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diff --git a/1096-h/1096-h.htm b/1096-h/1096-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c846270 --- /dev/null +++ b/1096-h/1096-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4773 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>The Faith of Men</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">The Faith of Men, by Jack London</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Faith of Men, by Jack London + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Faith of Men + +Author: Jack London + +Release Date: February 6, 2005 [eBook #1096] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FAITH OF MEN*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1919 William Heinemann edition by David Price, +email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<h1>THE FAITH OF MEN</h1> +<p>Contents:</p> +<p>A Relic of the Pliocene<br /> +A Hyperborean Brew<br /> +The Faith of Men<br /> +Too Much Gold<br /> +The One Thousand Dozen<br /> +The Marriage of Lit-lit<br /> +Bâtard<br /> +The Story of Jees Uck</p> +<h2>A RELIC OF THE PLIOCENE</h2> +<p>I wash my hands of him at the start. I cannot father his tales, +nor will I be responsible for them. I make these preliminary reservations, +observe, as a guard upon my own integrity. I possess a certain +definite position in a small way, also a wife; and for the good name +of the community that honours my existence with its approval, and for +the sake of her posterity and mine, I cannot take the chances I once +did, nor foster probabilities with the careless improvidence of youth. +So, I repeat, I wash my hands of him, this Nimrod, this mighty hunter, +this homely, blue-eyed, freckle-faced Thomas Stevens.</p> +<p>Having been honest to myself, and to whatever prospective olive branches +my wife may be pleased to tender me, I can now afford to be generous. +I shall not criticize the tales told me by Thomas Stevens, and, further, +I shall withhold my judgment. If it be asked why, I can only add +that judgment I have none. Long have I pondered, weighed, and +balanced, but never have my conclusions been twice the same—forsooth! +because Thomas Stevens is a greater man than I. If he have told +truths, well and good; if untruths, still well and good. For who +can prove? or who disprove? I eliminate myself from the proposition, +while those of little faith may do as I have done—go find the +same Thomas Stevens, and discuss to his face the various matters which, +if fortune serve, I shall relate. As to where he may be found? +The directions are simple: anywhere between 53 north latitude and the +Pole, on the one hand; and, on the other, the likeliest hunting grounds +that lie between the east coast of Siberia and farthermost Labrador. +That he is there, somewhere, within that clearly defined territory, +I pledge the word of an honourable man whose expectations entail straight +speaking and right living.</p> +<p>Thomas Stevens may have toyed prodigiously with truth, but when we +first met (it were well to mark this point), he wandered into my camp +when I thought myself a thousand miles beyond the outermost post of +civilization. At the sight of his human face, the first in weary +months, I could have sprung forward and folded him in my arms (and I +am not by any means a demonstrative man); but to him his visit seemed +the most casual thing under the sun. He just strolled into the +light of my camp, passed the time of day after the custom of men on +beaten trails, threw my snowshoes the one way and a couple of dogs the +other, and so made room for himself by the fire. Said he’d +just dropped in to borrow a pinch of soda and to see if I had any decent +tobacco. He plucked forth an ancient pipe, loaded it with painstaking +care, and, without as much as by your leave, whacked half the tobacco +of my pouch into his. Yes, the stuff was fairly good. He +sighed with the contentment of the just, and literally absorbed the +smoke from the crisping yellow flakes, and it did my smoker’s +heart good to behold him.</p> +<p>Hunter? Trapper? Prospector? He shrugged his shoulders +No; just sort of knocking round a bit. Had come up from the Great +Slave some time since, and was thinking of trapsing over into the Yukon +country. The factor of Koshim had spoken about the discoveries +on the Klondike, and he was of a mind to run over for a peep. +I noticed that he spoke of the Klondike in the archaic vernacular, calling +it the Reindeer River—a conceited custom that the Old Timers employ +against the <i>che</i>-<i>chaquas</i> and all tenderfeet in general. +But he did it so naively and as such a matter of course, that there +was no sting, and I forgave him. He also had it in view, he said, +before he crossed the divide into the Yukon, to make a little run up +Fort o’ Good Hope way.</p> +<p>Now Fort o’ Good Hope is a far journey to the north, over and +beyond the Circle, in a place where the feet of few men have trod; and +when a nondescript ragamuffin comes in out of the night, from nowhere +in particular, to sit by one’s fire and discourse on such in terms +of “trapsing” and “a little run,” it is fair +time to rouse up and shake off the dream. Wherefore I looked about +me; saw the fly and, underneath, the pine boughs spread for the sleeping +furs; saw the grub sacks, the camera, the frosty breaths of the dogs +circling on the edge of the light; and, above, a great streamer of the +aurora, bridging the zenith from south-east to north-west. I shivered. +There is a magic in the Northland night, that steals in on one like +fevers from malarial marshes. You are clutched and downed before +you are aware. Then I looked to the snowshoes, lying prone and +crossed where he had flung them. Also I had an eye to my tobacco +pouch. Half, at least, of its goodly store had vamosed. +That settled it. Fancy had not tricked me after all.</p> +<p>Crazed with suffering, I thought, looking steadfastly at the man—one +of those wild stampeders, strayed far from his bearings and wandering +like a lost soul through great vastnesses and unknown deeps. Oh, +well, let his moods slip on, until, mayhap, he gathers his tangled wits +together. Who knows?—the mere sound of a fellow-creature’s +voice may bring all straight again.</p> +<p>So I led him on in talk, and soon I marvelled, for he talked of game +and the ways thereof. He had killed the Siberian wolf of westernmost +Alaska, and the chamois in the secret Rockies. He averred he knew +the haunts where the last buffalo still roamed; that he had hung on +the flanks of the caribou when they ran by the hundred thousand, and +slept in the Great Barrens on the musk-ox’s winter trail.</p> +<p>And I shifted my judgment accordingly (the first revision, but by +no account the last), and deemed him a monumental effigy of truth. +Why it was I know not, but the spirit moved me to repeat a tale told +to me by a man who had dwelt in the land too long to know better. +It was of the great bear that hugs the steep slopes of St Elias, never +descending to the levels of the gentler inclines. Now God so constituted +this creature for its hillside habitat that the legs of one side are +all of a foot longer than those of the other. This is mighty convenient, +as will be reality admitted. So I hunted this rare beast in my +own name, told it in the first person, present tense, painted the requisite +locale, gave it the necessary garnishings and touches of verisimilitude, +and looked to see the man stunned by the recital.</p> +<p>Not he. Had he doubted, I could have forgiven him. Had +he objected, denying the dangers of such a hunt by virtue of the animal’s +inability to turn about and go the other way—had he done this, +I say, I could have taken him by the hand for the true sportsman that +he was. Not he. He sniffed, looked on me, and sniffed again; +then gave my tobacco due praise, thrust one foot into my lap, and bade +me examine the gear. It was a <i>mucluc</i> of the Innuit pattern, +sewed together with sinew threads, and devoid of beads or furbelows. +But it was the skin itself that was remarkable. In that it was +all of half an inch thick, it reminded me of walrus-hide; but there +the resemblance ceased, for no walrus ever bore so marvellous a growth +of hair. On the side and ankles this hair was well-nigh worn away, +what of friction with underbrush and snow; but around the top and down +the more sheltered back it was coarse, dirty black, and very thick. +I parted it with difficulty and looked beneath for the fine fur that +is common with northern animals, but found it in this case to be absent. +This, however, was compensated for by the length. Indeed, the +tufts that had survived wear and tear measured all of seven or eight +inches.</p> +<p>I looked up into the man’s face, and he pulled his foot down +and asked, “Find hide like that on your St Elias bear?”</p> +<p>I shook my head. “Nor on any other creature of land or +sea,” I answered candidly. The thickness of it, and the +length of the hair, puzzled me.</p> +<p>“That,” he said, and said without the slightest hint +of impressiveness, “that came from a mammoth.”</p> +<p>“Nonsense!” I exclaimed, for I could not forbear the +protest of my unbelief. “The mammoth, my dear sir, long +ago vanished from the earth. We know it once existed by the fossil +remains that we have unearthed, and by a frozen carcase that the Siberian +sun saw fit to melt from out the bosom of a glacier; but we also know +that no living specimen exists. Our explorers—”</p> +<p>At this word he broke in impatiently. “Your explorers? +Pish! A weakly breed. Let us hear no more of them. +But tell me, O man, what you may know of the mammoth and his ways.”</p> +<p>Beyond contradiction, this was leading to a yarn; so I baited my +hook by ransacking my memory for whatever data I possessed on the subject +in hand. To begin with, I emphasized that the animal was prehistoric, +and marshalled all my facts in support of this. I mentioned the +Siberian sand-bars that abounded with ancient mammoth bones; spoke of +the large quantities of fossil ivory purchased from the Innuits by the +Alaska Commercial Company; and acknowledged having myself mined six- +and eight-foot tusks from the pay gravel of the Klondike creeks. +“All fossils,” I concluded, “found in the midst of +<i>débris</i> deposited through countless ages.”</p> +<p>“I remember when I was a kid,” Thomas Stevens sniffed +(he had a most confounded way of sniffing), “that I saw a petrified +water-melon. Hence, though mistaken persons sometimes delude themselves +into thinking that they are really raising or eating them, there are +no such things as extant water-melons?”</p> +<p>“But the question of food,” I objected, ignoring his +point, which was puerile and without bearing. “The soil +must bring forth vegetable life in lavish abundance to support so monstrous +creations. Nowhere in the North is the soil so prolific. +Ergo, the mammoth cannot exist.”</p> +<p>“I pardon your ignorance concerning many matters of this Northland, +for you are a young man and have travelled little; but, at the same +time, I am inclined to agree with you on one thing. The mammoth +no longer exists. How do I know? I killed the last one with +my own right arm.”</p> +<p>Thus spake Nimrod, the mighty Hunter. I threw a stick of firewood +at the dogs and bade them quit their unholy howling, and waited. +Undoubtedly this liar of singular felicity would open his mouth and +requite me for my St. Elias bear.</p> +<p>“It was this way,” he at last began, after the appropriate +silence had intervened. “I was in camp one day—”</p> +<p>“Where?” I interrupted.</p> +<p>He waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the north-east, where +stretched a <i>terra</i> <i>incognita</i> into which vastness few men +have strayed and fewer emerged. “I was in camp one day with +Klooch. Klooch was as handsome a little <i>kamooks</i> as ever +whined betwixt the traces or shoved nose into a camp kettle. Her +father was a full-blood Malemute from Russian Pastilik on Bering Sea, +and I bred her, and with understanding, out of a clean-legged bitch +of the Hudson Bay stock. I tell you, O man, she was a corker combination. +And now, on this day I have in mind, she was brought to pup through +a pure wild wolf of the woods—grey, and long of limb, with big +lungs and no end of staying powers. Say! Was there ever +the like? It was a new breed of dog I had started, and I could +look forward to big things.</p> +<p>“As I have said, she was brought neatly to pup, and safely +delivered. I was squatting on my hams over the litter—seven +sturdy, blind little beggars—when from behind came a bray of trumpets +and crash of brass. There was a rush, like the wind-squall that +kicks the heels of the rain, and I was midway to my feet when knocked +flat on my face. At the same instant I heard Klooch sigh, very +much as a man does when you’ve planted your fist in his belly. +You can stake your sack I lay quiet, but I twisted my head around and +saw a huge bulk swaying above me. Then the blue sky flashed into +view and I got to my feet. A hairy mountain of flesh was just +disappearing in the underbrush on the edge of the open. I caught +a rear-end glimpse, with a stiff tail, as big in girth as my body, standing +out straight behind. The next second only a tremendous hole remained +in the thicket, though I could still hear the sounds as of a tornado +dying quickly away, underbrush ripping and tearing, and trees snapping +and crashing.</p> +<p>“I cast about for my rifle. It had been lying on the +ground with the muzzle against a log; but now the stock was smashed, +the barrel out of line, and the working-gear in a thousand bits. +Then I looked for the slut, and—and what do you suppose?”</p> +<p>I shook my head.</p> +<p>“May my soul burn in a thousand hells if there was anything +left of her! Klooch, the seven sturdy, blind little beggars—gone, +all gone. Where she had stretched was a slimy, bloody depression +in the soft earth, all of a yard in diameter, and around the edges a +few scattered hairs.”</p> +<p>I measured three feet on the snow, threw about it a circle, and glanced +at Nimrod.</p> +<p>“The beast was thirty long and twenty high,” he answered, +“and its tusks scaled over six times three feet. I couldn’t +believe, myself, at the time, for all that it had just happened. +But if my senses had played me, there was the broken gun and the hole +in the brush. And there was—or, rather, there was not—Klooch +and the pups. O man, it makes me hot all over now when I think +of it Klooch! Another Eve! The mother of a new race! +And a rampaging, ranting, old bull mammoth, like a second flood, wiping +them, root and branch, off the face of the earth! Do you wonder +that the blood-soaked earth cried out to high God? Or that I grabbed +the hand-axe and took the trail?”</p> +<p>“The hand-axe?” I exclaimed, startled out of myself by +the picture. “The hand-axe, and a big bull mammoth, thirty +feet long, twenty feet—”</p> +<p>Nimrod joined me in my merriment, chuckling gleefully. “Wouldn’t +it kill you?” he cried. “Wasn’t it a beaver’s +dream? Many’s the time I’ve laughed about it since, +but at the time it was no laughing matter, I was that danged mad, what +of the gun and Klooch. Think of it, O man! A brand-new, +unclassified, uncopyrighted breed, and wiped out before ever it opened +its eyes or took out its intention papers! Well, so be it. +Life’s full of disappointments, and rightly so. Meat is +best after a famine, and a bed soft after a hard trail.</p> +<p>“As I was saying, I took out after the beast with the hand-axe, +and hung to its heels down the valley; but when he circled back toward +the head, I was left winded at the lower end. Speaking of grub, +I might as well stop long enough to explain a couple of points. +Up thereabouts, in the midst of the mountains, is an almighty curious +formation. There is no end of little valleys, each like the other +much as peas in a pod, and all neatly tucked away with straight, rocky +walls rising on all sides. And at the lower ends are always small +openings where the drainage or glaciers must have broken out. +The only way in is through these mouths, and they are all small, and +some smaller than others. As to grub—you’ve slushed +around on the rain-soaked islands of the Alaskan coast down Sitka way, +most likely, seeing as you’re a traveller. And you know +how stuff grows there—big, and juicy, and jungly. Well, +that’s the way it was with those valleys. Thick, rich soil, +with ferns and grasses and such things in patches higher than your head. +Rain three days out of four during the summer months; and food in them +for a thousand mammoths, to say nothing of small game for man.</p> +<p>“But to get back. Down at the lower end of the valley +I got winded and gave over. I began to speculate, for when my +wind left me my dander got hotter and hotter, and I knew I’d never +know peace of mind till I dined on roasted mammoth-foot. And I +knew, also, that that stood for <i>skookum</i> <i>mamook</i> <i>pukapuk</i>—excuse +Chinook, I mean there was a big fight coming. Now the mouth of +my valley was very narrow, and the walls steep. High up on one +side was one of those big pivot rocks, or balancing rocks, as some call +them, weighing all of a couple of hundred tons. Just the thing. +I hit back for camp, keeping an eye open so the bull couldn’t +slip past, and got my ammunition. It wasn’t worth anything +with the rifle smashed; so I opened the shells, planted the powder under +the rock, and touched it off with slow fuse. Wasn’t much +of a charge, but the old boulder tilted up lazily and dropped down into +place, with just space enough to let the creek drain nicely. Now +I had him.”</p> +<p>“But how did you have him?” I queried. “Who +ever heard of a man killing a mammoth with a hand-axe? And, for +that matter, with anything else?”</p> +<p>“O man, have I not told you I was mad?” Nimrod replied, +with a slight manifestation of sensitiveness. “Mad clean +through, what of Klooch and the gun. Also, was I not a hunter? +And was this not new and most unusual game? A hand-axe? +Pish! I did not need it. Listen, and you shall hear of a +hunt, such as might have happened in the youth of the world when cavemen +rounded up the kill with hand-axe of stone. Such would have served +me as well. Now is it not a fact that man can outwalk the dog +or horse? That he can wear them out with the intelligence of his +endurance?”</p> +<p>I nodded.</p> +<p>“Well?”</p> +<p>The light broke in on me, and I bade him continue.</p> +<p>“My valley was perhaps five miles around. The mouth was +closed. There was no way to get out. A timid beast was that +bull mammoth, and I had him at my mercy. I got on his heels again +hollered like a fiend, pelted him with cobbles, and raced him around +the valley three times before I knocked off for supper. Don’t +you see? A race-course! A man and a mammoth! A hippodrome, +with sun, moon, and stars to referee!</p> +<p>“It took me two months to do it, but I did it. And that’s +no beaver dream. Round and round I ran him, me travelling on the +inner circle, eating jerked meat and salmon berries on the run, and +snatching winks of sleep between. Of course, he’d get desperate +at times and turn. Then I’d head for soft ground where the +creek spread out, and lay anathema upon him and his ancestry, and dare +him to come on. But he was too wise to bog in a mud puddle. +Once he pinned me in against the walls, and I crawled back into a deep +crevice and waited. Whenever he felt for me with his trunk, I’d +belt him with the hand-axe till he pulled out, shrieking fit to split +my ear drums, he was that mad. He knew he had me and didn’t +have me, and it near drove him wild. But he was no man’s +fool. He knew he was safe as long as I stayed in the crevice, +and he made up his mind to keep me there. And he was dead right, +only he hadn’t figured on the commissary. There was neither +grub nor water around that spot, so on the face of it he couldn’t +keep up the siege. He’d stand before the opening for hours, +keeping an eye on me and flapping mosquitoes away with his big blanket +ears. Then the thirst would come on him and he’d ramp round +and roar till the earth shook, calling me every name he could lay tongue +to. This was to frighten me, of course; and when he thought I +was sufficiently impressed, he’d back away softly and try to make +a sneak for the creek. Sometimes I’d let him get almost +there—only a couple of hundred yards away it was—when out +I’d pop and back he’d come, lumbering along like the old +landslide he was. After I’d done this a few times, and he’d +figured it out, he changed his tactics. Grasped the time element, +you see. Without a word of warning, away he’d go, tearing +for the water like mad, scheming to get there and back before I ran +away. Finally, after cursing me most horribly, he raised the siege +and deliberately stalked off to the water-hole.</p> +<p>“That was the only time he penned me,—three days of it,—but +after that the hippodrome never stopped. Round, and round, and +round, like a six days’ go-as-I-please, for he never pleased. +My clothes went to rags and tatters, but I never stopped to mend, till +at last I ran naked as a son of earth, with nothing but the old hand-axe +in one hand and a cobble in the other. In fact, I never stopped, +save for peeps of sleep in the crannies and ledges of the cliffs. +As for the bull, he got perceptibly thinner and thinner—must have +lost several tons at least—and as nervous as a schoolmarm on the +wrong side of matrimony. When I’d come up with him and yell, +or lain him with a rock at long range, he’d jump like a skittish +colt and tremble all over. Then he’d pull out on the run, +tail and trunk waving stiff, head over one shoulder and wicked eyes +blazing, and the way he’d swear at me was something dreadful. +A most immoral beast he was, a murderer, and a blasphemer.</p> +<p>“But towards the end he quit all this, and fell to whimpering +and crying like a baby. His spirit broke and he became a quivering +jelly-mountain of misery. He’d get attacks of palpitation +of the heart, and stagger around like a drunken man, and fall down and +bark his shins. And then he’d cry, but always on the run. +O man, the gods themselves would have wept with him, and you yourself +or any other man. It was pitiful, and there was so I much of it, +but I only hardened my heart and hit up the pace. At last I wore +him clean out, and he lay down, broken-winded, broken-hearted, hungry, +and thirsty. When I found he wouldn’t budge, I hamstrung +him, and spent the better part of the day wading into him with the hand-axe, +he a-sniffing and sobbing till I worked in far enough to shut him off. +Thirty feet long he was, and twenty high, and a man could sling a hammock +between his tusks and sleep comfortably. Barring the fact that +I had run most of the juices out of him, he was fair eating, and his +four feet, alone, roasted whole, would have lasted a man a twelvemonth. +I spent the winter there myself.”</p> +<p>“And where is this valley?” I asked</p> +<p>He waved his hand in the direction of the north-east, and said: “Your +tobacco is very good. I carry a fair share of it in my pouch, +but I shall carry the recollection of it until I die. In token +of my appreciation, and in return for the moccasins on your own feet, +I will present to you these <i>muclucs</i>. They commemorate Klooch +and the seven blind little beggars. They are also souvenirs of +an unparalleled event in history, namely, the destruction of the oldest +breed of animal on earth, and the youngest. And their chief virtue +lies in that they will never wear out.”</p> +<p>Having effected the exchange, he knocked the ashes from his pipe, +gripped my hand good-night, and wandered off through the snow. +Concerning this tale, for which I have already disclaimed responsibility, +I would recommend those of little faith to make a visit to the Smithsonian +Institute. If they bring the requisite credentials and do not +come in vacation time, they will undoubtedly gain an audience with Professor +Dolvidson. The <i>muclucs</i> are in his possession, and he will +verify, not the manner in which they were obtained, but the material +of which they are composed. When he states that they are made +from the skin of the mammoth, the scientific world accepts his verdict. +What more would you have?</p> +<h2>A HYPERBOREAN BREW</h2> +<p>[The story of a scheming white man among the strange people who live +on the rim of the Arctic sea]</p> +<p>Thomas Stevens’s veracity may have been indeterminate as <i>x</i>, +and his imagination the imagination of ordinary men increased to the +nth power, but this, at least, must be said: never did he deliver himself +of word nor deed that could be branded as a lie outright. . . He may +have played with probability, and verged on the extremest edge of possibility, +but in his tales the machinery never creaked. That he knew the +Northland like a book, not a soul can deny. That he was a great +traveller, and had set foot on countless unknown trails, many evidences +affirm. Outside of my own personal knowledge, I knew men that +had met him everywhere, but principally on the confines of Nowhere. +There was Johnson, the ex-Hudson Bay Company factor, who had housed +him in a Labrador factory until his dogs rested up a bit, and he was +able to strike out again. There was McMahon, agent for the Alaska +Commercial Company, who had run across him in Dutch Harbour, and later +on, among the outlying islands of the Aleutian group. It was indisputable +that he had guided one of the earlier United States surveys, and history +states positively that in a similar capacity he served the Western Union +when it attempted to put through its trans-Alaskan and Siberian telegraph +to Europe. Further, there was Joe Lamson, the whaling captain, +who, when ice-bound off the mouth of the Mackenzie, had had him come +aboard after tobacco. This last touch proves Thomas Stevens’s +identity conclusively. His quest for tobacco was perennial and +untiring. Ere we became fairly acquainted, I learned to greet +him with one hand, and pass the pouch with the other. But the +night I met him in John O’Brien’s Dawson saloon, his head +was wreathed in a nimbus of fifty-cent cigar smoke, and instead of my +pouch he demanded my sack. We were standing by a faro table, and +forthwith he tossed it upon the “high card.” “Fifty,” +he said, and the game-keeper nodded. The “high card” +turned, and he handed back my sack, called for a “tab,” +and drew me over to the scales, where the weigher nonchalantly cashed +him out fifty dollars in dust.</p> +<p>“And now we’ll drink,” he said; and later, at the +bar, when he lowered his glass: “Reminds me of a little brew I +had up Tattarat way. No, you have no knowledge of the place, nor +is it down on the charts. But it’s up by the rim of the +Arctic Sea, not so many hundred miles from the American line, and all +of half a thousand God-forsaken souls live there, giving and taking +in marriage, and starving and dying in-between-whiles. Explorers +have overlooked them, and you will not find them in the census of 1890. +A whale-ship was pinched there once, but the men, who had made shore +over the ice, pulled out for the south and were never heard of.</p> +<p>“But it was a great brew we had, Moosu and I,” he added +a moment later, with just the slightest suspicion of a sigh.</p> +<p>I knew there were big deeds and wild doings behind that sigh, so +I haled him into a corner, between a roulette outfit and a poker layout, +and waited for his tongue to thaw.</p> +<p>“Had one objection to Moosu,” he began, cocking his head +meditatively—“one objection, and only one. He was +an Indian from over on the edge of the Chippewyan country, but the trouble +was, he’d picked up a smattering of the Scriptures. Been +campmate a season with a renegade French Canadian who’d studied +for the church. Moosu’d never seen applied Christianity, +and his head was crammed with miracles, battles, and dispensations, +and what not he didn’t understand. Otherwise he was a good +sort, and a handy man on trail or over a fire.</p> +<p>“We’d had a hard time together and were badly knocked +out when we plumped upon Tattarat. Lost outfits and dogs crossing +a divide in a fall blizzard, and our bellies clove to our backs and +our clothes were in rags when we crawled into the village. They +weren’t much surprised at seeing us—because of the whalemen—and +gave us the meanest shack in the village to live in, and the worst of +their leavings to live on. What struck me at the time as strange +was that they left us strictly alone. But Moosu explained it.</p> +<p>“‘Shaman <i>sick</i> <i>tumtum</i>,’ he said, meaning +the shaman, or medicine man, was jealous, and had advised the people +to have nothing to do with us. From the little he’d seen +of the whalemen, he’d learned that mine was a stronger race, and +a wiser; so he’d only behaved as shamans have always behaved the +world over. And before I get done, you’ll see how near right +he was.</p> +<p>“‘These people have a law,’ said Mosu: ‘whoso +eats of meat must hunt. We be awkward, you and I, O master, in +the weapons of this country; nor can we string bows nor fling spears +after the manner approved. Wherefore the shaman and Tummasook, +who is chief, have put their heads together, and it has been decreed +that we work with the women and children in dragging in the meat and +tending the wants of the hunters.’</p> +<p>“‘And this is very wrong,’ I made to answer; ‘for +we be better men, Moosu, than these people who walk in darkness. +Further, we should rest and grow strong, for the way south is long, +and on that trail the weak cannot prosper.’”</p> +<p>“‘But we have nothing,’ he objected, looking about +him at the rotten timbers of the igloo, the stench of the ancient walrus +meat that had been our supper disgusting his nostrils. ‘And +on this fare we cannot thrive. We have nothing save the bottle +of “pain-killer,” which will not fill emptiness, so we must +bend to the yoke of the unbeliever and become hewers of wood and drawers +of water. And there be good things in this place, the which we +may not have. Ah, master, never has my nose lied to me, and I +have followed it to secret caches and among the fur-bales of the igloos. +Good provender did these people extort from the poor whalemen, and this +provender has wandered into few hands. The woman Ipsukuk, who +dwelleth in the far end of the village next she igloo of the chief, +possesseth much flour and sugar, and even have my eyes told me of molasses +smeared on her face. And in the igloo of Tummasook, the chief, +there be tea—have I not seen the old pig guzzling? And the +shaman owneth a caddy of “Star” and two buckets of prime +smoking. And what have we? Nothing! Nothing!’</p> +<p>“But I was stunned by the word he brought of the tobacco, and +made no answer.</p> +<p>“And Moosu, what of his own desire, broke silence: ‘And +there be Tukeliketa, daughter of a big hunter and wealthy man. +A likely girl. Indeed, a very nice girl.’</p> +<p>“I figured hard during the night while Moosu snored, for I +could not bear the thought of the tobacco so near which I could not +smoke. True, as he had said, we had nothing. But the way +became clear to me, and in the morning I said to him: ‘Go thou +cunningly abroad, after thy fashion, and procure me some sort of bone, +crooked like a gooseneck, and hollow. Also, walk humbly, but have +eyes awake to the lay of pots and pans and cooking contrivances. +And remember, mine is the white man’s wisdom, and do what I have +bid you, with sureness and despatch.’</p> +<p>“While he was away I placed the whale-oil cooking lamp in the +middle of the igloo, and moved the mangy sleeping furs back that I might +have room. Then I took apart his gun and put the barrel by handy, +and afterwards braided many wicks from the cotton that the women gather +wild in the summer. When he came back, it was with the bone I +had commanded, and with news that in the igloo of Tummasook there was +a five-gallon kerosene can and a big copper kettle. So I said +he had done well and we would tarry through the day. And when +midnight was near I made harangue to him.</p> +<p>“‘This chief, this Tummasook, hath a copper kettle, likewise +a kerosene can.’ I put a rock, smooth and wave-washed, in +Moosu’s hand. ‘The camp is hushed and the stars are +winking. Go thou, creep into the chief’s igloo softly, and +smite him thus upon the belly, and hard. And let the meat and +good grub of the days to come put strength into thine arm. There +will be uproar and outcry, and the village will come hot afoot. +But be thou unafraid. Veil thy movements and lose thy form in +the obscurity of the night and the confusion of men. And when +the woman Ipsukuk is anigh thee,—she who smeareth her face with +molasses,—do thou smite her likewise, and whosoever else that +possesseth flour and cometh to thy hand. Then do thou lift thy +voice in pain and double up with clasped hands, and make outcry in token +that thou, too, hast felt the visitation of the night. And in +this way shall we achieve honour and great possessions, and the caddy +of “Star” and the prime smoking, and thy Tukeliketa, who +is a likely maiden.’</p> +<p>“When he had departed on this errand, I bided patiently in +the shack, and the tobacco seemed very near. Then there was a +cry of affright in the night, that became an uproar and assailed the +sky. I seized the ‘pain-killer’ and ran forth. +There was much noise, and a wailing among the women, and fear sat heavily +on all. Tummasook and the woman Ipsukuk rolled on the ground in +pain, and with them there were divers others, also Moosu. I thrust +aside those that cluttered the way of my feet, and put the mouth of +the bottle to Moosu’s lips. And straightway he became well +and ceased his howling. Whereat there was a great clamour for +the bottle from the others so stricken. But I made harangue, and +ere they tasted and were made well I had mulcted Tummasook of his copper +kettle and kerosene can, and the woman Ipsukuk of her sugar and molasses, +and the other sick ones of goodly measures of flour. The shaman +glowered wickedly at the people around my knees, though he poorly concealed +the wonder that lay beneath. But I held my head high, and Moosu +groaned beneath the loot as he followed my heels to the shack.</p> +<p>“There I set to work. In Tummasook’s copper kettle +I mixed three quarts of wheat flour with five of molasses, and to this +I added of water twenty quarts. Then I placed the kettle near +the lamp, that it might sour in the warmth and grow strong. Moosu +understood, and said my wisdom passed understanding and was greater +than Solomon’s, who he had heard was a wise man of old time. +The kerosene can I set over the lamp, and to its nose I affixed a snout, +and into the snout the bone that was like a gooseneck. I sent +Moosu without to pound ice, while I connected the barrel of his gun +with the gooseneck, and midway on the barrel I piled the ice he had +pounded. And at the far end of the gun-barrel, beyond the pan +of ice, I placed a small iron pot. When the brew was strong enough +(and it was two days ere it could stand on its own legs), I filled the +kerosene can with it, and lighted the wicks I had braided.</p> +<p>“Now that all was ready, I spoke to Moosu. ‘Go +forth,’ I said, ‘to the chief men of the village, and give +them greeting, and bid them come into my igloo and sleep the night away +with me and the gods.’</p> +<p>“The brew was singing merrily when they began shoving aside +the skin flap and crawling in, and I was heaping cracked ice on the +gun-barrel. Out of the priming hole at the far end, drip, drip, +drip into the iron pot fell the liquor—<i>hooch</i>, you know. +But they’d never seen the like, and giggled nervously when I made +harangue about its virtues. As I talked I noted the jealousy in +the shaman’s eye, so when I had done, I placed him side by side +with Tummasook and the woman Ipsukuk. Then I gave them to drink, +and their eyes watered and their stomachs warmed, till from being afraid +they reached greedily for more; and when I had them well started, I +turned to the others. Tummasook made a brag about how he had once +killed a polar bear, and in the vigour of his pantomime nearly slew +his mother’s brother. But nobody heeded. The woman +Ipsukuk fell to weeping for a son lost long years agone in the ice, +and the shaman made incantation and prophecy. So it went, and +before morning they were all on the floor, sleeping soundly with the +gods.</p> +<p>“The story tells itself, does it not? The news of the +magic potion spread. It was too marvellous for utterance. +Tongues could tell but a tithe of the miracles it performed. It +eased pain, gave surcease to sorrow, brought back old memories, dead +faces, and forgotten dreams. It was a fire that ate through all +the blood, and, burning, burned not. It stoutened the heart, stiffened +the back, and made men more than men. It revealed the future, +and gave visions and prophecy. It brimmed with wisdom and unfolded +secrets. There was no end of the things it could do, and soon +there was a clamouring on all hands to sleep with the gods. They +brought their warmest furs, their strongest dogs, their best meats; +but I sold the <i>hooch</i> with discretion, and only those were favoured +that brought flour and molasses and sugar. And such stores poured +in that I set Moosu to build a cache to hold them, for there was soon +no space in the igloo. Ere three days had passed Tummasook had +gone bankrupt. The shaman, who was never more than half drunk +after the first night, watched me closely and hung on for the better +part of the week. But before ten days were gone, even the woman +Ipsukuk exhausted her provisions, and went home weak and tottery.</p> +<p>“But Moosu complained. ‘O master,’ he said, +‘we have laid by great wealth in molasses and sugar and flour, +but our shack is yet mean, our clothes thin, and our sleeping furs mangy. +There is a call of the belly for meat the stench of which offends not +the stars, and for tea such as Tummasook guzzles, and there is a great +yearning for the tobacco of Neewak, who is shaman and who plans to destroy +us. I have flour until I am sick, and sugar and molasses without +stint, yet is the heart of Moosu sore and his bed empty.’</p> +<p>“‘Peace!’ I answered, ‘thou art weak of understanding +and a fool. Walk softly and wait, and we will grasp it all. +But grasp now, and we grasp little, and in the end it will be nothing. +Thou art a child in the way of the white man’s wisdom. Hold +thy tongue and watch, and I will show you the way my brothers do overseas, +and, so doing, gather to themselves the riches of the earth. It +is what is called “business,” and what dost thou know about +business?’</p> +<p>“But the next day he came in breathless. ‘O master, +a strange thing happeneth in the igloo of Neewak, the shaman; wherefore +we are lost, and we have neither worn the warm furs nor tasted the good +tobacco, what of your madness for the molasses and flour. Go thou +and witness whilst I watch by the brew.’</p> +<p>“So I went to the igloo of Neewak. And behold, he had +made his own still, fashioned cunningly after mine. And as he +beheld me he could ill conceal his triumph. For he was a man of +parts, and his sleep with the gods when in my igloo had not been sound.</p> +<p>“But I was not disturbed, for I knew what I knew, and when +I returned to my own igloo, I descanted to Moosu, and said: ‘Happily +the property right obtains amongst this people, who otherwise have been +blessed with but few of the institutions of men. And because of +this respect for property shall you and I wax fat, and, further, we +shall introduce amongst them new institutions that other peoples have +worked out through great travail and suffering.’</p> +<p>“But Moosu understood dimly, till the shaman came forth, with +eyes flashing and a threatening note in his voice, and demanded to trade +with me. ‘For look you,’ he cried, ‘there be +of flour and molasses none in all the village. The like have you +gathered with a shrewd hand from my people, who have slept with your +gods and who now have nothing save large heads, and weak knees, and +a thirst for cold water that they cannot quench. This is not good, +and my voice has power among them; so it were well that we trade, you +and I, even as you have traded with them, for molasses and flour.’</p> +<p>“And I made answer: ‘This be good talk, and wisdom abideth +in thy mouth. We will trade. For this much of flour and +molasses givest thou me the caddy of “Star” and the two +buckets of smoking.’</p> +<p>“And Moosu groaned, and when the trade was made and the shaman +departed, he upbraided me: ‘Now, because of thy madness are we, +indeed, lost! Neewak maketh <i>hooch</i> on his own account, and +when the time is ripe, he will command the people to drink of no <i>hooch</i> +but his hooch. And in this way are we undone, and our goods worthless, +and our igloo mean, and the bed of Moosu cold and empty!’</p> +<p>“And I answered: ‘By the body of the wolf, say I, thou +art a fool, and thy father before thee, and thy children after thee, +down to the last generation. Thy wisdom is worse than no wisdom +and thine eyes blinded to business, of which I have spoken and whereof +thou knowest nothing. Go, thou son of a thousand fools, and drink +of the hooch that Neewak brews in his igloo, and thank thy gods that +thou hast a white man’s wisdom to make soft the bed thou liest +in. Go! and when thou hast drunken, return with the taste still +on thy lips, that I may know.’</p> +<p>“And two days after, Neewak sent greeting and invitation to +his igloo. Moosu went, but I sat alone, with the song of the still +in my ears, and the air thick with the shaman’s tobacco; for trade +was slack that night, and no one dropped in but Angeit, a young hunter +that had faith in me. Later, Moosu came back, his speech thick +with chuckling and his eyes wrinkling with laughter.</p> +<p>“‘Thou art a great man,’ he said. ‘Thou +art a great man, O master, and because of thy greatness thou wilt not +condemn Moosu, thy servant, who ofttimes doubts and cannot be made to +understand.’</p> +<p>“‘And wherefore now?’ I demanded. ‘Hast +thou drunk overmuch? And are they sleeping sound in the igloo +of Neewak, the shaman?’</p> +<p>“‘Nay, they are angered and sore of body, and Chief Tummasook +has thrust his thumbs in the throat of Neewak, and sworn by the bones +of his ancestors to look upon his face no more. For behold! I +went to the igloo, and the brew simmered and bubbled, and the steam +journeyed through the gooseneck even as thy steam, and even as thine +it became water where it met the ice, and dropped into the pot at the +far end. And Neewak gave us to drink, and lo, it was not like +thine, for there was no bite to the tongue nor tingling to the eyeballs, +and of a truth it was water. So we drank, and we drank overmuch; +yet did we sit with cold hearts and solemn. And Neewak was perplexed +and a cloud came on his brow. And he took Tummasook and Ipsukuk +alone of all the company and set them apart, and bade them drink and +drink and drink. And they drank and drank and drank, and yet sat +solemn and cold, till Tummasook arose in wrath and demanded back the +furs and the tea he had paid. And Ipsukuk raised her voice, thin +and angry. And the company demanded back what they had given, +and there was a great commotion.’</p> +<p>“‘Does the son of a dog deem me a whale?’ demanded +Tummasook, shoving back the skin flap and standing erect, his face black +and his brows angry. ‘Wherefore I am filled, like a fish-bladder, +to bursting, till I can scarce walk, what of the weight within me. +Lalah! I have drunken as never before, yet are my eyes clear, +my knees strong, my hand steady.’</p> +<p>“‘The shaman cannot send us to sleep with the gods,’ +the people complained, stringing in and joining us, ‘and only +in thy igloo may the thing be done.’</p> +<p>“So I laughed to myself as I passed the <i>hooch</i> around +and the guests made merry. For in the flour I had traded to Neewak +I had mixed much soda that I had got from the woman Ipsukuk. So +how could his brew ferment when the soda kept it sweet? Or his +<i>hooch</i> be <i>hooch</i> when it would not sour?</p> +<p>“After that our wealth flowed in without let or hindrance. +Furs we had without number, and the fancy-work of the women, all of +the chief’s tea, and no end of meat. One day Moosu retold +for my benefit, and sadly mangled, the story of Joseph in Egypt, but +from it I got an idea, and soon I had half the tribe at work building +me great meat caches. And of all they hunted I got the lion’s +share and stored it away. Nor was Moosu idle. He made himself +a pack of cards from birch bark, and taught Neewak the way to play seven-up. +He also inveigled the father of Tukeliketa into the game. And +one day he married the maiden, and the next day he moved into the shaman’s +house, which was the finest in the village. The fall of Neewak +was complete, for he lost all his possessions, his walrus-hide drums, +his incantation tools—everything. And in the end he became +a hewer of wood and drawer of water at the beck and call of Moosu. +And Moosu—he set himself up as shaman, or high priest, and out +of his garbled Scripture created new gods and made incantation before +strange altars.</p> +<p>“And I was well pleased, for I thought it good that church +and state go hand in hand, and I had certain plans of my own concerning +the state. Events were shaping as I had foreseen. Good temper +and smiling faces had vanished from the village. The people were +morose and sullen. There were quarrels and fighting, and things +were in an uproar night and day. Moosu’s cards were duplicated +and the hunters fell to gambling among themselves. Tummasook beat +his wife horribly, and his mother’s brother objected and smote +him with a tusk of walrus till he cried aloud in the night and was shamed +before the people. Also, amid such diversions no hunting was done, +and famine fell upon the land. The nights were long and dark, +and without meat no <i>hooch</i> could be bought; so they murmured against +the chief. This I had played for, and when they were well and +hungry, I summoned the whole village, made a great harangue, posed as +patriarch, and fed the famishing. Moosu made harangue likewise, +and because of this and the thing I had done I was made chief. +Moosu, who had the ear of God and decreed his judgments, anointed me +with whale blubber, and right blubberly he did it, not understanding +the ceremony. And between us we interpreted to the people the +new theory of the divine right of kings. There was <i>hooch</i> +galore, and meat and feastings, and they took kindly to the new order.</p> +<p>“So you see, O man, I have sat in the high places, and worn +the purple, and ruled populations. And I might yet be a king had +the tobacco held out, or had Moosu been more fool and less knave. +For he cast eyes upon Esanetuk, eldest daughter to Tummasook, and I +objected.</p> +<p>“‘O brother,’ he explained, ‘thou hast seen +fit to speak of introducing new institutions amongst this people, and +I have listened to thy words and gained wisdom thereby. Thou rulest +by the God-given right, and by the God-given right I marry.’</p> +<p>“I noted that he ‘brothered’ me, and was angry +and put my foot down. But he fell back upon the people and made +incantations for three days, in which all hands joined; and then, speaking +with the voice of God, he decreed polygamy by divine fiat. But +he was shrewd, for he limited the number of wives by a property qualification, +and because of which he, above all men, was favoured by his wealth. +Nor could I fail to admire, though it was plain that power had turned +his head, and he would not be satisfied till all the power and all the +wealth rested in his own hands. So he became swollen with pride, +forgot it was I that had placed him there, and made preparations to +destroy me.</p> +<p>“But it was interesting, for the beggar was working out in +his own way an evolution of primitive society. Now I, by virtue +of the <i>hooch</i> monopoly, drew a revenue in which I no longer permitted +him to share. So he meditated for a while and evolved a system +of ecclesiastical taxation. He laid tithes upon the people, harangued +about fat firstlings and such things, and twisted whatever twisted texts +he had ever heard to serve his purpose. Even this I bore in silence, +but when he instituted what may be likened to a graduated income-tax, +I rebelled, and blindly, for this was what he worked for. Thereat, +he appealed to the people, and they, envious of my great wealth and +well taxed themselves, upheld him. ‘Why should we pay,’ +they asked, ‘and not you? Does not the voice of God speak +through the lips of Moosu, the shaman?’ So I yielded. +But at the same time I raised the price of hooch, and lo, he was not +a whit behind me in raising my taxes.</p> +<p>“Then there was open war. I made a play for Neewak and +Tummasook, because of the traditionary rights they possessed; but Moosu +won out by creating a priesthood and giving them both high office. +The problem of authority presented itself to him, and he worked it out +as it has often been worked before. There was my mistake. +I should have been made shaman, and he chief; but I saw it too late, +and in the clash of spiritual and temporal power I was bound to be worsted. +A great controversy waged, but it quickly became one-sided. The +people remembered that he had anointed me, and it was clear to them +that the source of my authority lay, not in me, but in Moosu. +Only a few faithful ones clung to me, chief among whom Angeit was; while +he headed the popular party and set whispers afloat that I had it in +mind to overthrow him and set up my own gods, which were most unrighteous +gods. And in this the clever rascal had anticipated me, for it +was just what I had intended—forsake my kingship, you see, and +fight spiritual with spiritual. So he frightened the people with +the iniquities of my peculiar gods—especially the one he named +‘Biz-e-Nass’—and nipped the scheme in the bud.</p> +<p>“Now, it happened that Kluktu, youngest daughter to Tummasook, +had caught my fancy, and I likewise hers. So I made overtures, +but the ex-chief refused bluntly—after I had paid the purchase +price—and informed me that she was set aside for Moosu. +This was too much, and I was half of a mind to go to his igloo and slay +him with my naked hands; but I recollected that the tobacco was near +gone, and went home laughing. The next day he made incantation, +and distorted the miracle of the loaves and fishes till it became prophecy, +and I, reading between the lines, saw that it was aimed at the wealth +of meat stored in my caches. The people also read between the +lines, and, as he did not urge them to go on the hunt, they remained +at home, and few caribou or bear were brought in.</p> +<p>“But I had plans of my own, seeing that not only the tobacco +but the flour and molasses were near gone. And further, I felt +it my duty to prove the white man’s wisdom and bring sore distress +to Moosu, who had waxed high-stomached, what of the power I had given +him. So that night I went to my meat caches and toiled mightily, +and it was noted next day that all the dogs of the village were lazy. +No one suspected, and I toiled thus every night, and the dogs grew fat +and fatter, and the people lean and leaner. They grumbled and +demanded the fulfilment of prophecy, but Moosu restrained them, waiting +for their hunger to grow yet greater. Nor did he dream, to the +very last, of the trick I had been playing on the empty caches.</p> +<p>“When all was ready, I sent Angeit, and the faithful ones whom +I had fed privily, through the village to call assembly. And the +tribe gathered on a great space of beaten snow before my door, with +the meat caches towering stilt-legged in the rear. Moosu came +also, standing on the inner edge of the circle opposite me, confident +that I had some scheme afoot, and prepared at the first break to down +me. But I arose, giving him salutation before all men.</p> +<p>“’O Moosu, thou blessed of God,’ I began, ‘doubtless +thou hast wondered in that I have called this convocation together; +and doubtless, because of my many foolishnesses, art thou prepared for +rash sayings and rash doings. Not so. It has been said, +that those the gods would destroy they first make mad. And I have +been indeed mad. I have crossed thy will, and scoffed at thy authority, +and done divers evil and wanton things. Wherefore, last night +a vision was vouchsafed me, and I have seen the wickedness of my ways. +And thou stoodst forth like a shining star, with brows aflame, and I +knew in mine own heart thy greatness. I saw all things clearly. +I knew that thou didst command the ear of God, and that when you spoke +he listened. And I remembered that whatever of the good deeds +that I had done, I had done through the grace of God, and the grace +of Moosu.</p> +<p>“‘Yes, my children,’ I cried, turning to the people, +‘whatever right I have done, and whatever good I have done, have +been because of the counsel of Moosu. When I listened to him, +affairs prospered; when I closed my ears, and acted according to my +folly, things came to folly. By his advice it was that I laid +my store of meat, and in time of darkness fed the famishing. By +his grace it was that I was made chief. And what have I done with +my chiefship? Let me tell you. I have done nothing. +My head was turned with power, and I deemed myself greater than Moosu, +and, behold I have come to grief. My rule has been unwise, and +the gods are angered. Lo, ye are pinched with famine, and the +mothers are dry-breasted, and the little babies cry through the long +nights. Nor do I, who have hardened my heart against Moosu, know +what shall be done, nor in what manner of way grub shall be had.’</p> +<p>“At this there was nodding and laughing, and the people put +their heads together, and I knew they whispered of the loaves and fishes. +I went on hastily. ‘So I was made aware of my foolishness +and of Moosu’s wisdom; of my own unfitness and of Moosu’s +fitness. And because of this, being no longer mad, I make acknowledgment +and rectify evil. I did cast unrighteous eyes upon Kluktu, and +lo, she was sealed to Moosu. Yet is she mine, for did I not pay +to Tummasook the goods of purchase? But I am well unworthy of +her, and she shall go from the igloo of her father to the igloo of Moosu. +Can the moon shine in the sunshine? And further, Tummasook shall +keep the goods of purchase, and she be a free gift to Moosu, whom God +hath ordained her rightful lord.</p> +<p>“‘And further yet, because I have used my wealth unwisely, +and to oppress ye, O my children, do I make gifts of the kerosene can +to Moosu, and the gooseneck, and the gun-barrel, and the copper kettle. +Therefore, I can gather to me no more possessions, and when ye are athirst +for <i>hooch</i>, he will quench ye and without robbery. For he +is a great man, and God speaketh through his lips.</p> +<p>“’And yet further, my heart is softened, and I have repented +me of my madness. I, who am a fool and a son of fools; I, who +am the slave of the bad god Biz-e-Nass; I, who see thy empty bellies +and knew not wherewith to fill them—why shall I be chief, and +sit above thee, and rule to thine own destruction? Why should +I do this, which is not good? But Moosu, who is shaman, and who +is wise above men, is so made that he can rule with a soft hand and +justly. And because of the things I have related do I make abdication +and give my chiefship to Moosu, who alone knoweth how ye may be fed +in this day when there be no meat in the land.’</p> +<p>“At this there was a great clapping of hands, and the people +cried, ‘<i>Kloshe</i>! <i>Kloshe</i>!’ which means +‘good.’ I had seen the wonder-worry in Moosu’s +eyes; for he could not understand, and was fearful of my white man’s +wisdom. I had met his wishes all along the line, and even anticipated +some; and standing there, self-shorn of all my power, he knew the time +did not favour to stir the people against me.</p> +<p>“Before they could disperse I made announcement that while +the still went to Moosu, whatever <i>hooch</i> I possessed went to the +people. Moosu tried to protest at this, for never had we permitted +more than a handful to be drunk at a time; but they cried, ‘<i>Kloshe</i>! +<i>Kloshe</i>!’ and made festival before my door. And while +they waxed uproarious without, as the liquor went to their heads, I +held council within with Angeit and the faithful ones. I set them +the tasks they were to do, and put into their mouths the words they +were to say. Then I slipped away to a place back in the woods +where I had two sleds, well loaded, with teams of dogs that were not +overfed. Spring was at hand, you see, and there was a crust to +the snow; so it was the best time to take the way south. Moreover, +the tobacco was gone. There I waited, for I had nothing to fear. +Did they bestir themselves on my trail, their dogs were too fat, and +themselves too lean, to overtake me; also, I deemed their bestirring +would be of an order for which I had made due preparation.</p> +<p>“First came a faithful one, running, and after him another. +‘O master,’ the first cried, breathless, ‘there be +great confusion in the village, and no man knoweth his own mind, and +they be of many minds. Everybody hath drunken overmuch, and some +be stringing bows, and some be quarrelling one with another. Never +was there such a trouble.’</p> +<p>“And the second one: ‘And I did as thou biddest, O master, +whispering shrewd words in thirsty ears, and raising memories of the +things that were of old time. The woman Ipsukuk waileth her poverty +and the wealth that no longer is hers. And Tummasook thinketh +himself once again chief, and the people are hungry and rage up and +down.’</p> +<p>“And a third one: ‘And Neewak hath overthrown the altars +of Moosu, and maketh incantation before the time-honoured and ancient +gods. And all the people remember the wealth that ran down their +throats, and which they possess no more. And first, Esanetuk, +who be <i>sick</i> <i>tumtum</i>, fought with Kluktu, and there was +much noise. And next, being daughters of the one mother, did they +fight with Tukeliketa. And after that did they three fall upon +Moosu, like wind-squalls, from every hand, till he ran forth from the +igloo, and the people mocked him. For a man who cannot command +his womankind is a fool.’</p> +<p>“Then came Angeit: ‘Great trouble hath befallen Moosu, +O master, for I have whispered to advantage, till the people came to +Moosu, saying they were hungry and demanding the fulfilment of prophecy. +And there was a loud shout of “Itlwillie! Itlwillie!” +(Meat.) So he cried peace to his womenfolk, who were overwrought +with anger and with hooch, and led the tribe even to thy meat caches. +And he bade the men open them and be fed. And lo, the caches were +empty. There was no meat. They stood without sound, the +people being frightened, and in the silence I lifted my voice. +“O Moosu, where is the meat? That there was meat we know. +Did we not hunt it and drag it in from the hunt? And it were a +lie to say one man hath eaten it; yet have we seen nor hide nor hair. +Where is the meat, O Moosu? Thou hast the ear of God. Where +is the meat?”</p> +<p>“‘And the people cried, “Thou hast the ear of God. +Where is the meat?” And they put their heads together and +were afraid. Then I went among them, speaking fearsomely of the +unknown things, of the dead that come and go like shadows and do evil +deeds, till they cried aloud in terror and gathered all together, like +little children afraid of the dark. Neewak made harangue, laying +this evil that had come upon them at the door of Moosu. When he +had done, there was a furious commotion, and they took spears in their +hands, and tusks of walrus, and clubs, and stones from the beach. +But Moosu ran away home, and because he had not drunken of <i>hooch</i> +they could not catch him, and fell one over another and made haste slowly. +Even now they do howl without his igloo, and his woman-folk within, +and what of the noise, he cannot make himself heard.’</p> +<p>“‘O Angeit, thou hast done well,’ I commanded. +‘Go now, taking this empty sled and the lean dogs, and ride fast +to the igloo of Moosu; and before the people, who are drunken, are aware, +throw him quick upon the sled and bring him to me.’</p> +<p>“I waited and gave good advice to the faithful ones till Angeit +returned. Moosu was on the sled, and I saw by the fingermarks +on his face that his womankind had done well by him. But he tumbled +off and fell in the snow at my feet, crying: ‘O master, thou wilt +forgive Moosu, thy servant, for the wrong things he has done! +Thou art a great man! Surely wilt thou forgive!’</p> +<p>“‘Call me “brother,” Moosu—call me +“brother,”’ I chided, lifting him to his feet with +the toe of my moccasin. ‘Wilt thou evermore obey?’</p> +<p>“‘Yea, master,’ he whimpered, ‘evermore.’</p> +<p>“‘Then dispose thy body, so, across the sled,’ +I shifted the dogwhip to my right hand. ‘And direct thy +face downwards, toward the snow. And make haste, for we journey +south this day.’ And when he was well fixed I laid the lash +upon him, reciting, at every stroke, the wrongs he had done me. ‘This +for thy disobedience in general—whack! And this for thy +disobedience in particular—whack! whack! And this for Esanetuk! +And this for thy soul’s welfare! And this for the grace +of thy authority! And this for Kluktu! And this for thy +rights God-given! And this for thy fat firstlings! And this +and this for thy income-tax and thy loaves and fishes! And this +for all thy disobedience! And this, finally, that thou mayest +henceforth walk softly and with understanding! Now cease thy sniffling +and get up! Gird on thy snowshoes and go to the fore and break +trail for the dogs. <i>Chook</i>! <i>Mush</i>-<i>on</i>! +Git!’”</p> +<p>Thomas Stevens smiled quietly to himself as he lighted his fifth +cigar and sent curling smoke-rings ceilingward.</p> +<p>“But how about the people of Tattarat?” I asked. +“Kind of rough, wasn’t it, to leave them flat with famine?”</p> +<p>And he answered, laughing, between two smoke-rings, “Were there +not the fat dogs?”</p> +<h2>THE FAITH OF MEN</h2> +<p>“Tell you what we’ll do; we’ll shake for it.”</p> +<p>“That suits me,” said the second man, turning, as he +spoke, to the Indian that was mending snowshoes in a corner of the cabin. +“Here, you Billebedam, take a run down to Oleson’s cabin +like a good fellow, and tell him we want to borrow his dice box.”</p> +<p>This sudden request in the midst of a council on wages of men, wood, +and grub surprised Billebedam. Besides, it was early in the day, +and he had never known white men of the calibre of Pentfield and Hutchinson +to dice and play till the day’s work was done. But his face +was impassive as a Yukon Indian’s should be, as he pulled on his +mittens and went out the door.</p> +<p>Though eight o’clock, it was still dark outside, and the cabin +was lighted by a tallow candle thrust into an empty whisky bottle. +It stood on the pine-board table in the middle of a disarray of dirty +tin dishes. Tallow from innumerable candles had dripped down the +long neck of the bottle and hardened into a miniature glacier. +The small room, which composed the entire cabin, was as badly littered +as the table; while at one end, against the wall, were two bunks, one +above the other, with the blankets turned down just as the two men had +crawled out in the morning.</p> +<p>Lawrence Pentfield and Corry Hutchinson were millionaires, though +they did not look it. There seemed nothing unusual about them, +while they would have passed muster as fair specimens of lumbermen in +any Michigan camp. But outside, in the darkness, where holes yawned +in the ground, were many men engaged in windlassing muck and gravel +and gold from the bottoms of the holes where other men received fifteen +dollars per day for scraping it from off the bedrock. Each day +thousands of dollars’ worth of gold were scraped from bedrock +and windlassed to the surface, and it all belonged to Pentfield and +Hutchinson, who took their rank among the richest kings of Bonanza.</p> +<p>Pentfield broke the silence that followed on Billebedam’s departure +by heaping the dirty plates higher on the table and drumming a tattoo +on the cleared space with his knuckles. Hutchinson snuffed the +smoky candle and reflectively rubbed the soot from the wick between +thumb and forefinger.</p> +<p>“By Jove, I wish we could both go out!” he abruptly exclaimed. +“That would settle it all.”</p> +<p>Pentfield looked at him darkly.</p> +<p>“If it weren’t for your cursed obstinacy, it’d +be settled anyway. All you have to do is get up and go. +I’ll look after things, and next year I can go out.”</p> +<p>“Why should I go? I’ve no one waiting for me—”</p> +<p>“Your people,” Pentfield broke in roughly.</p> +<p>“Like you have,” Hutchinson went on. “A girl, +I mean, and you know it.”</p> +<p>Pentfield shrugged his shoulders gloomily. “She can wait, +I guess.”</p> +<p>“But she’s been waiting two years now.”</p> +<p>“And another won’t age her beyond recognition.”</p> +<p>“That’d be three years. Think of it, old man, three +years in this end of the earth, this falling-off place for the damned!” +Hutchinson threw up his arm in an almost articulate groan.</p> +<p>He was several years younger than his partner, not more than twenty-six, +and there was a certain wistfulness in his face that comes into the +faces of men when they yearn vainly for the things they have been long +denied. This same wistfulness was in Pentfield’s face, and +the groan of it was articulate in the heave of his shoulders.</p> +<p>“I dreamed last night I was in Zinkand’s,” he said. +“The music playing, glasses clinking, voices humming, women laughing, +and I was ordering eggs—yes, sir, eggs, fried and boiled and poached +and scrambled, and in all sorts of ways, and downing them as fast as +they arrived.”</p> +<p>“I’d have ordered salads and green things,” Hutchinson +criticized hungrily, “with a big, rare, Porterhouse, and young +onions and radishes,—the kind your teeth sink into with a crunch.”</p> +<p>“I’d have followed the eggs with them, I guess, if I +hadn’t awakened,” Pentfield replied.</p> +<p>He picked up a trail-scarred banjo from the floor and began to strum +a few wandering notes. Hutchinson winced and breathed heavily.</p> +<p>“Quit it!” he burst out with sudden fury, as the other +struck into a gaily lifting swing. “It drives me mad. +I can’t stand it”</p> +<p>Pentfield tossed the banjo into a bunk and quoted:-</p> +<blockquote><p>“Hear me babble what the weakest won’t confess—<br /> +I am Memory and Torment—I am Town!<br /> +I am all that ever went with evening dress!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The other man winced where he sat and dropped his head forward on +the table. Pentfield resumed the monotonous drumming with his +knuckles. A loud snap from the door attracted his attention. +The frost was creeping up the inside in a white sheet, and he began +to hum:-</p> +<blockquote><p>“The flocks are folded, boughs are bare,<br /> +The salmon takes the sea;<br /> +And oh, my fair, would I somewhere<br /> +Might house my heart with thee.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Silence fell and was not again broken till Billebedam arrived and +threw the dice box on the table.</p> +<p>“Um much cold,” he said. “Oleson um speak +to me, um say um Yukon freeze last night.”</p> +<p>“Hear that, old man!” Pentfield cried, slapping Hutchinson +on the shoulder. “Whoever wins can be hitting the trail +for God’s country this time tomorrow morning!”</p> +<p>He picked up the box, briskly rattling the dice.</p> +<p>“What’ll it be?”</p> +<p>“Straight poker dice,” Hutchinson answered. “Go +on and roll them out.”</p> +<p>Pentfield swept the dishes from the table with a crash and rolled +out the five dice. Both looked tragedy. The shake was without +a pair and five-spot high.</p> +<p>“A stiff!” Pentfield groaned.</p> +<p>After much deliberating Pentfield picked up all the five dice and +put them in the box.</p> +<p>“I’d shake to the five if I were you,” Hutchinson +suggested.</p> +<p>“No, you wouldn’t, not when you see this,” Pentfield +replied, shaking out the dice.</p> +<p>Again they were without a pair, running this time in unbroken sequence +from two to six.</p> +<p>“A second stiff!” he groaned. “No use your +shaking, Corry. You can’t lose.”</p> +<p>The other man gathered up the dice without a word, rattled them, +rolled them out on the table with a flourish, and saw that he had likewise +shaken a six-high stiff.</p> +<p>“Tied you, anyway, but I’ll have to do better than that,” +he said, gathering in four of them and shaking to the six. “And +here’s what beats you!”</p> +<p>But they rolled out deuce, tray, four, and five—a stiff still +and no better nor worse than Pentfield’s throw.</p> +<p>Hutchinson sighed.</p> +<p>“Couldn’t happen once in a million times,” said.</p> +<p>“Nor in a million lives,” Pentfield added, catching up +the dice and quickly throwing them out. Three fives appeared, +and, after much delay, he was rewarded by a fourth five on the second +shake. Hutchinson seemed to have lost his last hope.</p> +<p>But three sixes turned up on his first shake. A great doubt +rose in the other’s eyes, and hope returned into his. He +had one more shake. Another six and he would go over the ice to +salt water and the States.</p> +<p>He rattled the dice in the box, made as though to cast them, hesitated, +and continued rattle them.</p> +<p>“Go on! Go on! Don’t take all night about +it!” Pentfield cried sharply, bending his nails on the table, +so tight was the clutch with which he strove to control himself.</p> +<p>The dice rolled forth, an upturned six meeting their eyes. +Both men sat staring at it. There was a long silence. Hutchinson +shot a covert glance at his partner, who, still more covertly, caught +it, and pursed up his lips in an attempt to advertise his unconcern.</p> +<p>Hutchinson laughed as he got up on his feet. It was a nervous, +apprehensive laugh. It was a case where it was more awkward to +win than lose. He walked over to his partner, who whirled upon +him fiercely:-</p> +<p>“Now you just shut up, Corry! I know all you’re +going to say—that you’d rather stay in and let me go, and +all that; so don’t say it. You’ve your own people +in Detroit to see, and that’s enough. Besides, you can do +for me the very thing I expected to do if I went out.”</p> +<p>“And that is—?”</p> +<p>Pentfield read the full question in his partner’s eyes, and +answered:-</p> +<p>“Yes, that very thing. You can bring her in to me. +The only difference will be a Dawson wedding instead of a San Franciscan +one.”</p> +<p>“But, man alike!” Corry Hutchinson objected “how +under the sun can I bring her in? We’re not exactly brother +and sister, seeing that I have not even met her, and it wouldn’t +be just the proper thing, you know, for us to travel together. +Of course, it would be all right—you and I know that; but think +of the looks of it, man!”</p> +<p>Pentfield swore under his breath, consigning the looks of it to a +less frigid region than Alaska.</p> +<p>“Now, if you’ll just listen and not get astride that +high horse of yours so blamed quick,” his partner went on, “you’ll +see that the only fair thing under the circumstances is for me to let +you go out this year. Next year is only a year away, and then +I can take my fling.”</p> +<p>Pentfield shook his head, though visibly swayed by the temptation.</p> +<p>“It won’t do, Corry, old man. I appreciate your +kindness and all that, but it won’t do. I’d be ashamed +every time I thought of you slaving away in here in my place.”</p> +<p>A thought seemed suddenly to strike him. Burrowing into his +bunk and disrupting it in his eagerness, he secured a writing-pad and +pencil, and sitting down at the table, began to write with swiftness +and certitude.</p> +<p>“Here,” he said, thrusting the scrawled letter into his +partner’s hand. “You just deliver that and everything’ll +be all right.”</p> +<p>Hutchinson ran his eye over it and laid it down.</p> +<p>“How do you know the brother will be willing to make that beastly +trip in here?” he demanded.</p> +<p>“Oh, he’ll do it for me—and for his sister,” +Pentfield replied. “You see, he’s tenderfoot, and +I wouldn’t trust her with him alone. But with you along +it will be an easy trip and a safe one. As soon as you get out, +you’ll go to her and prepare her. Then you can take your +run east to your own people, and in the spring she and her brother’ll +be ready to start with you. You’ll like her, I know, right +from the jump; and from that, you’ll know her as soon as you lay +eyes on her.”</p> +<p>So saying he opened the back of his watch and exposed a girl’s +photograph pasted on the inside of the case. Corry Hutchinson +gazed at it with admiration welling up in his eyes.</p> +<p>“Mabel is her name,” Pentfield went on. “And +it’s just as well you should know how to find the house. +Soon as you strike ’Frisco, take a cab, and just say, ‘Holmes’s +place, Myrdon Avenue’—I doubt if the Myrdon Avenue is necessary. +The cabby’ll know where Judge Holmes lives.</p> +<p>“And say,” Pentfield continued, after a pause, “it +won’t be a bad idea for you to get me a few little things which +a—er—”</p> +<p>“A married man should have in his business,” Hutchinson +blurted out with a grin.</p> +<p>Pentfield grinned back.</p> +<p>“Sure, napkins and tablecloths and sheets and pillowslips, +and such things. And you might get a good set of china. +You know it’ll come hard for her to settle down to this sort of +thing. You can freight them in by steamer around by Bering Sea. +And, I say, what’s the matter with a piano?”</p> +<p>Hutchinson seconded the idea heartily. His reluctance had vanished, +and he was warming up to his mission.</p> +<p>“By Jove! Lawrence,” he said at the conclusion +of the council, as they both rose to their feet, “I’ll bring +back that girl of yours in style. I’ll do the cooking and +take care of the dogs, and all that brother’ll have to do will +be to see to her comfort and do for her whatever I’ve forgotten. +And I’ll forget damn little, I can tell you.”</p> +<p>The next day Lawrence Pentfield shook hands with him for the last +time and watched him, running with his dogs, disappear up the frozen +Yukon on his way to salt water and the world. Pentfield went back +to his Bonanza mine, which was many times more dreary than before, and +faced resolutely into the long winter. There was work to be done, +men to superintend, and operations to direct in burrowing after the +erratic pay streak; but his heart was not in the work. Nor was +his heart in any work till the tiered logs of a new cabin began to rise +on the hill behind the mine. It was a grand cabin, warmly built +and divided into three comfortable rooms. Each log was hand-hewed +and squared—an expensive whim when the axemen received a daily +wage of fifteen dollars; but to him nothing could be too costly for +the home in which Mabel Holmes was to live.</p> +<p>So he went about with the building of the cabin, singing, “And +oh, my fair, would I somewhere might house my heart with thee!” +Also, he had a calendar pinned on the wall above the table, and his +first act each morning was to check off the day and to count the days +that were left ere his partner would come booming down the Yukon ice +in the spring. Another whim of his was to permit no one to sleep +in the new cabin on the hill. It must be as fresh for her occupancy +as the square-hewed wood was fresh; and when it stood complete, he put +a padlock on the door. No one entered save himself, and he was +wont to spend long hours there, and to come forth with his face strangely +radiant and in his eyes a glad, warm light.</p> +<p>In December he received a letter from Corry Hutchinson. He +had just seen Mabel Holmes. She was all she ought to be, to be +Lawrence Pentfield’s wife, he wrote. He was enthusiastic, +and his letter sent the blood tingling through Pentfield’s veins. +Other letters followed, one on the heels of another, and sometimes two +or three together when the mail lumped up. And they were all in +the same tenor. Corry had just come from Myrdon Avenue; Corry +was just going to Myrdon Avenue; or Corry was at Myrdon Avenue. +And he lingered on and on in San Francisco, nor even mentioned his trip +to Detroit.</p> +<p>Lawrence Pentfield began to think that his partner was a great deal +in the company of Mabel Holmes for a fellow who was going east to see +his people. He even caught himself worrying about it at times, +though he would have worried more had he not known Mabel and Corry so +well. Mabel’s letters, on the other hand, had a great deal +to say about Corry. Also, a thread of timidity that was near to +disinclination ran through them concerning the trip in over the ice +and the Dawson marriage. Pentfield wrote back heartily, laughing +at her fears, which he took to be the mere physical ones of danger and +hardship rather than those bred of maidenly reserve.</p> +<p>But the long winter and tedious wait, following upon the two previous +long winters, were telling upon him. The superintendence of the +men and the pursuit of the pay streak could not break the irk of the +daily round, and the end of January found him making occasional trips +to Dawson, where he could forget his identity for a space at the gambling +tables. Because he could afford to lose, he won, and “Pentfield’s +luck” became a stock phrase among the faro players.</p> +<p>His luck ran with him till the second week in February. How +much farther it might have run is conjectural; for, after one big game, +he never played again.</p> +<p>It was in the Opera House that it occurred, and for an hour it had +seemed that he could not place his money on a card without making the +card a winner. In the lull at the end of a deal, while the game-keeper +was shuffling the deck, Nick Inwood the owner of the game, remarked, +apropos of nothing:-</p> +<p>“I say, Pentfield, I see that partner of yours has been cutting +up monkey-shines on the outside.”</p> +<p>“Trust Corry to have a good time,” Pentfield had answered; +“especially when he has earned it.”</p> +<p>“Every man to his taste,” Nick Inwood laughed; “but +I should scarcely call getting married a good time.”</p> +<p>“Corry married!” Pentfield cried, incredulous and yet +surprised out of himself for the moment.</p> +<p>“Sure,” Inwood said. “I saw it in the ’Frisco +paper that came in over the ice this morning.”</p> +<p>“Well, and who’s the girl?” Pentfield demanded, +somewhat with the air of patient fortitude with which one takes the +bait of a catch and is aware at the time of the large laugh bound to +follow at his expense.</p> +<p>Nick Inwood pulled the newspaper from his pocket and began looking +it over, saying:-</p> +<p>“I haven’t a remarkable memory for names, but it seems +to me it’s something like Mabel—Mabel—oh yes, here +it—‘Mabel Holmes, daughter of Judge Holmes,’—whoever +he is.”</p> +<p>Lawrence Pentfield never turned a hair, though he wondered how any +man in the North could know her name. He glanced coolly from face +to face to note any vagrant signs of the game that was being played +upon him, but beyond a healthy curiosity the faces betrayed nothing. +Then he turned to the gambler and said in cold, even tones:-</p> +<p>“Inwood, I’ve got an even five hundred here that says +the print of what you have just said is not in that paper.”</p> +<p>The gambler looked at him in quizzical surprise. “Go +’way, child. I don’t want your money.”</p> +<p>“I thought so,” Pentfield sneered, returning to the game +and laying a couple of bets.</p> +<p>Nick Inwood’s face flushed, and, as though doubting his senses, +he ran careful eyes over the print of a quarter of a column. Then +be turned on Lawrence Pentfield.</p> +<p>“Look here, Pentfield,” he said, in a quiet, nervous +manner; “I can’t allow that, you know.”</p> +<p>“Allow what?” Pentfield demanded brutally.</p> +<p>“You implied that I lied.”</p> +<p>“Nothing of the sort,” came the reply. “I +merely implied that you were trying to be clumsily witty.”</p> +<p>“Make your bets, gentlemen,” the dealer protested.</p> +<p>“But I tell you it’s true,” Nick Inwood insisted.</p> +<p>“And I have told you I’ve five hundred that says it’s +not in that paper,” Pentfield answered, at the same time throwing +a heavy sack of dust on the table.</p> +<p>“I am sorry to take your money,” was the retort, as Inwood +thrust the newspaper into Pentfield’s hand.</p> +<p>Pentfield saw, though he could not quite bring himself to believe. +Glancing through the headline, “Young Lochinvar came out of the +North,” and skimming the article until the names of Mabel Holmes +and Corry Hutchinson, coupled together, leaped squarely before his eyes, +he turned to the top of the page. It was a San Francisco paper.</p> +<p>“The money’s yours, Inwood,” he remarked, with +a short laugh. “There’s no telling what that partner +of mine will do when he gets started.”</p> +<p>Then he returned to the article and read it word for word, very slowly +and very carefully. He could no longer doubt. Beyond dispute, +Corry Hutchinson had married Mabel Holmes. “One of the Bonanza +kings,” it described him, “a partner with Lawrence Pentfield +(whom San Francisco society has not yet forgotten), and interested with +that gentleman in other rich, Klondike properties.” Further, +and at the end, he read, “It is whispered that Mr. and Mrs. Hutchinson +will, after a brief trip east to Detroit, make their real honeymoon +journey into the fascinating Klondike country.”</p> +<p>“I’ll be back again; keep my place for me,” Pentfield +said, rising to his feet and taking his sack, which meantime had hit +the blower and came back lighter by five hundred dollars.</p> +<p>He went down the street and bought a Seattle paper. It contained +the same facts, though somewhat condensed. Corry and Mabel were +indubitably married. Pentfield returned to the Opera House and +resumed his seat in the game. He asked to have the limit removed.</p> +<p>“Trying to get action,” Nick Inwood laughed, as he nodded +assent to the dealer. “I was going down to the A. C. store, +but now I guess I’ll stay and watch you do your worst.”</p> +<p>This Lawrence Pentfield did at the end of two hours’ plunging, +when the dealer bit the end off a fresh cigar and struck a match as +he announced that the bank was broken. Pentfield cashed in for +forty thousand, shook hands with Nick Inwood, and stated that it was +the last time he would ever play at his game or at anybody’s else’s.</p> +<p>No one knew nor guessed that he had been hit, much less hit hard. +There was no apparent change in his manner. For a week he went +about his work much as he had always done, when he read an account of +the marriage in a Portland paper. Then he called in a friend to +take charge of his mine and departed up the Yukon behind his dogs. +He held to the Salt Water trail till White River was reached, into which +he turned. Five days later he came upon a hunting camp of the +White River Indians. In the evening there was a feast, and he +sat in honour beside the chief; and next morning he headed his dogs +back toward the Yukon. But he no longer travelled alone. +A young squaw fed his dogs for him that night and helped to pitch camp. +She had been mauled by a bear in her childhood and suffered from a slight +limp. Her name was Lashka, and she was diffident at first with +the strange white man that had come out of the Unknown, married her +with scarcely a look or word, and now was carrying her back with him +into the Unknown.</p> +<p>But Lashka’s was better fortune than falls to most Indian girls +that mate with white men in the Northland. No sooner was Dawson +reached than the barbaric marriage that had joined them was re-solemnized, +in the white man’s fashion, before a priest. From Dawson, +which to her was all a marvel and a dream, she was taken directly to +the Bonanza claim and installed in the square-hewed cabin on the hill.</p> +<p>The nine days’ wonder that followed arose not so much out of +the fact of the squaw whom Lawrence Pentfield had taken to bed and board +as out of the ceremony that had legalized the tie. The properly +sanctioned marriage was the one thing that passed the community’s +comprehension. But no one bothered Pentfield about it. So +long as a man’s vagaries did no special hurt to the community, +the community let the man alone, nor was Pentfield barred from the cabins +of men who possessed white wives. The marriage ceremony removed +him from the status of squaw-man and placed him beyond moral reproach, +though there were men that challenged his taste where women were concerned.</p> +<p>No more letters arrived from the outside. Six sledloads of +mails had been lost at the Big Salmon. Besides, Pentfield knew +that Corry and his bride must by that time have started in over the +trail. They were even then on their honeymoon trip—the honeymoon +trip he had dreamed of for himself through two dreary years. His +lip curled with bitterness at the thought; but beyond being kinder to +Lashka he gave no sign.</p> +<p>March had passed and April was nearing its end, when, one spring +morning, Lashka asked permission to go down the creek several miles +to Siwash Pete’s cabin. Pete’s wife, a Stewart River +woman, had sent up word that something was wrong with her baby, and +Lashka, who was pre-eminently a mother-woman and who held herself to +be truly wise in the matter of infantile troubles, missed no opportunity +of nursing the children of other women as yet more fortunate than she.</p> +<p>Pentfield harnessed his dogs, and with Lashka behind took the trail +down the creek bed of Bonanza. Spring was in the air. The +sharpness had gone out of the bite of the frost and though snow still +covered the land, the murmur and trickling of water told that the iron +grip of winter was relaxing. The bottom was dropping out of the +trail, and here and there a new trail had been broken around open holes. +At such a place, where there was not room for two sleds to pass, Pentfield +heard the jingle of approaching bells and stopped his dogs.</p> +<p>A team of tired-looking dogs appeared around the narrow bend, followed +by a heavily-loaded sled. At the gee-pole was a man who steered +in a manner familiar to Pentfield, and behind the sled walked two women. +His glance returned to the man at the gee-pole. It was Corry. +Pentfield got on his feet and waited. He was glad that Lashka +was with him. The meeting could not have come about better had +it been planned, he thought. And as he waited he wondered what +they would say, what they would be able to say. As for himself +there was no need to say anything. The explaining was all on their +side, and he was ready to listen to them.</p> +<p>As they drew in abreast, Corry recognized him and halted the dogs. +With a “Hello, old man,” he held out his hand.</p> +<p>Pentfield shook it, but without warmth or speech. By this time +the two women had come up, and he noticed that the second one was Dora +Holmes. He doffed his fur cap, the flaps of which were flying, +shook hands with her, and turned toward Mabel. She swayed forward, +splendid and radiant, but faltered before his outstretched hand. +He had intended to say, “How do you do, Mrs. Hutchinson?”—but +somehow, the Mrs. Hutchinson had choked him, and all he had managed +to articulate was the “How do you do?”</p> +<p>There was all the constraint and awkwardness in the situation he +could have wished. Mabel betrayed the agitation appropriate to +her position, while Dora, evidently brought along as some sort of peacemaker, +was saying:-</p> +<p>“Why, what is the matter, Lawrence?”</p> +<p>Before he could answer, Corry plucked him by the sleeve and drew +him aside.</p> +<p>“See here, old man, what’s this mean?” Corry demanded +in a low tone, indicating Lashka with his eyes.</p> +<p>“I can hardly see, Corry, where you can have any concern in +the matter,” Pentfield answered mockingly.</p> +<p>But Corry drove straight to the point.</p> +<p>“What is that squaw doing on your sled? A nasty job you’ve +given me to explain all this away. I only hope it can be explained +away. Who is she? Whose squaw is she?”</p> +<p>Then Lawrence Pentfield delivered his stroke, and he delivered it +with a certain calm elation of spirit that seemed somewhat to compensate +for the wrong that had been done him.</p> +<p>“She is my squaw,” he said; “Mrs. Pentfield, if +you please.”</p> +<p>Corry Hutchinson gasped, and Pentfield left him and returned to the +two women. Mabel, with a worried expression on her face, seemed +holding herself aloof. He turned to Dora and asked, quite genially, +as though all the world was sunshine:- “How did you stand the +trip, anyway? Have any trouble to sleep warm?”</p> +<p>“And, how did Mrs. Hutchinson stand it?” he asked next, +his eyes on Mabel.</p> +<p>“Oh, you dear ninny!” Dora cried, throwing her arms around +him and hugging him. “Then you saw it, too! I thought +something was the matter, you were acting so strangely.”</p> +<p>“I—I hardly understand,” he stammered.</p> +<p>“It was corrected in next day’s paper,” Dora chattered +on. “We did not dream you would see it. All the other +papers had it correctly, and of course that one miserable paper was +the very one you saw!”</p> +<p>“Wait a moment! What do you mean?” Pentfield demanded, +a sudden fear at his heart, for he felt himself on the verge of a great +gulf.</p> +<p>But Dora swept volubly on.</p> +<p>“Why, when it became known that Mabel and I were going to Klondike, +<i>Every</i> <i>Other</i> <i>Week</i> said that when we were gone, it +would be lovely on Myrdon Avenue, meaning, of course, lonely.”</p> +<p>“Then—”</p> +<p>“I am Mrs. Hutchinson,” Dora answered. “And +you thought it was Mabel all the time—”</p> +<p>“Precisely the way of it,” Pentfield replied slowly. +“But I can see now. The reporter got the names mixed. +The Seattle and Portland paper copied.”</p> +<p>He stood silently for a minute. Mabel’s face was turned +toward him again, and he could see the glow of expectancy in it. +Corry was deeply interested in the ragged toe of one of his moccasins, +while Dora was stealing sidelong glances at the immobile face of Lashka +sitting on the sled. Lawrence Pentfield stared straight out before +him into a dreary future, through the grey vistas of which he saw himself +riding on a sled behind running dogs with lame Lashka by his side.</p> +<p>Then he spoke, quite simply, looking Mabel in the eyes.</p> +<p>“I am very sorry. I did not dream it. I thought +you had married Corry. That is Mrs. Pentfield sitting on the sled +over there.”</p> +<p>Mabel Holmes turned weakly toward her sister, as though all the fatigue +of her great journey had suddenly descended on her. Dora caught +her around the waist. Corry Hutchinson was still occupied with +his moccasins. Pentfield glanced quickly from face to face, then +turned to his sled.</p> +<p>“Can’t stop here all day, with Pete’s baby waiting,” +he said to Lashka.</p> +<p>The long whip-lash hissed out, the dogs sprang against the breast +bands, and the sled lurched and jerked ahead.</p> +<p>“Oh, I say, Corry,” Pentfield called back, “you’d +better occupy the old cabin. It’s not been used for some +time. I’ve built a new one on the hill.”</p> +<h2>TOO MUCH GOLD</h2> +<p>This being a story—and a truer one than it may appear—of +a mining country, it is quite to be expected that it will be a hard-luck +story. But that depends on the point of view. Hard luck +is a mild way of terming it so far as Kink Mitchell and Hootchinoo Bill +are concerned; and that they have a decided opinion on the subject is +a matter of common knowledge in the Yukon country.</p> +<p>It was in the fall of 1896 that the two partners came down to the +east bank of the Yukon, and drew a Peterborough canoe from a moss-covered +cache. They were not particularly pleasant-looking objects. +A summer’s prospecting, filled to repletion with hardship and +rather empty of grub, had left their clothes in tatters and themselves +worn and cadaverous. A nimbus of mosquitoes buzzed about each +man’s head. Their faces were coated with blue clay. +Each carried a lump of this damp clay, and, whenever it dried and fell +from their faces, more was daubed on in its place. There was a +querulous plaint in their voices, an irritability of movement and gesture, +that told of broken sleep and a losing struggle with the little winged +pests.</p> +<p>“Them skeeters’ll be the death of me yet,” Kink +Mitchell whimpered, as the canoe felt the current on her nose, and leaped +out from the bank.</p> +<p>“Cheer up, cheer up. We’re about done,” Hootchinoo +Bill answered, with an attempted heartiness in his funereal tones that +was ghastly. “We’ll be in Forty Mile in forty minutes, +and then—cursed little devil!”</p> +<p>One hand left his paddle and landed on the back of his neck with +a sharp slap. He put a fresh daub of clay on the injured part, +swearing sulphurously the while. Kink Mitchell was not in the +least amused. He merely improved the opportunity by putting a +thicker coating of clay on his own neck.</p> +<p>They crossed the Yukon to its west bank, shot down-stream with easy +stroke, and at the end of forty minutes swung in close to the left around +the tail of an island. Forty Mile spread itself suddenly before +them. Both men straightened their backs and gazed at the sight. +They gazed long and carefully, drifting with the current, in their faces +an expression of mingled surprise and consternation slowly gathering. +Not a thread of smoke was rising from the hundreds of log-cabins. +There was no sound of axes biting sharply into wood, of hammering and +sawing. Neither dogs nor men loitered before the big store. +No steamboats lay at the bank, no canoes, nor scows, nor poling-boats. +The river was as bare of craft as the town was of life.</p> +<p>“Kind of looks like Gabriel’s tooted his little horn, +and you an’ me has turned up missing,” remarked Hootchinoo +Bill.</p> +<p>His remark was casual, as though there was nothing unusual about +the occurrence. Kink Mitchell’s reply was just as casual +as though he, too, were unaware of any strange perturbation of spirit.</p> +<p>“Looks as they was all Baptists, then, and took the boats to +go by water,” was his contribution.</p> +<p>“My ol’ dad was a Baptist,” Hootchinoo Bill supplemented. +“An’ he always did hold it was forty thousand miles nearer +that way.”</p> +<p>This was the end of their levity. They ran the canoe in and +climbed the high earth bank. A feeling of awe descended upon them +as they walked the deserted streets. The sunlight streamed placidly +over the town. A gentle wind tapped the halyards against the flagpole +before the closed doors of the Caledonia Dance Hall. Mosquitoes +buzzed, robins sang, and moose birds tripped hungrily among the cabins; +but there was no human life nor sign of human life.</p> +<p>“I’m just dyin’ for a drink,” Hootchinoo +Bill said and unconsciously his voice sank to a hoarse whisper.</p> +<p>His partner nodded his head, loth to hear his own voice break the +stillness. They trudged on in uneasy silence till surprised by +an open door. Above this door, and stretching the width of the +building, a rude sign announced the same as the “Monte Carlo.” +But beside the door, hat over eyes, chair tilted back, a man sat sunning +himself. He was an old man. Beard and hair were long and +white and patriarchal.</p> +<p>“If it ain’t ol’ Jim Cummings, turned up like us, +too late for Resurrection!” said Kink Mitchell.</p> +<p>“Most like he didn’t hear Gabriel tootin’,” +was Hootchinoo Bill’s suggestion.</p> +<p>“Hello, Jim! Wake up!” he shouted.</p> +<p>The old man unlimbered lamely, blinking his eyes and murmuring automatically: +“What’ll ye have, gents? What’ll ye have?”</p> +<p>They followed him inside and ranged up against the long bar where +of yore a half-dozen nimble bar-keepers found little time to loaf. +The great room, ordinarily aroar with life, was still and gloomy as +a tomb. There was no rattling of chips, no whirring of ivory balls. +Roulette and faro tables were like gravestones under their canvas covers. +No women’s voices drifted merrily from the dance-room behind. +Ol’ Jim Cummings wiped a glass with palsied hands, and Kink Mitchell +scrawled his initials on the dust-covered bar.</p> +<p>“Where’s the girls?” Hootchinoo Bill shouted, with +affected geniality.</p> +<p>“Gone,” was the ancient bar-keeper’s reply, in +a voice thin and aged as himself, and as unsteady as his hand.</p> +<p>“Where’s Bidwell and Barlow?”</p> +<p>“Gone.”</p> +<p>“And Sweetwater Charley?”</p> +<p>“Gone.”</p> +<p>“And his sister?”</p> +<p>“Gone too.”</p> +<p>“Your daughter Sally, then, and her little kid?”</p> +<p>“Gone, all gone.” The old man shook his head sadly, +rummaging in an absent way among the dusty bottles.</p> +<p>“Great Sardanapolis! Where?” Kink Mitchell exploded, +unable longer to restrain himself. “You don’t say +you’ve had the plague?”</p> +<p>“Why, ain’t you heerd?” The old man chuckled +quietly. “They-all’s gone to Dawson.”</p> +<p>“What-like is that?” Bill demanded. “A creek? +or a bar? or a place?”</p> +<p>“Ain’t never heered of Dawson, eh?” The old +man chuckled exasperatingly. “Why, Dawson’s a town, +a city, bigger’n Forty Mile. Yes, sir, bigger’n Forty +Mile.”</p> +<p>“I’ve ben in this land seven year,” Bill announced +emphatically, “an’ I make free to say I never heard tell +of the burg before. Hold on! Let’s have some more +of that whisky. Your information’s flabbergasted me, that +it has. Now just whereabouts is this Dawson-place you was a-mentionin’?”</p> +<p>“On the big flat jest below the mouth of Klondike,” ol’ +Jim answered. “But where has you-all ben this summer?”</p> +<p>“Never you mind where we-all’s ben,” was Kink Mitchell’s +testy reply. “We-all’s ben where the skeeters is that +thick you’ve got to throw a stick into the air so as to see the +sun and tell the time of day. Ain’t I right, Bill?”</p> +<p>“Right you are,” said Bill. “But speakin’ +of this Dawson-place how like did it happen to be, Jim?”</p> +<p>“Ounce to the pan on a creek called Bonanza, an’ they +ain’t got to bedrock yet.”</p> +<p>“Who struck it?”</p> +<p>“Carmack.”</p> +<p>At mention of the discoverer’s name the partners stared at +each other disgustedly. Then they winked with great solemnity.</p> +<p>“Siwash George,” sniffed Hootchinoo Bill.</p> +<p>“That squaw-man,” sneered Kink Mitchell.</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t put on my moccasins to stampede after anything +he’d ever find,” said Bill.</p> +<p>“Same here,” announced his partner. “A cuss +that’s too plumb lazy to fish his own salmon. That’s +why he took up with the Indians. S’pose that black brother-in-law +of his,—lemme see, Skookum Jim, eh?—s’pose he’s +in on it?”</p> +<p>The old bar-keeper nodded. “Sure, an’ what’s +more, all Forty Mile, exceptin’ me an’ a few cripples.”</p> +<p>“And drunks,” added Kink Mitchell.</p> +<p>“No-sir-ee!” the old man shouted emphatically.</p> +<p>“I bet you the drinks Honkins ain’t in on it!” +Hootchinoo Bill cried with certitude.</p> +<p>Ol’ Jim’s face lighted up. “I takes you, +Bill, an’ you loses.”</p> +<p>“However did that ol’ soak budge out of Forty Mile?” +Mitchell demanded.</p> +<p>“The ties him down an’ throws him in the bottom of a +polin’-boat,” ol’ Jim explained. “Come +right in here, they did, an’ takes him out of that there chair +there in the corner, an’ three more drunks they finds under the +pianny. I tell you-alls the whole camp hits up the Yukon for Dawson +jes’ like Sam Scratch was after them,—wimmen, children, +babes in arms, the whole shebang. Bidwell comes to me an’ +sez, sez he, ‘Jim, I wants you to keep tab on the Monte Carlo. +I’m goin’.’</p> +<p>“‘Where’s Barlow?’ sez I. ‘Gone,’ +sez he, ‘an’ I’m a-followin’ with a load of +whisky.’ An’ with that, never waitin’ for me +to decline, he makes a run for his boat an’ away he goes, polin’ +up river like mad. So here I be, an’ these is the first +drinks I’ve passed out in three days.”</p> +<p>The partners looked at each other.</p> +<p>“Gosh darn my buttoms!” said Hootchinoo Bill. “Seems +likes you and me, Kink, is the kind of folks always caught out with +forks when it rains soup.”</p> +<p>“Wouldn’t it take the saleratus out your dough, now?” +said Kink Mitchell. “A stampede of tin-horns, drunks, an’ +loafers.”</p> +<p>“An’ squaw-men,” added Bill. “Not a +genooine miner in the whole caboodle.”</p> +<p>“Genooine miners like you an’ me, Kink,” he went +on academically, “is all out an’ sweatin’ hard over +Birch Creek way. Not a genooine miner in this whole crazy Dawson +outfit, and I say right here, not a step do I budge for any Carmack +strike. I’ve got to see the colour of the dust first.”</p> +<p>“Same here,” Mitchell agreed. “Let’s +have another drink.”</p> +<p>Having wet this resolution, they beached the canoe, transferred its +contents to their cabin, and cooked dinner. But as the afternoon +wore along they grew restive. They were men used to the silence +of the great wilderness, but this gravelike silence of a town worried +them. They caught themselves listening for familiar sounds—“waitin’ +for something to make a noise which ain’t goin’ to make +a noise,” as Bill put it. They strolled through the deserted +streets to the Monte Carlo for more drinks, and wandered along the river +bank to the steamer landing, where only water gurgled as the eddy filled +and emptied, and an occasional salmon leapt flashing into the sun.</p> +<p>They sat down in the shade in front of the store and talked with +the consumptive storekeeper, whose liability to hemorrhage accounted +for his presence. Bill and Kink told him how they intended loafing +in their cabin and resting up after the hard summer’s work. +They told him, with a certain insistence, that was half appeal for belief, +half challenge for contradiction, how much they were going to enjoy +their idleness. But the storekeeper was uninterested. He +switched the conversation back to the strike on Klondike, and they could +not keep him away from it. He could think of nothing else, talk +of nothing else, till Hootchinoo Bill rose up in anger and disgust.</p> +<p>“Gosh darn Dawson, say I!” he cried.</p> +<p>“Same here,” said Kink Mitchell, with a brightening face. +“One’d think something was doin’ up there, ’stead +of bein’ a mere stampede of greenhorns an’ tinhorns.”</p> +<p>But a boat came into view from down-stream. It was long and +slim. It hugged the bank closely, and its three occupants, standing +upright, propelled it against the stiff current by means of long poles.</p> +<p>“Circle City outfit,” said the storekeeper. “I +was lookin’ for ’em along by afternoon. Forty Mile +had the start of them by a hundred and seventy miles. But gee! +they ain’t losin’ any time!”</p> +<p>“We’ll just sit here quiet-like and watch ’em string +by,” Bill said complacently.</p> +<p>As he spoke, another boat appeared in sight, followed after a brief +interval by two others. By this time the first boat was abreast +of the men on the bank. Its occupants did not cease poling while +greetings were exchanged, and, though its progress was slow, a half-hour +saw it out of sight up river.</p> +<p>Still they came from below, boat after boat, in endless procession. +The uneasiness of Bill and Kink increased. They stole speculative, +tentative glances at each other, and when their eyes met looked away +in embarrassment. Finally, however, their eyes met and neither +looked away.</p> +<p>Kink opened his mouth to speak, but words failed him and his mouth +remained open while he continued to gaze at his partner.</p> +<p>“Just what I was thinken’, Kink,” said Bill.</p> +<p>They grinned sheepishly at each other, and by tacit consent started +to walk away. Their pace quickened, and by the time they arrived +at their cabin they were on the run.</p> +<p>“Can’t lose no time with all that multitude a-rushin’ +by,” Kink spluttered, as he jabbed the sour-dough can into the +beanpot with one hand and with the other gathered in the frying-pan +and coffee-pot.</p> +<p>“Should say not,” gasped Bill, his head and shoulders +buried in a clothes-sack wherein were stored winter socks and underwear. +“I say, Kink, don’t forget the saleratus on the corner shelf +back of the stove.”</p> +<p>Half-an-hour later they were launching the canoe and loading up, +while the storekeeper made jocular remarks about poor, weak mortals +and the contagiousness of “stampedin’ fever.” +But when Bill and Kink thrust their long poles to bottom and started +the canoe against the current, he called after them:-</p> +<p>“Well, so-long and good luck! And don’t forget +to blaze a stake or two for me!”</p> +<p>They nodded their heads vigorously and felt sorry for the poor wretch +who remained perforce behind.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Kink and Bill were sweating hard. According to the revised +Northland Scripture, the stampede is to the swift, the blazing of stakes +to the strong, and the Crown in royalties, gathers to itself the fulness +thereof. Kink and Bill were both swift and strong. They +took the soggy trail at a long, swinging gait that broke the hearts +of a couple of tender-feet who tried to keep up with them. Behind, +strung out between them and Dawson (where the boats were discarded and +land travel began), was the vanguard of the Circle City outfit. +In the race from Forty Mile the partners had passed every boat, winning +from the leading boat by a length in the Dawson eddy, and leaving its +occupants sadly behind the moment their feet struck the trail.</p> +<p>“Huh! couldn’t see us for smoke,” Hootchinoo Bill +chuckled, flirting the stinging sweat from his brow and glancing swiftly +back along the way they had come.</p> +<p>Three men emerged from where the trail broke through the trees. +Two followed close at their heels, and then a man and a woman shot into +view.</p> +<p>“Come on, you Kink! Hit her up! Hit her up!”</p> +<p>Bill quickened his pace. Mitchell glanced back in more leisurely +fashion.</p> +<p>“I declare if they ain’t lopin’!”</p> +<p>“And here’s one that’s loped himself out,” +said Bill, pointing to the side of the trail.</p> +<p>A man was lying on his back panting in the culminating stages of +violent exhaustion. His face was ghastly, his eyes bloodshot and +glazed, for all the world like a dying man.</p> +<p>“<i>Chechaquo</i>!” Kink Mitchell grunted, and it was +the grunt of the old “sour dough” for the green-horn, for +the man who outfitted with “self-risin’” flour and +used baking-powder in his biscuits.</p> +<p>The partners, true to the old-timer custom, had intended to stake +down-stream from the strike, but when they saw claim 81 BELOW blazed +on a tree,—which meant fully eight miles below Discovery,—they +changed their minds. The eight miles were covered in less than +two hours. It was a killing pace, over so rough trail, and they +passed scores of exhausted men that had fallen by the wayside.</p> +<p>At Discovery little was to be learned of the upper creek. Cormack’s +Indian brother-in-law, Skookum Jim, had a hazy notion that the creek +was staked as high as the 30’s; but when Kink and Bill looked +at the corner-stakes of 79 ABOVE, they threw their stampeding packs +off their backs and sat down to smoke. All their efforts had been +vain. Bonanza was staked from mouth to source,—“out +of sight and across the next divide.” Bill complained that +night as they fried their bacon and boiled their coffee over Cormack’s +fire at Discovery.</p> +<p>“Try that pup,” Carmack suggested next morning.</p> +<p>“That pup” was a broad creek that flowed into Bonanza +at 7 ABOVE. The partners received his advice with the magnificent +contempt of the sour dough for a squaw-man, and, instead, spent the +day on Adam’s Creek, another and more likely-looking tributary +of Bonanza. But it was the old story over again—staked to +the sky-line.</p> +<p>For threes days Carmack repeated his advice, and for three days they +received it contemptuously. But on the fourth day, there being +nowhere else to go, they went up “that pup.” They +knew that it was practically unstaked, but they had no intention of +staking. The trip was made more for the purpose of giving vent +to their ill-humour than for anything else. They had become quite +cynical, sceptical. They jeered and scoffed at everything, and +insulted every <i>chechaquo</i> they met along the way.</p> +<p>At No. 23 the stakes ceased. The remainder of the creek was +open for location.</p> +<p>“Moose pasture,” sneered Kink Mitchell.</p> +<p>But Bill gravely paced off five hundred feet up the creek and blazed +the corner-stakes. He had picked up the bottom of a candle-box, +and on the smooth side he wrote the notice for his centre-stake:-</p> +<blockquote><p>THIS MOOSE PASTURE IS RESERVED FOR THE<br /> +SWEDES AND CHECHAQUOS.<br /> +—BILL RADER.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Kink read it over with approval, saying:-</p> +<p>“As them’s my sentiments, I reckon I might as well subscribe.”</p> +<p>So the name of Charles Mitchell was added to the notice; and many +an old sour dough’s face relaxed that day at sight of the handiwork +of a kindred spirit.</p> +<p>“How’s the pup?” Carmack inquired when they strolled +back into camp.</p> +<p>“To hell with pups!” was Hootchinoo Bill’s reply. +“Me and Kink’s goin’ a-lookin’ for Too Much +Gold when we get rested up.”</p> +<p>Too Much Gold was the fabled creek of which all sour doughs dreamed, +whereof it was said the gold was so thick that, in order to wash it, +gravel must first be shovelled into the sluice-boxes. But the +several days’ rest, preliminary to the quest for Too Much Gold, +brought a slight change in their plan, inasmuch as it brought one Ans +Handerson, a Swede.</p> +<p>Ans Handerson had been working for wages all summer at Miller Creek +over on the Sixty Mile, and, the summer done, had strayed up Bonanza +like many another waif helplessly adrift on the gold tides that swept +willy-nilly across the land. He was tall and lanky. His +arms were long, like prehistoric man’s, and his hands were like +soup-plates, twisted and gnarled, and big-knuckled from toil. +He was slow of utterance and movement, and his eyes, pale blue as his +hair was pale yellow, seemed filled with an immortal dreaming, the stuff +of which no man knew, and himself least of all. Perhaps this appearance +of immortal dreaming was due to a supreme and vacuous innocence. +At any rate, this was the valuation men of ordinary clay put upon him, +and there was nothing extraordinary about the composition of Hootchinoo +Bill and Kink Mitchell.</p> +<p>The partners had spent a day of visiting and gossip, and in the evening +met in the temporary quarters of the Monte Carlo—a large tent +were stampeders rested their weary bones and bad whisky sold at a dollar +a drink. Since the only money in circulation was dust, and since +the house took the “down-weight” on the scales, a drink +cost something more than a dollar. Bill and Kink were not drinking, +principally for the reason that their one and common sack was not strong +enough to stand many excursions to the scales.</p> +<p>“Say, Bill, I’ve got a <i>chechaquo</i> on the string +for a sack of flour,” Mitchell announced jubilantly.</p> +<p>Bill looked interested and pleased. Grub as scarce, and they +were not over-plentifully supplied for the quest after Too Much Gold.</p> +<p>“Flour’s worth a dollar a pound,” he answered. +“How like do you calculate to get your finger on it?”</p> +<p>“Trade ’m a half-interest in that claim of ourn,” +Kink answered.</p> +<p>“What claim?” Bill was surprised. Then he remembered +the reservation he had staked off for the Swedes, and said, “Oh!”</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t be so clost about it, though,” he added. +“Give ’m the whole thing while you’re about it, in +a right free-handed way.”</p> +<p>Bill shook his head. “If I did, he’d get clean +scairt and prance off. I’m lettin’ on as how the ground +is believed to be valuable, an’ that we’re lettin’ +go half just because we’re monstrous short on grub. After +the dicker we can make him a present of the whole shebang.”</p> +<p>“If somebody ain’t disregarded our notice,” Bill +objected, though he was plainly pleased at the prospect of exchanging +the claim for a sack of flour.</p> +<p>“She ain’t jumped,” Kink assured him. “It’s +No. 24, and it stands. The <i>chechaquos</i> took it serious, +and they begun stakin’ where you left off. Staked clean +over the divide, too. I was gassin’ with one of them which +has just got in with cramps in his legs.”</p> +<p>It was then, and for the first time, that they heard the slow and +groping utterance of Ans Handerson.</p> +<p>“Ay like the looks,” he was saying to the bar-keeper. +“Ay tank Ay gat a claim.”</p> +<p>The partners winked at each other, and a few minutes later a surprised +and grateful Swede was drinking bad whisky with two hard-hearted strangers. +But he was as hard-headed as they were hard-hearted. The sack +made frequent journeys to the scales, followed solicitously each time +by Kink Mitchell’s eyes, and still Ans Handerson did not loosen +up. In his pale blue eyes, as in summer seas, immortal dreams +swam up and burned, but the swimming and the burning were due to the +tales of gold and prospect pans he heard, rather than to the whisky +he slid so easily down his throat.</p> +<p>The partners were in despair, though they appeared boisterous and +jovial of speech and action.</p> +<p>“Don’t mind me, my friend,” Hootchinoo Bill hiccoughed, +his hand upon Ans Handerson’s shoulder. “Have another +drink. We’re just celebratin’ Kink’s birthday +here. This is my pardner, Kink, Kink Mitchell. An’ +what might your name be?”</p> +<p>This learned, his hand descended resoundingly on Kink’s back, +and Kink simulated clumsy self-consciousness in that he was for the +time being the centre of the rejoicing, while Ans Handerson looked pleased +and asked them to have a drink with him. It was the first and +last time he treated, until the play changed and his canny soul was +roused to unwonted prodigality. But he paid for the liquor from +a fairly healthy-looking sack. “Not less ’n eight +hundred in it,” calculated the lynx-eyed Kink; and on the strength +of it he took the first opportunity of a privy conversation with Bidwell, +proprietor of the bad whisky and the tent.</p> +<p>“Here’s my sack, Bidwell,” Kink said, with the +intimacy and surety of one old-timer to another. “Just weigh +fifty dollars into it for a day or so more or less, and we’ll +be yours truly, Bill an’ me.”</p> +<p>Thereafter the journeys of the sack to the scales were more frequent, +and the celebration of Kink’s natal day waxed hilarious. +He even essayed to sing the old-timer’s classic, “The Juice +of the Forbidden Fruit,” but broke down and drowned his embarrassment +in another round of drinks. Even Bidwell honoured him with a round +or two on the house; and he and Bill were decently drunk by the time +Ans Handerson’s eyelids began to droop and his tongue gave promise +of loosening.</p> +<p>Bill grew affectionate, then confidential. He told his troubles +and hard luck to the bar-keeper and the world in general, and to Ans +Handerson in particular. He required no histrionic powers to act +the part. The bad whisky attended to that. He worked himself +into a great sorrow for himself and Bill, and his tears were sincere +when he told how he and his partner were thinking of selling a half-interest +in good ground just because they were short of grub. Even Kink +listened and believed.</p> +<p>Ans Handerson’s eyes were shining unholily as he asked, “How +much you tank you take?”</p> +<p>Bill and Kink did not hear him, and he was compelled to repeat his +query. They appeared reluctant. He grew keener. And +he swayed back and forward, holding on to the bar and listened with +all his ears while they conferred together on one side, and wrangled +as to whether they should or not, and disagreed in stage whispers over +the price they should set.</p> +<p>“Two hundred and—hic!—fifty,” Bill finally +announced, “but we reckon as we won’t sell.”</p> +<p>“Which is monstrous wise if I might chip in my little say,” +seconded Bidwell.</p> +<p>“Yes, indeedy,” added Kink. “We ain’t +in no charity business a-disgorgin’ free an’ generous to +Swedes an’ white men.”</p> +<p>“Ay tank we haf another drink,” hiccoughed Ans Handerson, +craftily changing the subject against a more propitious time.</p> +<p>And thereafter, to bring about that propitious time, his own sack +began to see-saw between his hip pocket and the scales. Bill and +Kink were coy, but they finally yielded to his blandishments. +Whereupon he grew shy and drew Bidwell to one side. He staggered +exceedingly, and held on to Bidwell for support as he asked—</p> +<p>“They ban all right, them men, you tank so?”</p> +<p>“Sure,” Bidwell answered heartily. “Known +’em for years. Old sour doughs. When they sell a claim, +they sell a claim. They ain’t no air-dealers.”</p> +<p>“Ay tank Ay buy,” Ans Handerson announced, tottering +back to the two men.</p> +<p>But by now he was dreaming deeply, and he proclaimed he would have +the whole claim or nothing. This was the cause of great pain to +Hootchinoo Bill. He orated grandly against the “hawgishness” +of <i>chechaquos</i> and Swedes, albeit he dozed between periods, his +voice dying away to a gurgle, and his head sinking forward on his breast. +But whenever roused by a nudge from Kink or Bidwell, he never failed +to explode another volley of abuse and insult.</p> +<p>Ans Handerson was calm under it all. Each insult added to the +value of the claim. Such unamiable reluctance to sell advertised +but one thing to him, and he was aware of a great relief when Hootchinoo +Bill sank snoring to the floor, and he was free to turn his attention +to his less intractable partner.</p> +<p>Kink Mitchell was persuadable, though a poor mathematician. +He wept dolefully, but was willing to sell a half-interest for two hundred +and fifty dollars or the whole claim for seven hundred and fifty. +Ans Handerson and Bidwell laboured to clear away his erroneous ideas +concerning fractions, but their labour was vain. He spilled tears +and regrets all over the bar and on their shoulders, which tears, however, +did not wash away his opinion, that if one half was worth two hundred +and fifty, two halves were worth three times as much.</p> +<p>In the end,—and even Bidwell retained no more than hazy recollections +of how the night terminated,—a bill of sale was drawn up, wherein +Bill Rader and Charles Mitchell yielded up all right and title to the +claim known as 24 ELDORADO, the same being the name the creek had received +from some optimistic <i>chechaquo</i>.</p> +<p>When Kink had signed, it took the united efforts of the three to +arouse Bill. Pen in hand, he swayed long over the document; and, +each time he rocked back and forth, in Ans Handerson’s eyes flashed +and faded a wondrous golden vision. When the precious signature +was at last appended and the dust paid over, he breathed a great sigh, +and sank to sleep under a table, where he dreamed immortally until morning.</p> +<p>But the day was chill and grey. He felt bad. His first +act, unconscious and automatic, was to feel for his sack. Its +lightness startled him. Then, slowly, memories of the night thronged +into his brain. Rough voices disturbed him. He opened his +eyes and peered out from under the table. A couple of early risers, +or, rather, men who had been out on trail all night, were vociferating +their opinions concerning the utter and loathsome worthlessness of Eldorado +Creek. He grew frightened, felt in his pocket, and found the deed +to 24 ELDORADO.</p> +<p>Ten minutes later Hootchinoo Bill and Kink Mitchell were roused from +their blankets by a wild-eyed Swede that strove to force upon them an +ink-scrawled and very blotty piece of paper.</p> +<p>“Ay tank Ay take my money back,” he gibbered. “Ay +tank Ay take my money back.”</p> +<p>Tears were in his eyes and throat. They ran down his cheeks +as he knelt before them and pleaded and implored. But Bill and +Kink did not laugh. They might have been harder hearted.</p> +<p>“First time I ever hear a man squeal over a minin’ deal,” +Bill said. “An’ I make free to say ’tis too +onusual for me to savvy.”</p> +<p>“Same here,” Kink Mitchell remarked. “Minin’ +deals is like horse-tradin’.”</p> +<p>They were honest in their wonderment. They could not conceive +of themselves raising a wail over a business transaction, so they could +not understand it in another man.</p> +<p>“The poor, ornery <i>chechaquo</i>,” murmured Hootchinoo +Bill, as they watched the sorrowing Swede disappear up the trail.</p> +<p>“But this ain’t Too Much Gold,” Kink Mitchell said +cheerfully.</p> +<p>And ere the day was out they purchased flour and bacon at exorbitant +prices with Ans Handerson’s dust and crossed over the divide in +the direction of the creeks that lie between Klondike and Indian River.</p> +<p>Three months later they came back over the divide in the midst of +a snow-storm and dropped down the trail to 24 ELDORADO. It merely +chanced that the trail led them that way. They were not looking +for the claim. Nor could they see much through the driving white +till they set foot upon the claim itself. And then the air lightened, +and they beheld a dump, capped by a windlass that a man was turning. +They saw him draw a bucket of gravel from the hole and tilt it on the +edge of the dump. Likewise they saw another, man, strangely familiar, +filling a pan with the fresh gravel. His hands were large; his +hair wets pale yellow. But before they reached him, he turned +with the pan and fled toward a cabin. He wore no hat, and the +snow falling down his neck accounted for his haste. Bill and Kink +ran after him, and came upon him in the cabin, kneeling by the stove +and washing the pan of gravel in a tub of water.</p> +<p>He was too deeply engaged to notice more than that somebody had entered +the cabin. They stood at his shoulder and looked on. He +imparted to the pan a deft circular motion, pausing once or twice to +rake out the larger particles of gravel with his fingers. The +water was muddy, and, with the pan buried in it, they could see nothing +of its contents. Suddenly he lifted the pan clear and sent the +water out of it with a flirt. A mass of yellow, like butter in +a churn, showed across the bottom.</p> +<p>Hootchinoo Bill swallowed. Never in his life had he dreamed +of so rich a test-pan.</p> +<p>“Kind of thick, my friend,” he said huskily. “How +much might you reckon that-all to be?”</p> +<p>Ans Handerson did not look up as he replied, “Ay tank fafty +ounces.”</p> +<p>“You must be scrumptious rich, then, eh?”</p> +<p>Still Ans Handerson kept his head down, absorbed in putting in the +fine touches which wash out the last particles of dross, though he answered, +“Ay tank Ay ban wort’ five hundred t’ousand dollar.”</p> +<p>“Gosh!” said Hootchinoo Bill, and he said it reverently.</p> +<p>“Yes, Bill, gosh!” said Kink Mitchell; and they went +out softly and closed the door.</p> +<h2>THE ONE THOUSAND DOZEN</h2> +<p>David Rasmunsen was a hustler, and, like many a greater man, a man +of the one idea. Wherefore, when the clarion call of the North +rang on his ear, he conceived an adventure in eggs and bent all his +energy to its achievement. He figured briefly and to the point, +and the adventure became iridescent-hued, splendid. That eggs +would sell at Dawson for five dollars a dozen was a safe working premise. +Whence it was incontrovertible that one thousand dozen would bring, +in the Golden Metropolis, five thousand dollars.</p> +<p>On the other hand, expense was to be considered, and he considered +it well, for he was a careful man, keenly practical, with a hard head +and a heart that imagination never warmed. At fifteen cents a +dozen, the initial cost of his thousand dozen would be one hundred and +fifty dollars, a mere bagatelle in face of the enormous profit. +And suppose, just suppose, to be wildly extravagant for once, that transportation +for himself and eggs should run up eight hundred and fifty more; he +would still have four thousand clear cash and clean when the last egg +was disposed of and the last dust had rippled into his sack.</p> +<p>“You see, Alma,”—he figured it over with his wife, +the cosy dining-room submerged in a sea of maps, government surveys, +guide-books, and Alaskan itineraries,—“you see, expenses +don’t really begin till you make Dyea—fifty dollars’ll +cover it with a first-class passage thrown in. Now from Dyea to +Lake Linderman, Indian packers take your goods over for twelve cents +a pound, twelve dollars a hundred, or one hundred and twenty dollars +a thousand. Say I have fifteen hundred pounds, it’ll cost +one hundred and eighty dollars—call it two hundred and be safe. +I am creditably informed by a Klondiker just come out that I can buy +a boat for three hundred. But the same man says I’m sure +to get a couple of passengers for one hundred and fifty each, which +will give me the boat for nothing, and, further, they can help me manage +it. And . . . that’s all; I put my eggs ashore from the +boat at Dawson. Now let me see how much is that?”</p> +<p>“Fifty dollars from San Francisco to Dyea, two hundred from +Dyea to Linderman, passengers pay for the boat—two hundred and +fifty all told,” she summed up swiftly.</p> +<p>“And a hundred for my clothes and personal outfit,” he +went on happily; “that leaves a margin of five hundred for emergencies. +And what possible emergencies can arise?”</p> +<p>Alma shrugged her shoulders and elevated her brows. If that +vast Northland was capable of swallowing up a man and a thousand dozen +eggs, surely there was room and to spare for whatever else he might +happen to possess. So she thought, but she said nothing. +She knew David Rasmunsen too well to say anything.</p> +<p>“Doubling the time because of chance delays, I should make +the trip in two months. Think of it, Alma! Four thousand +in two months! Beats the paltry hundred a month I’m getting +now. Why, we’ll build further out where we’ll have +more space, gas in every room, and a view, and the rent of the cottage’ll +pay taxes, insurance, and water, and leave something over. And +then there’s always the chance of my striking it and coming out +a millionaire. Now tell me, Alma, don’t you think I’m +very moderate?”</p> +<p>And Alma could hardly think otherwise. Besides, had not her +own cousin,—though a remote and distant one to be sure, the black +sheep, the harum-scarum, the ne’er-do-well,—had not he come +down out of that weird North country with a hundred thousand in yellow +dust, to say nothing of a half-ownership in the hole from which it came?</p> +<p>David Rasmunsen’s grocer was surprised when he found him weighing +eggs in the scales at the end of the counter, and Rasmunsen himself +was more surprised when he found that a dozen eggs weighed a pound and +a half—fifteen hundred pounds for his thousand dozen! There +would be no weight left for his clothes, blankets, and cooking utensils, +to say nothing of the grub he must necessarily consume by the way. +His calculations were all thrown out, and he was just proceeding to +recast them when he hit upon the idea of weighing small eggs. +“For whether they be large or small, a dozen eggs is a dozen eggs,” +he observed sagely to himself; and a dozen small ones he found to weigh +but a pound and a quarter. Thereat the city of San Francisco was +overrun by anxious-eyed emissaries, and commission houses and dairy +associations were startled by a sudden demand for eggs running not more +than twenty ounces to the dozen.</p> +<p>Rasmunsen mortgaged the little cottage for a thousand dollars, arranged +for his wife to make a prolonged stay among her own people, threw up +his job, and started North. To keep within his schedule he compromised +on a second-class passage, which, because of the rush, was worse than +steerage; and in the late summer, a pale and wabbly man, he disembarked +with his eggs on the Dyea beach. But it did not take him long +to recover his land legs and appetite. His first interview with +the Chilkoot packers straightened him up and stiffened his backbone. +Forty cents a pound they demanded for the twenty-eight-mile portage, +and while he caught his breath and swallowed, the price went up to forty-three. +Fifteen husky Indians put the straps on his packs at forty-five, but +took them off at an offer of forty-seven from a Skaguay Croesus in dirty +shirt and ragged overalls who had lost his horses on the White Pass +trail and was now making a last desperate drive at the country by way +of Chilkoot.</p> +<p>But Rasmunsen was clean grit, and at fifty cents found takers, who, +two days later, set his eggs down intact at Linderman. But fifty +cents a pound is a thousand dollars a ton, and his fifteen hundred pounds +had exhausted his emergency fund and left him stranded at the Tantalus +point where each day he saw the fresh-whipsawed boats departing for +Dawson. Further, a great anxiety brooded over the camp where the +boats were built. Men worked frantically, early and late, at the +height of their endurance, caulking, nailing, and pitching in a frenzy +of haste for which adequate explanation was not far to seek. Each +day the snow-line crept farther down the bleak, rock-shouldered peaks, +and gale followed gale, with sleet and slush and snow, and in the eddies +and quiet places young ice formed and thickened through the fleeting +hours. And each morn, toil-stiffened men turned wan faces across +the lake to see if the freeze-up had come. For the freeze-up heralded +the death of their hope—the hope that they would be floating down +the swift river ere navigation closed on the chain of lakes.</p> +<p>To harrow Rasmunsen’s soul further, he discovered three competitors +in the egg business. It was true that one, a little German, had +gone broke and was himself forlornly back-tripping the last pack of +the portage; but the other two had boats nearly completed, and were +daily supplicating the god of merchants and traders to stay the iron +hand of winter for just another day. But the iron hand closed +down over the land. Men were being frozen in the blizzard which +swept Chilkoot, and Rasmunsen frosted his toes ere he was aware. +He found a chance to go passenger with his freight in a boat just shoving +off through the rubble, but two hundred hard cash, was required, and +he had no money.</p> +<p>“Ay tank you yust wait one leedle w’ile,” said +the Swedish boat-builder, who had struck his Klondike right there and +was wise enough to know it—“one leedle w’ile und I +make you a tam fine skiff boat, sure Pete.”</p> +<p>With this unpledged word to go on, Rasmunsen hit the back trail to +Crater Lake, where he fell in with two press correspondents whose tangled +baggage was strewn from Stone House, over across the Pass, and as far +as Happy Camp.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said with consequence. “I’ve +a thousand dozen eggs at Linderman, and my boat’s just about got +the last seam caulked. Consider myself in luck to get it. +Boats are at a premium, you know, and none to be had.”</p> +<p>Whereupon and almost with bodily violence the correspondents clamoured +to go with him, fluttered greenbacks before his eyes, and spilled yellow +twenties from hand to hand. He could not hear of it, but they +over-persuaded him, and he reluctantly consented to take them at three +hundred apiece. Also they pressed upon him the passage money in +advance. And while they wrote to their respective journals concerning +the Good Samaritan with the thousand dozen eggs, the Good Samaritan +was hurrying back to the Swede at Linderman.</p> +<p>“Here, you! Gimme that boat!” was his salutation, +his hand jingling the correspondents’ gold pieces and his eyes +hungrily bent upon the finished craft.</p> +<p>The Swede regarded him stolidly and shook his head.</p> +<p>“How much is the other fellow paying? Three hundred? +Well, here’s four. Take it.”</p> +<p>He tried to press it upon him, but the man backed away.</p> +<p>“Ay tank not. Ay say him get der skiff boat. You +yust wait—”</p> +<p>“Here’s six hundred. Last call. Take it or +leave it. Tell ’m it’s a mistake.”</p> +<p>The Swede wavered. “Ay tank yes,” he finally said, +and the last Rasmunsen saw of him his vocabulary was going to wreck +in a vain effort to explain the mistake to the other fellows.</p> +<p>The German slipped and broke his ankle on the steep hogback above +Deep Lake, sold out his stock for a dollar a dozen, and with the proceeds +hired Indian packers to carry him back to Dyea. But on the morning +Rasmunsen shoved off with his correspondents, his two rivals followed +suit.</p> +<p>“How many you got?” one of them, a lean little New Englander, +called out.</p> +<p>“One thousand dozen,” Rasmunsen answered proudly.</p> +<p>“Huh! I’ll go you even stakes I beat you in with +my eight hundred.”</p> +<p>The correspondents offered to lend him the money; but Rasmunsen declined, +and the Yankee closed with the remaining rival, a brawny son of the +sea and sailor of ships and things, who promised to show them all a +wrinkle or two when it came to cracking on. And crack on he did, +with a large tarpaulin square-sail which pressed the bow half under +at every jump. He was the first to run out of Linderman, but, +disdaining the portage, piled his loaded boat on the rocks in the boiling +rapids. Rasmunsen and the Yankee, who likewise had two passengers, +portaged across on their backs and then lined their empty boats down +through the bad water to Bennett.</p> +<p>Bennett was a twenty-five-mile lake, narrow and deep, a funnel between +the mountains through which storms ever romped. Rasmunsen camped +on the sand-pit at its head, where were many men and boats bound north +in the teeth of the Arctic winter. He awoke in the morning to +find a piping gale from the south, which caught the chill from the whited +peaks and glacial valleys and blew as cold as north wind ever blew. +But it was fair, and he also found the Yankee staggering past the first +bold headland with all sail set. Boat after boat was getting under +way, and the correspondents fell to with enthusiasm.</p> +<p>“We’ll catch him before Cariboo Crossing,” they +assured Rasmunsen, as they ran up the sail and the Alma took the first +icy spray over her bow.</p> +<p>Now Rasmunsen all his life had been prone to cowardice on water, +but he clung to the kicking steering-oar with set face and determined +jaw. His thousand dozen were there in the boat before his eyes, +safely secured beneath the correspondents’ baggage, and somehow, +before his eyes were the little cottage and the mortgage for a thousand +dollars.</p> +<p>It was bitter cold. Now and again he hauled in the steering-sweep +and put out a fresh one while his passengers chopped the ice from the +blade. Wherever the spray struck, it turned instantly to frost, +and the dipping boom of the spritsail was quickly fringed with icicles. +The <i>Alma</i> strained and hammered through the big seas till the +seams and butts began to spread, but in lieu of bailing the correspondents +chopped ice and flung it overboard. There was no let-up. +The mad race with winter was on, and the boats tore along in a desperate +string.</p> +<p>“W-w-we can’t stop to save our souls!” one of the +correspondents chattered, from cold, not fright.</p> +<p>“That’s right! Keep her down the middle, old man!” +the other encouraged.</p> +<p>Rasmunsen replied with an idiotic grin. The iron-bound shores +were in a lather of foam, and even down the middle the only hope was +to keep running away from the big seas. To lower sail was to be +overtaken and swamped. Time and again they passed boats pounding +among the rocks, and once they saw one on the edge of the breakers about +to strike. A little craft behind them, with two men, jibed over +and turned bottom up.</p> +<p>“W-w-watch out, old man,” cried he of the chattering +teeth.</p> +<p>Rasmunsen grinned and tightened his aching grip on the sweep. +Scores of times had the send of the sea caught the big square stern +of the <i>Alma</i> and thrown her off from dead before it till the after +leach of the spritsail fluttered hollowly, and each time, and only with +all his strength, had he forced her back. His grin by then had +become fixed, and it disturbed the correspondents to look at him.</p> +<p>They roared down past an isolated rock a hundred yards from shore. +From its wave-drenched top a man shrieked wildly, for the instant cutting +the storm with his voice. But the next instant the <i>Alma</i> +was by, and the rock growing a black speck in the troubled froth.</p> +<p>“That settles the Yankee! Where’s the sailor?” +shouted one of his passengers.</p> +<p>Rasmunsen shot a glance over his shoulder at a black square-sail. +He had seen it leap up out of the grey to windward, and for an hour, +off and on, had been watching it grow. The sailor had evidently +repaired damages and was making up for lost time.</p> +<p>“Look at him come!”</p> +<p>Both passengers stopped chopping ice to watch. Twenty miles +of Bennett were behind them—room and to spare for the sea to toss +up its mountains toward the sky. Sinking and soaring like a storm-god, +the sailor drove by them. The huge sail seemed to grip the boat +from the crests of the waves, to tear it bodily out of the water, and +fling it crashing and smothering down into the yawning troughs.</p> +<p>“The sea’ll never catch him!”</p> +<p>“But he’ll r-r-run her nose under!”</p> +<p>Even as they spoke, the black tarpaulin swooped from sight behind +a big comber. The next wave rolled over the spot, and the next, +but the boat did not reappear. The <i>Alma</i> rushed by the place. +A little riffraff of oats and boxes was seen. An arm thrust up +and a shaggy head broke surface a score of yards away.</p> +<p>For a time there was silence. As the end of the lake came in +sight, the waves began to leap aboard with such steady recurrence that +the correspondents no longer chopped ice but flung the water out with +buckets. Even this would not do, and, after a shouted conference +with Rasmunsen, they attacked the baggage. Flour, bacon, beans, +blankets, cooking-stove, ropes, odds and ends, everything they could +get hands on, flew overboard. The boat acknowledged it at once, +taking less water and rising more buoyantly.</p> +<p>“That’ll do!” Rasmunsen called sternly, as they +applied themselves to the top layer of eggs.</p> +<p>“The h-hell it will!” answered the shivering one, savagely. +With the exception of their notes, films, and cameras, they had sacrificed +their outfit. He bent over, laid hold of an egg-box, and began +to worry it out from under the lashing.</p> +<p>“Drop it! Drop it, I say!”</p> +<p>Rasmunsen had managed to draw his revolver, and with the crook of +his arm over the sweep head, was taking aim. The correspondent +stood up on the thwart, balancing back and forth, his face twisted with +menace and speechless anger.</p> +<p>“My God!”</p> +<p>So cried his brother correspondent, hurling himself, face downward, +into the bottom of the boat. The <i>Alma</i>, under the divided +attention of Rasmunsen, had been caught by a great mass of water and +whirled around. The after leach hollowed, the sail emptied and +jibed, and the boom, sweeping with terrific force across the boat, carried +the angry correspondent overboard with a broken back. Mast and +sail had gone over the side as well. A drenching sea followed, +as the boat lost headway, and Rasmunsen sprang to the bailing bucket.</p> +<p>Several boats hurtled past them in the next half-hour,—small +boats, boats of their own size, boats afraid, unable to do aught but +run madly on. Then a ten-ton barge, at imminent risk of destruction, +lowered sail to windward and lumbered down upon them.</p> +<p>“Keep off! Keep off!” Rasmunsen screamed.</p> +<p>But his low gunwale ground against the heavy craft, and the remaining +correspondent clambered aboard. Rasmunsen was over the eggs like +a cat and in the bow of the <i>Alma</i>, striving with numb fingers +to bend the hauling-lines together.</p> +<p>“Come on!” a red-whiskered man yelled at him.</p> +<p>“I’ve a thousand dozen eggs here,” he shouted back. +“Gimme a tow! I’ll pay you!”</p> +<p>“Come on!” they howled in chorus.</p> +<p>A big whitecap broke just beyond, washing over the barge and leaving +the <i>Alma</i> half swamped. The men cast off, cursing him as +they ran up their sail. Rasmunsen cursed back and fell to bailing. +The mast and sail, like a sea anchor, still fast by the halyards, held +the boat head on to wind and sea and gave him a chance to fight the +water out.</p> +<p>Three hours later, numbed, exhausted, blathering like a lunatic, +but still bailing, he went ashore on an ice-strewn beach near Cariboo +Crossing. Two men, a government courier and a half-breed voyageur, +dragged him out of the surf, saved his cargo, and beached the Alma. +They were paddling out of the country in a Peterborough, and gave him +shelter for the night in their storm-bound camp. Next morning +they departed, but he elected to stay by his eggs. And thereafter +the name and fame of the man with the thousand dozen eggs began to spread +through the land. Gold-seekers who made in before the freeze-up +carried the news of his coming. Grizzled old-timers of Forty Mile +and Circle City, sour doughs with leathern jaws and bean-calloused stomachs, +called up dream memories of chickens and green things at mention of +his name. Dyea and Skaguay took an interest in his being, and +questioned his progress from every man who came over the passes, while +Dawson—golden, omeletless Dawson—fretted and worried, and +way-laid every chance arrival for word of him.</p> +<p>But of this Rasmunsen knew nothing. The day after the wreck +he patched up the <i>Alma</i> and pulled out. A cruel east wind +blew in his teeth from Tagish, but he got the oars over the side and +bucked manfully into it, though half the time he was drifting backward +and chopping ice from the blades. According to the custom of the +country, he was driven ashore at Windy Arm; three times on Tagish saw +him swamped and beached; and Lake Marsh held him at the freeze-up. +The <i>Alma</i> was crushed in the jamming of the floes, but the eggs +were intact. These he back-tripped two miles across the ice to +the shore, where he built a cache, which stood for years after and was +pointed out by men who knew.</p> +<p>Half a thousand frozen miles stretched between him and Dawson, and +the waterway was closed. But Rasmunsen, with a peculiar tense +look in his face, struck back up the lakes on foot. What he suffered +on that lone trip, with nought but a single blanket, an axe, and a handful +of beans, is not given to ordinary mortals to know. Only the Arctic +adventurer may understand. Suffice that he was caught in a blizzard +on Chilkoot and left two of his toes with the surgeon at Sheep Camp. +Yet he stood on his feet and washed dishes in the scullery of the <i>Pawona</i> +to the Puget Sound, and from there passed coal on a P. S. boat to San +Francisco.</p> +<p>It was a haggard, unkempt man who limped across the shining office +floor to raise a second mortgage from the bank people. His hollow +cheeks betrayed themselves through the scraggy beard, and his eyes seemed +to have retired into deep caverns where they burned with cold fires. +His hands were grained from exposure and hard work, and the nails were +rimmed with tight-packed dirt and coal-dust. He spoke vaguely +of eggs and ice-packs, winds and tides; but when they declined to let +him have more than a second thousand, his talk became incoherent, concerning +itself chiefly with the price of dogs and dog-food, and such things +as snowshoes and moccasins and winter trails. They let him have +fifteen hundred, which was more than the cottage warranted, and breathed +easier when he scrawled his signature and passed out the door.</p> +<p>Two weeks later he went over Chilkoot with three dog sleds of five +dogs each. One team he drove, the two Indians with him driving +the others. At Lake Marsh they broke out the cache and loaded +up. But there was no trail. He was the first in over the +ice, and to him fell the task of packing the snow and hammering away +through the rough river jams. Behind him he often observed a camp-fire +smoke trickling thinly up through the quiet air, and he wondered why +the people did not overtake him. For he was a stranger to the +land and did not understand. Nor could he understand his Indians +when they tried to explain. This they conceived to be a hardship, +but when they balked and refused to break camp of mornings, he drove +them to their work at pistol point.</p> +<p>When he slipped through an ice bridge near the White Horse and froze +his foot, tender yet and oversensitive from the previous freezing, the +Indians looked for him to lie up. But he sacrificed a blanket, +and, with his foot incased in an enormous moccasin, big as a water-bucket, +continued to take his regular turn with the front sled. Here was +the cruellest work, and they respected him, though on the side they +rapped their foreheads with their knuckles and significantly shook their +heads. One night they tried to run away, but the zip-zip of his +bullets in the snow brought them back, snarling but convinced. +Whereupon, being only savage Chilkat men, they put their heads together +to kill him; but he slept like a cat, and, waking or sleeping, the chance +never came. Often they tried to tell him the import of the smoke +wreath in the rear, but he could not comprehend and grew suspicious +of them. And when they sulked or shirked, he was quick to let +drive at them between the eyes, and quick to cool their heated souls +with sight of his ready revolver.</p> +<p>And so it went—with mutinous men, wild dogs, and a trail that +broke the heart. He fought the men to stay with him, fought the +dogs to keep them away from the eggs, fought the ice, the cold, and +the pain of his foot, which would not heal. As fast as the young +tissue renewed, it was bitten and scared by the frost, so that a running +sore developed, into which he could almost shove his fist. In +the mornings, when he first put his weight upon it, his head went dizzy, +and he was near to fainting from the pain; but later on in the day it +usually grew numb, to recommence when he crawled into his blankets and +tried to sleep. Yet he, who had been a clerk and sat at a desk +all his days, toiled till the Indians were exhausted, and even out-worked +the dogs. How hard he worked, how much he suffered, he did not +know. Being a man of the one idea, now that the idea had come, +it mastered him. In the foreground of his consciousness was Dawson, +in the background his thousand dozen eggs, and midway between the two +his ego fluttered, striving always to draw them together to a glittering +golden point. This golden point was the five thousand dollars, +the consummation of the idea and the point of departure for whatever +new idea might present itself. For the rest, he was a mere automaton. +He was unaware of other things, seeing them as through a glass darkly, +and giving them no thought. The work of his hands he did with +machine-like wisdom; likewise the work of his head. So the look +on his face grew very tense, till even the Indians were afraid of it, +and marvelled at the strange white man who had made them slaves and +forced them to toil with such foolishness.</p> +<p>Then came a snap on Lake Le Barge, when the cold of outer space smote +the tip of the planet, and the force ranged sixty and odd degrees below +zero. Here, labouring with open mouth that he might breathe more +freely, he chilled his lungs, and for the rest of the trip he was troubled +with a dry, hacking cough, especially irritable in smoke of camp or +under stress of undue exertion. On the Thirty Mile river he found +much open water, spanned by precarious ice bridges and fringed with +narrow rim ice, tricky and uncertain. The rim ice was impossible +to reckon on, and he dared it without reckoning, falling back on his +revolver when his drivers demurred. But on the ice bridges, covered +with snow though they were, precautions could be taken. These +they crossed on their snowshoes, with long poles, held crosswise in +their hands, to which to cling in case of accident. Once over, +the dogs were called to follow. And on such a bridge, where the +absence of the centre ice was masked by the snow, one of the Indians +met his end. He went through as quickly and neatly as a knife +through thin cream, and the current swept him from view down under the +stream ice.</p> +<p>That night his mate fled away through the pale moonlight, Rasmunsen +futilely puncturing the silence with his revolver—a thing that +he handled with more celerity than cleverness. Thirty-six hours +later the Indian made a police camp on the Big Salmon.</p> +<p>“Um—um—um funny mans—what you call?—top +um head all loose,” the interpreter explained to the puzzled captain. +“Eh? Yep, clazy, much clazy mans. Eggs, eggs, all +a time eggs—savvy? Come bime-by.”</p> +<p>It was several days before Rasmunsen arrived, the three sleds lashed +together, and all the dogs in a single team. It was awkward, and +where the going was bad he was compelled to back-trip it sled by sled, +though he managed most of the time, through herculean efforts, to bring +all along on the one haul. He did not seem moved when the captain +of police told him his man was hitting the high places for Dawson, and +was by that time, probably, half-way between Selkirk and Stewart. +Nor did he appear interested when informed that the police had broken +the trail as far as Pelly; for he had attained to a fatalistic acceptance +of all natural dispensations, good or ill. But when they told +him that Dawson was in the bitter clutch of famine, he smiled, threw +the harness on his dogs, and pulled out.</p> +<p>But it was at his next halt that the mystery of the smoke was explained. +With the word at Big Salmon that the trail was broken to Pelly, there +was no longer any need for the smoke wreath to linger in his wake; and +Rasmunsen, crouching over lonely fire, saw a motley string of sleds +go by. First came the courier and the half-breed who had hauled +him out from Bennett; then mail-carriers for Circle City, two sleds +of them, and a mixed following of ingoing Klondikers. Dogs and +men were fresh and fat, while Rasmunsen and his brutes were jaded and +worn down to the skin and bone. They of the smoke wreath had travelled +one day in three, resting and reserving their strength for the dash +to come when broken trail was met with; while each day he had plunged +and floundered forward, breaking the spirit of his dogs and robbing +them of their mettle.</p> +<p>As for himself, he was unbreakable. They thanked him kindly +for his efforts in their behalf, those fat, fresh men,—thanked +him kindly, with broad grins and ribald laughter; and now, when he understood, +he made no answer. Nor did he cherish silent bitterness. +It was immaterial. The idea—the fact behind the idea—was +not changed. Here he was and his thousand dozen; there was Dawson; +the problem was unaltered.</p> +<p>At the Little Salmon, being short of dog food, the dogs got into +his grub, and from there to Selkirk he lived on beans—coarse, +brown beans, big beans, grossly nutritive, which griped his stomach +and doubled him up at two-hour intervals. But the Factor at Selkirk +had a notice on the door of the Post to the effect that no steamer had +been up the Yukon for two years, and in consequence grub was beyond +price. He offered to swap flour, however, at the rate of a cupful +of each egg, but Rasmunsen shook his head and hit the trail. Below +the Post he managed to buy frozen horse hide for the dogs, the horses +having been slain by the Chilkat cattle men, and the scraps and offal +preserved by the Indians. He tackled the hide himself, but the +hair worked into the bean sores of his mouth, and was beyond endurance.</p> +<p>Here at Selkirk he met the forerunners of the hungry exodus of Dawson, +and from there on they crept over the trail, a dismal throng. +“No grub!” was the song they sang. “No grub, +and had to go.” “Everybody holding candles for a rise +in the spring.” “Flour dollar ’n a half a pound, +and no sellers.”</p> +<p>“Eggs?” one of them answered. “Dollar apiece, +but there ain’t none.”</p> +<p>Rasmunsen made a rapid calculation. “Twelve thousand +dollars,” he said aloud.</p> +<p>“Hey?” the man asked.</p> +<p>“Nothing,” he answered, and <i>mushed</i> the dogs along.</p> +<p>When he arrived at Stewart River, seventy from Dawson, five of his +dogs were gone, and the remainder were falling in the traces. +He, also, was in the traces, hauling with what little strength was left +in him. Even then he was barely crawling along ten miles a day. +His cheek-bones and nose, frost-bitten again and again, were turned +bloody-black and hideous. The thumb, which was separated from +the fingers by the gee-pole, had likewise been nipped and gave him great +pain. The monstrous moccasin still incased his foot, and strange +pains were beginning to rack the leg. At Sixty Mile, the last +beans, which he had been rationing for some time, were finished; yet +he steadfastly refused to touch the eggs. He could not reconcile +his mind to the legitimacy of it, and staggered and fell along the way +to Indian River. Here a fresh-killed moose and an open-handed +old-timer gave him and his dogs new strength, and at Ainslie’s +he felt repaid for it all when a stampede, ripe from Dawson in five +hours, was sure he could get a dollar and a quarter for every egg he +possessed.</p> +<p>He came up the steep bank by the Dawson barracks with fluttering +heart and shaking knees. The dogs were so weak that he was forced +to rest them, and, waiting, he leaned limply against the gee-pole. +A man, an eminently decorous-looking man, came sauntering by in a great +bearskin coat. He glanced at Rasmunsen curiously, then stopped +and ran a speculative eye over the dogs and the three lashed sleds.</p> +<p>“What you got?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Eggs,” Rasmunsen answered huskily, hardly able to pitch +his voice above a whisper.</p> +<p>“Eggs! Whoopee! Whoopee!” He sprang +up into the air, gyrated madly, and finished with half-a-dozen war steps. +“You don’t say—all of ’em?”</p> +<p>“All of ’em.”</p> +<p>“Say, you must be the Egg Man.” He walked around +and viewed Rasmunsen from the other side. “Come, now, ain’t +you the Egg Man?”</p> +<p>Rasmunsen didn’t know, but supposed he was, and the man sobered +down a bit.</p> +<p>“What d’ye expect to get for ’em?” he asked +cautiously.</p> +<p>Rasmunsen became audacious. “Dollar ’n a half,” +he said.</p> +<p>“Done!” the man came back promptly. “Gimme +a dozen.”</p> +<p>“I—I mean a dollar ’n a half apiece,” Rasmunsen +hesitatingly explained.</p> +<p>“Sure. I heard you. Make it two dozen. Here’s +the dust.”</p> +<p>The man pulled out a healthy gold sack the size of a small sausage +and knocked it negligently against the gee-pole. Rasmunsen felt +a strange trembling in the pit of his stomach, a tickling of the nostrils, +and an almost overwhelming desire to sit down and cry. But a curious, +wide-eyed crowd was beginning to collect, and man after man was calling +out for eggs. He was without scales, but the man with the bearskin +coat fetched a pair and obligingly weighed in the dust while Rasmunsen +passed out the goods. Soon there was a pushing and shoving and +shouldering, and a great clamour. Everybody wanted to buy and +to be served first. And as the excitement grew, Rasmunsen cooled +down. This would never do. There must be something behind +the fact of their buying so eagerly. It would be wiser if he rested +first and sized up the market. Perhaps eggs were worth two dollars +apiece. Anyway, whenever he wished to sell, he was sure of a dollar +and a half. “Stop!” he cried, when a couple of hundred +had been sold. “No more now. I’m played out. +I’ve got to get a cabin, and then you can come and see me.”</p> +<p>A groan went up at this, but the man with the bearskin coat approved. +Twenty-four of the frozen eggs went rattling in his capacious pockets, +and he didn’t care whether the rest of the town ate or not. +Besides, he could see Rasmunsen was on his last legs.</p> +<p>“There’s a cabin right around the second corner from +the Monte Carlo,” he told him—“the one with the sody-bottle +window. It ain’t mine, but I’ve got charge of it. +Rents for ten a day and cheap for the money. You move right in, +and I’ll see you later. Don’t forget the sody-bottle +window.”</p> +<p>“Tra-la-loo!” he called back a moment later. “I’m +goin’ up the hill to eat eggs and dream of home.”</p> +<p>On his way to the cabin, Rasmunsen recollected he was hungry and +bought a small supply of provisions at the N. A. T. & T. store—also +a beefsteak at the butcher shop and dried salmon for the dogs. +He found the cabin without difficulty, and left the dogs in the harness +while he started the fire and got the coffee under way.</p> +<p>“A dollar ’n a half apiece—one thousand dozen—eighteen +thousand dollars!” he kept muttering it to himself, over and over, +as he went about his work.</p> +<p>As he flopped the steak into the frying-pan the door opened. +He turned. It was the man with the bearskin coat. He seemed +to come in with determination, as though bound on some explicit errand, +but as he looked at Rasmunsen an expression of perplexity came into +his face.</p> +<p>“I say—now I say—” he began, then halted.</p> +<p>Rasmunsen wondered if he wanted the rent.</p> +<p>“I say, damn it, you know, them eggs is bad.”</p> +<p>Rasmunsen staggered. He felt as though some one had struck +him an astounding blow between the eyes. The walls of the cabin +reeled and tilted up. He put out his hand to steady himself and +rested it on the stove. The sharp pain and the smell of the burning +flesh brought him back to himself.</p> +<p>“I see,” he said slowly, fumbling in his pocket for the +sack. “You want your money back.”</p> +<p>“It ain’t the money,” the man said, “but +hain’t you got any eggs—good?”</p> +<p>Rasmunsen shook his head. “You’d better take the +money.”</p> +<p>But the man refused and backed away. “I’ll come +back,” he said, “when you’ve taken stock, and get +what’s comin’.”</p> +<p>Rasmunsen rolled the chopping-block into the cabin and carried in +the eggs. He went about it quite calmly. He took up the +hand-axe, and, one by one, chopped the eggs in half. These halves +he examined carefully and let fall to the floor. At first he sampled +from the different cases, then deliberately emptied one case at a time. +The heap on the floor grew larger. The coffee boiled over and +the smoke of the burning beefsteak filled the cabin. He chopped +steadfastly and monotonously till the last case was finished.</p> +<p>Somebody knocked at the door, knocked again, and let himself in.</p> +<p>“What a mess!” he remarked, as he paused and surveyed +the scene.</p> +<p>The severed eggs were beginning to thaw in the heat of the stove, +and a miserable odour was growing stronger.</p> +<p>“Must a-happened on the steamer,” he suggested.</p> +<p>Rasmunsen looked at him long and blankly.</p> +<p>“I’m Murray, Big Jim Murray, everybody knows me,” +the man volunteered. “I’m just hearin’ your +eggs is rotten, and I’m offerin’ you two hundred for the +batch. They ain’t good as salmon, but still they’re +fair scoffin’s for dogs.”</p> +<p>Rasmunsen seemed turned to stone. He did not move. “You +go to hell,” he said passionlessly.</p> +<p>“Now just consider. I pride myself it’s a decent +price for a mess like that, and it’s better ’n nothin’. +Two hundred. What you say?”</p> +<p>“You go to hell,” Rasmunsen repeated softly, “and +get out of here.”</p> +<p>Murray gaped with a great awe, then went out carefully, backward, +with his eyes fixed an the other’s face.</p> +<p>Rasmunsen followed him out and turned the dogs loose. He threw +them all the salmon he had bought, and coiled a sled-lashing up in his +hand. Then he re-entered the cabin and drew the latch in after +him. The smoke from the cindered steak made his eyes smart. +He stood on the bunk, passed the lashing over the ridge-pole, and measured +the swing-off with his eye. It did not seem to satisfy, for he +put the stool on the bunk and climbed upon the stool. He drove +a noose in the end of the lashing and slipped his head through. +The other end he made fast. Then he kicked the stool out from +under.</p> +<h2>THE MARRIAGE OF LIT-LIT</h2> +<p>When John Fox came into a country where whisky freezes solid and +may be used as a paper-weight for a large part of the year, he came +without the ideals and illusions that usually hamper the progress of +more delicately nurtured adventurers. Born and reared on the frontier +fringe of the United States, he took with him into Canada a primitive +cast of mind, an elemental simplicity and grip on things, as it were, +that insured him immediate success in his new career. From a mere +servant of the Hudson Bay Company, driving a paddle with the voyageurs +and carrying goods on his back across the portages, he swiftly rose +to a Factorship and took charge of a trading post at Fort Angelus.</p> +<p>Here, because of his elemental simplicity, he took to himself a native +wife, and, by reason of the connubial bliss that followed, he escaped +the unrest and vain longings that curse the days of more fastidious +men, spoil their work, and conquer them in the end. He lived contentedly, +was at single purposes with the business he was set there to do, and +achieved a brilliant record in the service of the Company. About +this time his wife died, was claimed by her people, and buried with +savage circumstance in a tin trunk in the top of a tree.</p> +<p>Two sons she had borne him, and when the Company promoted him, he +journeyed with them still deeper into the vastness of the North-West +Territory to a place called Sin Rock, where he took charge of a new +post in a more important fur field. Here he spent several lonely +and depressing months, eminently disgusted with the unprepossessing +appearance of the Indian maidens, and greatly worried by his growing +sons who stood in need of a mother’s care. Then his eyes +chanced upon Lit-lit.</p> +<p>“Lit-lit—well, she is Lit-lit,” was the fashion +in which he despairingly described her to his chief clerk, Alexander +McLean.</p> +<p>McLean was too fresh from his Scottish upbringing—“not +dry behind the ears yet,” John Fox put it—to take to the +marriage customs of the country. Nevertheless he was not averse +to the Factor’s imperilling his own immortal soul, and, especially, +feeling an ominous attraction himself for Lit-lit, he was sombrely content +to clinch his own soul’s safety by seeing her married to the Factor.</p> +<p>Nor is it to be wondered that McLean’s austere Scotch soul +stood in danger of being thawed in the sunshine of Lit-lit’s eyes. +She was pretty, and slender, and willowy; without the massive face and +temperamental stolidity of the average squaw. “Lit-lit,” +so called from her fashion, even as a child, of being fluttery, of darting +about from place to place like a butterfly, of being inconsequent and +merry, and of laughing as lightly as she darted and danced about.</p> +<p>Lit-lit was the daughter of Snettishane, a prominent chief in the +tribe, by a half-breed mother, and to him the Factor fared casually +one summer day to open negotiations of marriage. He sat with the +chief in the smoke of a mosquito smudge before his lodge, and together +they talked about everything under the sun, or, at least, everything +that in the Northland is under the sun, with the sole exception of marriage. +John Fox had come particularly to talk of marriage; Snettishane knew +it, and John Fox knew he knew it, wherefore the subject was religiously +avoided. This is alleged to be Indian subtlety. In reality +it is transparent simplicity.</p> +<p>The hours slipped by, and Fox and Snettishane smoked interminable +pipes, looking each other in the eyes with a guilelessness superbly +histrionic. In the mid-afternoon McLean and his brother clerk, +McTavish, strolled past, innocently uninterested, on their way to the +river. When they strolled back again an hour later, Fox and Snettishane +had attained to a ceremonious discussion of the condition and quality +of the gunpowder and bacon which the Company was offering in trade. +Meanwhile Lit-lit, divining the Factor’s errand, had crept in +under the rear wall of the lodge, and through the front flap was peeping +out at the two logomachists by the mosquito smudge. She was flushed +and happy-eyed, proud that no less a man than the Factor (who stood +next to God in the Northland hierarchy) had singled her out, femininely +curious to see at close range what manner of man he was. Sunglare +on the ice, camp smoke, and weather beat had burned his face to a copper-brown, +so that her father was as fair as he, while she was fairer. She +was remotely glad of this, and more immediately glad that he was large +and strong, though his great black beard half frightened her, it was +so strange.</p> +<p>Being very young, she was unversed in the ways of men. Seventeen +times she had seen the sun travel south and lose itself beyond the sky-line, +and seventeen times she had seen it travel back again and ride the sky +day and night till there was no night at all. And through these +years she had been cherished jealously by Snettishane, who stood between +her and all suitors, listening disdainfully to the young hunters as +they bid for her hand, and turning them away as though she were beyond +price. Snettishane was mercenary. Lit-lit was to him an +investment. She represented so much capital, from which he expected +to receive, not a certain definite interest, but an incalculable interest.</p> +<p>And having thus been reared in a manner as near to that of the nunnery +as tribal conditions would permit, it was with a great and maidenly +anxiety that she peeped out at the man who had surely come for her, +at the husband who was to teach her all that was yet unlearned of life, +at the masterful being whose word was to be her law, and who was to +mete and bound her actions and comportment for the rest of her days.</p> +<p>But, peeping through the front flap of the lodge, flushed and thrilling +at the strange destiny reaching out for her, she grew disappointed as +the day wore along, and the Factor and her father still talked pompously +of matters concerning other things and not pertaining to marriage things +at all. As the sun sank lower and lower toward the north and midnight +approached, the Factor began making unmistakable preparations for departure. +As he turned to stride away Lit-lit’s heart sank; but it rose +again as he halted, half turning on one heel.</p> +<p>“Oh, by the way, Snettishane,” he said, “I want +a squaw to wash for me and mend my clothes.”</p> +<p>Snettishane grunted and suggested Wanidani, who was an old woman +and toothless.</p> +<p>“No, no,” interposed the Factor. “What I +want is a wife. I’ve been kind of thinking about it, and +the thought just struck me that you might know of some one that would +suit.”</p> +<p>Snettishane looked interested, whereupon the Factor retraced his +steps, casually and carelessly to linger and discuss this new and incidental +topic.</p> +<p>“Kattou?” suggested Snettishane.</p> +<p>“She has but one eye,” objected the Factor.</p> +<p>“Laska?”</p> +<p>“Her knees be wide apart when she stands upright. Kips, +your biggest dog, can leap between her knees when she stands upright.”</p> +<p>“Senatee?” went on the imperturbable Snettishane.</p> +<p>But John Fox feigned anger, crying: “What foolishness is this? +Am I old, that thou shouldst mate me with old women? Am I toothless? +lame of leg? blind of eye? Or am I poor that no bright-eyed maiden +may look with favour upon me? Behold! I am the Factor, both +rich and great, a power in the land, whose speech makes men tremble +and is obeyed!”</p> +<p>Snettishane was inwardly pleased, though his sphinx-like visage never +relaxed. He was drawing the Factor, and making him break ground. +Being a creature so elemental as to have room for but one idea at a +time, Snettishane could pursue that one idea a greater distance than +could John Fox. For John Fox, elemental as he was, was still complex +enough to entertain several glimmering ideas at a time, which debarred +him from pursuing the one as single-heartedly or as far as did the chief.</p> +<p>Snettishane calmly continued calling the roster of eligible maidens, +which, name by name, as fast as uttered, were stamped ineligible by +John Fox, with specified objections appended. Again he gave it +up and started to return to the Fort. Snettishane watched him +go, making no effort to stop him, but seeing him, in the end, stop himself.</p> +<p>“Come to think of it,” the Factor remarked, “we +both of us forgot Lit-lit. Now I wonder if she’ll suit me?”</p> +<p>Snettishane met the suggestion with a mirthless face, behind the +mask of which his soul grinned wide. It was a distinct victory. +Had the Factor gone but one step farther, perforce Snettishane would +himself have mentioned the name of Lit-lit, but—the Factor had +not gone that one step farther.</p> +<p>The chief was non-committal concerning Lit-lit’s suitability, +till he drove the white man into taking the next step in order of procedure.</p> +<p>“Well,” the Factor meditated aloud, “the only way +to find out is to make a try of it.” He raised his voice. +“So I will give for Lit-lit ten blankets and three pounds of tobacco +which is good tobacco.”</p> +<p>Snettishane replied with a gesture which seemed to say that all the +blankets and tobacco in all the world could not compensate him for the +loss of Lit-lit and her manifold virtues. When pressed by the +Factor to set a price, he coolly placed it at five hundred blankets, +ten guns, fifty pounds of tobacco, twenty scarlet cloths, ten bottles +of rum, a music-box, and lastly the good-will and best offices of the +Factor, with a place by his fire.</p> +<p>The Factor apparently suffered a stroke of apoplexy, which stroke +was successful in reducing the blankets to two hundred and in cutting +out the place by the fire—an unheard-of condition in the marriages +of white men with the daughters of the soil. In the end, after +three hours more of chaffering, they came to an agreement. For +Lit-lit Snettishane was to receive one hundred blankets, five pounds +of tobacco, three guns, and a bottle of rum, goodwill and best offices +included, which according to John Fox, was ten blankets and a gun more +than she was worth. And as he went home through the wee sma’ +hours, the three-o’clock sun blazing in the due north-east, he +was unpleasantly aware that Snettishane had bested him over the bargain.</p> +<p>Snettishane, tired and victorious, sought his bed, and discovered +Lit-lit before she could escape from the lodge.</p> +<p>He grunted knowingly: “Thou hast seen. Thou has heard. +Wherefore it be plain to thee thy father’s very great wisdom and +understanding. I have made for thee a great match. Heed +my words and walk in the way of my words, go when I say go, come when +I bid thee come, and we shall grow fat with the wealth of this big white +man who is a fool according to his bigness.”</p> +<p>The next day no trading was done at the store. The Factor opened +whisky before breakfast, to the delight of McLean and McTavish, gave +his dogs double rations, and wore his best moccasins. Outside +the Fort preparations were under way for a <i>potlatch</i>. Potlatch +means “a giving,” and John Fox’s intention was to +signalize his marriage with Lit-lit by a potlatch as generous as she +was good-looking. In the afternoon the whole tribe gathered to +the feast. Men, women, children, and dogs gorged to repletion, +nor was there one person, even among the chance visitors and stray hunters +from other tribes, who failed to receive some token of the bridegroom’s +largess.</p> +<p>Lit-lit, tearfully shy and frightened, was bedecked by her bearded +husband with a new calico dress, splendidly beaded moccasins, a gorgeous +silk handkerchief over her raven hair, a purple scarf about her throat, +brass ear-rings and finger-rings, and a whole pint of pinchbeck jewellery, +including a Waterbury watch. Snettishane could scarce contain +himself at the spectacle, but watching his chance drew her aside from +the feast.</p> +<p>“Not this night, nor the next night,” he began ponderously, +“but in the nights to come, when I shall call like a raven by +the river bank, it is for thee to rise up from thy big husband, who +is a fool, and come to me.</p> +<p>“Nay, nay,” he went on hastily, at sight of the dismay +in her face at turning her back upon her wonderful new life. “For +no sooner shall this happen than thy big husband, who is a fool, will +come wailing to my lodge. Then it is for thee to wail likewise, +claiming that this thing is not well, and that the other thing thou +dost not like, and that to be the wife of the Factor is more than thou +didst bargain for, only wilt thou be content with more blankets, and +more tobacco, and more wealth of various sorts for thy poor old father, +Snettishane. Remember well, when I call in the night, like a raven, +from the river bank.”</p> +<p>Lit-lit nodded; for to disobey her father was a peril she knew well; +and, furthermore, it was a little thing he asked, a short separation +from the Factor, who would know only greater gladness at having her +back. She returned to the feast, and, midnight being well at hand, +the Factor sought her out and led her away to the Fort amid joking and +outcry, in which the squaws were especially conspicuous.</p> +<p>Lit-lit quickly found that married life with the head-man of a fort +was even better than she had dreamed. No longer did she have to +fetch wood and water and wait hand and foot upon cantankerous menfolk. +For the first time in her life she could lie abed till breakfast was +on the table. And what a bed!—clean and soft, and comfortable +as no bed she had ever known. And such food! Flour, cooked +into biscuits, hot-cakes and bread, three times a day and every day, +and all one wanted! Such prodigality was hardly believable.</p> +<p>To add to her contentment, the Factor was cunningly kind. He +had buried one wife, and he knew how to drive with a slack rein that +went firm only on occasion, and then went very firm. “Lit-lit +is boss of this place,” he announced significantly at the table +the morning after the wedding. “What she says goes. +Understand?” And McLean and McTavish understood. Also, +they knew that the Factor had a heavy hand.</p> +<p>But Lit-lit did not take advantage. Taking a leaf from the +book of her husband, she at once assumed charge of his own growing sons, +giving them added comforts and a measure of freedom like to that which +he gave her. The two sons were loud in the praise of their new +mother; McLean and McTavish lifted their voices; and the Factor bragged +of the joys of matrimony till the story of her good behaviour and her +husband’s satisfaction became the property of all the dwellers +in the Sin Rock district.</p> +<p>Whereupon Snettishane, with visions of his incalculable interest +keeping him awake of nights, thought it time to bestir himself. +On the tenth night of her wedded life Lit-lit was awakened by the croaking +of a raven, and she knew that Snettishane was waiting for her by the +river bank. In her great happiness she had forgotten her pact, +and now it came back to her with behind it all the childish terror of +her father. For a time she lay in fear and trembling, loath to +go, afraid to stay. But in the end the Factor won the silent victory, +and his kindness plus his great muscles and square jaw, nerved her to +disregard Snettishane’s call.</p> +<p>But in the morning she arose very much afraid, and went about her +duties in momentary fear of her father’s coming. As the +day wore along, however, she began to recover her spirits. John +Fox, soundly berating McLean and McTavish for some petty dereliction +of duty, helped her to pluck up courage. She tried not to let +him go out of her sight, and when she followed him into the huge cache +and saw him twirling and tossing great bales around as though they were +feather pillows, she felt strengthened in her disobedience to her father. +Also (it was her first visit to the warehouse, and Sin Rock was the +chief distributing point to several chains of lesser posts), she was +astounded at the endlessness of the wealth there stored away.</p> +<p>This sight and the picture in her mind’s eye of the bare lodge +of Snettishane, put all doubts at rest. Yet she capped her conviction +by a brief word with one of her step-sons. “White daddy +good?” was what she asked, and the boy answered that his father +was the best man he had ever known. That night the raven croaked +again. On the night following the croaking was more persistent. +It awoke the Factor, who tossed restlessly for a while. Then he +said aloud, “Damn that raven,” and Lit-lit laughed quietly +under the blankets.</p> +<p>In the morning, bright and early, Snettishane put in an ominous appearance +and was set to breakfast in the kitchen with Wanidani. He refused +“squaw food,” and a little later bearded his son-in-law +in the store where the trading was done. Having learned, he said, +that his daughter was such a jewel, he had come for more blankets, more +tobacco, and more guns—especially more guns. He had certainly +been cheated in her price, he held, and he had come for justice. +But the Factor had neither blankets nor justice to spare. Whereupon +he was informed that Snettishane had seen the missionary at Three Forks, +who had notified him that such marriages were not made in heaven, and +that it was his father’s duty to demand his daughter back.</p> +<p>“I am good Christian man now,” Snettishane concluded. +“I want my Lit-lit to go to heaven.”</p> +<p>The Factor’s reply was short and to the point; for he directed +his father-in-law to go to the heavenly antipodes, and by the scruff +of the neck and the slack of the blanket propelled him on that trail +as far as the door.</p> +<p>But Snettishane sneaked around and in by the kitchen, cornering Lit-lit +in the great living-room of the Fort.</p> +<p>“Mayhap thou didst sleep over-sound last night when I called +by the river bank,” he began, glowering darkly.</p> +<p>“Nay, I was awake and heard.” Her heart was beating +as though it would choke her, but she went on steadily, “And the +night before I was awake and heard, and yet again the night before.”</p> +<p>And thereat, out of her great happiness and out of the fear that +it might be taken from her, she launched into an original and glowing +address upon the status and rights of woman—the first new-woman +lecture delivered north of Fifty-three.</p> +<p>But it fell on unheeding ears. Snettishane was still in the +dark ages. As she paused for breath, he said threateningly, “To-night +I shall call again like the raven.”</p> +<p>At this moment the Factor entered the room and again helped Snettishane +on his way to the heavenly antipodes.</p> +<p>That night the raven croaked more persistently than ever. Lit-lit, +who was a light sleeper, heard and smiled. John Fox tossed restlessly. +Then he awoke and tossed about with greater restlessness. He grumbled +and snorted, swore under his breath and over his breath, and finally +flung out of bed. He groped his way to the great living-room, +and from the rack took down a loaded shot-gun—loaded with bird-shot, +left therein by the careless McTavish.</p> +<p>The Factor crept carefully out of the Fort and down to the river. +The croaking had ceased, but he stretched out in the long grass and +waited. The air seemed a chilly balm, and the earth, after the +heat of the day, now and again breathed soothingly against him. +The Factor, gathered into the rhythm of it all, dozed off, with his +head upon his arm, and slept.</p> +<p>Fifty yards away, head resting on knees, and with his back to John +Fox, Snettishane likewise slept, gently conquered by the quietude of +the night. An hour slipped by and then he awoke, and, without +lifting his head, set the night vibrating with the hoarse gutturals +of the raven call.</p> +<p>The Factor roused, not with the abrupt start of civilized man, but +with the swift and comprehensive glide from sleep to waking of the savage. +In the night-light he made out a dark object in the midst of the grass +and brought his gun to bear upon it. A second croak began to rise, +and he pulled the trigger. The crickets ceased from their sing-song +chant, the wildfowl from their squabbling, and the raven croak broke +midmost and died away in gasping silence.</p> +<p>John Fox ran to the spot and reached for the thing he had killed, +but his fingers closed on a coarse mop of hair and he turned Snettishane’s +face upward to the starlight. He knew how a shotgun scattered +at fifty yards, and he knew that he had peppered Snettishane across +the shoulders and in the small of the back. And Snettishane knew +that he knew, but neither referred to it.</p> +<p>“What dost thou here?” the Factor demanded. “It +were time old bones should be in bed.”</p> +<p>But Snettishane was stately in spite of the bird-shot burning under +his skin.</p> +<p>“Old bones will not sleep,” he said solemnly. “I +weep for my daughter, for my daughter Lit-lit, who liveth and who yet +is dead, and who goeth without doubt to the white man’s hell.”</p> +<p>“Weep henceforth on the far bank, beyond ear-shot of the Fort,” +said John Fox, turning on his heel, “for the noise of thy weeping +is exceeding great and will not let one sleep of nights.”</p> +<p>“My heart is sore,” Snettishane answered, “and +my days and nights be black with sorrow.”</p> +<p>“As the raven is black,” said John Fox.</p> +<p>“As the raven is black,” Snettishane said.</p> +<p>Never again was the voice of the raven heard by the river bank. +Lit-lit grows matronly day by day and is very happy. Also, there +are sisters to the sons of John Fox’s first wife who lies buried +in a tree. Old Snettishane is no longer a visitor at the Fort, +and spends long hours raising a thin, aged voice against the filial +ingratitude of children in general and of his daughter Lit-lit in particular. +His declining years are embittered by the knowledge that he was cheated, +and even John Fox has withdrawn the assertion that the price for Lit-lit +was too much by ten blankets and a gun.</p> +<h2>BÂTARD</h2> +<p>Bâtard was a devil. This was recognized throughout the +Northland. “Hell’s Spawn” he was called by many +men, but his master, Black Leclère, chose for him the shameful +name “Bâtard.” Now Black Leclère was +also a devil, and the twain were well matched. There is a saying +that when two devils come together, hell is to pay. This is to +be expected, and this certainly was to be expected when Bâtard +and Black Leclère came together. The first time they met, +Bâtard was a part-grown puppy, lean and hungry, with bitter eyes; +and they met with snap and snarl, and wicked looks, for Leclère’s +upper lip had a wolfish way of lifting and showing the white, cruel +teeth. And it lifted then, and his eyes glinted viciously, as +he reached for Bâtard and dragged him out from the squirming litter. +It was certain that they divined each other, for on the instant Bâtard +had buried his puppy fangs in Leclère’s hand, and Leclère, +thumb and finger, was coolly choking his young life out of him.</p> +<p>“<i>Sacredam</i>,” the Frenchman said softly, flirting +the quick blood from his bitten hand and gazing down on the little puppy +choking and gasping in the snow.</p> +<p>Leclère turned to John Hamlin, storekeeper of the Sixty Mile +Post. “Dat fo’ w’at Ah lak heem. ‘Ow +moch, eh, you, <i>M’sieu</i>’? ‘Ow moch? +Ah buy heem, now; Ah buy heem queek.”</p> +<p>And because he hated him with an exceeding bitter hate, Leclère +bought Bâtard and gave him his shameful name. And for five +years the twain adventured across the Northland, from St. Michael’s +and the Yukon delta to the head-reaches of the Pelly and even so far +as the Peace River, Athabasca, and the Great Slave. And they acquired +a reputation for uncompromising wickedness, the like of which never +before attached itself to man and dog.</p> +<p>Bâtard did not know his father—hence his name—but, +as John Hamlin knew, his father was a great grey timber wolf. +But the mother of Bâtard, as he dimly remembered her, was snarling, +bickering, obscene, husky, full-fronted and heavy-chested, with a malign +eye, a cat-like grip on life, and a genius for trickery and evil. +There was neither faith nor trust in her. Her treachery alone +could be relied upon, and her wild-wood amours attested her general +depravity. Much of evil and much of strength were there in these, +Bâtard’s progenitors, and, bone and flesh of their bone +and flesh, he had inherited it all. And then came Black Leclère, +to lay his heavy hand on the bit of pulsating puppy life, to press and +prod and mould till it became a big bristling beast, acute in knavery, +overspilling with hate, sinister, malignant, diabolical. With +a proper master Bâtard might have made an ordinary, fairly efficient +sled-dog. He never got the chance: Leclère but confirmed +him in his congenital iniquity.</p> +<p>The history of Bâtard and Leclère is a history of war—of +five cruel, relentless years, of which their first meeting is fit summary. +To begin with, it was Leclère’s fault, for he hated with +understanding and intelligence, while the long-legged, ungainly puppy +hated only blindly, instinctively, without reason or method. At +first there were no refinements of cruelty (these were to come later), +but simple beatings and crude brutalities. In one of these Bâtard +had an ear injured. He never regained control of the riven muscles, +and ever after the ear drooped limply down to keep keen the memory of +his tormentor. And he never forgot.</p> +<p>His puppyhood was a period of foolish rebellion. He was always +worsted, but he fought back because it was his nature to fight back. +And he was unconquerable. Yelping shrilly from the pain of lash +and club, he none the less contrived always to throw in the defiant +snarl, the bitter vindictive menace of his soul which fetched without +fail more blows and beatings. But his was his mother’s tenacious +grip on life. Nothing could kill him. He flourished under +misfortune, grew fat with famine, and out of his terrible struggle for +life developed a preternatural intelligence. His were the stealth +and cunning of the husky, his mother, and the fierceness and valour +of the wolf, his father.</p> +<p>Possibly it was because of his father that he never wailed. +His puppy yelps passed with his lanky legs, so that he became grim and +taciturn, quick to strike, slow to warn. He answered curse with +snarl, and blow with snap, grinning the while his implacable hatred; +but never again, under the extremest agony, did Leclère bring +from him the cry of fear nor of pain. This unconquerableness but +fanned Leclère’s wrath and stirred him to greater deviltries.</p> +<p>Did Leclère give Bâtard half a fish and to his mates +whole ones, Bâtard went forth to rob other dogs of their fish. +Also he robbed caches and expressed himself in a thousand rogueries, +till he became a terror to all dogs and masters of dogs. Did Leclère +beat Bâtard and fondle Babette—Babette who was not half +the worker he was—why, Bâtard threw her down in the snow +and broke her hind leg in his heavy jaws, so that Leclère was +forced to shoot her. Likewise, in bloody battles, Bâtard +mastered all his team-mates, set them the law of trail and forage, and +made them live to the law he set.</p> +<p>In five years he heard but one kind word, received but one soft stroke +of a hand, and then he did not know what manner of things they were. +He leaped like the untamed thing he was, and his jaws were together +in a flash. It was the missionary at Sunrise, a newcomer in the +country, who spoke the kind word and gave the soft stroke of the hand. +And for six months after, he wrote no letters home to the States, and +the surgeon at McQuestion travelled two hundred miles on the ice to +save him from blood-poisoning.</p> +<p>Men and dogs looked askance at Bâtard when he drifted into +their camps and posts. The men greeted him with feet threateningly +lifted for the kick, the dogs with bristling manes and bared fangs. +Once a man did kick Bâtard, and Bâtard, with quick wolf +snap, closed his jaws like a steel trap on the man’s calf and +crunched down to the bone. Whereat the man was determined to have +his life, only Black Leclère, with ominous eyes and naked hunting-knife, +stepped in between. The killing of Bâtard—ah, <i>sacredam</i>, +<i>that</i> was a pleasure Leclère reserved for himself. +Some day it would happen, or else—bah! who was to know? +Anyway, the problem would be solved.</p> +<p>For they had become problems to each other. The very breath +each drew was a challenge and a menace to the other. Their hate +bound them together as love could never bind. Leclère was +bent on the coming of the day when Bâtard should wilt in spirit +and cringe and whimper at his feet. And Bâtard—Leclère +knew what was in Bâtard’s mind, and more than once had read +it in Bâtard’s eyes. And so clearly had he read, that +when Bâtard was at his back, he made it a point to glance often +over his shoulder.</p> +<p>Men marvelled when Leclère refused large money for the dog. +“Some day you’ll kill him and be out his price,” said +John Hamlin once, when Bâtard lay panting in the snow where Leclère +had kicked him, and no one knew whether his ribs were broken, and no +one dared look to see.</p> +<p>“Dat,” said Leclère, dryly, “dat is my biz’ness, +<i>M’sieu</i>’.”</p> +<p>And the men marvelled that Bâtard did not run away. They +did not understand. But Leclère understood. He was +a man who lived much in the open, beyond the sound of human tongue, +and he had learned the voices of wind and storm, the sigh of night, +the whisper of dawn, the clash of day. In a dim way he could hear +the green things growing, the running of the sap, the bursting of the +bud. And he knew the subtle speech of the things that moved, of +the rabbit in the snare, the moody raven beating the air with hollow +wing, the baldface shuffling under the moon, the wolf like a grey shadow +gliding betwixt the twilight and the dark. And to him Bâtard +spoke clear and direct. Full well he understood why Bâtard +did not run away, and he looked more often over his shoulder.</p> +<p>When in anger, Bâtard was not nice to look upon, and more than +once had he leapt for Leclère’s throat, to be stretched +quivering and senseless in the snow, by the butt of the ever ready dogwhip. +And so Bâtard learned to bide his time. When he reached +his full strength and prime of youth, he thought the time had come. +He was broad-chested, powerfully muscled, of far more than ordinary +size, and his neck from head to shoulders was a mass of bristling hair—to +all appearances a full-blooded wolf. Leclère was lying +asleep in his furs when Bâtard deemed the time to be ripe. +He crept upon him stealthily, head low to earth and lone ear laid back, +with a feline softness of tread. Bâtard breathed gently, +very gently, and not till he was close at hand did he raise his head. +He paused for a moment and looked at the bronzed bull throat, naked +and knotty, and swelling to a deep steady pulse. The slaver dripped +down his fangs and slid off his tongue at the sight, and in that moment +he remembered his drooping ear, his uncounted blows and prodigious wrongs, +and without a sound sprang on the sleeping man.</p> +<p>Leclère awoke to the pang of the fangs in his throat, and, +perfect animal that he was, he awoke clear-headed and with full comprehension. +He closed on Bâtard’s windpipe with both his hands, and +rolled out of his furs to get his weight uppermost. But the thousands +of Bâtard’s ancestors had clung at the throats of unnumbered +moose and caribou and dragged them down, and the wisdom of those ancestors +was his. When Leclère’s weight came on top of him, +he drove his hind legs upwards and in, and clawed down chest and abdomen, +ripping and tearing through skin and muscle. And when he felt +the man’s body wince above him and lift, he worried and shook +at the man’s throat. His team-mates closed around in a snarling +circle, and Bâtard, with failing breath and fading sense, knew +that their jaws were hungry for him. But that did not matter—it +was the man, the man above him, and he ripped and clawed, and shook +and worried, to the last ounce of his strength. But Leclère +choked him with both his hands, till Bâtard’s chest heaved +and writhed for the air denied, and his eyes glazed and set, and his +jaws slowly loosened, and his tongue protruded black and swollen.</p> +<p>“Eh? <i>Bon</i>, you devil!” Leclère gurgled +mouth and throat clogged with his own blood, as he shoved the dizzy +dog from him.</p> +<p>And then Leclère cursed the other dogs off as they fell upon +Bâtard. They drew back into a wider circle, squatting alertly +on their haunches and licking their chops, the hair on every neck bristling +and erect.</p> +<p>Bâtard recovered quickly, and at sound of Leclère’s +voice, tottered to his feet and swayed weakly back and forth.</p> +<p>“A-h-ah! You beeg devil!” Leclère spluttered. +“Ah fix you; Ah fix you plentee, by <i>Gar</i>!”</p> +<p>Bâtard, the air biting into his exhausted lungs like wine, +flashed full into the man’s face, his jaws missing and coming +together with a metallic clip. They rolled over and over on the +snow, Leclère striking madly with his fists. Then they +separated, face to face, and circled back and forth before each other. +Leclère could have drawn his knife. His rifle was at his +feet. But the beast in him was up and raging. He would do +the thing with his hands—and his teeth. Bâtard sprang +in, but Leclère knocked him over with a blow of the fist, fell +upon him, and buried his teeth to the bone in the dog’s shoulder.</p> +<p>It was a primordial setting and a primordial scene, such as might +have been in the savage youth of the world. An open space in a +dark forest, a ring of grinning wolf-dogs, and in the centre two beasts, +locked in combat, snapping and snarling raging madly about panting, +sobbing, cursing, straining, wild with passion, in a fury of murder, +ripping and tearing and clawing in elemental brutishness.</p> +<p>But Leclère caught Bâtard behind the ear with a blow +from his fist, knocking him over, and, for the instant, stunning him. +Then Leclère leaped upon him with his feet, and sprang up and +down, striving to grind him into the earth. Both Bâtard’s +hind legs were broken ere Leclère ceased that he might catch +breath.</p> +<p>“A-a-ah! A-a-ah!” he screamed, incapable of speech, +shaking his fist, through sheer impotence of throat and larynx.</p> +<p>But Bâtard was indomitable. He lay there in a helpless +welter, his lip feebly lifting and writhing to the snarl he had not +the strength to utter. Leclère kicked him, and the tired +jaws closed on the ankle, but could not break the skin.</p> +<p>Then Leclère picked up the whip and proceeded almost to cut +him to pieces, at each stroke of the lash crying: “Dis taim Ah +break you! Eh? By <i>Gar</i>! Ah break you!”</p> +<p>In the end, exhausted, fainting from loss of blood, he crumpled up +and fell by his victim, and when the wolf-dogs closed in to take their +vengeance, with his last consciousness dragged his body on top of Bâtard +to shield him from their fangs.</p> +<p>This occurred not far from Sunrise, and the missionary, opening the +door to Leclère a few hours later, was surprised to note the +absence of Bâtard from the team. Nor did his surprise lessen +when Leclère threw back the robes from the sled, gathered Bâtard +into his arms and staggered across the threshold. It happened +that the surgeon of McQuestion, who was something of a gadabout, was +up on a gossip, and between them they proceeded to repair Leclère,</p> +<p>“<i>Merci</i>, <i>non</i>,” said he. “Do +you fix firs’ de dog. To die? <i>Non</i>. Eet +is not good. Becos’ heem Ah mus’ yet break. +Dat fo’ w’at he mus’ not die.”</p> +<p>The surgeon called it a marvel, the missionary a miracle, that Leclère +pulled through at all; and so weakened was he, that in the spring the +fever got him, and he went on his back again. Bâtard had +been in even worse plight, but his grip on life prevailed, and the bones +of his hind legs knit, and his organs righted themselves, during the +several weeks he lay strapped to the floor. And by the time Leclère, +finally convalescent, sallow and shaky, took the sun by the cabin door, +Bâtard had reasserted his supremacy among his kind, and brought +not only his own team-mates but the missionary’s dogs into subjection.</p> +<p>He moved never a muscle, nor twitched a hair, when, for the first +time, Leclère tottered out on the missionary’s arm, and +sank down slowly and with infinite caution on the three-legged stool.</p> +<p>“<i>Bon</i>!” he said. “<i>Bon</i>! +De good sun!” And he stretched out his wasted hands and +washed them in the warmth.</p> +<p>Then his gaze fell on the dog, and the old light blazed back in his +eyes. He touched the missionary lightly on the arm. “<i>Mon</i> +<i>père</i>, dat is one beeg devil, dat Bâtard. You +will bring me one pistol, so, dat Ah drink de sun in peace.”</p> +<p>And thenceforth for many days he sat in the sun before the cabin +door. He never dozed, and the pistol lay always across his knees. +Bâtard had a way, the first thing each day, of looking for the +weapon in its wonted place. At sight of it he would lift his lip +faintly in token that he understood, and Leclère would lift his +own lip in an answering grin. One day the missionary took note +of the trick.</p> +<p>“Bless me!” he said. “I really believe the +brute comprehends.”</p> +<p>Leclère laughed softly. “Look you, <i>mon</i> +<i>père</i>. Dat w’at Ah now spik, to dat does he +lissen.”</p> +<p>As if in confirmation, Bâtard just perceptibly wriggled his +lone ear up to catch the sound.</p> +<p>“Ah say ‘keel’.”</p> +<p>Bâtard growled deep down in his throat, the hair bristled along +his neck, and every muscle went tense and expectant.</p> +<p>“Ah lift de gun, so, like dat.” And suiting action +to word, he sighted the pistol at Bâtard. Bâtard, +with a single leap, sideways, landed around the corner of the cabin +out of sight.</p> +<p>“Bless me!” he repeated at intervals. Leclère +grinned proudly.</p> +<p>“But why does he not run away?”</p> +<p>The Frenchman’s shoulders went up in the racial shrug that +means all things from total ignorance to infinite understanding.</p> +<p>“Then why do you not kill him?”</p> +<p>Again the shoulders went up.</p> +<p>“<i>Mon</i> <i>père</i>,” he said after a pause, +“de taim is not yet. He is one beeg devil. Some taim +Ah break heem, so an’ so, all to leetle bits. Hey? some +taim. <i>Bon</i>!”</p> +<p>A day came when Leclère gathered his dogs together and floated +down in a bateau to Forty Mile, and on to the Porcupine, where he took +a commission from the P. C. Company, and went exploring for the better +part of a year. After that he poled up the Koyokuk to deserted +Arctic City, and later came drifting back, from camp to camp, along +the Yukon. And during the long months Bâtard was well lessoned. +He learned many tortures, and, notably, the torture of hunger, the torture +of thirst, the torture of fire, and, worst of all, the torture of music.</p> +<p>Like the rest of his kind, he did not enjoy music. It gave +him exquisite anguish, racking him nerve by nerve, and ripping apart +every fibre of his being. It made him howl, long and wolf-life, +as when the wolves bay the stars on frosty nights. He could not +help howling. It was his one weakness in the contest with Leclère, +and it was his shame. Leclère, on the other hand, passionately +loved music—as passionately as he loved strong drink. And +when his soul clamoured for expression, it usually uttered itself in +one or the other of the two ways, and more usually in both ways. +And when he had drunk, his brain a-lilt with unsung song and the devil +in him aroused and rampant, his soul found its supreme utterance in +torturing Bâtard.</p> +<p>“Now we will haf a leetle museek,” he would say. +“Eh? W’at you t’ink, Bâtard?”</p> +<p>It was only an old and battered harmonica, tenderly treasured and +patiently repaired; but it was the best that money could buy, and out +of its silver reeds he drew weird vagrant airs that men had never heard +before. Then Bâtard, dumb of throat, with teeth tight clenched, +would back away, inch by inch, to the farthest cabin corner. And +Leclère, playing, playing, a stout club tucked under his arm, +followed the animal up, inch by inch, step by step, till there was no +further retreat.</p> +<p>At first Bâtard would crowd himself into the smallest possible +space, grovelling close to the floor; but as the music came nearer and +nearer, he was forced to uprear, his back jammed into the logs, his +fore legs fanning the air as though to beat off the rippling waves of +sound. He still kept his teeth together, but severe muscular contractions +attacked his body, strange twitchings and jerkings, till he was all +a-quiver and writhing in silent torment. As he lost control, his +jaws spasmodically wrenched apart, and deep throaty vibrations issued +forth, too low in the register of sound for human ear to catch. +And then, nostrils distended, eyes dilated, hair bristling in helpless +rage, arose the long wolf howl. It came with a slurring rush upwards, +swelling to a great heart-breaking burst of sound, and dying away in +sadly cadenced woe—then the next rush upward, octave upon octave; +the bursting heart; and the infinite sorrow and misery, fainting, fading, +falling, and dying slowly away.</p> +<p>It was fit for hell. And Leclère, with fiendish ken, +seemed to divine each particular nerve and heartstring, and with long +wails and tremblings and sobbing minors to make it yield up its last +shred of grief. It was frightful, and for twenty-four hours after, +Bâtard was nervous and unstrung, starting at common sounds, tripping +over his own shadow, but, withal, vicious and masterful with his team-mates. +Nor did he show signs of a breaking spirit. Rather did he grow +more grim and taciturn, biding his time with an inscrutable patience +that began to puzzle and weigh upon Leclère. The dog would +lie in the firelight, motionless, for hours, gazing straight before +him at Leclère, and hating him with his bitter eyes.</p> +<p>Often the man felt that he had bucked against the very essence of +life—the unconquerable essence that swept the hawk down out of +the sky like a feathered thunderbolt, that drove the great grey goose +across the zones, that hurled the spawning salmon through two thousand +miles of boiling Yukon flood. At such times he felt impelled to—express +his own unconquerable essence; and with strong drink, wild music, and +Bâtard, he indulged in vast orgies, wherein he pitted his puny +strength in the face of things, and challenged all that was, and had +been, and was yet to be.</p> +<p>“Dere is somet’ing dere,” he affirmed, when the +rhythmed vagaries of his mind touched the secret chords of Bâtard’s +being and brought forth the long lugubrious howl. “Ah pool +eet out wid bot’ my han’s, so, an’ so. Ha! ha! +Eet is fonee! Eet is ver’ fonee! De priest chant, +de womans pray, de mans swear, de leetle bird go <i>peep</i>-<i>peep</i>, +Bâtard, heem go <i>yow</i>-<i>yow</i>—an’ eet is all +de ver’ same t’ing. Ha! ha!”</p> +<p>Father Gautier, a worthy priest, one reproved him with instances +of concrete perdition. He never reproved him again.</p> +<p>“Eet may be so, <i>mon</i> <i>père</i>,” he made +answer. “An’ Ah t’ink Ah go troo hell a-snappin’, +lak de hemlock troo de fire. Eh, <i>mon</i> <i>père</i>?”</p> +<p>But all bad things come to an end as well as good, and so with Black +Leclère. On the summer low water, in a poling boat, he +left McDougall for Sunrise. He left McDougall in company with +Timothy Brown, and arrived at Sunrise by himself. Further, it +was known that they had quarrelled just previous to pulling out; for +the <i>Lizzie</i>, a wheezy ten-ton stern-wheeler, twenty-four hours +behind, beat Leclère in by three days. And when he did +get in, it was with a clean-drilled bullet-hole through his shoulder +muscle, and a tale of ambush and murder.</p> +<p>A strike had been made at Sunrise, and things had changed considerably. +With the infusion of several hundred gold-seekers, a deal of whisky, +and half-a-dozen equipped gamblers, the missionary had seen the page +of his years of labour with the Indians wiped clean. When the +squaws became preoccupied with cooking beans and keeping the fire going +for the wifeless miners, and the bucks with swapping their warm furs +for black bottles and broken time-pieces, he took to his bed, said “Bless +me” several times, and departed to his final accounting in a rough-hewn, +oblong box. Whereupon the gamblers moved their roulette and faro +tables into the mission house, and the click of chips and clink of glasses +went up from dawn till dark and to dawn again.</p> +<p>Now Timothy Brown was well beloved among these adventurers of the +North. The one thing against him was his quick temper and ready +fist—a little thing, for which his kind heart and forgiving hand +more than atoned. On the other hand, there was nothing to atone +for Black Leclère. He was “black,” as more +than one remembered deed bore witness, while he was as well hated as +the other was beloved. So the men of Sunrise put an antiseptic +dressing on his shoulder and haled him before Judge Lynch.</p> +<p>It was a simple affair. He had quarrelled with Timothy Brown +at McDougall. With Timothy Brown he had left McDougall. +Without Timothy Brown he had arrived at Sunrise. Considered in +the light of his evilness, the unanimous conclusion was that he had +killed Timothy Brown. On the other hand, Leclère acknowledged +their facts, but challenged their conclusion, and gave his own explanation. +Twenty miles out of Sunrise he and Timothy Brown were poling the boat +along the rocky shore. From that shore two rifle-shots rang out. +Timothy Brown pitched out of the boat and went down bubbling red, and +that was the last of Timothy Brown. He, Leclère, pitched +into the bottom of the boat with a stinging shoulder. He lay very +quiet, peeping at the shore. After a time two Indians stuck up +their heads and came out to the water’s edge, carrying between +them a birch-bark canoe. As they launched it, Leclère let +fly. He potted one, who went over the side after the manner of +Timothy Brown. The other dropped into the bottom of the canoe, +and then canoe and poling boat went down the stream in a drifting battle. +After that they hung up on a split current, and the canoe passed on +one side of an island, the poling boat on the other. That was +the last of the canoe, and he came on into Sunrise. Yes, from +the way the Indian in the canoe jumped, he was sure he had potted him. +That was all. This explanation was not deemed adequate. +They gave him ten hours’ grace while the <i>Lizzie</i> steamed +down to investigate. Ten hours later she came wheezing back to +Sunrise. There had been nothing to investigate. No evidence +had been found to back up his statements. They told him to make +his will, for he possessed a fifty-thousand dollar Sunrise claim, and +they were a law-abiding as well as a law-giving breed.</p> +<p>Leclère shrugged his shoulders. “Bot one t’ing,” +he said; “a leetle, w’at you call, favour—a leetle +favour, dat is eet. I gif my feefty t’ousan’ dollair +to de church. I gif my husky dog, Bâtard, to de devil. +De leetle favour? Firs’ you hang heem, an’ den you +hang me. Eet is good, eh?”</p> +<p>Good it was, they agreed, that Hell’s Spawn should break trail +for his master across the last divide, and the court was adjourned down +to the river bank, where a big spruce tree stood by itself. Slackwater +Charley put a hangman’s knot in the end of a hauling-line, and +the noose was slipped over Leclère’s head and pulled tight +around his neck. His hands were tied behind his back, and he was +assisted to the top of a cracker box. Then the running end of +the line was passed over an over-hanging branch, drawn taut, and made +fast. To kick the box out from under would leave him dancing on +the air.</p> +<p>“Now for the dog,” said Webster Shaw, sometime mining +engineer. “You’ll have to rope him, Slackwater.”</p> +<p>Leclère grinned. Slackwater took a chew of tobacco, +rove a running noose, and proceeded leisurely to coil a few turns in +his hand. He paused once or twice to brush particularly offensive +mosquitoes from off his face. Everybody was brushing mosquitoes, +except Leclère, about whose head a small cloud was visible. +Even Bâtard, lying full-stretched on the ground with his fore +paws rubbed the pests away from eyes and mouth.</p> +<p>But while Slackwater waited for Bâtard to lift his head, a +faint call came from the quiet air, and a man was seen waving his arms +and running across the flat from Sunrise. It was the storekeeper.</p> +<p>“C-call ’er off, boys,” he panted, as he came in +among them.</p> +<p>“Little Sandy and Bernadotte’s jes’ got in,” +he explained with returning breath. “Landed down below an’ +come up by the short cut. Got the Beaver with ’m. +Picked ’m up in his canoe, stuck in a back channel, with a couple +of bullet-holes in ’m. Other buck was Klok Kutz, the one +that knocked spots out of his squaw and dusted.”</p> +<p>“Eh? W’at Ah say? Eh?” Leclère +cried exultantly. “Dat de one fo’ sure! Ah know. +Ah spik true.”</p> +<p>“The thing to do is to teach these damned Siwashes a little +manners,” spoke Webster Shaw. “They’re getting +fat and sassy, and we’ll have to bring them down a peg. +Round in all the bucks and string up the Beaver for an object lesson. +That’s the programme. Come on and let’s see what he’s +got to say for himself.”</p> +<p>“Heh, <i>M’sieu</i>!” Leclère called, as +the crowd began to melt away through the twilight in the direction of +Sunrise. “Ah lak ver’ moch to see de fon.”</p> +<p>“Oh, we’ll turn you loose when we come back,” Webster +Shaw shouted over his shoulder. “In the meantime meditate +on your sins and the ways of Providence. It will do you good, +so be grateful.”</p> +<p>As is the way with men who are accustomed to great hazards, whose +nerves are healthy and trained in patience, so it was with Leclère +who settled himself to the long wait—which is to say that he reconciled +his mind to it. There was no settling of the body, for the taut +rope forced him to stand rigidly erect. The least relaxation of +the leg muscles pressed the rough-fibred noose into his neck, while +the upright position caused him much pain in his wounded shoulder. +He projected his under lip and expelled his breath upwards along his +face to blow the mosquitoes away from his eyes. But the situation +had its compensation. To be snatched from the maw of death was +well worth a little bodily suffering, only it was unfortunate that he +should miss the hanging of the Beaver.</p> +<p>And so he mused, till his eyes chanced to fall upon Bâtard, +head between fore paws and stretched on the ground asleep. And +their Leclère ceased to muse. He studied the animal closely, +striving to sense if the sleep were real or feigned. Bâtard’s +sides were heaving regularly, but Leclère felt that the breath +came and went a shade too quickly; also he felt that there was a vigilance +or alertness to every hair that belied unshackling sleep. He would +have given his Sunrise claim to be assured that the dog was not awake, +and once, when one of his joints cracked, he looked quickly and guiltily +at Bâtard to see if he roused. He did not rouse then but +a few minutes later he got up slowly and lazily, stretched, and looked +carefully about him.</p> +<p>“<i>Sacredam</i>,” said Leclère under his breath.</p> +<p>Assured that no one was in sight or hearing, Bâtard sat down, +curled his upper lip almost into a smile, looked up at Leclère, +and licked his chops.</p> +<p>“Ah see my feenish,” the man said, and laughed sardonically +aloud.</p> +<p>Bâtard came nearer, the useless ear wabbling, the good ear +cocked forward with devilish comprehension. He thrust his head +on one side quizzically, and advanced with mincing, playful steps. +He rubbed his body gently against the box till it shook and shook again. +Leclère teetered carefully to maintain his equilibrium.</p> +<p>“Bâtard,” he said calmly, “look out. +Ah keel you.”</p> +<p>Bâtard snarled at the word and shook the box with greater force. +Then he upreared, and with his fore paws threw his weight against it +higher up. Leclère kicked out with one foot, but the rope +bit into his neck and checked so abruptly as nearly to overbalance him.</p> +<p>“Hi, ya! <i>Chook</i>! <i>Mush</i>-<i>on</i>!” +he screamed.</p> +<p>Bâtard retreated, for twenty feet or so, with a fiendish levity +in his bearing that Leclère could not mistake. He remembered +the dog often breaking the scum of ice on the water hole by lifting +up and throwing his weight upon it; and remembering, he understood what +he now had in mind. Bâtard faced about and paused. +He showed his white teeth in a grin, which Leclère answered; +and then hurled his body through the air, in full charge, straight for +the box.</p> +<p>Fifteen minutes later, Slackwater Charley and Webster Shaw returning, +caught a glimpse of a ghostly pendulum swinging back and forth in the +dim light. As they hurriedly drew in closer, they made out the +man’s inert body, and a live thing that clung to it, and shook +and worried, and gave to it the swaying motion.</p> +<p>“Hi, ya! <i>Chook</i>! you Spawn of Hell!” yelled +Webster Shaw.</p> +<p>But Bâtard glared at him, and snarled threateningly, without +loosing his jaws.</p> +<p>Slackwater Charley got out his revolver, but his hand was shaking, +as with a chill, and he fumbled.</p> +<p>“Here you take it,” he said, passing the weapon over.</p> +<p>Webster Shaw laughed shortly, drew a sight between the gleaming eyes, +and pressed the trigger. Bâtard’s body twitched with +the shock, threshed the ground spasmodically for a moment, and went +suddenly limp. But his teeth still held fast locked.</p> +<h2>THE STORY OF JEES UCK</h2> +<p>There have been renunciations and renunciations. But, in its +essence, renunciation is ever the same. And the paradox of it +is, that men and women forego the dearest thing in the world for something +dearer. It was never otherwise. Thus it was when Abel brought +of the firstlings of his flock and of the fat thereof. The firstlings +and the fat thereof were to him the dearest things in the world; yet +he gave them over that he might be on good terms with God. So +it was with Abraham when he prepared to offer up his son Isaac on a +stone. Isaac was very dear to him; but God, in incomprehensible +ways, was yet dearer. It may be that Abraham feared the Lord. +But whether that be true or not it has since been determined by a few +billion people that he loved the Lord and desired to serve him.</p> +<p>And since it has been determined that love is service, and since +to renounce is to serve, then Jees Uck, who was merely a woman of a +swart-skinned breed, loved with a great love. She was unversed +in history, having learned to read only the signs of weather and of +game; so she had never heard of Abel nor of Abraham; nor, having escaped +the good sisters at Holy Cross, had she been told the story of Ruth, +the Moabitess, who renounced her very God for the sake of a stranger +woman from a strange land. Jees Uck had learned only one way of +renouncing, and that was with a club as the dynamic factor, in much +the same manner as a dog is made to renounce a stolen marrow-bone. +Yet, when the time came, she proved herself capable of rising to the +height of the fair-faced royal races and of renouncing in right regal +fashion.</p> +<p>So this is the story of Jees Uck, which is also the story of Neil +Bonner, and Kitty Bonner, and a couple of Neil Bonner’s progeny. +Jees Uck was of a swart-skinned breed, it is true, but she was not an +Indian; nor was she an Eskimo; nor even an Innuit. Going backward +into mouth tradition, there appears the figure of one Skolkz, a Toyaat +Indian of the Yukon, who journeyed down in his youth to the Great Delta +where dwell the Innuits, and where he foregathered with a woman remembered +as Olillie. Now the woman Olillie had been bred from an Eskimo +mother by an Innuit man. And from Skolkz and Olillie came Halie, +who was one-half Toyaat Indian, one-quarter Innuit, and one-quarter +Eskimo. And Halie was the grandmother of Jees Uck.</p> +<p>Now Halie, in whom three stocks had been bastardized, who cherished +no prejudice against further admixture, mated with a Russian fur trader +called Shpack, also known in his time as the Big Fat. Shpack is +herein classed Russian for lack of a more adequate term; for Shpack’s +father, a Slavonic convict from the Lower Provinces, had escaped from +the quicksilver mines into Northern Siberia, where he knew Zimba, who +was a woman of the Deer People and who became the mother of Shpack, +who became the grandfather of Jees Uck.</p> +<p>Now had not Shpack been captured in his boyhood by the Sea People, +who fringe the rim of the Arctic Sea with their misery, he would not +have become the grandfather of Jees Uck and there would be no story +at all. But he <i>was</i> captured by the Sea People, from whom +he escaped to Kamchatka, and thence, on a Norwegian whale-ship, to the +Baltic. Not long after that he turned up in St. Petersburg, and +the years were not many till he went drifting east over the same weary +road his father had measured with blood and groans a half-century before. +But Shpack was a free man, in the employ of the great Russian Fur Company. +And in that employ he fared farther and farther east, until he crossed +Bering Sea into Russian America; and at Pastolik, which is hard by the +Great Delta of the Yukon, became the husband of Halie, who was the grandmother +of Jees Uck. Out of this union came the woman-child, Tukesan.</p> +<p>Shpack, under the orders of the Company, made a canoe voyage of a +few hundred miles up the Yukon to the post of Nulato. With him +he took Halie and the babe Tukesan. This was in 1850, and in 1850 +it was that the river Indians fell upon Nulato and wiped it from the +face of the earth. And that was the end of Shpack and Halie. +On that terrible night Tukesan disappeared. To this day the Toyaats +aver they had no hand in the trouble; but, be that as it may, the fact +remains that the babe Tukesan grew up among them.</p> +<p>Tukesan was married successively to two Toyaat brothers, to both +of whom she was barren. Because of this, other women shook their +heads, and no third Toyaat man could be found to dare matrimony with +the childless widow. But at this time, many hundred miles above, +at Fort Yukon, was a man, Spike O’Brien. Fort Yukon was +a Hudson Bay Company post, and Spike O’Brien one of the Company’s +servants. He was a good servant, but he achieved an opinion that +the service was bad, and in the course of time vindicated that opinion +by deserting. It was a year’s journey, by the chain of posts, +back to York Factory on Hudson’s Bay. Further, being Company +posts, he knew he could not evade the Company’s clutches. +Nothing retained but to go down the Yukon. It was true no white +man had ever gone down the Yukon, and no white man knew whether the +Yukon emptied into the Arctic Ocean or Bering Sea; but Spike O’Brien +was a Celt, and the promise of danger was a lure he had ever followed.</p> +<p>A few weeks later, somewhat battered, rather famished, and about +dead with river-fever, he drove the nose of his canoe into the earth +bank by the village of the Toyaats and promptly fainted away. +While getting his strength back, in the weeks that followed, he looked +upon Tukesan and found her good. Like the father of Shpack, who +lived to a ripe old age among the Siberian Deer People, Spike O’Brien +might have left his aged bones with the Toyaats. But romance gripped +his heart-strings and would not let him stay. As he had journeyed +from York Factory to Fort Yukon, so, first among men, might he journey +from Fort Yukon to the sea and win the honour of being the first man +to make the North-West Passage by land. So he departed down the +river, won the honour, and was unannaled and unsung. In after +years he ran a sailors’ boarding-house in San Francisco, where +he became esteemed a most remarkable liar by virtue of the gospel truths +he told. But a child was born to Tukesan, who had been childless. +And this child was Jees Uck. Her lineage has been traced at length +to show that she was neither Indian, nor Eskimo, nor Innuit, nor much +of anything else; also to show what waifs of the generations we are, +all of us, and the strange meanderings of the seed from which we spring.</p> +<p>What with the vagrant blood in her and the heritage compounded of +many races, Jees Uck developed a wonderful young beauty. Bizarre, +perhaps, it was, and Oriental enough to puzzle any passing ethnologist. +A lithe and slender grace characterized her. Beyond a quickened +lilt to the imagination, the contribution of the Celt was in no wise +apparent. It might possibly have put the warm blood under her +skin, which made her face less swart and her body fairer; but that, +in turn, might have come from Shpack, the Big Fat, who inherited the +colour of his Slavonic father. And, finally, she had great, blazing +black eyes—the half-caste eye, round, full-orbed, and sensuous, +which marks the collision of the dark races with the light. Also, +the white blood in her, combined with her knowledge that it was in her, +made her, in a way, ambitious. Otherwise by upbringing and in +outlook on life, she was wholly and utterly a Toyaat Indian.</p> +<p>One winter, when she was a young woman, Neil Bonner came into her +life. But he came into her life, as he had come into the country, +somewhat reluctantly. In fact, it was very much against his will, +coming into the country. Between a father who clipped coupons +and cultivated roses, and a mother who loved the social round, Neil +Bonner had gone rather wild. He was not vicious, but a man with +meat in his belly and without work in the world has to expend his energy +somehow, and Neil Bonner was such a man. And he expended his energy +in such a fashion and to such extent that when the inevitable climax +came, his father, Neil Bonner, senior, crawled out of his roses in a +panic and looked on his son with a wondering eye. Then he hied +himself away to a crony of kindred pursuits, with whom he was wont to +confer over coupons and roses, and between the two the destiny of young +Neil Bonner was made manifest. He must go away, on probation, +to live down his harmless follies in order that he might live up to +their own excellent standard.</p> +<p>This determined upon, and young Neil a little repentant and a great +deal ashamed, the rest was easy. The cronies were heavy stockholders +in the P. C. Company. The P. C. Company owned fleets of river-steamers +and ocean-going craft, and, in addition to farming the sea, exploited +a hundred thousand square miles or so of the land that, on the maps +of geographers, usually occupies the white spaces. So the P. C. +Company sent young Neil Bonner north, where the white spaces are, to +do its work and to learn to be good like his father. “Five +years of simplicity, close to the soil and far from temptation, will +make a man of him,” said old Neil Bonner, and forthwith crawled +back among his roses. Young Neil set his jaw, pitched his chin +at the proper angle, and went to work. As an underling he did +his work well and gained the commendation of his superiors. Not +that he delighted in the work, but that it was the one thing that prevented +him from going mad.</p> +<p>The first year he wished he was dead. The second year he cursed +God. The third year he was divided between the two emotions, and +in the confusion quarrelled with a man in authority. He had the +best of the quarrel, though the man in authority had the last word,—a +word that sent Neil Bonner into an exile that made his old billet appear +as paradise. But he went without a whimper, for the North had +succeeded in making him into a man.</p> +<p>Here and there, on the white spaces on the map, little circlets like +the letter “o” are to be found, and, appended to these circlets, +on one side or the other, are names such as “Fort Hamilton,” +“Yanana Station,” “Twenty Mile,” thus leading +one to imagine that the white spaces are plentifully besprinkled with +towns and villages. But it is a vain imagining. Twenty Mile, +which is very like the rest of the posts, is a log building the size +of a corner grocery with rooms to let up-stairs. A long-legged +cache on stilts may be found in the back yard; also a couple of outhouses. +The back yard is unfenced, and extends to the sky-line and an unascertainable +bit beyond. There are no other houses in sight, though the Toyaats +sometimes pitch a winter camp a mile or two down the Yukon. And +this is Twenty Mile, one tentacle of the many-tentacled P. C. Company. +Here the agent, with an assistant, barters with the Indians for their +furs, and does an erratic trade on a gold-dust basis with the wandering +miners. Here, also, the agent and his assistant yearn all winter +for the spring, and when the spring comes, camp blasphemously on the +roof while the Yukon washes out the establishment. And here, also, +in the fourth year of his sojourn in the land, came Neil Bonner to take +charge.</p> +<p>He had displaced no agent; for the man that previously ran the post +had made away with himself; “because of the rigours of the place,” +said the assistant, who still remained; though the Toyaats, by their +fires, had another version. The assistant was a shrunken-shouldered, +hollow-chested man, with a cadaverous face and cavernous cheeks that +his sparse black beard could not hide. He coughed much, as though +consumption gripped his lungs, while his eyes had that mad, fevered +light common to consumptives in the last stage. Pentley was his +name—Amos Pentley—and Bonner did not like him, though he +felt a pity for the forlorn and hopeless devil. They did not get +along together, these two men who, of all men, should have been on good +terms in the face of the cold and silence and darkness of the long winter.</p> +<p>In the end, Bonner concluded that Amos was partly demented, and left +him alone, doing all the work himself except the cooking. Even +then, Amos had nothing but bitter looks and an undisguised hatred for +him. This was a great loss to Bonner; for the smiling face of +one of his own kind, the cheery word, the sympathy of comradeship shared +with misfortune—these things meant much; and the winter was yet +young when he began to realize the added reasons, with such an assistant, +that the previous agent had found to impel his own hand against his +life.</p> +<p>It was very lonely at Twenty Mile. The bleak vastness stretched +away on every side to the horizon. The snow, which was really +frost, flung its mantle over the land and buried everything in the silence +of death. For days it was clear and cold, the thermometer steadily +recording forty to fifty degrees below zero. Then a change came +over the face of things. What little moisture had oozed into the +atmosphere gathered into dull grey, formless clouds; it became quite +warm, the thermometer rising to twenty below; and the moisture fell +out of the sky in hard frost-granules that hissed like dry sugar or +driving sand when kicked underfoot. After that it became clear +and cold again, until enough moisture had gathered to blanket the earth +from the cold of outer space. That was all. Nothing happened. +No storms, no churning waters and threshing forests, nothing but the +machine-like precipitation of accumulated moisture. Possibly the +most notable thing that occurred through the weary weeks was the gliding +of the temperature up to the unprecedented height of fifteen below. +To atone for this, outer space smote the earth with its cold till the +mercury froze and the spirit thermometer remained more than seventy +below for a fortnight, when it burst. There was no telling how +much colder it was after that. Another occurrence, monotonous +in its regularity, was the lengthening of the nights, till day became +a mere blink of light between the darkness.</p> +<p>Neil Bonner was a social animal. The very follies for which +he was doing penance had been bred of his excessive sociability. +And here, in the fourth year of his exile, he found himself in company—which +were to travesty the word—with a morose and speechless creature +in whose sombre eyes smouldered a hatred as bitter as it was unwarranted. +And Bonner, to whom speech and fellowship were as the breath of life, +went about as a ghost might go, tantalized by the gregarious revelries +of some former life. In the day his lips were compressed, his +face stern; but in the night he clenched his hands, rolled about in +his blankets, and cried aloud like a little child. And he would +remember a certain man in authority and curse him through the long hours. +Also, he cursed God. But God understands. He cannot find +it in his heart to blame weak mortals who blaspheme in Alaska.</p> +<p>And here, to the post of Twenty Mile, came Jees Uck, to trade for +flour and bacon, and beads, and bright scarlet cloths for her fancy +work. And further, and unwittingly, she came to the post of Twenty +Mile to make a lonely man more lonely, make him reach out empty arms +in his sleep. For Neil Bonner was only a man. When she first +came into the store, he looked at her long, as a thirsty man may look +at a flowing well. And she, with the heritage bequeathed her by +Spike O’Brien, imagined daringly and smiled up into his eyes, +not as the swart-skinned peoples should smile at the royal races, but +as a woman smiles at a man. The thing was inevitable; only, he +did not see it, and fought against her as fiercely and passionately +as he was drawn towards her. And she? She was Jees Uck, +by upbringing wholly and utterly a Toyaat Indian woman.</p> +<p>She came often to the post to trade. And often she sat by the +big wood stove and chatted in broken English with Neil Bonner. +And he came to look for her coming; and on the days she did not come +he was worried and restless. Sometimes he stopped to think, and +then she was met coldly, with a resolve that perplexed and piqued her, +and which, she was convinced, was not sincere. But more often +he did not dare to think, and then all went well and there were smiles +and laughter. And Amos Pentley, gasping like a stranded catfish, +his hollow cough a-reek with the grave, looked upon it all and grinned. +He, who loved life, could not live, and it rankled his soul that others +should be able to live. Wherefore he hated Bonner, who was so +very much alive and into whose eyes sprang joy at the sight of Jees +Uck. As for Amos, the very thought of the girl was sufficient +to send his blood pounding up into a hemorrhage.</p> +<p>Jees Uck, whose mind was simple, who thought elementally and was +unused to weighing life in its subtler quantities, read Amos Pentley +like a book. She warned Bonner, openly and bluntly, in few words; +but the complexities of higher existence confused the situation to him, +and he laughed at her evident anxiety. To him, Amos was a poor, +miserable devil, tottering desperately into the grave. And Bonner, +who had suffered much, found it easy to forgive greatly.</p> +<p>But one morning, during a bitter snap, he got up from the breakfast-table +and went into the store. Jees Uck was already there, rosy from +the trail, to buy a sack of flour. A few minutes later, he was +out in the snow lashing the flour on her sled. As he bent over +he noticed a stiffness in his neck and felt a premonition of impending +physical misfortune. And as he put the last half-hitch into the +lashing and attempted to straighten up, a quick spasm seized him and +he sank into the snow. Tense and quivering, head jerked back, +limbs extended, back arched and mouth twisted and distorted, he appeared +as though being racked limb from limb. Without cry or sound, Jees +Uck was in the snow beside him; but he clutched both her wrists spasmodically, +and as long as the convulsion endured she was helpless. In a few +moments the spasm relaxed and he was left weak and fainting, his forehead +beaded with sweat, and his lips flecked with foam.</p> +<p>“Quick!” he muttered, in a strange, hoarse voice. +“Quick! Inside!”</p> +<p>He started to crawl on hands and knees, but she raised him up, and, +supported by her young arm, he made faster progress. As he entered +the store the spasm seized him again, and his body writhed irresistibly +away from her and rolled and curled on the floor. Amos Pentley +came and looked on with curious eyes.</p> +<p>“Oh, Amos!” she cried in an agony of apprehension and +helplessness, “him die, you think?” But Amos shrugged +his shoulders and continued to look on.</p> +<p>Bonner’s body went slack, the tense muscles easing down and +an expression of relief coming into his face. “Quick!” +he gritted between his teeth, his mouth twisting with the on-coming +of the next spasm and with his effort to control it. “Quick, +Jees Uck! The medicine! Never mind! Drag me!”</p> +<p>She knew where the medicine-chest stood, at the rear of the room +beyond the stove, and thither, by the legs, she dragged the struggling +man. As the spasm passed he began, very faint and very sick, to +overhaul the chest. He had seen dogs die exhibiting symptoms similar +to his own, and he knew what should be done. He held up a vial +of chloral hydrate, but his fingers were too weak and nerveless to draw +the cork. This Jees Uck did for him, while he was plunged into +another convulsion. As he came out of it he found the open bottle +proffered him, and looked into the great black eyes of the woman and +read what men have always read in the Mate-woman’s eyes. +Taking a full dose of the stuff, he sank back until another spasm had +passed. Then he raised himself limply on his elbow.</p> +<p>“Listen, Jees Uck!” he said very slowly, as though aware +of the necessity for haste and yet afraid to hasten. “Do +what I say. Stay by my side, but do not touch me. I must +be very quiet, but you must not go away.” His jaw began +to set and his face to quiver and distort with the fore-running pangs, +but he gulped and struggled to master them. “Do not got +away. And do not let Amos go away. Understand! Amos +must stay right here.”</p> +<p>She nodded her head, and he passed off into the first of many convulsions, +which gradually diminished in force and frequency. Jees Uck hung +over him remembering his injunction and not daring to touch him. +Once Amos grew restless and made as though to go into the kitchen; but +a quick blaze from her eyes quelled him, and after that, save for his +laboured breathing and charnel cough, he was very quiet.</p> +<p>Bonner slept. The blink of light that marked the day disappeared. +Amos, followed about by the woman’s eyes, lighted the kerosene +lamps. Evening came on. Through the north window the heavens +were emblazoned with an auroral display, which flamed and flared and +died down into blackness. Some time after that, Neil Bonner roused. +First he looked to see that Amos was still there, then smiled at Jees +Uck and pulled himself up. Every muscle was stiff and sore, and +he smiled ruefully, pressing and prodding himself as if to ascertain +the extent of the ravage. Then his face went stern and businesslike.</p> +<p>“Jees Uck,” he said, “take a candle. Go into +the kitchen. There is food on the table—biscuits and beans +and bacon; also, coffee in the pot on the stove. Bring it here +on the counter. Also, bring tumblers and water and whisky, which +you will find on the top shelf of the locker. Do not forget the +whisky.”</p> +<p>Having swallowed a stiff glass of the whisky, he went carefully through +the medicine chest, now and again putting aside, with definite purpose, +certain bottles and vials. Then he set to work on the food, attempting +a crude analysis. He had not been unused to the laboratory in +his college days and was possessed of sufficient imagination to achieve +results with his limited materials. The condition of tetanus, +which had marked his paroxysms, simplified matters, and he made but +one test. The coffee yielded nothing; nor did the beans. +To the biscuits he devoted the utmost care. Amos, who knew nothing +of chemistry, looked on with steady curiosity. But Jees Uck, who +had boundless faith in the white man’s wisdom, and especially +in Neil Bonner’s wisdom, and who not only knew nothing but knew +that she knew nothing watched his face rather than his hands.</p> +<p>Step by step he eliminated possibilities, until he came to the final +test. He was using a thin medicine vial for a tube, and this he +held between him and the light, watching the slow precipitation of a +salt through the solution contained in the tube. He said nothing, +but he saw what he had expected to see. And Jees Uck, her eyes +riveted on his face, saw something too,—something that made her +spring like a tigress upon Amos, and with splendid suppleness and strength +bend his body back across her knee. Her knife was out of its sheaf +and uplifted, glinting in the lamplight. Amos was snarling; but +Bonner intervened ere the blade could fall.</p> +<p>“That’s a good girl, Jees Uck. But never mind. +Let him go!”</p> +<p>She dropped the man obediently, though with protest writ large on +her face; and his body thudded to the floor. Bonner nudged him +with his moccasined foot.</p> +<p>“Get up, Amos!” he commanded. “You’ve +got to pack an outfit yet to-night and hit the trail.”</p> +<p>“You don’t mean to say—” Amos blurted savagely.</p> +<p>“I mean to say that you tried to kill me,” Neil went +on in cold, even tones. “I mean to say that you killed Birdsall, +for all the Company believes he killed himself. You used strychnine +in my case. God knows with what you fixed him. Now I can’t +hang you. You’re too near dead as it is. But Twenty +Mile is too small for the pair of us, and you’ve got to mush. +It’s two hundred miles to Holy Cross. You can make it if +you’re careful not to over-exert. I’ll give you grub, +a sled, and three dogs. You’ll be as safe as if you were +in jail, for you can’t get out of the country. And I’ll +give you one chance. You’re almost dead. Very well. +I shall send no word to the Company until the spring. In the meantime, +the thing for you to do is to die. Now <i>mush</i>!”</p> +<p>“You go to bed!” Jees Uck insisted, when Amos had churned +away into the night towards Holy Cross. “You sick man yet, +Neil.”</p> +<p>“And you’re a good girl, Jees Uck,” he answered. +“And here’s my hand on it. But you must go home.”</p> +<p>“You don’t like me,” she said simply.</p> +<p>He smiled, helped her on with her <i>parka</i>, and led her to the +door. “Only too well, Jees Uck,” he said softly; “only +too well.”</p> +<p>After that the pall of the Arctic night fell deeper and blacker on +the land. Neil Bonner discovered that he had failed to put proper +valuation upon even the sullen face of the murderous and death-stricken +Amos. It became very lonely at Twenty Mile. “For the +love of God, Prentiss, send me a man,” he wrote to the agent at +Fort Hamilton, three hundred miles up river. Six weeks later the +Indian messenger brought back a reply. It was characteristic: +“Hell. Both feet frozen. Need him myself—Prentiss.”</p> +<p>To make matters worse, most of the Toyaats were in the back country +on the flanks of a caribou herd, and Jees Uck was with them. Removing +to a distance seemed to bring her closer than ever, and Neil Bonner +found himself picturing her, day by day, in camp and on trail. +It is not good to be alone. Often he went out of the quiet store, +bare-headed and frantic, and shook his fist at the blink of day that +came over the southern sky-line. And on still, cold nights he +left his bed and stumbled into the frost, where he assaulted the silence +at the top of his lungs, as though it were some tangible, sentiment +thing that he might arouse; or he shouted at the sleeping dogs till +they howled and howled again. One shaggy brute he brought into +the post, playing that it was the new man sent by Prentiss. He +strove to make it sleep decently under blankets at nights and to sit +at table and eat as a man should; but the beast, mere domesticated wolf +that it was, rebelled, and sought out dark corners and snarled and bit +him in the leg, and was finally beaten and driven forth.</p> +<p>Then the trick of personification seized upon Neil Bonner and mastered +him. All the forces of his environment metamorphosed into living, +breathing entities and came to live with him. He recreated the +primitive pantheon; reared an altar to the sun and burned candle fat +and bacon grease thereon; and in the unfenced yard, by the long-legged +cache, made a frost devil, which he was wont to make faces at and mock +when the mercury oozed down into the bulb. All this in play, of +course. He said it to himself that it was in play, and repeated +it over and over to make sure, unaware that madness is ever prone to +express itself in make-believe and play.</p> +<p>One midwinter day, Father Champreau, a Jesuit missionary, pulled +into Twenty Mile. Bonner fell upon him and dragged him into the +post, and clung to him and wept, until the priest wept with him from +sheer compassion. Then Bonner became madly hilarious and made +lavish entertainment, swearing valiantly that his guest should not depart. +But Father Champreau was pressing to Salt Water on urgent business for +his order, and pulled out next morning, with Bonner’s blood threatened +on his head.</p> +<p>And the threat was in a fair way toward realization, when the Toyaats +returned from their long hunt to the winter camp. They had many +furs, and there was much trading and stir at Twenty Mile. Also, +Jees Uck came to buy beads and scarlet cloths and things, and Bonner +began to find himself again. He fought for a week against her. +Then the end came one night when she rose to leave. She had not +forgotten her repulse, and the pride that drove Spike O’Brien +on to complete the North-West Passage by land was her pride.</p> +<p>“I go now,” she said; “good-night, Neil.”</p> +<p>But he came up behind her. “Nay, it is not well,” +he said.</p> +<p>And as she turned her face toward his with a sudden joyful flash, +he bent forward, slowly and gravely, as it were a sacred thing, and +kissed her on the lips. The Toyaats had never taught her the meaning +of a kiss upon the lips, but she understood and was glad.</p> +<p>With the coming of Jees Uck, at once things brightened up. +She was regal in her happiness, a source of unending delight. +The elemental workings of her mind and her naive little ways made an +immense sum of pleasurable surprise to the over-civilized man that had +stooped to catch her up. Not alone was she solace to his loneliness, +but her primitiveness rejuvenated his jaded mind. It was as though, +after long wandering, he had returned to pillow his head in the lap +of Mother Earth. In short, in Jees Uck he found the youth of the +world—the youth and the strength and the joy.</p> +<p>And to fill the full round of his need, and that they might not see +overmuch of each other, there arrived at Twenty Mile one Sandy MacPherson, +as companionable a man as ever whistled along the trail or raised a +ballad by a camp-fire. A Jesuit priest had run into his camp, +a couple of hundred miles up the Yukon, in the nick of time to say a +last word over the body of Sandy’s partner. And on departing, +the priest had said, “My son, you will be lonely now.” +And Sandy had bowed his head brokenly. “At Twenty Mile,” +the priest added, “there is a lonely man. You have need +of each other, my son.”</p> +<p>So it was that Sandy became a welcome third at the post, brother +to the man and woman that resided there. He took Bonner moose-hunting +and wolf-trapping; and, in return, Bonner resurrected a battered and +way-worn volume and made him friends with Shakespeare, till Sandy declaimed +iambic pentameters to his sled-dogs whenever they waxed mutinous. +And of the long evenings they played cribbage and talked and disagreed +about the universe, the while Jees Uck rocked matronly in an easy-chair +and darned their moccasins and socks.</p> +<p>Spring came. The sun shot up out of the south. The land +exchanged its austere robes for the garb of a smiling wanton. +Everywhere light laughed and life invited. The days stretched +out their balmy length and the nights passed from blinks of darkness +to no darkness at all. The river bared its bosom, and snorting +steamboats challenged the wilderness. There were stir and bustle, +new faces, and fresh facts. An assistant arrived at Twenty Mile, +and Sandy MacPherson wandered off with a bunch of prospectors to invade +the Koyokuk country. And there were newspapers and magazines and +letters for Neil Bonner. And Jees Uck looked on in worriment, +for she knew his kindred talked with him across the world.</p> +<p>Without much shock, it came to him that his father was dead. +There was a sweet letter of forgiveness, dictated in his last hours. +There were official letters from the Company, graciously ordering him +to turn the post over to the assistant and permitting him to depart +at his earliest pleasure. A long, legal affair from the lawyers +informed him of interminable lists of stocks and bonds, real estate, +rents, and chattels that were his by his father’s will. +And a dainty bit of stationery, sealed and monogramed, implored dear +Neil’s return to his heart-broken and loving mother.</p> +<p>Neil Bonner did some swift thinking, and when the <i>Yukon</i> <i>Belle</i> +coughed in to the bank on her way down to Bering Sea, he departed—departed +with the ancient lie of quick return young and blithe on his lips.</p> +<p>“I’ll come back, dear Jees Uck, before the first snow +flies,” he promised her, between the last kisses at the gang-plank.</p> +<p>And not only did he promise, but, like the majority of men under +the same circumstances, he really meant it. To John Thompson, +the new agent, he gave orders for the extension of unlimited credit +to his wife, Jees Uck. Also, with his last look from the deck +of the <i>Yukon</i> <i>Belle</i>, he saw a dozen men at work rearing +the logs that were to make the most comfortable house along a thousand +miles of river front—the house of Jees Uck, and likewise the house +of Neil Bonner—ere the first flurry of snow. For he fully +and fondly meant to come back. Jees Uck was dear to him, and, +further, a golden future awaited the north. With his father’s +money he intended to verify that future. An ambitious dream allured +him. With his four years of experience, and aided by the friendly +coöperation of the P. C. Company, he would return to become the +Rhodes of Alaska. And he would return, fast as steam could drive, +as soon as he had put into shape the affairs of his father, whom he +had never known, and comforted his mother, whom he had forgotten.</p> +<p>There was much ado when Neil Bonner came back from the Arctic. +The fires were lighted and the fleshpots slung, and he took of it all +and called it good. Not only was he bronzed and creased, but he +was a new man under his skin, with a grip on things and a seriousness +and control. His old companions were amazed when he declined to +hit up the pace in the good old way, while his father’s crony +rubbed hands gleefully, and became an authority upon the reclamation +of wayward and idle youth.</p> +<p>For four years Neil Bonner’s mind had lain fallow. Little +that was new had been added to it, but it had undergone a process of +selection. It had, so to say, been purged of the trivial and superfluous. +He had lived quick years, down in the world; and, up in the wilds, time +had been given him to organize the confused mass of his experiences. +His superficial standards had been flung to the winds and new standards +erected on deeper and broader generalizations. Concerning civilization, +he had gone away with one set of values, had returned with another set +of values. Aided, also, by the earth smells in his nostrils and +the earth sights in his eyes, he laid hold of the inner significance +of civilization, beholding with clear vision its futilities and powers. +It was a simple little philosophy he evolved. Clean living was +the way to grace. Duty performed was sanctification. One +must live clean and do his duty in order that he might work. Work +was salvation. And to work toward life abundant, and more abundant, +was to be in line with the scheme of things and the will of God.</p> +<p>Primarily, he was of the city. And his fresh earth grip and +virile conception of humanity gave him a finer sense of civilization +and endeared civilization to him. Day by day the people of the +city clung closer to him and the world loomed more colossal. And, +day by day, Alaska grew more remote and less real. And then he +met Kitty Sharon—a woman of his own flesh and blood and kind; +a woman who put her hand into his hand and drew him to her, till he +forgot the day and hour and the time of the year the first snow flies +on the Yukon.</p> +<p>Jees Uck moved into her grand log-house and dreamed away three golden +summer months. Then came the autumn, post-haste before the down +rush of winter. The air grew thin and sharp, the days thin and +short. The river ran sluggishly, and skin ice formed in the quiet +eddies. All migratory life departed south, and silence fell upon +the land. The first snow flurries came, and the last homing steamboat +bucked desperately into the running mush ice. Then came the hard +ice, solid cakes and sheets, till the Yukon ran level with its banks. +And when all this ceased the river stood still and the blinking days +lost themselves in the darkness.</p> +<p>John Thompson, the new agent, laughed; but Jees Uck had faith in +the mischances of sea and river. Neil Bonner might be frozen in +anywhere between Chilkoot Pass and St. Michael’s, for the last +travellers of the year are always caught by the ice, when they exchange +boat for sled and dash on through the long hours behind the flying dogs.</p> +<p>But no flying dogs came up the trail, nor down the trail, to Twenty +Mile. And John Thompson told Jees Uck, with a certain gladness +ill concealed, that Bonner would never come back again. Also, +and brutally, he suggested his own eligibility. Jees Uck laughed +in his face and went back to her grand log-house. But when midwinter +came, when hope dies down and life is at its lowest ebb, Jees Uck found +she had no credit at the store. This was Thompson’s doing, +and he rubbed his hands, and walked up and down, and came to his door +and looked up at Jees Uck’s house and waited. And he continued +to wait. She sold her dog-team to a party of miners and paid cash +for her food. And when Thompson refused to honour even her coin, +Toyaat Indians made her purchases, and sledded them up to her house +in the dark.</p> +<p>In February the first post came in over the ice, and John Thompson +read in the society column of a five-months-old paper of the marriage +of Neil Bonner and Kitty Sharon. Jees Uck held the door ajar and +him outside while he imparted the information; and, when he had done, +laughed pridefully and did not believe. In March, and all alone, +she gave birth to a man-child, a brave bit of new life at which she +marvelled. And at that hour, a year later, Neil Bonner sat by +another bed, marvelling at another bit of new life that had fared into +the world.</p> +<p>The snow went off the ground and the ice broke out of the Yukon. +The sun journeyed north, and journeyed south again; and, the money from +the being spent, Jees Uck went back to her own people. Oche Ish, +a shrewd hunter, proposed to kill the meat for her and her babe, and +catch the salmon, if she would marry him. And Imego and Hah Yo +and Wy Nooch, husky young hunters all, made similar proposals. +But she elected to live alone and seek her own meat and fish. +She sewed moccasins and <i>parkas</i> and mittens—warm, serviceable +things, and pleasing to the eye, withal, what of the ornamental hair-tufts +and bead-work. These she sold to the miners, who were drifting +faster into the land each year. And not only did she win food +that was good and plentiful, but she laid money by, and one day took +passage on the <i>Yukon</i> <i>Belle</i> down the river.</p> +<p>At St. Michael’s she washed dishes in the kitchen of the post. +The servants of the Company wondered at the remarkable woman with the +remarkable child, though they asked no questions and she vouchsafed +nothing. But just before Bering Sea closed in for the year, she +bought a passage south on a strayed sealing schooner. That winter +she cooked for Captain Markheim’s household at Unalaska, and in +the spring continued south to Sitka on a whisky sloop. Later on +appeared at Metlakahtla, which is near to St. Mary’s on the end +of the Pan-Handle, where she worked in the cannery through the salmon +season. When autumn came and the Siwash fishermen prepared to +return to Puget Sound, she embarked with a couple of families in a big +cedar canoe; and with them she threaded the hazardous chaos of the Alaskan +and Canadian coasts, till the Straits of Juan de Fuca were passed and +she led her boy by the hand up the hard pave of Seattle.</p> +<p>There she met Sandy MacPherson, on a windy corner, very much surprised +and, when he had heard her story, very wroth—not so wroth as he +might have been, had he known of Kitty Sharon; but of her Jees Uck breathed +not a word, for she had never believed. Sandy, who read commonplace +and sordid desertion into the circumstance, strove to dissuade her from +her trip to San Francisco, where Neil Bonner was supposed to live when +he was at home. And, having striven, he made her comfortable, +bought her tickets and saw her off, the while smiling in her face and +muttering “dam-shame” into his beard.</p> +<p>With roar and rumble, through daylight and dark, swaying and lurching +between the dawns, soaring into the winter snows and sinking to summer +valleys, skirting depths, leaping chasms, piercing mountains, Jees Uck +and her boy were hurled south. But she had no fear of the iron +stallion; nor was she stunned by this masterful civilization of Neil +Bonner’s people. It seemed, rather, that she saw with greater +clearness the wonder that a man of such godlike race had held her in +his arms. The screaming medley of San Francisco, with its restless +shipping, belching factories, and thundering traffic, did not confuse +her; instead, she comprehended swiftly the pitiful sordidness of Twenty +Mile and the skin-lodged Toyaat village. And she looked down at +the boy that clutched her hand and wondered that she had borne him by +such a man.</p> +<p>She paid the hack-driver five pieces and went up the stone steps +of Neil Bonner’s front door. A slant-eyed Japanese parleyed +with her for a fruitless space, then led her inside and disappeared. +She remained in the hall, which to her simply fancy seemed to be the +guest-room—the show-place wherein were arrayed all the household +treasures with the frank purpose of parade and dazzlement. The +walls and ceiling were of oiled and panelled redwood. The floor +was more glassy than glare-ice, and she sought standing place on one +of the great skins that gave a sense of security to the polished surface. +A huge fireplace—an extravagant fireplace, she deemed it—yawned +in the farther wall. A flood of light, mellowed by stained glass, +fell across the room, and from the far end came the white gleam of a +marble figure.</p> +<p>This much she saw, and more, when the slant-eyed servant led the +way past another room—of which she caught a fleeting glance—and +into a third, both of which dimmed the brave show of the entrance hall. +And to her eyes the great house seemed to hold out the promise of endless +similar rooms. There was such length and breadth to them, and +the ceilings were so far away! For the first time since her advent +into the white man’s civilization, a feeling of awe laid hold +of her. Neil, her Neil, lived in this house, breathed the air +of it, and lay down at night and slept! It was beautiful, all +this that she saw, and it pleased her; but she felt, also, the wisdom +and mastery behind. It was the concrete expression of power in +terms of beauty, and it was the power that she unerringly divined.</p> +<p>And then came a woman, queenly tall, crowned with a glory of hair +that was like a golden sun. She seemed to come toward Jees Uck +as a ripple of music across still water; her sweeping garment itself +a song, her body playing rhythmically beneath. Jees Uck herself +was a man compeller. There were Oche Ish and Imego and Hah Yo +and Wy Nooch, to say nothing of Neil Bonner and John Thompson and other +white men that had looked upon her and felt her power. But she +gazed upon the wide blue eyes and rose-white skin of this woman that +advanced to meet her, and she measured her with woman’s eyes looking +through man’s eyes; and as a man compeller she felt herself diminish +and grow insignificant before this radiant and flashing creature.</p> +<p>“You wish to see my husband?” the woman asked; and Jees +Uck gasped at the liquid silver of a voice that had never sounded harsh +cries at snarling wolf-dogs, nor moulded itself to a guttural speech, +nor toughened in storm and frost and camp smoke.</p> +<p>“No,” Jees Uck answered slowly and gropingly, in order +that she might do justice to her English. “I come to see +Neil Bonner.”</p> +<p>“He is my husband,” the woman laughed.</p> +<p>Then it was true! John Thompson had not lied that bleak February +day, when she laughed pridefully and shut the door in his face. +As once she had thrown Amos Pentley across her knee and ripped her knife +into the air, so now she felt impelled to spring upon this woman and +bear her back and down, and tear the life out of her fair body. +But Jees Uck was thinking quickly and gave no sign, and Kitty Bonner +little dreamed how intimately she had for an instant been related with +sudden death.</p> +<p>Jees Uck nodded her head that she understood, and Kitty Bonner explained +that Neil was expected at any moment. Then they sat down on ridiculously +comfortable chairs, and Kitty sought to entertain her strange visitor, +and Jees Uck strove to help her.</p> +<p>“You knew my husband in the North?” Kitty asked, once.</p> +<p>“Sure. I wash um clothes,” Jees Uck had answered, +her English abruptly beginning to grow atrocious.</p> +<p>“And this is your boy? I have a little girl.”</p> +<p>Kitty caused her daughter to be brought, and while the children, +after their manner, struck an acquaintance, the mothers indulged in +the talk of mothers and drank tea from cups so fragile that Jees Uck +feared lest hers should crumble to pieces beneath her fingers. +Never had she seen such cups, so delicate and dainty. In her mind +she compared them with the woman who poured the tea, and there uprose +in contrast the gourds and pannikins of the Toyaat village and the clumsy +mugs of Twenty Mile, to which she likened herself. And in such +fashion and such terms the problem presented itself. She was beaten. +There was a woman other than herself better fitted to bear and upbring +Neil Bonner’s children. Just as his people exceeded her +people, so did his womankind exceed her. They were the man compellers, +as their men were the world compellers. She looked at the rose-white +tenderness of Kitty Bonner’s skin and remembered the sun-beat +on her own face. Likewise she looked from brown hand to white—the +one, work-worn and hardened by whip-handle and paddle, the other as +guiltless of toil and soft as a newborn babe’s. And, for +all the obvious softness and apparent weakness, Jees Uck looked into +the blue eyes and saw the mastery she had seen in Neil Bonner’s +eyes and in the eyes of Neil Bonner’s people.</p> +<p>“Why, it’s Jees Uck!” Neil Bonner said, when he +entered. He said it calmly, with even a ring of joyful cordiality, +coming over to her and shaking both her hands, but looking into her +eyes with a worry in his own that she understood.</p> +<p>“Hello, Neil!” she said. “You look much good.”</p> +<p>“Fine, fine, Jees Uck,” he answered heartily, though +secretly studying Kitty for some sign of what had passed between the +two. Yet he knew his wife too well to expect, even though the +worst had passed, such a sign.</p> +<p>“Well, I can’t say how glad I am to see you,” he +went on. “What’s happened? Did you strike a +mine? And when did you get in?”</p> +<p>“Oo-a, I get in to-day,” she replied, her voice instinctively +seeking its guttural parts. “I no strike it, Neil. +You known Cap’n Markheim, Unalaska? I cook, his house, long +time. No spend money. Bime-by, plenty. Pretty good, +I think, go down and see White Man’s Land. Very fine, White +Man’s Land, very fine,” she added. Her English puzzled +him, for Sandy and he had sought, constantly, to better her speech, +and she had proved an apt pupil. Now it seemed that she had sunk +back into her race. Her face was guileless, stolidly guileless, +giving no cue. Kitty’s untroubled brow likewise baffled +him. What had happened? How much had been said? and how +much guessed?</p> +<p>While he wrestled with these questions and while Jees Uck wrestled +with her problem—never had he looked so wonderful and great—a +silence fell.</p> +<p>“To think that you knew my husband in Alaska!” Kitty +said softly.</p> +<p>Knew him! Jees Uck could not forbear a glance at the boy she +had borne him, and his eyes followed hers mechanically to the window +where played the two children. An iron hand seemed to tighten +across his forehead. His knees went weak and his heart leaped +up and pounded like a fist against his breast. His boy! +He had never dreamed it!</p> +<p>Little Kitty Bonner, fairylike in gauzy lawn, with pinkest of cheeks +and bluest of dancing eyes, arms outstretched and lips puckered in invitation, +was striving to kiss the boy. And the boy, lean and lithe, sunbeaten +and browned, skin-clad and in hair-fringed and hair-tufted <i>muclucs</i> +that showed the wear of the sea and rough work, coolly withstood her +advances, his body straight and stiff with the peculiar erectness common +to children of savage people. A stranger in a strange land, unabashed +and unafraid, he appeared more like an untamed animal, silent and watchful, +his black eyes flashing from face to face, quiet so long as quiet endured, +but prepared to spring and fight and tear and scratch for life, at the +first sign of danger.</p> +<p>The contrast between boy and girl was striking, but not pitiful. +There was too much strength in the boy for that, waif that he was of +the generations of Shpack, Spike O’Brien, and Bonner. In +his features, clean cut as a cameo and almost classic in their severity, +there were the power and achievement of his father, and his grandfather, +and the one known as the Big Fat, who was captured by the Sea people +and escaped to Kamchatka.</p> +<p>Neil Bonner fought his emotion down, swallowed it down, and choked +over it, though his face smiled with good-humour and the joy with which +one meets a friend.</p> +<p>“Your boy, eh, Jees Uck?” he said. And then turning +to Kitty: “Handsome fellow! He’ll do something with +those two hands of his in this our world.”</p> +<p>Kitty nodded concurrence. “What is your name?” +she asked.</p> +<p>The young savage flashed his quick eyes upon her and dwelt over her +for a space, seeking out, as it were, the motive beneath the question.</p> +<p>“Neil,” he answered deliberately when the scrutiny had +satisfied him.</p> +<p>“Injun talk,” Jees Uck interposed, glibly manufacturing +languages on the spur of the moment. “Him Injun talk, <i>nee</i>-<i>al</i> +all the same ‘cracker.’ Him baby, him like cracker; +him cry for cracker. Him say, ‘<i>Nee</i>-<i>al</i>, <i>nee</i>-<i>al</i>,’ +all time him say, ‘<i>Nee</i>-<i>al</i>.’ Then I say +that um name. So um name all time Nee-al.”</p> +<p>Never did sound more blessed fall upon Neil Bonner’s ear than +that lie from Jees Uck’s lips. It was the cue, and he knew +there was reason for Kitty’s untroubled brow.</p> +<p>“And his father?” Kitty asked. “He must be +a fine man.”</p> +<p>“Oo-a, yes,” was the reply. “Um father fine +man. Sure!”</p> +<p>“Did you know him, Neil?” queried Kitty.</p> +<p>“Know him? Most intimately,” Neil answered, and +harked back to dreary Twenty Mile and the man alone in the silence with +his thoughts.</p> +<p>And here might well end the story of Jees Uck but for the crown she +put upon her renunciation. When she returned to the North to dwell +in her grand log-house, John Thompson found that the P. C. Company could +make a shift somehow to carry on its business without his aid. +Also, the new agent and the succeeding agents received instructions +that the woman Jees Uck should be given whatsoever goods and grub she +desired, in whatsoever quantities she ordered, and that no charge should +be placed upon the books. Further, the Company paid yearly to +the woman Jees Uck a pension of five thousand dollars.</p> +<p>When he had attained suitable age, Father Champreau laid hands upon +the boy, and the time was not long when Jees Uck received letters regularly +from the Jesuit college in Maryland. Later on these letters came +from Italy, and still later from France. And in the end there +returned to Alaska one Father Neil, a man mighty for good in the land, +who loved his mother and who ultimately went into a wider field and +rose to high authority in the order.</p> +<p>Jees Uck was a young woman when she went back into the North, and +men still looked upon her and yearned. But she lived straight, +and no breath was ever raised save in commendation. She stayed +for a while with the good sisters at Holy Cross, where she learned to +read and write and became versed in practical medicine and surgery. +After that she returned to her grand log-house and gathered about her +the young girls of the Toyaat village, to show them the way of their +feet in the world. It is neither Protestant nor Catholic, this +school in the house built by Neil Bonner for Jees Uck, his wife; but +the missionaries of all the sects look upon it with equal favour. +The latchstring is always out, and tired prospectors and trail-weary +men turn aside from the flowing river or frozen trail to rest there +for a space and be warm by her fire. And, down in the States, +Kitty Bonner is pleased at the interest her husband takes in Alaskan +education and the large sums he devotes to that purpose; and, though +she often smiles and chaffs, deep down and secretly she is but the prouder +of him.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FAITH OF MEN***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 1096-h.htm or 1096-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/0/9/1096 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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