that day; they werestill far, far from the Spring--too far. Oh, to go back in the Spring, to escape from this prison of darkness, this country of horror andstarvation and misery, to be back once more in her home in the Spring!Her mind fled away from the dreary interior of the darkening cabin. Shestood once more in the rich grassy meadow with the golden sunlight of anevening summer sky warm around her, the song of the birds in her ears, the hot scent of the meadow-sweet in her nostrils, before her the littlenarrow path leading to the cottage that seemed to bask sleepily in theyellow glow. She made a step forward with dilated eyes, then the coughseized her, the vision dissolved and fled. Again the cabin with itsblackened rafters enclosed her. She turned from the calendar. What wasthe Spring's coming? It might come, but they would not go back. Whatright had she to think of it? They had made no strike, and had not Willsworn he would never go back without the gold? This accursed gold! Ifthey could but have found it as others had! She put her hands to herhead to drive away the thoughts, they were familiar and so useless. Shehad thought them over and over again so often. As she went back to thefire she noticed one of Will's woollen shirts lying on a chair. Why, that was the one she had meant to wash that morning! How could she haveforgotten it? And now perhaps she would not get it done before hereturned. Her heart began to beat, her limbs trembled. How weak andqueer she felt this afternoon! Still, she would do it somehow. There washot water on the fire that Katrine had put there. She lifted with aneffort the great iron kettle from the fire, and with that in one handand the shirt in the other she went into the adjoining sloping roofedcompartment that served as scullery, wood-shed, pantry, and wash-house. It was many degrees colder here, and the long iron nails that kept theboards together overhead had sparkling icicles on them that glittered asthe firelight from the inner room touched them, and she could hardlydraw her breath. Nevertheless she walked over to the wash-tub and pouredin the water, and set to work with shaking hands. "Had ever shirt seemedso large?" she wondered vaguely, and her thin arms moved slowly, liftingit up and down with difficulty. It seemed getting so dark, too. Sheshould have lighted the candles, it wouldn't look so cheery for Will ifhe came back to find the cabin dark. But was this only the twilightfalling? No, it was in her eyes. She leaned heavily on the edge of thewooden tub, trembling, the floor unsteady beneath her, a stranglingsuffocation in her throat, a swimming darkness before her eyes. A senseof terrible loneliness pressed in upon her, and then suddenly she knewthat in the chill of that dark twilight she was alone with Death. He hadcome for her at last. 

Oh, to have had Will's strong arms round her, a human breast to lay herhead down upon, and so die! A nameless terror possessed her, overwhelmedher; she started from the wash trestle. There was a sudden cry, "Will!Will!" and she fell forward on the damp flooring, a little eager scarletstream of blood pouring out from the nerveless lips to stain thesoap-suds under the trestle. 

The child sitting playing in the ring of warm firelight in the adjoiningroom heard that last cry, and startled, dropped his toys, looking withround eyes to the blackness beyond the open door. He listened with onetiny finger in his mouth for many minutes, but no further sound came todisturb him from the wash-house, and he went on playing. 

An hour passed perhaps before Will set foot in Good Luck Row, and hetramped up it with a sounding pace. There was fire in his eyes, theblood ran hard in all his veins, his rubber boots had elastic springs intheir soles. Yet he carried an extra weight with him. There wassomething in his pocket in a buckskin bag that burned his hand as if ithad been red-hot iron when he touched it. As he came to No. 14 and sawthe windows dark he merely hurried his pace, and hardly stayed to liftthe door latch, but just burst through the half-opened door and broughthis huge burly frame over the threshold. 

"Well, Annie, my girl, we've struck it at last, " he shouted at the topof his voice, "and you shall come home right away. Where are you, Annie?Didn't I say wait a bit for me?"

He had entered by the wash-house, but the darkness was thick, almostpalpable, before his face and revealed nothing. He went forward to theopen door, beyond which the burned-down fire gave only a faint redlight, and his foot kicked something heavy on the floor. With a curiousfeeling gripping his heart, he stopped dead short where he stood andfumbled for a match. Then he struck it, and in its sickly glare lookeddown. "Annie, my dear!" he called in a shaking voice, and bent downholding the match close to the upturned face. The light played for aninstant upon it and went out. "Annie!" he called again, and the wordbroke in his throat. 

A thin wail went up from little Tim in the dusk of the inner room. Wherethe man stood was silence and darkness. His strike had come too late. His wife was dead. 

 * * * * *

Half-an-hour later a man burst into the "Pistol Shot. " It was betweenhours, and the bar-tender was just going round lighting the lamps; theplace was nearly empty, only a few miners were standing at the end ofthe counter, talking together. The new customer staggered across thefloor as if already under the influence of drink, kicking up the freshsawdust on the ground; then he reached the counter and demanded drinkafter drink. He tossed the whiskies handed to him down his throat, andthen retreated to a bench that stood against the wall and sat downstaring stupidly in front of him. The little group of men looked at himonce or twice curiously, and then one said--

"Why, it's Bill Johnson, who's just made a strike. Come up, boys, let'scongratulate him. "

The men moved up to the motionless, staring figure, and one of themslapped him on the shoulder. 

"Say, Bill, old man, you're in luck, and we'll all drink your health. Got any gold to show us?"

The sitting figure seemed galvanised suddenly out of its stupor. Willraised his head with a jerk, and the men involuntarily drew back fromthe glare of his bloodshot eyes. He put his hand to his pocket and drewout a small dirty buckskin bag. He dashed it suddenly on the ground withall his force, so that the sawdust flew up in a little cloud. 

"Curse the gold!" he said, and got up and tramped heavily out of thesaloon. 

CHAPTER IV

GOD'S GIFT

They buried Mrs. Johnson very soon. As one of the neighbours sensibly, if rather crudely, remarked, "Their cabins were too small for them tokeep corpses knocking around in them. " And so the second day after herdeath, in a flood of thin, sweet sunshine, they buried her who had soloved the light and the sun, and had longed so wearily for them throughso many days. 

Katrine and Talbot stood side by side at the open grave. He had been inthe town that day and met Katrine on the street, learned from her whereshe was going, and accompanied her. He knew something of all she haddone for the dead woman, and he watched her now with interest andsurprise at her composure. Katrine's face was unmoved, and her eyeswere dry through it all. 

"Another that gold has killed, " she said to him as they turned away, andher face looked grave and grey in the flood of the cold sunlight. 

Will was not present. He was down at the "Pistol Shot. " He had been on abig drunk for the past two days, not even returning to his cabin atnight, and the body of his wife would have lain unguarded had notKatrine brought her fur bag and slept beside it each night on thedeserted hearth. Little Tim had been taken in by a neighbour, all themothers round seeming anxious for the honour after it was known thatWill had "made his strike. "

They walked in absolute silence for some time up the incline. Talbot wasgoing back to the west gulch, and Katrine said she would walk a littleof the way in that direction too. The afternoon was bright and clear, and the air singularly still, so still that the intense cold was hardlyrealised. The rays of sunshine struck warmly across the snow banks piledon each side of the narrow path they were treading. The sky was paleblue, and the points of the straight larches on the summit of the ridgescut darkly into it like the points of lances. There was something in theatmosphere that recalled a day in late autumn in England. They werenearing the top of the ridge, and both had their gaze bent on the narrowascending path before them, when suddenly a tiny object darted into themiddle of it and ran up the opposite bank. On the instant Katrine drewone of the pistols from her belt and fired. The little dark form rolleddown the bank, dropped back into their path, and lay there motionless. It was a fine shot, for the tiny moving thing was fully thirty yardsfrom them and looked hardly the size of a dollar. Talbot glanced at herwith startled admiration. He himself never shot except for food orother necessity, and wanton killing rather annoyed him than otherwise, but here the skill and the correctness of wrist and eye were so obviousthat they compelled him to an involuntary admiration. 

"You are a good shot!" he exclaimed, looking at the bright, clear-cutface beside him, warmed into its warmest tints by the keen air and thecontinuous mounting of their steps. 

"But not a good woman, " she answered shortly, quickly reading thethoughts that accompanied his words. She did not look at him, butstraight ahead. 

"You might be both, " he said, with a sudden impulse of interest andregret. 

Katrine laughed. 

"I don't know, " she said lightly. "Good women are not usually goodshots. You don't generally find them combined. But any way, what have Ito do with goodness? I don't need it in my business. "

He did not answer, and they walked on in silence till they came up tothe little dark lump in the road. It was a small marmot. Katrine glancedat it and passed on. Talbot stooped and picked up the scrap ofblood-stained fur. 

"What did you do it for?" he asked curiously. 

"Practice, that's all, " she answered. 

"Don't you feel sorry to kill merely for the sake of practice?"

"No. I should have been sorry if I had wounded it; but it's a good thingto be dead, I think. I wouldn't have shot unless I had been almostentirely sure I should kill it. "

There was another silence, and then she said suddenly, "One must keep upone's practice here, going about as I do in all sorts of places andmaking my living as I do. These, " and she tapped her pistols, "are mygreat protection. Only last night a great brute leaned over me andwanted to kiss me--would have done, only he saw I should shoot him if hedid. "

"Would you shoot a man for kissing you?" replied Talbot in an astonishedtone, elevating his eyebrows. 

"Yes. Why, I'd rather be shot than kissed!" exclaimed the girl fiercely, with an angry flush on her smooth cheek. 

Talbot looked at the contemptuous, curling lips, at the whole beautifulhard face beside him, and walked on in silence, wondering. Her momentaryanger was gone directly, and they were good comrades all the rest of theway. 

At the point where she stopped to say good-bye to him, she held out herhand: "Thank you for coming to the burial with me, it was good of you, "and she pressed his hand with a grateful smile. 

It was about a fortnight later on, one of those dreary grey afternoonsof late winter, nearly dark already, though still early by the clock, and the mercury in the thermometers had gone out of sight and stayedthere. Katrine came tripping along a side street on her way back to therow, warm in her skin coat, and her face all aglow and abloom under herfur cap. She had turned into the "Swan and Goose" saloon on her way up, had put in half-an-hour over a game, and won a fat little canvas bagstuffed with gold dust; had thinned it out somewhat in hot drinks acrossthe bar, and now, warmed through with rum, and light-hearted, she wasreturning with the bag still well lined in her waist-belt. 

She had recovered from the great shock of Annie's death. Her nature, though essentially kind, was not of that soft, tender stamp thatreceives deep and painful impressions from other's sufferings. She wouldexert herself strenuously for another, as she had done for Annie, butit was not in her nature to sorrow long or deeply for the irrevocable. There was a certain hardness and philosophy in her temperament that herlife and surroundings and all her experience had tended to develop. Andin Annie's death there was nothing striking or unusually sad in thiscorner of the world, so crowded with scenes of suffering, so filled withpathos of every form. There were women hoping and waiting, and longingand starving, in every street of the town, she knew; sickness and sorrowand death looked her in the eyes from some poor face at every corner. Annie had been but one poor little unit in the crowd of sufferers, butone example of the misery of the town, the plague-stricken town, thetown stricken with a curse--the curse of the greed of gold. 

Matters had brightened very much in Dawson lately, a new feeling of hopeand fresh life had gone through the town. The weather was less severe, the days were lengthening, the skies were brighter, the sickness haddied out, and people went about their work looking cheerful again; andKatrine, freed from her anxieties and nursing, felt her elastic spiritsbound upwards in response to the general brightness of the camp. 

She came along humming behind her closed lips, and then suddenly turninga corner, stopped dead short with a horrified stare in her eyes. She hadcome round by one of the lowest dens in the city. Katrine knew it bothinside and out, for there was no place from hut to hut in Dawson thatshe was afraid to enter. The door was standing open. It opened inwards, and there was a group of men, some inside and some outside, and amongstthem they were forcing into the street a drunken woman. The entry to theplace was beneath the level of the ground, and reached by a few uneven, miry steps, and up these the unfortunate was blindly stumbling under arain of blows, pushes, and curses. She was old, and her hair streamed inragged streaks across her bloodshot eyes, her tawdry skirt was long, andgot under her unsteady feet. Just as she had managed to totter to thetopmost step, a young man in the group behind her struck her a heavyblow between the shoulders. She tripped in the long skirt and trod onit, tearing it with a ripping sound from the waist, and fell forward, striking her face on the uneven frozen ground. Katrine sprang forward, but before she could reach her the woman had staggered to her feet andturned to face her tormentors, the blood streaming now from her cutlips, her trembling hands vaguely grasping at her torn skirt and tryingto keep it to her waist. A roar of laughter burst from the men at thepitiful sight, and then died suddenly as they recognised Katrine. Shestepped in front of the old woman, and faced them with a scorn in hereyes beyond all words. Then she turned in silence, put her arm round thehelpless creature's waist, and supported her frail, tottering steps overthe slippery, uneven ground. For an instant the men stood abashed andashamed, then when the spell of those great fearless, scornful eyes wasremoved, their natures reasserted themselves, and a general laugh wentround. 

"Birds of a feather!" shouted one, mockingly, as the two retreatingfigures disappeared in the gathering darkness. Katrine heard it, andwinced; but she did not relax the hold of her supporting arm, and bygentle and repeated questioning managed to elicit from the helpless oldbeing where she lived. Katrine turned her steps in the given direction, and drawing out her handkerchief wiped the blood from the old woman'sface, and smoothed her straggling grey hair back behind her ears. Whenthey reached her cabin at last, Katrine saw that the stove was blackand empty. There was no light of any sort in the place, and the freezingdarkness of the interior chilled her through. She would not leave theold woman until she had lighted a fire and candle for her and got her tobed; then, without waiting to listen to the mumbled and incoherentthanks showered upon her, she went out gently and on to her own place. She felt in a very serious mood as she made her cup of coffee and cookedherself a plate of bacon, and then sat down in the red glow of herwell-tended hearth to her solitary meal. 

"Birds of a feather!" that hateful sentence echoed round her, until thesilent walls themselves seemed taunting her. Was she not, after all, really akin to that old woman, and might she not some day end like her?What was all her own drinking and card-playing and knocking about in thesaloons to end in? She shivered, and threw a frightened glance roundher. This girl, who would have laughed all sermons, advice, andadmonitions scornfully aside, was almost startled now into a suddenreformation by the chance object-lesson of this afternoon. She could notforget it, and in the silence the whole scene rose up vividly beforeher. She began to long for Stephen to come and break the silence, andglanced impatiently at the clock many times. He was coming in to townthat night, she knew. It was a relief such as she had never experiencedwhen at last he arrived, and she had not her own company only anylonger. 

She was unusually silent all the evening. Stephen did not try to forceher into conversation; he was content to sit on the opposite side of thehearth and let his eyes rest upon her in silence. She was paler, hethought, as he watched the orange light from the flames play over theoval face and throw up its regular lines. She was sitting sideways tohim, gazing absently into the heart of the glowing coals, and hershadow, formed by the lamp between her and Stephen, fell strongly andclearly outlined upon the opposite wall. Stephen sat in his corner andgazed at it through half-closed eyes. He had been working hard all day, and in the keen, biting air; the warmth and the rest were grateful tohim. The silence in the room had lasted so long that he began to feeldrowsy under the influence of this quiet warmth. He watched the shadowsleepily, and dreamy fancies floated across his brain. The clean-cut, delicate profile was magnified to colossal proportions on the blankwall. So it seemed to Stephen that beautiful presence would dominate hislife, fill in completely the blank of his colourless existence, as thelarge shadow filled the wall. Then, as his gaze followed its outlines, he saw what his eyes had not found before: a huge upright line of shade, formed by her chair back, ran up beside and mingling with the otherlines. It seemed to curve over towards her shoulder, and then a fewseconds more, and to Stephen's drowsy gaze, the harsh line expanded intoa hideous grotesque figure. Out of those few shades upon the wall thereleaped a picture to his eyes: the girl, and at her side, bending overher, a hideous devil, a strange vampire, hovering nearer or farther, inblacker or lighter shades, as the flames in the fire rose and fell. Stephen watched in a fascinated stupor, and then suddenly, as the lightdied down in the grate and the shade leaped out nearer and blacker, hestarted to his feet with a sudden exclamation. 

The girl started too, and looked up. "What is it?" she asked. 

Stephen pointed to the wall. Katrine turned, the blaze sprang up on thehearth, the shadows were gone, the illusion vanished. 

"What is it?" she said again, wonderingly. 

"Oh, nothing--a hideous shape on the wall, " stammered Stephen. "I waswatching your shadow, and another seemed to come up and threaten it. Imagination, I suppose--perhaps I had fallen into a dream, " he addedhurriedly, fearing she would laugh at him. 

But Katrine did not laugh: she looked at him gravely and in silence. Inher mind she was pondering a question, hesitating, half fearing to speakto him, half impelled to, and half held back, and the equal oppositeforces acting on her mind kept her silent. 

Stephen, unused to her present mood, felt perhaps she was annoyed orwearied, and drew out his watch. It was past ten. 

"I will say good-night, " he said, rising. 

Katrine got up too. Her face paled yet more, her bosom rose and fellquickly. "Take me away from here, " she said abruptly and suddenly. 

She had been thinking all the evening how she would approach the subjectwith him, and then at last his leave-taking had startled away all hercircuitous phrases and left her only the crudest words at her command toexpress her meaning. 

Stephen was startled and confused, but his voice was very tender as hetook her hand in his and said, "I don't understand, dear; what do youmean?"

He felt her hand tremble in his. She looked up at him appealingly. Hereyes seemed frightened and uncertain. She was more womanly at thismoment than she had ever been. To Stephen she was infinitely morefascinating than she had ever been. Accustomed to her bright, fearlessindependence, admire that as he might, in this weakness, whatever itscause, she was irresistible. 

"Well, I mean, " she said, speaking nervously, but with an effort tocontrol her excitement, "the other day you spoke of our being married, and I said I couldn't stand a quiet life. Stephen, I will marry you now, and go anywhere with you. I will be content with any life, anymonotony--only take me from here at once! I loathe this place, thislife. " She stopped suddenly, and a wave of crimson blood swept over thewhite face. "I want to be taken away, " she repeated. 

Stephen looked at her a moment in silence, with a sense of apprehensionand alarm. He could not do as she asked; he was not free--his claim heldhim. 

"I don't know quite what you mean, " he said, a little stiffly, though hefelt he did know. "It would be quite impossible for me to go away now;my whole heart's in the work, and I've sunk all I had in it. "

"Yes; and your soul too, " said Katrine suddenly, looking at him withshining eyes and a calm face. "You're a slave now to your gold, thesame as we all are here--a community of slaves, " and she laughed. 

Stephen grew red, and looked confused, alarmed, and angry, all at thesame time. 

"Nobody would go now, " he said, remonstratingly, "and leave ground likethat. It would be insanity. Ask Talbot, ask anybody if they would. "

"Talbot!" repeated Katrine, scornfully; "he's the worst slave of all;but then he never preached about his soul, and wanting to reformpeople. "

"No one can reform you if you won't reform yourself, " replied Stephen, coldly; and there he spoke the truth. 

"Who was it who has put in our prayer, 'Lead us not into temptation, butdeliver us from evil'? Here I live in temptation: I am always throwninto evil. If I were not--" Her voice was very quiet, and had a strangepathetic note in it. It ceased, and then there was silence. 

Stephen felt as if a hand were laid on his lips and crushed down thevoice that kept struggling from his heart. A second more, and then thegirl laughed suddenly. 

"Oh, I was stupid! I did not know what I was saying, did not mean itanyway. It's quite right for you to stick to your claim and the idea youstarted with, and so on. You will make a great success if you do, andthat is all you want!"

Her tone was jesting and cynical as ever now--the usual hardness hadcome back to her face. The moment of submission, of confidence, ofrepentance, had passed--a moment when she could have been moved and wonto any life he wished, and he had lost it. He felt it. Yet how could hehave done otherwise?

"Forget what I said--quite, " she added; "and go now. It's getting late, and I want to get down to the saloons. "

A thrill of horror went through Stephen, as she knew it would. He gazedat her blankly with a horrible feeling, as if he were murderingsomebody, clutching at his heart. 

"What are you waiting for?" she said, impatiently. "Why don't you hurryback to your claim?"

"Katrine ... I--" he stammered, staring at her, but even as he looked agreat wall of gold seemed to rise between them and shut her from him. "Forgive me, " he muttered brokenly; "I can't give it up now. "

"Good-night, " said Katrine, and he turned and fumbled for the doorhandle and went out. 

When he was gone Katrine turned to her small square of looking-glassthat hung beneath the lamp on the wall. 

"What a fool I was to-night!" she said, looking at the sweet reflectionand smiling lips. 

A few minutes after Stephen had gone, a slight figure, muffled up to theeyes, slipped out of No. 13 and hurried with quick steps down theuneven footway of Good Luck Row. 

That night Stephen climbed to his cabin with his head on fire and asinging in his ears. A terrific struggle was going on in his breast. Hefelt the path of duty was clear to him now, and equally that he did notwant to follow it. He had tried to shut his eyes to it; tried to believethat it was not clear, that he did not know what was right or necessaryto do, and therefore that he might be excused if he did not do it, buthe could close his eyes no longer. They had been dragged open to-night, and he could not wilfully close them again. As he strode up the narrowlittle snow path leading to his cabin he felt that he knew his duty, andhe groaned out aloud in the silent icy night. 

To leave now meant to endanger, perhaps to sacrifice, the milliondollars that he felt in a month or two he could take out of his claim;and to stay meant to endanger, perhaps to sacrifice, a human soul! Amillion dollars, a human soul! These two ideas possessed him. A milliondollars, a human soul! the two thoughts rang alternately through hisbrain until it seemed as if voices were crying them out upon thesoundless air. According to his religion, spirits combated for the soulof man, and it seemed to Stephen that night as he mounted the solitarypath under the far-seeing eyes of the frosty stars above him, thatspirits really fought around him, good and evil, for the victory. "Amillion dollars!" shouted the evil ones, "do not throw them away. " "Ahuman soul!" wailed the others, "do not let it fall into evil. " Hissensitive, excitable mind trembled before the crisis. His own soulshuddered and sickened, for he seemed to see the hosts of greed of gold, and they were stronger than the hosts of light. And Stephen himself nowwas badly equipped for the conflict. He felt and recognised with dismayhe had not the strength and the fervour now that had brought himthrough former battles. He was as a warrior that has fallen asleep andawakened to find his arms grown rusty while he has been sleeping. 

Gradually for the last six months the lust for gold had been eating intohis spirituality and destroying it. You cannot serve God and mammon: hadhe not entered into the services of mammon, and been held there by therich rewards?

He thought of the rich pans he had been getting out. There was no claimlike his in the camp. There was no man more envied nor considered morelucky than he. Yes, mammon had paid him well in the six months he hadserved it, showered upon him more than God had done in six-and-twentyyears; and here was God's gift, a human soul, a sweet human life, hecould save and make his own--and Stephen groaned again, for he felt thatthe gold was dearer to him. How could he have so changed, he wondered. A year ago he would have laughed at the idea of a million dollars beinga bribe for him to sin. He looked into his heart now and found there wasnothing there but a passion for gold, gold! It was a yellow rust thathad eaten into his Christian's sword. 

Then his thoughts strayed to the girl he had just left, and her brightfresh face seemed to sway before him as he walked. His excited fancypainted it upon the snow banks at his side. She was so young, she seemedso fresh and lovely, it was impossible to think of her as taintedalready with vice and sin. It was only if she were kept in thissnow-bound prison, this mournful land of darkness and suffering, where, as she said, she had no place nor aim, that she would fall as thosebright meteors were falling now far in the distant darkness. He could beher deliverer, her saviour, if--if he could. 

In the icy cold of that arctic night, great drops of sweat broke outhotly on Stephen's forehead as his brain was wrenched to and fro in thestruggle. He tried to bribe even himself, tried to let his thoughtsdwell on his passion for the girl, tried to think of the mere humansweetness that would go hand in hand with his victory over evil. If hewon that bright clean soul for God, would he not also win that lovedhuman form for himself? But even the voice of passion was drowned in theclamour of the greater greed. 

The next morning, as soon as it was light, Stephen went out to hisclaims. None of his men had come up to work yet. Stephen stood andlooked over the stretch of ground beneath which he believed his fortuneslay. A light covering of snow had fallen on it during the night and layabout a foot deep in one unbroken sheet, not even the mark of a bird'sfoot disturbed its blank evenness: the claims looked very cold anddrear in the dull dusky grey light of the dawn under that leaden sky. But Stephen's heart beat quickly as he gazed upon them. What did itmatter that cold, dreary, surface, when the gold lay glowing underneath!

Stephen felt as only a man of his sensitive conscience could feel hisdefeat of the previous night. His heart, all his better nature wascrushed under a sickening load of mortification, and he soughtdesperately to find relief and justification for himself incontemplating the treasure for whose sake he had accepted it. As inother circumstances a man would solace himself for all sacrifices bygazing on the face of a mistress for whom he had relinquished worldlyambitions, and find excuses for himself in her beauty, telling himself ahundred times she was worth it all; so Stephen now gazed upon hisclaims, for which he had given up his scruples, his principles, hisconscience, and his God, and tried to hug to himself the comfort thatthey were worth it. After a few seconds he tramped across the frozensnow to the line marked out by the banks of gravel where they had beenat work the previous day. 

That evening he could not stay in his cabin, he felt restless and ill atease. A nervous sense of anxiety hung over him. He seemed to himself tobe expecting some misfortune. His nerves, weakened by the lonely life hehad been living for the past months, and exhausted by the sleeplesshours of the previous night, kept presenting picture after picture ofpossible ills. He looked over both his revolvers, to make sure they werein good order for defence if he were attacked that night. Then he drewhis fur cap tightly down on his forehead and went out. The stillness ofhis own cabin and the clamour of his own thoughts were unbearable. Thenight was still and starlit, the air keen and thin as a knife-blade. Stephen strode along the narrow frosty path, and took the road down intothe town. On his way he passed Talbot's cabin. It was lighted up. Thelittle window made a square of yellow light in the darkness; the blindover it was drawn only half-way down. Stephen stepped up over the bankof frosted snow and looked in. The great fire lighted up the whole ofthe small interior, and threw its red light up to the cross logs in theroof. In the centre of the room, at a table. Talbot sat working. Therewere some sheets of paper before him, and he held a pen in his hand withwhich he was checking off some figures. His face was turned to thewindow; it looked pale and tired, but there was a curious expression ofextreme tranquillity upon it--a settled, serene patience that struck theonlooker. He sat there working on steadily, motionless, calm as a figurein stone; and poor Stephen, torn in the struggle of his desires, slipping into the cold slough of self-condemnation, and burnt with thefever of greed, groaned aloud as he stood outside. Then he turned fromthe window and plunged back through the snow to the path that led to thetown. He wanted to see Katrine, and yet he hated the thought of facingher after their parting of last night. What must she think of him? Withher quick mental perceptions she would have seen through and through hismiserable mind; seen that the gold had got hold of him, held him now, and that his boasted religion had no power against it. No, he thought, he could not face her--he was still some distance from the town; then ashe drew nearer, the unappeasable desire to see her and hear her freshbright voice came over him. When he reached Good Luck Row he wentstraight to No. 13. He might have saved himself the trouble of hisdecisions. Katrine had decided for him whether he should see her thatnight or not. The window was dark; he tried the door, it was fastened;she was evidently not there. A chill ran over Stephen from head to foot, and then he recognized how much he had really wanted to see her. Hestood outside the door a long time; the row was quiet, there were fewpassers. He waited, hoping to see her come up each minute--perhaps shehad only gone out on some errand; but the minutes passed and he grewcold standing there, still she did not come. At last Stephen moved awayfrom the door and wandered disconsolately down the row. He went onmechanically, not heeding where his footsteps took him, and foundsuddenly that he had reached the main street down by the river. Therewas no darkness nor quiet here, all the stores had their windows wideopen, and the light from them poured out upon the black slippery mass ofice and melted snow that lay over the frozen ground. The saloons were infull blast, brilliantly lighted and filled with noisy crowds of miners. The dance halls, of which there were some dozen along the street, seemeddoing a good business. A shooting gallery that had been fixed up in atent was not only filled inside, but a crowd of men and some women weregathered round the tent entrance, pushing and pressing each other intheir efforts to get in; the glare from the flaming lights inside fellon their faces, and Stephen glanced eagerly over them to see if Katrinewas amongst them. He passed on, disappointed. There was another tent alittle farther on, where a cheap band was playing, and a board outsideannounced in pen-and-ink characters the attraction of a "Catherine WheelDance. " The crowd here was even larger, and lights were fixed outsideflaring merrily in the frosty air. Stephen walked on, past the storesand warehouses, past the noisy crowded saloons, past the brilliant dancehalls and the variety show tents. It was to him all a hideous, tawdry, glaring mockery of merriment; and on the other side of him was thesullen blackness of the frozen river. He walked on until he hadoutwalked the town front, outwalked the straggling tents, till he hadleft the noise, and light, and laughter behind him. When he glancedround he saw he had nothing but the river and a waste of darkness besidehim. There was an old log in his path; he sat down upon it and lookedback to the mist of light that hung over the town, then his gazewandered back disconsolately and rested on the ice-bound river. 

Katrine had passed that day wretchedly too. She had been down idling inone of the saloons through the afternoon, but the old resorts seemed tohave lost their charm. The old pleasure had gone, and the stimulus wouldnot come back. The cards looked greasy and dirty and revolted her, andthe drink seemed to turn to carbolic acid in her mouth. She left atlast, and went home to her lonely cabin and flung herself down in thedark in the chimney corner and tried to sleep, but horrible faces dancedbefore her, and women with grey hair and wrinkles, with her own face, stared at her from the walls. 

She was still lying face downwards on the skins, half dozing now afterthat long conflict with horrible visions, when a light and very timidtap came on the door outside. She got up and went straight to it; herface was flushed and tear-stained, and her hair ruffled and in disorder, but she never thought to go first to the little square mirror that hungin the corner to improve her appearance before admitting visitors. Asshe threw open the door, the stream of hot light showed Stephen upon thethreshold white as a spectre, chilled almost to death by his vigil atthe river, with a strained smile on his lips and a great hunger in hiseyes. His conscience reproached him: he knew he had not come bravelywith his hands full of the sacrifice, having conquered himself, andready to lay down all for her sake; but like a coward, still in thethrall of his money-lust and yet longing to attain her too, unable togive her up. He knew all this, and stood timidly as the friendless dogswill gaze through an open hut-door, wistfully, expecting to be drivenaway with blows; but Katrine met him with neither harsh words nor looks, she just simply put out both her warm hands and drew him in over thethreshold. The welcome, the smile, the warm touch overcame him. 

"Katrine, " he muttered suddenly, as she closed the door and barred it, "if I--if--I gave--up, " and then the words died, strangled in histhroat. Katrine held up her hand. 

"Don't begin to talk about anything like that, " she said, gently pushinghim down on the chair by the hearth, "till you are warm again. Wherehave you been freezing yourself like this?"

She was busy lighting the lamp and setting her little old blackenedcoffee-pot over the flames. Stephen told her of his long lonely tramp bythe river, and watched her with keen eager eyes as she made the coffeeand poured him out a cup. 

"Now drink it all quick, " she said imperatively, handing him the boilingmixture, from which the steam came furiously. 

"It's like the ordeal by fire, " answered Stephen, meekly taking the cup. With a heroic effort he swallowed three parts of it, and colour began tocome back to his face. 

Katrine observed this, and sat down contentedly on the floor in front ofthe ambitious fire, that seemed trying to leap up the chimney throughthe roof. 

"Stephen, " she said very slowly and gently after a minute, "it wasselfish of me to ask you to leave your claims. I've been thinking of itall day. I won't do it, and I will come and help you work them. "

Stephen felt the room whirl round him as he heard. Was he not in somerich, warm dream that would dissolve and leave him suddenly? His claims, those golden claims! and Katrine too--he seemed to see her dressed ingold, framed in gold, gold in her eyes and hair. Her movement, as sheturned to look at him, brought him back to realities. 

"Do you mean it?" he said, stooping over her and catching her handsalmost roughly in his. She met his feverish eyes with a bright, tranquilsmile. He looked at her keenly for an instant, and involuntarily anexclamation broke from his lips: "Katrine! it's too much happiness forany man!"

Perhaps the gods above, who eye jealously the lives of mortals, heremade a note of this remark in their pocket-books. 

Katrine knitted her brows angrily. "I don't think so, " she said. "Youhad better hear what sort of girl I am. "

Stephen turned pale, and leaned down over her as she sat on the hearth, her head against his knees. The cabin was full of the warm redfirelight, that leaped over the walls and up to the rough blackenedrafters above them. It glistened on the silky dark hair beneath hishand, and fell ruddily over the smooth oval face turned up to him. Stephen looked down at her and felt content. 

"No, no, " he said hastily; "never mind anything in the past; we willefface it all; we make a fresh start from to-night. " He would havestooped and silenced her with a kiss, but an arrogant look came over herpale face, and she pushed him back with her hand. 

"No, I don't like that idea. We must have things cleared up and tidybefore we marry. You must know the truth from me, and then you willknow how to meet any one who comes to you with talk about me afterwards;and they may come, for I'm known in all the saloons of Dawson. "

Stephen shuddered. 

"If they keep to the truth about me, you must just accept it; if theytell lies, you'll just shoot them. "

Again a cold thrill passed through her lover. To talk ofshooting--taking a human life--murder--as though it were no more than asnapping of the fingers! His mind flew on a sudden bound of remembranceback to the little school teacher in the village of Arden, who could notbear the sight of a rabbit's blood on the trap, and whose quiet dayswere spent between the village schoolroom and the village church; yet heknew he had never loved that little teacher as he loved Katrine, thatshe could never rouse him as this woman did whom he believed to be anepitome of evil, who, as she lay now in the firelight by his feet, reminded him of the emblem of sin that crept into man's Eden. Yet it wasa pleasure--what pleasure to be near her, to touch that smooth skin! Butwhat was this pleasure?--was it also evil? What was this passion? Histhoughts flew onward feverishly, and then Katrine's voice struck acrossthem and brought him back to outer consciousness again. 

"Listen, " she was saying, "while I tell you all, and _then_ we can startafresh, as you say. "

Stephen put his hand over his eyes, and waited in silence. He dreadedunspeakably what he thought he was going to hear, and with a man's moralcowardice would have deferred her confession, slurred over and tried toforget her wrong-doing, rather than hear and forgive it. They hadchanged places since he had asked her that morning in his cabin toconfide in him. 

"Well, to begin with, " went on her clear, soft voice, "I drink--I likedrinking. You think it wrong to drink anything but water; I like wineand spirits, anything that excites me, and I can drink with any man intown. But I have never been drunk, Stephen, you understand that. Then Ilike all kinds of gaiety, and like to spend all my time dancing andlaughing, and what your friend Talbot calls 'fooling. ' And I gamble, "Katrine paused a second before she said the decisive words, and thenwent on rapidly, "oh, Stephen, you don't know, I haven't told you, but Ilove the tables. I can sit up all night and play with the boys; I loveexcitement, I love the winning and raking in the gold dust. I spend allmy nights playing; it's what I live for in this awful place. "

There was silence, then Katrine's voice broke it again--

"Now you think that so wicked, I bet you don't want to marry me now. "

There was a half laugh with a sad ring in it as she looked up to hiscovered face. Now Stephen heard, but the words fell on his ears dully;he was waiting in strained painful tension for what was to come. It wastrue he loathed gambling as a hated vice, and but for the apprehensionthat gripped his mind her confession so far would have been horrible tohim. Still it was as a Christian that he abhorred these things. What heexpected to hear he would have abhorred as a man and a lover; and theformer abhorrence is considerably milder than the latter. 

"Go on, " he said at last, in a stifled voice. 

"There is nothing more, " returned Katrine, dejectedly. 

She thought she was being condemned and despised, and to none is that acheering feeling. Stephen sat up suddenly, and then bent over, claspinghis hands round her waist, lithe and supple even in her rough clothing, and drew her up to him. 

"Is there nothing?" he whispered eagerly in her ear. "Have you nothingmore to confess to me?"

Katrine gave herself up to his embrace, a delicious sense of peace andprotection and warm comfort stealing over her such as she had neverknown. 

"Nothing, " she murmured, with her soft lips close to his ear and hersilky curls touching his neck. She felt Stephen grasp her close to him, and a tremor ran through his whole frame. 

"Have you never lain like this in a man's arms before? never felt a kisson your lips?" he persisted, holding her to him with a fierce intensityof growing passion. 

"Never, never, " Katrine answered, opening her calm dark eyes and lookingstraight up to his. 

Stephen met their gaze for one long second, a proud, tranquil, fearlesslook that sunk deep into his soul and poured balm into every wound shehad ever made there. The next moment she felt a torrent of hot kisses onher face, a pressure that almost stifled her on her breast, a murmur of"Darling, my darling, " and knew nothing very clearly any more exceptthat she was loved and very happy. 

CHAPTER V

GOLD-PLATED

The next afternoon, when Stephen returned to the west gulch and Talbotheard his news, he said he was glad, and meant it. Life at the gulch wasvery desolate and dreary, and such a bright glad presence as the girl'swould alleviate the monotony and disperse the gloom. 

For the following week both men were busy preparing Stephen's cabin forher reception and trying to impart to it a bridal appearance. The handswere left to do the work on the claims, and Talbot and Stephen were toobusy indoors to even oversee them. The cabin was large and well built. It stood looking across the gulch, and half-way down it, over the topsof the dark green pines and facing towards the western horizon, wherethe pink lights played and the little sundogs gambolled in the fall ofthe short grey snowy afternoons. Stephen was down in town once in theweek, and came back with his pony laden with mysterious packages, andwhen Talbot came in in the evening he found Stephen on his knees, tacking down strips of carpet by the bed in the inner room. Narrowcurtains had also been nailed up beside the window, and altogether thecabin presented a luxurious appearance. 

"This is quite magnificent, " remarked Talbot, strolling about with anadmiring air. 

"D'ye think so?" replied Stephen in a pleased tone, lifting a flushedface from his tacks and sitting back on his boot heels. "She's awfullyhandsome, isn't she? Say, it's strange to come to a hole like this andmeet the handsomest girl you've ever seen!"

"She is very handsome, " assented Talbot, sitting down by the stove andstretching out his frozen feet before it. He was in the other room, butclose to the open door leading into the bedroom, and facing Stephen ashe sat on the floor with the screw of tacks by his side that had beenpaid for in gold. 

"And good, too, eh? good at heart, don't you think? Only not exactlyreligious, of course, " he continued. 

"No, she's not very religious, " returned Talbot, with the dry, hard tonein his voice that his subordinates knew and hated. 

"But it's not every one who says, 'Lord, Lord, that shall enter thekingdom of heaven, '" quoted Stephen; "you remember, Christ said that, "he pursued in an anxious tone, peering up at the other forencouragement. 

Talbot gave his slight, quiet laugh. 

"You've got the handsomest girl in the place, " he said, "and a verynice, charming one, too. I don't see what more you want. "

To his strong, determined character this perpetual straining after areligion that was cast to the winds first at the temptation of gold, andthen at a saloon-keeper's daughter's smile, was rather contemptible. 

"And 'there's more joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, ' etc. , "Stephen continued, anxious to persuade himself into a comfortable frameof mind. 

"Has Miss Poniatovsky repented?" asked Talbot, still more dryly. 

"Why, yes; I told you all she said. She won't gamble any more. "

Talbot was silent; through his mind was running a line of Latin to theeffect that wool once dyed scarlet can never recover its former tint, but he said nothing. 

It did not take Katrine long to prepare for her wedding. There was nosuch thing as buying a trousseau in Dawson. She gathered together hercoarse woollen underclothes, her stout short dresses, and thick boots, and packed them in two flat cases, such as can be strapped to a burro'sside, and these were to be all she would take up to the cabin in thegulch besides her wealth of natural beauty. She did go to many of thestores around, buying trifles such as might happen to find themselvesthere and suit her: a small looking-glass here, a ribbon or a piece oflace there, and as she leaned across the rough trestle counter shegenerally remarked to the storekeeper, "I'm going to be married. " Shesaid it in the shyest, happiest tone imaginable, and a little blushstole over her smooth cheeks. In this way the news got round toKatrine's old friends and associates. She would have liked to have toldthem herself, but the old hunting grounds were forbidden to her now, andStephen's wishes made a barrier between her and the entrance of all thesaloons. He had tried to make her give him a solemn promise never toenter one again, but this Katrine would not do. 

"I can't be tied like that, " she had said. "Something might occur tomake it necessary for me to go into one of those places; and if I hadpromised you in this way, I could not. You have said you don't wish meto go; I have said I won't. Isn't that enough?" And Stephen had lookedinto the clear dark eyes and had said "Quite. "

The day of Stephen's marriage, the day when Katrine was to arrive as abride at the west gulch, was calm and still. There was no wind and nosnow falling. The sky stretched black and gloomy above the plains ofsnow; it was a day of the Alaskan winter, but still a good day for that. Stephen had gone down the previous day, and slept the night in Dawson. Talbot was waiting at the cabin to receive them on their return. As hestood at the little window that overlooked the trail, waiting for thefirst glimpse of them, and staring across the dismal waste that ran intogrey and dreary mist in the distance, a great revolt stirred in hisusually calm and philosophic breast--a sudden longing swept over him forthe blue skies and warm air of the lands he was accustomed to, and awilder longing still for a glimpse of the sunlight held in two eyes thatwere fairer than any sky. He shut his teeth hard, and his hand closedtightly on the window frame. "Only a little longer, " he muttered tohimself, and then far in the distance came a soft silvery tinkle ofbells. Recalled to himself, he relaxed his face in a pleasant smile, andwent to the door and opened it. In a second or two they came in sight, riding single file up the narrow trail, the girl first and Stephenfollowing. She wore a large skin coat of some shaggy fur which concealedher figure, though not its splendid upright pose, and on her head was asmall fur cap of some light colour, white fox or rabbit. Beneath showedher dark glossy hair curling upwards over the brim, and her glowingface rich and fresh as a Damascus rose. 

Talbot was greatly struck. The realisation of her beauty came home tohim very forcibly in this cold, envious light of open day. "Stephen'snot such a fool, after all, " was his inward comment as he went forwardto meet them. As he lifted her from her pony and bade her welcome to thecabins and the west gulch, she smiled down upon him. What a mysterious, magic thing human beauty is, and the human smile! It seems to light thedreariest sky, people the loneliest landscape. Where there is a humansmile to reflect one's own, not even a desert seems desolate, not even aprison cell seems cold. Talbot felt this very strongly in that moment. As the warm, bright, laughing, youthful face looked into his, the sunseemed to have suddenly burst out upon that dreary snowy plain, and asthe two men escorted her over the threshold it seemed to both that theywere throwing open the door not only to her concrete self but to theabstracts, warmth and light, and gaiety and laughter, and that these allflowed in with her into the simple rough interior, transforming andillumining it. 

Katrine was delighted with her new home; she walked about examiningevery detail and showing her joy and pleasure in each little trifle thathad been prepared for her. She had a very soft voice and manner when shechose, --she was too young yet for her gambling, drinking, and roughassociates to have spoiled, --and Stephen stood in the centre of theroom, flushed and silent with the fulness of his pleasure, following hereagerly with his eyes. After all, in this world of ours, everythingstands in such close relation to its surrounding objects andcircumstances that there is no absoluteness left. Or you may consider itthe other way, that the feelings are absolute and always the same. Amillionaire bridegroom could not receive more pleasure from thepleasure of his bride when viewing the mansion he had prepared for her, than Stephen did now from Katrine's approval of his log hut, and herthanks and smiles were as sweet over a little wooden shelf tackedagainst the wall, as if a two thousand dollar chandelier had called themforth. 

Then Stephen took her arm and drew her into the next room, and here shewas so shy and nervous she could not look about at all. Stephen took offher cloak and all her outer wraps, and then made her come and see herreflection in a little square looking-glass that he had obtained for herat quite a high price; but Katrine could not face the mirror, and hidher blushing cheeks and downcast eyes on his shoulder instead. Stephenput his arm round her. "You don't regret what you have done?" he askedin alarm, pressing her close to him. 

"No, oh no, dear Steve, only it's all so strange; let's go back to theother room. "

They returned, as she wished, and found that Talbot had laid the dinnerfor them, --a dinner he had spent all the morning in preparing, --and theysat down to it with a gaiety that made up for the shortness of supplies. After dinner they drew close round the fire and prolonged the roastingand eating of chestnuts and drinking whisky throughout theafternoon, --for whisky was there, strongly as Stephen objected to seeher drink it; still it was their wedding day, and he let it pass. Asdarkness came down a whirling snow-storm swept through the gulch; theycould see the thin sharp flakes fly past the window on the cutting wind, and hear the whistling roar of the storm as it struck and beat upon thecabin. They only flung more logs into the stove, and gave a backwardglance over their shoulders from time to time towards the window. Bynine in the evening, when Talbot was leaving them to go to his owncabin, it had calmed down a little, though the wind still moaned in thehollows of the gulch. 

Stephen and Katrine stood at the window a second after he had gone, looking out into the curious misty whiteness and blackness commingled ofthe night. 

"I am sorry there should be such a storm the first day you are here, darling, " said Stephen softly, putting his arm round her waist. 

"Why, what does that matter? I do not mind, I have you to protect me. You will always now, Steve, won't you, from everything? I don't wantever to go back to that gambling life again. "

He drew her into his arms. 

"Of course, of course I will, " he said, kissing her. "I will always takecare of you. "

Her arms were interlaced about his neck, they looked into each other'seyes, and neither knew any more whether it was a storm or a calm in thenight outside. 

For the first few weeks after their marriage Katrine was more thanhappy, and it seemed to those lonely beings, sheltered from the savagesiege of Nature only by those frail little cabins built by their ownhands on the edge of the snow-filled gulch, that a new life hadblossomed for them suddenly--a perfect spring in winter. The girl'swonderful health and unfailing spirits were in themselves a delight, andshe was possessed of such a sweet and even temper, that it seemed tosmooth out and round off the hard edges of their rough, comfortlessexistence. Nothing seemed to have the power to disturb her, the mostirritating and annoying incident never even brought a frown to her face;it filled her with consternation for the men, and an immediate desire tosmooth it over for them, if possible to prevent their being ruffled byit. For herself, she seemed above the reach of any circumstance todisconcert. One morning the men had an instance of this. They were allthree living together in Stephen's cabin now. That is to say, Talbottook all his meals there, and used it as his own home in every way, except that he still went back to his cabin to sleep. It had seemedcheerless to both Katrine and Stephen for Talbot to be eating alone afew yards from them, and though it gave the girl more work, and for thatreason Talbot was slow to accept the arrangement, she herself coaxed himinto it. They came in late from the claims to lunch, and found herbending over the fire, with flushed cheeks and happy eyes. She wasstirring a great saucepan of inviting looking and smelling stew, thatshe had spent the whole morning in preparing. The large handle of thepan projected from the stove some distance, and as Stephen threw off hisovercoat he managed in some way to tip up the saucepan with a suddenjerk that sent the contents half into the fire, half over the girl'sbare arm, from which her sleeve was rolled to the elbow. She did notutter a sound as the scalding liquid ran burning over her flesh, butTalbot saw her face grow deadly pale with the sickening pain. After asecond of agony, when she found her voice, and Stephen was remorsefullyspreading fat over the blistered, cracking flesh, the first thing shesaid, with her eyes full of disappointed tears, was, "Oh dear! howunlucky! Now you won't get anything hot for lunch. " And as soon as abandage was twisted round her scalded arm, she was over at the cupboardcollecting all the best of her cold supplies and laying them out on thetable. 

There was not a word of anger or reproof to Stephen for hiscarelessness, not a word of her own pain. The great sorrow that she wasanxious to smooth over and atone for to them was that they would have toput up with a cold luncheon!

Her one idea, the sole thought that occupied her, was to make these twomen happy, at any cost to herself. All day she studied how she couldmake their life, so hard and rough smoother for them, how she couldalleviate the labour and monotony of it. She rose in the morning longbefore either was awake, and had the fires blazing, wood brought in, water melted out, and the coffee made by the time they came into thesitting-room, looking white and sleepy in the flare of the commoncandles. All the house work they had formerly found hard, when countedin addition to their outside labour, she took entirely upon herself, andinsensibly they both felt the relief very great. There was no cominghome now, worn out and frozen, to a cheerless cabin, and being obligedto chop wood and light fires and split ice before they could get warmand rested. A glowing hearth, a laid table, a smiling face, alwaysawaited them. Often coming up from the dump at the lower end of theclaim, they could see the square patch of red light flung out from thewindow on the snow, bidding them hurry in to the welcome warmth andlight inside. 

The daylight only lasted them now from ten to two, and for these hoursthe men worked out of doors. During their absence the girl went out onshooting expeditions of her own. She had invented a modified snow-shoe, broad and short, with slightly curved-up ends, and with these strappedon to her lithe feet, her fur coat fastened up to her chin, and her furcap drawn over her ears and to her brows, she defied the fall of themercury, and skimmed over the snow as silently and swiftly as a shadowmoving. 

She enjoyed these long, lonely excursions, with her heart kept warm bythe hope of discovering something she could bring down with her pistolor her shot-gun, and carry back as a surprise and a treat for the menfor supper. There was not much indeed to be found; but a small breed ofsnow-bird was prevalent, and quite a flock of these would very oftenfollow or precede a snow-storm, and whenever Katrine's keen eye caughtsight of the little dark patch that a cluster of them made against thesnow, she would glide swiftly over in that direction, and have eight orten of them swinging at her belt to take home. They were small, butcooked as she knew how to cook them, they were a delicacy beyond priceto the men who for months had tasted little but beans and hard bacon. Katrine felt quite happy if she could return through the suddenlyfalling gloom of the afternoon and cross the darkened threshold just asthe men came back, half frozen, from the creek, and show her cluster ofvictims swinging by their long-necked heads from her waist. 

She thought of them, planned for their comfort, and worked for them allday; while to her husband she was absolutely devoted, and one wouldthink that for such devotion a few smiles, a kiss, and some kind wordswas a small price to pay. Yet after the first few weeks, and even duringthem, Stephen, who worked all day to secure his mining gains, would noteven exert himself to that degree to return the affection that was worthall his claims put together. One kiss given before he went out to hiswork in the morning would have made Katrine happy all day, one tenderinquiry on his return would have amply rewarded her for all her labours, yet he invariably went out to the claims without bestowing the one, andreturned without making the other. Hard work, privations, loneliness, even the absence of all the amusements she had delighted in, would nothave broken her spirits; she would have accepted them all cheerfully, ifher husband had only thrown over them the little light and warmth of hisaffection that she longed for. Each day she hoped it might bedifferent; but no, he grew more and more absorbed by the gold fever thatwas eating away his heart and brain, and the girl grew more and moredepressed and resentful. "It would be no trouble to him, " she murmuredto herself over and over again, as she stood at the wash-tub, wringingout his shirts, or knelt on the floor of the cabin scrubbing the boards, "just a kiss or a smile. "

She did not in the meantime relax any of her attention to him. Her smilefor him was always as sweet when he returned, her efforts to please himas untiring, but in her heart her thoughts turned more and moreconstantly day by day to the idea of leaving him, of returning to herown life, where at least she had not been tormented by this perpetualhope and expectation and disappointment. 

Stephen never dreamed that the girl's thoughts were as they were; thoughif he had done so, he probably would not have altered his owncourse--for Katrine in several angry outbursts had appealed to him, hadtold him how she hungered after, not great and difficult proofs of hislove, but the little ones, the trifles, how he was starving and killingher love for him by his neglect of it, and he either could not, or wouldnot, understand. But that she contemplated ever leaving him nevercrossed his brain, any more than the conception of the passionate hateshe felt for him at times when he left undone some trifling thing, thatif done, would have roused an equally passionate access to her love. He, jaundiced with this mental yellow fever, thought his rich claims, hisgreat wealth, had probably had some influence on the daughter of thePolish Jew when she accepted him. He relied, in fact, on his wealth, andon the material advantages she would gain by clinging to him, to holdher to him. And with Katrine this was a rope of sand. She cared no morefor Stephen's wealth and for his claims than if they had been ashheaps. There was not a touch of avarice, of calculating greed, in herwhole character, and to gratify her own impulse she would have cast allmaterial advantages aside. From Stephen she wanted love, and that only, and this was the only chain that could hold for an instant her proud, independent, reckless will. 

There were the makings of a splendid character in the girl, all thefoundations of all the best qualities in her: a little care, a littleculture bestowed on them, and she would have developed into a fine andnoble woman; but Stephen's eyes were blinded by the glare of the gold hesaw in his visions, and the far greater and more wonderful treasure, theliving human soul, that chance had given over to his care, unfoldeditself slowly before him in all its beauty, and he could no longer seeit. To Talbot it seemed incredible that Katrine through her merephysical beauty did not obtain a greater hold upon him, that she seemedso unable to absorb him, that she could not triumph over him by the roadof the senses. Talbot himself was absorbed in his work, but even he, theonlooker, the outsider, felt the influence of this brilliant youngpresence that had come suddenly into their sordid life, like the sunrising in radiant majesty over a barren plain. The common table at whichthey sat seemed no longer the same now that she was at the head, withher beautiful figure rising above it, and her laughing, lovelynineteen-year-old face looking down it. To him, those liquid flashingeyes, and arching brows, and curled red lips seemed to light, positivelylight, the small and common room. But the eye grows accustomed to beautyand ceases to heed it, just as it grows accustomed to, and ceases toheed, ugliness and deformity, especially where there is no standard, nomeasure for it, no comparison with other objects. Just as anyshortcoming, any mental or physical defect that a man hardly notices ina woman he loves, when alone with her, becomes painfully apparent to himwhen he sees her surrounded by others, so does her beauty strike himwhen reflected in other eyes, and pass unheeded when seen only by hisown. Katrine was alone, there was no other woman's face to either rivalor be a foil to hers, and after the first six weeks her beauty ceased tosting and surprise Stephen's senses. She, as it were, became thestandard, since there was no other. And there is no absoluteness aboutbeauty, nor our admiration for it. When we say we admire a woman becauseshe is beautiful, we mean we admire her because she is more beautifulthan other women. If all others were the same as she, she would cease tobe called a beautiful woman, and if there were none others than she, then she would simply be a woman for us. We could not know whether shewas beautiful or not. Man's senses are made not to perceive, but tocompare, and he cannot judge except by comparison. Talbot knew all this, and he could not help feeling sorry that a girl such as this should beso isolated with them, and that the man who possessed her should realisehis good fortune so little. He suggested often, for the girl's sake, excursions down into the town; but Stephen, partly from his religiousviews, and more from his anxiety not to waste a minute of his literallygolden time, always frowned down the question, and though the girllooked at him wistfully she never complained against his decisions. Sheseemed to have completely accepted the idea that her marriage meant therenunciation of all the things she had delighted in, and if her marriagehad given her more of what she had hoped for, she would have beencontented with the change. 

One evening, when Stephen was out in the shed at the back of the cabinstacking up some wood by the light of a candle stuck in a chink of thelogs, Talbot and the girl were sitting idle on each side of the stove, and somehow, though Talbot seldom opened his lips on such matters, seldom in his life offered opinion or advice to others, they had nowbeen speaking of her marriage, and Stephen's attitude towards her. 

There were tears in her great eyes, and her under lip quivered andturned downwards like a wet rose-leaf. 

"He is so _very_ wrapped up in all this digging business, why did hewant to marry me at all?" she said, in a sort of helpless childishwonder. 

Talbot was silent, looking at her, and then instead of answering herquestion, said--

"Why don't you make him notice you more? why can't you appeal to him?"

"Appeal to him!" she repeated; "it's no use. Why, he isgold-plated--eyes, ears, touch, everything, all plated over; you can'treach him through it. "

"Have men nothing like affection in them?" she said, after a minute. "Have they nothing between their mad bursts of passion and a coldincivility? What do they do with all the charming ways they have beforethey possess a woman? Stephen was so gentle, so nice, so interested, when he used to visit me down town; and now you see how rude and hatefulhe is very often. Why do they change? I have not changed. I am still asattentive, as eager to please him, more so, than when he came to mycabin. Oh, " she added, after a minute, "I'm getting so tired of it all, I feel I'd like to throw it all up and go back to my own life andfreedom. All the men are so civil and so nice and so devoted as long asa woman does nothing for them, " she said simply, not fully realisingperhaps the terrible ironical truth she was half-unconsciously uttering. 

"I could love him immensely, " she added, stretching out her arms; "oh, he could have such a love from me, if he wanted it; but as it is, Idon't see much use in my staying with him. I feel I'd like to go back tomy own life and forget I ever married him. "

"Oh, you must not do that, " said Talbot, startled out of his usual calm, and fixing his eyes on her; "pray don't think of such things. "

"Do you think he would care?" she said, opening her eyes in her turn. 

"I'm sure he would, " Talbot answered, with so much emphasis and decisionthat the girl sat silent and impressed for some seconds. 

"Why is he not more amiable then?" she asked. 

"It's men's way, " returned Talbot, not knowing exactly what to say, andaccidentally hitting the truth completely. 

"They're fools, " replied Katrine, angrily, while the hot tears fellthickly into her lap. 

Stephen came in at the moment, and though Katrine made no attempt toconceal the fact that she was crying, he took no notice of her, butbegan talking to Talbot about the wood. 

"We shall have to take the sleigh to-morrow and go up the gulch and getsome more wood somehow, if we can. There's only a few bundles left, " hesaid, blowing out the candle and dragging some heavy logs over to thefire. 

"Can I come with you?" asked Katrine, looking at him with her softpathetic eyes, still brimming with tears. 

"Why--yes--I suppose so, " returned Stephen, slowly opening the stove andlooking in. 

"I shall enjoy it so much, " answered Katrine, her face beginning tosparkle with its accustomed smiles. "We have not had a sleigh ridetogether once, have we? I'd like to go with you better than anything. You'll like it too, won't you?"

"I don't know; it's a confounded nuisance having to leave the claims awhole afternoon, I think. "

Katrine got up suddenly from where she was sitting and walked into thenext room without a word. Her tears were dried, her smiles killed. 

The following day was clear and bright, and a cold, pinky-looking wintersunlight filled the air. Katrine and Stephen started early, and Talbotdid not expect them back till dark. He was out on the claims all themorning, and came in to his lunch late and did not go out againimmediately. It was a day for a half-holiday, and all his men leftearly; the claims were deserted, and Talbot found himself in solitarypossession of the gulch. He felt restless and unsettled, and walkedabout his little bare room in an aimless way quite unusual to him, andthe early part of the afternoon had passed away before he realised it. 

In one of his walks he went up to the window and stood looking out. Thegulch always impressed him; it had a solemn melancholy majesty anddesolate grandeur that is not easy to define in words: an icy splendourby moonlight, and a horrible gloomy beauty towards the fall of the day. It was at this time that Talbot stood looking out at its rugged edgesand the snow-drifts turning grey as the sunlight left them, andlistening with a sort of mechanical tension to the unbroken andoppressive stillness round him, when his eye caught sight of a man'sfigure, moving slowly towards the house. It had appeared so suddenlywhere for hours there had reigned unbroken silence and loneliness, thatTalbot started a little with sheer surprise; and then another appeared, and another. They were coming, one behind the other, singly, round thecorner of the house, and as they emerged into view on the level platformin front of it Talbot looked them over and saw at a glance to what orderthey belonged. 

"As tough a crowd of claim-jumpers as I have seen, " he murmured tohimself as he watched their movements. They did not seem very decided orcertain, nor well agreed amongst themselves. There were six in all, andthey advanced towards the house in a loitering way, pausing once ortwice to talk with each other, and glancing over the cabin. They wereall dressed alike, in large slouch hats, thick boots and high leggings, and short coats with a belt round the waist, from which depended theirenormous six-shooters. As they finally, in their loitering fashion, neared the door, Talbot walked to it, threw it wide open, and asked themwhat they wanted. They hung back from the door a little and looked ateach other, and then one said he had a lease on the claims from GeneralMarshall. 

"I am the only person who has power or authority to give a lease onthese claims, " returned Talbot in a short, hard voice. 

The men hesitated. Talbot looked pretty tough himself as he stood therefacing them, clothed in buckskin from head to foot, his head nearlytouching the lintel of the doorway above him, his revolver on his side, and behind him looming the tunnel, a gaping mouth of blackness. 

The men shuffled their feet on the snow and grinned at each otheruneasily. It did not seem they could work the game of bluff here thatthey had thought out in the town. 

"Well, that's your opinion, " returned the leader in a bantering tone, while the others closed in nearer the threshold in a jeering circle;"but a lease from General Marshall's good enough for us, and I guesswe're coming in. "

"You'd better try it, " returned Talbot, and he slammed to the heavy doorin their faces, and fastened it on the inside. 

He expected them to force it, and he hastily dragged together some sacksof rich dirt that were lying in the tunnel and piled them up, formingquite a respectable barricade. Behind these he took his stand, hisrevolver in his hand. With six against one he felt they must win in theend, but he thought he could put a bullet through half of their numberas they advanced, and he'd sell his claim and his life dear. 

He waited some moments, but nothing happened. There was silence outside, and after a second or two he stepped back to his sitting-room and lookedout of the window. A council of war was taking place seemingly. The menhad all withdrawn to a little distance, where there was some old tinpiping. They had seated themselves on this, and were now in earnestconversation. Talbot stood at the window and watched them with a drysmile. He could tell their talk almost from their expressions and theirgestures. It was one thing to come up and bluff a man out of hisproperty, and walk in and take it as he walked out; and another to forcea narrow tunnel against the straight, steady fire of a fearless devillike this. They could overpower him in the end, there was no doubt ofthat; but then when they walked in it would be over his dead body, thatwas clear, and several others besides him, for he was known to be thequickest, straightest shot in the district, and could certainly get awaywith some of them. It was this part they did not like, for each man felthe might be the one to be picked off and stretched stiff in the tunnel. So there was considerable parleying and hesitation amongst them, andTalbot stood motionless at the window watching them as they sat there, and noting the length of their six-shooters that dangled down the sidesof their legs. At last there was a concerted movement amongst them: theygot up with one accord, and without another glance at the cabin walkedslowly away across the plateau in front of the house and round thecorner of it towards the town trail, the way they had come. Talbotwatched them disappear in the grey light of the gulch with surprise, andthen drew a deep breath. He hardly knew whether he felt relieved ordisappointed. His blood was up then, and he would have liked to send abullet through a few of them. He roamed about restlessly for some time, and went to the back of the house to a little square window, and fromthere watched the last of them mount the trail and disappear from thegulch. Then all was silence and solitude again, in the swiftly fallingdarkness. He turned into his sitting-room, and stirred the fire into ablaze and lighted up the lamps--his lamps always burned well andbrightly, being kept scientifically clean and trimmed with his ownhands, --then he flung himself into a chair and sat there gazing into theflames, his revolver beside him on the table. He half expected the mento return, and his ears remained attentive to the slightest soundwithout. But there was nothing, absolute stillness reigned all aroundhim; not a crackle of the frosted snow nor the fall of a leaf broke thegrave-like silence. 

When the other two came in, he told his afternoon's adventure in thequietest, simplest way possible, and the fewest words. The girl listenedwith flushing cheeks and sparkling eyes. 

"What fun!" she said at last when he had finished, and kicking off hersnow-laden boots as she sat by the stove. "And you held off six men bythe 'power of your eye?' what a convenient eye that is! I don't seeyou've any need to carry a six-shooter! I wish they'd come backto-night, we'd give them something of a reception. "

Talbot laughed, and looked pleased at the praise from her bright younglips. Stephen only looked anxious. 

That night they sat up rather later than usual, and Katrine was quite ina pleased state of expectation. No visitors made their appearance, however, and at last Talbot left to go to his own cabin. 

"Now, if they come in the night, " remarked Katrine, laughing, as shesaid good-night, "don't slay them all with your eye, mind, but give me achance. "

Talbot promised to use his eye mercifully, and Katrine and Stephen puttheir lights out and went to bed. 

It seemed to Katrine she had been asleep some time, when she awokesuddenly and put her hand on her husband's arm. "Steve, I hear steps. "

"Nonsense, " murmured Stephen, drowsily; "it's your fancy. Go to sleep. "

But Katrine's ears were like those of a wild animal, quick and not to bedeceived. 

"Go to sleep yourself, if you can, " she retorted, and sprang up in thedarkness, found her day clothes, and hustled them on. There was silencenow outside, but Katrine hurried all she could, and then with onerevolver in her belt and one in her hand went into the other room. Suddenly, and without the slightest warning, there was a crash, a soundof tearing and splitting wood, and the door was crushed inward, lettingin a blast of icy air. There was pitch darkness within and without. Katrine answered immediately by two shots fired in succession; there wasa heavy groan, a muttered curse, and some shuffling of feet outside. Katrine, standing flat against the wall to avoid offering a mark forwandering shots, chuckled inwardly and waited. A second later a shotcame in return, but the bullet went high. Katrine heard it whizz intothe wood somewhere between the wall and roof. 

She stood motionless, listening. Just in front of her, on the other sideof the room, was the stove, and in this there still glowed anunextinguished portion of log, making one small spot of blood red inthe surrounding darkness. Katrine fixed her eye on this glowing spot. Toenter farther into the cabin the men must pass between it and her. Sheraised one of her revolvers into a line with it. When that spot wasobliterated, she would know, however silently they moved, the enemy hadadvanced, and in that second she meant to fire; the stove was high, anda man passing in front of it would have that red spot in a line with hisheart. 

With her heart beating fast with exultation, and not a tremor in hersteady fingers, she waited motionless as a statue against the wall. Shewas not a girl of a cruel nature, but her husband lay behind that slimpartition on her right, and unarmed, for Stephen would never carry apistol, and she would have shot unhesitatingly each man in successionthat tried to pass her to him. There seemed to be some talking outsideand a trampling of feet on the broken wood of the door, and thensuddenly the soft red fire spot was eclipsed in the total darknessaround, and on the instant Katrine's finger had pulled the trigger. There was no groan this time after the shot, only a heavy thud and acrash as a falling body struck some fire-irons by the stove. The redspot glowed out of the darkness again and stared Katrine cheerfully inthe eyes. There was a confusion of voices outside: Katrine could hearthe thick oaths and one man apparently enjoining another to come out ofthere and have done with the business. Katrine smiled as she heard. Sheguessed that the man addressed was the one that lay now between her andthe stove, and his ears were for ever closed. In the same moment sheheard the inner door open, and for an instant Stephen appeared, pale andin his night clothes and with a flaring candle in his hand. With aspring like a leopard Katrine had reached him and put her hand over theflame of the candle, crushing it out beneath her palm. The darkness sheknew was their only shield. By their voices and their footsteps shecould tell the men without numbered not less than four or five. Once leta light reveal to them that the house was held only by a single girl, they could overpower her in a few seconds. It was only that horriblepitchy darkness, out of which those deadly shots came ringing with suchprecision and promptness, that filled them with the idea that the cabinwas protected by a body of desperate and straight-shooting miners. Itwas the fears of the besiegers now simply that was protecting thebesieged. 

"Go back, " she said, with her lips on his ear, "unless you can find apistol, and be ready to shoot, " and she pushed him within the dooragain. 

She stood as before, in an even line with the red bull's-eye of thestove, and listened; there was still a scraping of feet and mutteringof voices outside, but not so near the door, and she wondered if theenemy were going round the cabin to attack it from another side. Suddenly a shot rang out in the stillness outside, then another, and theball came through the window behind her and passed over her shoulder;there seemed to be a rush and stampede towards the door. She turned andfaced it, raising both revolvers, and as she heard the wood of thefallen door split under the trampling feet, her fingers had almost drawnthe triggers to welcome the incomers, when out of that cold blacknessbeyond the door came a slight cough. Katrine's hand dropped to her side, a sick, cold horror came over her as she realised what she would havedone in the next instant. That was Talbot's cough. One second more ofsilence, one more step forward, and her shot would have found his heart. She reeled where she stood, against the wall, with the sickness of thethought. She could not shoot again now: he was there outside amongstthem--and Stephen, was he there too, or inside? Talbot, she supposed, roused by the noise, had come out and attacked them between the twocabins. Then what she had said to Stephen recurred to her. Suppose hehad searched and found a gun, and should come out from the inner room, he would not count upon Talbot's presence any more than she had done; hewould naturally shoot at the first who crossed the threshold, as sheherself had done; he would shoot in the dark, by her orders. Thethoughts flashed quicker than lightning through her brain. The horror ofthe situation, this uncertainty, this killing blindly in the confusionand the darkness, was too great to be borne. The danger now was greaterthan even the light could bring. She dropped the pistols on to a stoolbeside her, drew a match from her pocket, and heedless of the perfectmark she herself offered now, struck it and held it over her head. In asecond, the body across the hearth, the wrecked door, and two pale faceslooking in at her from the opening, leaped into sight; the enemies, theliving ones, were gone. A pool of blood beyond the threshold, and bloodon the splintered wood, and their dead companion, only remained. For amoment the three faces, all pale with fear and anxiety, not forthemselves, but for each other, stared nervously into each other's eyesin silence. Then Katrine broke it with a laugh, and brought down thematch from over her head and put it to the lamp on the table. 

"Oh, you frightened me so, " she said, as she turned up the wick and madeit burn, and the men stepped over the door and came in. "I thought Imight kill you. "

She looked up at them both in the lamplight, as if to reassure herselfthey were really there alive. 

Talbot laid his six-shooter on the table. 

"You frightened me, " he returned, jestingly. "I wouldn't come under thatstraight fire of yours for anything. The men outside were easier to dealwith, they got so scared with you shooting in here and me shooting intheir rear; they thought we were a band of a dozen at least. "

"I'd no idea you were there, " murmured Katrine, shuddering still, as shemoved from the lamp to the fire, and began drawing the half-burnt logstogether. 

"Stephen climbed out of the back window and came round to me, but thefirst shot had already wakened me; I was getting my clothes on when hecame, " answered Talbot, walking over to where the dead man lay betweenthe hearth and the door, and surveying him. "Some of your good work, Isee, " he said, after a minute. "This is one of the lot that came upyesterday afternoon. Tough-looking chap, isn't he? Well, you see I didnot kill them all. I gave you the chance you asked for, " he added, looking at her with admiring eyes. 

"And haven't I made the most of it?" she returned, lifting her flushedface, sparkling with smiles, from the fire. 

Stephen had crept in, pale-faced as the corpse itself, and stood nowstaring at it in a dumb horror. He could not understand how Talbot andhis wife could laugh and jest with that terrible object lying motionlessbetween them. Had the danger and excitement turned her brain, hewondered, and looked at her apprehensively, but Katrine gave no sign ofmental or physical collapse. She looked smiling and well pleased withherself, and was stirring the fire and settling the coffee-pot over theflames as if nothing the least startling or disconcerting had occurred, as if no cold body was lying stretched there by the threshold. Stephen, reassured for her, let his eyes travel to the corpse, and then, with asort of groan of horror, sank back on a chair with his face covered inhis hands. Katrine looked up quickly from the fire, and then went overto him, putting an arm softly round his neck. 

"What is it, Steve, dear? you weren't hurt, were you?"

"Oh, to have killed him! to have killed a man, how horrible!" mutteredStephen, without lifting his head. 

Katrine looked amazed. "Well, but he would have killed us if he could, "she answered. "You kill a mosquito if it annoys you, and that's right. You only kill a man if he tries to kill you, that's quite fair. "

"But a murderer!" and Stephen shuddered. She felt the shiver of horrorunder her hand. 

"Isn't it better to be a murderer than murdered?" she asked, with alittle smile, feeling she had an unanswerable argument. 

"Murdered, your body is killed, murderer, your soul, " came back in thesame stifled voice. 

Katrine was silent. She was thinking what a nuisance it was to have asoul that needed so much looking after, never seemed to do any good, andwas always obtruding itself and spoiling your best moments of fun inthis life. 

"We'll take him away, " she said softly, after a minute, noticing thatStephen kept his fingers closely locked over his eyes, as if to shut outsome fearful sight. "Talbot, let's take him out, " she said to theircompanion, who stood with his back to the fire watching them. Stephenmade no sign. 

Talbot and the girl walked over to the body. It was stiffening rapidly, and the wide-open eyes glared up glassily to the black rafters of thecabin. 

"Might this be useful?" said Talbot, stooping over the man and halfdrawing the second large revolver from his belt. 

"No, take nothing, " answered Katrine, hastily; "we want nothing. "

Talbot let the weapon slide back to its place, and they both bent downand lifted the corpse between them. Talbot walked backwards over thecabin door behind him. It was dark outside--a thick, pitchy darkness, with only a grey glare close to the ground from the snow. 

"Let's take him to the gulch, " whispered Katrine, "and send him down it;it will worry Stephen so if he sees him again. "

It was only a few yards to the edge of the ravine; they moved towards itcautiously and stopped upon the brink. 

"Are you ready?" Talbot asked in a low tone, and Katrine whispered back"Yes. " There was a heavy thud, then a soft rolling sound, and thensilence, as the drift snow in the bottom of the gulch received andclosed over its gift. They waited a second, then Talbot stretched outhis hand towards her, found her arm in the darkness, and they bothwalked back together. 

"It's a pity Steve is so sensitive, " said Katrine, plaintively. "I justsaved him, and his house, and his precious gold, and everything, to-night, and he does not like me a bit for it. "

"I think you are a very brave little girl, " said Talbot, softly. 

"Do you?" returned Katrine, in a pleased voice; and Talbot felt that sheturned her face and looked up at him in the darkness. "Steve and I don'tfit very well, do we?" she added, with a sigh; "and he does not fit thislife. Somehow, I don't believe we shall ever leave this place alive--Ihave a presentiment we shan't. You will--you'll make a success and goback; but we shan't. "

Talbot did not answer, as they were at the cabin. 

Stephen met them at the door as they came in, with a white strickenface. "Where have you put it?" he asked in an awed, trembling whisper. 

"Down the gulch, " replied Katrine, composedly. "Now, Steve, you're notto worry about it any more--it was a necessity. "

She glanced round the room and saw that Stephen had been too much shakento think of putting it in order. The coffee-pot stood where she had leftit, and the coffee was boiling over and wasting itself in the fire. Sheran to it, took it off, and began pouring it into the cups on the table;as she did so the men noticed blood dripping from her wrist into one ofthe saucers. 

"Oh, yes, " she said indifferently, in answer to Stephen's startledexclamation, "I thought I felt my sleeve getting very damp and sticky;there's a graze on the shoulder, I think, and the blood has beencrawling slowly down my arm, tickling me horribly. Let's see how itlooks!"

She unfastened her bodice and took it off, seemingly unconscious ofTalbot's presence. He stood silently by the hearth watching her, andthought, as he saw her bare white arms and full, strong white neck, howwell she would look in a London ball-room. Stephen, all nervous anxiety, was examining her shoulder. A bullet had gone over it, leaving a furrowin the flesh, where the blood welled up slowly. Katrine turned her headaside and regarded it out of one eye, as a bird does. Stephen bent overher and kissed her, murmuring incoherent words of remorseful sorrow. Katrine flung her arms round him and laughed. 

"Why, I am delighted! it's been quite worth it, the fun we've hadto-night. That's all right--it will be healed in a couple of days; justtie it up with your handkerchief. "

It was an easy place to bind, by passing the bandage under the arm, andthis, by Katrine's directions, Stephen did, with trembling fingers. Talbot had turned away from them, and occupied himself by fixing up thedoor and stuffing the chinks where the wood had broken. When this wasdone and the bandaging finished, Stephen brought a shawl from the otherroom and wrapped it round the girl's shoulders, and they all drew inround the fire in a close circle with their cups in their hands. 

Their common danger and the sudden realisation of how much they were, each of this lonely trio, to the other; how easily any one of them mighthave been taken from the circle that night, and how irreparable wouldhave been the loss, drew them all closely together as they had neverbeen before--that delicious chord of sweet human sympathy that lies deepdown, but ever present, in the human breast, vibrated strongly in theirhearts, and they sat round the cheery blaze, talking and laughingsoftly, and looking at one another, and then smiling as their eyes met, for mere lightheartedness. 

CHAPTER VI

MAMMON'S PAY

This little excitement quite delighted and pleased Katrine. She hadspoken just the truth when she said she wished something like it wouldhappen every day; and the only thing that spoilt the fun of it wasStephen's dejection and the persistently depressed way he looked andfelt over it. After a day or two the pleasant sense of life havingsomething worth living for passed away again, and the time seemedheavier and slower than ever. Day followed day in a dreadful monotony, and the girl visibly lost health and spirits. She changed a good deal, and both men noticed it. She lost her wonderful sweetness and evennessof temper and her bright smiles, and became fretful and irritable, discontented, and sharp in her replies. In the long winter mornings nowshe would not spring up in the early darkness as formerly, but try tofall asleep again after waking, and put her arm across Stephen and tellhim there was no use of getting up, that the day was long enough anyway, and it was too dark to do anything; and then she would abuse him if heinsisted on getting up in spite of her, and let the breakfast wait solong, that after a time the men drifted into the habit of having italone, and going out without seeing her. Katrine had grown to hate theday, to hate every minute in fact when she was not sleeping, and to tryto make the night last as long as possible. Stephen noticed all this, and spoke to Talbot about it in distress. Talbot merely said, "Perhapsit's her health; you'd better ask her. " Stephen did so, and found therewas a reason for her apparent illness, which delighted and consoled him;but when Katrine flew into a passion, declared it was detestable, thatit would take away her freedom and her power to ride and enjoy herself, Stephen was shocked and grieved, and said he was disappointed in her;whereupon Katrine replied she hated him, and Stephen quoted scripturetexts to her till she ran out of the cabin and rushed across to Talbot'sin a passion of sobs and tears. At least, she knew he would not quotetexts to her. Talbot did all he could to smooth out matters between thetwo, and after that Katrine spoke very little; she took refuge in adejected silence, and grew paler each day. It was only when the men hadgone out to work, and she was left alone with a great pile of things tomend, work which she hated, that she would go to the door and standlooking out over the grey waste under the snow-filled lowering sky, withthe tears rolling silently down her checks. From where she stood shecould see, through the greyish air, the men working far down at theother end of the claims, and the long line of trenches and the banks offrozen gravel; sometimes, in the light fog, made of the tiny sharpsnow-flakes, sifting through the air, they would look misty, like ghostsor shadows; and sometimes the dulled click and scrape of the spadeswould reach her. 

"Slaves, slaves, just like slaves, " she would think, watching themuffled-up figures continually bending over their work; "and they'redigging graves, graves. " And she would think of Annie, and the graveWill had been digging for her while he dug for gold. A red sun, dull ascopper, hung above them, and sometimes the great Northern Lights wouldsend up a red flame behind the horizon; and to Katrine it seemed like ablood-covered sword held up by Nature to warn them off a land not fitfor men. One afternoon, when the sun looked more sullen and the sky morethreatening than ever, and the men moving at the end of the claimlooked no more than mere blots in the cold mist, she stood watching thesteady red blade shoot up in the ashen sky, and began comparing itscolour to other things. "It's as red, " she said to herself softly, "asHearts and Diamonds;" and then her thought wandered to the cardsthemselves, and she thought of the hot saloons at nights crowded withfaces, and the tobacco smoke in the air, and the jabber of voices, andthe laughter of the miners, and their oaths and jokes and stories, andtheir friendly ways to her, and the admiration on their rough andsometimes honest faces, and the long tables and the spat, spat of thefalling cards as they were dealt, and the chink of the glasses and thehot spirits burning your throat, and then the feeling of jollity, andthen the warmth and life and cheeriness of it all. Her eyes brightenedand her chest heaved a little as she leaned against the lintel. If shecould have one night of it again! And here, what would it be when themen came back? Supper, and then Talbot and Stephen talking of theirwork, and the probable value of the claims, and the pans they couldmake, and what the dirt would run to, and then dismissing the wholesubject as impossible to decide till the spring came and they could washthe gravel, and then having so dismissed it, they would fall tospeculating again what the spring would show them the dirt was worth, and so on all over again from the beginning. Oh, she had heard it sooften, nothing, nothing but the same topic night after night, and afterthat, cups of coffee, of which she was sick, or water, and then readinga chapter of the Testament, and then going to bed, and Stephen too deadtired to give her a good-night kiss. If they had had a game of cards inthe evening now, all together, and become interested in that andforgotten to talk of their claims, and some good whisky after it, orcleared out one of the cabins and had a dance there with some of thehands who lived near, and a man to whistle tunes for them if there wasno other orchestra; but no! Stephen thought that cards were wrong andwouldn't have them in his house, and whisky too, and dancing worst ofall, and only the sin of avarice and the lust of gold was to be connivedat there. As she stood there, the thought slipped into her mind quitesuddenly, so suddenly that it surprised herself, "Why not go down totown and have a good time as she used?" Her heart beat quickly, and theold colour came into her cheek. She glanced at the dull, coppery sungrowing dimmer and dimmer behind the thickening snow fog, and the pinklight flickering on the horizon, at the dim figures of the men and thegrey wastes on every side. There was a thick silence, broken only by afaint far-off click of a shovel from the trenches. There would behalf-an-hour's more daylight, half-an-hour before the men returned tomiss her. She would get a good start anyway. She turned into the cabinagain, her face aglow and her eyes sparkling. She knew that Stephenwould be fearfully angry with her--she had not been once to the townsince her marriage--but she had a stronger nature than Stephen's, andfelt no fear of his anger. 

"He thinks I am a reformed character, " she muttered contemptuously toherself, as she put on her thick rubber boots. "Well, I told him therewas only one chance to reform me, and that was to take me away fromhere, and he wouldn't do it. "

She built up the fire in an enormous bank, and left the men's slippersand dry socks beside it. Then she slipped into her long skin coat, andcrushed the fur cap down on her eyebrows and pulled it over her ears. Asshe went out she took a long look at the claims--the men were still busythere. "Slaves, " she muttered. She closed the door with a sharp snap andleft the key hanging on it, as was usual when she was inside. Then sheturned her face to the town trail, and set off at a long steady stridethrough the dead silent air. The town was within easy walking distancefor her, and though it would be dark before she reached it, thatmattered very little, her eyes were strong and almost as good as a wildcat's in the dark. On every hand the sky seemed to hang low andthreatening over the earth, and the air had the grip of iron in it, butKatrine pushed on at the same even pace without even an apprehensiveglance round. Her spirits rose as she walked. She felt the old sense ofgladness in her youth and strength and health, and in her freedom, andshe bounded along over the hard, glittering snow, full of a mereirresponsible animal pleasure, such as moves the young chamois in hisbounds from rock to rock. Darkness had come like a blot upon the earthbefore she had done half the distance, but now she had the twinklinglights and the reddish haze of Dawson before her. Her own eyesbrightened as she caught sight of them, and she hastened her steps. Bythe time night had fairly settled down she came into the side streets ofthe town. Dawson is an all-night town, and things were in fullblast--saloons, shooting-galleries, dance-halls, and dog-fights going onjust as usual. She noted with satisfaction that nothing seemed to havealtered a little bit since she saw it last, and as she turned into GoodLuck Row, to walk down it for old acquaintance' sake, a big, disreputable old yellow dog she had fed through last winter, camebounding up and leaped all over her in delighted recognition. Katrinewas pleased at this welcome, and spent quite a time at the corner withhim, asking how many dog-fights he had had lately, and being answeredwith short triumphant barks that she took to mean he had demolished allthe small dogs of that quarter. Then she went on and passed her ownformer house, and saw to her surprise it was vacant, and so was Annie'snext it. That looked as if Dawson was not pressed for space. As she wasturning out of the row she saw ahead of her another old acquaintance, this was a human one, and Katrine felt as if she had quite slipped backinto her own life as she hailed him. 

"Sam!" she called gently. "Hello, Sam!"

The miner turned, and as soon as he saw her a broad, genial smileoverspread his countenance and stretched his mouth from one edge of hisfur ear-flaps to the other. 

"Why, Kate, you down here again; you've cut the parson fellow, eh?"

"Oh, no, " said Katrine hastily, reddening a little; "I'm just in townfor a day or so. How's your wife?"

"Well, " answered Sam slowly, as he put himself at her side and slouchedheavily along the side-walk with her. "She's all right--leastways Ireckon she ought to be; she's in 'eaven now. "

"Oh, Sam!" said Katrine, in a shocked voice, "is she dead? How did shedie? when?"

"Why, I reckon it was the cold like, she kind of froze to death. When Igot home one night the fire was out, and she was just laying acrost thehearth; the room was awful cold, and there warn't no food neither--I'spect that helped it. I'd bin away three or four days, and the foodgive out quicker than I thought, and the firin'. I arst a doctor herewot it was, and he said it was sincough or sumthin'. "

"Syncope?" suggested Katrine. 

"Yes, that's what 'e said; but I sez it was just the cold a ketchin' ofher heart like, and stopping it. "

"What were you doing?" asked Katrine. 

"Why, I was out arter gold, o' course. "

Katrine shivered. They passed the "Sally White" at that moment, withits flaring lights and noise of merriment within. 

"Let's go in, Sam, and get a drink. Your tale has pretty near frozenme. "

They turned in, and as Katrine pushed open the door there was a shout ofrecognition and welcome from the men round the bar. The door fell tobehind them, shutting out the icy night. 

 * * * * *

When the light failed, and the night had come down on the claims like ablack curtain let fall suddenly, the men left the ground, and stiff withcold, their muscles almost rigid, plodded slowly and silently back tothe cabin. The hired men dispersed in different directions, some goingdown town and some to their cabins near. When Stephen and Talbot enteredthey found the fire leaping and crackling as if it had just been tended, and both men sat down to change their boots in the outer room. The doorinto the bedroom was shut, and they supposed Katrine was within. Theywere too tired and frozen to speak, and not a word was exchanged betweenthem. After a time Stephen got up and went into the inner room; therewas no light in it, and the door swung to behind him. Talbot, with awhite drawn face, leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. 

When Stephen entered he thought Katrine was probably asleep upon thebed, and crossed the room to find a light. When the match was struck anda candle lighted, he stared round stupidly--the room was empty. Helooked at the bed, Katrine was not there; then his eyes caught a littlesquare of white paper pinned on to the red blanket. He went up to it, unpinned it slowly, and read it with trembling fingers. Talbot, waitingin the other room, hungry and thirsty, got up after a time and began tolay the supper. This done, he made the coffee, and when that was readyand still Stephen had not reappeared, he rapped at the door. Thereseemed a muffled sound from within, and Talbot pushed the door a littleopen. Inside, he saw Stephen sitting on the edge of the bed, staring atthe paper in his hand. 

"What's the matter?" said Talbot. 

Stephen handed him the paper in a blank silence, and Talbot took it andheld it near the candle. This is what he read:--

"I have gone down to the town to get a little change and to relieve thedreadful monotony of this life. Don't follow me; just leave me alone, and I'll come back in a day or two. There's no need to be anxious. Youknow I can take care of myself. "

Talbot laughed quietly, and walked back into the sitting-room. 

"Well, she gives you good advice, " he said; "I should follow it. Let herhave a day or two to herself--a day or two of liberty. She'll come backat the end all the better for it. "

Stephen followed him into the firelight; his face was the colour of woodash, and his eyes looked haggard and terrified. With all his faults hereally loved his wife, in his own narrow, limited, selfish way, intensely. 

"Oh, Talbot! to think she's gone back to it all! How awful!"

Talbot gave a gesture of impatience. He understood the girl so muchbetter than Stephen ever had that his methods seemed unreasonablyfoolish to him. And now he was excessively tired and cold and hungry, and his supper seemed of more importance than a world full of injuredhusbands. 

"You can't wonder at it, old man, " he said. "This life must beintolerable for a girl like that. "

"Why? how?" questioned Stephen, blankly. 

"Oh, so quiet; no excitement. "

"But women ought to like quiet, and excitement's sinful, " returnedStephen hotly, becoming the Low Church missionary school-teacher atonce. 

Talbot merely laughed and shrugged his shoulders, but his laugh was notfriendly, and there was an angry light in his eyes. 

"What am I to do?" asked Stephen mechanically, still standing, thepallor and the horror of his face growing each minute. 

"I've told you. Let her have the few days' enjoyment she asks for; thenher heart will reproach her, and she will come back to you. "

"But she might think me indifferent, " murmured Stephen, his voice almostchoked in his throat. 

"I shouldn't leave her long. If she does not return the day afterto-morrow, then you might go; but if you go now and attempt to force herback, you'll probably make a mess of it. "

"But think--my wife--"

"That's all right, " returned Talbot, looking at him and understandingwhat he was thinking of. "In one way, at least, you know she is a goodgirl. She will only gamble a little and drink and get very jolly, andshe'll come back to you in a day or two with no harm done--what are youdoing?" he broke off suddenly, as Stephen began to tear off his slippersand socks and get his thick wet boots on. 

"I'm going after her, " he said sullenly, in a thick voice, "to bring herback home here--alive or dead. "

"It will be dead probably, and you'll be exceedingly sorry, " returnedTalbot in a cutting tone. 

Stephen made no answer, but continued fastening his boots. 

"You'd better have your supper before you go out again, " remarkedTalbot, sarcastically. 

Stephen made no reply. When he had his boots on he put an extracomforter inside his fur collar, put his cap on, and walked over to thedoor. There he hesitated and looked back. Talbot sat unmoved by thefire, his profile to the door. Stephen stood for an instant, then cameback to the hearth. 

"Talbot!" he said, standing in front of him. 

The other looked up. "Well?"

"Come with me. Help me to find her and bring her back. "

Talbot compressed his lips. 

"Aren't you capable of managing your own 'wife yourself?" he asked. 

"You have so much influence with her, " said Stephen, pleadingly. 

"I suppose I only have that influence because I am not quite a fool, "returned Talbot angrily, commencing to pull off his slippers. 

He was angry with Stephen, and feeling excessively wearied anddisinclined for further effort. He hated to turn out again, and hiswhole physical system was craving for food and rest. But he was not theman to resist an appeal in which he saw another's whole soul wasthrown, and angry and annoyed as he was with Stephen, he still dislikedthe idea of letting his friend go out alone in the Arctic night on suchan errand. It seemed to him supremely ridiculous for Stephen to have tocall in another man's aid in these personal matters, but then he wasmore than twice Stephen's age, and had got into the habit of makingexcuses for him. So, tired and exhausted though he was, he dragged onhis frozen boots again, and prepared to accompany Stephen. 

"You'd better have some of this first, " he said, pouring out a cup ofthe coffee he had made, which stood ready on the stove. 

They each took a cup standing, and then turned out of the cabin, lockingthe door behind them. The atmosphere and aspect, the whole face of thenight, had changed since the girl started. The fog had lifted itself androlled away somewhere in the darkness. The air was now clear and keenas the edge of steel. The stars were of a piercing brilliance, and allalong the black horizon flickered and leaped a faint rosy light. The twomen, stiff, tired, and aching, took much longer to accomplish thedistance than the girl had done with her light, eager feet, and whenthey got down to the town the night was well on its way. At the bottomof Good Luck Row, which is, as explained already, one of the firststreets you come to, on the edge of the town, they halted and tookcounsel as to where they would be most likely to find the object oftheir search. 

"Perhaps she's gone up to the 'Pistol Shot, '" suggested Stephen. "We'dbetter go up to old Poniatovsky. "

"She hasn't come down to see her father, I should imagine, " remarkedTalbot, in his dryest tone. 

But Stephen persisted she might be there, and so they tramped straightacross towards the main street and turned into the "Pistol Shot. " Theypushed their way unheeded through the idle, lounging, gossiping crowdwithin, found their way behind the bar, and asked for Poniatovsky. Thelittle Pole came out of his back parlour and met them in the passage. Helistened to their story, his long pipe in one hand, his mouth open, andhis own vile whisky obscuring and clouding his brain. 

"Wot! she haf run away?" he exclaimed, as Stephen paused; "and who is decause? Is it this shentleman here?" and he stared up at Talbot's slight, tall figure, imposing in its furs, and at the finely-cut, determinedfeatures that presented such a contrast to Stephen's weak boyish face. 

"No, no, " said the latter angrily; "she hasn't run away at all. She hasonly come down here for an hour or so. I thought she might have comehere to see you. "

"No, " replied the Pole deprecatingly, shrugging his shoulders andspreading out his hands, "I haf not seen her. If she come here, I shutthe door upon her. I say, 'I vil haf no runaway wives here. ' My fren, before you vos marrit did not I say, a truant daughter make a truantwife. She haf left me first, now she haf left you. "

He had taken Stephen by the front of his coat, and was pushing in hiswords by the aid of a dirty forefinger. 

Talbot abandoned Stephen to argue the matter out with his drunkenfather-in-law, and strolled back through the passage, through thebar-room, and then stood, with his gloved hands deep in his fur-linedpockets, at the saloon door, looking up and down the street. Presentlyone of the wrecks of the night came drifting by, a girl of nineteen orso, with her cheeks blue and pinched in the terrible cold under theircoat of coarse paint. He signalled to her, and she drifted across tohim, and stood, with her hands thrust up her sleeves, in the light fromthe "Pistol Shot. "

"I expect you've seen the inside of most of the drinking-housesto-night, " he said, speaking in a kind voice, for the pitiful, cold faceof the girl touched him; "have you seen anything of Katrine Poniatovsky, a girl who used to live here?"

"Wot's she like?" the girl asked sullenly. She was so hoarse that shecould hardly make the words audible. 

"A tall girl, dark, and very handsome. "

"Yes, I seed her, not more'n an hour ago, in the 'Cock-pit. ' She'sa-makin' more money in there than I can make if I walk all night. Curseher! She sits there, and the devil sits behind her, a-playing for her, Iknow; but she'd better look out--you don't play with that partner long. "

"The 'Cock-pit. ' That's on the other side, isn't it, away from theriver?" Talbot's heart sank a little as he recognized the name of theworst den for gambling in the whole town. 

"Go down here, and turn to your left. Any one will tell you where the'Cock-pit' is, " said the girl, with a hollow laugh. 

Then she lingered in the light, and looked at Talbot wistfully. He putsome money into her hand. "Go into the warmth, " he said kindly, "and getyourself something. "

Then he turned back into the saloon to find Stephen. He met him, havingbroken away at last from the fatherly advice of the Pole, and brushingthe front of his coat down with his hand. He was very flushed and angry. 

"You'd better waste no more time, " remarked Talbot, calmly. "She is downat the 'Cock-pit, ' playing. "

Stephen gasped. "How did you find out that?" he asked. 

"I've just been told by one of the habitués. Come along at once. " Boththe men went out, and Talbot, following the girl's directions, marchedon decidedly, scarcely noticing Stephen's questions, which he could notanswer. 

"I don't know, " he said, for the fiftieth time, to Stephen's last absurdquery as to how long she had been there. 

The houses became poorer and shabbier as they walked. Even in log-cabinsthere is a great difference marked between the respectable and thedisreputable. And the figures that passed them from time to time, thoughmore rarely here in this quarter, looked of the toughest, mostcut-throat class. 

"How can she like to come here alone?" exclaimed Stephen, with ashudder. "I wonder she is not afraid. I'm surprised she has not come tosome harm long ago. "

Talbot smiled to himself inside his fur collar and said nothing. Thegirl's absolute fearlessness was the point which he admired most in hercharacter, and the immunity from danger seemed in her case, as inothers, the natural accompaniment of it. Fortune is said to favour thebrave. Misfortune certainly seems to spare them. 

"I think this is the place, " said Talbot at last, and they stoppedbefore a large, but old and dirty-looking cabin. It was sunk beneath theusual level of the ground, and reached by some crooked, slippery steps. At the foot of these steps was a sort of yard, which you had to crossbefore reaching the cabin door itself. What was in the yard, or what itscondition was, it was too dark to see, but a sickening smell came fromit as the men descended the steps, and the ground seemed slippery ormiry in places above the frozen snow. The windows of the cabin in frontgave out no light whatever, but that there was light inside, and verybright light, was evidenced by that which burst through the chinks allover it. 

"I shouldn't wonder if I stumbled over a corpse next, " muttered Talbot, as he slipped and almost fell in the darkness on a slimy something underhis feet that reminded him of blood. They got up to the door and triedthe latch. It would not yield; then they thumped on it with their glovedfists. 

The latch was drawn back by some hand inside, and the door opened justwide enough to admit them, and was pushed to again. Stephen and Talbotfound themselves in a crowd of loiterers inside the door, who apparentlytook no notice of them beyond a sodden stare. 

It was a long, low room that they entered, so low that it seemed toTalbot the ceiling was almost upon their heads. The atmosphere wasstifling, evil-smelling beyond endurance, and so clouded with tobaccosmoke that they could not see the farther end. 

A long table covered with green cloth took up the centre of the room, and all round the walls were ranged smaller ones. The place was fullwhen the two men entered, all space at the centre table was occupied, the side tables were filled, and men standing up between blocked the wayup the room. The windows at the end were barred and shuttered, not abreath of outer air could enter. The cheap lamps nailed at intervalsalong the grimy walls were mostly black and smoking, adding their acridfumes to the thick atmosphere. There were very few women present, somepainted, worn, unhappy-looking creatures, hovering like restlessphantoms round the tables where the thickest crowds were, that seemedall. Stephen looked round on every side with haggard face and anxiouseyes. She was nowhere near the door, and after a hurried survey of allthose lower tables they forced and pressed and pushed their way towardsthe other end. At last they caught sight of her. She was sitting at asmall table, with her face turned towards the room, intent upon thegame. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement. She had flung her fur capaside, and her ruffled black hair lay loose upon her forehead. Thecollar of her bodice was open and turned back a little from her roundwhite neck. She looked, with her soft young face, like a fresh flowerdropped by chance into this evil, tainted den. Talbot gave her a keenscrutiny as they approached, and understood Stephen's infatuation. Asfor Stephen himself, his heart went out to her, and he was filled with abitter self-reproach and sudden resolutions. His love and his darling!How could he have let her be found here! His claims and his gold, theymight all go. He would take her away in safety at once. He would nothesitate again. 

When they reached the table they saw there was a large stake on thecloth between the two players. Her companion was a youngish man, seemingly a miner, dressed in the roughest clothes. Neither looked uptill both men were close by them and between them and the lights. ThenKatrine raised her eyes and started violently as she recognised them. Her face flushed deeper, and her eyebrows contracted with annoyance. Stephen went round to the back of her chair and laid his hand on hershoulder. 

"Come away; oh pray, come away, " he said, in an imploring tone. It wasall he seemed able to articulate. 

"I'm just in the middle of a game, " she answered petulantly. "Youmustn't interrupt me. "

"But it isn't safe for you to be here. "

"Stuff! I used to be here every night before I married you!"

A death-like pallor overspread the man's face as he heard. He could notbelieve her, could not realise it. Had she indeed been here night afternight?

"Why do you come here and interfere?" she continued pettishly, lookingup from Talbot to his companion. "I always have such luck, and I'mlikely to lose it if you worry me. "

The young miner sat back in his chair, thrust both hands in his pockets, and stared rudely at the intruders. He did not mind the interruption asmuch as she did, since he was losing, and had been steadily ever sincehe sat down to play with Katrine, and doubts and angry questionings ofhis opponent's methods began to stir in his dull, clouded brain, astoads stir the mud in some thick pool. 

"You ought not to be here at all, " said Stephen hotly. 

"Well, why shouldn't I make money as well as you?" returned the girlquickly, with a flash of scorn in her dark eyes, and Stephen whitenedand winced. 

"Haven't you made enough for one night, in any case?" interposed Talbotquietly. 

"Yes, I think I have, " she answered, with a glance at the glisteningpile on the cloth. "I'll come, " she added suddenly, "if Jim's noobjection. What do you say, Jim?" she asked, looking across to the youngfellow, who had been a sulky, silent spectator of the whole scene. "Shall we quit for to-night?"

"If you give me back my money, " he answered. "That's mine, " he said, pointing to the pile. "It's my money, gentlemen; she's been winning allthe evening. "

"Yes, I always do have luck, " retorted Katrine. "I told you so when webegan. "

"You may call it luck; I don't, " muttered the miner, his face turning adusky purple. 

"And what do you call it?" returned Katrine, white with anger in herturn at the insinuation, while Talbot, who saw what was coming, tried todraw her away. 

"What does it matter? Come away; leave him the money. "

No one in the room noticed what was going on in their corner. The otherswere all too busy with their own play, absorbed in their own greed;besides, squabbles over the tables were of such common occurrence, theyceased to excite any curiosity. 

"I shan't, " returned Katrine, shaking herself free. 

The oily, smoky light from above fell across her face; it seemed tobloom through the foul, dusky air like a rose. 

"It's my money--I won it. "

"Yes, by cheating, " shouted the miner, forgetting everything but theapproaching loss he foresaw of the shining pile. 

"You lie, " said Stephen, hoarsely. "She has not cheated you. "

The miner staggered to his feet, and before any of them realised it hehad drawn his pistol and fired. His hand was unsteady from drink andrage, and the ball passed over Stephen's shoulder and went into thewall behind him. Talbot tried to draw Stephen to one side. The miner, blind with anger, half conscious only of what he was about, and drawingalmost at random, turned his revolver on Talbot. Like a flash Katrineinterposed between them, and Jim's bullet found a lodgment in her lungs. She had fired also. The shots had been simultaneous, and the miner fell, without a groan, without a murmur, forward across the table, carrying itwith him to the floor. The gold pile scattered amongst the filthysawdust on the ground. Katrine sank backwards into Talbot's arms, andher head fell to his shoulder like that of a tired child falling tosleep. 

In an instant they were surrounded by an eager inquiring throng. All thetables, with some few exceptions, were deserted; the players all crowdedup to the end of the room, and Stephen and Talbot were carried back tothe wall by the pressing crowd. Some of the men raised the body of theminer; he was dead. The people pressed round, and one glance at the setface told them. A momentary awe spread amongst them, and the men who hadraised the body carried it to a bench and laid it there. Stephen, pallidas the dead man himself, looked round in desperation on the staringcrowd. 

"Is there a surgeon or a doctor here?" he asked. 

Katrine heard him, and raised herself a little in Talbot's arms; he wasstanding against the wall now. She turned her eyes towards Stephen andstretched out her hand. 

"It's no use, Steve, dear, " she said; "I'm done for. Don't worry with adoctor. I shall be gone in five minutes. "

Stephen dropped on his knees and seized the little soft brown handextended to him, covering it with kisses. 

"Oh no, no, don't say it, " he said in a voice suffocated with anguish, heedless of the staring faces around. Some of the mob looked on withinterest, some turned back to their own tables, others went down ontheir hands and knees to scrape up the scattered gold dust that hadmixed in the trampled sawdust. 

"Lay me a little flatter, " she murmured to Talbot, and he sank on oneknee and so supported her, her head resting on his arm. 

"If we could get her to the air, " Stephen exclaimed. 

"No, the moving pains me; let me be, " she replied. "I tell you I'mdying. "

Stephen groaned. 

"Pray then, pray now. Oh, Katie dear, pray before it is too late. Aren'tyou afraid to die like this, in this place?"

Katrine shook her head wearily. "No, I don't think I've ever beenafraid, " she murmured. 

"Did I kill him?" she asked a second later, opening her eyes. 

Talbot looked down and nodded. Stephen's voice was too choked forutterance. 

"I'm glad of that, " she murmured, letting her eyes close again; "I nevermissed a shot yet. "

"Oh, Katie, Katie, " moaned Stephen. The room was black to him; it seemedas if he saw hell opening to swallow up for ever his beloved one. 

Katrine opened her eyes at his agonised cry. 

"Now, Steve, it can't be helped; I'm dying, and it's all right. I onlydon't want you to worry over it. Nothing is worth worrying for in thisworld. And I guess we'll all meet again very soon in a warmer place thanAlaska. "

Stephen, utterly broken down, could only sob upon her hand. 

Talbot felt a sort of rigor passing through the form he held, andthought she was dying. He was stirred to the innermost depths of hisbeing by her act. She had stepped so calmly between him and death, givenup her life with the free generous courage of a soldier or a hero. 

"Why did you come between us?" he asked, suddenly bending over her; "whydid you do it?"

The calm light eyes looked down into the dark passionate depths of thedying girl's pupils, and a long gaze passed between them. What secretsof her soul were revealed to his in that instant when they stood face toface with only Death between? Then Katrine turned her head wearily. 

"I don't know, " she answered faintly; "mere devilry, I think. " And shelaughed. 

The laugh shook the wounded lung. Her face turned from white to grey, her teeth clenched. There was a spasm as of a sudden wrenching loosefrom the body, then it sank back, collapsed, motionless, againstTalbot's breast. 

The two men carried her out between them. The crowd made way for them, standing on either side in respectful silence. Such incidents were notuncommon, and excited nothing more than a dull and transient interest. They took her out, and the gold for which two lives had been sacrificedwas left unheeded, scattered in the dust. They went out the way they hadcome, through the noisome court, up the narrow flight of rotten, slippery stairs into the pure icy air. 

Stephen turned to Talbot and took the girl's body wholly into his arms. 

"I want to carry her up to my cabin, " he said in a choking voice, andthe other nodded. 

The night was glorious with the deadly glory of the Arctic regions; theair was still, and of a coldness that seemed to bite deep into theflesh; but overhead, in the impenetrable blackness of the sky, thestars shone with a brilliance found only in the north, throwing a coldlight over the snowy ground. To the south and east, low down, burned twoenormous planets, like fiery eyes watching them over the horizon. 

Slowly the two men walked over the hard ground. Not another living beingwas within sight. 

Stephen walked first with heavy, uneven steps, and his breath camequickly in suppressed and sobbing gasps. Talbot followed closely, deepin painful thought. All had happened so suddenly. The whole horribletragedy had swept over them in a few minutes; she had passed away fromthem both for ever. His brain seemed dazed by the shock. He could notrealise it. He saw her dark head lying on Stephen's shoulder. It seemedas if she must lift it every second. He could not believe that she waslifeless, lifeless, this creature who had always been life itself, withher gay smiles, and light tones, and quick movements. Now, she and theywere blotted out for all time. She had died against his breast, and forhim. That was the horrible thought; it came into his brain after all theothers, suddenly, and seemed as if it must burst it. And why, why shouldshe have done it? Her last words rang in his ears, "mere devilry. " Soshe had always been; reckless, open-handed, generous, she had oftenrisked her life for another, and now she had given it for him. And inher last words she had tried to minimise her own act, tried to relievehim of the burden of a hopeless gratitude. But for all that he wouldhave to bear it, and it seemed crushing him now. That she should havegiven her life, so young, less than half his own, so full of value andpromise, for his! It seemed as if a reproach must follow him to the endof his days. 

He walked as in a dream. He had no sense of the distance they weregoing, hardly any of the direction, except that he was followingmechanically Stephen's slow, uneven, halting footsteps, and watchingthat little head that lay on his shoulder. Once when Stephen paused, hestretched out his arms and offered to take the burden from him, butStephen repulsed him fiercely, and then the two went on slowly asbefore, how long he did not know, it seemed a long time. Suddenly, inthe middle of the narrow pathway before him, Talbot saw Stephen stagger, fall to his knees, and then sink heavily sideways in the snow, his armsstill tightly locked round the rigid body of the girl. Talbot hurriedforward and bent over him, feeling hastily in his own pockets for hisflask. Stephen's eyes were wide open and gazed up at him with ahopeless, despairing determination that went to Talbot's heart andchilled it. 

"I can't go any farther, not another step, " he muttered. 

Talbot had been searching hurriedly through all his pockets for theflask he always carried. 

"Good God!" he exclaimed, "I haven't got it; I must have dropped itcoming up here, or they stole it in that hell down town. "

Stephen feebly put up his hand. 

"Don't trouble, I don't want it. I am just going to lie here and waitwith her. Was she not lovely?" he muttered to himself, raising himselfon his knees and laying the body before him on the snow. 

The sky above them arched in pitchy blackness, but the starlight was sokeen and brilliant that it lighted up the white silence round them. Stephen, on his hands and knees, hung over the still figure and gazeddown into the marble face. The short silky black hair made a little blotof darkness in the snow, the white face was turned upward to thestarlight. Talbot, looking down, caught for an instant the sight of itspure oval, its regular lines, and the sweet mouth, and the passionate, reasonless face of the man crouching over it, and then lookeddesperately up and down the narrow lonely trail. They were five milesfrom the town, a little over three from the cabins. Glistening whitenesslay all around, till the plains of snow grew grey in the distance;overhead, the burning, flashing, restless stars; and far off, where thetwo planets guarded the horizon, the red lights of the north began toquiver and flicker in the night. 

The man on the ground noticed them, and straightening himself suddenly, looked towards them. 

"The flare of hell!" he muttered, with staring, straining eyes; "it'scoming very near. "

Talbot saw that his reason had gone, failed suddenly, as a light goesdown under a blast; he was delirious with that sudden delirium born ofthe awful cold that seizes men like a wolf in the long night of theArctic winters. 

For a second the helplessness of his situation flashed in upon Talbot'sbrain--alone here at midnight on the frozen trail, with a madman and acorpse!

He saw he must get help at once, and the cabins were the nearest pointwhere help could be found. He could get men who would carry Stephen byforce if necessary, but would he ever live in the fangs of this pitilesscold till they could return to him? He stood for one moment irresolute, unwilling to leave him to meet his death, and that horrible fear that heread in those haggard eyes watching the horizon, alone; and in thatmoment Stephen looked up at him and met his eye, and the madness rolledback and stood off his brain for an instant. He beckoned to Talbot, andTalbot went down on his knees beside him on the snow. 

"My claims, " muttered Stephen; "those claims will be yours now, do youunderstand? I've arranged it all with that lawyer Hoskins, down town. They were to be hers if anything happened to me, but we shall both goto-night, and they will be yours. She said I had sunk my soul in them, Talbot; she was right. The gold got me, I neglected her; I let her slipback into evil; I've murdered her for the claims. They are the pricehell paid me. But you keep them. All turns to good in your hands. Theycan't harm you. Keep them. They are my grave. "

"Stephen, rouse yourself! You are alive! you've got to live, " saidTalbot desperately, shaking him by the shoulder. "I am going now tobring men back with me to help you home. You've got to live till Ireturn, do you hear?"

Stephen had turned from him again and put his arms round the motionlessform before them. 

"They are coming nearer, " Talbot heard him mutter; "but they shall burnthrough me first, little one;" and he stretched himself across thecorpse as if to shield it from the approaching flames, and far off thered eyes of the planets sank nearer the horizon, but still seemed towatch them across the snowy waste. 

Talbot felt the only one thin thread of hope was to go as fast as hisfatigue-clogged feet could move up to the cabins, and he rose and facedthe homeward trail. He felt the hope of saving Stephen was just theleast faintest flicker that ever burned within a heart; still there wasthe chance--the chance that, even should he be already in the sleep thatends in death when he returned, they could rouse him from it and draghim into life again. He forced his heavy feet along, and with a greateffort started into a run. His limbs felt like lead, and all his bodylike paper. The long hours of cold and fatigue, the excitement, the rushof changing emotions he had gone through, had been draining hisvitality, but he called upon all that he had left and put it all intothe effort to save his friend. He knew that any one second lost orgained might be the one to turn the balance of life or death, and heurged himself forward till a dull pain filled all his side, and histemples seemed bursting, and the great lights before him swam in ablood-red mist. 

Stephen, left alone, raised his head and gazed round him once, then helaid his cheek down on the cold cheek, pressed his lips to the coldlips, and his breast upon the cold breast just over where the bullet hadploughed its way through the flesh and bone. The night gripped himtighter and tighter, and slowly he sank to sleep. 

_L'ENVOI. _

Noontide in June. A sky of the clearest, palest azure, and a rollicking, swelling, tumbling sea, full of smooth billowy waves chasing each otherover its deep green surface--waves with their white crests blownbackwards, throwing their spray high in the air and seeming to laugh andcall to each other in gurgling voices; and between sea and sky theliquid golden sunlight filling the warm, throbbing air, spreading itselfin dazzling sheets upon the water, and glinting in ten thousandglittering points on the flying spray thrown up by a steamer's screw. Itwas the steamer _Prince_, homeward-bound from Alaska, carryingpassengers and a cargo as rich and yellow as the sunshine. And as if itknew of its precious and costly charge, the steamer cut proudly throughthe turbulent water, cleaving its straight passage homeward, homeward. On the deck of the boat, leaning back idly in a long chair, his calm, grey eyes fixed on the receding shores, where the golden sunshine seemedpalpitating on their perilous loveliness, Talbot was sitting, with thefreshening breeze stirring his hair and bringing to him the breath of athousand spring flowers on the land. He was returning, and returningsuccessful, with his work accomplished, his toil over, his aim achieved, and amongst all the lines of pain stamped on his pale and quiet facethere was written a certain triumph, that yet perhaps was not so muchtriumph as relief. It was just four months since that terrible nightwhen he had lost both his comrades, just a little less than four monthssince he had seen them both laid side by side in their lonely grave inthe west gulch; and those four months would ever be a blot of horribleblackness on his life. Should he ever be able to forget the blankdesolation that had closed in upon him night after night as he sat byhis lonely hearth or paced the floor, his steps alone breaking the awfulstillness? Yet he had forced himself to stay and face it, had continuedhis work and his method of life unchanged. His men had noted littledifference in him. He had stayed the time he had appointed for himself, had accomplished his self-appointed task, and at last, when the summerburst in upon the gulch and loosened all Nature's fetters, he foundhimself also free; and now, like a black curtain rent in twain and tornfrom the bright face of a picture, the clouds of the past seemed fallingaway, leaving his future clear to his gaze. It stretched before himbright as the laughing sunlit sea beneath his eyes. If they could buthave shared his joy, if they could have had their home-coming, hisfellow-toilers, his fellow-prisoners! and the salt tears stung his lidsuntil he closed them, shutting out the vivid yellow light, as hethought of the desolate grave in the gulch. 

The fresh, cool air fanned his face and the sun smiled upon him, a loosepiece of canvas of an awning near him flapped backwards and forwardswith a monotonous musical sound, the plash and gurgle of the tumblingwaves fell soothingly on his ears. Gradually sleep came over him gently, and enwrapped his strained, wearied body, his sore bruised mind. 

When he opened his eyes again it was afternoon. The steamer was stillflying onward, but the sea was quiet and smooth, and lay still on everyside in the sun's rays as a pool of liquid gold, and the shores ofAlaska had vanished, lost in a burnished haze of light. 

THE END.