diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:39:39 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:39:39 -0700 |
| commit | 3410232126b860dafd6a9b46b3d4e7874de6e1bd (patch) | |
| tree | 0ff7170a55ef2452d169ac9027eaa5b4f3548508 | |
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 12336-0.txt | 6564 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 12336-h/12336-h.htm | 7785 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/12336-8.txt | 6985 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/12336-8.zip | bin | 0 -> 136888 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/12336-h.zip | bin | 0 -> 142144 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/12336-h/12336-h.htm | 8223 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/12336.txt | 6985 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/12336.zip | bin | 0 -> 136863 bytes |
11 files changed, 36558 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/12336-0.txt b/12336-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0cc3856 --- /dev/null +++ b/12336-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6564 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12336 *** + +BROWN WOLF + +[Illustration] + + + + +Brown Wolf + +AND + +Other Jack London Stories + + +As chosen by + +Franklin K. Mathiews + +Chief Scout Librarian, Boy Scouts of America + + + + +TABLE OF CONTENTS + +BROWN WOLF + +THAT SPOT + +TRUST + +ALL GOLD CANYON + +THE STORY OF KEESH + +NAM-BOK THE UNVERACIOUS + +YELLOW HANDKERCHIEF + +MAKE WESTING + +THE HEATHEN + +THE HOBO AND THE FAIRY + +"JUST MEAT" + +A NOSE FOR THE KING + + +INTRODUCTION + +Boys delight in men who have had adventures, and when they are +privileged to read of such exploits in thrilling story form, that is the +"seventh heaven" for them. Such a "boys' man" was Jack London, whose +whole life was one of stirring action on land and sea. Gifted as a story +teller, he wrote books almost without end. Some of them, "The Call of +the Wild," "The Sea Wolf" and "White Fang," have already been recognized +as fine books for boys. Others, volumes of short stories, contain many +of like interest, possessing the same qualities that have made the other +and longer stories so acceptable as juveniles. + +Effort has been made by the editor to bring together in one volume a +number of such stories, not for the reason alone that there might be +another Jack London book for boys, but also in order to add to our +juvenile literature a volume likely "to be chewed and digested," as +Bacon says, a book worthy "to be read whole, and with diligence and +attention." For my belief is that boys read altogether too few of such +books. Or perhaps it would be more correct to say, have too few +opportunities to read such books, because so often we fail to see how +quick in their reading their minds are to grasp the more difficult, and +how keen and competent their conscience to draw the right conclusion +when situations are presented wherein men err so grievously. + +It is hoped the stories presented will serve to exercise both the boy's +mind and conscience; that seeing and feeling life and nature as Jack +London saw and felt it--the best and the worst in human nature, with the +Infinite always near and from whom there is no escape--seeing and +feeling such things boys will develop the emotional muscles of the +spirit, have opened up new windows to their imaginations, and withal add +some line or color to their life's ideals. + +FRANKLIN K. MATHIEWS, Chief Scout Librarian, Boy Scouts of America. + +[Illustration] + + + + +BROWN WOLF + + +She had delayed, because of the dew-wet grass, in order to put on her +overshoes, and when she emerged from the house found her waiting husband +absorbed in the wonder of a bursting almond-bud. She sent a questing +glance across the tall grass and in and out among the orchard trees. + +"Where's Wolf?" she asked. + +"He was here a moment ago." Walt Irvine drew himself away with a jerk +from the metaphysics and poetry of the organic miracle of blossom, and +surveyed the landscape. "He was running a rabbit the last I saw of him." + +"Wolf! Wolf! Here, Wolf!" she called, as they left the clearing and took +the trail that led down through the waxen-belled manzanita jungle to +the county road. + +Irvine thrust between his lips the little finger of each hand and lent +to her efforts a shrill whistling. + +She covered her ears hastily and made a wry grimace. + +"My! for a poet, delicately attuned and all the rest of it, you can make +unlovely noises. My eardrums are pierced. You outwhistle----" + +"Orpheus." + +"I was about to say a street-arab," she concluded severely. + +"Poesy does not prevent one from being practical--at least it doesn't +prevent _me_. Mine is no futility of genius that can't sell gems to the +magazines." + +He assumed a mock extravagance, and went on: + +"I am no attic singer, no ballroom warbler. And why? Because I am +practical. Mine is no squalor of song that cannot transmute itself, with +proper exchange value, into a flower-crowned cottage, a sweet +mountain-meadow, a grove of redwoods, an orchard of thirty-seven trees, +one long row of blackberries and two short rows of strawberries, to say +nothing of a quarter of a mile of gurgling brook." + +"Oh, that all your song-transmutations were as successful!" she laughed. + +"Name one that wasn't." + +"Those two beautiful sonnets that you transmuted into the cow that was +accounted the worst milker in the township." + +"She was beautiful----" he began. + +"But she didn't give milk," Madge interrupted. + +"But she _was_ beautiful, now, wasn't she?" he insisted. + +"And here's where beauty and utility fall out," was her reply. "And +there's the Wolf!" + +From the thicket-covered hillside came a crashing of underbrush, and +then, forty feet above them, on the edge of the sheer wall of rock, +appeared a wolf's head and shoulders. His braced forepaws dislodged a +pebble, and with sharp-pricked ears and peering eyes he watched the fall +of the pebble till it struck at their feet. Then he transferred his gaze +and with open mouth laughed down at them. + +"You Wolf, you!" and "You blessed Wolf!" the man and woman called out to +him. The ears flattened back and down at the sound, and the head seemed +to snuggle under the caress of an invisible hand. + +They watched him scramble backward into the thicket, then proceeded on +their way. Several minutes later, rounding a turn in the trail where the +descent was less precipitous, he joined them in the midst of a miniature +avalanche of pebbles and loose soil. He was not demonstrative. A pat and +a rub around the ears from the man, and a more prolonged caressing from +the woman, and he was away down the trail in front of them, gliding +effortlessly over the ground in true wolf fashion. + +In build and coat and brush he was a huge timber-wolf; but the lie was +given to his wolf-hood by his color and marking. There the dog +unmistakably advertised itself. No wolf was ever colored like him. He +was brown, deep brown, red-brown, an orgy of browns. Back and shoulders +were a warm brown that paled on the sides and underneath to a yellow +that was dingy because of the brown that lingered in it. The white of +the throat and paws and the spots over the eyes was dirty because of the +persistent and ineradicable brown, while the eyes themselves were twin +topazes, golden and brown. + +The man and woman loved the dog very much; perhaps this was because it +had been such a task to win his love. It had been no easy matter when he +first drifted in mysteriously out of nowhere to their little mountain +cottage. Footsore and famished, he had killed a rabbit under their very +noses and under their very windows, and then crawled away and slept by +the spring at the foot of the blackberry bushes. When Walt Irvine went +down to inspect the intruder, he was snarled at for his pains, and Madge +likewise was snarled at when she went down to present, as a +peace-offering, a large pan of bread and milk. + +A most unsociable dog he proved to be, resenting all their advances, +refusing to let them lay hands on him, menacing them with bared fangs +and bristling hair. Nevertheless he remained, sleeping and resting by +the spring, and eating the food they gave him after they set it down at +a safe distance and retreated. His wretched physical condition explained +why he lingered; and when he had recuperated, after several days' +sojourn, he disappeared. + +And this would have been the end of him, so far as Irvine and his wife +were concerned, had not Irvine at that particular time been called away +into the northern part of the state. Biding along on the train, near to +the line between California and Oregon, he chanced to look out of the +window and saw his unsociable guest sliding along the wagon road, brown +and wolfish, tired yet tireless, dust-covered and soiled with two +hundred miles of travel. + +Now Irvine was a man of impulse, a poet. He got off the train at the +next station, bought a piece of meat at a butcher shop, and captured the +vagrant on the outskirts of the town. The return trip was made in the +baggage car, and so Wolf came a second time to the mountain cottage. +Here he was tied up for a week and made love to by the man and woman. +But it was very circumspect love-making. Remote and alien as a traveller +from another planet, he snarled down their soft-spoken love-words. He +never barked. In all the time they had him he was never known to bark. + +To win him became a problem. Irvine liked problems. He had a metal plate +made, on which was stamped: "Return to Walt Irvine, Glen Ellen, Sonoma +County, California." This was riveted to a collar and strapped about the +dog's neck. Then he was turned loose, and promptly He disappeared. A +day later came a telegram from Mendocino County. In twenty hours he had +made over a hundred miles to the north, and was still going when +captured. + +He came back by Wells Fargo Express, was tied up three days, and was +loosed on the fourth and lost. This time he gained southern Oregon +before he was caught and returned. Always, as soon as he received his +liberty, he fled away, and always he fled north. He was possessed of an +obsession that drove him north. The homing instinct, Irvine called it, +after he had expended the selling price of a sonnet in getting the +animal back from northern Oregon. + +Another time the brown wanderer succeeded in traversing half the length +of California, all of Oregon, and most of Washington, before he was +picked up and returned "Collect." A remarkable thing was the speed with +which he traveled. Fed up and rested, as soon as he was loosed he +devoted all his energy to getting over the ground. On the first day's +run he was known to cover as high as a hundred and fifty miles, and +after that he would average a hundred miles a day until caught. He +always arrived back lean and hungry and savage, and always departed +fresh and vigorous, cleaving his way northward in response to some +prompting of his being that no one could understand. + +But at last, after a futile year of flight, he accepted the inevitable +and elected to remain at the cottage where first he had killed the +rabbit and slept by the spring. Even after that, a long time elapsed +before the man and woman succeeded in patting him. It was a great +victory, for they alone were allowed to put hands on him. He was +fastidiously exclusive, and no guest at the cottage ever succeeded in +making up to him. A low growl greeted such approach; if any one had the +hardihood to come nearer, the lips lifted, the naked fangs appeared, and +the growl became a snarl--a snarl so terrible and malignant that it awed +the stoutest of them, as it likewise awed the farmers' dogs that knew +ordinary dog snarling, but had never seen wolf snarling before. + +He was without antecedents. His history began with Walt and Madge. He +had come up from the south, but never a clew did they get of the owner +from whom he had evidently fled. Mrs. Johnson, their nearest neighbor +and the one who supplied them with milk, proclaimed him a Klondike dog. +Her brother was burrowing for frozen pay-streaks in that far country, +and so she constituted herself an authority on the subject. + +But they did not dispute her. There were the tips of Wolf's ears, +obviously so severely frozen at some time that they would never quite +heal again. Besides, he looked like the photographs of the Alaskan dogs +they saw published in magazines and newspapers. They often speculated +over his past, and tried to conjure up (from what they had read and +heard) what his northland life had been. That the northland still drew +him, they knew; for at night they sometimes heard him crying softly; and +when the north wind blew and the bite of frost was in the air, a great +restlessness would come upon him and he would lift a mournful lament +which they knew to be the long wolf-howl. Yet he never barked. No +provocation was great enough to draw from him that canine cry. + +Long discussion they had, during the time of winning him, as to whose +dog he was. Each claimed him, and each proclaimed loudly any expression +of affection made by him. But the man had the better of it at first, +chiefly because he was a man. It was patent that Wolf had had no +experience with women. He did not understand women. Madge's skirts were +something he never quite accepted. The swish of them was enough to set +him a-bristle with suspicion, and on a windy day she could not approach +him at all. + +On the other hand, it was Madge who fed him; also it was she who ruled +the kitchen, and it was by her favor, and her favor alone, that he was +permitted to come within that sacred precinct. It was because of these +things that she bade fair to overcome the handicap of her garments. Then +it was that Walt put forth special effort, making it a practice to have +Wolf lie at his feet while he wrote, and, between petting and talking, +losing much time from his work. Walt won in the end, and his victory was +most probably due to the fact that he was a man, though Madge averred +that they would have had another quarter of a mile of gurgling brook, +and at least two west winds sighing through their redwoods, had Walt +properly devoted his energies to song-transmutation and left Wolf alone +to exercise a natural taste and an unbiased judgment. + +"It's about time I heard from those triolets," Walt said, after a +silence of five minutes, during which they had swung steadily down the +trail. "There'll be a check at the post office, I know, and we'll +transmute it into beautiful buckwheat flour, a gallon of maple syrup, +and a new pair of overshoes for you." + +"And into beautiful milk from Mrs. Johnson's beautiful cow," Madge +added. "To-morrow's the first of the month, you know." + +Walt scowled unconsciously; then his face brightened, and he clapped his +hand to his breast pocket. + +"Never mind. I have here a nice, beautiful, new cow, the best milker in +California." + +"When did you write it?" she demanded eagerly. Then, reproachfully, "And +you never showed it to me." + +"I saved it to read to you on the way to the post office, in a spot +remarkably like this one," he answered, indicating, with a wave of his +hand, a dry log on which to sit. + +A tiny stream flowed out of a dense fern-brake, slipped down a +mossy-lipped stone, and ran across the path at their feet. From the +valley arose the mellow song of meadow larks, while about them, in and +out, through sunshine and shadow, fluttered great yellow butterflies. + +Up from below came another sound that broke in upon Walt reading softly +from his manuscript. It was a crunching of heavy feet, punctuated now +and again by the clattering of a displaced stone. As Walt finished and +looked to his wife for approval, a man came into view around the turn of +the trail. He was bareheaded and sweaty. With a handkerchief in one hand +he mopped his face, while in the other hand he carried a new hat and a +wilted starched collar which he had removed from his neck. He was a +well-built man, and his muscles seemed on the point of bursting out of +the painfully new and ready-made black clothes he wore. + +"Warm day," Walt greeted him. Walt believed in country democracy, and +never missed an opportunity to practice it. + +The man paused and nodded. + +"I guess I ain't used much to the warm," he vouchsafed half +apologetically. "I'm more accustomed to zero weather." + +"You don't find any of that in this country," Walt laughed. + +"Should say not," the man answered. "An' I ain't here a-lookin' for it +neither. I'm tryin' to find my sister. Mebbe you know where she lives. +Her name's Johnson, Mrs. William Johnson." + +"You're not her Klondike brother!" Madge cried, her eyes bright with +interest, "about whom we've heard so much?" + +"Yes'm, that's me," he answered modestly. "My name's Miller, Skiff +Miller. I just thought I'd s'prise her." + +"You are on the right track then. Only you've come by the footpath." +Madge stood up to direct him, pointing up the canyon a quarter of a +mile. "You see that blasted redwood! Take the little trail turning off +to the right. It's the short cut to her house. You can't miss it." + +"Yes'm, thank you, ma'am," he said. + +He made tentative efforts to go, but seemed awkwardly rooted to the +spot. He was gazing at her with an open admiration of which he was quite +unconscious, and which was drowning, along with him, in the rising sea +of embarrassment in which he floundered. + +"We'd like to hear you tell about the Klondike," Madge said. "Mayn't we +come over some day while you are at your sister's! Or, better yet, +won't you come over and have dinner with us?" + +"Yes'm, thank you, ma'am," he mumbled mechanically. Then he caught +himself up and added: "I ain't stoppin' long. I got to be pullin' north +again. I go out on to-night's train. You see, I've got a mail contract +with the government." + +When Madge had said that it was too bad, he made another futile effort +to go. But he could not take his eyes from her face. He forgot his +embarrassment in his admiration, and it was her turn to flush and feel +uncomfortable. + +It was at this juncture, when Walt had just decided it was time for him +to be saying something to relieve the strain, that Wolf, who had been +away nosing through the brush, trotted wolf-like into view. + +Skiff Miller's abstraction disappeared. The pretty woman before him +passed out of his field of vision. He had eyes only for the dog, and a +great wonder came into his face. + +"Well, I'll be hanged!" he enunciated slowly and solemnly. + +He sat down ponderingly on the log, leaving Madge standing. At the sound +of his voice, Wolf's ears had flattened down, then his mouth had opened +in a laugh. He trotted slowly up to the stranger and first smelled his +hands, then licked them with his tongue. + +Skiff Miller patted the dog's head, and slowly and solemnly repeated, +"Well, I'll be hanged!" + +"Excuse me, ma'am," he said the next moment, "I was just s'prised some, +that was all." + +"We're surprised, too," she answered lightly. "We never saw Wolf make up +to a stranger before." + +"Is that what you call him--Wolf?" the man asked. + +Madge nodded. "But I can't understand his friendliness toward +you--unless it's because you're from the Klondike. He's a Klondike dog, +you know." + +"Yes'm," Miller said absently. He lifted one of Wolf's forelegs and +examined the footpads, pressing them and denting them with his thumb. +"Kind of soft," he remarked. "He ain't been on trail for a long time." + +"I say," Walt broke in, "it is remarkable the way he lets you handle +him." + +Skiff Miller arose, no longer awkward with admiration of Madge, and in +a sharp, businesslike manner asked, "How long have you had him?" + +But just then the dog, squirming and rubbing against the newcomer's +legs, opened his mouth and barked. It was an explosive bark, brief and +joyous, but a bark. + +"That's a new one on me," Skiff Miller remarked. + +Walt and Madge stared at each other. The miracle had happened. Wolf had +barked. + +"It's the first time he ever barked," Madge said. + +"First time I ever heard him, too," Miller volunteered. + +Madge smiled at him. The man was evidently a humorist. + +"Of course," she said, "since you have only seen him for five minutes." + +Skiff Miller looked at her sharply, seeking in her face the guile her +words had led him to suspect. + +"I thought you understood," he said slowly. "I thought you'd tumbled to +it from his makin' up to me. He's my dog. His name ain't Wolf. It's +Brown." + +"Oh, Walt!" was Madge's instinctive cry to her husband. + +Walt was on the defensive at once. + +"How do you know he's your dog?" he demanded. + +"Because he is," was the reply. + +"Mere assertion," Walt said sharply. + +In his slow and pondering way, Skiff Miller looked at him, then asked, +with a nod of his head toward Madge: + +"How d'you know she's your wife? You just say, 'Because she is,' and +I'll say it's mere assertion. The dog's mine. I bred 'm an' raised 'm, +an' I guess I ought to know. Look here. I'll prove it to you." + +Skiff Miller turned to the dog. "Brown!" His voice rang out sharply, and +at the sound the dog's ears flattened down as to a caress. "Gee!" The +dog made a swinging turn to the right. "Now mush-on!" And the dog ceased +his swing abruptly and started straight ahead, halting obediently at +command. + +"I can do it with whistles," Skiff Miller said proudly. "He was my lead +dog." + +"But you are not going to take him away with you?" Madge asked +tremulously. + +The man nodded. + +"Back into that awful Klondike world of suffering?" + +He nodded and added: "Oh, it ain't so bad as all that. Look at me. +Pretty healthy specimen, ain't I!" + +"But the dogs! The terrible hardship, the heart-breaking toil, the +starvation, the frost! Oh, I've read about it and I know." + +"I nearly ate him once, over on Little Fish River," Miller volunteered +grimly. "If I hadn't got a moose that day was all that saved 'm." + +"I'd have died first!" Madge cried. + +"Things is different down here," Miller explained. "You don't have to +eat dogs. You think different just about the time you're all in. You've +never been all in, so you don't know anything about it." + +"That's the very point," she argued warmly. "Dogs are not eaten in +California. Why not leave him here? He is happy. He'll never want for +food--you know that. He'll never suffer from cold and hardship. Here all +is softness and gentleness. Neither the human nor nature is savage. He +will never know a whip-lash again. And as for the weather--why, it +never snows here." + +"But it's all-fired hot in summer, beggin' your pardon," Skiff Miller +laughed. + +"But you do not answer," Madge continued passionately. "What have you to +offer him in that northland life?" + +"Grub, when I've got it, and that's most of the time," came the answer. + +"And the rest of the time?" + +"No grub." + +"And the work?" + +"Yes, plenty of work," Miller blurted out impatiently. "Work without +end, an' famine, an' frost, an' all the rest of the miseries--that's +what he'll get when he comes with me. But he likes it. He is used to it. +He knows that life. He was born to it an' brought up to it. An' you +don't know anything about it. You don't know what you're talking about. +That's where the dog belongs, and that's where he'll be happiest." + +"The dog doesn't go," Walt announced in a determined voice. "So there is +no need of further discussion." + +"What's that?" Skiff Miller demanded, big brows lowering and an +obstinate flush of blood reddening his forehead. + +"I said the dog doesn't go, and that settles it. I don't believe he's +your dog. You may have seen him sometime. You may even sometime have +driven him for his owner. But his obeying the ordinary driving commands +of the Alaskan trail is no demonstration that he is yours. Any dog in +Alaska would obey you as he obeyed. Besides, he is undoubtedly a +valuable dog, as dogs go in Alaska, and that is sufficient explanation +of your desire to get possession of him. Anyway, you've got to prove +property." + +Skiff Miller, cool and collected, the obstinate flush a trifle deeper on +his forehead, his huge muscles bulging under the black cloth of his +coat, carefully looked the poet up and down as though measuring the +strength of his slenderness. + +The Klondiker's face took on a contemptuous expression as he said +finally: "I reckon there's nothin' in sight to prevent me takin' the dog +right here an' now." + +Walt's face reddened, and the striking-muscles of his arms and shoulders +seemed to stiffen and grow tense. His wife fluttered apprehensively +into the breach. + +"Maybe Mr. Miller is right," she said. "I am afraid that he is. Wolf +does seem to know him, and certainly he answers to the name of 'Brown.' +He made friends with him instantly, and you know that's something he +never did with anybody before. Besides, look at the way he barked. He +was just bursting with joy. Joy over what? Without doubt at finding Mr. +Miller." + +Walt's striking-muscles relaxed, and his shoulders seemed to droop with +hopelessness. + +"I guess you're right, Madge," he said. "Wolf isn't Wolf, but Brown, and +he must belong to Mr. Miller." + +"Perhaps Mr. Miller will sell him," she suggested. "We can buy him." + +Skiff Miller shook his head, no longer belligerent, but kindly, quick to +be generous in response to generousness. + +"I had five dogs," he said, casting about for the easiest way to temper +his refusal. "He was the leader. They was the crack team of Alaska. +Nothin' could touch 'em. In 1898 I refused five thousand dollars for the +bunch. Dogs was high, then, anyway; but that wasn't what made the fancy +price. It was the team itself. Brown was the best in the team. That +winter I refused twelve hundred for 'm. I didn't sell 'm then, an' I +ain't a-sellin' 'm now. Besides, I think a mighty lot of that dog. I've +been lookin' for 'm for three years. It made me fair sick when I found +he'd been stole--not the value of him, but the--well, I liked 'm so, +that's all. I couldn't believe my eyes when I seen 'm just now. I +thought I was dreamin'. It was too good to be true. Why, I was his +nurse. I put 'm to bed, snug every night. His mother died, and I brought +'m up on condensed milk at two dollars a can when I couldn't afford it +in my own coffee. He never knew any mother but me. He used to suck my +finger regular, the darn little pup--that finger right there!" + +And Skiff Miller, too overwrought for speech, held up a forefinger for +them to see. + +"That very finger," he managed to articulate, as though it somehow +clinched the proof of ownership and the bond of affection. + +He was still gazing at his extended finger when Madge began to speak. + +"But the dog," she said. "You haven't considered the dog." + +Skiff Miller looked puzzled. + +"Have you thought about him?" she asked. + +"Don't know what you're drivin' at," was the response. + +"Maybe the dog has some choice in the matter," Madge went on. "Maybe he +has his likes and desires. You have not considered him. You give him no +choice. It has never entered your mind that possibly he might prefer +California to Alaska. You consider only what you like. You do with him +as you would with a sack of potatoes or a bale of hay." + +This was a new way of looking at it, and Miller was visibly impressed as +he debated it in his mind. Madge took advantage of his indecision. + +"If you really love him, what would be happiness to him would be your +happiness also," she urged. + +Skiff Miller continued to debate with himself, and Madge stole a glance +of exultation to her husband, who looked back warm approval. + +"What do you think?" the Klondiker suddenly demanded. + +It was her turn to be puzzled. "What do you mean?" she asked. + +"D'ye think he'd sooner stay in California!" + +She nodded her head with positiveness. "I am sure of it." + +Skiff Miller again debated with himself, though this time aloud, at the +same time running his gaze in a judicial way over the mooted animal. + +"He was a good worker. He's done a heap of work for me. He never loafed +on me, an' he was a joe-dandy at hammerin' a raw team into shape. He's +got a head on him. He can do everything but talk. He knows what you say +to him. Look at 'm now. He knows we're talkin' about him." + +The dog was lying at Skiff Miller's feet, head close down on paws, ears +erect and listening, and eyes that were quick and eager to follow the +sound of speech as it fell from the lips of first one and then the +other. + +"An' there's a lot of work in 'm yet. He's good for years to come. An' I +do like him." + +Once or twice after that Skiff Miller opened his mouth and closed it +again without speaking. Finally he said: + +"I'll tell you what I'll do. Your remarks, ma'am, has some weight in +them. The dog's worked hard, and maybe he's earned a soft berth an' has +got a right to choose. Anyway, we'll leave it up to him. Whatever he +says, goes. You people stay right here settin' down. I'll say good-by +and walk off casual-like. If he wants to stay, he can stay. If he wants +to come with me, let 'm come. I won't call 'm to come an' don't you call +'m to come back." + +He looked with sudden suspicion at Madge, and added, "Only you must play +fair. No persuadin' after my back is turned." + +"We'll play fair," Madge began, but Skiff Miller broke in on her +assurances. + +"I know the ways of women," he announced. "Their hearts is soft. When +their hearts is touched they're likely to stack the cards, look at the +bottom of the deck, an' lie--beggin' your pardon, ma'am. I'm only +discoursin' about women in general." + +"I don't know how to thank you," Madge quavered. + +"I don't see as you've got any call to thank me," he replied. "Brown +ain't decided yet. Now you won't mind if I go away slow! It's no more'n +fair, seein' I'll be out of sight inside a hundred yards." + +Madge agreed, and added, "And I promise you faithfully that we won't do +anything to influence him." + +"Well, then, I might as well he gettin' along," Skiff Miller said in the +ordinary tones of one departing. + +At this change in his voice, Wolf lifted his head quickly, and still +more quickly got to his feet when the man and woman shook hands. He +sprang up on his hind legs, resting his fore paws on her hip and at the +same time licking Skiff Miller's hand. When the latter shook hands with +Walt, Wolf repeated his act, resting his weight on Walt and licking both +men's hands. + +"It ain't no picnic, I can tell you that," were the Klondiker's last +words, as he turned and went slowly up the trail. + +For the distance of twenty feet Wolf watched him go, himself all +eagerness and expectancy, as though waiting for the man to turn and +retrace his steps. Then, with a quick low whine, Wolf sprang after him, +overtook him, caught his hand between his teeth with reluctant +tenderness, and strove gently to make him pause. + +Failing in this, Wolf raced back to where Walt Irvine sat, catching his +coat sleeve in his teeth and trying vainly to drag him after the +retreating man. + +Wolf's perturbation began to wax. He desired ubiquity. He wanted to be +in two places at the same time, with the old master and the new, and +steadily the distance between them was increasing. He sprang about +excitedly, making short nervous leaps and twists, now toward one, now +toward the other, in painful indecision, not knowing his own mind, +desiring both and unable to choose, uttering quick sharp whines and +beginning to pant. + +He sat down abruptly on his haunches, thrusting his nose upward, the +mouth opening and closing with jerking movements, each time opening +wider. These jerking movements were in unison with the recurrent spasms +that attacked the throat, each spasm severer and more intense than the +preceding one. And in accord with jerks and spasms the larynx began to +vibrate, at first silently, accompanied by the rush of air expelled from +the lungs, then sounding a low, deep note, the lowest in the register of +the human ear. All this was the nervous and muscular preliminary to +howling. + +But just as the howl was on the verge of bursting from the full throat, +the wide-opened mouth was closed, the paroxysms ceased, and he looked +long and steadily at the retreating man. Suddenly Wolf turned his head, +and over his shoulder just as steadily regarded Walt. The appeal was +unanswered. Not a word nor a sign did the dog receive, no suggestion and +no clew as to what his conduct should be. + +A glance ahead to where the old master was nearing the curve of the +trail excited him again. He sprang to his feet with a whine, and then, +struck by a new idea, turned his attention to Madge. Hitherto he had +ignored her, but now, both masters failing him, she alone was left. He +went over to her and snuggled his head in her lap, nudging her arm with +his nose--an old trick of his when begging for favors. He backed away +from her and began writhing and twisting playfully, curvetting and +prancing, half rearing and striking his forepaws to the earth, +struggling with all his body, from the wheedling eyes and flattening +ears to the wagging tail, to express the thought that was in him and +that was denied him utterance. + +This, too, he soon abandoned. He was depressed by the coldness of these +humans who had never been cold before. No response could he draw from +them, no help could he get. They did not consider him. They were as +dead. + +He turned and silently gazed after the old master. Skiff Miller was +rounding the curve. In a moment he would be gone from view. Yet he never +turned his head, plodding straight onward, slowly and methodically, as +though possessed of no interest in what was occurring behind his back. + +And in this fashion he went out of view. Wolf waited for him to +reappear. He waited a long minute, silently, quietly, without movement, +as though turned to stone--withal stone quick with eagerness and desire. +He barked once, and waited. Then he turned and trotted back to Walt +Irvine. He sniffed his hand and dropped down heavily at his feet, +watching the trail where it curved emptily from view. + +The tiny stream slipping down the mossy-lipped stone seemed suddenly to +increase the volume of its gurgling noise. Save for the meadow larks, +there was no other sound. The great yellow butterflies drifted silently +through the sunshine and lost themselves in the drowsy shadows. Madge +gazed triumphantly at her husband. + +A few minutes later Wolf got upon his feet. Decision and deliberation +marked his movements. He did not glance at the man and woman. His eyes +were fixed up the trail. He had made up his mind. They knew it. And they +knew, so far as they were concerned, that the ordeal had just begun. + +He broke into a trot, and Madge's lips pursed, forming an avenue for the +caressing sound that it was the will of her to send forth. But the +caressing sound was not made. She was impelled to look at her husband, +and she saw the sternness with which he watched her. The pursed lips +relaxed, and she sighed inaudibly. + +Wolf's trot broke into a run. Wider and wider were the leaps he made. +Not once did he turn his head, his wolf's brush standing out straight +behind him. He cut sharply across the curve of the trail and was gone. + +[Illustration] + + + + +THAT SPOT + + +I don't think much of Stephen Mackaye any more, though I used to swear +by him. I know that in those days I loved him more than my own brother. +If ever I meet Stephen Mackaye again, I shall not be responsible for my +actions. It passes beyond me that a man with whom I shared food and +blanket, and with whom I mushed over the Chilcoot Trail, should turn out +the way he did. I always sized Steve up as a square man, a kindly +comrade, without an iota of anything vindictive or malicious in his +nature. I shall never trust my judgment in men again. Why, I nursed that +man through typhoid fever; we starved together on the headwaters of the +Stewart; and he saved my life on the Little Salmon. And now, after the +years we were together, all I can say of Stephen Mackaye is that he is +the meanest man I ever knew. + +We started for the Klondike in the fall rush of 1897, and we started too +late to get over Chilcoot Pass before the freeze-up. We packed our +outfit on our backs part way over, when the snow began to fly, and then +we had to buy dogs in order to sled it the rest of the way. That was how +we came to get that Spot. Dogs were high, and we paid one hundred and +ten dollars for him. He looked worth it. I say _looked_, because he was +one of the finest appearing dogs I ever saw. He weighed sixty pounds, +and he had all the lines of a good sled animal. We never could make out +his breed. He wasn't husky, nor Malemute, nor Hudson Bay; he looked like +all of them and he didn't look like any of them; and on top of it all he +had some of the white man's dog in him, for on one side, in the thick of +the mixed yellow-brown-red-and-dirty-white that was his prevailing +color, there was a spot of coal-black as big as a water-bucket. That was +why we called him Spot. + +He was a good looker all right. When he was in condition his muscles +stood out in bunches all over him. And he was the strongest looking +brute I ever saw in Alaska, also the most intelligent looking. To run +your eyes over him, you'd think he could outpull three dogs of his own +weight. Maybe he could, but I never saw it. His intelligence didn't run +that way. He could steal and forage to perfection; he had an instinct +that was positively grewsome for divining when work was to be done and +for making a sneak accordingly; and for getting lost and not staying +lost he was nothing short of inspired. But when it came to work, the way +that intelligence dribbled out of him and left him a mere clot of +wobbling, stupid jelly would make your heart bleed. + +There are times when I think it wasn't stupidity. Maybe, like some men I +know, he was too wise to work. I shouldn't wonder if he put it all over +us with that intelligence of his. Maybe he figured it all out and +decided that a licking now and again and no work was a whole lot better +than work all the time and no licking. He was intelligent enough for +such a computation. I tell you, I've sat and looked into that dog's eyes +till the shivers ran up and down my spine and the marrow crawled like +yeast, what of the intelligence I saw shining out. I can't express +myself about that intelligence. It is beyond mere words. I saw it, +that's all. At times it was like gazing into a human soul, to look into +his eyes; and what I saw there frightened me and started all sorts of +ideas in my own mind of reincarnation and all the rest. I tell you I +sensed something big in that brute's eyes; there was a message there, +but I wasn't big enough myself to catch it. Whatever it was (I know I'm +making a fool of myself)--whatever it was, it baffled me. I can't give +an inkling of what I saw in that brute's eyes; it wasn't light, it +wasn't color; it was something that moved, away back, when the eyes +themselves weren't moving. And I guess I didn't see it move, either; I +only sensed that it moved. It was an expression,--that's what it +was,--and I got an impression of it. No; it was different from a mere +expression; it was more than that. I don't know what it was, but it gave +me a feeling of kinship just the same. Oh, no, not sentimental kinship. +It was, rather, a kinship of equality. Those eyes never pleaded like a +deer's eyes. They challenged. No, it wasn't defiance. It was just a calm +assumption of equality. And I don't think it was deliberate. My belief +is that it was unconscious on his part. It was there because it was +there, and it couldn't help shining out. No, I don't mean shine. It +didn't shine; it _moved_. I know I'm talking rot, but if you'd looked +into that animal's eyes the way I have, you'd understand. Steve was +affected the same way I was. Why, I tried to kill that Spot once--he was +no good for anything; and I fell down on it. I led him out into the +brush, and he came along slow and unwilling. He knew what was going on. +I stopped in a likely place, put my foot on the rope, and pulled my big +Colt's. And that dog sat down and looked at me. I tell you he didn't +plead. He just looked. And I saw all kinds of incomprehensible things +moving, yes, _moving,_ in those eyes of his. I didn't really see them +move; I thought I saw them, for, as I said before, I guess I only sensed +them. And I want to tell you right now that it got beyond me. It was +like killing a man, a conscious, brave man who looked calmly into your +gun as much as to say, "Who's afraid?" Then, too, the message seemed so +near that, instead of pulling the trigger quick, I stopped to see if I +could catch the message. There it was, right before me, glimmering all +around in those eyes of his. And then it was too late. I got scared. I +was trembly all over, and my stomach generated a nervous palpitation +that made me seasick. I just sat down and looked at that dog, and he +looked at me, till I thought I was going crazy. Do you want to know what +I did? I threw down the gun and ran back to camp with the fear of God in +my heart. Steve laughed at me. But I notice that Steve led Spot into the +woods, a week later, for the same purpose, and that Steve came back +alone, and a little later Spot drifted back, too. + +At any rate, Spot wouldn't work. We paid a hundred and ten dollars for +him from the bottom of our sack, and he wouldn't work. He wouldn't even +tighten the traces. Steve spoke to him the first time we put him in +harness, and he sort of shivered, that was all. Not an ounce on the +traces. He just stood still and wobbled, like so much jelly. Steve +touched him with the whip. He yelped, but not an ounce. Steve touched +him again, a bit harder, and he howled--the regular long wolf howl. Then +Steve got mad and gave him half a dozen, and I came on the run from the +tent. I told Steve he was brutal with the animal, and we had some +words--the first we'd ever had. He threw the whip down in the snow, and +walked away mad. I picked it up and went to it. That Spot trembled and +wobbled and cowered before ever I swung the lash, and with the first +bite of it he howled like a lost soul. Next he lay down in the snow. I +started the rest of the dogs, and they dragged him along while I threw +the whip into him. He rolled over on his back and bumped along, his four +legs waving in the air, himself howling as though he was going through a +sausage machine. Steve came back and laughed at me, and I apologized for +what I'd said. + +There was no getting any work out of that Spot; and to make up for it, +he was the biggest pig-glutton of a dog I ever saw. On top of that, he +was the cleverest thief. There was no circumventing him. Many a +breakfast we went without our bacon because Spot had been there first. +And it was because of him that we nearly starved to death up the +Stewart. He figured out the way to break into our meat-cache, and what +he didn't eat, the rest of the team did. But he was impartial. He stole +from every body. He was a restless dog always very busy snooping around +or going somewhere. And there was never a camp within five miles that he +didn't raid. The worst of it was that they always came back on us to pay +his board bill, which was just, being the law of the land; but it was +mighty hard on us, especially that first winter on the Chilcoot, when we +were busted, paying for whole hams and sides of bacon that we never ate. +He could fight, too, that Spot. He could do anything but work. He never +pulled a pound, but he was the boss of the whole team. The way he made +those dogs stand around was an education. He bullied them, and there was +always one or more of them fresh-marked with his fangs. But he was more +than a bully. He wasn't afraid of anything that walked on four legs; and +I've seen him march, single-handed, into a strange team, without any +provocation whatever, and put the _kibosh_ on the whole outfit. Did I +say he could eat? I caught him eating the whip once. That's straight. He +started in at the lash, and when I caught him he was down to the handle, +and still going. + +But he was a good looker. At the end of the first week we sold him for +seventy-five dollars to the Mounted Police. They had experienced +dog-drivers, and we knew that by the time he'd covered the six hundred +miles to Dawson he'd be a good sled-dog. I say we _knew_, for we were +just getting acquainted with that Spot. A little later we were not brash +enough to know anything where he was concerned. A week later we woke up +in the morning to the dangdest dog-fight we'd ever heard. It was that +Spot came back and knocking the team into shape. We ate a pretty +depressing breakfast, I can tell you; but cheered up two hours afterward +when we sold him to an official courier, bound in to Dawson with +government despatches. That Spot was only three days in coming back, +and, as usual, celebrated his arrival with a rough-house. + +We spent the winter and spring, after our own outfit was across the +pass, freighting other people's outfits; and we made a fat stake. Also, +we made money out of Spot. If we sold him once, we sold him twenty +times. He always came back, and no one asked for their money. We didn't +want the money. We'd have paid handsomely for any one to take him off +our hands for keeps. We had to get rid of him, and we couldn't give him +away, for that would have been suspicious. But he was such a fine looker +that we never had any difficulty in selling him. "Unbroke," we'd say, +and they'd pay any old price for him. We sold him as low as twenty-five +dollars, and once we got a hundred and fifty for him. That particular +party returned him in person, refused to take his money back, and the +way he abused us was something awful. He said it was cheap at the price +to tell us what he thought of us; and we felt he was so justified that +we never talked back. But to this day I've never quite regained all the +old self-respect that was mine before that man talked to me. + +When the ice cleared out of the lakes and river, we put our outfit in a +Lake Bennett boat and started for Dawson. We had a good team of dogs, +and of course we piled them on top the outfit. That Spot was +along--there was no losing him; and a dozen times, the first day, he +knocked one or another of the dogs overboard in the course of fighting +with them. It was close quarters, and he didn't like being crowded. + +"What that dog needs is space," Steve said the second day. "Let's +maroon him." + +We did, running the boat in at Caribou Crossing for him to jump ashore. +Two of the other dogs, good dogs, followed him; and we lost two whole +days trying to find them. We never saw those two dogs again; but the +quietness and relief we enjoyed made us decide, like the man who refused +his hundred and fifty, that it was cheap at the price. For the first +time in months Steve and I laughed and whistled and sang. We were as +happy as clams. The dark days were over. The nightmare had been lifted. +That Spot was gone. + +Three weeks later, one morning, Steve and I were standing on the +river-bank at Dawson. A small boat was just arriving from Lake Bennett. +I saw Steve give a start, and heard him say something that was not nice +and that was not under his breath. Then I looked; and there, in the bow +of the boat, with ears pricked up, sat Spot. Steve and I sneaked +immediately, like beaten curs, like cowards, like absconders from +justice. It was this last that the lieutenant of police thought when he +saw us sneaking. He surmised that there was law-officers in the boat +who were after us. He didn't wait to find out, but kept us in sight, +and in the M. & M. saloon got us in a corner. We had a merry time +explaining, for we refused to go back to the boat and meet Spot; and +finally he held us under guard of another policeman while he went to the +boat. After we got clear of him, we started for the cabin, and when we +arrived, there was that Spot sitting on the stoop waiting for us. Now +how did he know we lived there? There were forty thousand people in +Dawson that summer, and how did he _savve_ our cabin out of all the +cabins? How did he know we were in Dawson, anyway? I leave it to you. +But don't forget what I have said about his intelligence and that +immortal something I have seen glimmering in his eyes. + +There was no getting rid of him any more. There were too many people in +Dawson who had bought him up on Chilcoot, and the story got around. Half +a dozen times we put him on board steamboats going down the Yukon; but +he merely went ashore at the first landing and trotted back up the bank. +We couldn't sell him, we couldn't kill him (both Steve and I had tried), +and nobody else was able to kill him. He bore a charmed life. I've seen +him go down in a dog-fight on the main street with fifty dogs on top of +him, and when they were separated, he'd appear on all his four legs, +unharmed, while two of the dogs that had been on top of him would be +lying dead. + +I saw him steal a chunk of moose meat from Major Dinwiddie's cache so +heavy that he could just keep one jump ahead of Mrs. Dinwiddie's squaw +cook, who was after him with an axe. As he went up the hill, after the +squaw gave up, Major Dinwiddie himself came out and pumped his +Winchester into the landscape. He emptied his magazine twice, and never +touched that Spot. Then a policeman came along and arrested him for +discharging firearms inside the city limits. Major Dinwiddie paid his +fine, and Steve and I paid him for the moose meat at the rate of a +dollar a pound, bones and all. That was what he paid for it. Meat was +high that year. + +I am only telling what I saw with my own eyes. And now I'll tell you +something also. I saw that Spot fall through a water-hole. The ice was +three and a half feet thick, and the current sucked him under like a +straw. Three hundred yards below was the big water-hole used by the +hospital. Spot crawled out of the hospital water-hole, licked off the +water, bit out the ice that had formed between his toes, trotted up the +bank, and whipped a big Newfoundland belonging to the Gold Commissioner. + +In the fall of 1898, Steve and I poled up the Yukon on the last water, +bound for Stewart River. We took the dogs along, all except Spot. We +figured we'd been feeding him long enough. He'd cost us more time and +trouble and money and grub than we'd got by selling him on the +Chilcoot--especially grub. So Steve and I tied him down in the cabin and +pulled our freight. We camped that night at the mouth of Indian River, +and Steve and I were pretty facetious over having shaken him. Steve was +a funny fellow, and I was just sitting up in the blankets and laughing +when a tornado hit camp. The way that Spot walked into those dogs and +gave them what-for was hair-raising. Now how did he get loose? It's up +to you. I haven't any theory. And how did he get across the Klondike +River? That's another facer. And anyway, how did he know we had gone up +the Yukon? You see, we went by water, and he couldn't smell our tracks. +Steve and I began to get superstitious about that dog. He got on our +nerves, too; and, between you and me, we were just a mite afraid of him. + +The freeze-up came on when we were at the mouth of Henderson Creek, and +we traded him off for two sacks of flour to an outfit that was bound up +White River after copper. Now that whole outfit was lost. Never trace +nor hide nor hair of men, dogs, sleds, or anything was ever found. They +dropped clean out of sight. It became one of the mysteries of the +country. Steve and I plugged away up the Stewart, and six weeks +afterward that Spot crawled into camp. He was a perambulating skeleton, +and could just drag along; but he got there. And what I want to know is +who told him we were up the Stewart? We could have gone a thousand other +places. How did he know? You tell me, and I'll tell you. + +No losing him. At the Mayo he started a row with an Indian dog. The buck +who owned the dog took a swing at Spot with an axe, missed him, and +killed his own dog. Talk about magic and turning bullets aside--I, for +one, consider it a blamed sight harder to turn an axe aside with a big +buck at the other end of it. And I saw him do it with my own eyes. That +buck didn't want to kill his own dog. You've got to show me. + +I told you about Spot breaking into our meat-cache. It was nearly the +death of us. There wasn't any more meat to be killed and meat was all we +had to live on. The moose had gone back several hundred miles and the +Indians with them. There we were. Spring was on and we had to wait for +the river to break. We got pretty thin before we decided to eat the +dogs, and we decided to eat Spot first. Do you know what that dog did? +He sneaked. Now how did he know our minds were made up to eat him? We +sat up nights laying for him, but he never came back, and we ate the +other dogs. We ate the whole team. + +And now for the sequel. You know what it is when a big river breaks up +and a few billion tons of ice go out, jamming and milling and grinding. +Just in the thick of it, when the Stewart went out, rumbling and +roaring, we sighted Spot out in the middle. He'd got caught as he was +trying to cross up above somewhere. Steve and I yelled and shouted and +ran up and down the bank, tossing our hats in the air. Sometimes we'd +stop and hug each other, we were that boisterous, for we saw Spot's +finish. He didn't have a chance in a million. He didn't have any chance +at all. After the ice-run, we got into a canoe and paddled down to the +Yukon, and down the Yukon to Dawson, stopping to feed up for a week at +the cabins at the mouth of Henderson Creek. And as we came in to the +bank at Dawson, there sat that Spot, waiting for us, his ears pricked +up, his tail wagging, his mouth smiling, extending a hearty welcome to +us. Now how did he get out of that ice? How did he know we were coming +to Dawson, to the very hour and minute, to be out there on the bank +waiting for us? + +The more I think of that Spot, the more I am convinced that there are +things in this world that go beyond science. On no scientific grounds +can that Spot be explained. It's psychic phenomena, or mysticism, or +something of that sort, I guess, with a lot of Theosophy thrown in. The +Klondike is a good country. I might have been there yet, and become a +millionaire, if it hadn't been for Spot. He got on my nerves. I stood +him for two years all together, and then I guess my stamina broke. It +was the summer of 1899 when I pulled out. I didn't say anything to +Steve. I just sneaked. But I fixed it up all right. I wrote Steve a +note, and enclosed a package of "rough-on-rats," telling him what to do +with it. I was worn down to skin and bone by that Spot, and I was that +nervous that I'd jump and look around when there wasn't anybody within +hailing distance. But it was astonishing the way I recuperated when I +got quit of him. I got back twenty pounds before I arrived in San +Francisco, and by the time I'd crossed the ferry to Oakland I was my old +self again, so that even my wife looked in vain for any change in me. + +Steve wrote to me once, and his letter seemed irritated. He took it kind +of hard because I'd left him with Spot. Also, he said he'd used the +"rough-on-rats," per directions, and that there was nothing doing. A +year went by. I was back in the office and prospering in all ways--even +getting a bit fat. And then Steve arrived. He didn't look me up. I read +his name in the steamer list, and wondered why. But I didn't wonder +long. I got up one morning and found that Spot chained to the gatepost +and holding up the milkman. Steve went north to Seattle, I learned, that +very morning. I didn't put on any more weight. My wife made me buy him a +collar and tag, and within an hour he showed his gratitude by killing +her pet Persian cat. There is no getting rid of that Spot. He will be +with me until I die, for he'll never die. My appetite is not so good +since he arrived, and my wife says I am looking peaked. Last night that +Spot got into Mr. Harvey's hen-house (Harvey is my next door neighbor) +and killed nineteen of his fancy-bred chickens. I shall have to pay for +them. My neighbors on the other side quarreled with my wife and then +moved out. Spot was the cause of it. And that is why I am disappointed +in Stephen Mackaye. I had no idea he was so mean a man. + +[Illustration] + + + + +TRUST + + +All lines had been cast off, and the _Seattle No. 4_ was pulling slowly +out from the shore. Her decks were piled high with freight and baggage, +and swarmed with a heterogeneous company of Indians, dogs, and +dog-mushers, prospectors, traders, and homeward-bound gold-seekers. A +goodly portion of Dawson was lined up on the bank, saying good-by. As +the gang-plank came in and the steamer nosed into the stream, the clamor +of farewell became deafening. Also, in that eleventh moment, everybody +began to remember final farewell messages and to shout them back and +forth across the widening stretch of water. Louis Bondell, curling his +yellow mustache with one hand and languidly waving the other hand to his +friends on shore, suddenly remembered something and sprang to the rail. + +"Oh, Fred!" he bawled. "Oh, Fred!" + +The "Fred" desired thrust a strapping pair of shoulders through the +forefront of the crowd on the bank and tried to catch Louis Bondell's +message. The latter grew red in the face with vain vociferation. Still +the water widened between steamboat and shore. + +"Hey you, Captain Scott!" he yelled at the pilot-house. "Stop the boat!" + +The gongs clanged, and the big stern wheel reversed, then stopped. All +hands on steamboat and on bank took advantage of this respite to +exchange final, new, and imperative farewells. More futile than ever was +Louis Bondell's effort to make himself heard. The _Seattle No. 4_ lost +way and drifted down-stream, and Captain Scott had to go ahead and +reverse a second time. His head disappeared inside the pilot-house, +coming into view a moment later behind a big megaphone. + +Now Captain Scott had a remarkable voice, and the "Shut up!" he +launched at the crowd on deck and on shore could have been heard at the +top of Moosehide Mountain and as far as Klondike City. This official +remonstrance from the pilot-house spread a film of silence over the +tumult. + +"Now, what do you want to say?" Captain Scott demanded. + +"Tell Fred Churchill--he's on the bank there--tell him to go to +Macdonald. It's in his safe--a small gripsack of mine. Tell him to get +it and bring it out when he comes." + +In the silence Captain Scott bellowed the message ashore through the +megaphone:-- + +"You, Fred Churchill, go to Macdonald--in his safe--small +gripsack--belongs to Louis Bondell--important! Bring it out when you +come! Got it?" + +Churchill waved his hand in token that he had got it. In truth, had +Macdonald, half a mile away, opened his window, he'd have got it, too. +The tumult of farewell rose again, the gongs clanged, and the _Seattle +No. 4_ went ahead, swung out into the stream, turned on her heel, and +headed down the Yukon, Bondell and Churchill waving farewell and mutual +affection to the last. + +That was in midsummer. In the fall of the year, the _W.H. Willis_ +started up the Yukon with two hundred homeward-bound pilgrims on board. +Among them was Churchill. In his stateroom, in the middle of a +clothes-bag, was Louis Bondell's grip. It was a small, stout leather +affair, and its weight of forty pounds always made Churchill nervous +when he wandered too far from it. The man in the adjoining stateroom had +a treasure of gold-dust hidden similarly in a clothes-bag, and the pair +of them ultimately arranged to stand watch and watch. While one went +down to eat, the other kept an eye on the two stateroom doors. When +Churchill wanted to take a hand at whist, the other man mounted guard, +and when the other man wanted to relax his soul, Churchill read +four-months'-old newspapers on a camp stool between the two doors. + +There were signs of an early winter, and the question that was discussed +from dawn till dark, and far into the dark, was whether they would get +out before the freeze-up or be compelled to abandon the steamboat and +tramp out over the ice. There were irritating delays. Twice the engines +broke down and had to be tinkered up, and each time there were snow +flurries to warn them of the imminence of winter. Nine times the _W.H. +Willis_ essayed to ascend the Five-Finger Rapids with her impaired +machinery, and when she succeeded, she was four days behind her very +liberal schedule. The question that then arose was whether or not the +steamboat _Flora_ would wait for her above the Box Cañon. The stretch of +water between the head of the Box Cañon and the foot of the White Horse +Rapids was unnavigable for steamboats and passengers were transshipped +at that point, walking around the rapids from one steamboat to the +other. There were no telephones in the country, hence no way of +informing the waiting _Flora_ that the _Willis_ was four days late, but +coming. + +When the _W.H. Willis_ pulled into White Horse, it was learned that the +_Flora_ had waited three days over the limit, and had departed only a +few hours before. Also, it was learned that she would tie up at Tagish +Post till nine o'clock, Sunday morning. It was then four o'clock +Saturday afternoon. The pilgrims called a meeting. On board was a large +Peterborough canoe, consigned to the police post at the head of Lake +Bennett. They agreed to be responsible for it and to deliver it. Next, +they called for volunteers. Two men were needed to make a race for the +_Flora_. A score of men volunteered on the instant. Among them was +Churchill, such being his nature that he volunteered before he thought +of Bondell's gripsack. When this thought came to him, he began to hope +that he would not be selected; but a man who had made a name as captain +of a college football eleven, as a president of an athletic club, as a +dog-musher and a stampeder in the Yukon, and, moreover, who possessed +such shoulders as he, had no right to avoid the honor. It was thrust +upon him and upon a gigantic German, Nick Antonsen. + +While a crowd of the pilgrims, the canoe on their shoulders, started on +a trot over the portage, Churchill ran to his stateroom. He turned the +contents of the clothes-bag on the floor and caught up the grip with the +intention of intrusting it to the man next door. Then the thought smote +him that it was not his grip, and that he had no right to let it out of +his own possession. So he dashed ashore with it and ran up the portage, +changing it often from one hand to the other, and wondering if it really +did not weigh more than forty pounds. + +It was half-past four in the afternoon when the two men started. The +current of the Thirty Mile River was so strong that rarely could they +use the paddles. It was out on one bank with a tow-line over the +shoulders stumbling over the rocks, forcing a way through the +underbrush, slipping at times and falling into the water, wading often +up to the knees and waist; and then, when an insurmountable bluff was +encountered, it was into the canoe, out paddles, and a wild and losing +dash across the current to the other bank, in paddles, over the side, +and out tow-line again. It was exhausting work. Antonsen toiled like the +giant he was, uncomplaining, persistent, but driven to his utmost by the +powerful body and indomitable brain of Churchill. They never paused for +rest. It was go, go, and keep on going. A crisp wind blew down the +river, freezing their hands and making it imperative, from time to time, +to beat the blood back into the numb fingers. As night came on, they +were compelled to trust to luck. They fell repeatedly on the untraveled +banks and tore their clothing to shreds in the underbrush they could not +see. Both men were badly scratched and bleeding. A dozen times, in their +wild dashes from bank to bank, they struck snags and were capsized. The +first time this happened, Churchill dived and groped in three feet of +water for the gripsack. He lost half an hour in recovering it, and after +that it was carried securely lashed to the canoe. As long as the canoe +floated it was safe. Antonsen jeered at the grip, and toward morning +began to abuse it; but Churchill vouchsafed no explanations. + +Their delays and mischances were endless. On one swift bend, around +which poured a healthy young rapid, they lost two hours, making a score +of attempts and capsizing twice. At this point, on both banks, were +precipitous bluffs, rising out of deep water, and along which they could +neither tow nor pole, while they could not gain with the paddles against +the current. At each attempt they strained to the utmost with the +paddles, and each time, with hearts nigh to bursting from the effort, +they were played out and swept back. They succeeded finally by an +accident. In the swiftest current, near the end of another failure, a +freak of the current sheered the canoe out of Churchill's control and +flung it against the bluff. Churchill made a blind leap at the bluff and +landed in a crevice. Holding on with one hand, he held the swamped canoe +with the other till Antonsen dragged himself out of the water. Then they +pulled the canoe out and rested. A fresh start at this crucial point +took them by. They landed on the bank above and plunged immediately +ashore and into the brush with the tow-line. + +Daylight found them far below Tagish Post. At nine o 'clock Sunday +morning they could hear the _Flora_ whistling her departure. And when, +at ten o'clock, they dragged themselves in to the Post, they could just +barely see the _Flora's_ smoke far to the southward. It was a pair of +worn-out tatterdemalions that Captain Jones of the Mounted Police +welcomed and fed, and he afterward averred that they possessed two of +the most tremendous appetites he had ever observed. They lay down and +slept in their wet rags by the stove. At the end of two hours Churchill +got up, carried Bondell's grip, which he had used for a pillow, down to +the canoe, kicked Antonsen awake, and started in pursuit of the _Flora_. + +"There's no telling what might happen--machinery break down or +something," was his reply to Captain Jones's expostulations. "I'm going +to catch that steamer and send her back for the boys." + +Tagish Lake was white with a fall gale that blew in their teeth. Big, +swinging seas rushed upon the canoe, compelling one man to bail and +leaving one man to paddle. Headway could not be made. They ran along the +shallow shore and went overboard, one man ahead on the tow-line, the +other shoving on the canoe. They fought the gale up to their waists in +the icy water, often up to their necks, often over their heads and +buried by the big, crested waves. There was no rest, never a moment's +pause from the cheerless, heart-breaking battle. That night, at the head +of Tagish Lake, in the thick of a driving snow-squall, they overhauled +the _Flora._ Antonsen fell on board, lay where he had fallen, and snored. +Churchill looked like a wild man. His clothes barely clung to him. His +face was iced up and swollen from the protracted effort of twenty-four +hours, while his hands were so swollen that he could not close the +fingers. As for his feet, it was an agony to stand upon them. + +The captain of the _Flora_ was loath to go back to White Horse. +Churchill was persistent and imperative; the captain was stubborn. He +pointed out finally that nothing was to be gained by going back, because +the only ocean steamer at Dyea, the _Athenian_, was to sail on Tuesday +morning, and that he could not make the back trip to White Horse and +bring up the stranded pilgrims in time to make the connection. + +"What time does the _Athenian_ sail?" Churchill demanded. + +"Seven o'clock, Tuesday morning." + +"All right," Churchill said, at the same time kicking a tattoo on the +ribs of the snoring Antonsen. "You go back to White Horse. We'll go +ahead and hold the _Athenian_." + +Antonsen, stupid with sleep, not yet clothed in his waking mind, was +bundled into the canoe, and did not realize what had happened till he +was drenched with the icy spray of a big sea, and heard Churchill +snarling at him through the darkness:-- + +"Paddle, can't you! Do you want to be swamped?" + +Daylight found them at Caribou Crossing, the wind dying down, and +Antonsen too far gone to dip a paddle. Churchill grounded the canoe on a +quiet beach, where they slept. He took the precaution of twisting his +arm under the weight of his head. Every few minutes the pain of the pent +circulation aroused him, whereupon he would look at his watch and twist +the other arm under his head. At the end of two hours he fought with +Antonsen to rouse him. Then they started. Lake Bennett, thirty miles in +length, was like a mill-pond; but, halfway across, a gale from the south +smote them and turned the water white. Hour after hour they repeated the +struggle on Tagish, over the side, pulling and shoving on the canoe, up +to their waists and necks, and over their heads, in the icy water; +toward the last the good-natured giant played completely out. Churchill +drove him mercilessly; but when he pitched forward and bade fair to +drown in three feet of water, the other dragged him into the canoe. +After that, Churchill fought on alone, arriving at the police post at +the head of Bennett in the early afternoon. He tried to help Antonsen +out of the canoe, but failed. He listened to the exhausted man's heavy +breathing, and envied him when he thought of what he himself had yet to +undergo. Antonsen could lie there and sleep; but he, behind time, must +go on over mighty Chilcoot and down to the sea. The real struggle lay +before him, and he almost regretted the strength that resided in his +frame because of the torment it could inflict upon that frame. + +Churchill pulled the canoe up on the beach, seized Bondell's grip, and +started on a limping dog-trot for the police post. + +"There's a canoe down there, consigned to you from Dawson," he hurled at +the officer who answered his knock. "And there's a man in it pretty near +dead. Nothing serious; only played out. Take care of him. I've got to +rush. Good-by. Want to catch the _Athenian_." + +A mile portage connected Lake Bennett and Lake Linderman, and his last +words he flung back after him as he resumed the trot. It was a very +painful trot, but he clenched his teeth and kept on, forgetting his pain +most of the time in the fervent heat with which he regarded the +gripsack. It was a severe handicap. He swung it from one hand to the +other, and back again. He tucked it under his arm. He threw one hand +over the opposite shoulder, and the bag bumped and pounded on his back +as he ran along. He could scarcely hold it in his bruised and swollen +fingers, and several times he dropped it. Once, in changing from one +hand to the other, it escaped his clutch and fell in front of him, +tripped him up, and threw him violently to the ground. + +At the far end of the portage he bought an old set of pack-straps for a +dollar, and in them he swung the grip. Also, he chartered a launch to +run him the six miles to the upper end of Lake Linderman, where he +arrived at four in the afternoon. The _Athenian_ was to sail from Dyea +next morning at seven. Dyea was twenty-eight miles away, and between +towered Chilcoot. He sat down to adjust his foot-gear for the long +climb, and woke up. He had dozed the instant he sat down, though he had +not slept thirty seconds. He was afraid his next doze might be longer, +so he finished fixing his foot-gear standing up. Even then he was +overpowered for a fleeting moment. He experienced the flash of +unconsciousness; becoming aware of it, in midair, as his relaxed body +was sinking to the ground and as he caught himself together, he +stiffened his muscles with a spasmodic wrench, and escaped the fall. The +sudden jerk back to consciousness left him sick and trembling. He beat +his head with the heel of his hand, knocking wakefulness into the numb +brain. + +Jack Burns's pack-train was starting back light for Crater Lake, and +Churchill was invited to a mule. Burns wanted to put the gripsack on +another animal, but Churchill held on to it, carrying it on his +saddle-pommel. But he dozed, and the grip persisted in dropping off the +pommel, one side or the other, each time wakening him with a sickening +start. Then, in the early darkness, Churchill's mule brushed him against +a projecting branch that laid his cheek open. To cap it, the mule +blundered off the trail and fell, throwing rider and gripsack out upon +the rocks. After that, Churchill walked, or stumbled, rather, over the +apology for a trail, leading the mule. Stray and awful odors, drifting +from each side the trail, told of the horses that had died in the rush +for gold. But he did not mind. He was too sleepy. By the time Long Lake +was reached, however, he had recovered from his sleepiness; and at Deep +Lake he resigned the gripsack to Burns. But thereafter, by the light of +the dim stars, he kept his eyes on Burns. There were not going to be any +accidents with that bag. + +At Crater Lake the pack-train went into camp, and Churchill, slinging +the grip on his back, started the steep climb for the summit. For the +first time, on that precipitous wall, he realized how tired he was. He +crept and crawled like a crab, burdened by the weight of his limbs. A +distinct and painful effort of will was required each time he lifted a +foot. An hallucination came to him that he was shod with lead, like a +deep-sea diver, and it was all he could do to resist the desire to reach +down and feel the lead. As for Bondell's gripsack, it was inconceivable +that forty pounds could weigh so much. It pressed him down like a +mountain, and he looked back with unbelief to the year before, when he +had climbed that same pass with a hundred and fifty pounds on his back, +If those loads had weighed a hundred and fifty pounds, then Bondell's +grip weighed five hundred. + +The first rise of the divide from Crater Lake was across a small +glacier. Here was a well-defined trail. But above the glacier, which was +also above timber-line, was naught but a chaos of naked rock and +enormous boulders. There was no way of seeing the trail in the darkness, +and he blundered on, paying thrice the ordinary exertion for all that he +accomplished. He won the summit in the thick of howling wind and driving +snow, providentially stumbling upon a small, deserted tent, into which +he crawled. There he found and bolted some ancient fried potatoes and +half a dozen raw eggs. + +When the snow ceased and the wind eased down, he began the almost +impossible descent. There was no trail, and he stumbled and blundered, +often finding himself, at the last moment, on the edge of rocky walls +and steep slopes the depth of which he had no way of judging. Part way +down, the stars clouded over again, and in the consequent obscurity he +slipped and rolled and slid for a hundred feet, landing bruised and +bleeding on the bottom of a large shallow hole. From all about him arose +the stench of dead horses. The hole was handy to the trail, and the +packers had made a practice of tumbling into it their broken and dying +animals. The stench overpowered him, making him deathly sick, and as in +a nightmare he scrambled out. Halfway up, he recollected Bondell's +gripsack. It had fallen into the hole with him; the pack-strap had +evidently broken, and he had forgotten it. Back he went into the +pestilential charnel-pit, where he crawled around on hands and knees and +groped for half an hour. Altogether he encountered and counted seventeen +dead horses (and one horse still alive that he shot with his revolver) +before he found Bondell's grip. Looking back upon a life that had not +been without valor and achievement, he unhesitatingly declared to +himself that this return after the grip was the most heroic act he had +ever performed. So heroic was it that he was twice on the verge of +fainting before he crawled out of the hole. + +By the time he had descended to the Scales, the steep pitch of Chilcoot +was past, and the way became easier. Not that it was an easy way, +however, in the best of places; but it became a really possible trail, +along which he could have made good time if he had not been worn out, if +he had had light with which to pick his steps, and if it had not been +for Bondell's gripsack. To him, in his exhausted condition, it was the +last straw. Having barely strength to carry himself along, the +additional weight of the grip was sufficient to throw him nearly every +time he tripped or stumbled. And when he escaped tripping, branches +reached out in the darkness, hooked the grip between his shoulders, and +held him back. + +His mind was made up that if he missed the _Athenian_ it would be the +fault of the gripsack. In fact, only two things remained in his +consciousness--Bondell's grip and the steamer. He knew only those two +things, and they became identified, in a way, with some stern mission +upon which he had journeyed and toiled for centuries. He walked and +struggled on as in a dream. A part of the dream was his arrival at Sheep +Camp. He stumbled into a saloon, slid his shoulders out of the straps, +and started to deposit the grip at his feet. But it slipped from his +fingers and struck the floor with a heavy thud that was not unnoticed by +two men who were just leaving. Churchill drank a glass of whiskey, told +the barkeeper to call him in ten minutes, and sat down, his feet on the +grip, his head on his knees. + +So badly did his misused body stiffen, that when he was called it +required another ten minutes and a second glass of whiskey to unbend his +joints and limber up the muscles. + +"Hey! not that way!" the barkeeper shouted, and then went after him and +started him through the darkness toward Canyon City. Some little husk of +inner consciousness told Churchill that the direction was right, and, +still as in a dream, he took the canyon trail. He did not know what +warned him, but after what seemed several centuries of travelling, he +sensed danger and drew his revolver. Still in the dream, he saw two men +step out and heard them halt him. His revolver went off four times, and +he saw the flashes and heard the explosions of their revolvers. Also, he +was aware that he had been hit in the thigh. He saw one man go down, +and, as the other came for him, he smashed him a straight blow with the +heavy revolver full in the face. Then he turned and ran. He came from +the dream shortly afterward, to find himself plunging down the trail at +a limping lope. His first thought was for the gripsack. It was still on +his back. He was convinced that what had happened was a dream till he +felt for his revolver and found it gone. Next he became aware of a sharp +stinging of his thigh, and after investigating, he found his hand warm +with blood. It was a superficial wound, but it was incontestable. He +became wider awake, and kept up the lumbering run to Canyon City. + +He found a man, with a team of horses and a wagon, who got out of bed +and harnessed up for twenty dollars. Churchill crawled in on the +wagon-bed and slept, the gripsack still on his back. It was a rough +ride, over water-washed boulders down the Dyea Valley; but he roused +only when the wagon hit the highest places. Any altitude of his body +above the wagon-bed of less than a foot did not faze him. The last mile +was smooth going, and he slept soundly. + +He came to in the gray dawn, the driver shaking him savagely and howling +into his ear that the _Athenian_ was gone. Churchill looked blankly at +the deserted harbor. + +"There's a smoke over at Skaguay," the man said. + +Churchill's eyes were too swollen to see that far, but he said: "It's +she. Get me a boat." + +The driver was obliging, and found a skiff and a man to row it for ten +dollars, payment in advance. Churchill paid, and was helped into the +skiff. It was beyond him to get in by himself. It was six miles to +Skaguay, and he had a blissful thought of sleeping those six miles. But +the man did not know how to row, and Churchill took the oars and toiled +for a few more centuries. He never knew six longer and more excruciating +miles. A snappy little breeze blew up the inlet and held him back. He +had a gone feeling at the pit of the stomach, and suffered from +faintness and numbness. At his command, the man took the bailer and +threw salt water into his face. + +The _Athenian's_ anchor was up-and-down when they came alongside, and +Churchill was at the end of his last remnant of strength. + +"Stop her! Stop her!" he shouted hoarsely. "Important message! Stop +her!" + +Then he dropped his chin on his chest and slept. "When half a dozen men +started to carry him up the gang-plank, he awoke, reached for the grip, +and clung to it like a drowning man. On deck he became a center of +horror and curiosity. The clothing in which he had left White Horse was +represented by a few rags, and he was as frayed as his clothing. He had +traveled for fifty-five hours at the top notch of endurance. He had +slept six hours in that time, and he was twenty pounds lighter than when +he started. Face and hands and body were scratched and bruised, and he +could scarcely see. He tried to stand up, but failed, sprawling out on +the deck, hanging on to the gripsack, and delivering his message. + +"Now, put me to bed," he finished; "I'll eat when I wake up." + +They did him honor, carrying him down in his rags and dirt and +depositing him and Bondell's grip in the bridal chamber, which was the +biggest and most luxurious stateroom in the ship. Twice he slept the +clock around, and he had bathed and shaved and eaten and was leaning +over the rail smoking a cigar when the two hundred pilgrims from White +Horse came alongside. + +By the time the _Athenian_ arrived in Seattle, Churchill had fully +recuperated, and he went ashore with Bondell's grip in his hand. He +felt proud of that grip. To him it stood for achievement and integrity +and trust. "I've delivered the goods," was the way he expressed these +various high terms to himself. It was early in the evening, and he went +straight to Bondell's home. Louis Bondell was glad to see him, shaking +hands with both hands at the same time and dragging him into the house. + +"Oh, thanks, old man; it was good of you to bring it out," Bondell said +when he received the gripsack. + +He tossed it carelessly upon a couch, and Churchill noted with an +appreciative eye the rebound of its weight from the springs. Bondell was +volleying him with questions. + +"How did you make out? How're the boys! What became of Bill Smithers? Is +Del Bishop still with Pierce? Did he sell my dogs? How did Sulphur +Bottom show up? You're looking fine. What steamer did you come out on?" + +To all of which Churchill gave answer, till half an hour had gone by and +the first lull in the conversation had arrived. + +"Hadn't you better take a look at it?" he suggested, nodding his head at +the gripsack. + +"Oh, it's all right," Bondell answered. "Did Mitchell's dump turn out +as much as he expected?" + +"I think you'd better look at it," Churchill insisted. "When I deliver a +thing, I want to be satisfied that it's all right. There's always the +chance that somebody might have got into it when I was asleep, or +something." + +"It's nothing important, old man," Bondell answered, with a laugh. + +"Nothing important," Churchill echoed in a faint, small voice. Then he +spoke with decision: "Louis, what's in that bag? I want to know." + +Louis looked at him curiously, then left the room and returned with a +bunch of keys. He inserted his hand and drew out a heavy .44 Colt's +revolver. Next came out a few boxes of ammunition for the revolver and +several boxes of Winchester cartridges. + +Churchill took the gripsack and looked into it. Then he turned it upside +down and shook it gently. + +"The gun's all rusted," Bondell said. "Must have been out in the rain." + +"Yes," Churchill answered. "Too bad it got wet. I guess I was a bit +careless." + +He got up and went outside. Ten minutes later Louis Bondell went out +and found him on the steps, sitting down, elbows on knees and chin on +hands, gazing steadfastly out into the darkness. + +[Illustration] + + + + +ALL GOLD CANYON + + +It was the green heart of the canyon, where the walls swerved back from +the rigid plan and relieved their harshness of line by making a little +sheltered nook and filling it to the brim with sweetness and roundness +and softness. Here all things rested. Even the narrow stream ceased its +turbulent down-rush long enough to form a quiet pool. Knee-deep in the +water, with drooping head and half-shut eyes, drowsed a red-coated, +many-antlered buck. + +On one side, beginning at the very lip of the pool, was a tiny meadow, a +cool, resilient surface of green that extended to the base of the +frowning wall. Beyond the pool a gentle slope of earth ran up and up to +meet the opposing wall. Fine grass covered the slope--grass that was +spangled with flowers, with here and there patches of color, orange and +purple and golden. Below, the canyon was shut in. There was no view. +The walls leaned together abruptly and the canyon ended in a chaos of +rocks, moss-covered and hidden by a green screen of vines and creepers +and boughs of trees. Up the canyon rose far hills and peaks, the big +foothills, pine-covered and remote. And far beyond, like clouds upon the +border of the sky, towered minarets of white, where the Sierra's eternal +snows flashed austerely the blazes of the sun. + +There was no dust in the canyon. The leaves and flowers were clean and +virginal. The grass was young velvet. Over the pool three cottonwoods +sent their snowy fluffs fluttering down the quiet air. On the slope the +blossoms of the wine-wooded manzanita filled the air with springtime +odors, while the leaves, wise with experience, were already beginning +their vertical twist against the coming aridity of summer. In the open +spaces on the slope, beyond the farthest shadow-reach of the manzanita, +poised the mariposa lilies, like so many flights of jewelled moths +suddenly arrested and on the verge of trembling into flight again. Here +and there that woods harlequin, the madrone, permitting itself to be +caught in the act of changing its pea-green trunk to madder-red, +breathed its fragrance into the air from great clusters of waxen bells. +Creamy white were these bells, shaped like lilies-of-the-valley, with +the sweetness of perfume that is of the springtime. + +There was not a sigh of wind. The air was drowsy with its weight of +perfume. It was a sweetness that would have been cloying had the air +been heavy and humid. But the air was sharp and thin. It was as +starlight transmuted into atmosphere, shot through and warmed by +sunshine, and flower-drenched with sweetness. + +An occasional butterfly drifted in and out through the patches of light +and shade. And from all about rose the low and sleepy hum of mountain +bees--feasting Sybarites that jostled one another good-naturedly at the +board, nor found time for rough discourtesy. So quietly did the little +stream drip and ripple its way through the canyon that it spoke only in +faint and occasional gurgles. The voice of the stream was as a drowsy +whisper, ever interrupted by dozings and silences, ever lifted again in +the awakenings. + +The motion of all things was a drifting in the heart of the canyon. +Sunshine and butterflies drifted in and out among the trees. The hum of +the bees and the whisper of the stream were a drifting of sound. And the +drifting sound and drifting color seemed to weave together in the making +of a delicate and intangible fabric which was the spirit of the place. +It was a spirit of peace that was not of death, but of smooth-pulsing +life, of quietude that was not silence, of movement that was not action, +of repose that was quick with existence without being violent with +struggle and travail. The spirit of the place was the spirit of the +peace of the living, somnolent with the easement and content of +prosperity, and undisturbed by rumors of far wars. + +The red-coated, many-antlered buck acknowledged the lordship of the +spirit of the place and dozed knee-deep in the cool, shaded pool. There +seemed no flies to vex him and he was languid with rest. Sometimes his +ears moved when the stream awoke and whispered; but they moved lazily, +with foreknowledge that it was merely the stream grown garrulous at +discovery that it had slept. + +But there came a time when the buck's ears lifted and tensed with swift +eagerness for sound. His head was turned down the canyon. His +sensitive, quivering nostrils scented the air. His eyes could not +pierce the green screen through which the stream rippled away, but to +his ears came the voice of a man. It was a steady, monotonous, singsong +voice. Once the buck heard the harsh clash of metal upon rock. At the +sound he snorted with a sudden start that jerked him through the air +from water to meadow, and his feet sank into the young velvet, while he +pricked his ears and again scented the air. Then he stole across the +tiny meadow, pausing once and again to listen, and faded away out of the +canyon like a wraith, soft-footed and without sound. + +The clash of steel-shod soles against the rocks began to be heard, and +the man's voice grew louder. It was raised in a sort of chant and became +distinct with nearness, so that the words could be heard: + + "Tu'n around an' tu'n yo' face + Untoe them sweet hills of grace + (D' pow'rs of sin yo' am scornin'!). + Look about an' look aroun' + Fling yo' sin-pack on d' groun' + (Yo' will meet wid d' Lord in d' mornin'!)." + +'A sound of scrambling accompanied the song, and the spirit of the place +fled away on the heels of the red-coated buck. The green screen was +burst asunder, and a man peered out at the meadow and the pool and the +sloping side-hill. He was a deliberate sort of man. He took in the scene +with one embracing glance, then ran his eyes over the details to verify +the general impression. Then, and not until then, did he open his mouth +in vivid and solemn approval: + +"Smoke of life an' snakes of purgatory! Will you just look at that! Wood +an' water an' grass an' a side-hill! A pocket-hunter's delight an' a +cayuse's paradise! Cool green for tired eyes! Pink pills for pale people +ain't in it. A secret pasture for prospectors and a resting-place for +tired burros. It's just booful!" + +He was a sandy-complexioned man in whose face geniality and humor seemed +the salient characteristics. It was a mobile face, quick-changing to +inward mood and thought. Thinking was in him a visible process. Ideas +chased across his face like wind-flaws across the surface of a lake. His +hair, sparse and unkempt of growth, was as indeterminate and colorless +as his complexion. It would seem that all the color of his frame had +gone into his eyes, for they were startlingly blue. Also, they were +laughing and merry eyes, within them much of the naiveté and wonder of +the child; and yet, in an unassertive way, they contained much of calm +self-reliance and strength of purpose founded upon self-experience and +experience of the world. + +From out the screen of vines and creepers he flung ahead of him a +miner's pick and shovel and gold-pan. Then he crawled out himself into +the open. He was clad in faded overalls and black cotton shirt, with +hobnailed brogans on his feet, and on his head a hat whose shapelessness +and stains advertised the rough usage of wind and rain and sun and +camp-smoke. He stood erect, seeing wide-eyed the secrecy of the scene +and sensuously inhaling the warm, sweet breath of the canyon-garden +through nostrils that dilated and quivered with delight. His eyes +narrowed to laughing slits of blue, his face wreathed itself in joy, and +his mouth curled in a smile as he cried aloud: + +"Jumping dandelions and happy hollyhocks, but that smells good to me! +Talk about your attar o' roses an' cologne factories! They ain't in it!" + +He had the habit of soliloquy. His quick-changing facial expressions +might tell every thought and mood, but the tongue, perforce, ran hard +after, repeating, like a second Boswell. + +The man lay down on the lip of the pool and drank long and deep of its +water. "Tastes good to me," he murmured, lifting his head and gazing +across the pool at the side-hill, while he wiped his mouth with the back +of his hand. The side-hill attracted his attention. Still lying on his +stomach, he studied the hill formation long and carefully. It was a +practised eye that traveled up the slope to the crumbling canyon-wall +and back and down again to the edge of the pool. He scrambled to his +feet and favored the side-hill with a second survey. + +"Looks good to me," he concluded, picking up his pick and shovel and +gold-pan. + +He crossed the stream below the pool, stepping agilely from stone to +stone. Where the side-hill touched the water he dug up a shovelful of +dirt and put it into the gold-pan. He squatted down, holding the pan in +his two hands, and partly immersing it in the stream. Then he imparted +to the pan a deft circular motion that sent the water sluicing in and +out through the dirt and gravel. The larger and the lighter particles +worked to the surface, and these, by a skilful dipping movement of the +pan, he spilled out and over the edge. Occasionally, to expedite +matters, he rested the pan and with his fingers raked out the large +pebbles and pieces of rock. + +The contents of the pan diminished rapidly until only fine dirt and the +smallest bits of gravel remained. At this stage he began to work very +deliberately and carefully. It was fine washing, and he washed fine and +finer, with a keen scrutiny and delicate and fastidious touch. At last +the pan seemed empty of everything but water; but with a quick +semi-circular flirt that sent the water flying over the shallow rim into +the stream, he disclosed a layer of black sand on the bottom of the pan. +So thin was this layer that it was like a streak of paint. He examined +it closely. In the midst of it was a tiny golden speck. He dribbled a +little water in over the depressed edge of the pan. With a quick flirt +he sent the water sluicing across the bottom, turning the grains of +black sand over and over. A second tiny golden speck rewarded his +effort. + +The washing had now become very fine--fine beyond all need of ordinary +placer-mining. He worked the black sand, a small portion at a time, up +the shallow rim of the pan. Each small portion he examined sharply, so +that his eyes saw every grain of it before he allowed it to slide over +the edge and away. Jealously, bit by bit, he let the black sand slip +away. A golden speck, no larger than a pin-point, appeared on the rim, +and by his manipulation of the water it returned to the bottom of the +pan. And in such fashion another speck was disclosed, and another. Great +was his care of them. Like a shepherd he herded his flock of golden +specks so that not one should be lost. At last, of the pan of dirt +nothing remained but his golden herd. He counted it, and then, after all +his labor, sent it flying out of the pan with one final swirl of water. + +But his blue eyes were shining with desire as he rose to his feet. +"Seven," he muttered aloud, asserting the sum of the specks for which he +had toiled so hard and which he had so wantonly thrown away. "Seven," he +repeated, with the emphasis of one trying to impress a number on his +memory. + +He stood still a long while, surveying the hillside. In his eyes was a +curiosity, new-aroused and burning. There was an exultance about his +bearing and a keenness like that of a hunting animal catching the fresh +scent of game. + +He moved down the stream a few steps and took a second panful of dirt. + +Again came the careful washing, the jealous herding of the golden +specks, and the wantonness with which he sent them flying into the +stream. + +"Five," he muttered, and repeated, "five." + +He could not forbear another survey of the hill before filling the pan +farther down the stream. His golden herds diminished. "Four, three, two, +two, one," were his memory tabulations as he moved down the stream. When +but one speck of gold rewarded his washing, he stopped and built a fire +of dry twigs. Into this he thrust the gold-pan and burned it till it was +blue-black. He held up the pan and examined it critically. Then he +nodded approbation. Against such a color-background he could defy the +tiniest yellow speck to elude him. + +Still moving down the stream, he panned again. A single speck was his +reward. A third pan contained no gold at all. Not satisfied with this, +he panned three times again, taking his shovels of dirt within a foot of +one another. Each pan proved empty of gold, and the fact, instead of +discouraging him, seemed to give him satisfaction. His elation increased +with each barren washing, until he arose, exclaiming jubilantly: + +"If it ain't the real thing, may God knock off my head with sour +apples!" + +Returning to where he had started operations, he began to pan up the +stream. At first his golden herds increased--increased prodigiously. +"Fourteen, eighteen, twenty-one, twenty-six," ran his memory +tabulations. Just above the pool he struck his richest pan--thirty-five +colors. + +"Almost enough to save," he remarked regretfully as he allowed the water +to sweep them away. + +The sun climbed to the top of the sky. The man worked on. Pan by pan, he +went up the stream, the tally of results steadily decreasing. + +"It's just booful, the way it peters out," he exulted when a shovelful +of dirt contained no more than a single speck of gold. And when no +specks at all were found in several pans, he straightened up and favored +the hillside with a confident glance. + +"Ah, ha! Mr. Pocket!" he cried out, as though to an auditor hidden +somewhere above him beneath the surface of the slope. "Ah, ha! Mr. +Pocket! I'm a-comin', I'm a-comin', an' I'm shorely gwine to get yer! +You heah me, Mr. Pocket? I'm gwine to get yer as shore as punkins ain't +cauliflowers!" + +He turned and flung a measuring glance at the sun poised above him in +the azure of the cloudless sky. Then he went down the canyon, following +the line of shovel-holes he had made in filling the pans. He crossed the +stream below the pool and disappeared through the green screen. There +was little opportunity for the spirit of the place to return with its +quietude and repose, for the man's voice, raised in ragtime song, still +dominated the canyon with possession. + +After a time, with a greater clashing of steel-shod feet on rock, he +returned. The green screen was tremendously agitated. It surged back and +forth in the throes of a struggle. There was a loud grating and clanging +of metal. The man's voice leaped to a higher pitch and was sharp with +imperativeness. A large body plunged and panted. There was a snapping +and ripping and rending, and amid a shower of falling leaves a horse +burst through the screen. On its back was a pack, and from this trailed +broken vines and torn creepers. The animal gazed with astonished eyes at +the scene into which it had been precipitated, then dropped its head to +the grass and began contentedly to graze. A second horse scrambled into +view, slipping once on the mossy rocks and regaining equilibrium when +its hoofs sank into the yielding surface of the meadow. It was +riderless, though on its back was a high-horned Mexican saddle, scarred +and discolored by long usage. + +The man brought up the rear. He threw off pack and saddle, with an eye +to camp location, and gave the animals their freedom to graze. He +unpacked his food and got out frying-pan and coffee-pot. He gathered an +armful of dry wood, and with a few stones made a place for his fire. + +"My!" he said, "but I've got an appetite. I could scoff iron-filings an' +horseshoe nails an' thank you kindly, ma'am, for a second helpin'." + +He straightened up, and, while he reached for matches in the pocket of +his overalls, his eyes traveled across the pool to the side-hill. His +fingers had clutched the match-box, but they relaxed their hold and the +hand came out empty. The man wavered perceptibly. He looked at his +preparations for cooking and he looked at the hill. + +"Guess I'll take another whack at her," he concluded, starting to cross +the stream. + +"They ain't no sense in it, I know," he mumbled apologetically. "But +keepin' grub back an hour ain't go in' to hurt none, I reckon." + +A few feet back from his first line of test-pans he started a second +line. The sun dropped down the western sky, the shadows lengthened, but +the man worked on. He began a third line of test-pans. He was +cross-cutting the hillside, line by line, as he ascended. The center of +each line produced the richest pans, while the ends came where no colors +showed in the pan. And as he ascended the hillside the lines grew +perceptibly shorter. The regularity with which their length diminished +served to indicate that somewhere up the slope the last line would be so +short as to have scarcely length at all, and that beyond could come +only a point. The design was growing into an inverted "V." The +converging sides of this "V" marked the boundaries of the gold-bearing +dirt. + +The apex of the "V" was evidently the man's goal. Often he ran his eye +along the converging sides and on up the hill, trying to divine the +apex, the point where the gold-bearing dirt must cease. Here resided +"Mr. Pocket"--for so the man familiarly addressed the imaginary point +above him on the slope, crying out: + +"Come down out o' that, Mr. Pocket! Be right smart an' agreeable, an' +come down!" + +"All right," he would add later, in a voice resigned to determination. +"All right, Mr. Pocket. It's plain to me I got to come right up an' +snatch you out bald-headed. An' I'll do it! I'll do it!" he would +threaten still later. + +Each pan he carried down to the water to wash, and as he went higher up +the hill the pans grew richer, until he began to save the gold in an +empty baking powder can which he carried carelessly in his hip-pocket. +So engrossed was he in his toil that he did not notice the long twilight +of oncoming night. It was not until he tried vainly to see the gold +colors in the bottom of the pan that he realized the passage of time. +He straightened up abruptly. An expression of whimsical wonderment and +awe overspread his face as he drawled: + +"Gosh darn my buttons! if I didn't plumb forget dinner!" + +He stumbled across the stream in the darkness and lighted his +long-delayed fire. Flapjacks and bacon and warmed-over beans constituted +his supper. Then he smoked a pipe by the smouldering coals, listening to +the night noises and watching the moonlight stream through the canyon. +After that he unrolled his bed, took off his heavy shoes, and pulled the +blankets up to his chin. His face showed white in the moonlight, like +the face of a corpse. But it was a corpse that knew its resurrection, +for the man rose suddenly on one elbow and gazed across at his hillside. + +"Good night, Mr. Pocket," he called sleepily. "Goodnight." + +He slept through the early gray of morning until the direct rays of the +sun smote his closed eyelids, when he awoke with a start and looked +about him until he had established the continuity of his existence and +identified his present self with the days previously lived. + +To dress, he had merely to buckle on his shoes. He glanced at his +fireplace and at his hillside, wavered, but fought down the temptation +and started the fire. + +"Keep yer shirt on, Bill; keep yer shirt on," he admonished himself. +"What's the good of rushin'? No use in gettin' all het up an' sweaty. +Mr. Pocket'll wait for you. He ain't a-runnin' away before you can get +your breakfast. Now, what you want, Bill, is something fresh in yer bill +o' fare. So it's up to you to go an' get it." + +He cut a short pole at the water's edge and drew from one of his pockets +a bit of line and a draggled fly that had once been a royal coachman. + +"Mebbe they'll bite in the early morning," he muttered, as he made his +first cast into the pool. And a moment later he was gleefully crying: +"What'd I tell you, eh? What'd I tell you?" + +He had no reel, nor any inclination to waste time, and by main strength, +and swiftly, he drew out of the water a flashing ten-inch trout. Three +more, caught in rapid succession, furnished his breakfast. When he came +to the stepping-stones on his way to his hillside, he was struck by a +sudden thought, and paused. + +"I'd just better take a hike down-stream a ways," he said. "There's no +tellin' who may be snoopin' around." + +But he crossed over on the stones, and with a "I really oughter take +that hike," the need of the precaution passed out of his mind and he +fell to work. + +At nightfall he straightened up. The small of his back was stiff from +stooping toil, and as he put his hand behind him to soothe the +protesting muscles, he said: + +"Now what d'ye think of that? I clean forgot my dinner again! If I don't +watch out, I'll sure be degeneratin' into a two-meal-a-day crank." + +"Pockets is the hangedest things I ever see for makin' a man +absent-minded," he communed that night, as he crawled into his blankets. +Nor did he forget to call up the hillside, "Good night, Mr. Pocket! Good +night!" + +Rising with the sun, and snatching a hasty breakfast, he was early at +work. A fever seemed to be growing in him, nor did the increasing +richness of the test-pans allay this fever. There was a flush in his +cheek other than that made by the heat of the sun, and he was oblivious +to fatigue and the passage of time. When he filled a pan with dirt, he +ran down the hill to wash it; nor could he forbear running up the hill +again, panting and stumbling profanely, to refill the pan. + +He was now a hundred yards from the water, and the inverted "V" was +assuming definite proportions. The width of the pay-dirt steadily +decreased, and the man extended in his mind's eye the sides of the "V" +to their meeting place far up the hill. This was his goal, the apex of +the "V," and he panned many times to locate it. + +"Just about two yards above that manzanita bush an' a yard to the +right," he finally concluded. + +Then the temptation seized him. "As plain as the nose on your face," he +said, as he abandoned his laborious cross-cutting and climbed to the +indicated apex. He filled a pan and carried it down the hill to wash. It +contained no trace of gold. He dug deep, and he dug shallow, filling +and washing a dozen pans, and was unrewarded even by the tiniest golden +speck. He was enraged at having yielded to the temptation, and berated +himself blasphemously and pridelessly. Then he went down the hill and +took up the cross-cutting. + +"Slow an' certain, Bill; slow an' certain," he crooned. "Short-cuts to +fortune ain't in your line, an' it's about time you know it. Get wise, +Bill; get wise. Slow an' certain's the only hand you can play; so go to +it, an' keep to it, too." + +As the cross-cuts decreased, showing that the sides of the "V" were +converging, the depth of the "V" increased. The gold-trace was dipping +into the hill. It was only at thirty inches beneath the surface that he +could get colors in his pan. The dirt he found at twenty-five inches +from the surface, and at thirty-five inches yielded barren pans. At the +base of the "V," by the water's edge, he had found the gold colors at +the grass roots. The higher he went up the hill, the deeper the gold +dipped. To dig a hole three feet deep in order to get one test-pan was a +task of no mean magnitude; while between the man and the apex intervened +an untold number of such holes to be dug. "An' there's no tellin' how +much deeper it'll pitch," he sighed, in a moment's pause, while his +fingers soothed his aching back. + +Feverish with desire, with aching back and stiffening muscles, with pick +and shovel gouging and mauling the soft brown earth, the man toiled up +the hill. Before him was the smooth slope, spangled with flowers and +made sweet with their breath. Behind him was devastation. It looked like +some terrible eruption breaking out on the smooth skin of the hill. His +slow progress was like that of a slug, befouling beauty with a monstrous +trail. + +Though the dipping gold-trace increased the man's work, he found +consolation in the increasing richness of the pans. Twenty cents, thirty +cents, fifty cents, sixty cents, were the values of the gold found in +the pans, and at nightfall he washed his banner pan, which gave him a +dollar's worth of gold-dust from a shovelful of dirt. + +"I'll just bet it's my luck to have some inquisitive one come buttin' in +here on my pasture," he mumbled sleepily that night as he pulled the +blankets up to his chin. + +Suddenly he sat upright. "Bill!" he called sharply. "Now, listen to me, +Bill; d'ye hear! It's up to you, to-morrow mornin', to mosey round an' +see what you can see. Understand? To-morrow morning, an' don't you +forget it!" + +He yawned and glanced across at his side-hill. "Good night, Mr. Pocket," +he called. + +In the morning he stole a march on the sun, for he had finished +breakfast when its first rays caught him, and he was climbing the wall +of the canyon where it crumbled away and gave footing. From the outlook +at the top he found himself in the midst of loneliness. As far as he +could see, chain after chain of mountains heaved themselves into his +vision. To the east his eyes, leaping the miles between range and range +and between many ranges, brought up at last against the white-peaked +Sierras--the main crest, where the backbone of the Western world reared +itself against the sky. To the north and south he could see more +distinctly the cross-systems that broke through the main trend of the +sea of mountains. To the west the ranges fell away, one behind the +other, diminishing and fading into the gentle foothills that, in turn, +descended into the great valley which he could not see. + +And in all that mighty sweep of earth he saw no sign of man nor of the +handiwork of man--save only the torn bosom of the hillside at his feet. +The man looked long and carefully. Once, far down his own canyon, he +thought he saw in the air a faint hint of smoke. He looked again and +decided that it was the purple haze of the hills made dark by a +convolution of the canyon wall at its back. + +"Hey, you, Mr. Pocket!" he called down into the canyon. "Stand out from +under! I'm a-comin', Mr. Pocket! I'm a-comin'!" + +The heavy brogans on the man's feet made him appear clumsy-footed, but +he swung down from the giddy height as lightly and airily as a mountain +goat. A rock, turning under his foot on the edge of the precipice, did +not disconcert him. He seemed to know the precise time required for the +turn to culminate in disaster, and in the meantime he utilized the false +footing itself for the momentary earth-contact necessary to carry him on +into safety. Where the earth sloped so steeply that it was impossible to +stand for a second upright, the man did not hesitate. His foot pressed +the impossible surface for but a fraction of the fatal second and gave +him the bound that carried him onward. Again, where even the fraction +of a second's footing was out of the question, he would swing his body +past by a moment's hand-grip on a jutting knob of rock, a crevice, or a +precariously rooted shrub. At last, with a wild leap and yell, he +exchanged the face of the wall for an earth-slide and finished the +descent in the midst of several tons of sliding earth and gravel. + +His first pan of the morning washed out over two dollars in coarse gold. +It was from the centre of the "V." To either side the diminution in the +values of the pans was swift. His lines of cross-cutting holes were +growing very short. The converging sides of the inverted "V" were only a +few yards apart. Their meeting-point was only a few yards above him. But +the pay-streak was dipping deeper and deeper into the earth. By early +afternoon he was sinking the test-holes five feet before the pans could +show the gold-trace. + +For that matter, the gold-trace had become something more than a trace; +it was a placer mine in itself, and the man resolved to come back after +he had found the pocket and work over the ground. But the increasing +richness of the pans began to worry him. By late afternoon the worth of +the pans had grown to three and four dollars. The man scratched his head +perplexedly and looked a few feet up the hill at the manzanita bush that +marked approximately the apex of the "V." He nodded his head and said +oracularly: + +"It's one o' two things, Bill: one o' two things. Either Mr. Pocket's +spilled himself all out an' down the hill, or else Mr. Pocket's so rich +you maybe won't be able to carry him all away with you. And that'd be an +awful shame, wouldn't it, now?" He chuckled at contemplation of so +pleasant a dilemma. + +Nightfall found him by the edge of the stream, his eyes wrestling with +the gathering darkness over the washing of a five-dollar pan. + +"Wisht I had an electric light to go on working," he said. + +He found sleep difficult that night. Many times he composed himself and +closed his eyes for slumber to overtake him; but his blood pounded with +too strong desire, and as many times his eyes opened and he murmured +wearily, "Wisht it was sun-up." + +Sleep came to him in the end, but his eyes were open with the first +paling of the stars, and the gray of dawn caught him with breakfast +finished and climbing the hillside in the direction of the secret +abiding-place of Mr. Pocket. + +The first cross-cut the man made, there was space for only three holes, +so narrow had become the pay-streak and so close was he to the +fountainhead of the golden stream he had been following for four days. + +"Be ca'm, Bill; be ca'm," he admonished himself, as he broke ground for +the final hole where the sides of the "V" had at last come together in a +point. + +"I've got the almighty cinch on you, Mr. Pocket, an' you can't lose me," +he said many times as he sank the hole deeper and deeper. + +Four feet, five feet, six feet, he dug his way down into the earth. The +digging grew harder. His pick grated on broken rock. He examined the +rock. "Rotten quartz," was his conclusion as, with the shovel, he +cleared the bottom of the hole of loose dirt. He attacked the crumbling +quartz with the pick, bursting the disintegrating rock asunder with +every stroke. + +He thrust his shovel into the loose mass. His eye caught a gleam of +yellow. He dropped the shovel and squatted suddenly on his heels. As a +farmer rubs the clinging earth from fresh-dug potatoes, so the man, a +piece of rotten quartz held in both hands, rubbed the dirt away. + +"Sufferin' Sardanopolis!" he cried. "Lumps an' chunks of it! Lumps an' +chunks of it!" + +It was only half rock he held in his hand. The other half was virgin +gold. He dropped it into his pan and examined another piece. Little +yellow was to be seen, but with his strong fingers he crumbled the +rotten quartz away till both hands were filled with glowing yellow. He +rubbed the dirt away from fragment after fragment, tossing them into the +gold-pan. It was a treasure-hole. So much had the quartz rotted away +that there was less of it than there was of gold. Now and again he found +a piece to which no rock clung--a piece that was all gold. A chunk, +where the pick had laid open the heart of the gold, glittered like a +handful of yellow jewels, and he cocked his head at it and slowly turned +it around and over to observe the rich play of the light upon it. + +"Talk about yer Too Much Gold diggin's!" the man snorted contemptuously. +"Why, this diggin' 'd make it look like thirty cents. This diggin' is +All Gold. An' right here an' now I name this yere canyon 'All Gold +Canyon,' b' gosh!" + +Still squatting on his heels, he continued examining the fragments and +tossing them into the pan. Suddenly there came to him a premonition of +danger. It seemed a shadow had fallen upon him. But there was no shadow. +His heart had given a great jump up into his throat and was choking him. +Then his blood slowly chilled and he felt the sweat of his shirt cold +against his flesh. + +He did not spring up nor look around. He did not move. He was +considering the nature of the premonition he had received, trying to +locate the source of the mysterious force that had warned him, striving +to sense the imperative presence of the unseen thing that threatened +him. There is an aura of things hostile, made manifest by messengers too +refined for the senses to know; and this aura he felt, but knew not how +he felt it. His was the feeling as when a cloud passes over the sun. It +seemed that between him and life had passed something dark and +smothering and menacing; a gloom, as it were, that swallowed up life and +made for death--his death. + +Every force of his being impelled him to spring up and confront the +unseen danger, but his soul dominated the panic, and he remained +squatting on his heels, in his hands a chunk of gold. He did not dare to +look around, but he knew by now that there was something behind him and +above him. He made believe to be interested in the gold in his hand. He +examined it critically, turned it over and over, and rubbed the dirt +from it. And all the time he knew that something behind him was looking +at the gold over his shoulder. + +Still feigning interest in the chunk of gold in his hand, he listened +intently and he heard the breathing of the thing behind him. His eyes +searched the ground in front of him for a weapon, but they saw only the +uprooted gold, worthless to him now in his extremity. There was his +pick, a handy weapon on occasion; but this was not such an occasion. The +man realized his predicament. He was in a narrow hole that was seven +feet deep. His head did not come to the surface of the ground. He was in +a trap. + +He remained squatting on his heels. He was quite cool and collected; but +his mind, considering every factor, showed him only his helplessness. +He continued rubbing the dirt from the quartz fragments and throwing the +gold into the pan. There was nothing else for him to do. Yet he knew +that he would have to rise up, sooner or later, and face the danger that +breathed at his back. The minutes passed, and with the passage of each +minute he knew that by so much he was nearer the time when he must stand +up, or else--and his wet shirt went cold against his flesh again at the +thought--or else he might receive death as he stooped there over his +treasure. + +Still he squatted on his heels, rubbing dirt from gold and debating in +just what manner he should rise up. He might rise up with a rush and +claw his way out of the hole to meet whatever threatened on the even +footing above ground. Or he might rise up slowly and carelessly, and +feign casually to discover the thing that breathed at his back. His +instinct and every fighting fibre of his body favored the mad, clawing +rush to the surface. His intellect, and the craft thereof, favored the +slow and cautious meeting with the thing that menaced and which he could +not see. And while he debated, a loud, crashing noise burst on his ear. +At the same instant he received a stunning blow on the left side of the +back, and from the point of impact felt a rush of flame through his +flesh. He sprang up in the air, but halfway to his feet collapsed. His +body crumpled in like a leaf withered in sudden heat, and he came down, +his chest across his pan of gold, his face in the dirt and rock, his +legs tangled and twisted because of the restricted space at the bottom +of the hole. His legs twitched convulsively several times. His body was +shaken as with a mighty ague. There was a slow expansion of the lungs, +accompanied by a deep sigh. Then the air was slowly, very slowly, +exhaled, and his body as slowly flattened itself down into inertness. + +Above, revolver in hand, a man was peering down over the edge of the +hole. He peered for a long time at the prone and motionless body beneath +him. After a while the stranger sat down on the edge of the hole so that +he could see into it, and rested the revolver on his knee. Reaching his +hand into a pocket, he drew out a wisp of brown paper. Into this he +dropped a few crumbs of tobacco. The combination became a cigarette, +brown and squat, with the ends turned in. Not once did he take his eyes +from the body at the bottom of the hole. He lighted the cigarette and +drew its smoke into his lungs with a caressing intake of the breath. He +smoked slowly. Once the cigarette went out and he relighted it. And all +the while he studied the body beneath him. + +In the end he tossed the cigarette stub away and rose to his feet. He +moved to the edge of the hole. Spanning it, a hand resting on each edge, +and with the revolver still in the right hand, he muscled his body down +into the hole. While his feet were yet a yard from the bottom he +released his hands and dropped down. + +At the instant his feet struck bottom he saw the pocket-miner's arm leap +out, and his own legs knew a swift, jerking grip that overthrew him. In +the nature of the jump his revolver hand was above his head. Swiftly as +the grip had flashed about his legs, just as swiftly he brought the +revolver down. He was still in the air, his fall in process of +completion, when he pulled the trigger. The explosion was deafening in +the confined space. The smoke filled the hole so that he could see +nothing. He struck the bottom on his back, and like a cat's the +pocket-miner's body was on top of him. Even as the miner's body passed +on top, the stranger crooked in his right arm to fire; and even in that +instant the miner, with a quick thrust of elbow, struck his wrist. The +muzzle was thrown up and the bullet thudded into the dirt of the side of +the hole. + +The next instant the stranger felt the miner's hand grip his wrist. The +struggle was now for the revolver. Each man strove to turn it against +the other's body. The smoke in the hole was clearing. The stranger, +lying on his back, was beginning to see dimly. But suddenly he was +blinded by a handful of dirt deliberately flung into his eyes by his +antagonist. In that moment of shock his grip on the revolver was broken. +In the next moment he felt a smashing darkness descend upon his brain, +and in the midst of the darkness even the darkness ceased. + +But the pocket-miner fired again and again, until the revolver was +empty. Then he tossed it from him and, breathing heavily, sat down on +the dead man's legs. + +The miner was sobbing and struggling for breath. "Measly skunk!" he +panted; "a-campin' on my trail an' lettin' me do the work, an' then +shootin' me in the back!" + +He was half crying from anger and exhaustion. He peered at the face of +the dead man. It was sprinkled with loose dirt and gravel, and it was +difficult to distinguish the features. + +"Never laid eyes on him before," the miner concluded his scrutiny. "Just +a common an' ordinary thief, hang him! An' he shot me in the back! He +shot me in the back!" + +He opened his shirt and felt himself, front and back, on his left side. + +"Went clean through, and no harm done!" he cried jubilantly. "I'll bet +he aimed all right all right; but he drew the gun over when he pulled +the trigger--the cur! But I fixed 'm! Oh, I fixed 'm!" + +His fingers were investigating the bullet-hole in his side, and a shade +of regret passed over his face. "It's goin' to be stiffer'n hell," he +said. "An' it's up to me to get mended an' get out o'here." + +He crawled out of the hole and went down the hill to his camp. Half an +hour later he returned, leading his pack-horse. His open shirt +disclosed the rude bandages with which he had dressed his wound. He was +slow and awkward with his left-hand movements, but that did not prevent +his using the arm. + +The bight of the pack-rope under the dead man's shoulders enabled him to +heave the body out of the hole. Then he set to work gathering up his +gold. He worked steadily for several hours, pausing often to rest his +stiffening shoulder and to exclaim: + +"He shot me in the back, the measly skunk! He shot me in the back!" + +When his treasure was quite cleaned up and wrapped securely into a +number of blanket-covered parcels, he made an estimate of its value. + +"Four hundred pounds, or I'm a Hottentot," he concluded. "Say two +hundred in quartz an' dirt--that leaves two hundred pounds of gold. +Bill! Wake up! Two hundred pounds of gold! Forty thousand dollars! An' +it's yourn--all yourn!" + +He scratched his head delightedly and his fingers blundered into an +unfamiliar groove. They quested along it for several inches. It was a +crease through his scalp where the second bullet had ploughed. + +He walked angrily over to the dead man. + +"You would, would you!" he bullied. "You would, eh? Well, I fixed you +good an' plenty, an' I'll give you decent burial, too. That's more'n +you'd have done for me." + +He dragged the body to the edge of the hole and toppled it in. It struck +the bottom with a dull crash, on its side, the face twisted up to the +light. The miner peered down at it. + +"An' you shot me in the back!" he said accusingly. + +With pick and shovel he filled the hole. Then he loaded the gold on his +horse. It was too great a load for the animal, and when he had gained +his camp he transferred part of it to his saddle-horse. Even so, he was +compelled to abandon a portion of his outfit--pick and shovel and +gold-pan, extra food and cooking utensils, and divers odds and ends. + +The sun was at the zenith when the man forced the horses at the screen +of vines and creepers. To climb the huge boulders the animals were +compelled to uprear and struggle blindly through the tangled mass of +vegetation. Once the saddle-horse fell heavily and the man removed the +pack to get the animal on its feet. After it started on its way again +the man thrust his head out from among the leaves and peered up at the +hillside. + +"The measly skunk!" he said, and disappeared. + +There was a ripping and tearing of vines and boughs. The trees surged +back and forth, marking the passage of the animals through the midst of +them. There was a clashing of steel-shod hoofs on stone, and now and +again a sharp cry of command. Then the voice of the man was raised in +song:-- + + "Tu'n around an' tu'n yo' face + Untoe them sweet hills of grace + (D' pow'rs of sin yo' am scornin'!). + Look about an' look aroun' + Fling yo' sin-pack on d' groun' + (Yo'-will meet wid d' Lord in d' mornin'!)." + +The song grew faint and fainter, and through the silence crept back the +spirit of the place. The stream once more drowsed and whispered; the hum +of the mountain bees rose sleepily. Down through the perfume-weighted +air fluttered the snowy fluffs of the cottonwoods. The butterflies +drifted in and out among the trees, and over all blazed the quiet +sunshine. Only remained the hoof-marks in the meadow and the torn +hillside to mark the boisterous trail of the life that had broken the +peace of the place and passed on. + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE STORY OF KEESH + + +Keesh lived long ago on the rim of the polar sea, was head man of his +village through many and prosperous years, and died full of honors with +his name on the lips of men. So long ago did he live that only the old +men remember his name, his name and the tale, which they got from the +old men before them, and which the old men to come will tell to their +children and their children's children down to the end of time. And the +winter darkness, when the north gales make their long sweep across the +ice-pack, and the air is filled with flying white, and no man may +venture forth, is the chosen time for the telling of how Keesh, from the +poorest _igloo_ in the village, rose to power and place over them all. + +He was a bright boy, so the tale runs, healthy and strong, and he had +seen thirteen suns, in their way of reckoning time. For each winter the +sun leaves the land in darkness, and the next year a new sun returns so +that they may be warm again and look upon one another's faces. The +father of Keesh had been a very brave man, but he had met his death in a +time of famine, when he sought to save the lives of his people by taking +the life of a great polar bear. In his eagerness he came to close +grapples with the bear, and his bones were crushed; but the bear had +much meat on him and the people were saved. Keesh was his only son, and +after that Keesh lived alone with his mother. But the people are prone +to forget, and they forgot the deed of his father; and he being but a +boy, and his mother only a woman, they, too, were swiftly forgotten, and +ere long came to live in the meanest of all the _igloos_. + +It was at a council, one night, in the big _igloo_ of Klosh-Kwan, the +chief, that Keesh showed the blood that ran in his veins and the manhood +that stiffened his back. With the dignity of an elder, he rose to his +feet, and waited for silence amid the babble of voices. + +"It is true that meat be apportioned me and mine," he said. "But it is +ofttimes old and tough, this meat, and, moreover, it has an unusual +quantity of bones." + +The hunters, grizzled and gray, and lusty and young, were aghast. The +like had never been known before. A child, that talked like a grown man, +and said harsh things to their very faces! + +But steadily and with seriousness, Keesh went on. "For that I know my +father, Bok, was a great hunter, I speak these words. It is said that +Bok brought home more meat than any of the two best hunters, that with +his own hands he attended to the division of it, that with his own eyes +he saw to it that the least old woman and the least old man received +fair share." + +"Na! Na!" the men cried. "Put the child out!" "Send him off to bed!" "He +is no man that he should talk to men and gray-beards!" + +He waited calmly till the uproar died down. + +"Thou hast a wife, Ugh-Gluk," he said, "and for her dost thou speak. And +thou, too, Massuk, a mother also, and for them dost thou speak. My +mother has no one, save me; wherefore I speak. As I say, though Bok be +dead because he hunted over-keenly, it is just that I, who am his son, +and that Ikeega, who is my mother and was his wife, should have meat in +plenty so long as there be meat in plenty in the tribe. I, Keesh, the +son of Bok, have spoken." + +He sat down, his ears keenly alert to the flood of protest and +indignation his words had created. + +"That a boy should speak in council!" old Ugh-Gluk was mumbling. + +"Shall the babes in arms tell us men the things we shall do?" Massuk +demanded in a loud voice. "Am I a man that I should be made a mock by +every child that cries for meat?" + +The anger boiled a white heat. They ordered him to bed, threatened that +he should have no meat at all, and promised him sore beatings for his +presumption. Keesh's eyes began to flash, and the blood to pound darkly +under his skin. In the midst of the abuse he sprang to his feet. + +"Hear me, ye men!" he cried. "Never shall I speak in the council again, +never again till the men come to me and say, 'It is well, Keesh, that +thou shouldst speak, it is well and it is our wish.' Take this now, ye +men, for my last word. Bok, my father, was a great hunter. I too, his +son, shall go and hunt the meat that I eat. And be it known, now, that +the division of that which I kill shall be fair. And no widow nor weak +one shall cry in the night because there is no meat, when the strong men +are groaning in great pain for that they have eaten overmuch. And in the +days to come there shall be shame upon the strong men who have eaten +overmuch. I, Keesh, have said it!" + +Jeers and scornful laughter followed him out of the _igloo_, but his jaw +was set and he went his way, looking neither to right nor left. + +The next day he went forth along the shoreline where the ice and the +land met together. Those who saw him go noted that he carried his bow, +with a goodly supply of bone-barbed arrows, and that across his shoulder +was his father's big hunting-spear. And there was laughter, and much +talk, at the event. It was an unprecedented occurrence. Never did boys +of his tender age go forth to hunt, much less to hunt alone. Also were +there shaking of heads and prophetic mutterings, and the women looked +pityingly at Ikeega, and her face was grave and sad. + +"He will be back ere long," they said cheeringly. + +"Let him go; it will teach him a lesson," the hunters said. "And he will +come back shortly, and he will be meek and soft of speech in the days to +follow." + +But a day passed, and a second, and on the third a wild gale blew, and +there was no Keesh. Ikeega tore her hair and put soot of the seal-oil on +her face in token of her grief; and the women assailed the men with +bitter words in that they had mistreated the boy and sent him to his +death; and the men made no answer, preparing to go in search of the body +when the storm abated. + +Early next morning, however, Keesh strode into the village. But he came +not shamefacedly. Across his shoulders he bore a burden of fresh-killed +meat. And there was importance in his step and arrogance in his speech. + +"Go, ye men, with the dogs and sledges, and take my trail for the better +part of a day's travel," he said. "There is much meat on the ice--a +she-bear and two half-grown cubs." + +Ikeega was overcome with joy, but he received her demonstrations in +manlike fashion, saying: "Come, Ikeega, let us eat. And after that I +shall sleep, for I am weary." + +And he passed into their _igloo_ and ate profoundly, and after that +slept for twenty running hours. + +There was much doubt at first, much doubt and discussion. The killing of +a polar bear is very dangerous, but thrice dangerous is it, and three +times thrice, to kill a mother bear with her cubs. The men could not +bring themselves to believe that the boy Keesh, single-handed, had +accomplished so great a marvel. But the women spoke of the fresh-killed +meat he had brought on his back, and this was an overwhelming argument +against their unbelief. So they finally departed, grumbling greatly that +in all probability, if the thing were so, he had neglected to cut up the +carcasses. Now in the north it is very necessary that this should be +done as soon as a kill is made. If not, the meat freezes so solidly as +to turn the edge of the sharpest knife, and a three-hundred-pound bear, +frozen stiff, is no easy thing to put upon a sled and haul over the +rough ice. But arrived at the spot, they found not only the kill which +they had doubted, but that Keesh had quartered the beasts in true hunter +fashion, and removed the entrails. + +Thus began the mystery of Keesh, a mystery that deepened and deepened +with the passing of the days. His very next trip he killed a young bear, +nearly full-grown, and on the trip following, a large male bear and his +mate. He was ordinarily gone from three to four days, though it was +nothing unusual for him to stay away a week at a time on the ice-field. +Always he declined company on these expeditions, and the people +marveled. "How does he do it?" they demanded of one another. "Never does +he take a dog with him, and dogs are of such great help, too." + +"Why dost thou hunt only bear?" Klosh-Kwan once ventured to ask. + +And Keesh made fitting answer. "It is well known that there is more meat +on the bear," he said. + +But there was also talk of witchcraft in the village. "He hunts with +evil spirits," some of the people contended, "wherefore his hunting is +rewarded. How else can it be, save that he hunts with evil spirits?" + +"Mayhap they be not evil, but good, these spirits," others said. "It is +known that his father was a mighty hunter. May not his father hunt with +him so that he may attain excellence and patience and understanding? Who +knows?" + +None the less, his success continued, and the less skilful hunters were +often kept busy hauling in his meat. And in the division of it he was +just. As his father had done before him, he saw to it that the least old +woman and the last old man received a fair portion, keeping no more for +himself than his needs required. And because of this, and of his merit +as a hunter, he was looked upon with respect, and even awe; and there +was talk of making him chief after old Klosh-Kwan. Because of the things +he had done, they looked for him to appear again in the council, but he +never came, and they were ashamed to ask. + +"I am minded to build me an _igloo_," he said one day to Klosh-Kwan and +a number of the hunters. "It shall be a large _igloo_, wherein Ikeega +and I can dwell in comfort." + +"Ay," they nodded gravely. + +"But I have no time. My business is hunting, and it takes all my time. +So it is but just that the men and women of the village who eat my meat +should build me my _igloo_." + +And the _igloo_ was built accordingly, on a generous scale which +exceeded even the dwelling of Klosh-Kwan. Keesh and his mother moved +into it, and it was the first prosperity she had enjoyed since the death +of Bok. Nor was material prosperity alone hers, for, because of her +wonderful son and the position he had given her, she came to be looked +upon as the first woman in all the village; and the women were given to +visiting her, to asking her advice, and to quoting her wisdom when +arguments arose among themselves or with the men. + +But it was the mystery of Keesh's marvelous hunting that took chief +place in all their minds. And one day Ugh-Gluk taxed him with witchcraft +to his face. + +"It is charged," Ugh-Gluk said ominously, "that thou dealest with evil +spirits, wherefore thy hunting is rewarded." + +"Is not the meat good?" Keesh made answer. "Has one in the village yet +to fall sick from the eating of it! How dost thou know that witchcraft +be concerned? Or dost thou guess, in the dark, merely because of the +envy that consumes thee?" + +And Ugh-Gluk withdrew discomfited, the women laughing at him as he +walked away. But in the council one night, after long deliberation, it +was determined to put spies on his track when he went forth to hunt, so +that his methods might be learned. So, on his next trip, Bim and Bawn, +two young men, and of hunters the craftiest, followed after him, taking +care not to be seen. After five days they returned, their eyes bulging +and their tongues a-tremble to tell what they had seen. The council was +hastily called in Klosh-Kwan's dwelling, and Bim took up the tale. + +"Brothers! As commanded, we journeyed on the trail of Keesh, and +cunningly we journeyed, so that he might not know. And midway of the +first day he picked up with a great he-bear. It was a very great bear." + +"None greater," Bawn corroborated, and went on himself. "Yet was the +bear not inclined to fight, for he turned away and made off slowly over +the ice. This we saw from the rocks of the shore, and the bear came +toward us, and after him came Keesh, very much unafraid. And he shouted +harsh words after the bear, and waved his arms about, and made much +noise. Then did the bear grow angry, and rise up on his hind legs, and +growl. But Keesh walked right up to the bear." + +"Ay," Bim continued the story. "Right up to the bear Keesh walked. And +the bear took after him, and Keesh ran away. But as he ran he dropped a +little round ball on the ice. And the bear stopped and smelled of it, +and then swallowed it up. And Keesh continued to run away and drop +little round balls, and the bear continued to swallow them up." + +Exclamations and cries of doubt were being made, and Ugh-Gluk expressed +open unbelief. + +"With our own eyes we saw it," Bim affirmed. + +And Bawn--"Ay, with our own eyes. And this continued until the bear +stood suddenly upright and cried aloud in pain, and thrashed his +forepaws madly about. And Keesh continued to make off over the ice to a +safe distance. But the bear gave him no notice, being occupied with the +misfortune the little round balls had wrought within him." + +"Ay, within him," Bim interrupted. "For he did claw at himself, and +leap about over the ice like a playful puppy, save from the way he +growled and squealed it was plain it was not play but pain. Never did I +see such a sight!" + +"Nay, never was such a sight seen," Bawn took up the strain. "And +furthermore, it was such a large bear." + +"Witchcraft," Ugh-Gluk suggested. + +"I know not," Bawn replied. "I tell only of what my eyes beheld. And +after a while the bear grew weak and tired, for he was very heavy and he +had jumped about with exceeding violence, and he went off along the +shore-ice, shaking his head slowly from side to side and sitting down +ever and again to squeal and cry. And Keesh followed after the bear, and +we followed after Keesh, and for that day and three days more we +followed. The bear grew weak, and never ceased crying from his pain." + +"It was a charm!" Ugh-Gluk exclaimed. "Surely it was a charm!" + +"It may well be." + +And Bim relieved Bawn. "The bear wandered, now this way and now that, +doubling back and forth and crossing his trail in circles, so that at +the end he was near where Keesh had first come upon him. By this time he +was quite sick, the bear, and could crawl no farther, so Keesh came up +close and speared him to death." + +"And then?" Klosh-Kwan demanded. + +"Then we left Keesh skinning the bear, and came running that the news of +the killing might be told." + +And in the afternoon of that day the women hauled in the meat of the +bear while the men sat in council assembled. When Keesh arrived a +messenger was sent to him, bidding him come to the council. But he sent +reply, saying that he was hungry and tired; also that his _igloo_ was +large and comfortable and could hold many men. + +And curiosity was so strong on the men that the whole council, +Klosh-Kwan to the fore, rose up and went to the _igloo_ of Keesh. He was +eating, but he received them with respect and seated them according to +their rank. Ikeega was proud and embarrassed by turns, but Keesh was +quite composed. + +Klosh-Kwan recited the information brought by Bim and Bawn, and at its +close said in a stern voice: "So explanation is wanted, O Keesh, of thy +manner of hunting. Is there witchcraft in it?" + +Keesh looked up and smiled. "Nay, O Klosh-Kwan. It is not for a boy to +know aught of witches, and of witches I know nothing. I have but devised +a means whereby I may kill the ice-bear with ease, that is all. It be +headcraft, not witchcraft." + +"And may any man?" + +"Any man." + +There was a long silence. The men looked in one another's faces, and +Keesh went on eating. + +"And ... and ... and wilt thou tell us, O Keesh?" Klosh-Kwan finally +asked in a tremulous voice. + +"Yea, I will tell thee." Keesh finished sucking a marrow-bone and rose +to his feet. "It is quite simple. Behold!" + +He picked up a thin strip of whalebone and showed it to them. The ends +were sharp as needle-points. The strip he coiled carefully, till it +disappeared in his hand. Then, suddenly releasing it, it sprang straight +again. He picked up a piece of blubber. + +"So," he said, "one takes a small chunk of blubber, thus, and thus makes +it hollow. Then into the hollow goes the whalebone, so, tightly coiled, +and another piece of blubber is fitted over the whalebone. After that it +is put outside where it freezes into a little round ball. The bear +swallows the little round ball, the blubber melts, the whalebone with +its sharp ends stands out straight, the bear gets sick, and when the +bear is very sick, why, you kill him with a spear. It is quite simple." + +And Ugh-Gluk said "Oh!" and Klosh-Kwan said "Ah!" And each said +something after his own manner, and all understood. + +And this is the story of Keesh, who lived long ago on the rim of the +polar sea. Because he exercised headcraft and not witchcraft, he rose +from the meanest _igloo_ to be head man of his village, and through all +the years that he lived, it is related, his tribe was prosperous, and +neither widow nor weak one cried aloud in the night because there was no +meat. + +[Illustration] + + + + +NAM-BOK THE UNVERACIOUS + + +"A Bidarka, is it not so! Look! a bidarka, and one man who drives +clumsily with a paddle!" + +Old Bask-Wah-Wan rose to her knees, trembling with weakness and +eagerness, and gazed out over the sea. + +"Nam-Bok was ever clumsy at the paddle," she maundered reminiscently, +shading the sun from her eyes and staring across the silver-spilled +water. "Nam-Bok was ever clumsy. I remember...." + +But the women and children laughed loudly, and there was a gentle +mockery in their laughter, and her voice dwindled till her lips moved +without sound. + +Koogah lifted his grizzled head from his bone-carving and followed the +path of her eyes. Except when wide yawns took it off its course, a +bidarka was heading in for the beach. Its occupant was paddling with +more strength than dexterity, and made his approach along the zigzag +line of most resistance. Koogah's head dropped to his work again, and on +the ivory tusk between his knees he scratched the dorsal fin of a fish +the like of which never swam in the sea. + +"It is doubtless the man from the next village," he said finally, "come +to consult with me about the marking of things on bone. And the man is a +clumsy man. He will never know how." + +"It is Nam-Bok," old Bask-Wah-Wan repeated. "Should I not know my son!" +she demanded shrilly. "I say, and I say again, it is Nam-Bok." + +"And so thou hast said these many summers," one of the women chided +softly. "Ever when the ice passed out of the sea hast thou sat and +watched through the long day, saying at each chance canoe, 'This is +Nam-Bok.' Nam-Bok is dead, O Bask-Wah-Wan, and the dead do not come +back. It cannot be that the dead come back." + +"Nam-Bok!" the old woman cried, so loud and clear that the whole +village was startled and looked at her. + +She struggled to her feet and tottered down the sand. She stumbled over +a baby lying in the sun, and the mother hushed its crying and hurled +harsh words after the old woman, who took no notice. The children ran +down the beach in advance of her, and as the man in the bidarka drew +closer, nearly capsizing with one of his ill-directed strokes, the women +followed. Koogah dropped his walrus tusk and went also, leaning heavily +upon his staff, and after him loitered the men in twos and threes. + +The bidarka turned broadside and the ripple of surf threatened to swamp +it, only a naked boy ran into the water and pulled the bow high up on +the sand. The man stood up and sent a questing glance along the line of +villagers. A rainbow sweater, dirty and the worse for wear, clung +loosely to his broad shoulders, and a red cotton handkerchief was +knotted in sailor fashion about his throat. A fisherman's tam-o'-shanter +on his close-clipped head, and dungaree trousers and heavy brogans +completed his outfit. + +But he was none the less a striking personage to these simple +fisherfolk of the great Yukon Delta, who, all their lives, had stared +out on Bering Sea and in that time seen but two white men,--the census +enumerator and a lost Jesuit priest. They were a poor people, with +neither gold in the ground nor valuable furs in hand, so the whites had +passed them afar. Also, the Yukon, through the thousands of years, had +shoaled that portion of the sea with the detritus of Alaska till vessels +grounded out of sight of land. So the sodden coast, with its long inside +reaches and huge mud-land archipelagoes, was avoided by the ships of +men, and the fisherfolk knew not that such things were. + +Koogah, the Bone-Scratcher, retreated backward in sudden haste, tripping +over his staff and falling to the ground. "Nam-Bok!" he cried, as he +scrambled wildly for footing. "Nam-Bok, who was blown off to sea, come +back!" + +The men and women shrank away, and the children scuttled off between +their legs. Only Opee-Kwan was brave, as befitted the head man of the +village. He strode forward and gazed long and earnestly at the newcomer. + +"It is Nam-Bok," he said at last, and at the conviction in his voice +the women wailed apprehensively and drew farther away. + +The lips of the stranger moved indecisively, and his brown throat +writhed and wrestled with unspoken words. + +"La, la, it is Nam-Bok," Bask-Wah-Wan croaked, peering up into his face. +"Ever did I say Nam-Bok would come back." + +"Ay, it is Nam-Bok come back." This time it was Nam-Bok himself who +spoke, putting a leg over the side of the bidarka and standing with one +foot afloat and one ashore. Again his throat writhed and wrestled as he +grappled after forgotten words. And when the words came forth they were +strange of sound and a spluttering of the lips accompanied the +gutturals. "Greetings, O brothers," he said, "brothers of old time +before I went away with the off-shore wind." + +He stepped out with both feet on the sand, and Opee-Kwan waved him back. + +"Thou art dead, Nam-Bok," he said. + +Nam-Bok laughed. "I am fat." + +"Dead men are not fat," Opee-Kwan confessed. "Thou hast fared well, but +it is strange. No man may mate with the off-shore wind and come back on +the heels of the years." + +"I have come back," Nam-Bok answered simply. + +"Mayhap thou art a shadow, then, a passing shadow of the Nam-Bok that +was. Shadows come back." + +"I am hungry. Shadows do not eat." + +But Opee-Kwan doubted, and brushed his hand across his brow in sore +puzzlement. Nam-Bok was likewise puzzled, and as he looked up and down +the line found no welcome in the eyes of the fisherfolk. The men and +women whispered together. The children stole timidly back among their +elders, and bristling dogs fawned up to him and sniffed suspiciously. + +"I bore thee, Nam-Bok, and I gave thee suck when thou wast little," +Bask-Wah-Wan whimpered, drawing closer; "and shadow though thou be, or +no shadow, I will give thee to eat now." + +Nam-Bok made to come to her, but a growl of fear and menace warned him +back. He said something angrily in a strange tongue, and added, "No +shadow am I, but a man." + +"Who may know concerning the things of mystery?" Opee-Kwan demanded, +half of himself and half of his tribespeople. "We are, and in a breath +we are not. If the man may become shadow, may not the shadow become man? +Nam-Bok was, but is not. This we know, but we do not know if this be +Nam-Bok or the shadow of Nam-Bok." + +Nam-Bok cleared his throat and made answer. "In the old time long ago, +thy father's father, Opee-Kwan, went away and came back on the heels of +the years. Nor was a place by the fire denied him. It is said ..." He +paused significantly, and they hung on his utterance. "It is said," he +repeated, driving his point home with deliberation, "that Sipsip, his +_klooch_, bore him two sons after he came back." + +"But he had no doings with the off-shore wind," Opee-Kwan retorted. "He +went away into the heart of the land, and it is in the nature of things +that a man may go on and on into the land." + +"And likewise the sea. But that is neither here nor there. It is said +... that thy father's father told strange tales of the things he saw." + +"Ay, strange tales he told." + +"I, too, have strange tales to tell," Nam-Bok stated insidiously. And, +as they wavered, "And presents likewise." + +He pulled from the bidarka a shawl, marvelous of texture and color, and +flung it about his mother's shoulders. The women voiced a collective +sigh of admiration, and old Bask-Wah-Wan ruffled the gay material and +patted it and crooned in childish joy. + +"He has tales to tell," Koogah muttered. "And presents," a woman +seconded. + +And Opee-Kwan knew that his people were eager, and further, he was aware +himself of an itching curiosity concerning those untold tales. "The +fishing has been good," he said judiciously, "and we have oil in plenty. +So come, Nam-Bok, let us feast." + +Two of the men hoisted the bidarka on their shoulders and carried it up +to the fire. Nam-Bok walked by the side of Opee-Kwan, and the villagers +followed after, save those of the women who lingered a moment to lay +caressing fingers on the shawl. + +There was little talk while the feast went on, though many and curious +were the glances stolen at the son of Bask-Wah-Wan. This embarrassed +him--not because he was modest of spirit, however, but for the fact +that the stench of the seal-oil had robbed him of his appetite, and that +he keenly desired to conceal his feelings on the subject. + +"Eat; thou art hungry," Opee-Kwan commanded, and Nam-Bok shut both his +eyes and shoved his fist into the big pot of putrid fish. + +"La la, be not ashamed. The seal were many this year, and strong men are +ever hungry." And Bask-Wah-Wan sopped a particularly offensive chunk of +salmon into the oil and passed it fondly and dripping to her son. + +In despair, when premonitory symptoms warned him that his stomach was +not so strong as of old, he filled his pipe and struck up a smoke. The +people fed on noisily and watched. Few of them could boast of intimate +acquaintance with the precious weed, though now and again small +quantities and abominable qualities were obtained in trade from the +Eskimos to the northward. Koogah, sitting next to him, indicated that he +was not averse to taking a draw, and between two mouthfuls, with the oil +thick on his lips, sucked away at the amber stem. And thereupon Nam-Bok +held his stomach with a shaky hand and declined the proffered return. +Koogah could keep the pipe, he said, for he had intended so to honor him +from the first. And the people licked their fingers and approved of his +liberality. + +Opee-Kwan rose to his feet. "And now, O Nam-Bok, the feast is ended, and +we would listen concerning the strange things you have seen." + +The fisherfolk applauded with their hands, and gathering about them +their work, prepared to listen. The men were busy fashioning spears and +carving on ivory, while the women scraped the fat from the hides of the +hair seal and made them pliable or sewed muclucs with threads of sinew. +Nam-Bok's eyes roved over the scene, but there was not the charm about +it that his recollection had warranted him to expect. During the years +of his wandering he had looked forward to just this scene, and now that +it had come he was disappointed. It was a bare and meagre life, he +deemed, and not to be compared to the one to which he had become used. +Still, he would open their eyes a bit, and his own eyes sparkled at the +thought. + +"Brothers," he began, with the smug complacency of a man about to relate +the big things he has done, "it was late summer of many summers back, +with much such weather as this promises to be, when I went away. You all +remember the day, when the gulls flew low, and the wind blew strong from +the land, and I could not hold my bidarka against it. I tied the +covering of the bidarka about me so that no water could get in, and all +of the night I fought with the storm. And in the morning there was no +land,--only the sea,--and the off-shore wind held me close in its arms +and bore me along. Three such nights whitened into dawn and showed me no +land, and the off-shore wind would not let me go. + +"And when the fourth day came, I was as a madman. I could not dip my +paddle for want of food; and my head went round and round, what of the +thirst that was upon me. But the sea was no longer angry, and the soft +south wind was blowing, and as I looked about me I saw a sight that made +me think I was indeed mad." + +Nam-Bok paused to pick away a sliver of salmon lodged between his teeth, +and the men and women, with idle hands and heads craned forward, waited. + +"It was a canoe, a big canoe. If all the canoes I have ever seen were +made into one canoe, it would not be so large." + +There were exclamations of doubt, and Koogah, whose years were many, +shook his head. + +"If each bidarka were as a grain of sand," Nam-Bok defiantly continued, +"and if there were as many bidarkas as there be grains of sand in this +beach, still would they not make so big a canoe as this I saw on the +morning of the fourth day. It was a very big canoe, and it was called a +_schooner_. I saw this thing of wonder, this great schooner, coming +after me, and on it I saw men----" + +"Hold, O Nam-Bok!" Opee-Kwan broke in. "What manner of men were +they?--big men?" + +"Nay, mere men like you and me." + +"Did the big canoe come fast?" + +"Ay." + +"The sides were tall, the men short." Opee-Kwan stated the premises with +conviction. "And did these men dip with long paddles?" + +Nam-Bok grinned. "There were no paddles," he said. + +Mouths remained open, and a long silence dropped down. Ope-Kwan +borrowed Koogah's pipe for a couple of contemplative sucks. One of the +younger women giggled nervously and drew upon herself angry eyes. + +"There were no paddles?" Opee-Kwan asked softly, returning the pipe. + +"The south wind was behind," Nam-Bok explained. + +"But the wind drift is slow." + +"The schooner had wings--thus." He sketched a diagram of masts and sails +in the sand, and the men crowded around and studied it. The wind was +blowing briskly, and for more graphic elucidation he seized the corners +of his mother's shawl and spread them out till it bellied like a sail. +Bask Wah-Wan scolded and struggled, but was blown down the breach for a +score of feet and left breathless and stranded in a heap of driftwood. +The men uttered sage grunts of comprehension, but Koogah suddenly tossed +back his hoary head. + +"Ho! Ho!" he laughed. "A foolish thing, this big canoe! A most foolish +thing! The plaything of the wind! Wheresoever the wind goes, it goes +too. No man who journeys therein may name the landing beach, for always +he goes with the wind, and the wind goes everywhere, but no man knows +where." + +"It is so," Opee-Kwan supplemented gravely. "With the wind the going is +easy, but against the wind a man striveth hard; and for that they had no +paddles these men on the big canoe did not strive at all." + +"Small need to strive," Nam-Bok cried angrily. "The schooner went +likewise against the wind." + +"And what said you made the sch--sch--schooner go?" Koogah asked, +tripping craftily over the strange word. + +"The wind," was the impatient response. + +"Then the wind made the sch--sch--schooner go against the wind." Old +Koogah dropped an open leer to Opee-Kwan, and, the laughter growing +around him, continued: "The wind blows from the south and blows the +schooner south. The wind blows against the wind. The wind blows one way +and the other at the same time. It is very simple. We understand, +Nam-Bok. We clearly understand." + +"Thou art a fool!" + +"Truth falls from thy lips," Koogah answered meekly. "I was over-long +in understanding, and the thing was simple." + +But Nam-Bok's face was dark, and he said rapid words which they had +never heard before. Bone-scratching and skin-scraping were resumed, but +he shut his lips tightly on the tongue that could not be believed. + +"This sch--sch--schooner," Koogah imperturbably asked; "it was made of a +big tree?" + +"It was made of many trees," Nam-Bok snapped shortly. "It was very big." + +He lapsed into sullen silence again, and Opee-Kwan nudged Koogah, who +shook his head with slow amazement and murmured, "It is very strange." + +Nam-Bok took the bait. "That is nothing," he said airily; "you should +see the _steamer._ As the grain of sand is to the bidarka, as the +bidarka is to the schooner, so the schooner is to the steamer. Further, +the steamer is made of iron. It is all iron." + +"Nay, nay, Nam-Bok," cried the head man; "how can that be? Always iron +goes to the bottom. For behold, I received an iron knife in trade from +the head man of the next village, and yesterday the iron knife slipped +from my fingers and went down, down, into the sea. To all things there +be law. Never was there one thing outside the law. This we know. And, +moreover, we know that things of a kind have the one law, and that all +iron has the one law. So unsay thy words, Nam-Bok, that we may yet honor +thee." + +"It is so," Nam-Bok persisted. "The steamer is all iron and does not +sink." + +"Nay, nay; this cannot be." + +"With my own eyes I saw it." + +"It is not in the nature of things." + +"But tell me, Nam-Bok," Koogah interrupted, for fear the tale would go +no farther, "tell me the manner of these men in finding their way across +the sea when there is no land by which to steer." + +"The sun points out the path." + +"But how?" + +"At midday the head man of the schooner takes a thing through which his +eye looks at the sun, and then he makes the sun climb down out of the +sky to the edge of the earth." + +"Now this be evil medicine!" cried Opee-Kwan, aghast at the sacrilege. +The men held up their hands in horror, and the women moaned. "This be +evil medicine. It is not good to misdirect the great sun which drives +away the night and gives us the seal, the salmon, and warm weather." + +"What if it be evil medicine?" Nam-Bok demanded truculently. "I, too, +have looked through the thing at the sun and made the sun climb down out +of the sky." + +Those who were nearest drew away from him hurriedly, and a woman covered +the face of a child at her breast so that his eye might not fall upon +it. + +"But on the morning of the fourth day, O Nam-Bok," Koogah suggested; "on +the morning of the fourth day when the sch--sch--schooner came after +thee?" + +"I had little strength left in me and could not run away. So I was taken +on board and water was poured down my throat and good food given me. +Twice, my brothers, you have seen a white man. These men were all white +and as many as have I fingers and toes. And when I saw they were full of +kindness, I took heart, and I resolved to bring away with me report of +all that I saw. And they taught me the work they did, and gave me good +food and a place to sleep. + +"And day after day we went over the sea, and each day the head man drew +the sun down out of the sky and made it tell where we were. And when the +waves were kind, we hunted the fur seal and I marvelled much, for always +did they fling the meat and the fat away and save only the skin." + +Opee-Kwan's mouth was twitching violently, and he was about to make +denunciation of such waste when Koogah kicked him to be still. + +"After a weary time, when the sun was gone and the bite of the frost +come into the air, the head man pointed the nose of the schooner south. +South and east we traveled for days upon days, with never the land in +sight, and we were near to the village from which hailed the men----" + +"How did they know they were near?" Opee-Kwan, unable to contain himself +longer, demanded. "There was no land to see." + +Nam-Bok glowered on him wrathfully. "Did I not say the head man brought +the sun down out of the sky?" + +Koogah interposed, and Nam-Bok went on. "As I say, when we were near to +that village a great storm blew up, and in the night we were helpless +and knew not where we were----" + +"Thou hast just said the head man knew----" + +"Oh, peace, Opee-Kwan. Thou art a fool and cannot understand. As I say, +we were helpless in the night, when I heard, above the roar of the +storm, the sound of the sea on the beach. And next we struck with a +mighty crash and I was in the water, swimming. It was a rock-bound +coast, with one patch of beach in many miles, and the law was that I +should dig my hands into the sand and draw myself clear of the surf. The +other men must have pounded against the rocks, for none of them came +ashore but the head man, and him I knew only by the ring on his finger. + +"When day came, there being nothing of the schooner, I turned my face to +the land and journeyed into it that I might get food and look upon the +faces of the people. And when I came to a house I was taken in and given +to eat, for I had learned their speech, and the white men are ever +kindly. And it was a house bigger than all the houses built by us and +our fathers before us." + +"It was a mighty house," Koogah said, masking his unbelief with wonder. + +"And many trees went into the making of such a house," Opee-Kwan added, +taking the cue. + +"That is nothing." Nam-Bok shrugged his shoulders in belittling fashion. +"As our houses are to that house, so that house was to the houses I was +yet to see." + +"And they are not big men?" + +"Nay; mere men like you and me," Nam-Bok answered. "I had cut a stick +that I might walk in comfort, and remembering that I was to bring report +to you, my brothers, I cut a notch in the stick for each person who +lived in that house. And I stayed there many days, and worked, for which +they gave me _money_--a thing of which you know nothing, but which is +very good. + +"And one day I departed from that place to go farther into the land. And +as I walked I met many people, and I cut smaller notches in the stick, +that there might be room for all. Then I came upon a strange thing. On +the ground before me was a bar of iron, as big in thickness as my arm, +and a long step away was another bar of iron----" + +"Then wert thou a rich man," Opee-Kwan asserted; "for iron be worth more +than anything else in the world. It would have made many knives." + +"Nay, it was not mine." + +"It was a find, and a find be lawful." + +"Not so; the white men had placed it there. And further, these bars were +so long that no man could carry them away--so long that as far as I +could see there was no end to them." + +"Nam-Bok, that is very much iron," Opee-Kwan cautioned. + +"Ay, it was hard to believe with my own eyes upon it; but I could not +gainsay my eyes. And as I looked I heard ..." He turned abruptly upon +the head man. "Opee-Kwan, thou hast heard the sea-lion bellow in his +anger. Make it plain in thy mind of as many sea-lions as there be waves +to the sea, and make it plain that all these sea-lions be made into one +sea-lion, and as that one sea-lion would bellow so bellowed the thing I +heard." + +The fisherfolk cried aloud in astonishment, and Opee-Kwan's jaw lowered +and remained lowered. + +"And in the distance I saw a monster like unto a thousand whales. It was +one-eyed, and vomited smoke, and it snorted with exceeding loudness. I +was afraid and ran with shaking legs along the path between the bars. +But it came with speed of the wind, this monster, and I leaped the iron +bars with its breath hot on my face ..." + +Opee-Kwan gained control of his jaw again. "And--and then, O Nam-Bok?" + +"Then it came by on the bars, and harmed me not; and when my legs could +hold me up again it was gone from sight. And it is a very common thing +in that country. Even the women and children are not afraid. Men make +them to do work, these monsters." + +"As we make our dogs do work?" Koogah asked, with sceptic twinkle in his +eye. + +"Ay, as we make our dogs do work." + +"And how do they breed these--these things?" Opee-Kwan questioned. + +"They breed not at all. Men fashion them cunningly of iron, and feed +them with stone, and give them water to drink. The stone becomes fire, +and the water becomes steam, and the steam of the water is the breath of +their nostrils, and--" + +"There, there, O Nam-Bok," Opee-Kwan interrupted. "Tell us of other +wonders. We grow tired of this which we may not understand." + +"You do not understand?" Nam-Bok asked despairingly. + +"Nay, we do not understand," the men and women wailed back. "We cannot +understand." + +Nam-Bok thought of a combined harvester, and of the machines wherein +visions of living men were to be seen, and of the machines from which +came the voices of men, and he knew his people could never understand. + +"Dare I say I rode this iron monster through the land?" he asked +bitterly. + +Opee-Kwan threw up his hands, palms outward, in open incredulity. "Say +on; say anything. We listen." + +"Then did I ride the iron monster, for which I gave money--" + +"Thou saidst it was fed with stone." + +"And likewise, thou fool, I said money was a thing of which you know +nothing. As I say, I rode the monster through the land, and through +many villages, until I came to a big village on a salt arm of the sea. +And the houses shoved their roofs among the stars in the sky, and the +clouds drifted by them, and everywhere was much smoke. And the roar of +that village was like the roar of the sea in storm, and the people were +so many that I flung away my stick and no longer remembered the notches +upon it." + +"Hadst thou made small notches," Koogah reproved, "thou mightst have +brought report." + +Nam-Bok whirled upon him in anger. "Had I made small notches! Listen, +Koogah, thou scratcher of bone! If I had made small notches neither the +stick, nor twenty sticks, could have borne them--nay, not all the +driftwood of all the beaches between this village and the next. And if +all of you, the women and children as well, were twenty times as many, +and if you had twenty hands each, and in each hand a stick and a knife, +still the notches could not be cut for the people I saw, so many were +they and so fast did they come and go." + +"There cannot be so many people in all the world," Opee-Kwan objected, +for he was stunned and his mind could not grasp such magnitude of +numbers. + +"What dost thou know of all the world and how large it is?" Nam-Bok +demanded. + +"But there cannot be so many people in one place." + +"Who art thou to say what can be and what cannot be?" + +"It stands to reason there cannot be so many people in one place. Their +canoes would clutter the sea till there was no room. And they could +empty the sea each day of its fish, and they would not all be fed." + +"So it would seem," Nam-Bok made final answer; "yet it was so. With my +own eyes I saw, and flung my stick away." He yawned heavily and rose to +his feet. "I have paddled far. The day has been long, and I am tired. +Now I will sleep, and to-morrow we will have further talk upon the +things I have seen." + +Bask-Wah-Wan, hobbling fearfully in advance, proud indeed, yet awed by +her wonderful son, led him to her _igloo_ and stowed him away among the +greasy, ill-smelling furs. But the men lingered by the fire, and a +council was held wherein was there much whispering and low-voiced +discussion. + +An hour passed, and a second, and Nam-Bok slept, and the talk went on. +The evening sun dipped toward the northwest, and at eleven at night was +nearly due north. Then it was that the head man and the bone-scratcher +separated themselves from the council and aroused Nam-Bok. He blinked up +into their faces and turned on his side to sleep again. Opee-Kwan +gripped him by the arm and kindly but firmly shook his senses back into +him. + +"Come, Nam-Bok, arise!" he commanded. "It be time." + +"Another feast!" Nam-Bok cried. "Nay, I am not hungry. Go on with the +eating and let me sleep." + +"Time to be gone!" Koogah thundered. + +But Opee-Kwan spoke more softly. "Thou wast bidarka-mate with me when we +were boys," he said. "Together we first chased the seal and drew the +salmon from the traps. And thou didst drag me back to life, Nam-Bok, +when the sea closed over me and I was sucked down to the black rocks. +Together we hungered and bore the chill of the frost, and together we +crawled beneath the one fur and lay close to each other. And because of +these things, and the kindness in which I stood to thee, it grieves me +sore that thou shouldst return such a remarkable liar. We cannot +understand, and our heads be dizzy with the things thou hast spoken. It +is not good, and there has been much talk in the council. Wherefore we +send thee away, that our heads may remain clear and strong and be not +troubled by the unaccountable things." + +"These things thou speakest of be shadows," Koogah took up the strain. +"From the shadow-world thou hast brought them, and to the shadow-world +thou must return them. Thy bidarka be ready, and the tribespeople wait. +They may not sleep until thou art gone." + +Nam-Bok was perplexed, but hearkened to the voice of the head man. + +"If thou art Nam-Bok," Opee-Kwan was saying, "thou art a fearful and +most wonderful liar; if thou art the shadow of Nam-Bok, then thou +speakest of shadows, concerning which it is not good that living men +have knowledge. This great village thou hast spoken of we deem the +village of shadows. Therein flutter the souls of the dead; for the dead +be many and the living few. The dead do not come back. Never have the +dead come back--save thou with thy wonder-tales. It is not meet that the +dead come back, and should we permit it, great trouble may be our +portion." + +Nam-Bok knew his people well and was aware that the voice of the council +was supreme. So he allowed himself to be led down to the water's edge, +where he was put aboard his bidarka and a paddle thrust into his hand. A +stray wildfowl honked somewhere to seaward, and the surf broke limply +and hollowly on the sand. A dim twilight brooded over land and water, +and in the north the sun smouldered, vague and troubled, and draped +about with blood-red mists. The gulls were flying low. The off-shore +wind blew keen and chill, and the black-massed clouds behind it gave +promise of bitter weather. + +"Out of the sea thou earnest," Opee-Kwan chanted oracularly, "and back +into the sea thou goest. Thus is balance achieved and all things brought +to law." + +Bask-Wah-Wan limped to the froth-mark and cried, "I bless thee, +Nam-Bok, for that thou remembered me." + +But Koogah, shoving Nam-Bok clear or the beach, tore the shawl from her +shoulders and flung it into the bidarka. + +"It is cold in the long nights," she wailed; "and the frost is prone to +nip old bones." + +"The thing is a shadow," the bone-scratcher answered, "and shadows +cannot keep thee warm." + +Nam-Bok stood up that his voice might carry. "O Bask-Wah-Wan, mother +that bore me!" he called. "Listen to the words of Nam-Bok, thy son. +There be room in his bidarka for two, and he would that thou earnest +with him. For his journey is to where there are fish and oil in plenty. +There the frost comes not, and life is easy, and the things of iron do +the work of men. Wilt thou come, O Bask-Wah-Wan?" + +She debated a moment, while the bidarka drifted swiftly from her, then +raised her voice to a quavering treble. "I am old, Nam-Bok, and soon I +shall pass down among the shadows. But I have no wish to go before my +time. I am old, Nam-Bok, and I am afraid." + +A shaft of light shot across the dim-lit sea and wrapped boat and man +in a splendor of red and gold. Then a hush fell upon the fisherfolk, and +only was heard the moan of the off-shore wind and the cries of the gulls +flying low in the air. + +[Illustration] + + + + +YELLOW HANDKERCHIEF + + +"I'm not wanting to dictate to you, lad," Charley said, "but I'm very +much against your making a last raid. You've gone safely through rough +times with rough men, and it would be a shame to have something happen +to you at the very end." + +"But how can I get out of making a last raid?" I demanded, with the +cocksureness of youth. "There always has to be a last, you know, to +anything." + +Charley crossed his legs, leaned back, and considered the problem. "Very +true. But why not call the capture of Demetrios Contos the last? You're +back from it safe and sound and hearty, for all your good wetting, +and--and----" His voice broke and he could not speak for a moment. "And +I could never forgive myself if anything happened to you now." + +I laughed at Charley's fears while I gave in to the claims of his +affection, and agreed to consider the last raid already performed. We +had been together for two years, and now I was leaving the fish patrol +in order to go back and finish my education. I had earned and saved +money to put me through three years at the high school, and though the +beginning of the term was several months away, I intended doing a lot of +studying for the entrance examinations. + +My belongings were packed snugly in a sea-chest, and I was all ready to +buy my ticket and ride down on the train to Oakland, when Neil +Partington arrived in Benicia. The _Reindeer_ was needed immediately for +work far down on the Lower Bay, and Neil said he intended to run +straight for Oakland. As that was his home and as I was to live with his +family while going to school, he saw no reason, he said, why I should +not put my chest aboard and come along. + +So the chest went aboard, and in the middle of the afternoon we hoisted +the _Reindeer's_ big mainsail and cast off. It was tantalizing fall +weather. The sea-breeze, which had blown steadily all summer, was gone, +and in its place were capricious winds and murky skies which made the +time of arriving anywhere extremely problematical. We started on the +first of the ebb, and as we slipped down the Carquinez Straits, I looked +my last for some time upon Benicia and the bight at Turner's Shipyard, +where we had besieged the _Lancashire Queen,_ and had captured Big Alec, +the King of the Greeks. And at the mouth of the Straits I looked with +not a little interest upon the spot where a few days before I should +have drowned but for the good that was in the nature of Demetrios +Contos. + +A great wall of fog advanced across San Pablo Bay to meet us, and in a +few minutes the _Reindeer_ was running blindly through the damp +obscurity. Charley, who was steering, seemed to have an instinct for +that kind of work. How he did it, he himself confessed that he did not +know; but he had a way of calculating winds, currents, distance, time, +drift, and sailing speed that was truly marvellous. + +"It looks as though it were lifting," Neil Partington said, a couple of +hours after we had entered the fog. "Where do you say we are, Charley?" + +Charley looked at his watch. "Six o'clock, and three hours more of +ebb," he remarked casually. + +"But where do you say we are!" Neil insisted. + +Charley pondered a moment, and then answered, "The tide has edged us +over a bit out of our course, but if the fog lifts right now, as it is +going to lift, you'll find we're not more than a thousand miles off +McNear's Landing." + +"You might be a little more definite by a few miles, anyway," Neil +grumbled, showing by his tone that he disagreed. + +"All right, then," Charley said, conclusively, "not less than a quarter +of a mile, nor more than a half." + +The wind freshened with a couple of little puffs, and the fog thinned +perceptibly. + +"McNear's is right off there," Charley said, pointing directly into the +fog on our weather beam. + +The three of us were peering intently in that direction, when the +_Reindeer_ struck with a dull crash and came to a standstill. We ran +forward, and found her bowsprit entangled in the tanned rigging of a +short, chunky mast. She had collided, head on, with a Chinese junk +lying at anchor. + +At the moment we arrived forward, five Chinese, like so many bees, came +swarming out of the little 'tween-decks cabin, the sleep still in their +eyes. + +Leading them came a big, muscular man, conspicuous for his pock-marked +face and the yellow silk handkerchief swathed about his head. It was +Yellow Handkerchief, the Chinaman whom we had arrested for illegal +shrimp-fishing the year before, and who, at that time, had nearly sunk +the _Reindeer_, as he had nearly sunk it now by violating the rules of +navigation. + +"What d'ye mean, you yellow-faced heathen, lying here in a fairway +without a horn a-going?" Charley cried hotly. + +"Mean?" Neil calmly answered. "Just take a look--that's what he means." + +Our eyes followed the direction indicated by Neil's finger, and we saw +the open amidships of the junk, half filled, as we found on closer +examination, with fresh-caught shrimps. Mingled with the shrimps were +myriads of small fish, from a quarter of an inch upward in size. Yellow +Handkerchief had lifted the trap-net at high-water slack, and, taking +advantage of the concealment offered by the fog, had boldly been lying +by, waiting to lift the net again at low-water slack. + +"Well," Neil hummed and hawed, "in all my varied and extensive +experience as a fish patrolman, I must say this is the easiest capture I +ever made. What'll we do with them, Charley?" + +"Tow the junk into San Rafael, of course," came the answer. Charley +turned to me. "You stand by the junk, lad, and I'll pass you a towing +line. If the wind doesn't fail us, we'll make the creek before the tide +gets too low, sleep at San Rafael, and arrive in Oakland to-morrow by +midday." + +So saying, Charley and Neil returned to the _Reindeer_ and got under +way, the junk towing astern. I went aft and took charge of the prize, +steering by means of an antiquated tiller and a rudder with large, +diamond-shaped holes, through which the water rushed back and forth. + +By now the last of the fog had vanished, and Charley's estimate of our +position was confirmed by the sight of McNear's Landing a short +half-mile away, following: along the west shore, we rounded Point Pedro +in plain view of the Chinese shrimp villages, and a great to-do was +raised when they saw one of their junks towing behind the familiar fish +patrol sloop. + +The wind, coming off the land, was rather puffy and uncertain, and it +would have been more to our advantage had it been stronger. San Rafael +Creek, up which we had to go to reach the town and turn over our +prisoners to the authorities, ran through wide-stretching marshes, and +was difficult to navigate on a falling tide, while at low tide it was +impossible to navigate at all. So, with the tide already half-ebbed, it +was necessary for us to make time. This the heavy junk prevented, +lumbering along behind and holding the _Reindeer_ back by just so much +dead weight. + +"Tell those coolies to get up that sail," Charley finally called to me. +"We don't want to hang up on the mud flats for the rest of the night." + +I repeated the order to Yellow Handkerchief, who mumbled it huskily to +his men. He was suffering from a bad cold, which doubled him up in +convulsive coughing spells and made his eyes heavy and bloodshot. This +made him more evil-looking than ever, and when he glared viciously at +me I remembered with a shiver the close shave I had had with him at the +time of his previous arrest. + +His crew sullenly tailed on to the halyards, and the strange, outlandish +sail, lateen in rig and dyed a warm brown, rose in the air. We were +sailing on the wind, and when Yellow Handkerchief flattened down the +sheet the junk forged ahead and the tow-line went slack. Fast as the +_Reindeer_ could sail, the junk outsailed her; and to avoid running her +down I hauled a little closer on the wind. But the junk likewise +outpointed, and in a couple of minutes I was abreast of the _Reindeer_ +and to windward. The tow-line had now tautened, at right angles to the +two boats, and the predicament was laughable. + +"Cast off!" I shouted. + +Charley hesitated. + +"It's all right," I added. "Nothing can happen. We'll make the creek on +this tack, and you'll be right behind me all the way up to San Rafael." + +At this Charley cast off, and Yellow Handkerchief sent one of his men +forward to haul in the line. In the gathering darkness I could just +make out the mouth of San Rafael Creek, and by the time we entered it I +could barely see its banks. The _Reindeer_ was fully five minutes +astern, and we continued to leave her astern as we beat up the narrow, +winding channel. With Charley behind us, it seemed I had little to fear +from my five prisoners; but the darkness prevented my keeping a sharp +eye on them, so I transferred my revolver from my trousers pocket to the +side pocket of my coat, where I could more quickly put my hand on it. + +Yellow Handkerchief was the one I feared, and that he knew it and made +use of it, subsequent events will show. He was sitting a few feet away +from me, on what then happened to be the weather side of the junk. I +could scarcely see the outlines of his form, but I soon became convinced +that he was slowly, very slowly, edging closer to me. I watched him +carefully. Steering with my left hand, I slipped my right into my pocket +and got hold of the revolver. + +I saw him shift along for a couple of inches, and I was just about to +order him back--the words were trembling on the tip of my tongue--when +I was struck with great force by a heavy figure that had leaped through +the air upon me from the lee side. It was one of the crew. He pinioned +my right arm so that I could not withdraw my hand from my pocket, and at +the same time clapped his other hand over my mouth. Of course, I could +have struggled away from him and freed my hand or gotten my mouth clear +so that I might cry an alarm, but in a trice Yellow Handkerchief was on +top of me. + +I struggled around to no purpose in the bottom of the junk, while my +legs and arms were tied and my mouth securely bound in what I afterward +found to be a cotton shirt. Then I was left lying in the bottom. Yellow +Handkerchief took the tiller, issuing his orders in whispers; and from +our position at the time, and from the alteration of the sail, which I +could dimly make out above me as a blot against the stars, I knew the +junk was being headed into the mouth of a small slough which emptied at +that point into San Rafael Creek. + +In a couple of minutes we ran softly alongside the bank, and the sail +was silently lowered. The Chinese kept very quiet. Yellow Handkerchief +sat down in the bottom alongside of me, and I could feel him straining +to repress his raspy, hacking cough. Possibly seven or eight minutes +later I heard Charley's voice as the _Reindeer_ went past the mouth of +the slough. + +"I can't tell you how relieved I am," I could plainly hear him saying to +Neil, "that the lad has finished with the fish patrol without accident." + +Here Neil said something which I could not catch, and then Charley's +voice went on: + +"The youngster takes naturally to the water, and if when he finishes +high school he takes a course in navigation and goes deep sea, I see no +reason why he shouldn't rise to be master of the finest and biggest ship +afloat." + +It was all very flattering to me, but lying there, bound and gagged by +my own prisoners, with the voices growing faint and fainter as the +_Reindeer_ slipped on through the darkness toward San Rafael, I must say +I was not in quite the proper situation to enjoy my smiling future. With +the _Reindeer_ went my last hope. What was to happen next I could not +imagine, for the Chinese were a different race from mine and from what +I knew I was confident that fair play was no part of their make-up. + +After waiting a few minutes longer, the crew hoisted the lateen sail, +and Yellow Handkerchief steered down toward the mouth of San Rafael +Creek. The tide was getting lower, and he had difficulty in escaping the +mud-banks. I was hoping he would run aground, but he succeeded in making +the bay without accident. + +As we passed out of the creek a noisy discussion arose, which I knew +related to me. Yellow Handkerchief was vehement, but the other four as +vehemently opposed him. It was very evident that he advocated doing away +with me and that they were afraid of the consequences. I was familiar +enough with the Chinese character to know that fear alone restrained +them. But what plan they offered in place of Yellow Handkerchief's +murderous one, I could not make out. + +My feelings, as my fate hung in the balance, may be guessed. The +discussion developed into a quarrel, in the midst of which Yellow +Handkerchief unshipped the heavy tiller and sprang toward me. But his +four companions threw themselves between, and a clumsy struggle took +place for possession of the tiller. In the end Yellow Handkerchief was +overcome, and sullenly returned to the steering, while they soundly +berated him for his rashness. + +Not long after, the sail was run down and the junk slowly urged forward +by means of the sweeps. I felt it ground gently on the soft mud. Three +of the Chinese--they all wore long sea-boots--got over the side, and the +other two passed me across the rail. With Yellow Handkerchief at my legs +and his two companions at my shoulders, they began to flounder along +through the mud. After some time their feet struck firmer footing, and I +knew they were carrying me up some beach. The location of this beach was +not doubtful in my mind. It could be none other than one of the Marin +Islands, a group of rocky islets which lay off the Marin County shore. + +When they reached the firm sand that marked high tide, I was dropped, +and none too gently. Yellow Handkerchief kicked me spitefully in the +ribs, and then the trio floundered back through the mud to the junk. A +moment later I heard the sail go up and slat in the wind as they drew +in the sheet. Then silence fell, and I was left to my own devices for +getting free. + +I remembered having seen tricksters writhe and squirm out of ropes with +which they were bound, but though I writhed and squirmed like a good +fellow, the knots remained as hard as ever, and there was no appreciable +slack. In the course of my squirming, however, I rolled over upon a heap +of clam-shells--the remains, evidently, of some yachting party's +clam-bake. This gave me an idea. My hands were tied behind my back; and, +clutching a shell in them, I rolled over and over, up the beach, till I +came to the rocks I knew to be there. + +Rolling around and searching, I finally discovered a narrow crevice, +into which I shoved the shell. The edge of it was sharp, and across the +sharp edge I proceeded to saw the rope that bound my wrists. The edge of +the shell was also brittle, and I broke it by bearing too heavily upon +it. Then I rolled back to the heap and returned with as many shells as I +could carry in both hands. I broke many shells, cut my hands a number of +times, and got cramps in my legs from my strained position and my +exertions. + +While I was suffering from the cramps, and resting, I heard a familiar +halloo drift across the water. It was Charley, searching for me. The gag +in my mouth prevented me from replying, and I could only lie there, +helplessly fuming, while he rowed past the island and his voice slowly +lost itself in the distance. + +I returned to the sawing process, and at the end of half an hour +succeeded in severing the rope. The rest was easy. My hands once free, +it was a matter of minutes to loosen my legs and to take the gag out of +my mouth. I ran around the island to make sure it _was_ an island and +not by any chance a portion of the mainland. An island it certainly was, +one of the Marin group, fringed with a sandy beach and surrounded by a +sea of mud. Nothing remained but to wait till daylight and to keep warm; +for it was a cold, raw night for California, with just enough wind to +pierce the skin and cause one to shiver. + +To keep up the circulation, I ran around the island a dozen times or so, +and clambered across its rocky backbone as many times more--all of which +was of greater service to me, as I afterward discovered, than merely to +warm me up. In the midst of this exercise I wondered if I had lost +anything out of my pockets while rolling over and over in the sand. A +search showed the absence of my revolver and pocket-knife. The first +Yellow Handkerchief had taken; but the knife had been lost in the sand. + +I was hunting for it when the sound of rowlocks came to my ears. At +first, of course, I thought of Charley; but on second thought I knew +Charley would be calling out as he rowed along. A sudden premonition of +danger seized me. The Marin Islands are lonely places; chance visitors +in the dead of night are hardly to be expected. What if it were Yellow +Handkerchief? The sound made by the rowlocks grew more distinct. I +crouched in the sand and listened intently. The boat, which I judged a +small skiff from the quick stroke of the oars, was landing in the mud +about fifty yards up the beach. I heard a raspy, hacking cough, and my +heart stood still. It was Yellow Handkerchief. Not to be robbed of his +revenge by his more cautious companions, he had stolen away from the +village and come back alone. + +I did some swift thinking. I was unarmed and helpless on a tiny islet, +and a yellow barbarian, whom I had reason to fear, was coming after me. +Any place was safer than the island, and I turned instinctively to the +water, or rather to the mud. As he began to flounder ashore through the +mud, I started to flounder out into it, going over the same course which +the Chinese had taken in landing me and in returning to the junk. + +Yellow Handkerchief, believing me to be lying tightly bound, exercised +no care, but came ashore noisily. This helped me, for, under the shield +of his noise and making no more myself than necessary, I managed to +cover fifty feet by the time he had made the beach. Here I lay down in +the mud. It was cold and clammy, and made me shiver, but I did not care +to stand up and run the risk of being discovered by his sharp eyes. + +He walked down the beach straight to where he had left me lying, and I +had a fleeting feeling of regret at not being able to see his surprise +when he did not find me. But it was a very fleeting regret, for my teeth +were chattering with the cold. + +What his movements were after that I had largely to deduce from the +facts of the situation, for I could scarcely see him in the dim +starlight. But I was sure that the first thing he did was to make the +circuit of the beach to learn if landings had been made by other boats. +This he would have known at once by the tracks through the mud. + +Convinced that no boat had removed me from the island, he next started +to find out what had become of me. Beginning at the pile of clam-shells, +he lighted matches to trace my tracks in the sand. At such times I could +see his villainous face plainly, and, when the sulphur from the matches +irritated his lungs, between the raspy cough that followed and the +clammy mud in which I was lying, I confess I shivered harder than ever. + +The multiplicity of my footprints puzzled him. Then the idea that I +might be out in the mud must have struck him, for he waded out a few +yards in my direction, and, stooping, with his eyes searched the dim +surface long and carefully. He could not have been more than fifteen +feet from me, and had he lighted a match he would surely have discovered +me. + +He returned to the beach and clambered about over the rocky backbone, +again hunting for me with lighted matches. The closeness of the shave +impelled me to further flight. Not daring to wade upright, on account of +the noise made by floundering and by the suck of the mud, I remained +lying down in the mud and propelled myself over its surface by means of +my hands. Still keeping the trail made by the Chinese in going from and +to the junk, I held on until I reached the water. Into this I waded to a +depth of three feet, and then I turned off to the side on a line +parallel with the beach. + +The thought came to me of going toward Yellow Handkerchief's skiff and +escaping in it, but at that very moment he returned to the beach, and, +as though fearing the very thing I had in mind, he slushed out through +the mud to assure himself that the skiff was safe. This turned me in the +opposite direction. Half swimming, half wading, with my head just out of +water and avoiding splashing, I succeeded in putting about a hundred +feet between myself and the spot where the Chinese had begun to wade +ashore from the junk. I drew myself out on the mud and remained lying +flat. + +Again Yellow Handkerchief returned to the beach and made a search of +the island, and again he returned to the heap of clam-shells. I knew +what was running in his mind as well as he did himself. No one could +leave or land without making tracks in the mud. The only tracks to be +seen were those leading from his skiff and from where the junk had been. +I was not on the island. I must have left it by one or the other of +those two tracks. He had just been over the one to his skiff, and was +certain I had not left that way. Therefore I could have left the island +only by going over the tracks of the junk landing. This he proceeded to +verify by wading out over them himself, lighting matches as he came +along. + +When he arrived at the point where I had first lain, I knew, by the +matches he burned and the time he took, that he had discovered the marks +left by my body. These he followed straight to the water and into it, +but in three feet of water he could no longer see them. On the other +hand, as the tide was still falling, he could easily make out the +impression made by the junk's bow, and could have likewise made out the +impression of any other boat if it had landed at that particular spot. +But there was no such mark; and I knew that he was absolutely convinced +that I was hiding somewhere in the mud. + +But to hunt on a dark night for a boy in a sea of mud would be like +hunting for a needle in a haystack, and he did not attempt it. Instead +he went back to the beach and prowled around for some time. I was hoping +he would give me up and go, for by this time I was suffering severely +from the cold. At last he waded out to his skiff and rowed away. What if +this departure of Yellow Handkerchief's were a sham? What if he had done +it merely to entice me ashore? + +The more I thought of it the more certain I became that he had made a +little too much noise with his oars as he rowed away. So I remained, +lying in the mud and shivering. I shivered till the muscles of the small +of my back ached and pained me as badly as the cold, and I had need of +all my self-control to force myself to remain in my miserable situation. + +It was well that I did, however, for, possibly an hour later, I thought +I could make out something moving on the beach. I watched intently, but +my ears were rewarded first, by a raspy cough I knew only too well. +Yellow Handkerchief had sneaked back, landed on the other side of the +island, and crept around to surprise me if I had returned. + +After that, though hours passed without sign of him, I was afraid to +return to the island at all. On the other hand, I was almost equally +afraid that I should die of the exposure I was undergoing. I had never +dreamed one could suffer so. I grew so cold and numb, finally, that I +ceased to shiver. But my muscles and bones began to ache in a way that +was agony. The tide had long since begun to rise and, foot by foot, it +drove me in toward the beach. High water came at three o'clock, and at +three o'clock I drew myself up on the beach, more dead than alive, and +too helpless to have offered any resistance had Yellow Handkerchief +swooped down upon me. + +But no Yellow Handkerchief appeared. He had given me up and gone back to +Point Pedro. Nevertheless, I was in a deplorable, not to say a +dangerous, condition. I could not stand upon my feet, much less walk. My +clammy, muddy garments clung to me like sheets of ice. I thought I +should never get them off. So numb and lifeless were my fingers, and so +weak was I that it seemed to take an hour to get off my shoes. I had not +the strength to break the porpoise-hide laces, and the knots defied me. +I repeatedly beat my hands upon the rocks to get some sort of life into +them. Sometimes I felt sure I was going to die. + +But in the end,--after several centuries, it seemed to me,--I got off +the last of my clothes. The water was now close at hand, and I crawled +painfully into it and washed the mud from my naked body. Still, I could +not get on my feet and walk and I was afraid to lie still. Nothing +remained but to crawl weakly, like a snail, and at the cost of constant +pain, up and down the sand. I kept this up as long as possible, but as +the east paled with the coming of dawn I began to succumb. The sky grew +rosy-red, and the golden rim of the sun, showing above the horizon, +found me lying helpless and motionless among the clam-shells. + +As in a dream, I saw the familiar mainsail of the _Reindeer_ as she +slipped out of San Rafael Creek on a light puff of morning air. This +dream was very much broken. There are intervals I can never recollect on +looking back over it. Three things, however, I distinctly remember: the +first sight of the _Reindeer's_ mainsail; her lying at anchor a few +hundred feet away and a small boat leaving her side; and the cabin stove +roaring red-hot, myself swathed all over with blankets, except on the +chest and shoulders, which Charley was pounding and mauling +unmercifully, and my mouth and throat burning with the coffee which Neil +Partington was pouring down a trifle too hot. + +But burn or no burn, I tell you it felt good. By the time we arrived in +Oakland I was as limber and strong as ever,--though Charley and Neil +Partington were afraid I was going to have pneumonia, and Mrs. +Partington, for my first six months of school, kept an anxious eye upon +me to discover the first symptoms of consumption. + +Time flies. It seems but yesterday that I was a lad of sixteen on the +fish patrol. Yet I know that I arrived this very morning from China, +with a quick passage to my credit, and master of the barkentine +_Harvester_. And I know that to-morrow morning I shall run over to +Oakland to see Neil Partington and his wife and family, and later on up +to Benicia to see Charley Le Grant and talk over old times. No; I shall +not go to Benicia, now that I think about it. I expect to be a highly +interested party to a wedding, shortly to take place. Her name is Alice +Partington, and, since Charley has promised to be best man, he will have +to come down to Oakland instead. + +[Illustration] + + + + +MAKE WESTING + +_Whatever you do, make westing! make westing!_ +--Sailing directions for Cape Horn. + + +For seven weeks the _Mary Rogers_ had been between 50° south in the +Atlantic and 50° south in the Pacific, which meant that for seven weeks +she had been struggling to round Cape Horn. For seven weeks she had been +either in dirt, or close to dirt, save once, and then, following upon +six days of excessive dirt, which she had ridden out under the shelter +of the redoubtable Terra Del Fuego coast, she had almost gone ashore +during a heavy swell in the dead calm that had suddenly fallen. For +seven weeks she had wrestled with the Cape Horn gray-beards, and in +return been buffeted and smashed by them. She was a wooden ship, and her +ceaseless straining had opened her seams, so that twice a day the watch +took its turn at the pumps. + +The _Mary Rogers_ was strained, the crew was strained, and big Dan +Cullen, master, was likewise strained. Perhaps he was strained most of +all, for upon him rested the responsibility of that titanic struggle. He +slept most of the time in his clothes, though he rarely slept. He +haunted the deck at night, a great, burly, robust ghost, black with the +sunburn of thirty years of sea and hairy as an orang-utan. He, in turn, +was haunted by one thought of action, a sailing direction for the Horn: +_Whatever you do, make westing! make westing!_ It was an obsession. He +thought of nothing else, except, at times, to blaspheme God for sending +such bitter weather. + +_Make westing!_ He hugged the Horn, and a dozen times lay hove to with +the iron Cape bearing east-by-north, or north-north-east, a score of +miles away. And each time the eternal west wind smote him back and he +made easting. He fought gale after gale, south to 64°, inside the +antarctic drift-ice, and pledged his immortal soul to the Powers of +Darkness for a bit of westing, for a slant to take him around. And he +made easting. In despair, he had tried to make the passage through the +Straits of Le Maire. Halfway through, the wind hauled to the north 'ard +of northwest, the glass dropped to 28.88, and he turned and ran before a +gale of cyclonic fury, missing, by a hair's breadth, piling up the _Mary +Rogers_ on the black-toothed rocks. Twice he had made west to the Diego +Ramirez Rocks, one of the times saved between two snow-squalls by +sighting the gravestones of ships a quarter of a mile dead ahead. + +Blow! Captain Dan Cullen instanced all his thirty years at sea to prove +that never had it blown so before. The _Mary Rogers_ was hove to at the +time he gave the evidence, and, to clinch it, inside half an hour the +_Mary Rogers_ was hove down to the hatches. Her new main-topsail and +brand new spencer were blown away like tissue paper; and five sails, +furled and fast under double gaskets, were blown loose and stripped from +the yards. And before morning the _Mary Rogers_ was hove down twice +again, and holes were knocked in her bulwarks to ease her decks from +the weight of ocean that pressed her down. + +On an average of once a week Captain Dan Cullen caught glimpses of the +sun. Once, for ten minutes, the sun shone at midday, and ten minutes +afterward a new gale was piping up, both watches were shortening sail, +and all was buried in the obscurity of a driving snow-squall. For a +fortnight, once, Captain Dan Cullen was without a meridian or a +chronometer sight. Rarely did he know his position within half a degree, +except when in sight of land; for sun and stars remained hidden behind +the sky, and it was so gloomy that even at the best the horizons were +poor for accurate observations. A gray gloom shrouded the world. The +clouds were gray; the great driving seas were leaden gray gloom shrouded +the world. The clouds were gray; the great driving seas were leadening; +even the occasional albatrosses were gray, while the snow-flurries were +not white, but gray, under the sombre pall of the heavens. + +Life on board the _Mary Rogers_ was gray,--gray and gloomy. The faces of +the sailors were blue-gray; they were afflicted with sea-cuts and +sea-boils, and suffered exquisitely. They were shadows of men. For +seven weeks, in the forecastle or on deck, they had not known what it +was to be dry. They had forgotten what it was to sleep out a watch, and +all watches it was, "All hands on deck!" They caught snatches of +agonized sleep, and they slept in their oilskins ready for the +everlasting call. So weak and worn were they that it took both watches +to do the work of one. That was why both watches were on deck so much of +the time. And no shadow of a man could shirk duty. Nothing less than a +broken leg could enable a man to knock off work; and there were two +such, who had been mauled and pulped by the seas that broke aboard. + +One other man who was the shadow of a man was George Dorety. He was the +only passenger on board, a friend of the firm, and he had elected to +make the voyage for his health. But seven weeks of Cape Horn had not +bettered his health. He gasped and panted in his bunk through the long, +heaving nights; and when on deck he was so bundled up for warmth that he +resembled a peripatetic old-clothes shop. At midday, eating at the cabin +table in a gloom so deep that the swinging sea-lamps burned always, he +looked as blue-gray as the sickest, saddest man for'ard. Nor did gazing +across the table at Captain Dan Cullen have any cheering effect upon +him. Captain Cullen chewed and scowled and kept silent. The scowls were +for God, and with every chew he reiterated the sole thought of his +existence, which was _make westing._ He was a big, hairy brute, and the +sight of him was not stimulating to the other's appetite. He looked upon +George Dorety as a Jonah, and told him so, once each meal, savagely +transferring the scowl from God to the passenger and back again. + +Nor did the mate prove a first aid to a languid appetite. Joshua Higgins +by name, a seaman by profession and pull, but a pot-wolloper by +capacity, he was a loose-jointed, sniffling creature, heartless and +selfish and cowardly, without a soul, in fear of his life of Dan Cullen, +and a bully over the sailors, who knew that behind the mate was Captain +Cullen, the lawgiver and compeller, the driver and the destroyer, the +incarnation of a dozen bucko mates. In that wild weather at the southern +end of the earth, Joshua Higgins ceased washing. His grimy face usually +robbed George Dorety of what little appetite he managed to accumulate. +Ordinarily this lavatorial dereliction would have caught Captain +Cullen's eye and vocabulary, but in the present his mind was filled with +making westing, to the exclusion of all other things not contributory +thereto. Whether the mate's face was clean or dirty had no bearing upon +westing. Later on, when 50° south in the Pacific had been reached, +Joshua Higgins would wash his face very abruptly. In the meantime, at +the cabin table, where gray twilight alternated with lamplight while the +lamps were being filled, George Dorety sat between the two men, one a +tiger and the other a hyena, and wondered why God had made them. The +second mate, Matthew Turner, was a true sailor and a man, but George +Dorety did not have the solace of his company, for he ate by himself, +solitary, when they had finished. + +On Saturday morning, July 24, George Dorety awoke to a feeling of life +and headlong movement. On deck he found the _Mary Rogers_ running off +before a howling southeaster. Nothing was set but the lower topsails and +the foresail. It was all she could stand, yet she was making fourteen +knots, as Mr. Turner shouted in Dorety's ear when he came on deck. And +it was all westing. She was going around the Horn at last ... if the +wind held. Mr. Turner looked happy. The end of the struggle was in +sight. But Captain Cullen did not look happy. He scowled at Dorety in +passing. Captain Cullen did not want God to know that he was pleased +with that wind. He had a conception of a malicious God, and believed in +his secret soul that if God knew it was a desirable wind, God would +promptly efface it and send a snorter from the west. So he walked softly +before God, smothering his joy down under scowls and muttered curses, +and, so, fooling God, for God was the only thing in the universe of +which Dan Cullen was afraid. + +All Saturday and Saturday night the _Mary Rogers_ raced her westing. +Persistently she logged her fourteen knots, so that by Sunday morning +she had covered three hundred and fifty miles. If the wind held, she +would make around. If it failed, and the snorter came from anywhere +between southwest and north, back the _Mary Rogers_ would be hurled and +be no better off than she had been seven weeks before. And on Sunday +morning the wind _was_ failing. The big sea was going down and running +smooth. Both watches were on deck setting sail after sail as fast as the +ship could stand it. And now Captain Cullen went around brazenly before +God, smoking a big cigar, smiling jubilantly, as if the failing wind +delighted him, while down underneath he was raging against God for +taking the life out of the blessed wind. _Make westing_! So he would, if +God would only leave him alone. Secretly, he pledged himself anew to the +Powers of Darkness, if they would let him make westing. He pledged +himself so easily because he did not believe in the Powers of Darkness. +He really believed only in God, though he did not know it. And in his +inverted theology God was really the Prince of Darkness. Captain Cullen +was a devil-worshipper, but he called the devil by another name, that +was all. + +At midday, after calling eight bells, Captain Cullen ordered the royals +on. The men went aloft faster than they had gone in weeks. Not alone +were they nimble because of the westing, but a benignant sun was shining +down and limbering their stiff bodies. George Dorety stood aft, near +Captain Cullen, less bundled in clothes than usual, soaking in the +grateful warmth as he watched the scene. Swiftly and abruptly the +incident occurred. There was a cry from the foreroyal-yard of "Man +overboard!" Somebody threw a life buoy over the side, and at the same +instant the second mate's voice came aft, ringing and peremptory:-- + +"Hard down your helm!" + +The man at the wheel never moved a spoke. He knew better, for Captain +Dan Cullen was standing alongside of him. He wanted to move a spoke, to +move all the spokes, to grind the wheel down, hard down, for his comrade +drowning in the sea. He glanced at Captain Dan Cullen, and Captain Dan +Cullen gave no sign. + +"Down! Hard down!" the second mate roared, as he sprang aft. + +But he ceased springing and commanding, and stood still, when he saw Dan +Cullen by the wheel. And big Dan Cullen puffed at his cigar and said +nothing. Astern, and going astern fast, could be seen the sailor. He had +caught the life buoy and was clinging to it. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. +The men aloft clung to the royal yards and watched with terror stricken +faces. And the _Mary Rogers_ raced on, making her westing. A long, +silent minute passed. + +"Who was it!" Captain Cullen demanded. + +"Mops, sir," eagerly answered the sailor at the wheel. + +Mops topped a wave astern and disappeared temporarily in the trough. It +was a large wave, but it was no graybeard. A small boat could live +easily in such a sea, and in such a sea the _Mary Rogers_ could easily +come to. But she could not come to and make westing at the same time. + +For the first time in all his years, George Dorety was seeing a real +drama of life and death--a sordid little drama in which the scales +balanced an unknown sailor named Mops against a few miles of longitude. +At first he had watched the man astern, but now he watched big Dan +Cullen, hairy and black, vested with power of life and death, smoking a +cigar. + +Captain Dan Cullen smoked another long, silent minute. Then he removed +the cigar from his mouth. He glanced aloft at the spars of the _Mary +Rogers_, and overside at the sea. + +"Sheet home the royals!" he cried. + +Fifteen minutes later they sat at table, in the cabin, with food served +before them. On one side of George Dorety sat Dan Cullen, the tiger, on +the other side, Joshua Higgins, the hyena. Nobody spoke. On deck the men +were sheeting home the skysails. George Dorety could hear their cries, +while a persistent vision haunted him of a man called Mops, alive and +well, clinging to a life buoy miles astern in that lonely ocean. He +glanced at Captain Cullen, and experienced a feeling of nausea, for the +man was eating his food with relish, almost bolting it. + +"Captain Cullen," Dorety said, "you are in command of this ship, and it +is not proper for me to comment now upon what you do. But I wish to say +one thing. There is a hereafter, and yours will be a hot one." + +Captain Cullen did not even scowl. In his voice was regret as he +said:--"It was blowing a living gale. It was impossible to save the +man." + +"He fell from the royal-yard," Dorety cried hotly. "You were setting the +royals at the time. Fifteen minutes afterward you were setting the +skysails." + +"It was a living gale, wasn't it, Mr. Higgins?" Captain Cullen said, +turning to the mate. + +"If you'd brought her to, it'd have taken the sticks out of her," was +the mate's answer. "You did the proper thing, Captain Cullen. The man +hadn't a ghost of a show." + +George Dorety made no answer, and to the meal's end no one spoke. After +that, Dorety had his meals served in his stateroom. Captain Cullen +scowled at him no longer, though no speech was exchanged between them, +while the _Mary Rogers_ sped north toward warmer latitudes. At the end +of the week, Dan Cullen cornered Dorety on deck. + +"What are you going to do when we get to Frisco?" he demanded bluntly. + +"I am going to swear out a warrant for your arrest," Dorety answered +quietly. "I am going to charge you with murder, and I am going to see +you hanged for it." + +"You're almighty sure of yourself," Captain Cullen sneered, turning on +his heel. + +A second week passed, and one morning found George Dorety standing in +the coach-house companionway at the for'ard end of the long poop, taking +his first gaze around the deck. The _Mary Rogers_ was reaching +full-and-by, in a stiff breeze. Every sail was set and drawing, +including the staysails. Captain Cullen strolled for'ard along the poop. +He strolled carelessly, glancing at the passenger out of the corner of +his eye. Dorety was looking the other way, standing with head and +shoulders outside the companionway, and only the back of his head was to +be seen. Captain Cullen, with swift eye, embraced the mainstaysail-block +and the head and estimated the distance. He glanced about him. Nobody +was looking. Aft, Joshua Higgins, pacing up and down, had just turned +his back and was going the other way. Captain Cullen bent over suddenly +and cast the staysail-sheet off from its pin. The heavy block hurtled +through the air, smashing Dorety's head like an egg-shell and hurtling +on and back and forth as the staysail whipped and slatted in the wind. +Joshua Higgins turned around to see what had carried away, and met the +full blast of the vilest portion of Captain Cullen's profanity. + +"I made the sheet fast myself," whimpered the mate in the first lull, +"with an extra turn to make sure. I remember it distinctly." + +"Made fast?" the captain snarled back, for the benefit of the watch as +it struggled to capture the flying sail before it tore to ribbons. "You +couldn't make your grandmother fast, you useless scullion. If you made +that sheet fast with an extra turn, why didn't it stay fast? That's what +I want to know. Why didn't it stay fast?" + +The mate whined inarticulately. + +"Oh, shut up!" was the final word of Captain Cullen. + +Half an hour later he was as surprised as any when the body of George +Dorety was found inside the companionway on the floor. In the afternoon, +alone in his room, he doctored up the log. + +"_Ordinary seaman, Karl Brun," he wrote, "lost overboard from +foreroyal-yard in a gale of wind. Was running at the time, and for the +safety of the ship did not dare come up to the wind. Nor could a boat +have lived in the sea that was running_." + +On another page, he wrote:-- + +"_Had often warned Mr. Dorety about the danger he ran because of his +carelessness on deck. I told him, once, that some day he would get his +head knocked off by a block. A carelessly fastened mainstaysail sheet +was the cause of the accident, which was deeply to be regretted because +Mr. Dorety was a favorite with all of us_." + +Captain Dan Cullen read over his literary effort with admiration, +blotted the page, and closed the log. He lighted a cigar and stared +before him. He felt the _Mary Rogers_ lift, and heel, and surge along, +and knew that she was making nine knots. A smile of satisfaction slowly +dawned on his black and hairy face. Well, anyway, he had made his +westing and fooled God. + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE HEATHEN + + +I met him first in a hurricane; and though we had gone through the +hurricane on the same schooner, it was not until the schooner had gone +to pieces under us that I first laid eyes on him. Without doubt I had +seen him with the rest of the kanaka crew on board, but I had not +consciously been aware of his existence, for the _Petite Jeanne_ was +rather overcrowded. In addition to her eight or ten kanaka seamen, her +white captain, mate, and supercargo, and her six cabin passengers, she +sailed from Rangiroa with something like eighty-five deck +passengers--Paumotans and Tahitians, men, women, and children each with +a trade box, to say nothing of sleeping-mats, blankets, and +clothes-bundles. + +The pearling season in the Paumotus was over, and all hands were +returning to Tahiti. The six of us cabin passengers were pearl-buyers. +Two were Americans, one was Ah Choon (the whitest Chinese I have ever +known), one was a German, one was a Polish Jew, and I completed the half +dozen. + +It had been a prosperous season. Not one of us had cause for complaint, +nor one of the eighty-five deck passengers either. All had done well, +and all were looking forward to a rest-off and a good time in Papeete. + +Of course, the _Petite Jeanne_ was overloaded. She was only seventy +tons, and she had no right to carry a tithe of the mob she had on board. +Beneath her hatches she was crammed and jammed with pearl-shell and +copra. Even the trade room was packed full of shell. It was a miracle +that the sailors could work her. There was no moving about the decks. +They simply climbed back and forth along the rails. + +In the night-time they walked upon the sleepers, who carpeted the deck, +I'll swear, two deep. Oh! and there were pigs and chickens on deck, and +sacks of yams, while every conceivable place was festooned with strings +of drinking cocoanuts and bunches of bananas. On both sides, between the +fore and main shrouds, guys had been stretched, just low enough for the +foreboom to swing clear; and from each of these guys at least fifty +bunches of bananas were suspended. + +It promised to be a messy passage, even if we did make it in the two or +three days that would have been required if the southeast trades had +been blowing fresh. But they weren't blowing fresh. After the first five +hours the trade died away in a dozen or so gasping fans. The calm +continued all that night and the next day--one of those glaring, glassy +calms, when the very thought of opening one's eyes to look at it is +sufficient to cause a headache. + +The second day a man died--an Easter Islander, one of the best divers +that season in the lagoon. Smallpox--that is what it was; though how +smallpox could come on board, when there had been no known cases ashore +when we left Rangiroa, is beyond me. There it was, though--smallpox, a +man dead, and three others down on their backs. + +There was nothing to be done. We could not segregate the sick, nor could +we care for them. We were packed like sardines. There was nothing to do +but rot or die--that is, there was nothing to do after the night that +followed the first death. On that night, the mate, the supercargo, the +Polish Jew, and four native divers sneaked away in the large whale-boat. +They were never heard of again. In the morning the captain promptly +scuttled the remaining boats, and there we were. + +That day there were two deaths; the following day three; then it jumped +to eight. It was curious to see how we took it. The natives, for +instance, fell into a condition of dumb, stolid fear. The +captain--Oudouse, his name was, a Frenchman--became very nervous and +voluble. He actually got the twitches. He was a large, fleshy man, +weighing at least two hundred pounds, and he quickly became a faithful +representation of a quivering jelly-mountain of fat. + +The German, the two Americans, and myself bought up all the Scotch +whiskey, and proceeded to stay drunk. The theory was beautiful--namely, +if we kept ourselves soaked in alcohol, every smallpox germ that came +into contact with us would immediately be scorched to a cinder. And the +theory worked, though I must confess that neither Captain Oudouse nor Ah +Choon were attacked by the disease either. The Frenchman did not drink +at all, while Ah Choon restricted himself to one drink daily. + +It was a pretty time. The sun, going into northern declination, was +straight overhead. There was no wind, except for frequent squalls, which +blew fiercely for from five minutes to half an hour, and wound up by +deluging us with rain. After each squall, the awful sun would come out, +drawing clouds of steam from the soaked decks. + +The steam was not nice. It was the vapor of death, freighted with +millions and millions of germs. We always took another drink when we saw +it going up from the dead and dying, and usually we took two or three +more drinks, mixing them exceptionally stiff. Also, we made it a rule to +take an additional several each time they hove the dead over to the +sharks that swarmed about us. + +We had a week of it, and then the whiskey gave out. It is just as well, +or I shouldn't be alive now. It took a sober man to pull through what +followed, as you will see when I mention the little fact that only two +men did pull through. The other man was the heathen--at least, that was +what I heard Captain Oudouse call him at the moment I first became +aware of the heathen's existence. But to come back. + +It was at the end of the week, with the whiskey gone, and the +pearl-buyers sober, that I happened to glance at the barometer that hung +in the cabin companionway. Its normal register in the Paumotus was +29.90, and it was quite customary to see it vacillate between 29.85 and +30.00, or even 30.05; but to see it as I saw it, down to 29.62, was +sufficient to sober the most drunken pearl-buyer that ever incinerated +smallpox microbes in Scotch whiskey. + +I called Captain Oudouse's attention to it, only to be informed that he +had watched it going down for several hours. There was little to do, but +that little he did very well, considering the circumstances. He took off +the light sails, shortened right down to storm canvas, spread +life-lines, and waited for the wind. His mistake lay in what he did +after the wind came. He hove to on the port tack, which was the right +thing to do south of the Equator, if--and there was the rub--_if_ one +were _not_ in the direct path of the hurricane. + +We were in the direct path. I could see that by the steady increase of +the wind and the equally steady fall of the barometer. I wanted him to +turn and run with the wind on the port quarter until the barometer +ceased falling, and then to heave to. We argued till he was reduced to +hysteria, but budge he would not. The worst of it was that I could not +get the rest of the pearl-buyers to back me up. Who was I, anyway, to +know more about the sea and its ways than a properly qualified captain? +was what was in their minds, I knew. + +Of course the sea rose with the wind frightfully; and I shall never +forget the first three seas the _Petite Jeanne_ shipped. She had fallen +off, as vessels do at times when hove to, and the first sea made a clean +breach. The life-lines were only for the strong and well, and little +good were they even for them when the women and children, the bananas +and cocoanuts, the pigs and trade boxes, the sick and the dying, were +swept along in a solid, screeching, groaning mass. + +The second sea filled the _Petite Jeanne's_ decks flush with the rails; +and, as her stern sank down and her bow tossed skyward, all the +miserable dunnage of life and luggage poured aft. It was a human +torrent. They came head-first, feet-first, sidewise, rolling over and +over, twisting, squirming, writhing, and crumpling up. Now and again one +caught a grip on a stanchion or a rope; but the weight of the bodies +behind tore such grips loose. + +One man I noticed fetch up, head on and square on, with the +starboard-bitt. His head cracked like an egg. I saw what was coming, +sprang on top of the cabin, and from there into the mainsail itself. Ah +Choon and one of the Americans tried to follow me, but I was one jump +ahead of them. The American was swept away and over the stern like a +piece of chaff. Ah Choon caught a spoke of the wheel, and swung in +behind it. But a strapping Raratonga vahine (woman)--she must have +weighed two hundred and fifty--brought up against him, and got an arm +around his neck. He clutched the kanaka steersman with his other hand; +and just at that moment the schooner flung down to starboard. + +The rush of bodies and sea that was coming along the port runway between +the cabin and the rail turned abruptly and poured to starboard. Away +they went--vahine, Ah Choon, and steersman: and I swear I saw Ah Choon +grin at me with philosophic resignation as he cleared the rail and went +under. + +The third sea--the biggest of the three--did not do so much damage. By +the time it arrived nearly everybody was in the rigging. On deck perhaps +a dozen gasping, half-drowned, and half-stunned wretches were rolling +about or attempting to crawl into safety. They went by the board, as did +the wreckage of the two remaining boats. The other pearl-buyers and +myself, between seas, managed to get about fifteen women and children +into the cabin, and battened down. Little good it did the poor creatures +in the end. + +Wind? Out of all my experience I could not have believed it possible for +the wind to blow as it did. There is no describing it. How can one +describe a nightmare? It was the same way with that wind. It tore the +clothes off our bodies. I say _tore them off_, and I mean it. I am not +asking you to believe it. I am merely telling something that I saw and +felt. There are times when I do not believe it myself. I went through +it, and that is enough. One could not face that wind and live. It was a +monstrous thing, and the most monstrous thing about it was that it +increased and continued to increase. + +Imagine countless millions and billions of tons of sand. Imagine this +sand tearing along at ninety, a hundred, a hundred and twenty, or any +other number of miles per hour. Imagine, further, this sand to be +invisible, impalpable, yet to retain all the weight and density of sand. +Do all this, and you may get a vague inkling of what that wind was like. + +Perhaps sand is not the right comparison. Consider it mud, invisible, +impalpable, but heavy as mud. Nay, it goes beyond that. Consider every +molecule of air to be a mud-bank in itself. Then try to imagine the +multitudinous impact of mud-banks. No; it is beyond me. Language may be +adequate to express the ordinary conditions of life, but it cannot +possibly express any of the conditions of so enormous a blast of wind. +It would have been better had I stuck by my original intention of not +attempting a description. + +I will say this much: The sea, which had risen at first, was beaten down +by that wind. More: it seemed as if the whole ocean had been sucked up +in the maw of the hurricane, and hurled on through that portion of +space which previously had been occupied by the air. + +Of course, our canvas had gone long before. But Captain Oudouse had on +the _Petite Jeanne_ something I had never before seen on a South Sea +schooner--a sea-anchor. It was a conical canvas bag, the mouth of which +was kept open by a huge hoop of iron. The sea-anchor was bridled +something like a kite, so that it bit into the water as a kite bites +into the air, but with a difference. The sea-anchor remained just under +the surface of the ocean in a perpendicular position. A long line, in +turn, connected it with the schooner. As a result, the _Petite Jeanne_ +rode bow on to the wind and to what sea there was. + +The situation really would have been favorable had we not been in the +path of the storm. True, the wind itself tore our canvas out of the +gaskets, jerked out our topmasts, and made a raffle of our running-gear, +but still we would have come through nicely had we not been square in +front of the advancing storm-centre. That was what fixed us. I was in a +state of stunned, numbed, paralyzed collapse from enduring the impact +of the wind, and I think I was just about ready to give up and die when +the centre smote us. The blow we received was an absolute lull. There +was not a breath of air. The effect on one was sickening. + +Remember that for hours we had been at terrific muscular tension, +withstanding the awful pressure of that wind. And then, suddenly, the +pressure was removed. I know that I felt as though I was about to +expand, to fly apart in all directions. It seemed as if every atom +composing my body was repelling every other atom and was on the verge of +rushing off irresistibly into space. But that lasted only for a moment. +Destruction was upon us. + +In the absence of the wind and pressure the sea rose. It jumped, it +leaped, it soared straight toward the clouds. Remember, from every point +of the compass that inconceivable wind was blowing in toward the centre +of calm. The result was that the seas sprang up from every point of the +compass. There was no wind to check them. They popped up like corks +released from the bottom of a pail of water. There was no system to +them, no stability. They were hollow, maniacal seas. They were eighty +feet high at the least. They were not seas at all. They resembled no sea +a man had ever seen. + +They were splashes, monstrous splashes--that is all. Splashes that were +eighty feet high. Eighty! They were more than eighty. They went over our +mastheads. They were spouts, explosions. They were drunken. They fell +anywhere, anyhow. They jostled one another; they collided. They rushed +together and collapsed upon one another, or fell apart like a thousand +waterfalls all at once. It was no ocean any man had ever dreamed of, +that hurricane centre. It was confusion thrice confounded. It was +anarchy. It was a hell-pit of sea-water gone mad. + +The _Petite Jeanne_? I don't know. The heathen told me afterward that he +did not know. She was literally torn apart, ripped wide open, beaten +into a pulp, smashed into kindling wood, annihilated. When I came to I +was in the water, swimming automatically, though I was about two-thirds +drowned. How I got there I had no recollection. I remembered seeing the +_Petite Jeanne_ fly to pieces at what must have been the instant that my +own consciousness was buffetted out of me. But there I was, with +nothing to do but make the best of it, and in that best there was little +promise. The wind was blowing again, the sea was much smaller and more +regular, and I knew that I had passed through the centre. Fortunately, +there were no sharks about. The hurricane had dissipated the ravenous +horde that had surrounded the death ship and fed off the dead. + +It was about midday when the _Petite Jeanne_ went to pieces, and it must +have been two hours afterward when I picked up with one of her +hatch-covers. Thick rain was driving at the time; and it was the merest +chance that flung me and the hatch-cover together. A short length of +line was trailing from the rope handle; and I knew that I was good for a +day, at least, if the sharks did not return. Three hours later, possibly +a little longer, sticking close to the cover, and, with closed eyes, +concentrating my whole soul upon the task of breathing in enough air to +keep me going and at the same time of avoiding breathing in enough water +to drown me, it seemed to me that I heard voices. The rain had ceased, +and wind and sea were easing marvellously. Not twenty feet away from me +on another hatch-cover, were Captain Oudouse and the heathen. They were +fighting over the possession of the cover--at least, the Frenchman was. + +"_Paien noir_!" I heard him scream, and at the same time I saw him kick +the kanaka. + +Now, Captain Oudouse had lost all his clothes, except his shoes, and +they were heavy brogans. It was a cruel blow, for it caught the heathen +on the mouth and the point of the chin, half stunning him. I looked for +him to retaliate, but he contented himself with swimming about forlornly +a safe ten feet away. Whenever a fling of the sea threw him closer, the +Frenchman, hanging on with his hands, kicked out at him with both feet. +Also, at the moment of delivering each kick, he called the kanaka a +black heathen. + +"For two centimes I'd come over there and drown you, you white beast!" I +yelled. + +The only reason I did not go was that I felt too tired. The very thought +of the effort to swim over was nauseating. So I called to the kanaka to +come to me, and proceeded to share the hatch-cover with him. Otoo, he +told me his name was (pronounced o-to-o); also, he told me that he was +a native of Bora Bora, the most westerly of the Society Group. As I +learned afterward, he had got the hatch-cover first, and, after some +time, encountering Captain Oudouse, had offered to share it with him, +and had been kicked off for his pains. + +And that was how Otoo and I first came together. He was no fighter. He +was all sweetness and gentleness, a love-creature, though he stood +nearly six feet tall and was muscled like a gladiator. He was no +fighter, but he was also no coward. He had the heart of a lion; and in +the years that followed I have seen him run risks that I would never +dream of taking. What I mean is that while he was no fighter, and while +he always avoided precipitating a row, he never ran away from trouble +when it started. And it was "'Ware shoal!" when once Otoo went into +action. I shall never forget what he did to Bill King. It occurred in +German Samoa. Bill King was hailed the champion heavyweight of the +American Navy. He was a big brute of a man, a veritable gorilla, one of +those hard-hitting, rough-housing chaps, and clever with his fists as +well. He picked the quarrel, and he kicked Otoo twice and struck him +once before Otoo felt it to be necessary to fight. I don't think it +lasted four minutes, at the end of which time Bill King was the unhappy +possessor of four broken ribs, a broken forearm, and a dislocated +shoulder-blade. Otoo knew nothing of scientific boxing. He was merely a +manhandler; and Bill King was something like three months in recovering +from the bit of manhandling he received that afternoon on Apia beach. + +But I am running ahead of my yarn. We shared the hatch-cover between us. +We took turn and turn about, one lying flat on the cover and resting, +while the other, submerged to the neck, merely held on with his hands. +For two days and nights, spell and spell, on the cover and in the water, +we drifted over the ocean. Toward the last I was delirious most of the +time; and there were times, too, when I heard Otoo babbling and raving +in his native tongue. Our continuous immersion prevented us from dying +of thirst, though the sea-water and the sunshine gave us the prettiest +imaginable combination of salt pickle and sunburn. + +In the end, Otoo saved my life; for I came to lying on the beach twenty +feet from the water, sheltered from the sun by a couple of cocoanut +leaves. No one but Otoo could have dragged me there and stuck up the +leaves for shade. He was lying beside me. I went off again; and the next +time I came round, it was cool and starry night, and Otoo was pressing a +drinking cocoanut to my lips. + +We were the sole survivors of the _Petite Jeanne._ Captain Oudouse must +have succumbed to exhaustion, for several days later his hatch-cover +drifted ashore without him. Otoo and I lived with the natives of the +atoll for a week, when we were rescued by a French cruiser and taken to +Tahiti. In the meantime, however, we had performed the ceremony of +exchanging names. In the South Seas such a ceremony binds two men closer +together than blood-brothership. The initiative had been mine; and Otoo +was rapturously delighted when I suggested it. + +"It is well," he said, in Tahitian. "For we have been mates together for +two days on the lips of Death." + +"But Death stuttered." I smiled. + +"It was a brave deed you did, master," he replied, "and Death was not +vile enough to speak." + +"Why do you 'master' me?" I demanded, with a show of hurt feelings. "We +have exchanged names. To you I am Otoo. To me you are Charley. And +between you and me, forever and forever, you shall be Charley, and I +shall be Otoo. It is the way of the custom. And when we die, if it does +happen that we live again somewhere beyond the stars and the sky, still +shall you be Charley to me, and I Otoo to you." + +"Yes, master," he answered, his eyes luminous and soft with joy. + +"There you go!" I cried indignantly. + +"What does it matter what my lips utter?" he argued. "They are only my +lips. But I shall think Otoo always. Whenever I think of myself, I shall +think of you. Whenever men call me by name, I shall think of you. And +beyond the sky and beyond the stars, always and forever, you shall be +Otoo to me. Is it well, master?" + +I hid my smile, and answered that it was well. + +We parted at Papeete. I remained ashore to recuperate; and he went on +in a cutter to his own island, Bora Bora. Six weeks later he was back. I +was surprised, for he had told me of his wife, and said that he was +returning to her, and would give over sailing on far voyages. + +"Where do you go, master?" he asked after our first greetings. + +I shrugged my shoulders. It was a hard question. + +"All the world," was my answer--"all the world, all the sea, and all the +islands that are in the sea." + +"I will go with you," he said simply. "My wife is dead." + +I never had a brother; but from what I have seen of other men's +brothers, I doubt if any man ever had a brother that was to him what +Otoo was to me. He was brother and father and mother as well. And this I +know: I lived a straighter and better man because of Otoo. I cared +little for other men, but I had to live straight in Otoo's eyes. Because +of him I dared not tarnish myself. He made me his ideal, compounding me, +I fear, chiefly out of his own love and worship; and there were times +when I stood close to the steep pitch of Hades, and would have taken +the plunge had not the thought of Otoo restrained me. His pride in me +entered into me, until it became one of the major rules in my personal +code to do nothing that would diminish that pride of his. + +Naturally, I did not learn right away what his feelings were toward me. +He never criticised, never censured; and slowly the exalted place I held +in his eyes dawned upon me, and slowly I grew to comprehend the hurt I +could inflict upon him by being anything less than my best. + +For seventeen years we were together; for seventeen years he was at my +shoulder, watching while I slept, nursing me through fever and +wounds--ay, and receiving wounds in fighting for me. He signed on the +same ships with me; and together we ranged the Pacific from Hawaii to +Sydney Head, and from Torres Straits to the Galapagos. We blackbirded +from the New Hebrides and the Line Islands over to the westward clear +through the Louisades, New Britain, New Ireland, and New Hanover. We +were wrecked three times--in the Gilberts, in the Santa Cruz group, and +in the Fijis. And we traded and salved wherever a dollar promised in +the way of pearl and pearl-shell, copra, beche-de-mer, hawkbill +turtle-shell, and stranded wrecks. + +It began in Papeete, immediately after his announcement that he was +going with me over all the sea, and the islands in the midst thereof. +There was a club in those days in Papeete, where the pearlers, traders, +captains, and riffraff of South Sea adventurers foregathered. The play +ran high, and the drink ran high; and I am very much afraid that I kept +later hours than were becoming or proper. No matter what the hour was +when I left the club, there was Otoo waiting to see me safely home. + +At first I smiled; next I chided him. Then I told him flatly that I +stood in need of no wet-nursing. After that I did not see him when I +came out of the club. Quite by accident, a week or so later, I +discovered that he still saw me home, lurking across the street among +the shadows of the mango-trees. What could I do? I know what I did do. + +Insensibly I began to keep better hours. On wet and stormy nights, in +the thick of the folly and the fun, the thought would persist in coming +to me of Otoo keeping his dreary vigil under the dripping mangoes. +Truly, he had made a better man of me. Yet he was not strait-laced. And +he knew nothing of common Christian morality. All the people on Bora +Bora were Christians; but he was a heathen, the only unbeliever on the +island, a gross materialist, who believed that when he died he was dead. +He believed merely in fair play and square dealing. Petty meanness, in +his code, was almost as serious as wanton homicide; and I do believe +that he respected a murderer more than a man given to small practices. + +Otoo had my welfare always at heart. He thought ahead for me, weighed my +plans, and took a greater interest in them than I did myself. At first, +when I was unaware of this interest of his in my affairs, he had to +divine my intentions, as, for instance, at Papeete, when I contemplated +going partners with a knavish fellow-countryman on a guano venture. I +did not know he was a knave. Nor did any white man in Papeete. Neither +did Otoo know, but he saw how thick we were getting, and found out for +me, and without my asking him. Native sailors from the ends of the seas +knock about on the beach in Tahiti; and Otoo, suspicious merely, went +among them till he had gathered sufficient data to justify his +suspicions. Oh, it was a nice history, that of Randolph Waters. I +couldn't believe it when Otoo first narrated it; but when I sheeted it +home to Waters he gave in without a murmur, and got away on the first +steamer to Aukland. + +At first, I am free to confess, I couldn't help resenting Otoo's poking +his nose into my business. But I knew that he was wholly unselfish; and +soon I had to acknowledge his wisdom and discretion. He had his eyes +open always to my main chance, and he was both keen-sighted and +far-sighted. In time he became my counsellor, until he knew more of my +business than I did myself. He really had my interest at heart more than +I did. Mine was the magnificent carelessness of youth, for I preferred +romance to dollars, and adventure to a comfortable billet with all night +in. So it was well that I had some one to look out for me. I know that +if it had not been for Otoo, I should not be here to-day. + +Of numerous instances, let me give one. I had had some experience in +blackbirding before I went pearling in the Paumotus. Otoo and I were in +Samoa--we really were on the beach and hard aground--when my chance came +to go as recruiter on a blackbird brig. Otoo signed on before the mast; +and for the next half-dozen years, in as many ships, we knocked about +the wildest portions of Melanesia. Otoo saw to it that he always pulled +stroke-oar in my boat. Our custom in recruiting labor was to land the +recruiter on the beach. The covering boat always lay on its oars several +hundred feet off shore, while the recruiter's boat, also lying on its +oars, kept afloat on the edge of the beach. When I landed with my +trade-goods, leaving my steering sweep apeak, Otoo left his stroke +position and came into the stern-sheets, where a Winchester lay ready to +hand under a flap of canvas. The boat's crew was also armed, the Sniders +concealed under canvas flaps that ran the length of the gunwales. While +I was busy arguing and persuading the woolly-headed cannibals to come +and labor on the Queensland plantations Otoo kept watch. And often and +often his low voice warned me of suspicious actions and impending +treachery. Sometimes it was the quick shot from his rifle, knocking a +savage over, that was the first warning I received. And in my rush to +the boat his hand was always there to jerk me flying aboard. Once, I +remember, on _Santa Anna_, the boat grounded just as the trouble began. +The covering boat was dashing to our assistance, but the several score +of savages would have wiped us out before it arrived. Otoo took a flying +leap ashore, dug both hands into the trade-goods, and scattered tobacco, +beads, tomahawks, knives, and calicoes in all directions. + +This was too much for the woolly-heads. While they scrambled for the +treasures, the boat was shoved clear, and we were aboard and forty feet +away. And I got thirty recruits off that very beach in the next four +hours. + +The particular instance I have in mind was on Malaita, the most savage +island in the easterly Solomons. The natives had been remarkably +friendly; and how were we to know that the whole village had been taking +up a collection for over two years with which to buy a white man's head? +The beggars are all head-hunters, and they especially esteem a white +man's head. The fellow who captured the head would receive the whole +collection. As I say, they appeared very friendly; and on this day I +was fully a hundred yards down the beach from the boat. Otoo had +cautioned me; and, as usual when I did not heed him, I came to grief. + +The first I knew, a cloud of spears sailed out of the mangrove swamp at +me. At least a dozen were sticking into me. I started to run, but +tripped over one that was fast in my calf, and went down. The +woolly-heads made a run for me, each with a long-handled, fantail +tomahawk with which to hack off my head. They were so eager for the +prize that they got in one another's way. In the confusion, I avoided +several hacks by throwing myself right and left on the sand. + +Then Otoo arrived--Otoo the manhandler. In some way he had got hold of a +heavy war club, and at close quarters it was a far more efficient weapon +than a rifle. He was right in the thick of them, so that they could not +spear him, while their tomahawks seemed worse than useless. He was +fighting for me, and he was in a true Berserker rage. The way he handled +that club was amazing. Their skulls squashed like overripe oranges. It +was not until he had driven them back, picked me up in his arms, and +started to run, that he received his first wounds. He arrived in the +boat with four spear thrusts, got his Winchester, and with it got a man +for every shot. Then we pulled aboard the schooner and doctored up. + +Seventeen years we were together. He made me. I should to-day be a +supercargo, a recruiter, or a memory, if it had not been for him. + +"You spend your money, and you go out and get more," he said one day. +"It is easy to get money now. But when you get old, your money will be +spent, and you will not be able to go out and get more. I know, master. +I have studied the way of white men. On the beaches are many old men who +were young once, and who could get money just like you. Now they are +old, and they have nothing, and they wait about for the young men like +you to come ashore and buy drinks for them. + +"The black boy is a slave on the plantations. He gets twenty dollars a +year. He works hard. The overseer does not work hard. He rides a horse +and watches the black boy work. He gets twelve hundred dollars a year. I +am a sailor on the schooner. I get fifteen dollars a month. That is +because I am a good sailor. I work hard. The captain has a double +awning, and drinks beer out of long bottles. I have never seen him haul +a rope or pull an oar. He gets one hundred and fifty dollars a month. I +am a sailor. He is a navigator. Master, I think it would be very good +for you to know navigation." + +Otoo spurred me on to it. He sailed with me as second mate on my first +schooner, and he was far prouder of my command than I was myself. Later +on it was: + +"The captain is well paid, master; but the ship is in his keeping, and +he is never free from the burden. It is the owner who is better +paid--the owner who sits ashore with many servants and turns his money +over." + +"True, but a schooner costs five thousand dollars--an old schooner at +that," I objected. "I should be an old man before I saved five thousand +dollars." + +"There be short ways for white men to make money," he went on, pointing +ashore at the cocoanut-fringed beach. + +We were in the Solomons at the time, picking up a cargo of ivory-nuts +along the east coast of Guadalcanar. + +"Between this river mouth and the next it is two miles," he said. "The +flat land runs far back. It is worth nothing now. Next year--who +knows?--or the year after, men will pay much money for that land. The +anchorage is good. Big steamers can lie close up. You can buy the land +four miles deep from the old chief for ten thousand sticks of tobacco, +ten bottles of square-face, and a Snider, which will cost you, maybe, +one hundred dollars. Then you place the deed with the commissioner; and +the next year, or the year after, you sell and become the owner of a +ship." + +I followed his lead, and his words came true, though in three years, +instead of two. Next came the grasslands deal on Guadalcanar--twenty +thousand acres, on a governmental nine hundred and ninety-nine years' +lease at a nominal sum. I owned the lease for precisely ninety days, +when I sold it to a company for half a fortune. Always it was Otoo who +looked ahead and saw the opportunity. He was responsible for the salving +of the _Doncaster_--bought in at auction for a hundred pounds, and +clearing three thousand after every expense was paid. He led me into the +Savaii plantation and the cocoa venture on Upolu. + +We did not go seafaring so much as in the old days. I was too well off. +I married, and my standard of living rose; but Otoo remained the same +old-time Otoo, moving about the house or trailing through the office, +his wooden pipe in his mouth, a shilling undershirt on his back, and a +four-shilling lava-lava about his loins. I could not get him to spend +money. There was no way of repaying him except with love, and God knows +he got that in full measure from all of us. The children worshipped him; +and if he had been spoilable, my wife would surely have been his +undoing. + +The children! He really was the one who showed them the way of their +feet in the world practical. He began by teaching them to walk. He sat +up with them when they were sick. One by one, when they were scarcely +toddlers, he took them down to the lagoon, and made them into +amphibians. He taught them more than I ever knew of the habits of fish +and the ways of catching them. In the bush it was the same thing. At +seven, Tom knew more woodcraft than I ever dreamed existed. At six, Mary +went over the Sliding Rock without a quiver, and I have seen strong men +balk at that feat. And when Frank had just turned six he could bring up +shillings from the bottom in three fathoms. + +"My people in Bora Bora do not like heathen--they are all Christians; +and I do not like Bora Bora Christians," he said one day, when I, with +the idea of getting him to spend some of the money that was rightfully +his, had been trying to persuade him to make a visit to his own island +in one of our schooners--a special voyage which I had hoped to make a +record breaker in the matter of prodigal expense. + +I say one of _our_ schooners, though legally at the time they belonged +to me. I struggled long with him to enter into partnership. + +"We have been partners from the day the _Petite Jeanne_ went down," he +said at last. "But if your heart so wishes, then shall we become +partners by the law. I have no work to do, yet are my expenses large. I +drink and eat and smoke in plenty--it costs much, I know. I do not pay +for the playing of billiards, for I play on your table; but still the +money goes. Fishing on the reef is only a rich man's pleasure. It is +shocking, the cost of hooks and cotton line. Yes; it is necessary that +we be partners by the law. I need the money. I shall get it from the +head clerk in the office." + +So the papers were made out and recorded. A year later I was compelled +to complain. + +"Charley," said I, "you are a wicked old fraud, a miserly skinflint, a +miserable land-crab. Behold, your share for the year in all our +partnership has been thousands of dollars. The head clerk has given me +this paper. It says that in the year you have drawn just eighty-seven +dollars and twenty cents." + +"Is there any owing me?" he asked anxiously. + +"I tell you thousands and thousands," I answered. + +His face brightened, as with an immense relief. + +"It is well," he said. "See that the head clerk keeps good account of +it. When I want it, I shall want it, and there must not be a cent +missing. + +"If there is," he added fiercely, after a pause, "it must come out of +the clerk's wages." + +And all the time, as I afterward learned, his will, drawn up by +Carruthers, and making me sole beneficiary, lay in the American consul's +safe. + +But the end came, as the end must come to all human associations. It +occurred in the Solomons, where our wildest work had been done in the +wild young days, and where we were once more--principally on a holiday, +incidentally to look after our holdings on Florida Island and to look +over the pearling possibilities of the Mboli Pass. We were lying at +Savo, having run in to trade for curios. + +Now, Savo is alive with sharks. The custom of the woolly-heads of +burying their dead in the sea did not tend to discourage the sharks from +making the adjacent waters a hang-out. It was my luck to be coming +aboard in a tiny, overloaded, native canoe, when the thing capsized. +There were four woolly-heads and myself in it, or, rather, hanging to +it. The schooner was a hundred yards away. I was just hailing for a boat +when one of the woolly-heads began to scream. Holding on to the end of +the canoe, both he and that portion of the canoe were dragged under +several times. Then he loosed his clutch and disappeared. A shark had +got him. + +The three remaining savages tried to climb out of the water upon the +bottom of the canoe. I yelled and struck at the nearest with my fist, +but it was no use. They were in a blind funk. The canoe could barely +have supported one of them. Under the three it upended and rolled +sidewise, throwing them back into the water. + +I abandoned the canoe and started to swim toward the schooner, expecting +to be picked up by the boat before I got there. One of the savages +elected to come with me, and we swam along silently, side by side, now +and again putting our faces into the water and peering about for sharks. +The screams of the man who stayed by the canoe informed us that he was +taken. I was peering into the water when I saw a big shark pass directly +beneath me. He was fully sixteen feet in length. I saw the whole thing. +He got the woolly-head by the middle, and away he went, the poor devil, +head, shoulders, and arms out of water all the time, screeching in a +heartrending way. He was carried along in this fashion for several +hundred feet, when he was dragged beneath the surface. + +I swam doggedly on, hoping that that was the last unattached shark. But +there was another. Whether it was the one that had attacked the natives +earlier, or whether it was one that had made a good meal elsewhere, I do +not know. At any rate, he was not in such haste as the others. I could +not swim so rapidly now, for a large part of my effort was devoted to +keeping track of him. I was watching him when he made his first attack. +By good luck I got both hands on his nose, and, though his momentum +nearly shoved me under, I managed to keep him off. He veered clear, and +began circling about again. A second time I escaped him by the same +maneuver. The third rush was a miss on both sides. He sheered at the +moment my hands should have landed on his nose, but his sandpaper hide +(I had on a sleeveless undershirt) scraped the skin off one arm from +elbow to shoulder. + +By this time I was played out, and gave up hope. The schooner was still +two hundred feet away. My face was in the water, and I was watching him +maneuver for another attempt, when I saw a brown body pass between us. +It was Otoo. + +"Swim for the schooner, master!" he said. And he spoke gayly, as though +the affair was a mere lark. "I know sharks. The shark is my brother." + +I obeyed, swimming slowly on, while Otoo swam about me, keeping always +between me and the shark, foiling his rushes and encouraging me. + +"The davit tackle carried away, and they are rigging the falls," he +explained, a minute or so later, and then went under to head off another +attack. + +By the time the schooner was thirty feet away I was about done for. I +could scarcely move. They were heaving lines at us from on board, but +they continually fell short. The shark, finding that it was receiving no +hurt, had become bolder. Several times it nearly got me, but each time +Otoo was there just the moment before it was too late. Of course, Otoo +could have saved himself any time. But he stuck by me. + +"Good-bye, Charley! I'm finished!" I just managed to gasp. + +I knew that the end had come, and that the next moment I should throw +up my hands and go down. + +But Otoo laughed in my face, saying: + +"I will show you a new trick. I will make that shark feel sick!" + +He dropped in behind me, where the shark was preparing to come at me. + +"A little more to the left!" he next called out. "There is a line there +on the water. To the left, master--to the left!" + +I changed my course and struck out blindly. I was by that time barely +conscious. As my hand closed on the line I heard an exclamation from on +board. I turned and looked. There was no sign of Otoo. The next instant +he broke surface. Both hands were off at the wrist, the stumps spouting +blood. + +"Otoo!" he called softly. And I could see in his gaze the love that +thrilled in his voice. + +Then, and then only, at the very last of all our years, he called me by +that name. + +"Good-by, Otoo!" he called. + +Then he was dragged under, and I was hauled aboard, where I fainted in +the captain's arms. + +And so passed Otoo, who saved me and made me a man, and who saved me in +the end. We met in the maw of a hurricane, and parted in the maw of a +shark, with seventeen intervening years of comradeship, the like of +which I dare to assert has never befallen two men, the one brown and the +other white. If Jehovah be from His high place watching every sparrow +fall, not least in His kingdom shall be Otoo, the one heathen of Bora +Bora. + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE HOBO AND THE FAIRY + + +He lay on his back. So heavy was his sleep that the stamp of hoofs and +cries of the drivers from the bridge that crossed the creek did not +rouse him. Wagon after wagon, loaded high with grapes, passed the bridge +on the way up the valley to the winery, and the coming of each wagon was +like the explosion of sound and commotion in the lazy quiet of the +afternoon. + +But the man was undisturbed. His head had slipped from the folded +newspaper, and the straggling, unkempt hair was matted with the foxtails +and burrs of the dry grass on which it lay. He was not a pretty sight. +His mouth was open, disclosing a gap in the upper row where several +teeth at some time had been knocked out. He breathed stertorously, at +times grunting and moaning with the pain of his sleep. Also, he was very +restless, tossing his arms about, making jerky, half-convulsive +movements, and at times rolling his head from side to side in the burrs. +This restlessness seemed occasioned partly by some internal discomfort, +and partly by the sun that streamed down on his face and by the flies +that buzzed and lighted and crawled upon the nose and cheeks and +eyelids. There was no other place for them to crawl, for the rest of the +face was covered with matted beard, slightly grizzled, but greatly +dirt-stained and weather-discolored. + +The cheek-bones were blotched with the blood congested by the debauch +that was evidently being slept off. This, too, accounted for the +persistence with which the flies clustered around the mouth, lured by +the alcohol-laden exhalations. He was a powerfully built man, +thick-necked, broad-shouldered, with sinewy wrists and toil-distorted +hands. Yet the distortion was not due to recent toil, nor were the +callouses other than ancient that showed under the dirt of the one palm +upturned. From time to time this hand clenched tightly and +spasmodically into a fist, large, heavy-boned and wicked-looking. + +The man lay in the dry grass of a tiny glade that ran down to the +tree-fringed bank of the stream. On either side of the glade was a +fence, of the old stake-and-rider type, though little of it was to be +seen, so thickly was it overgrown by wild blackberry bushes, scrubby +oaks and young madrono trees. In the rear, a gate through a low paling +fence led to a snug, squat bungalow, built in the California Spanish +style and seeming to have been compounded directly from the landscape of +which it was so justly a part. Neat and trim and modestly sweet was the +bungalow, redolent of comfort and repose, telling with quiet certitude +of some one that knew, and that had sought and found. + +Through the gate and into the glade came as dainty a little maiden as +ever stepped out of an illustration made especially to show how dainty +little maidens may be. Eight years she might have been, and, possibly, a +trifle more, or less. Her little waist and little black-stockinged +calves showed how delicately fragile she was; but the fragility was of +mould only. There was no hint of anemia in the clear, healthy +complexion nor in the quick, tripping step. She was a little, delicious +blond, with hair spun of gossamer gold and wide blue eyes that were but +slightly veiled by the long lashes. Her expression was of sweetness and +happiness; it belonged by right to any face that sheltered in the +bungalow. + +She carried a child's parasol, which she was careful not to tear against +the scrubby branches and bramble bushes as she sought for wild poppies +along the edge of the fence. They were late poppies, a third generation, +which had been unable to resist the call of the warm October sun. + +Having gathered along one fence, she turned to cross to the opposite +fence. Midway in the glade she came upon the tramp. Her startle was +merely a startle. There was no fear in it. She stood and looked long and +curiously at the forbidding spectacle, and was about to turn back when +the sleeper moved restlessly and rolled his hand among the burrs. She +noted the sun on his face, and the buzzing flies; her face grew +solicitous, and for a moment she debated with herself. Then she tiptoed +to his side, interposed the parasol between him and the sun, and +brushed away the flies. After a time, for greater ease, she sat down +beside him. + +An hour passed, during which she occasionally shifted the parasol from +one tired hand to the other. At first the sleeper had been restless, +but, shielded from the flies and the sun, his breathing became gentler +and his movements ceased. Several times, however, he really frightened +her. The first was the worst, coming abruptly and without warning. +"Christ! How deep! How deep!" the man murmured from some profound of +dream. The parasol was agitated; but the little girl controlled herself +and continued her self-appointed ministrations. + +Another time it was a gritting of teeth, as of some intolerable agony. +So terribly did the teeth crunch and grind together that it seemed they +must crush into fragments. A little later he suddenly stiffened out. The +hands clenched and the face set with the savage resolution of the dream. +The eyelids trembled from the shock of the fantasy, seemed about to +open, but did not. Instead, the lips muttered: + +"No; no! And once more no. I won't peach." The lips paused, then went +on. "You might as well tie me up, warden, and cut me to pieces. That's +all you can get outa me--blood. That's all any of you-uns has ever got +outa me in this hole." + +After this outburst the man slept gently on, while the little girl still +held the parasol aloft and looked down with a great wonder at the +frowsy, unkempt creature, trying to reconcile it with the little part of +life that she knew. To her ears came the cries of men, the stamp of +hoofs on the bridge, and the creak and groan of wagons heavy laden. It +was a breathless California Indian summer day. Light fleeces of cloud +drifted in the azure sky, but to the west heavy cloud banks threatened +with rain. A bee droned lazily by. From farther thickets came the calls +of quail, and from the fields the songs of meadow larks. And oblivious +to it all slept Ross Shanklin--Ross Shanklin, the tramp and outcast, +ex-convict 4379, the bitter and unbreakable one who had defied all +keepers and survived all brutalities. + +Texas-born, of the old pioneer stock that was always tough and stubborn, +he had been unfortunate. At seventeen years of age he had been +apprehended for horse stealing. Also, he had been convicted of stealing +seven horses which he had not stolen, and he had been sentenced to +fourteen years' imprisonment. This was severe under any circumstances, +but with him it had been especially severe, because there had been no +prior convictions against him. The sentiment of the people who believed +him guilty had been that two years was adequate punishment for the +youth, but the county attorney, paid according to the convictions he +secured, had made seven charges against him and earned seven fees. Which +goes to show that the county attorney valued twelve years of Ross +Shanklin's life at less than a few dollars. + +Young Ross Shanklin had toiled terribly in jail; he had escaped, more +than once; and he had been caught and sent back to toil in other and +various jails. He had been triced up and lashed till he fainted had been +revived and lashed again. He had been in the dungeon ninety days at a +time. He had experienced the torment of the straightjacket. He knew what +the humming bird was. He had been farmed out as a chattel by the state +to the contractors. He had been trailed through swamps by bloodhounds. +Twice he had been shot. For six years on end he had cut a cord and a +half of wood each day in a convict lumber camp. Sick or well, he had cut +that cord and a half or paid for it under a whip-lash knotted and +pickled. + +And Ross Shanklin had not sweetened under the treatment. He had sneered, +and raved, and defied. He had seen convicts, after the guards had +manhandled them, crippled in body for life, or left to maunder in mind +to the end of their days. He had seen convicts, even his own cell mate, +goaded to murder by their keepers, go to the gallows reviling God. He +had been in a break in which eleven of his kind were shot down. He had +been through a mutiny, where, in the prison yard, with gatling guns +trained upon them, three hundred convicts had been disciplined with pick +handles wielded by brawny guards. + +He had known every infamy of human cruelty, and through it all he had +never been broken. He had resented and fought to the last, until, +embittered and bestial, the day came when he was discharged. Five +dollars were given him in payment for the years of his labor and the +flower of his manhood. And he had worked little in the years that +followed. Work he hated and despised. He tramped, begged and stole, +lied or threatened as the case might warrant, and drank to besottedness +whenever he got the chance. + +The little girl was looking at him when he awoke. Like a wild animal, +all of him was awake the instant he opened his eyes. The first he saw +was the parasol, strangely obtruded between him and the sky. He did not +start nor move, though his whole body seemed slightly to tense. His eyes +followed down the parasol handle to the tight-clutched little fingers, +and along the arm to the child's face. Straight and unblinking he looked +into her eyes, and she, returning the look, was chilled and frightened +by his glittering eyes, cold and harsh, withal bloodshot, and with no +hint in them of the warm humanness she had been accustomed to see and +feel in human eyes. They were the true prison eyes--the eyes of a man +who had learned to talk little, who had forgotten almost how to talk. + +"Hello," he said finally, making no effort to change his position. "What +game are you up to!" + +His voice was gruff and husky, and at first it had been harsh; but it +had softened queerly in a feeble attempt at forgotten kindliness. + +"How do you do?" she said. "I'm not playing. The sun was on your face, +and mamma says one oughtn't to sleep in the sun." + +The sweet clearness of her child's voice was pleasant to him, and he +wondered why he had never noticed it in children's voices before. He sat +up slowly and stared at her. He felt that he ought to say something, but +speech with him was a reluctant thing. + +"I hope you slept well," she said gravely. + +"I sure did," he answered, never taking his eyes from her, amazed at the +fairness and delicacy of her. "How long was you holdin' that contraption +up over me?" + +"O-oh," she debated with herself, "a long, long time. I thought you +would never wake up." + +"And I thought you was a fairy when I first seen you." + +He felt elated at his contribution to the conversation. + +"No, not a fairy," she smiled. + +He thrilled in a strange, numb way at the immaculate whiteness of her +small even teeth. + +"I was just the good Samaritan," she added. + +"I reckon I never heard of that party." + +He was cudgelling his brains to keep the conversation going. Never +having been at close quarters with a child since he was man-grown, he +found it difficult. + +"What a funny man not to know about the good Samaritan. Don't you +remember? A certain man went down to Jericho----" + +"I reckon I've been there," he interrupted. + +"I knew you were a traveler!" she cried, clapping her hands. "Maybe you +saw the exact spot." + +"What spot?" + +"Why, where he fell among thieves and was left half dead. And then the +good Samaritan went to him, and bound up his wounds, and poured in oil +and wine--was that olive oil, do you think?" + +He shook his head slowly. + +"I reckon you got me there. Olive oil is something the dagoes cooks +with. I never heard of it for busted heads." + +She considered his statement for a moment. + +"Well," she announced, "we use olive oil in _our_ cooking, so we must be +dagoes. I never knew what they were before. I thought it was slang." + +"And the Samaritan dumped oil on his head," the tramp muttered +reminiscently. "Seems to me I recollect a sky pilot sayin' something +about that old gent. D'ye know, I've been looking for him off 'n on all +my life, and never scared up hide nor hair of him. They ain't no more +Samaritans." + +"Wasn't I one!" she asked quickly. + +He looked at her steadily, with a great curiosity and wonder. Her ear, +by a movement exposed to the sun, was transparent. It seemed he could +almost see through it. He was amazed at the delicacy of her coloring, at +the blue of her eyes, at the dazzle of the sun-touched golden hair. And +he was astounded by her fragility. It came to him that she was easily +broken. His eye went quickly from his huge, gnarled paw to her tiny hand +in which it seemed to him he could almost see the blood circulate. He +knew the power in his muscles, and he knew the tricks and turns by which +men use their bodies to ill-treat men. In fact, he knew little else, and +his mind for the time ran in its customary channel. It was his way of +measuring the beautiful strangeness of her. He calculated a grip, and +not a strong one, that could grind her little fingers to pulp. He +thought of fist blows he had given to men's heads, and received on his +own head, and felt that the least of them could shatter hers like an +egg-shell. He scanned her little shoulders and slim waist, and knew in +all certitude that with his two hands he could rend her to pieces. + +"Wasn't I one?" she insisted again. + +He came back to himself with a shock--or away from himself, as the case +happened. He was loath that the conversation should cease. + +"What?" he answered. "Oh, yes; you bet you was a Samaritan, even if you +didn't have no olive oil." He remembered what his mind had been dwelling +on, and asked, "But ain't you afraid?" + +"Of ... of me?" he added lamely. + +She laughed merrily. + +"Mamma says never to be afraid of anything. She says that if you're +good, and you think good of other people, they'll be good, too." + +"And you was thinkin' good of me when you kept the sun off," he +marveled. + +"But it's hard to think good of bees and nasty crawly things," she +confessed. + +"But there's men that is nasty and crawly things," he argued. + +"Mamma says no. She says there's good in everyone. + +"I bet you she locks the house up tight at night just the same," he +proclaimed triumphantly. + +"But she doesn't. Mamma isn't afraid of anything. That's why she lets me +play out here alone when I want. Why, we had a robber once. Mamma got +right up and found him. And what do you think! He was only a poor hungry +man. And she got him plenty to eat from the pantry, and afterward she +got him work to do." + +Ross Shanklin was stunned. The vista shown him of human nature was +unthinkable. It had been his lot to live in a world of suspicion and +hatred, of evil-believing and evil-doing. It had been his experience, +slouching along village streets at nightfall, to see little children, +screaming with fear, run from him to their mothers. He had even seen +grown women shrink aside from him as he passed along the sidewalk. + +He was aroused by the girl clapping her hands as she cried out: + +"I know what you are! You're an open air crank. That's why you were +sleeping here in the grass." + +He felt a grim desire to laugh, but repressed it. + +"And that's what tramps are--open air cranks," she continued. "I often +wondered. Mamma believes in the open air. I sleep on the porch at night. +So does she. This is our land. You must have climbed the fence. Mamma +lets me when I put on my climbers--they're bloomers, you know. But you +ought to be told something. A person doesn't know when they snore +because they're asleep. But you do worse than that. You grit your teeth. +That's bad. Whenever you are going to sleep you must think to yourself, +'I won't grit my teeth, I won't grit my teeth,' over and over, just like +that, and by and by you'll get out of the habit. + +"All bad things are habits. And so are all good things. And it depends +on us what kind our habits are going to be. I used to pucker my +eyebrows--wrinkle them all up, but mamma said I must overcome that +habit. She said that when my eyebrows were wrinkled it was an +advertisement that my brain was wrinkled inside, and that it wasn't good +to have wrinkles in the brain. And then she smoothed my eyebrows with +her hand and said I must always think _smooth_--_smooth_ inside, and +_smooth_ outside. And do you know, it was easy. I haven't wrinkled my +brows for ever so long. I've heard about filling teeth by thinking. But +I don't believe that. Neither does mamma." + +She paused rather out of breath. Nor did he speak. Her flow of talk had +been too much for him. Also, sleeping drunkenly, with open mouth, had +made him very thirsty. But, rather than lose one precious moment, he +endured the torment of his scorching throat and mouth. He licked his dry +lips and struggled for speech. + +"What is your name?" he managed at last. + +"Joan." + +She looked her own question at him, and it was not necessary to voice +it. + +"Mine is Ross Shanklin," he volunteered, for the first time in forgotten +years giving his real name. + +"I suppose you've traveled a lot." + +"I sure have, but not as much as I might have wanted to." + +"Papa always wanted to travel, but he was too busy at the office. He +never could get much time. He went to Europe once with mamma. That was +before I was born. It takes money to travel." + +Ross Shanklin did not know whether to agree with this statement or not. + +"But it doesn't cost tramps much for expenses," she took the thought +away from him. "Is that why you tramp?" + +He nodded and licked his lips. + +"Mamma says it's too bad that men must tramp to look for work. But +there's lots of work now in the country. All the farmers in the valley +are trying to get men. Have you been working?" + +He shook his head, angry with himself that he should feel shame at the +confession when his savage reasoning told him he was right in despising +work. But this was followed by another thought. This beautiful little +creature was some man's child. She was one of the rewards of work. + +"I wish I had a little girl like you," he blurted out, stirred by a +sudden consciousness of passion for paternity. "I'd work my hands off. I +... I'd do anything." + +She considered his case with fitting gravity. + +"Then you aren't married?" + +"Nobody would have me." + +"Yes, they would, if ..." + +She did not turn up her nose, but she favored his dirt and rags with a +look of disapprobation he could not mistake. + +"Go on," he half-shouted. "Shoot it into me. If I was washed--if I wore +good clothes--if I was respectable--if I had a job and worked +regular--if I wasn't what I am." + +To each statement she nodded. + +"Well, I ain't that kind," he rushed on. "I'm no good. I'm a tramp. I +don't want to work, that's what. And I like dirt." + +Her face was eloquent with reproach as she said, "Then you were only +making believe when you wished you had a little girl like me?" + +This left him speechless, for he knew, in all the depths of his +new-found passion, that that was just what he did want. + +With ready tact, noting his discomfort, she sought to change the +subject. + +"What do you think of God?" she asked. "I ain't never met him. What do +you think about him?" + +His reply was evidently angry, and she was frank in her disapproval. + +"You are very strange," she said. "You get angry so easily. I never saw +anybody before that got angry about God, or work, or being clean." + +"He never done anything for me," he muttered resentfully. He cast back +in quick review of the long years of toil in the convict camps and +mines. "And work never done anything for me neither." + +An embarrassing silence fell. + +He looked at her, numb and hungry with the stir of the father-love, +sorry for his ill temper, puzzling his brain for something to say. She +was looking off and away at the clouds, and he devoured her with his +eyes. He reached out stealthily and rested one grimy hand on the very +edge of her little dress. It seemed to him that she was the most +wonderful thing in the world. The quail still called from the coverts, +and the harvest sounds seemed abruptly to become very loud. A great +loneliness oppressed him. + +"I'm ... I'm no good," he murmured huskily and repentantly. + +But, beyond a glance from her blue eyes, she took no notice. The silence +was more embarrassing than ever. He felt that he could give the world +just to touch with his lips that hem of her dress where his hand rested. +But he was afraid of frightening her. He fought to find something to +say, licking his parched lips and vainly attempting to articulate +something, anything. + +"This ain't Sonoma Valley," he declared finally. "This is fairy land, +and you're a fairy. Mebbe I'm asleep and dreaming. I don't know. You and +me don't know how to talk together, because, you see, you're a fairy and +don't know nothing but good things, and I'm a man from the bad, wicked +world." + +Having achieved this much, he was left gasping for ideas like a stranded +fish. + +"And you're going to tell me about the bad, wicked world," she cried, +clapping her hands. "I'm just dying to know." + +He looked at her, startled, remembering the wreckage of womanhood he +had encountered on the sunken ways of life. She was no fairy. She was +flesh and blood, and the possibilities of wreckage were in her as they +had been in him even when he lay at his mother's breast. And there was +in her eagerness to know. + +"Nope," he said lightly, "this man from the bad, wicked world ain't +going to tell you nothing of the kind. He's going to tell you of the +good things in that world. He's going to tell you how he loved hosses +when he was a shaver, and about the first hoss he straddled, and the +first hoss he owned. Hosses ain't like men. They're better. They're +clean--clean all the way through and back again. And, little fairy, I +want to tell you one thing--there sure ain't nothing in the world like +when you're settin' a tired hoss at the end of a long day, and when you +just speak, and that tired animal lifts under you willing and hustles +along. Hosses! They're my long suit. I sure dote on hosses. Yep. I used +to be a cowboy once." + +She clapped her hands in the way that tore so delightfully to his heart, +and her eyes were dancing, as she exclaimed: + +"A Texas cowboy! I always wanted to see one! I heard papa say once that +cowboys are bow-legged. Are you?" + +"I sure was a Texas cowboy," he answered. "But it was a long time ago. +And I'm sure bow-legged. You see, you can't ride much when you're young +and soft without getting the legs bent some. Why, I was only a +three-year-old when I begun. He was a three-year-old, too, fresh-broken. +I led him up alongside the fence, dumb to the top rail, and dropped on. +He was a pinto, and a real devil at bucking, but I could do anything +with him. I reckon he knowed I was only a little shaver. Some hosses +knows lots more 'n' you think." + +For half an hour Ross Shanklin rambled on with his horse reminiscences, +never unconscious for a moment of the supreme joy that was his through +the touch of his hand on the hem of her dress. The sun dropped slowly +into the cloud bank, the quail called more insistently, and empty wagon +after empty wagon rumbled back across the bridge. Then came a woman's +voice. + +"Joan! Joan!" it called. "Where are you, dear?" + +The little girl answered, and Ross Shanklin saw a woman, clad in a +soft, clinging gown, come through the gate from the bungalow. She was a +slender, graceful woman, and to his charmed eyes she seemed rather to +float along than walk like ordinary flesh and blood. + +"What have you been doing all afternoon?" the woman asked, as she came +up. + +"Talking, mamma," the little girl replied. "I've had a very interesting +time." + +Ross Shanklin scrambled to his feet and stood watchfully and awkwardly. +The little girl took the mother's hand, and she, in turn, looked at him +frankly and pleasantly, with a recognition of his humanness that was a +new thing to him. In his mind ran the thought: _the woman who ain't +afraid_. Not a hint was there of the timidity he was accustomed to +seeing in women's eyes. And he was quite aware, and never more so, of +his bleary-eyed, forbidding appearance. + +"How do you do?" she greeted him sweetly and naturally. + +"How do you do, ma'am," he responded, unpleasantly conscious of the +huskiness and rawness of his voice. + +"And did you have an interesting time, too!" she smiled. + +"Yes, ma'am. I sure did. I was just telling your little girl about +hosses." + +"He was a cowboy, once, mamma," she cried. + +The mother smiled her acknowledgment to him, and looked fondly down at +the little girl. The thought that came into Ross Shanklin's mind was the +awfulness of the crime if any one should harm either of the wonderful +pair. This was followed by the wish that some terrible danger should +threaten, so that he could fight, as he well knew how, with all his +strength and life, to defend them. + +"You'll have to come along, dear," the mother said. "It's growing late." +She looked at Ross Shanklin hesitantly. "Would you care to have +something to eat?" + +"No, ma'am, thanking you kindly just the same. I ... I ain't hungry." + +"Then say good-bye, Joan," she counselled. + +"Good-bye." The little girl held out her hand, and her eyes lighted +roguishly. "Good-bye, Mr. Man from the bad, wicked world." + +To him, the touch of her hand as he pressed it in his was the capstone +of the whole adventure. + +"Good-bye, little fairy," he mumbled. "I reckon I got to be pullin' +along." + +But he did not pull along. He stood staring after his vision until it +vanished through the gate. The day seemed suddenly empty. He looked +about him irresolutely, then climbed the fence, crossed the bridge, and +slouched along the road. He was in a dream. He did not note his feet nor +the way they led him. At times he stumbled in the dust-filled ruts. + +A mile farther on, he aroused at the crossroads. Before him stood the +saloon. He came to a stop and stared at it, licking his lips. He sank +his hand into his pants pocket and fumbled a solitary dime. "God!" he +muttered. "God!" Then, with dragging, reluctant feet, went on along the +road. + +He came to a big farm. He knew it must be big, because of the bigness of +the house and the size and number of the barns and outbuildings. On the +porch, in shirt sleeves, smoking a cigar, keen-eyed and middle-aged, was +the farmer. + +"What's the chance for a job!" Ross Shanklin asked. + +The keen eyes scarcely glanced at him. + +"A dollar a day and grub," was the answer. + +Ross Shanklin swallowed and braced himself. + +"I'll pick grapes all right, or anything. But what's the chance for a +steady job? You've got a big ranch here. I know hosses. I was born on +one. I can drive team, ride, plough, break, do anything that anybody +ever done with hosses." + +The other looked him over with an appraising, incredulous eye. + +"You don't look it," was the judgment. + +"I know I don't. Give me a chance. That's all. I'll prove it." + +The farmer considered, casting an anxious glance at the cloud bank into +which the sun had sunk. + +"I'm short a teamster, and I'll give you the chance to make good. Go and +get supper with the hands." + +Ross Shanklin's voice was very husky, and he spoke with an effort. + +"All right. I'll make good. Where can I get a drink of water and wash +up?" + +[Illustration] + + + + +"JUST MEAT" + + +He strolled to the corner and glanced up and down the intersecting +street, but saw nothing save the oases of light shed by the street lamps +at the successive crossings. Then he strolled back the way he had come. +He was a shadow of a man sliding noiselessly and without undue movement +through the semi darkness. Also he was very alert, like a wild animal in +the jungle, keenly perceptive and receptive. The movement of another in +the darkness about him would need to have been more shadowy than he to +have escaped him. + +In addition to the running advertisement of the state of affairs carried +to him by his senses, he had a subtler perception, a _feel_, of the +atmosphere around him. He knew that the house in front of which he +paused for a moment, contained children. Yet by no willed effort of +perception did he have this knowledge. For that matter, he was not even +aware that he knew, so occult was the impression. Yet, did a moment +arise in which action, in relation to that house, were imperative, he +would have acted on the assumption that it contained children. He was +not aware of all that he knew about the neighborhood. + +In the same way, he knew not how, he knew that no danger threatened in +the footfalls that came up the cross street. Before he saw the walker, +he knew him for a belated pedestrian hurrying home. The walker came into +view at the crossing and disappeared on up the street. The man that +watched, noted a light that flared up in the window of a house on the +corner, and as it died down he knew it for an expiring match. This was +conscious identification of familiar phenomena, and through his mind +flitted the thought, "Wanted to know what time." In another house one +room was lighted. The light burned dimly and steadily, and he had the +feel that it was a sick room. + +He was especially interested in a house across the street in the middle +of the block. To this house he paid most attention. No matter what way +he looked, nor what way he walked, his looks and his steps always +returned to it. Except for an open window above the porch, there was +nothing unusual about the house. Nothing came in nor out. Nothing +happened. There were no lighted windows, nor had lights appeared and +disappeared in any of the windows. Yet it was the central point of his +consideration. He rallied to it each time after a divination of the +state of the neighborhood. + +Despite his feel of things, he was not confident. He was supremely +conscious of the precariousness of his situation. Though unperturbed by +the footfalls of the chance pedestrian, he was as keyed up and sensitive +and ready to be startled as any timorous deer. He was aware of the +possibility of other intelligences prowling about in the +darkness--intelligences similar to his own in movement, perception, and +divination. + +Far down the street he caught a glimpse of something that moved. And he +knew it was no late home-goer, but menace and danger. He whistled twice +to the house across the street, then faded away shadow-like to the +corner and around the corner. Here he paused and looked about him +carefully. Reassured, he peered back around the corner and studied the +object that moved and that was coming nearer. He had divined aright. It +was a policeman. + +The man went down the cross street to the next corner, from the shelter +of which he watched the corner he had just left. He saw the policeman +pass by, going straight on up the street. He paralleled the policeman's +course, and from the next corner again watched him go by; then he +returned the way he had come. He whistled once to the house across the +street, and after a time whistled once again. There was reassurance in +the whistle, just as there had been warning in the previous double +whistle. + +He saw a dark bulk outline itself on the roof of the porch and slowly +descend a pillar. Then it came down the steps, passed through the small +iron gate, and went down the sidewalk, taking on the form of a man. He +that watched kept on his own side the street and moved on abreast to the +corner, where he crossed over and joined the other. He was quite small +alongside the man he accosted. + +"How'd you make out, Matt?" he asked. + +The other grunted indistinctly, and walked on in silence a few steps. + +"I reckon I landed the goods," he said. + +Jim chuckled in the darkness, and waited for further information. The +blocks passed by; under their feet, and he grew impatient. + +"Well, how about them goods?" he asked. "What kind of a haul did you +make, anyway?" + +"I was too busy to figger it out, but it's fat. I can tell you that +much, Jim, it's fat. I don't dast to think how fat it is. Wait till we +get to the room." + +Jim looked at him keenly under the street lamp of the next crossing, and +saw that his face was a trifle grim and that he carried his left arm +peculiarly. + +"What's the matter with your arm?" he demanded. + +"The little cuss bit me. Hope I don't get hydrophoby. Folks gets +hydrophoby from man-bite sometimes, don't they?" + +"Gave you a fight, eh!" Jim asked encouragingly. + +The other grunted. + +"You're certainly hard to get information from," Jim burst out +irritably. "Tell us about it. You ain't goin' to lose money just +a-tellin' a guy." + +"I guess I choked him some," came the answer. Then, by way of +explanation, "He woke up on me." + +"You did it neat. I never heard a sound." + +"Jim," the other said with seriousness, "it's a hangin' matter. I fixed +'m. I had to. He woke up on me. You an' me's got to do some layin' low +for a spell." + +Jim gave a low whistle of comprehension. + +"Did you hear me whistle!" he asked suddenly. + +"Sure. I was all done. I was just comin' out." + +"It was a bull. But he wasn't on a little bit. Went right by an' kept +a-paddin' the hoof outa sight. Then I came back an' gave you the +whistle. What made you take so long after that?" + +"I was waitin' to make sure," Matt explained. + +"I was mighty glad when I heard you whistle again. It's hard work +waitin'. I just sat there an' thought an' thought ... oh, all kinds of +things. It's remarkable what a fellow'll think about. And then there +was a darn cat that kept movin' around the house an' botherin' me with +its noises." + +"An' it's fat!" Jim exclaimed irrelevantly and with joy. + +"I'm sure tellin' you, Jim, it's fat. I'm plum' anxious for another look +at 'em." + +Unconsciously the two men quickened their pace. Yet they did not relax +from their caution. Twice they changed their course in order to avoid +policemen, and they made very sure that they were not observed when they +dived into the dark hallway of a cheap rooming house down town. + +Not until they had gained their own room on the top floor, did they +scratch a match. While Jim lighted a lamp, Matt locked the door and +threw the bolts into place. As he turned, he noticed that his partner +was waiting expectantly. Matt smiled to himself at the other's +eagerness. + +"Them search-lights is all right," he said, drawing forth a small pocket +electric lamp and examining it. "But we got to get a new battery. It's +runnin' pretty weak. I thought once or twice it'd leave me in the dark. +Funny arrangements in that house. I near got lost. His room was on the +left, an' that fooled me some." + +"I told you it was on the left," Jim interrupted. + +"You told me it was on the right," Matt went on. "I guess I know what +you told me, an' there's the map you drew." + +Fumbling in his vest pocket, he drew out a folded slip of paper. As he +unfolded it, Jim bent over and looked. + +"I did make a mistake," he confessed. + +"You sure did. It got me guessin' some for a while." + +"But it don't matter now," Jim cried. "Let's see what you got." + +"It does matter," Matt retorted. "It matters a lot ... to me. I've got +to run all the risk. I put my head in the trap while you stay on the +street. You got to get on to yourself an' be more careful. All right, +I'll show you." + +He dipped loosely into his trousers pocket and brought out a handful of +small diamonds. He spilled them out in a blazing stream on the greasy +table. Jim let out a great oath. + +"That's nothing," Matt said with triumphant complacence. "I ain't begun +yet." + +From one pocket after another he continued bringing forth the spoil. +There were many diamonds wrapped in chamois skin that were larger than +those in the first handful. From one pocket he brought out a handful of +very small cut gems. + +"Sun dust," he remarked, as he spilled them on the table in a space by +themselves. + +Jim examined them. + +"Just the same, they retail for a couple of dollars each," he said. "Is +that all?" + +"Ain't it enough?" the other demanded in an aggrieved tone. + +"Sure it is," Jim answered with unqualified approval. "Better'n I +expected. I wouldn't take a cent less than ten thousan' for the bunch." + +"Ten thousan'," Matt sneered. "They're worth twic't that, an' I don't +know anything about joolery, either. Look at that big boy!" + +He picked it out from the sparkling heap and held it near to the lamp +with the air of an expert, weighing and judging. + +"Worth a thousan' all by its lonely," was Jim's quicker judgment. + +"A thousan' your grandmother," was Matt's scornful rejoinder. "You +couldn't buy it for three." + +"Wake me up! I'm dreamin'!" The sparkle of the gems was in Jim's eyes, +and he began sorting out the larger diamonds and examining them. "We're +rich men, Matt--we'll be regular swells." + +"It'll take years to get rid of 'em," was Matt's more practical thought. + +"But think how we'll live! Nothin' to do but spend the money an' go on +gettin' rid of 'em." + +Matt's eyes were beginning to sparkle, though sombrely, as his +phlegmatic nature woke up. + +"I told you I didn't dast think how fat it was," he murmured in a low +voice. + +"What a killin'! What a killin'!" was the other's more ecstatic +utterance. + +"I almost forgot," Matt said, thrusting his hand into his inside coat +pocket. + +A string of large pearls emerged from wrappings of tissue paper and +chamois skin. Jim scarcely glanced at them. + +"They're worth money," he said, and returned to the diamonds. + +A silence fell on the two men. Jim played with the gems, running them +through his fingers, sorting them into piles, and spreading them out +flat and wide. He was a slender, weazened man, nervous, irritable, +high-strung, and anaemic--a typical child of the gutter, with +unbeautiful twisted features, small eyes, with face and mouth +perpetually and feverishly hungry, brutish in a catlike way, stamped to +the core with degeneracy. + +Matt did not finger the diamonds. He sat with chin on hands and elbows +on table, blinking heavily at the blazing array. He was in every way a +contrast to the other. No city had bred him. He was heavy muscled and +hairy, gorilla-like in strength and aspect. For him there was no unseen +world. His eyes were full and wide apart, and there seemed in them a +certain bold brotherliness. They inspired confidence. But a closer +inspection would have shown that his eyes were just a trifle too full, +just a shade too wide apart. He exceeded, spilled over the limits of +normality, and his features told lies about the man beneath. + +"The bunch is worth fifty thousan'," Jim remarked suddenly. + +"A hundred thousan'," Matt said. + +The silence returned and endured a long time, to be broken again by Jim. + +"What in blazes was he doin' with 'em all at the house?--that's what I +want to know. I'd a-thought he'd kept 'em in the safe down at the +store." + +Matt had just been considering the vision of the throttled man as he had +last looked upon him in the dim light of the electric lantern; but he +did not start at the mention of him. + +"There's no tellin'," he answered. "He might a-been getting ready to +chuck his pardner. He might a-pulled out in the mornin' for parts +unknown, if we hadn't happened along. I guess there's just as many +thieves among honest men as there is among thieves. You read about such +things in the papers, Jim. Pardners is always knifin' each other." + +A queer, nervous look came in the other's eyes. Matt did not betray that +he noted it, though he said:-- + +"What was you thinkin' about, Jim!" + +Jim was a trifle awkward for the moment. + +"Nothin'," he answered. "Only I was thinkin' just how funny it was--all +them jools at his house. What made you ask?" + +"Nothin'. I was just wonderin', that was all." + +The silence settled down, broken by an occasional low and nervous giggle +on the part of Jim. He was overcome by the spread of gems. It was not +that he felt their beauty. He was unaware that they were beautiful in +themselves. But in them his swift imagination visioned the joys of life +they would buy, and all the desires and appetites of his diseased mind +and sickly flesh were tickled by the promise they extended. He builded +wondrous, orgy-haunted castles out of their brilliant fires, and was +appalled at what he builded. Then it was that he giggled. It was all too +impossible to be real. And yet there they blazed on the table before +him, fanning the flame of the lust of him, and he giggled again. + +"I guess we might as well count 'em," Matt said suddenly, tearing +himself away from his own visions. "You watch me an' see that it's +square, because you an' me has got to be on the square, Jim. +Understand?" + +Jim did not like this, and betrayed it in his eyes, while Matt did not +like what he saw in his partner's eyes. + +"Understand!" Matt repeated, almost menacingly. + +"Ain't we always been square?" the other replied, on the defensive, what +of the treachery already whispering in him. + +"It don't cost nothin', bein' square in hard times," Matt retorted. +"It's bein' square in prosperity that counts. When we ain't got nothin', +we can't help bein' square. We're prosperous now, an' we've got to be +business men--honest business men. Understand?" + +"That's the talk for me," Jim approved, but deep down in the meagre soul +of him,--and in spite of him,--wanton and lawless thoughts were stirring +like chained beasts. + +Matt stepped to the food shelf behind the two-burner kerosene cooking +stove. He emptied the tea from a paper bag, and from a second bag +emptied some red peppers. Returning to the table with the bags, he put +into them the two sizes of small diamonds. Then he counted the large +gems and wrapped them in their tissue paper and chamois skin. + +"Hundred an' forty-seven good-sized ones," was his inventory; "twenty +real big ones; two big boys and one whopper; an' a couple of fistfuls of +teeny ones an' dust." + +He looked at Jim. + +"Correct," was the response. + +He wrote the count out on a slip of memorandum paper, and made a copy of +it, giving one slip to his partner and retaining the other. + +"Just for reference," he said. + +Again he had recourse to the food shelf, where he emptied the sugar from +a large paper bag. Into this he thrust the diamonds, large and small, +wrapped it up in a bandana handkerchief, and stowed it away under his +pillow. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed and took off his shoes. + +"An' you think they're worth a hundred thousan'?" Jim asked, pausing and +looking up from the unlacing of his shoe. + +"Sure," was the answer. "I seen a dancer down in Arizona once, with some +big sparklers on her. They wasn't real. She said if they was she +wouldn't be dancin'. Said they'd be worth all of fifty thousan', an' +she didn't have a dozen of 'em all told." + +"Who'd work for a livin'?" Jim triumphantly demanded. "Pick an' shovel +work!" he sneered. "Work like a dog all my life, an' save all my wages, +an' I wouldn't have half as much as we got to-night." + +"Dish washin's about your measure, an' you couldn't get more'n twenty a +month an' board. Your figgers is 'way off, but your point is well taken. +Let them that likes it, work. I rode range for thirty a month when I was +young an' foolish. Well, I'm older, an' I ain't ridin' range." + +He got into bed on one side. Jim put out the light and followed him in +on the other side. + +"How's your arm feel?" Jim queried amiably. + +Such concern was unusual, and Matt noted it, and replied:-- + +"I guess there's no danger of hydrophoby. What made you ask?" + +Jim felt in himself a guilty stir, and under his breath he cursed the +other's way of asking disagreeable questions; but aloud he answered: +"Nothin', only you seemed scared of it at first. What are you goin' to +do with your share, Matt?" + +"Buy a cattle ranch in Arizona an' set down an' pay other men to ride +range for me. There's some several I'd like to see askin' a job from me, +blast them! An' now you shut your face, Jim. It'll be some time before I +buy that ranch. Just now I'm goin' to sleep." + +But Jim lay long awake, nervous and twitching, rolling about restlessly +and rolling himself wide awake every time he dozed. The diamonds still +blazed under his eyelids, and the fire of them hurt. Matt, in spite of +his heavy nature, slept lightly, like a wild animal alert in its sleep; +and Jim noticed, every time he moved, that his partner's body moved +sufficiently to show that it had received the impression and that it was +trembling on the verge of awakening. For that matter, Jim did not know +whether or not, frequently, the other was awake. Once, quietly, +betokening complete consciousness, Matt said to him: "Aw, go to sleep, +Jim. Don't worry about them jools. They'll keep." And Jim had thought +that at that particular moment Matt had been surely asleep. + +In the late morning Matt was awake with Jim's first movement, and +thereafter he awoke and dozed with him until midday, when they got up +together and began dressing. + +"I'm goin' out to get a paper an' some bread," Matt said. "You boil the +coffee." + +As Jim listened, unconsciously his gaze left Matt's face and roved to +the pillow, beneath which was the bundle wrapped in the bandana +handkerchief. On the instant Matt's face became like a wild beast's. + +"Look here, Jim," he snarled. "You've got to play square. If you do me +dirt, I'll fix you. Understand? I'd eat you, Jim. You know that. I'd +bite right into your throat an' eat you like that much beefsteak." + +His sunburned skin was black with the surge of blood in it, and his +tobacco-stained teeth were exposed by the snarling lips. Jim shivered +and involuntarily cowered. There was death in the man he looked at. Only +the night before that black-faced man had killed another with his hands, +and it had not hurt his sleep. And in his own heart Jim was aware of a +sneaking guilt, of a train of thought that merited all that was +threatened. + +Matt passed out, leaving him still shivering. Then a hatred twisted his +own face, and he softly hurled savage threats at the door. He remembered +the jewels, and hastened to the bed, feeling under the pillow for the +bandana bundle. He crushed it with his fingers to make certain that it +still contained the diamonds. Assured that Matt had not carried them +away, he looked toward the kerosene stove with a guilty start. Then he +hurriedly lighted it, filled the coffee pot at the sink, and put it over +the flame. + +The coffee was boiling when Matt returned, and while the latter cut the +bread and put a slice of butter on the table, Jim poured out the coffee. +It was not until he sat down and had taken a few sips of the coffee, +that Matt pulled out the morning paper from his pocket. + +"We was way off," he said. "I told you I didn't dast figger out how fat +it was. Look at that." + +He pointed to the head lines on the first page. "SWIFT NEMESIS ON +BUJANNOFF'S TRACK," they read. "MURDERED IN HIS SLEEP AFTER ROBBING HIS +PARTNER." + +"There you have it!" Matt cried. "He robbed his partner--robbed him +like a dirty thief." + +"Half a million of jewels missin'," Jim read aloud. He put the paper +down and stared at Matt. + +"That's what I told you," the latter said. "What in thunder do we know +about jools? Half a million!--an' the best I could figger it was a +hundred thousan'. Go on an' read the rest of it." + +They read on silently, their heads side by side, the untouched coffee +growing cold; and ever and anon one or the other burst forth with some +salient printed fact. + +"I'd like to seen Metzner's face when he opened the safe at the store +this mornin'," Jim gloated. + +"He hit the high places right away for Bujannoff's house," Matt +explained. "Go on an' read." + +"Was to have sailed last night at ten on the _Sajoda_ for the South +Seas--steamship delayed by extra freight----" + +"That's why we caught 'm in bed," Matt interrupted. "It was just +luck--like pickin' a fifty-to-one winner." + +"_Sajoda_ sailed at six this mornin'----" + +"He didn't catch her," Matt said. "I saw his alarm clock was set at +five. That'd given 'm plenty of time ... only I come along an' put the +_kibosh_ on his time. Go on." + +"Adolph Metzner in despair--the famous Haythorne pearl +necklace--magnificently assorted pearls--valued by experts at from fifty +to seventy thousan' dollars." + +Jim broke off to say solemnly, "Those oyster-eggs worth all that money!" + +He licked his lips and added, "They was beauties an' no mistake." + +"Big Brazilian gem," he read on. "Eighty thousan' dollars--many valuable +gems of the first water--several thousan' small diamonds well worth +forty thousan'." + +"What you don't know about jools is worth knowin'," Matt smiled good +humoredly. + +"Theory of the sleuths," Jim read. "Thieves must have known--cleverly +kept watch on Bujannoff's actions--must have learned his plan and +trailed him to his house with the fruits of his robbery--" + +"Clever--" Matt broke out. "That's the way reputations is made ... in +the noos-papers. How'd we know he was robbin' his pardner?" + +"Anyway, we've got the goods," Jim grinned. "Let's look at 'em again." + +He assured himself that the door was locked and bolted, while Matt +brought out the bundle in the bandana and opened it on the table. + +"Ain't they beauties, though!" Jim exclaimed at sight of the pearls; and +for a time he had eyes only for them. "Accordin' to the experts, worth +from fifty to seventy thousan' dollars." + +"An' women like them things," Matt commented. "An' they'll do everything +to get 'em--sell themselves, commit murder, anything." + +"Just like you an' me." + +"Not on your life," Matt retorted. "I'll commit murder for 'em, but not +for their own sakes, but for the sake of what they'll get me. That's the +difference. Women want the jools for themselves, an' I want the jools +for the women an' such things they'll get me." + +"Lucky that men an' women don't want the same things," Jim remarked. + +"That's what makes commerce," Matt agreed; "people wantin' different +things." + +In the middle of the afternoon Jim went out to buy food. While he was +gone, Matt cleared the table of the jewels, wrapping them up as before +and putting them under the pillow. Then he lighted the kerosene stove +and started to boil water for the coffee. A few minutes later, Jim +returned. + +"Most surprising," he remarked. "Streets, an' stores, an' people just +like they always was. Nothin' changed. An' me walkin' along through it +all a millionnaire. Nobody looked at me an' guessed it" + +Matt grunted unsympathetically. He had little comprehension of the +lighter whims and fancies of his partner's imagination. + +"Did you get a porterhouse?" he demanded. + +"Sure, an' an inch thick. It's a peach. Look at it." + +He unwrapped the steak and held it up for the other's inspection. Then +he made the coffee and set the table, while Matt fried the steak. + +"Don't put on too much of them red peppers," Jim warned. "I ain't used +to your Mexican cookin'. You always season too hot." + +Matt grunted a laugh and went on with his cooking. Jim poured out the +coffee, but first, into the nicked china cup, he emptied a powder he had +carried in his vest pocket wrapped in a rice-paper. He had turned his +back for the moment on his partner, but he did not dare to glance around +at him. Matt placed a newspaper on the table, and on the newspaper set +the hot frying pan. He cut the steak in half, and served Jim and +himself. + +"Eat her while she's hot," he counselled, and with knife and fork set +the example. + +"She's a dandy," was Jim's judgment, after his first mouthful. "But I +tell you one thing straight. I'm never goin' to visit you on that +Arizona ranch, so you needn't ask me." + +"What's the matter now?" Matt asked. + +"The Mexican cookin' on your ranch'd be too much for me. If I've got +blue blazes a-comin' in the next life, I'm not goin' to torment my +insides in this one!" + +He smiled, expelled his breath forcibly to cool his burning mouth, drank +some coffee, and went on eating the steak. + +"What do you think about the next life anyway, Matt?" he asked a little +later, while secretly he wondered why the other had not yet touched his +coffee. + +"Ain't no next life," Matt answered, pausing from the steak to take his +first sip of coffee. "Nor heaven nor hell, nor nothin'. You get all +that's comin' right here in this life." + +"An' afterward?" Jim queried out of his morbid curiosity, for he knew +that he looked upon a man that was soon to die. "An' afterward?" he +repeated. + +"Did you ever see a man two weeks dead?" the other asked. + +Jim shook his head. + +"Well, I have. He was like this beefsteak you an' me is eatin'. It was +once steer cavortin' over the landscape. But now it's just meat. That's +all, just meat. An' that's what you an' me an' all people come +to--meat." + +Matt gulped down the whole cup of coffee, and refilled the cup. + +"Are you scared to die?" he asked. + +Jim shook his head. "What's the use? I don't die anyway. I pass on an' +live again--" + +"To go stealin', an' lyin', an' snivellin' through another life, an' go +on that way forever an' ever an' ever?" Matt sneered. + +"Maybe I'll improve," Jim suggested hopefully. "Maybe stealin' won't be +necessary in the life to come." + +He ceased abruptly, and stared straight before him, a frightened +expression on his face. + +"What's the matter!" Matt demanded. + +"Nothin'. I was just wonderin'"--Jim returned to himself with an +effort--"about this dyin', that was all." + +But he could not shake off the fright that had startled him. It was as +if an unseen thing of gloom had passed him by, casting upon him the +intangible shadow of its presence. He was aware of a feeling of +foreboding. Something ominous was about to happen. Calamity hovered in +the air. He gazed fixedly across the table at the other man. He could +not understand. Was it that he had blundered and poisoned himself? No, +Matt had the nicked cup, and he had certainly put the poison in the +nicked cup. + +It was all his own imagination, was his next thought. It had played him +tricks before. Fool! Of course it was. Of course something was about to +happen, but it was about to happen to Matt. Had not Matt drunk the +whole cup of coffee? + +Jim brightened up and finished his steak, sopping bread in the gravy +when the meat was gone. + +"When I was a kid--" he began, but broke off abruptly. + +Again the unseen thing of gloom had fluttered, and his being was vibrant +with premonition of impending misfortune. He felt a disruptive influence +at work in the flesh of him, and in all his muscles there was a seeming +that they were about to begin to twitch. He sat back suddenly, and as +suddenly leaned forward with his elbows on the table. A tremor ran dimly +through the muscles of his body. It was like the first rustling of +leaves before the oncoming of wind. He clenched his teeth. It came +again, a spasmodic tensing of his muscles. He knew panic at the revolt +within his being. His muscles no longer recognized his mastery over +them. Again they spasmodically tensed, despite the will of him, for he +had willed that they should not tense. This was revolution within +himself, this was anarchy; and the terror of impotence rushed up in him +as his flesh gripped and seemed to seize him in a clutch, chills running +up and down his back and sweat starting on his brow. He glanced about +the room, and all the details of it smote him with a strange sense of +familiarity. It was as though he had just returned from a long journey. +He looked across the table at his partner. Matt was watching him and +smiling. An expression of horror spread over Jim's face. + +"Matt!" he screamed. "You ain't doped me?" + +Matt smiled and continued to watch him. In the paroxysm that followed, +Jim did not become unconscious. His muscles tensed and twitched and +knotted, hurting him and crushing him in their savage grip. And in the +midst of it all, it came to him that Matt was acting queerly. He was +traveling the same road. The smile had gone from his face, and there was +on it an intense expression, as if he were listening to some inner tale +of himself and trying to divine the message. Matt got up and walked +across the room and back again, then sat down. + +"You did this, Jim," he said quietly. + +"But I didn't think you'd try to fix _me_," Jim answered reproachfully. + +"Oh, I fixed you all right," Matt said, with teeth close together and +shivering body. "What did you give me?" + +"Strychnine." + +"Same as I gave you," Matt volunteered. "It's some mess, ain't it!" + +"You're lyin', Matt," Jim pleaded. "You ain't doped me, have you?" + +"I sure did, Jim; an' I didn't overdose you, neither. I cooked it in as +neat as you please in your half the porterhouse.--Hold on! Where're you +goin'?" + +Jim had made a dash for the door, and was throwing back the bolts. Matt +sprang in between and shoved him away. + +"Drug store," Jim panted. "Drug store." + +"No you don't. You'll stay right here. There ain't goin' to be any +runnin' out an' makin' a poison play on the street--not with all them +jools reposin' under the pillow. Savve? Even if you didn't die, you'd be +in the hands of the police with a lot of explanations comin'. Emetics is +the stuff for poison. I'm just as bad bit as you, an' I'm goin' to take +a emetic. That's all they'd give you at a drug store, anyway." + +He thrust Jim back into the middle of the room and shot the bolts into +place. As he went across the floor to the food shelf, he passed one hand +over his brow and flung off the beaded sweat. It spattered audibly on +the floor. Jim watched agonizedly as Matt got the mustard can and a cup +and ran for the sink. He stirred a cupful of mustard and water and drank +it down. Jim had followed him and was reaching with trembling hands for +the empty cup. Again Matt shoved him away. As he mixed a second cupful, +he demanded: + +"D'you think one cup'll do for me? You can wait till I'm done." + +Jim started to totter toward the door, but Matt checked him. + +"If you monkey with that door, I'll twist your neck. Savve? You can take +yours when I'm done. An' if it saves you, I'll twist your neck, anyway. +You ain't got no chance, nohow. I told you many times what you'd get if +you did me dirt." + +"But you did me dirt, too," Jim articulated with an effort. + +Matt was drinking the second cupful, and did not answer. The sweat had +got into Jim's eyes, and he could scarcely see his way to the table, +where he got a cup for himself. But Matt was mixing a third cupful, and, +as before, thrust him away. + +"I told you to wait till I was done," Matt growled. "Get outa my way." + +And Jim supported his twitching body by holding on to the sink, the +while he yearned toward the yellowish concoction that stood for life. It +was by sheer will that he stood and clung to the sink. His flesh strove +to double him up and bring him to the floor. Matt drank the third +cupful, and with difficulty managed to get to a chair and sit down. His +first paroxysm was passing. The spasms that afflicted him were dying +away. This good effect he ascribed to the mustard and water. He was +safe, at any rate. He wiped the sweat from his face, and, in the +interval of calm, found room for curiosity. He looked at his partner. + +A spasm had shaken the mustard can out of Jim's hands, and the contents +were spilled upon the floor. He stooped to scoop some of the mustard +into the cup, and the succeeding spasm doubled him up on the floor. Matt +smiled. + +"Stay with it," he encouraged. "It's the stuff all right. It's fixed me +up." + +Jim heard him and turned toward him with a stricken face, twisted with +suffering and pleading. Spasm now followed spasm till he was in +convulsions, rolling on the floor and yellowing his face and hair in the +mustard. + +Matt laughed hoarsely at the sight, but the laugh broke midway. A tremor +had run through his body. A new paroxysm was beginning. He arose and +staggered across to the sink, where, with probing forefinger, he vainly +strove to assist the action of the emetic. In the end, he clung to the +sink as Jim had clung, filled with the horror of going down to the +floor. + +The other's paroxysm had passed, and he sat up, weak and fainting, too +weak to rise, his forehead dripping, his lips flecked with a foam made +yellow by the mustard in which he had rolled. He rubbed his eyes with +his knuckles, and groans that were like whines came from his throat. + +"What are you snifflin' about!" Matt demanded out of his agony. "All you +got to do is die. An' when you die you're dead." + +"I ... ain't ... snifflin' ... it's ... the ... mustard ... stingin' +... my ... eyes," Jim panted with desperate slowness. + +It was his last successful attempt at speech. Thereafter he babbled +incoherently, pawing the air with shaking arms till a fresh convulsion +stretched him on the floor. + +Matt struggled back to the chair, and, doubled up on it, with his arms +clasped about his knees, he fought with his disintegrating flesh. He +came out of the convulsion cool and weak. He looked to see how it went +with the other, and saw him lying motionless. + +He tried to soliloquize, to be facetious, to have his last grim laugh at +life, but his lips made only incoherent sounds. The thought came to him +that the emetic had failed, and that nothing remained but the drug +store. He looked toward the door and drew himself to his feet. There he +saved himself from falling by clutching the chair. Another paroxysm had +begun. And in the midst of the paroxysm, with his body and all the parts +of it flying apart and writhing and twisting back again into knots, he +clung to the chair and shoved it before him across the floor. The last +shreds of his will were leaving him when he gained the door. He turned +the key and shot back one bolt. He fumbled for the second bolt, but +failed. Then he leaned his weight against the door and slid down gently +to the floor. + +[Illustration:] + + + + +A NOSE FOR THE KING + + +In the morning calm of Korea, when its peace and tranquility truly +merited its ancient name, "Cho-sen," there lived a politician by name Yi +Chin Ho. He was a man of parts, and--who shall say?--perhaps in no wise +worse than politicians the world over. But, unlike his brethren in other +lands, Yi Chin Ho was in jail. Not that he had inadvertently diverted to +himself public moneys, but that he had inadvertently diverted too much. +Excess is to be deplored in all things, even in grafting, and Yi Chin +Ho's excess had brought him to most deplorable straits. + +Ten thousand strings of cash he owed the government, and he lay in +prison under sentence of death. There was one advantage to the +situation--he had plenty of time in which to think. And he thought well. +Then called he the jailer to him. + +"Most worthy man, you see before you one most wretched," he began. "Yet +all will be well with me if you will but let me go free for one short +hour this night. And all will be well with you, for I shall see to your +advancement through the years, and you shall come at length to the +directorship of all the prisons of Cho-sen." + +"How now?" demanded the jailer. "What foolishness is this? One short +hour, and you but waiting for your head to be chopped off! And I, with +an aged and much-to-be-respected mother, not to say anything of a wife +and several children of tender years! Out upon you for the scoundrel +that you are!" + +"From the Sacred City to the ends of all the Eight Coasts there is no +place for me to hide," Yi Chin Ho made reply. "I am a man of wisdom, but +of what worth my wisdom here in prison? Were I free, well I know I could +seek out and obtain the money wherewith to repay the government. I know +of a nose that will save me from all my difficulties." + +"A nose!" cried the jailer. + +"A nose," said Yi Chin Ho. "A remarkable nose, if I may say so, a most +remarkable nose." + +The jailer threw up his hands despairingly. "Ah, what a wag you are, +what a wag," he laughed. "To think that that very admirable wit of yours +must go the way of the chopping-block!" + +And so saying, he turned and went away. But in the end, being a man soft +of head and heart, when the night was well along he permitted Yi Chin Ho +to go. + +Straight he went to the Governor, catching him alone and arousing him +from his sleep. + +"Yi Chin Ho, or I'm no Governor!" cried the Governor. "What do you here +who should be in prison waiting on the chopping-block!" + +"I pray your excellency to listen to me," said Yi Chin Ho, squatting on +his hams by the bedside and lighting his pipe from the fire-box. "A dead +man is without value. It is true, I am as a dead man, without value to +the government, to your excellency, or to myself. But if, so to say, +your excellency were to give me my freedom--" + +"Impossible!" cried the Governor. "Besides, you are condemned to death." + +"Your excellency well knows that if I can repay the ten thousand strings +of cash, the government will pardon me," Yi Chin Ho went on. "So, as I +say, if your excellency were to give me my freedom for a few days, being +a man of understanding, I should then repay the government and be in +position to be of service to your excellency. I should be in position to +be of very great service to your excellency." + +"Have you a plan whereby you hope to obtain this money?" asked the +Governor. + +"I have," said Yi Chin Ho. + +"Then come with it to me to-morrow night; I would now sleep," said the +Governor, taking up his snore where it had been interrupted. + +On the following night, having again obtained leave of absence from the +jailer, Yi Chin Ho presented himself at the Governor's bedside. + +"Is it you, Yi Chin Ho?" asked the Governor. "And have you the plan?" + +"It is I, your excellency," answered Yi Chin Ho, "and the plan is here." + +"Speak," commanded the Governor. + +"The plan is here," repeated Yi Chin Ho, "here in my hand." + +The Governor sat up and opened his eyes, Yi Chin Ho proffered in his +hand a sheet of paper. The Governor held it to the light. + +"Nothing but a nose," said he. + +"A bit pinched, so, and so, your excellency," said Yi Chin Ho. + +"Yes, a bit pinched here and there, as you say," said the Governor. + +"Withal it is an exceeding corpulent nose, thus, and so, all in one +place, at the end," proceeded Yi Chin Ho. "Your excellency would seek +far and wide and many a day for that nose and find it not." + +"An unusual nose," admitted the Governor. + +"There is a wart upon it," said Yi Chin Ho. + +"A most unusual nose," said the Governor. "Never have I seen the like. +But what do you with this nose, Yi Chin Ho!" + +"I seek it whereby to repay the money to the government," said Yi Chin +Ho. "I seek it to be of service to your excellency, and I seek it to +save my own worthless head. Further, I seek your excellency's seal upon +this picture of the nose." + +And the Governor laughed and affixed the seal of state, and Yi Chin Ho +departed. For a month and a day he traveled the King's Road which leads +to the shore of the Eastern Sea; and there, one night, at the gate of +the largest mansion of a wealthy city he knocked loudly for admittance. + +"None other than the master of the house will I see," said he fiercely +to the frightened servants. "I travel upon the King's business." + +Straightway was he led to an inner room, where the master of the house +was roused from his sleep and brought blinking before him. + +"You are Pak Chung Chang, head man of this city," said Yi Chin Ho in +tones that were all-accusing. "I am upon the King's business." + +Pak Chung Chang trembled. Well he knew the King's business was ever a +terrible business. His knees smote together, and he near fell to the +floor. + +"The hour is late," he quavered. "Were it not well to----" + +"The King's business never waits!" thundered Yi Chin Ho. "Come apart +with me, and swiftly. I have an affair of moment to discuss with you. + +"It is the King's affair," he added with even greater fierceness; so +that Pak Chung Chang's silver pipe dropped from his nerveless fingers +and clattered on the floor. + +"Know then," said Yi Chin Ho, when they had gone apart, "that the King +is troubled with an affliction, a very terrible affliction. In that he +failed to cure, the Court physician has had nothing else than his head +chopped off. From all the Eight Provinces have the physicians come to +wait upon the King. Wise consultation have they held, and they have +decided that for a remedy for the King's affliction nothing else is +required than a nose, a certain kind of nose, a very peculiar certain +kind of nose. + +"Then by none other was I summoned than his excellency the prime +minister himself. He put a paper into my hand. Upon this paper was the +very peculiar kind of nose drawn by the physicians of the Eight +Provinces, with the seal of state upon it. + +"'Go,' said his excellency the prime minister. 'Seek out this nose, for +the King's affliction is sore. And wheresoever you find this nose upon +the face of a man, strike it off forthright and bring it in all haste to +the Court, for the King must be cured. Go, and come not back until your +search is rewarded.' + +"And so I departed upon my quest," said Yi Chin Ho. "I have sought out +the remotest corners of the kingdom; I have traveled the Eight +Highways, searched the Eight Provinces, and sailed the seas of the Eight +Coasts. And here I am." + +With a great flourish he drew a paper from his girdle, unrolled it with +many snappings and cracklings, and thrust it before the face of Pak +Chung Chang. Upon the paper was the picture of the nose. + +Pak Chung Chang stared upon it with bulging eyes. + +"Never have I beheld such a nose," he began. + +"There is a wart upon it," said Yi Chin Ho. + +"Never have I beheld----" Pak Chung Chang began again. + +"Bring your father before me," Yi Chin Ho interrupted sternly. + +"My ancient and very-much-to-be-respected ancestor sleeps," said Pak +Chung Chang. + +"Why dissemble?" demanded Yi Chin Ho. "You know it is your father's +nose. Bring him before me that I may strike it off and be gone. Hurry, +lest I make bad report of you." + +"Mercy!" cried Pak Chung Chang, falling on his knees. "It is impossible! +It is impossible! You cannot strike off my father's nose. He cannot go +down without his nose to the grave. He will become a laughter and a +byword, and all my days and nights will be filled with woe. O reflect! +Report that you have seen no such nose in your travels. You, too, have a +father." + +Pak Chung Chang clasped Yi Chin Ho's knees and fell to weeping on his +sandals. + +"My heart softens strangely at your tears," said Yi Chin Ho. "I, too, +know filial piety and regard. But--" He hesitated, then added, as though +thinking aloud, "It is as much as my head is worth." + +"How much is your head worth?" asked Pak Chung Chang in a thin, small +voice. + +"A not remarkable head," said Yi Chin Ho. "An absurdly unremarkable +head! but, such is my great foolishness, I value it at nothing less than +one hundred thousand strings of cash." + +"So be it," said Pak Chung Chang, rising to his feet. + +"I shall need horses to carry the treasure," said Yi Chin Ho, "and men +to guard it well as I journey through the mountains. There are robbers +abroad in the land." + +"There are robbers abroad in the land," said Pak Chung Chang, sadly. +"But it shall be as you wish, so long as my ancient and +very-much-to-be-respected ancestor's nose abide in its appointed +place." + +"Say nothing to any man of this occurrence," said Yi Chin Ho, "else will +other and more loyal servants than I be sent to strike off your father's +nose." + +And so Yi Chin Ho departed on his way through the mountains, blithe of +heart and gay of song as he listened to the jingling bells of his +treasure-laden ponies. + +There is little more to tell. Yi Chin Ho prospered through the years. By +his efforts the jailer attained at length to the directorship of all the +prisons of Cho-sen; the Governor ultimately betook himself to the Sacred +City to be prime minister to the King, while Yi Chin Ho became the +King's boon companion and sat at table with him to the end of a round, +fat life. But Pak Chung Chang fell into a melancholy, and ever after he +shook his head sadly, with tears in his eyes, whenever he regarded the +expensive nose of his ancient and very-much-to-be-respected ancestor. + + + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Brown Wolf and Other Jack London +Stories, by Jack London + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12336 *** diff --git a/12336-h/12336-h.htm b/12336-h/12336-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..641e1d1 --- /dev/null +++ b/12336-h/12336-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7785 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta content="pg2html (binary v0.17)" name="linkgenerator" /> + <title> + Brown Wolf, by Jack London + </title> + + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} + .x-small {font-size: 75%;} + .small {font-size: 85%;} + .large {font-size: 115%;} + .x-large {font-size: 130%;} + .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} + .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} + .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} + .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} + .indent25 { margin-left: 25%;} + .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} + .indent35 { margin-left: 35%;} + .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; + font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; + text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; + border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} + .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} + span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} +</style> + </head> + <body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12336 ***</div> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + BROWN WOLF + </h1> + <h2> + By Jack London + </h2> + <h3> + And Other Jack London Stories + </h3> + <h4> + As chosen by Franklin K. Mathiews Chief Scout Librarian, Boy Scouts of + America + </h4> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_INTR"> INTRODUCTION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> BROWN WOLF </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> THAT SPOT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> TRUST </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> ALL GOLD CANYON </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> THE STORY OF KEESH </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> NAM-BOK THE UNVERACIOUS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> YELLOW HANDKERCHIEF </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> MAKE WESTING </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> THE HEATHEN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> THE HOBO AND THE FAIRY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> "JUST MEAT" </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> A NOSE FOR THE KING </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + INTRODUCTION + </h2> + <p> + Boys delight in men who have had adventures, and when they are privileged + to read of such exploits in thrilling story form, that is the "seventh + heaven" for them. Such a "boys' man" was Jack London, whose whole life was + one of stirring action on land and sea. Gifted as a story teller, he wrote + books almost without end. Some of them, "The Call of the Wild," "The Sea + Wolf" and "White Fang," have already been recognized as fine books for + boys. Others, volumes of short stories, contain many of like interest, + possessing the same qualities that have made the other and longer stories + so acceptable as juveniles. + </p> + <p> + Effort has been made by the editor to bring together in one volume a + number of such stories, not for the reason alone that there might be + another Jack London book for boys, but also in order to add to our + juvenile literature a volume likely "to be chewed and digested," as Bacon + says, a book worthy "to be read whole, and with diligence and attention." + For my belief is that boys read altogether too few of such books. Or + perhaps it would be more correct to say, have too few opportunities to + read such books, because so often we fail to see how quick in their + reading their minds are to grasp the more difficult, and how keen and + competent their conscience to draw the right conclusion when situations + are presented wherein men err so grievously. + </p> + <p> + It is hoped the stories presented will serve to exercise both the boy's + mind and conscience; that seeing and feeling life and nature as Jack + London saw and felt it—the best and the worst in human nature, with + the Infinite always near and from whom there is no escape—seeing and + feeling such things boys will develop the emotional muscles of the spirit, + have opened up new windows to their imaginations, and withal add some line + or color to their life's ideals. + </p> + <p> + FRANKLIN K. MATHIEWS, Chief Scout Librarian, Boy Scouts of America. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BROWN WOLF + </h2> + <p> + She had delayed, because of the dew-wet grass, in order to put on her + overshoes, and when she emerged from the house found her waiting husband + absorbed in the wonder of a bursting almond-bud. She sent a questing + glance across the tall grass and in and out among the orchard trees. + </p> + <p> + "Where's Wolf?" she asked. + </p> + <p> + "He was here a moment ago." Walt Irvine drew himself away with a jerk from + the metaphysics and poetry of the organic miracle of blossom, and surveyed + the landscape. "He was running a rabbit the last I saw of him." + </p> + <p> + "Wolf! Wolf! Here, Wolf!" she called, as they left the clearing and took + the trail that led down through the waxen-belled manzanita jungle to the + county road. + </p> + <p> + Irvine thrust between his lips the little finger of each hand and lent to + her efforts a shrill whistling. + </p> + <p> + She covered her ears hastily and made a wry grimace. + </p> + <p> + "My! for a poet, delicately attuned and all the rest of it, you can make + unlovely noises. My eardrums are pierced. You outwhistle——" + </p> + <p> + "Orpheus." + </p> + <p> + "I was about to say a street-arab," she concluded severely. + </p> + <p> + "Poesy does not prevent one from being practical—at least it doesn't + prevent <i>me</i>. Mine is no futility of genius that can't sell gems to + the magazines." + </p> + <p> + He assumed a mock extravagance, and went on: + </p> + <p> + "I am no attic singer, no ballroom warbler. And why? Because I am + practical. Mine is no squalor of song that cannot transmute itself, with + proper exchange value, into a flower-crowned cottage, a sweet + mountain-meadow, a grove of redwoods, an orchard of thirty-seven trees, + one long row of blackberries and two short rows of strawberries, to say + nothing of a quarter of a mile of gurgling brook." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, that all your song-transmutations were as successful!" she laughed. + </p> + <p> + "Name one that wasn't." + </p> + <p> + "Those two beautiful sonnets that you transmuted into the cow that was + accounted the worst milker in the township." + </p> + <p> + "She was beautiful——" he began. + </p> + <p> + "But she didn't give milk," Madge interrupted. + </p> + <p> + "But she <i>was</i> beautiful, now, wasn't she?" he insisted. + </p> + <p> + "And here's where beauty and utility fall out," was her reply. "And + there's the Wolf!" + </p> + <p> + From the thicket-covered hillside came a crashing of underbrush, and then, + forty feet above them, on the edge of the sheer wall of rock, appeared a + wolf's head and shoulders. His braced forepaws dislodged a pebble, and + with sharp-pricked ears and peering eyes he watched the fall of the pebble + till it struck at their feet. Then he transferred his gaze and with open + mouth laughed down at them. + </p> + <p> + "You Wolf, you!" and "You blessed Wolf!" the man and woman called out to + him. The ears flattened back and down at the sound, and the head seemed to + snuggle under the caress of an invisible hand. + </p> + <p> + They watched him scramble backward into the thicket, then proceeded on + their way. Several minutes later, rounding a turn in the trail where the + descent was less precipitous, he joined them in the midst of a miniature + avalanche of pebbles and loose soil. He was not demonstrative. A pat and a + rub around the ears from the man, and a more prolonged caressing from the + woman, and he was away down the trail in front of them, gliding + effortlessly over the ground in true wolf fashion. + </p> + <p> + In build and coat and brush he was a huge timber-wolf; but the lie was + given to his wolf-hood by his color and marking. There the dog + unmistakably advertised itself. No wolf was ever colored like him. He was + brown, deep brown, red-brown, an orgy of browns. Back and shoulders were a + warm brown that paled on the sides and underneath to a yellow that was + dingy because of the brown that lingered in it. The white of the throat + and paws and the spots over the eyes was dirty because of the persistent + and ineradicable brown, while the eyes themselves were twin topazes, + golden and brown. + </p> + <p> + The man and woman loved the dog very much; perhaps this was because it had + been such a task to win his love. It had been no easy matter when he first + drifted in mysteriously out of nowhere to their little mountain cottage. + Footsore and famished, he had killed a rabbit under their very noses and + under their very windows, and then crawled away and slept by the spring at + the foot of the blackberry bushes. When Walt Irvine went down to inspect + the intruder, he was snarled at for his pains, and Madge likewise was + snarled at when she went down to present, as a peace-offering, a large pan + of bread and milk. + </p> + <p> + A most unsociable dog he proved to be, resenting all their advances, + refusing to let them lay hands on him, menacing them with bared fangs and + bristling hair. Nevertheless he remained, sleeping and resting by the + spring, and eating the food they gave him after they set it down at a safe + distance and retreated. His wretched physical condition explained why he + lingered; and when he had recuperated, after several days' sojourn, he + disappeared. + </p> + <p> + And this would have been the end of him, so far as Irvine and his wife + were concerned, had not Irvine at that particular time been called away + into the northern part of the state. Biding along on the train, near to + the line between California and Oregon, he chanced to look out of the + window and saw his unsociable guest sliding along the wagon road, brown + and wolfish, tired yet tireless, dust-covered and soiled with two hundred + miles of travel. + </p> + <p> + Now Irvine was a man of impulse, a poet. He got off the train at the next + station, bought a piece of meat at a butcher shop, and captured the + vagrant on the outskirts of the town. The return trip was made in the + baggage car, and so Wolf came a second time to the mountain cottage. Here + he was tied up for a week and made love to by the man and woman. But it + was very circumspect love-making. Remote and alien as a traveller from + another planet, he snarled down their soft-spoken love-words. He never + barked. In all the time they had him he was never known to bark. + </p> + <p> + To win him became a problem. Irvine liked problems. He had a metal plate + made, on which was stamped: "Return to Walt Irvine, Glen Ellen, Sonoma + County, California." This was riveted to a collar and strapped about the + dog's neck. Then he was turned loose, and promptly He disappeared. A day + later came a telegram from Mendocino County. In twenty hours he had made + over a hundred miles to the north, and was still going when captured. + </p> + <p> + He came back by Wells Fargo Express, was tied up three days, and was + loosed on the fourth and lost. This time he gained southern Oregon before + he was caught and returned. Always, as soon as he received his liberty, he + fled away, and always he fled north. He was possessed of an obsession that + drove him north. The homing instinct, Irvine called it, after he had + expended the selling price of a sonnet in getting the animal back from + northern Oregon. + </p> + <p> + Another time the brown wanderer succeeded in traversing half the length of + California, all of Oregon, and most of Washington, before he was picked up + and returned "Collect." A remarkable thing was the speed with which he + traveled. Fed up and rested, as soon as he was loosed he devoted all his + energy to getting over the ground. On the first day's run he was known to + cover as high as a hundred and fifty miles, and after that he would + average a hundred miles a day until caught. He always arrived back lean + and hungry and savage, and always departed fresh and vigorous, cleaving + his way northward in response to some prompting of his being that no one + could understand. + </p> + <p> + But at last, after a futile year of flight, he accepted the inevitable and + elected to remain at the cottage where first he had killed the rabbit and + slept by the spring. Even after that, a long time elapsed before the man + and woman succeeded in patting him. It was a great victory, for they alone + were allowed to put hands on him. He was fastidiously exclusive, and no + guest at the cottage ever succeeded in making up to him. A low growl + greeted such approach; if any one had the hardihood to come nearer, the + lips lifted, the naked fangs appeared, and the growl became a snarl—a + snarl so terrible and malignant that it awed the stoutest of them, as it + likewise awed the farmers' dogs that knew ordinary dog snarling, but had + never seen wolf snarling before. + </p> + <p> + He was without antecedents. His history began with Walt and Madge. He had + come up from the south, but never a clew did they get of the owner from + whom he had evidently fled. Mrs. Johnson, their nearest neighbor and the + one who supplied them with milk, proclaimed him a Klondike dog. Her + brother was burrowing for frozen pay-streaks in that far country, and so + she constituted herself an authority on the subject. + </p> + <p> + But they did not dispute her. There were the tips of Wolf's ears, + obviously so severely frozen at some time that they would never quite heal + again. Besides, he looked like the photographs of the Alaskan dogs they + saw published in magazines and newspapers. They often speculated over his + past, and tried to conjure up (from what they had read and heard) what his + northland life had been. That the northland still drew him, they knew; for + at night they sometimes heard him crying softly; and when the north wind + blew and the bite of frost was in the air, a great restlessness would come + upon him and he would lift a mournful lament which they knew to be the + long wolf-howl. Yet he never barked. No provocation was great enough to + draw from him that canine cry. + </p> + <p> + Long discussion they had, during the time of winning him, as to whose dog + he was. Each claimed him, and each proclaimed loudly any expression of + affection made by him. But the man had the better of it at first, chiefly + because he was a man. It was patent that Wolf had had no experience with + women. He did not understand women. Madge's skirts were something he never + quite accepted. The swish of them was enough to set him a-bristle with + suspicion, and on a windy day she could not approach him at all. + </p> + <p> + On the other hand, it was Madge who fed him; also it was she who ruled the + kitchen, and it was by her favor, and her favor alone, that he was + permitted to come within that sacred precinct. It was because of these + things that she bade fair to overcome the handicap of her garments. Then + it was that Walt put forth special effort, making it a practice to have + Wolf lie at his feet while he wrote, and, between petting and talking, + losing much time from his work. Walt won in the end, and his victory was + most probably due to the fact that he was a man, though Madge averred that + they would have had another quarter of a mile of gurgling brook, and at + least two west winds sighing through their redwoods, had Walt properly + devoted his energies to song-transmutation and left Wolf alone to exercise + a natural taste and an unbiased judgment. + </p> + <p> + "It's about time I heard from those triolets," Walt said, after a silence + of five minutes, during which they had swung steadily down the trail. + "There'll be a check at the post office, I know, and we'll transmute it + into beautiful buckwheat flour, a gallon of maple syrup, and a new pair of + overshoes for you." + </p> + <p> + "And into beautiful milk from Mrs. Johnson's beautiful cow," Madge added. + "To-morrow's the first of the month, you know." + </p> + <p> + Walt scowled unconsciously; then his face brightened, and he clapped his + hand to his breast pocket. + </p> + <p> + "Never mind. I have here a nice, beautiful, new cow, the best milker in + California." + </p> + <p> + "When did you write it?" she demanded eagerly. Then, reproachfully, "And + you never showed it to me." + </p> + <p> + "I saved it to read to you on the way to the post office, in a spot + remarkably like this one," he answered, indicating, with a wave of his + hand, a dry log on which to sit. + </p> + <p> + A tiny stream flowed out of a dense fern-brake, slipped down a + mossy-lipped stone, and ran across the path at their feet. From the valley + arose the mellow song of meadow larks, while about them, in and out, + through sunshine and shadow, fluttered great yellow butterflies. + </p> + <p> + Up from below came another sound that broke in upon Walt reading softly + from his manuscript. It was a crunching of heavy feet, punctuated now and + again by the clattering of a displaced stone. As Walt finished and looked + to his wife for approval, a man came into view around the turn of the + trail. He was bareheaded and sweaty. With a handkerchief in one hand he + mopped his face, while in the other hand he carried a new hat and a wilted + starched collar which he had removed from his neck. He was a well-built + man, and his muscles seemed on the point of bursting out of the painfully + new and ready-made black clothes he wore. + </p> + <p> + "Warm day," Walt greeted him. Walt believed in country democracy, and + never missed an opportunity to practice it. + </p> + <p> + The man paused and nodded. + </p> + <p> + "I guess I ain't used much to the warm," he vouchsafed half + apologetically. "I'm more accustomed to zero weather." + </p> + <p> + "You don't find any of that in this country," Walt laughed. + </p> + <p> + "Should say not," the man answered. "An' I ain't here a-lookin' for it + neither. I'm tryin' to find my sister. Mebbe you know where she lives. Her + name's Johnson, Mrs. William Johnson." + </p> + <p> + "You're not her Klondike brother!" Madge cried, her eyes bright with + interest, "about whom we've heard so much?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes'm, that's me," he answered modestly. "My name's Miller, Skiff Miller. + I just thought I'd s'prise her." + </p> + <p> + "You are on the right track then. Only you've come by the footpath." Madge + stood up to direct him, pointing up the canyon a quarter of a mile. "You + see that blasted redwood! Take the little trail turning off to the right. + It's the short cut to her house. You can't miss it." + </p> + <p> + "Yes'm, thank you, ma'am," he said. + </p> + <p> + He made tentative efforts to go, but seemed awkwardly rooted to the spot. + He was gazing at her with an open admiration of which he was quite + unconscious, and which was drowning, along with him, in the rising sea of + embarrassment in which he floundered. + </p> + <p> + "We'd like to hear you tell about the Klondike," Madge said. "Mayn't we + come over some day while you are at your sister's! Or, better yet, won't + you come over and have dinner with us?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes'm, thank you, ma'am," he mumbled mechanically. Then he caught himself + up and added: "I ain't stoppin' long. I got to be pullin' north again. I + go out on to-night's train. You see, I've got a mail contract with the + government." + </p> + <p> + When Madge had said that it was too bad, he made another futile effort to + go. But he could not take his eyes from her face. He forgot his + embarrassment in his admiration, and it was her turn to flush and feel + uncomfortable. + </p> + <p> + It was at this juncture, when Walt had just decided it was time for him to + be saying something to relieve the strain, that Wolf, who had been away + nosing through the brush, trotted wolf-like into view. + </p> + <p> + Skiff Miller's abstraction disappeared. The pretty woman before him passed + out of his field of vision. He had eyes only for the dog, and a great + wonder came into his face. + </p> + <p> + "Well, I'll be hanged!" he enunciated slowly and solemnly. + </p> + <p> + He sat down ponderingly on the log, leaving Madge standing. At the sound + of his voice, Wolf's ears had flattened down, then his mouth had opened in + a laugh. He trotted slowly up to the stranger and first smelled his hands, + then licked them with his tongue. + </p> + <p> + Skiff Miller patted the dog's head, and slowly and solemnly repeated, + "Well, I'll be hanged!" + </p> + <p> + "Excuse me, ma'am," he said the next moment, "I was just s'prised some, + that was all." + </p> + <p> + "We're surprised, too," she answered lightly. "We never saw Wolf make up + to a stranger before." + </p> + <p> + "Is that what you call him—Wolf?" the man asked. + </p> + <p> + Madge nodded. "But I can't understand his friendliness toward you—unless + it's because you're from the Klondike. He's a Klondike dog, you know." + </p> + <p> + "Yes'm," Miller said absently. He lifted one of Wolf's forelegs and + examined the footpads, pressing them and denting them with his thumb. + "Kind of soft," he remarked. "He ain't been on trail for a long time." + </p> + <p> + "I say," Walt broke in, "it is remarkable the way he lets you handle him." + </p> + <p> + Skiff Miller arose, no longer awkward with admiration of Madge, and in a + sharp, businesslike manner asked, "How long have you had him?" + </p> + <p> + But just then the dog, squirming and rubbing against the newcomer's legs, + opened his mouth and barked. It was an explosive bark, brief and joyous, + but a bark. + </p> + <p> + "That's a new one on me," Skiff Miller remarked. + </p> + <p> + Walt and Madge stared at each other. The miracle had happened. Wolf had + barked. + </p> + <p> + "It's the first time he ever barked," Madge said. + </p> + <p> + "First time I ever heard him, too," Miller volunteered. + </p> + <p> + Madge smiled at him. The man was evidently a humorist. + </p> + <p> + "Of course," she said, "since you have only seen him for five minutes." + </p> + <p> + Skiff Miller looked at her sharply, seeking in her face the guile her + words had led him to suspect. + </p> + <p> + "I thought you understood," he said slowly. "I thought you'd tumbled to it + from his makin' up to me. He's my dog. His name ain't Wolf. It's Brown." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, Walt!" was Madge's instinctive cry to her husband. + </p> + <p> + Walt was on the defensive at once. + </p> + <p> + "How do you know he's your dog?" he demanded. + </p> + <p> + "Because he is," was the reply. + </p> + <p> + "Mere assertion," Walt said sharply. + </p> + <p> + In his slow and pondering way, Skiff Miller looked at him, then asked, + with a nod of his head toward Madge: + </p> + <p> + "How d'you know she's your wife? You just say, 'Because she is,' and I'll + say it's mere assertion. The dog's mine. I bred 'm an' raised 'm, an' I + guess I ought to know. Look here. I'll prove it to you." + </p> + <p> + Skiff Miller turned to the dog. "Brown!" His voice rang out sharply, and + at the sound the dog's ears flattened down as to a caress. "Gee!" The dog + made a swinging turn to the right. "Now mush-on!" And the dog ceased his + swing abruptly and started straight ahead, halting obediently at command. + </p> + <p> + "I can do it with whistles," Skiff Miller said proudly. "He was my lead + dog." + </p> + <p> + "But you are not going to take him away with you?" Madge asked + tremulously. + </p> + <p> + The man nodded. + </p> + <p> + "Back into that awful Klondike world of suffering?" + </p> + <p> + He nodded and added: "Oh, it ain't so bad as all that. Look at me. Pretty + healthy specimen, ain't I!" + </p> + <p> + "But the dogs! The terrible hardship, the heart-breaking toil, the + starvation, the frost! Oh, I've read about it and I know." + </p> + <p> + "I nearly ate him once, over on Little Fish River," Miller volunteered + grimly. "If I hadn't got a moose that day was all that saved 'm." + </p> + <p> + "I'd have died first!" Madge cried. + </p> + <p> + "Things is different down here," Miller explained. "You don't have to eat + dogs. You think different just about the time you're all in. You've never + been all in, so you don't know anything about it." + </p> + <p> + "That's the very point," she argued warmly. "Dogs are not eaten in + California. Why not leave him here? He is happy. He'll never want for food—you + know that. He'll never suffer from cold and hardship. Here all is softness + and gentleness. Neither the human nor nature is savage. He will never know + a whip-lash again. And as for the weather—why, it never snows here." + </p> + <p> + "But it's all-fired hot in summer, beggin' your pardon," Skiff Miller + laughed. + </p> + <p> + "But you do not answer," Madge continued passionately. "What have you to + offer him in that northland life?" + </p> + <p> + "Grub, when I've got it, and that's most of the time," came the answer. + </p> + <p> + "And the rest of the time?" + </p> + <p> + "No grub." + </p> + <p> + "And the work?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, plenty of work," Miller blurted out impatiently. "Work without end, + an' famine, an' frost, an' all the rest of the miseries—that's what + he'll get when he comes with me. But he likes it. He is used to it. He + knows that life. He was born to it an' brought up to it. An' you don't + know anything about it. You don't know what you're talking about. That's + where the dog belongs, and that's where he'll be happiest." + </p> + <p> + "The dog doesn't go," Walt announced in a determined voice. "So there is + no need of further discussion." + </p> + <p> + "What's that?" Skiff Miller demanded, big brows lowering and an obstinate + flush of blood reddening his forehead. + </p> + <p> + "I said the dog doesn't go, and that settles it. I don't believe he's your + dog. You may have seen him sometime. You may even sometime have driven him + for his owner. But his obeying the ordinary driving commands of the + Alaskan trail is no demonstration that he is yours. Any dog in Alaska + would obey you as he obeyed. Besides, he is undoubtedly a valuable dog, as + dogs go in Alaska, and that is sufficient explanation of your desire to + get possession of him. Anyway, you've got to prove property." + </p> + <p> + Skiff Miller, cool and collected, the obstinate flush a trifle deeper on + his forehead, his huge muscles bulging under the black cloth of his coat, + carefully looked the poet up and down as though measuring the strength of + his slenderness. + </p> + <p> + The Klondiker's face took on a contemptuous expression as he said finally: + "I reckon there's nothin' in sight to prevent me takin' the dog right here + an' now." + </p> + <p> + Walt's face reddened, and the striking-muscles of his arms and shoulders + seemed to stiffen and grow tense. His wife fluttered apprehensively into + the breach. + </p> + <p> + "Maybe Mr. Miller is right," she said. "I am afraid that he is. Wolf does + seem to know him, and certainly he answers to the name of 'Brown.' He made + friends with him instantly, and you know that's something he never did + with anybody before. Besides, look at the way he barked. He was just + bursting with joy. Joy over what? Without doubt at finding Mr. Miller." + </p> + <p> + Walt's striking-muscles relaxed, and his shoulders seemed to droop with + hopelessness. + </p> + <p> + "I guess you're right, Madge," he said. "Wolf isn't Wolf, but Brown, and + he must belong to Mr. Miller." + </p> + <p> + "Perhaps Mr. Miller will sell him," she suggested. "We can buy him." + </p> + <p> + Skiff Miller shook his head, no longer belligerent, but kindly, quick to + be generous in response to generousness. + </p> + <p> + "I had five dogs," he said, casting about for the easiest way to temper + his refusal. "He was the leader. They was the crack team of Alaska. + Nothin' could touch 'em. In 1898 I refused five thousand dollars for the + bunch. Dogs was high, then, anyway; but that wasn't what made the fancy + price. It was the team itself. Brown was the best in the team. That winter + I refused twelve hundred for 'm. I didn't sell 'm then, an' I ain't + a-sellin' 'm now. Besides, I think a mighty lot of that dog. I've been + lookin' for 'm for three years. It made me fair sick when I found he'd + been stole—not the value of him, but the—well, I liked 'm so, + that's all. I couldn't believe my eyes when I seen 'm just now. I thought + I was dreamin'. It was too good to be true. Why, I was his nurse. I put 'm + to bed, snug every night. His mother died, and I brought 'm up on + condensed milk at two dollars a can when I couldn't afford it in my own + coffee. He never knew any mother but me. He used to suck my finger + regular, the darn little pup—that finger right there!" + </p> + <p> + And Skiff Miller, too overwrought for speech, held up a forefinger for + them to see. + </p> + <p> + "That very finger," he managed to articulate, as though it somehow + clinched the proof of ownership and the bond of affection. + </p> + <p> + He was still gazing at his extended finger when Madge began to speak. + </p> + <p> + "But the dog," she said. "You haven't considered the dog." + </p> + <p> + Skiff Miller looked puzzled. + </p> + <p> + "Have you thought about him?" she asked. + </p> + <p> + "Don't know what you're drivin' at," was the response. + </p> + <p> + "Maybe the dog has some choice in the matter," Madge went on. "Maybe he + has his likes and desires. You have not considered him. You give him no + choice. It has never entered your mind that possibly he might prefer + California to Alaska. You consider only what you like. You do with him as + you would with a sack of potatoes or a bale of hay." + </p> + <p> + This was a new way of looking at it, and Miller was visibly impressed as + he debated it in his mind. Madge took advantage of his indecision. + </p> + <p> + "If you really love him, what would be happiness to him would be your + happiness also," she urged. + </p> + <p> + Skiff Miller continued to debate with himself, and Madge stole a glance of + exultation to her husband, who looked back warm approval. + </p> + <p> + "What do you think?" the Klondiker suddenly demanded. + </p> + <p> + It was her turn to be puzzled. "What do you mean?" she asked. + </p> + <p> + "D'ye think he'd sooner stay in California!" + </p> + <p> + She nodded her head with positiveness. "I am sure of it." + </p> + <p> + Skiff Miller again debated with himself, though this time aloud, at the + same time running his gaze in a judicial way over the mooted animal. + </p> + <p> + "He was a good worker. He's done a heap of work for me. He never loafed on + me, an' he was a joe-dandy at hammerin' a raw team into shape. He's got a + head on him. He can do everything but talk. He knows what you say to him. + Look at 'm now. He knows we're talkin' about him." + </p> + <p> + The dog was lying at Skiff Miller's feet, head close down on paws, ears + erect and listening, and eyes that were quick and eager to follow the + sound of speech as it fell from the lips of first one and then the other. + </p> + <p> + "An' there's a lot of work in 'm yet. He's good for years to come. An' I + do like him." + </p> + <p> + Once or twice after that Skiff Miller opened his mouth and closed it again + without speaking. Finally he said: + </p> + <p> + "I'll tell you what I'll do. Your remarks, ma'am, has some weight in them. + The dog's worked hard, and maybe he's earned a soft berth an' has got a + right to choose. Anyway, we'll leave it up to him. Whatever he says, goes. + You people stay right here settin' down. I'll say good-by and walk off + casual-like. If he wants to stay, he can stay. If he wants to come with + me, let 'm come. I won't call 'm to come an' don't you call 'm to come + back." + </p> + <p> + He looked with sudden suspicion at Madge, and added, "Only you must play + fair. No persuadin' after my back is turned." + </p> + <p> + "We'll play fair," Madge began, but Skiff Miller broke in on her + assurances. + </p> + <p> + "I know the ways of women," he announced. "Their hearts is soft. When + their hearts is touched they're likely to stack the cards, look at the + bottom of the deck, an' lie—beggin' your pardon, ma'am. I'm only + discoursin' about women in general." + </p> + <p> + "I don't know how to thank you," Madge quavered. + </p> + <p> + "I don't see as you've got any call to thank me," he replied. "Brown ain't + decided yet. Now you won't mind if I go away slow! It's no more'n fair, + seein' I'll be out of sight inside a hundred yards." + </p> + <p> + Madge agreed, and added, "And I promise you faithfully that we won't do + anything to influence him." + </p> + <p> + "Well, then, I might as well he gettin' along," Skiff Miller said in the + ordinary tones of one departing. + </p> + <p> + At this change in his voice, Wolf lifted his head quickly, and still more + quickly got to his feet when the man and woman shook hands. He sprang up + on his hind legs, resting his fore paws on her hip and at the same time + licking Skiff Miller's hand. When the latter shook hands with Walt, Wolf + repeated his act, resting his weight on Walt and licking both men's hands. + </p> + <p> + "It ain't no picnic, I can tell you that," were the Klondiker's last + words, as he turned and went slowly up the trail. + </p> + <p> + For the distance of twenty feet Wolf watched him go, himself all eagerness + and expectancy, as though waiting for the man to turn and retrace his + steps. Then, with a quick low whine, Wolf sprang after him, overtook him, + caught his hand between his teeth with reluctant tenderness, and strove + gently to make him pause. + </p> + <p> + Failing in this, Wolf raced back to where Walt Irvine sat, catching his + coat sleeve in his teeth and trying vainly to drag him after the + retreating man. + </p> + <p> + Wolf's perturbation began to wax. He desired ubiquity. He wanted to be in + two places at the same time, with the old master and the new, and steadily + the distance between them was increasing. He sprang about excitedly, + making short nervous leaps and twists, now toward one, now toward the + other, in painful indecision, not knowing his own mind, desiring both and + unable to choose, uttering quick sharp whines and beginning to pant. + </p> + <p> + He sat down abruptly on his haunches, thrusting his nose upward, the mouth + opening and closing with jerking movements, each time opening wider. These + jerking movements were in unison with the recurrent spasms that attacked + the throat, each spasm severer and more intense than the preceding one. + And in accord with jerks and spasms the larynx began to vibrate, at first + silently, accompanied by the rush of air expelled from the lungs, then + sounding a low, deep note, the lowest in the register of the human ear. + All this was the nervous and muscular preliminary to howling. + </p> + <p> + But just as the howl was on the verge of bursting from the full throat, + the wide-opened mouth was closed, the paroxysms ceased, and he looked long + and steadily at the retreating man. Suddenly Wolf turned his head, and + over his shoulder just as steadily regarded Walt. The appeal was + unanswered. Not a word nor a sign did the dog receive, no suggestion and + no clew as to what his conduct should be. + </p> + <p> + A glance ahead to where the old master was nearing the curve of the trail + excited him again. He sprang to his feet with a whine, and then, struck by + a new idea, turned his attention to Madge. Hitherto he had ignored her, + but now, both masters failing him, she alone was left. He went over to her + and snuggled his head in her lap, nudging her arm with his nose—an + old trick of his when begging for favors. He backed away from her and + began writhing and twisting playfully, curvetting and prancing, half + rearing and striking his forepaws to the earth, struggling with all his + body, from the wheedling eyes and flattening ears to the wagging tail, to + express the thought that was in him and that was denied him utterance. + </p> + <p> + This, too, he soon abandoned. He was depressed by the coldness of these + humans who had never been cold before. No response could he draw from + them, no help could he get. They did not consider him. They were as dead. + </p> + <p> + He turned and silently gazed after the old master. Skiff Miller was + rounding the curve. In a moment he would be gone from view. Yet he never + turned his head, plodding straight onward, slowly and methodically, as + though possessed of no interest in what was occurring behind his back. + </p> + <p> + And in this fashion he went out of view. Wolf waited for him to reappear. + He waited a long minute, silently, quietly, without movement, as though + turned to stone—withal stone quick with eagerness and desire. He + barked once, and waited. Then he turned and trotted back to Walt Irvine. + He sniffed his hand and dropped down heavily at his feet, watching the + trail where it curved emptily from view. + </p> + <p> + The tiny stream slipping down the mossy-lipped stone seemed suddenly to + increase the volume of its gurgling noise. Save for the meadow larks, + there was no other sound. The great yellow butterflies drifted silently + through the sunshine and lost themselves in the drowsy shadows. Madge + gazed triumphantly at her husband. + </p> + <p> + A few minutes later Wolf got upon his feet. Decision and deliberation + marked his movements. He did not glance at the man and woman. His eyes + were fixed up the trail. He had made up his mind. They knew it. And they + knew, so far as they were concerned, that the ordeal had just begun. + </p> + <p> + He broke into a trot, and Madge's lips pursed, forming an avenue for the + caressing sound that it was the will of her to send forth. But the + caressing sound was not made. She was impelled to look at her husband, and + she saw the sternness with which he watched her. The pursed lips relaxed, + and she sighed inaudibly. + </p> + <p> + Wolf's trot broke into a run. Wider and wider were the leaps he made. Not + once did he turn his head, his wolf's brush standing out straight behind + him. He cut sharply across the curve of the trail and was gone. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THAT SPOT + </h2> + <p> + I don't think much of Stephen Mackaye any more, though I used to swear by + him. I know that in those days I loved him more than my own brother. If + ever I meet Stephen Mackaye again, I shall not be responsible for my + actions. It passes beyond me that a man with whom I shared food and + blanket, and with whom I mushed over the Chilcoot Trail, should turn out + the way he did. I always sized Steve up as a square man, a kindly comrade, + without an iota of anything vindictive or malicious in his nature. I shall + never trust my judgment in men again. Why, I nursed that man through + typhoid fever; we starved together on the headwaters of the Stewart; and + he saved my life on the Little Salmon. And now, after the years we were + together, all I can say of Stephen Mackaye is that he is the meanest man I + ever knew. + </p> + <p> + We started for the Klondike in the fall rush of 1897, and we started too + late to get over Chilcoot Pass before the freeze-up. We packed our outfit + on our backs part way over, when the snow began to fly, and then we had to + buy dogs in order to sled it the rest of the way. That was how we came to + get that Spot. Dogs were high, and we paid one hundred and ten dollars for + him. He looked worth it. I say <i>looked</i>, because he was one of the + finest appearing dogs I ever saw. He weighed sixty pounds, and he had all + the lines of a good sled animal. We never could make out his breed. He + wasn't husky, nor Malemute, nor Hudson Bay; he looked like all of them and + he didn't look like any of them; and on top of it all he had some of the + white man's dog in him, for on one side, in the thick of the mixed + yellow-brown-red-and-dirty-white that was his prevailing color, there was + a spot of coal-black as big as a water-bucket. That was why we called him + Spot. + </p> + <p> + He was a good looker all right. When he was in condition his muscles stood + out in bunches all over him. And he was the strongest looking brute I ever + saw in Alaska, also the most intelligent looking. To run your eyes over + him, you'd think he could outpull three dogs of his own weight. Maybe he + could, but I never saw it. His intelligence didn't run that way. He could + steal and forage to perfection; he had an instinct that was positively + grewsome for divining when work was to be done and for making a sneak + accordingly; and for getting lost and not staying lost he was nothing + short of inspired. But when it came to work, the way that intelligence + dribbled out of him and left him a mere clot of wobbling, stupid jelly + would make your heart bleed. + </p> + <p> + There are times when I think it wasn't stupidity. Maybe, like some men I + know, he was too wise to work. I shouldn't wonder if he put it all over us + with that intelligence of his. Maybe he figured it all out and decided + that a licking now and again and no work was a whole lot better than work + all the time and no licking. He was intelligent enough for such a + computation. I tell you, I've sat and looked into that dog's eyes till the + shivers ran up and down my spine and the marrow crawled like yeast, what + of the intelligence I saw shining out. I can't express myself about that + intelligence. It is beyond mere words. I saw it, that's all. At times it + was like gazing into a human soul, to look into his eyes; and what I saw + there frightened me and started all sorts of ideas in my own mind of + reincarnation and all the rest. I tell you I sensed something big in that + brute's eyes; there was a message there, but I wasn't big enough myself to + catch it. Whatever it was (I know I'm making a fool of myself)—whatever + it was, it baffled me. I can't give an inkling of what I saw in that + brute's eyes; it wasn't light, it wasn't color; it was something that + moved, away back, when the eyes themselves weren't moving. And I guess I + didn't see it move, either; I only sensed that it moved. It was an + expression,—that's what it was,—and I got an impression of it. + No; it was different from a mere expression; it was more than that. I + don't know what it was, but it gave me a feeling of kinship just the same. + Oh, no, not sentimental kinship. It was, rather, a kinship of equality. + Those eyes never pleaded like a deer's eyes. They challenged. No, it + wasn't defiance. It was just a calm assumption of equality. And I don't + think it was deliberate. My belief is that it was unconscious on his part. + It was there because it was there, and it couldn't help shining out. No, I + don't mean shine. It didn't shine; it <i>moved</i>. I know I'm talking + rot, but if you'd looked into that animal's eyes the way I have, you'd + understand. Steve was affected the same way I was. Why, I tried to kill + that Spot once—he was no good for anything; and I fell down on it. I + led him out into the brush, and he came along slow and unwilling. He knew + what was going on. I stopped in a likely place, put my foot on the rope, + and pulled my big Colt's. And that dog sat down and looked at me. I tell + you he didn't plead. He just looked. And I saw all kinds of + incomprehensible things moving, yes, <i>moving,</i> in those eyes of his. + I didn't really see them move; I thought I saw them, for, as I said + before, I guess I only sensed them. And I want to tell you right now that + it got beyond me. It was like killing a man, a conscious, brave man who + looked calmly into your gun as much as to say, "Who's afraid?" Then, too, + the message seemed so near that, instead of pulling the trigger quick, I + stopped to see if I could catch the message. There it was, right before + me, glimmering all around in those eyes of his. And then it was too late. + I got scared. I was trembly all over, and my stomach generated a nervous + palpitation that made me seasick. I just sat down and looked at that dog, + and he looked at me, till I thought I was going crazy. Do you want to know + what I did? I threw down the gun and ran back to camp with the fear of God + in my heart. Steve laughed at me. But I notice that Steve led Spot into + the woods, a week later, for the same purpose, and that Steve came back + alone, and a little later Spot drifted back, too. + </p> + <p> + At any rate, Spot wouldn't work. We paid a hundred and ten dollars for him + from the bottom of our sack, and he wouldn't work. He wouldn't even + tighten the traces. Steve spoke to him the first time we put him in + harness, and he sort of shivered, that was all. Not an ounce on the + traces. He just stood still and wobbled, like so much jelly. Steve touched + him with the whip. He yelped, but not an ounce. Steve touched him again, a + bit harder, and he howled—the regular long wolf howl. Then Steve got + mad and gave him half a dozen, and I came on the run from the tent. I told + Steve he was brutal with the animal, and we had some words—the first + we'd ever had. He threw the whip down in the snow, and walked away mad. I + picked it up and went to it. That Spot trembled and wobbled and cowered + before ever I swung the lash, and with the first bite of it he howled like + a lost soul. Next he lay down in the snow. I started the rest of the dogs, + and they dragged him along while I threw the whip into him. He rolled over + on his back and bumped along, his four legs waving in the air, himself + howling as though he was going through a sausage machine. Steve came back + and laughed at me, and I apologized for what I'd said. + </p> + <p> + There was no getting any work out of that Spot; and to make up for it, he + was the biggest pig-glutton of a dog I ever saw. On top of that, he was + the cleverest thief. There was no circumventing him. Many a breakfast we + went without our bacon because Spot had been there first. And it was + because of him that we nearly starved to death up the Stewart. He figured + out the way to break into our meat-cache, and what he didn't eat, the rest + of the team did. But he was impartial. He stole from every body. He was a + restless dog always very busy snooping around or going somewhere. And + there was never a camp within five miles that he didn't raid. The worst of + it was that they always came back on us to pay his board bill, which was + just, being the law of the land; but it was mighty hard on us, especially + that first winter on the Chilcoot, when we were busted, paying for whole + hams and sides of bacon that we never ate. He could fight, too, that Spot. + He could do anything but work. He never pulled a pound, but he was the + boss of the whole team. The way he made those dogs stand around was an + education. He bullied them, and there was always one or more of them + fresh-marked with his fangs. But he was more than a bully. He wasn't + afraid of anything that walked on four legs; and I've seen him march, + single-handed, into a strange team, without any provocation whatever, and + put the <i>kibosh</i> on the whole outfit. Did I say he could eat? I + caught him eating the whip once. That's straight. He started in at the + lash, and when I caught him he was down to the handle, and still going. + </p> + <p> + But he was a good looker. At the end of the first week we sold him for + seventy-five dollars to the Mounted Police. They had experienced + dog-drivers, and we knew that by the time he'd covered the six hundred + miles to Dawson he'd be a good sled-dog. I say we <i>knew</i>, for we were + just getting acquainted with that Spot. A little later we were not brash + enough to know anything where he was concerned. A week later we woke up in + the morning to the dangdest dog-fight we'd ever heard. It was that Spot + came back and knocking the team into shape. We ate a pretty depressing + breakfast, I can tell you; but cheered up two hours afterward when we sold + him to an official courier, bound in to Dawson with government despatches. + That Spot was only three days in coming back, and, as usual, celebrated + his arrival with a rough-house. + </p> + <p> + We spent the winter and spring, after our own outfit was across the pass, + freighting other people's outfits; and we made a fat stake. Also, we made + money out of Spot. If we sold him once, we sold him twenty times. He + always came back, and no one asked for their money. We didn't want the + money. We'd have paid handsomely for any one to take him off our hands for + keeps. We had to get rid of him, and we couldn't give him away, for that + would have been suspicious. But he was such a fine looker that we never + had any difficulty in selling him. "Unbroke," we'd say, and they'd pay any + old price for him. We sold him as low as twenty-five dollars, and once we + got a hundred and fifty for him. That particular party returned him in + person, refused to take his money back, and the way he abused us was + something awful. He said it was cheap at the price to tell us what he + thought of us; and we felt he was so justified that we never talked back. + But to this day I've never quite regained all the old self-respect that + was mine before that man talked to me. + </p> + <p> + When the ice cleared out of the lakes and river, we put our outfit in a + Lake Bennett boat and started for Dawson. We had a good team of dogs, and + of course we piled them on top the outfit. That Spot was along—there + was no losing him; and a dozen times, the first day, he knocked one or + another of the dogs overboard in the course of fighting with them. It was + close quarters, and he didn't like being crowded. + </p> + <p> + "What that dog needs is space," Steve said the second day. "Let's maroon + him." + </p> + <p> + We did, running the boat in at Caribou Crossing for him to jump ashore. + Two of the other dogs, good dogs, followed him; and we lost two whole days + trying to find them. We never saw those two dogs again; but the quietness + and relief we enjoyed made us decide, like the man who refused his hundred + and fifty, that it was cheap at the price. For the first time in months + Steve and I laughed and whistled and sang. We were as happy as clams. The + dark days were over. The nightmare had been lifted. That Spot was gone. + </p> + <p> + Three weeks later, one morning, Steve and I were standing on the + river-bank at Dawson. A small boat was just arriving from Lake Bennett. I + saw Steve give a start, and heard him say something that was not nice and + that was not under his breath. Then I looked; and there, in the bow of the + boat, with ears pricked up, sat Spot. Steve and I sneaked immediately, + like beaten curs, like cowards, like absconders from justice. It was this + last that the lieutenant of police thought when he saw us sneaking. He + surmised that there was law-officers in the boat who were after us. He + didn't wait to find out, but kept us in sight, and in the M. & M. + saloon got us in a corner. We had a merry time explaining, for we refused + to go back to the boat and meet Spot; and finally he held us under guard + of another policeman while he went to the boat. After we got clear of him, + we started for the cabin, and when we arrived, there was that Spot sitting + on the stoop waiting for us. Now how did he know we lived there? There + were forty thousand people in Dawson that summer, and how did he <i>savve</i> + our cabin out of all the cabins? How did he know we were in Dawson, + anyway? I leave it to you. But don't forget what I have said about his + intelligence and that immortal something I have seen glimmering in his + eyes. + </p> + <p> + There was no getting rid of him any more. There were too many people in + Dawson who had bought him up on Chilcoot, and the story got around. Half a + dozen times we put him on board steamboats going down the Yukon; but he + merely went ashore at the first landing and trotted back up the bank. We + couldn't sell him, we couldn't kill him (both Steve and I had tried), and + nobody else was able to kill him. He bore a charmed life. I've seen him go + down in a dog-fight on the main street with fifty dogs on top of him, and + when they were separated, he'd appear on all his four legs, unharmed, + while two of the dogs that had been on top of him would be lying dead. + </p> + <p> + I saw him steal a chunk of moose meat from Major Dinwiddie's cache so + heavy that he could just keep one jump ahead of Mrs. Dinwiddie's squaw + cook, who was after him with an axe. As he went up the hill, after the + squaw gave up, Major Dinwiddie himself came out and pumped his Winchester + into the landscape. He emptied his magazine twice, and never touched that + Spot. Then a policeman came along and arrested him for discharging + firearms inside the city limits. Major Dinwiddie paid his fine, and Steve + and I paid him for the moose meat at the rate of a dollar a pound, bones + and all. That was what he paid for it. Meat was high that year. + </p> + <p> + I am only telling what I saw with my own eyes. And now I'll tell you + something also. I saw that Spot fall through a water-hole. The ice was + three and a half feet thick, and the current sucked him under like a + straw. Three hundred yards below was the big water-hole used by the + hospital. Spot crawled out of the hospital water-hole, licked off the + water, bit out the ice that had formed between his toes, trotted up the + bank, and whipped a big Newfoundland belonging to the Gold Commissioner. + </p> + <p> + In the fall of 1898, Steve and I poled up the Yukon on the last water, + bound for Stewart River. We took the dogs along, all except Spot. We + figured we'd been feeding him long enough. He'd cost us more time and + trouble and money and grub than we'd got by selling him on the Chilcoot—especially + grub. So Steve and I tied him down in the cabin and pulled our freight. We + camped that night at the mouth of Indian River, and Steve and I were + pretty facetious over having shaken him. Steve was a funny fellow, and I + was just sitting up in the blankets and laughing when a tornado hit camp. + The way that Spot walked into those dogs and gave them what-for was + hair-raising. Now how did he get loose? It's up to you. I haven't any + theory. And how did he get across the Klondike River? That's another + facer. And anyway, how did he know we had gone up the Yukon? You see, we + went by water, and he couldn't smell our tracks. Steve and I began to get + superstitious about that dog. He got on our nerves, too; and, between you + and me, we were just a mite afraid of him. + </p> + <p> + The freeze-up came on when we were at the mouth of Henderson Creek, and we + traded him off for two sacks of flour to an outfit that was bound up White + River after copper. Now that whole outfit was lost. Never trace nor hide + nor hair of men, dogs, sleds, or anything was ever found. They dropped + clean out of sight. It became one of the mysteries of the country. Steve + and I plugged away up the Stewart, and six weeks afterward that Spot + crawled into camp. He was a perambulating skeleton, and could just drag + along; but he got there. And what I want to know is who told him we were + up the Stewart? We could have gone a thousand other places. How did he + know? You tell me, and I'll tell you. + </p> + <p> + No losing him. At the Mayo he started a row with an Indian dog. The buck + who owned the dog took a swing at Spot with an axe, missed him, and killed + his own dog. Talk about magic and turning bullets aside—I, for one, + consider it a blamed sight harder to turn an axe aside with a big buck at + the other end of it. And I saw him do it with my own eyes. That buck + didn't want to kill his own dog. You've got to show me. + </p> + <p> + I told you about Spot breaking into our meat-cache. It was nearly the + death of us. There wasn't any more meat to be killed and meat was all we + had to live on. The moose had gone back several hundred miles and the + Indians with them. There we were. Spring was on and we had to wait for the + river to break. We got pretty thin before we decided to eat the dogs, and + we decided to eat Spot first. Do you know what that dog did? He sneaked. + Now how did he know our minds were made up to eat him? We sat up nights + laying for him, but he never came back, and we ate the other dogs. We ate + the whole team. + </p> + <p> + And now for the sequel. You know what it is when a big river breaks up and + a few billion tons of ice go out, jamming and milling and grinding. Just + in the thick of it, when the Stewart went out, rumbling and roaring, we + sighted Spot out in the middle. He'd got caught as he was trying to cross + up above somewhere. Steve and I yelled and shouted and ran up and down the + bank, tossing our hats in the air. Sometimes we'd stop and hug each other, + we were that boisterous, for we saw Spot's finish. He didn't have a chance + in a million. He didn't have any chance at all. After the ice-run, we got + into a canoe and paddled down to the Yukon, and down the Yukon to Dawson, + stopping to feed up for a week at the cabins at the mouth of Henderson + Creek. And as we came in to the bank at Dawson, there sat that Spot, + waiting for us, his ears pricked up, his tail wagging, his mouth smiling, + extending a hearty welcome to us. Now how did he get out of that ice? How + did he know we were coming to Dawson, to the very hour and minute, to be + out there on the bank waiting for us? + </p> + <p> + The more I think of that Spot, the more I am convinced that there are + things in this world that go beyond science. On no scientific grounds can + that Spot be explained. It's psychic phenomena, or mysticism, or something + of that sort, I guess, with a lot of Theosophy thrown in. The Klondike is + a good country. I might have been there yet, and become a millionaire, if + it hadn't been for Spot. He got on my nerves. I stood him for two years + all together, and then I guess my stamina broke. It was the summer of 1899 + when I pulled out. I didn't say anything to Steve. I just sneaked. But I + fixed it up all right. I wrote Steve a note, and enclosed a package of + "rough-on-rats," telling him what to do with it. I was worn down to skin + and bone by that Spot, and I was that nervous that I'd jump and look + around when there wasn't anybody within hailing distance. But it was + astonishing the way I recuperated when I got quit of him. I got back + twenty pounds before I arrived in San Francisco, and by the time I'd + crossed the ferry to Oakland I was my old self again, so that even my wife + looked in vain for any change in me. + </p> + <p> + Steve wrote to me once, and his letter seemed irritated. He took it kind + of hard because I'd left him with Spot. Also, he said he'd used the + "rough-on-rats," per directions, and that there was nothing doing. A year + went by. I was back in the office and prospering in all ways—even + getting a bit fat. And then Steve arrived. He didn't look me up. I read + his name in the steamer list, and wondered why. But I didn't wonder long. + I got up one morning and found that Spot chained to the gatepost and + holding up the milkman. Steve went north to Seattle, I learned, that very + morning. I didn't put on any more weight. My wife made me buy him a collar + and tag, and within an hour he showed his gratitude by killing her pet + Persian cat. There is no getting rid of that Spot. He will be with me + until I die, for he'll never die. My appetite is not so good since he + arrived, and my wife says I am looking peaked. Last night that Spot got + into Mr. Harvey's hen-house (Harvey is my next door neighbor) and killed + nineteen of his fancy-bred chickens. I shall have to pay for them. My + neighbors on the other side quarreled with my wife and then moved out. + Spot was the cause of it. And that is why I am disappointed in Stephen + Mackaye. I had no idea he was so mean a man. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TRUST + </h2> + <p> + All lines had been cast off, and the <i>Seattle No. 4</i> was pulling + slowly out from the shore. Her decks were piled high with freight and + baggage, and swarmed with a heterogeneous company of Indians, dogs, and + dog-mushers, prospectors, traders, and homeward-bound gold-seekers. A + goodly portion of Dawson was lined up on the bank, saying good-by. As the + gang-plank came in and the steamer nosed into the stream, the clamor of + farewell became deafening. Also, in that eleventh moment, everybody began + to remember final farewell messages and to shout them back and forth + across the widening stretch of water. Louis Bondell, curling his yellow + mustache with one hand and languidly waving the other hand to his friends + on shore, suddenly remembered something and sprang to the rail. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, Fred!" he bawled. "Oh, Fred!" + </p> + <p> + The "Fred" desired thrust a strapping pair of shoulders through the + forefront of the crowd on the bank and tried to catch Louis Bondell's + message. The latter grew red in the face with vain vociferation. Still the + water widened between steamboat and shore. + </p> + <p> + "Hey you, Captain Scott!" he yelled at the pilot-house. "Stop the boat!" + </p> + <p> + The gongs clanged, and the big stern wheel reversed, then stopped. All + hands on steamboat and on bank took advantage of this respite to exchange + final, new, and imperative farewells. More futile than ever was Louis + Bondell's effort to make himself heard. The <i>Seattle No. 4</i> lost way + and drifted down-stream, and Captain Scott had to go ahead and reverse a + second time. His head disappeared inside the pilot-house, coming into view + a moment later behind a big megaphone. + </p> + <p> + Now Captain Scott had a remarkable voice, and the "Shut up!" he launched + at the crowd on deck and on shore could have been heard at the top of + Moosehide Mountain and as far as Klondike City. This official remonstrance + from the pilot-house spread a film of silence over the tumult. + </p> + <p> + "Now, what do you want to say?" Captain Scott demanded. + </p> + <p> + "Tell Fred Churchill—he's on the bank there—tell him to go to + Macdonald. It's in his safe—a small gripsack of mine. Tell him to + get it and bring it out when he comes." + </p> + <p> + In the silence Captain Scott bellowed the message ashore through the + megaphone:— + </p> + <p> + "You, Fred Churchill, go to Macdonald—in his safe—small + gripsack—belongs to Louis Bondell—important! Bring it out when + you come! Got it?" + </p> + <p> + Churchill waved his hand in token that he had got it. In truth, had + Macdonald, half a mile away, opened his window, he'd have got it, too. The + tumult of farewell rose again, the gongs clanged, and the <i>Seattle No. 4</i> + went ahead, swung out into the stream, turned on her heel, and headed down + the Yukon, Bondell and Churchill waving farewell and mutual affection to + the last. + </p> + <p> + That was in midsummer. In the fall of the year, the <i>W.H. Willis</i> + started up the Yukon with two hundred homeward-bound pilgrims on board. + Among them was Churchill. In his stateroom, in the middle of a + clothes-bag, was Louis Bondell's grip. It was a small, stout leather + affair, and its weight of forty pounds always made Churchill nervous when + he wandered too far from it. The man in the adjoining stateroom had a + treasure of gold-dust hidden similarly in a clothes-bag, and the pair of + them ultimately arranged to stand watch and watch. While one went down to + eat, the other kept an eye on the two stateroom doors. When Churchill + wanted to take a hand at whist, the other man mounted guard, and when the + other man wanted to relax his soul, Churchill read four-months'-old + newspapers on a camp stool between the two doors. + </p> + <p> + There were signs of an early winter, and the question that was discussed + from dawn till dark, and far into the dark, was whether they would get out + before the freeze-up or be compelled to abandon the steamboat and tramp + out over the ice. There were irritating delays. Twice the engines broke + down and had to be tinkered up, and each time there were snow flurries to + warn them of the imminence of winter. Nine times the <i>W.H. Willis</i> + essayed to ascend the Five-Finger Rapids with her impaired machinery, and + when she succeeded, she was four days behind her very liberal schedule. + The question that then arose was whether or not the steamboat <i>Flora</i> + would wait for her above the Box Cañon. The stretch of water between the + head of the Box Cañon and the foot of the White Horse Rapids was + unnavigable for steamboats and passengers were transshipped at that point, + walking around the rapids from one steamboat to the other. There were no + telephones in the country, hence no way of informing the waiting <i>Flora</i> + that the <i>Willis</i> was four days late, but coming. + </p> + <p> + When the <i>W.H. Willis</i> pulled into White Horse, it was learned that + the <i>Flora</i> had waited three days over the limit, and had departed + only a few hours before. Also, it was learned that she would tie up at + Tagish Post till nine o'clock, Sunday morning. It was then four o'clock + Saturday afternoon. The pilgrims called a meeting. On board was a large + Peterborough canoe, consigned to the police post at the head of Lake + Bennett. They agreed to be responsible for it and to deliver it. Next, + they called for volunteers. Two men were needed to make a race for the <i>Flora</i>. + A score of men volunteered on the instant. Among them was Churchill, such + being his nature that he volunteered before he thought of Bondell's + gripsack. When this thought came to him, he began to hope that he would + not be selected; but a man who had made a name as captain of a college + football eleven, as a president of an athletic club, as a dog-musher and a + stampeder in the Yukon, and, moreover, who possessed such shoulders as he, + had no right to avoid the honor. It was thrust upon him and upon a + gigantic German, Nick Antonsen. + </p> + <p> + While a crowd of the pilgrims, the canoe on their shoulders, started on a + trot over the portage, Churchill ran to his stateroom. He turned the + contents of the clothes-bag on the floor and caught up the grip with the + intention of intrusting it to the man next door. Then the thought smote + him that it was not his grip, and that he had no right to let it out of + his own possession. So he dashed ashore with it and ran up the portage, + changing it often from one hand to the other, and wondering if it really + did not weigh more than forty pounds. + </p> + <p> + It was half-past four in the afternoon when the two men started. The + current of the Thirty Mile River was so strong that rarely could they use + the paddles. It was out on one bank with a tow-line over the shoulders + stumbling over the rocks, forcing a way through the underbrush, slipping + at times and falling into the water, wading often up to the knees and + waist; and then, when an insurmountable bluff was encountered, it was into + the canoe, out paddles, and a wild and losing dash across the current to + the other bank, in paddles, over the side, and out tow-line again. It was + exhausting work. Antonsen toiled like the giant he was, uncomplaining, + persistent, but driven to his utmost by the powerful body and indomitable + brain of Churchill. They never paused for rest. It was go, go, and keep on + going. A crisp wind blew down the river, freezing their hands and making + it imperative, from time to time, to beat the blood back into the numb + fingers. As night came on, they were compelled to trust to luck. They fell + repeatedly on the untraveled banks and tore their clothing to shreds in + the underbrush they could not see. Both men were badly scratched and + bleeding. A dozen times, in their wild dashes from bank to bank, they + struck snags and were capsized. The first time this happened, Churchill + dived and groped in three feet of water for the gripsack. He lost half an + hour in recovering it, and after that it was carried securely lashed to + the canoe. As long as the canoe floated it was safe. Antonsen jeered at + the grip, and toward morning began to abuse it; but Churchill vouchsafed + no explanations. + </p> + <p> + Their delays and mischances were endless. On one swift bend, around which + poured a healthy young rapid, they lost two hours, making a score of + attempts and capsizing twice. At this point, on both banks, were + precipitous bluffs, rising out of deep water, and along which they could + neither tow nor pole, while they could not gain with the paddles against + the current. At each attempt they strained to the utmost with the paddles, + and each time, with hearts nigh to bursting from the effort, they were + played out and swept back. They succeeded finally by an accident. In the + swiftest current, near the end of another failure, a freak of the current + sheered the canoe out of Churchill's control and flung it against the + bluff. Churchill made a blind leap at the bluff and landed in a crevice. + Holding on with one hand, he held the swamped canoe with the other till + Antonsen dragged himself out of the water. Then they pulled the canoe out + and rested. A fresh start at this crucial point took them by. They landed + on the bank above and plunged immediately ashore and into the brush with + the tow-line. + </p> + <p> + Daylight found them far below Tagish Post. At nine o 'clock Sunday morning + they could hear the <i>Flora</i> whistling her departure. And when, at ten + o'clock, they dragged themselves in to the Post, they could just barely + see the <i>Flora's</i> smoke far to the southward. It was a pair of + worn-out tatterdemalions that Captain Jones of the Mounted Police welcomed + and fed, and he afterward averred that they possessed two of the most + tremendous appetites he had ever observed. They lay down and slept in + their wet rags by the stove. At the end of two hours Churchill got up, + carried Bondell's grip, which he had used for a pillow, down to the canoe, + kicked Antonsen awake, and started in pursuit of the <i>Flora</i>. + </p> + <p> + "There's no telling what might happen—machinery break down or + something," was his reply to Captain Jones's expostulations. "I'm going to + catch that steamer and send her back for the boys." + </p> + <p> + Tagish Lake was white with a fall gale that blew in their teeth. Big, + swinging seas rushed upon the canoe, compelling one man to bail and + leaving one man to paddle. Headway could not be made. They ran along the + shallow shore and went overboard, one man ahead on the tow-line, the other + shoving on the canoe. They fought the gale up to their waists in the icy + water, often up to their necks, often over their heads and buried by the + big, crested waves. There was no rest, never a moment's pause from the + cheerless, heart-breaking battle. That night, at the head of Tagish Lake, + in the thick of a driving snow-squall, they overhauled the <i>Flora.</i> + Antonsen fell on board, lay where he had fallen, and snored. Churchill + looked like a wild man. His clothes barely clung to him. His face was iced + up and swollen from the protracted effort of twenty-four hours, while his + hands were so swollen that he could not close the fingers. As for his + feet, it was an agony to stand upon them. + </p> + <p> + The captain of the <i>Flora</i> was loath to go back to White Horse. + Churchill was persistent and imperative; the captain was stubborn. He + pointed out finally that nothing was to be gained by going back, because + the only ocean steamer at Dyea, the <i>Athenian</i>, was to sail on + Tuesday morning, and that he could not make the back trip to White Horse + and bring up the stranded pilgrims in time to make the connection. + </p> + <p> + "What time does the <i>Athenian</i> sail?" Churchill demanded. + </p> + <p> + "Seven o'clock, Tuesday morning." + </p> + <p> + "All right," Churchill said, at the same time kicking a tattoo on the ribs + of the snoring Antonsen. "You go back to White Horse. We'll go ahead and + hold the <i>Athenian</i>." + </p> + <p> + Antonsen, stupid with sleep, not yet clothed in his waking mind, was + bundled into the canoe, and did not realize what had happened till he was + drenched with the icy spray of a big sea, and heard Churchill snarling at + him through the darkness:— + </p> + <p> + "Paddle, can't you! Do you want to be swamped?" + </p> + <p> + Daylight found them at Caribou Crossing, the wind dying down, and Antonsen + too far gone to dip a paddle. Churchill grounded the canoe on a quiet + beach, where they slept. He took the precaution of twisting his arm under + the weight of his head. Every few minutes the pain of the pent circulation + aroused him, whereupon he would look at his watch and twist the other arm + under his head. At the end of two hours he fought with Antonsen to rouse + him. Then they started. Lake Bennett, thirty miles in length, was like a + mill-pond; but, halfway across, a gale from the south smote them and + turned the water white. Hour after hour they repeated the struggle on + Tagish, over the side, pulling and shoving on the canoe, up to their + waists and necks, and over their heads, in the icy water; toward the last + the good-natured giant played completely out. Churchill drove him + mercilessly; but when he pitched forward and bade fair to drown in three + feet of water, the other dragged him into the canoe. After that, Churchill + fought on alone, arriving at the police post at the head of Bennett in the + early afternoon. He tried to help Antonsen out of the canoe, but failed. + He listened to the exhausted man's heavy breathing, and envied him when he + thought of what he himself had yet to undergo. Antonsen could lie there + and sleep; but he, behind time, must go on over mighty Chilcoot and down + to the sea. The real struggle lay before him, and he almost regretted the + strength that resided in his frame because of the torment it could inflict + upon that frame. + </p> + <p> + Churchill pulled the canoe up on the beach, seized Bondell's grip, and + started on a limping dog-trot for the police post. + </p> + <p> + "There's a canoe down there, consigned to you from Dawson," he hurled at + the officer who answered his knock. "And there's a man in it pretty near + dead. Nothing serious; only played out. Take care of him. I've got to + rush. Good-by. Want to catch the <i>Athenian</i>." + </p> + <p> + A mile portage connected Lake Bennett and Lake Linderman, and his last + words he flung back after him as he resumed the trot. It was a very + painful trot, but he clenched his teeth and kept on, forgetting his pain + most of the time in the fervent heat with which he regarded the gripsack. + It was a severe handicap. He swung it from one hand to the other, and back + again. He tucked it under his arm. He threw one hand over the opposite + shoulder, and the bag bumped and pounded on his back as he ran along. He + could scarcely hold it in his bruised and swollen fingers, and several + times he dropped it. Once, in changing from one hand to the other, it + escaped his clutch and fell in front of him, tripped him up, and threw him + violently to the ground. + </p> + <p> + At the far end of the portage he bought an old set of pack-straps for a + dollar, and in them he swung the grip. Also, he chartered a launch to run + him the six miles to the upper end of Lake Linderman, where he arrived at + four in the afternoon. The <i>Athenian</i> was to sail from Dyea next + morning at seven. Dyea was twenty-eight miles away, and between towered + Chilcoot. He sat down to adjust his foot-gear for the long climb, and woke + up. He had dozed the instant he sat down, though he had not slept thirty + seconds. He was afraid his next doze might be longer, so he finished + fixing his foot-gear standing up. Even then he was overpowered for a + fleeting moment. He experienced the flash of unconsciousness; becoming + aware of it, in midair, as his relaxed body was sinking to the ground and + as he caught himself together, he stiffened his muscles with a spasmodic + wrench, and escaped the fall. The sudden jerk back to consciousness left + him sick and trembling. He beat his head with the heel of his hand, + knocking wakefulness into the numb brain. + </p> + <p> + Jack Burns's pack-train was starting back light for Crater Lake, and + Churchill was invited to a mule. Burns wanted to put the gripsack on + another animal, but Churchill held on to it, carrying it on his + saddle-pommel. But he dozed, and the grip persisted in dropping off the + pommel, one side or the other, each time wakening him with a sickening + start. Then, in the early darkness, Churchill's mule brushed him against a + projecting branch that laid his cheek open. To cap it, the mule blundered + off the trail and fell, throwing rider and gripsack out upon the rocks. + After that, Churchill walked, or stumbled, rather, over the apology for a + trail, leading the mule. Stray and awful odors, drifting from each side + the trail, told of the horses that had died in the rush for gold. But he + did not mind. He was too sleepy. By the time Long Lake was reached, + however, he had recovered from his sleepiness; and at Deep Lake he + resigned the gripsack to Burns. But thereafter, by the light of the dim + stars, he kept his eyes on Burns. There were not going to be any accidents + with that bag. + </p> + <p> + At Crater Lake the pack-train went into camp, and Churchill, slinging the + grip on his back, started the steep climb for the summit. For the first + time, on that precipitous wall, he realized how tired he was. He crept and + crawled like a crab, burdened by the weight of his limbs. A distinct and + painful effort of will was required each time he lifted a foot. An + hallucination came to him that he was shod with lead, like a deep-sea + diver, and it was all he could do to resist the desire to reach down and + feel the lead. As for Bondell's gripsack, it was inconceivable that forty + pounds could weigh so much. It pressed him down like a mountain, and he + looked back with unbelief to the year before, when he had climbed that + same pass with a hundred and fifty pounds on his back, If those loads had + weighed a hundred and fifty pounds, then Bondell's grip weighed five + hundred. + </p> + <p> + The first rise of the divide from Crater Lake was across a small glacier. + Here was a well-defined trail. But above the glacier, which was also above + timber-line, was naught but a chaos of naked rock and enormous boulders. + There was no way of seeing the trail in the darkness, and he blundered on, + paying thrice the ordinary exertion for all that he accomplished. He won + the summit in the thick of howling wind and driving snow, providentially + stumbling upon a small, deserted tent, into which he crawled. There he + found and bolted some ancient fried potatoes and half a dozen raw eggs. + </p> + <p> + When the snow ceased and the wind eased down, he began the almost + impossible descent. There was no trail, and he stumbled and blundered, + often finding himself, at the last moment, on the edge of rocky walls and + steep slopes the depth of which he had no way of judging. Part way down, + the stars clouded over again, and in the consequent obscurity he slipped + and rolled and slid for a hundred feet, landing bruised and bleeding on + the bottom of a large shallow hole. From all about him arose the stench of + dead horses. The hole was handy to the trail, and the packers had made a + practice of tumbling into it their broken and dying animals. The stench + overpowered him, making him deathly sick, and as in a nightmare he + scrambled out. Halfway up, he recollected Bondell's gripsack. It had + fallen into the hole with him; the pack-strap had evidently broken, and he + had forgotten it. Back he went into the pestilential charnel-pit, where he + crawled around on hands and knees and groped for half an hour. Altogether + he encountered and counted seventeen dead horses (and one horse still + alive that he shot with his revolver) before he found Bondell's grip. + Looking back upon a life that had not been without valor and achievement, + he unhesitatingly declared to himself that this return after the grip was + the most heroic act he had ever performed. So heroic was it that he was + twice on the verge of fainting before he crawled out of the hole. + </p> + <p> + By the time he had descended to the Scales, the steep pitch of Chilcoot + was past, and the way became easier. Not that it was an easy way, however, + in the best of places; but it became a really possible trail, along which + he could have made good time if he had not been worn out, if he had had + light with which to pick his steps, and if it had not been for Bondell's + gripsack. To him, in his exhausted condition, it was the last straw. + Having barely strength to carry himself along, the additional weight of + the grip was sufficient to throw him nearly every time he tripped or + stumbled. And when he escaped tripping, branches reached out in the + darkness, hooked the grip between his shoulders, and held him back. + </p> + <p> + His mind was made up that if he missed the <i>Athenian</i> it would be the + fault of the gripsack. In fact, only two things remained in his + consciousness—Bondell's grip and the steamer. He knew only those two + things, and they became identified, in a way, with some stern mission upon + which he had journeyed and toiled for centuries. He walked and struggled + on as in a dream. A part of the dream was his arrival at Sheep Camp. He + stumbled into a saloon, slid his shoulders out of the straps, and started + to deposit the grip at his feet. But it slipped from his fingers and + struck the floor with a heavy thud that was not unnoticed by two men who + were just leaving. Churchill drank a glass of whiskey, told the barkeeper + to call him in ten minutes, and sat down, his feet on the grip, his head + on his knees. + </p> + <p> + So badly did his misused body stiffen, that when he was called it required + another ten minutes and a second glass of whiskey to unbend his joints and + limber up the muscles. + </p> + <p> + "Hey! not that way!" the barkeeper shouted, and then went after him and + started him through the darkness toward Canyon City. Some little husk of + inner consciousness told Churchill that the direction was right, and, + still as in a dream, he took the canyon trail. He did not know what warned + him, but after what seemed several centuries of travelling, he sensed + danger and drew his revolver. Still in the dream, he saw two men step out + and heard them halt him. His revolver went off four times, and he saw the + flashes and heard the explosions of their revolvers. Also, he was aware + that he had been hit in the thigh. He saw one man go down, and, as the + other came for him, he smashed him a straight blow with the heavy revolver + full in the face. Then he turned and ran. He came from the dream shortly + afterward, to find himself plunging down the trail at a limping lope. His + first thought was for the gripsack. It was still on his back. He was + convinced that what had happened was a dream till he felt for his revolver + and found it gone. Next he became aware of a sharp stinging of his thigh, + and after investigating, he found his hand warm with blood. It was a + superficial wound, but it was incontestable. He became wider awake, and + kept up the lumbering run to Canyon City. + </p> + <p> + He found a man, with a team of horses and a wagon, who got out of bed and + harnessed up for twenty dollars. Churchill crawled in on the wagon-bed and + slept, the gripsack still on his back. It was a rough ride, over + water-washed boulders down the Dyea Valley; but he roused only when the + wagon hit the highest places. Any altitude of his body above the wagon-bed + of less than a foot did not faze him. The last mile was smooth going, and + he slept soundly. + </p> + <p> + He came to in the gray dawn, the driver shaking him savagely and howling + into his ear that the <i>Athenian</i> was gone. Churchill looked blankly + at the deserted harbor. + </p> + <p> + "There's a smoke over at Skaguay," the man said. + </p> + <p> + Churchill's eyes were too swollen to see that far, but he said: "It's she. + Get me a boat." + </p> + <p> + The driver was obliging, and found a skiff and a man to row it for ten + dollars, payment in advance. Churchill paid, and was helped into the + skiff. It was beyond him to get in by himself. It was six miles to + Skaguay, and he had a blissful thought of sleeping those six miles. But + the man did not know how to row, and Churchill took the oars and toiled + for a few more centuries. He never knew six longer and more excruciating + miles. A snappy little breeze blew up the inlet and held him back. He had + a gone feeling at the pit of the stomach, and suffered from faintness and + numbness. At his command, the man took the bailer and threw salt water + into his face. + </p> + <p> + The <i>Athenian's</i> anchor was up-and-down when they came alongside, and + Churchill was at the end of his last remnant of strength. + </p> + <p> + "Stop her! Stop her!" he shouted hoarsely. "Important message! Stop her!" + </p> + <p> + Then he dropped his chin on his chest and slept. "When half a dozen men + started to carry him up the gang-plank, he awoke, reached for the grip, + and clung to it like a drowning man. On deck he became a center of horror + and curiosity. The clothing in which he had left White Horse was + represented by a few rags, and he was as frayed as his clothing. He had + traveled for fifty-five hours at the top notch of endurance. He had slept + six hours in that time, and he was twenty pounds lighter than when he + started. Face and hands and body were scratched and bruised, and he could + scarcely see. He tried to stand up, but failed, sprawling out on the deck, + hanging on to the gripsack, and delivering his message. + </p> + <p> + "Now, put me to bed," he finished; "I'll eat when I wake up." + </p> + <p> + They did him honor, carrying him down in his rags and dirt and depositing + him and Bondell's grip in the bridal chamber, which was the biggest and + most luxurious stateroom in the ship. Twice he slept the clock around, and + he had bathed and shaved and eaten and was leaning over the rail smoking a + cigar when the two hundred pilgrims from White Horse came alongside. + </p> + <p> + By the time the <i>Athenian</i> arrived in Seattle, Churchill had fully + recuperated, and he went ashore with Bondell's grip in his hand. He felt + proud of that grip. To him it stood for achievement and integrity and + trust. "I've delivered the goods," was the way he expressed these various + high terms to himself. It was early in the evening, and he went straight + to Bondell's home. Louis Bondell was glad to see him, shaking hands with + both hands at the same time and dragging him into the house. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, thanks, old man; it was good of you to bring it out," Bondell said + when he received the gripsack. + </p> + <p> + He tossed it carelessly upon a couch, and Churchill noted with an + appreciative eye the rebound of its weight from the springs. Bondell was + volleying him with questions. + </p> + <p> + "How did you make out? How're the boys! What became of Bill Smithers? Is + Del Bishop still with Pierce? Did he sell my dogs? How did Sulphur Bottom + show up? You're looking fine. What steamer did you come out on?" + </p> + <p> + To all of which Churchill gave answer, till half an hour had gone by and + the first lull in the conversation had arrived. + </p> + <p> + "Hadn't you better take a look at it?" he suggested, nodding his head at + the gripsack. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, it's all right," Bondell answered. "Did Mitchell's dump turn out as + much as he expected?" + </p> + <p> + "I think you'd better look at it," Churchill insisted. "When I deliver a + thing, I want to be satisfied that it's all right. There's always the + chance that somebody might have got into it when I was asleep, or + something." + </p> + <p> + "It's nothing important, old man," Bondell answered, with a laugh. + </p> + <p> + "Nothing important," Churchill echoed in a faint, small voice. Then he + spoke with decision: "Louis, what's in that bag? I want to know." + </p> + <p> + Louis looked at him curiously, then left the room and returned with a + bunch of keys. He inserted his hand and drew out a heavy .44 Colt's + revolver. Next came out a few boxes of ammunition for the revolver and + several boxes of Winchester cartridges. + </p> + <p> + Churchill took the gripsack and looked into it. Then he turned it upside + down and shook it gently. + </p> + <p> + "The gun's all rusted," Bondell said. "Must have been out in the rain." + </p> + <p> + "Yes," Churchill answered. "Too bad it got wet. I guess I was a bit + careless." + </p> + <p> + He got up and went outside. Ten minutes later Louis Bondell went out and + found him on the steps, sitting down, elbows on knees and chin on hands, + gazing steadfastly out into the darkness. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ALL GOLD CANYON + </h2> + <p> + It was the green heart of the canyon, where the walls swerved back from + the rigid plan and relieved their harshness of line by making a little + sheltered nook and filling it to the brim with sweetness and roundness and + softness. Here all things rested. Even the narrow stream ceased its + turbulent down-rush long enough to form a quiet pool. Knee-deep in the + water, with drooping head and half-shut eyes, drowsed a red-coated, + many-antlered buck. + </p> + <p> + On one side, beginning at the very lip of the pool, was a tiny meadow, a + cool, resilient surface of green that extended to the base of the frowning + wall. Beyond the pool a gentle slope of earth ran up and up to meet the + opposing wall. Fine grass covered the slope—grass that was spangled + with flowers, with here and there patches of color, orange and purple and + golden. Below, the canyon was shut in. There was no view. The walls leaned + together abruptly and the canyon ended in a chaos of rocks, moss-covered + and hidden by a green screen of vines and creepers and boughs of trees. Up + the canyon rose far hills and peaks, the big foothills, pine-covered and + remote. And far beyond, like clouds upon the border of the sky, towered + minarets of white, where the Sierra's eternal snows flashed austerely the + blazes of the sun. + </p> + <p> + There was no dust in the canyon. The leaves and flowers were clean and + virginal. The grass was young velvet. Over the pool three cottonwoods sent + their snowy fluffs fluttering down the quiet air. On the slope the + blossoms of the wine-wooded manzanita filled the air with springtime + odors, while the leaves, wise with experience, were already beginning + their vertical twist against the coming aridity of summer. In the open + spaces on the slope, beyond the farthest shadow-reach of the manzanita, + poised the mariposa lilies, like so many flights of jewelled moths + suddenly arrested and on the verge of trembling into flight again. Here + and there that woods harlequin, the madrone, permitting itself to be + caught in the act of changing its pea-green trunk to madder-red, breathed + its fragrance into the air from great clusters of waxen bells. Creamy + white were these bells, shaped like lilies-of-the-valley, with the + sweetness of perfume that is of the springtime. + </p> + <p> + There was not a sigh of wind. The air was drowsy with its weight of + perfume. It was a sweetness that would have been cloying had the air been + heavy and humid. But the air was sharp and thin. It was as starlight + transmuted into atmosphere, shot through and warmed by sunshine, and + flower-drenched with sweetness. + </p> + <p> + An occasional butterfly drifted in and out through the patches of light + and shade. And from all about rose the low and sleepy hum of mountain bees—feasting + Sybarites that jostled one another good-naturedly at the board, nor found + time for rough discourtesy. So quietly did the little stream drip and + ripple its way through the canyon that it spoke only in faint and + occasional gurgles. The voice of the stream was as a drowsy whisper, ever + interrupted by dozings and silences, ever lifted again in the awakenings. + </p> + <p> + The motion of all things was a drifting in the heart of the canyon. + Sunshine and butterflies drifted in and out among the trees. The hum of + the bees and the whisper of the stream were a drifting of sound. And the + drifting sound and drifting color seemed to weave together in the making + of a delicate and intangible fabric which was the spirit of the place. It + was a spirit of peace that was not of death, but of smooth-pulsing life, + of quietude that was not silence, of movement that was not action, of + repose that was quick with existence without being violent with struggle + and travail. The spirit of the place was the spirit of the peace of the + living, somnolent with the easement and content of prosperity, and + undisturbed by rumors of far wars. + </p> + <p> + The red-coated, many-antlered buck acknowledged the lordship of the spirit + of the place and dozed knee-deep in the cool, shaded pool. There seemed no + flies to vex him and he was languid with rest. Sometimes his ears moved + when the stream awoke and whispered; but they moved lazily, with + foreknowledge that it was merely the stream grown garrulous at discovery + that it had slept. + </p> + <p> + But there came a time when the buck's ears lifted and tensed with swift + eagerness for sound. His head was turned down the canyon. His sensitive, + quivering nostrils scented the air. His eyes could not pierce the green + screen through which the stream rippled away, but to his ears came the + voice of a man. It was a steady, monotonous, singsong voice. Once the buck + heard the harsh clash of metal upon rock. At the sound he snorted with a + sudden start that jerked him through the air from water to meadow, and his + feet sank into the young velvet, while he pricked his ears and again + scented the air. Then he stole across the tiny meadow, pausing once and + again to listen, and faded away out of the canyon like a wraith, + soft-footed and without sound. + </p> + <p> + The clash of steel-shod soles against the rocks began to be heard, and the + man's voice grew louder. It was raised in a sort of chant and became + distinct with nearness, so that the words could be heard: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Tu'n around an' tu'n yo' face + Untoe them sweet hills of grace + (D' pow'rs of sin yo' am scornin'!). + Look about an' look aroun' + Fling yo' sin-pack on d' groun' + (Yo' will meet wid d' Lord in d' mornin'!)." +</pre> + <p> + 'A sound of scrambling accompanied the song, and the spirit of the place + fled away on the heels of the red-coated buck. The green screen was burst + asunder, and a man peered out at the meadow and the pool and the sloping + side-hill. He was a deliberate sort of man. He took in the scene with one + embracing glance, then ran his eyes over the details to verify the general + impression. Then, and not until then, did he open his mouth in vivid and + solemn approval: + </p> + <p> + "Smoke of life an' snakes of purgatory! Will you just look at that! Wood + an' water an' grass an' a side-hill! A pocket-hunter's delight an' a + cayuse's paradise! Cool green for tired eyes! Pink pills for pale people + ain't in it. A secret pasture for prospectors and a resting-place for + tired burros. It's just booful!" + </p> + <p> + He was a sandy-complexioned man in whose face geniality and humor seemed + the salient characteristics. It was a mobile face, quick-changing to + inward mood and thought. Thinking was in him a visible process. Ideas + chased across his face like wind-flaws across the surface of a lake. His + hair, sparse and unkempt of growth, was as indeterminate and colorless as + his complexion. It would seem that all the color of his frame had gone + into his eyes, for they were startlingly blue. Also, they were laughing + and merry eyes, within them much of the naiveté and wonder of the child; + and yet, in an unassertive way, they contained much of calm self-reliance + and strength of purpose founded upon self-experience and experience of the + world. + </p> + <p> + From out the screen of vines and creepers he flung ahead of him a miner's + pick and shovel and gold-pan. Then he crawled out himself into the open. + He was clad in faded overalls and black cotton shirt, with hobnailed + brogans on his feet, and on his head a hat whose shapelessness and stains + advertised the rough usage of wind and rain and sun and camp-smoke. He + stood erect, seeing wide-eyed the secrecy of the scene and sensuously + inhaling the warm, sweet breath of the canyon-garden through nostrils that + dilated and quivered with delight. His eyes narrowed to laughing slits of + blue, his face wreathed itself in joy, and his mouth curled in a smile as + he cried aloud: + </p> + <p> + "Jumping dandelions and happy hollyhocks, but that smells good to me! Talk + about your attar o' roses an' cologne factories! They ain't in it!" + </p> + <p> + He had the habit of soliloquy. His quick-changing facial expressions might + tell every thought and mood, but the tongue, perforce, ran hard after, + repeating, like a second Boswell. + </p> + <p> + The man lay down on the lip of the pool and drank long and deep of its + water. "Tastes good to me," he murmured, lifting his head and gazing + across the pool at the side-hill, while he wiped his mouth with the back + of his hand. The side-hill attracted his attention. Still lying on his + stomach, he studied the hill formation long and carefully. It was a + practised eye that traveled up the slope to the crumbling canyon-wall and + back and down again to the edge of the pool. He scrambled to his feet and + favored the side-hill with a second survey. + </p> + <p> + "Looks good to me," he concluded, picking up his pick and shovel and + gold-pan. + </p> + <p> + He crossed the stream below the pool, stepping agilely from stone to + stone. Where the side-hill touched the water he dug up a shovelful of dirt + and put it into the gold-pan. He squatted down, holding the pan in his two + hands, and partly immersing it in the stream. Then he imparted to the pan + a deft circular motion that sent the water sluicing in and out through the + dirt and gravel. The larger and the lighter particles worked to the + surface, and these, by a skilful dipping movement of the pan, he spilled + out and over the edge. Occasionally, to expedite matters, he rested the + pan and with his fingers raked out the large pebbles and pieces of rock. + </p> + <p> + The contents of the pan diminished rapidly until only fine dirt and the + smallest bits of gravel remained. At this stage he began to work very + deliberately and carefully. It was fine washing, and he washed fine and + finer, with a keen scrutiny and delicate and fastidious touch. At last the + pan seemed empty of everything but water; but with a quick semi-circular + flirt that sent the water flying over the shallow rim into the stream, he + disclosed a layer of black sand on the bottom of the pan. So thin was this + layer that it was like a streak of paint. He examined it closely. In the + midst of it was a tiny golden speck. He dribbled a little water in over + the depressed edge of the pan. With a quick flirt he sent the water + sluicing across the bottom, turning the grains of black sand over and + over. A second tiny golden speck rewarded his effort. + </p> + <p> + The washing had now become very fine—fine beyond all need of + ordinary placer-mining. He worked the black sand, a small portion at a + time, up the shallow rim of the pan. Each small portion he examined + sharply, so that his eyes saw every grain of it before he allowed it to + slide over the edge and away. Jealously, bit by bit, he let the black sand + slip away. A golden speck, no larger than a pin-point, appeared on the + rim, and by his manipulation of the water it returned to the bottom of the + pan. And in such fashion another speck was disclosed, and another. Great + was his care of them. Like a shepherd he herded his flock of golden specks + so that not one should be lost. At last, of the pan of dirt nothing + remained but his golden herd. He counted it, and then, after all his + labor, sent it flying out of the pan with one final swirl of water. + </p> + <p> + But his blue eyes were shining with desire as he rose to his feet. + "Seven," he muttered aloud, asserting the sum of the specks for which he + had toiled so hard and which he had so wantonly thrown away. "Seven," he + repeated, with the emphasis of one trying to impress a number on his + memory. + </p> + <p> + He stood still a long while, surveying the hillside. In his eyes was a + curiosity, new-aroused and burning. There was an exultance about his + bearing and a keenness like that of a hunting animal catching the fresh + scent of game. + </p> + <p> + He moved down the stream a few steps and took a second panful of dirt. + </p> + <p> + Again came the careful washing, the jealous herding of the golden specks, + and the wantonness with which he sent them flying into the stream. + </p> + <p> + "Five," he muttered, and repeated, "five." + </p> + <p> + He could not forbear another survey of the hill before filling the pan + farther down the stream. His golden herds diminished. "Four, three, two, + two, one," were his memory tabulations as he moved down the stream. When + but one speck of gold rewarded his washing, he stopped and built a fire of + dry twigs. Into this he thrust the gold-pan and burned it till it was + blue-black. He held up the pan and examined it critically. Then he nodded + approbation. Against such a color-background he could defy the tiniest + yellow speck to elude him. + </p> + <p> + Still moving down the stream, he panned again. A single speck was his + reward. A third pan contained no gold at all. Not satisfied with this, he + panned three times again, taking his shovels of dirt within a foot of one + another. Each pan proved empty of gold, and the fact, instead of + discouraging him, seemed to give him satisfaction. His elation increased + with each barren washing, until he arose, exclaiming jubilantly: + </p> + <p> + "If it ain't the real thing, may God knock off my head with sour apples!" + </p> + <p> + Returning to where he had started operations, he began to pan up the + stream. At first his golden herds increased—increased prodigiously. + "Fourteen, eighteen, twenty-one, twenty-six," ran his memory tabulations. + Just above the pool he struck his richest pan—thirty-five colors. + </p> + <p> + "Almost enough to save," he remarked regretfully as he allowed the water + to sweep them away. + </p> + <p> + The sun climbed to the top of the sky. The man worked on. Pan by pan, he + went up the stream, the tally of results steadily decreasing. + </p> + <p> + "It's just booful, the way it peters out," he exulted when a shovelful of + dirt contained no more than a single speck of gold. And when no specks at + all were found in several pans, he straightened up and favored the + hillside with a confident glance. + </p> + <p> + "Ah, ha! Mr. Pocket!" he cried out, as though to an auditor hidden + somewhere above him beneath the surface of the slope. "Ah, ha! Mr. Pocket! + I'm a-comin', I'm a-comin', an' I'm shorely gwine to get yer! You heah me, + Mr. Pocket? I'm gwine to get yer as shore as punkins ain't cauliflowers!" + </p> + <p> + He turned and flung a measuring glance at the sun poised above him in the + azure of the cloudless sky. Then he went down the canyon, following the + line of shovel-holes he had made in filling the pans. He crossed the + stream below the pool and disappeared through the green screen. There was + little opportunity for the spirit of the place to return with its quietude + and repose, for the man's voice, raised in ragtime song, still dominated + the canyon with possession. + </p> + <p> + After a time, with a greater clashing of steel-shod feet on rock, he + returned. The green screen was tremendously agitated. It surged back and + forth in the throes of a struggle. There was a loud grating and clanging + of metal. The man's voice leaped to a higher pitch and was sharp with + imperativeness. A large body plunged and panted. There was a snapping and + ripping and rending, and amid a shower of falling leaves a horse burst + through the screen. On its back was a pack, and from this trailed broken + vines and torn creepers. The animal gazed with astonished eyes at the + scene into which it had been precipitated, then dropped its head to the + grass and began contentedly to graze. A second horse scrambled into view, + slipping once on the mossy rocks and regaining equilibrium when its hoofs + sank into the yielding surface of the meadow. It was riderless, though on + its back was a high-horned Mexican saddle, scarred and discolored by long + usage. + </p> + <p> + The man brought up the rear. He threw off pack and saddle, with an eye to + camp location, and gave the animals their freedom to graze. He unpacked + his food and got out frying-pan and coffee-pot. He gathered an armful of + dry wood, and with a few stones made a place for his fire. + </p> + <p> + "My!" he said, "but I've got an appetite. I could scoff iron-filings an' + horseshoe nails an' thank you kindly, ma'am, for a second helpin'." + </p> + <p> + He straightened up, and, while he reached for matches in the pocket of his + overalls, his eyes traveled across the pool to the side-hill. His fingers + had clutched the match-box, but they relaxed their hold and the hand came + out empty. The man wavered perceptibly. He looked at his preparations for + cooking and he looked at the hill. + </p> + <p> + "Guess I'll take another whack at her," he concluded, starting to cross + the stream. + </p> + <p> + "They ain't no sense in it, I know," he mumbled apologetically. "But + keepin' grub back an hour ain't go in' to hurt none, I reckon." + </p> + <p> + A few feet back from his first line of test-pans he started a second line. + The sun dropped down the western sky, the shadows lengthened, but the man + worked on. He began a third line of test-pans. He was cross-cutting the + hillside, line by line, as he ascended. The center of each line produced + the richest pans, while the ends came where no colors showed in the pan. + And as he ascended the hillside the lines grew perceptibly shorter. The + regularity with which their length diminished served to indicate that + somewhere up the slope the last line would be so short as to have scarcely + length at all, and that beyond could come only a point. The design was + growing into an inverted "V." The converging sides of this "V" marked the + boundaries of the gold-bearing dirt. + </p> + <p> + The apex of the "V" was evidently the man's goal. Often he ran his eye + along the converging sides and on up the hill, trying to divine the apex, + the point where the gold-bearing dirt must cease. Here resided "Mr. + Pocket"—for so the man familiarly addressed the imaginary point + above him on the slope, crying out: + </p> + <p> + "Come down out o' that, Mr. Pocket! Be right smart an' agreeable, an' come + down!" + </p> + <p> + "All right," he would add later, in a voice resigned to determination. + "All right, Mr. Pocket. It's plain to me I got to come right up an' snatch + you out bald-headed. An' I'll do it! I'll do it!" he would threaten still + later. + </p> + <p> + Each pan he carried down to the water to wash, and as he went higher up + the hill the pans grew richer, until he began to save the gold in an empty + baking powder can which he carried carelessly in his hip-pocket. So + engrossed was he in his toil that he did not notice the long twilight of + oncoming night. It was not until he tried vainly to see the gold colors in + the bottom of the pan that he realized the passage of time. He + straightened up abruptly. An expression of whimsical wonderment and awe + overspread his face as he drawled: + </p> + <p> + "Gosh darn my buttons! if I didn't plumb forget dinner!" + </p> + <p> + He stumbled across the stream in the darkness and lighted his long-delayed + fire. Flapjacks and bacon and warmed-over beans constituted his supper. + Then he smoked a pipe by the smouldering coals, listening to the night + noises and watching the moonlight stream through the canyon. After that he + unrolled his bed, took off his heavy shoes, and pulled the blankets up to + his chin. His face showed white in the moonlight, like the face of a + corpse. But it was a corpse that knew its resurrection, for the man rose + suddenly on one elbow and gazed across at his hillside. + </p> + <p> + "Good night, Mr. Pocket," he called sleepily. "Goodnight." + </p> + <p> + He slept through the early gray of morning until the direct rays of the + sun smote his closed eyelids, when he awoke with a start and looked about + him until he had established the continuity of his existence and + identified his present self with the days previously lived. + </p> + <p> + To dress, he had merely to buckle on his shoes. He glanced at his + fireplace and at his hillside, wavered, but fought down the temptation and + started the fire. + </p> + <p> + "Keep yer shirt on, Bill; keep yer shirt on," he admonished himself. + "What's the good of rushin'? No use in gettin' all het up an' sweaty. Mr. + Pocket'll wait for you. He ain't a-runnin' away before you can get your + breakfast. Now, what you want, Bill, is something fresh in yer bill o' + fare. So it's up to you to go an' get it." + </p> + <p> + He cut a short pole at the water's edge and drew from one of his pockets a + bit of line and a draggled fly that had once been a royal coachman. + </p> + <p> + "Mebbe they'll bite in the early morning," he muttered, as he made his + first cast into the pool. And a moment later he was gleefully crying: + "What'd I tell you, eh? What'd I tell you?" + </p> + <p> + He had no reel, nor any inclination to waste time, and by main strength, + and swiftly, he drew out of the water a flashing ten-inch trout. Three + more, caught in rapid succession, furnished his breakfast. When he came to + the stepping-stones on his way to his hillside, he was struck by a sudden + thought, and paused. + </p> + <p> + "I'd just better take a hike down-stream a ways," he said. "There's no + tellin' who may be snoopin' around." + </p> + <p> + But he crossed over on the stones, and with a "I really oughter take that + hike," the need of the precaution passed out of his mind and he fell to + work. + </p> + <p> + At nightfall he straightened up. The small of his back was stiff from + stooping toil, and as he put his hand behind him to soothe the protesting + muscles, he said: + </p> + <p> + "Now what d'ye think of that? I clean forgot my dinner again! If I don't + watch out, I'll sure be degeneratin' into a two-meal-a-day crank." + </p> + <p> + "Pockets is the hangedest things I ever see for makin' a man + absent-minded," he communed that night, as he crawled into his blankets. + Nor did he forget to call up the hillside, "Good night, Mr. Pocket! Good + night!" + </p> + <p> + Rising with the sun, and snatching a hasty breakfast, he was early at + work. A fever seemed to be growing in him, nor did the increasing richness + of the test-pans allay this fever. There was a flush in his cheek other + than that made by the heat of the sun, and he was oblivious to fatigue and + the passage of time. When he filled a pan with dirt, he ran down the hill + to wash it; nor could he forbear running up the hill again, panting and + stumbling profanely, to refill the pan. + </p> + <p> + He was now a hundred yards from the water, and the inverted "V" was + assuming definite proportions. The width of the pay-dirt steadily + decreased, and the man extended in his mind's eye the sides of the "V" to + their meeting place far up the hill. This was his goal, the apex of the + "V," and he panned many times to locate it. + </p> + <p> + "Just about two yards above that manzanita bush an' a yard to the right," + he finally concluded. + </p> + <p> + Then the temptation seized him. "As plain as the nose on your face," he + said, as he abandoned his laborious cross-cutting and climbed to the + indicated apex. He filled a pan and carried it down the hill to wash. It + contained no trace of gold. He dug deep, and he dug shallow, filling and + washing a dozen pans, and was unrewarded even by the tiniest golden speck. + He was enraged at having yielded to the temptation, and berated himself + blasphemously and pridelessly. Then he went down the hill and took up the + cross-cutting. + </p> + <p> + "Slow an' certain, Bill; slow an' certain," he crooned. "Short-cuts to + fortune ain't in your line, an' it's about time you know it. Get wise, + Bill; get wise. Slow an' certain's the only hand you can play; so go to + it, an' keep to it, too." + </p> + <p> + As the cross-cuts decreased, showing that the sides of the "V" were + converging, the depth of the "V" increased. The gold-trace was dipping + into the hill. It was only at thirty inches beneath the surface that he + could get colors in his pan. The dirt he found at twenty-five inches from + the surface, and at thirty-five inches yielded barren pans. At the base of + the "V," by the water's edge, he had found the gold colors at the grass + roots. The higher he went up the hill, the deeper the gold dipped. To dig + a hole three feet deep in order to get one test-pan was a task of no mean + magnitude; while between the man and the apex intervened an untold number + of such holes to be dug. "An' there's no tellin' how much deeper it'll + pitch," he sighed, in a moment's pause, while his fingers soothed his + aching back. + </p> + <p> + Feverish with desire, with aching back and stiffening muscles, with pick + and shovel gouging and mauling the soft brown earth, the man toiled up the + hill. Before him was the smooth slope, spangled with flowers and made + sweet with their breath. Behind him was devastation. It looked like some + terrible eruption breaking out on the smooth skin of the hill. His slow + progress was like that of a slug, befouling beauty with a monstrous trail. + </p> + <p> + Though the dipping gold-trace increased the man's work, he found + consolation in the increasing richness of the pans. Twenty cents, thirty + cents, fifty cents, sixty cents, were the values of the gold found in the + pans, and at nightfall he washed his banner pan, which gave him a dollar's + worth of gold-dust from a shovelful of dirt. + </p> + <p> + "I'll just bet it's my luck to have some inquisitive one come buttin' in + here on my pasture," he mumbled sleepily that night as he pulled the + blankets up to his chin. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he sat upright. "Bill!" he called sharply. "Now, listen to me, + Bill; d'ye hear! It's up to you, to-morrow mornin', to mosey round an' see + what you can see. Understand? To-morrow morning, an' don't you forget it!" + </p> + <p> + He yawned and glanced across at his side-hill. "Good night, Mr. Pocket," + he called. + </p> + <p> + In the morning he stole a march on the sun, for he had finished breakfast + when its first rays caught him, and he was climbing the wall of the canyon + where it crumbled away and gave footing. From the outlook at the top he + found himself in the midst of loneliness. As far as he could see, chain + after chain of mountains heaved themselves into his vision. To the east + his eyes, leaping the miles between range and range and between many + ranges, brought up at last against the white-peaked Sierras—the main + crest, where the backbone of the Western world reared itself against the + sky. To the north and south he could see more distinctly the cross-systems + that broke through the main trend of the sea of mountains. To the west the + ranges fell away, one behind the other, diminishing and fading into the + gentle foothills that, in turn, descended into the great valley which he + could not see. + </p> + <p> + And in all that mighty sweep of earth he saw no sign of man nor of the + handiwork of man—save only the torn bosom of the hillside at his + feet. The man looked long and carefully. Once, far down his own canyon, he + thought he saw in the air a faint hint of smoke. He looked again and + decided that it was the purple haze of the hills made dark by a + convolution of the canyon wall at its back. + </p> + <p> + "Hey, you, Mr. Pocket!" he called down into the canyon. "Stand out from + under! I'm a-comin', Mr. Pocket! I'm a-comin'!" + </p> + <p> + The heavy brogans on the man's feet made him appear clumsy-footed, but he + swung down from the giddy height as lightly and airily as a mountain goat. + A rock, turning under his foot on the edge of the precipice, did not + disconcert him. He seemed to know the precise time required for the turn + to culminate in disaster, and in the meantime he utilized the false + footing itself for the momentary earth-contact necessary to carry him on + into safety. Where the earth sloped so steeply that it was impossible to + stand for a second upright, the man did not hesitate. His foot pressed the + impossible surface for but a fraction of the fatal second and gave him the + bound that carried him onward. Again, where even the fraction of a + second's footing was out of the question, he would swing his body past by + a moment's hand-grip on a jutting knob of rock, a crevice, or a + precariously rooted shrub. At last, with a wild leap and yell, he + exchanged the face of the wall for an earth-slide and finished the descent + in the midst of several tons of sliding earth and gravel. + </p> + <p> + His first pan of the morning washed out over two dollars in coarse gold. + It was from the centre of the "V." To either side the diminution in the + values of the pans was swift. His lines of cross-cutting holes were + growing very short. The converging sides of the inverted "V" were only a + few yards apart. Their meeting-point was only a few yards above him. But + the pay-streak was dipping deeper and deeper into the earth. By early + afternoon he was sinking the test-holes five feet before the pans could + show the gold-trace. + </p> + <p> + For that matter, the gold-trace had become something more than a trace; it + was a placer mine in itself, and the man resolved to come back after he + had found the pocket and work over the ground. But the increasing richness + of the pans began to worry him. By late afternoon the worth of the pans + had grown to three and four dollars. The man scratched his head + perplexedly and looked a few feet up the hill at the manzanita bush that + marked approximately the apex of the "V." He nodded his head and said + oracularly: + </p> + <p> + "It's one o' two things, Bill: one o' two things. Either Mr. Pocket's + spilled himself all out an' down the hill, or else Mr. Pocket's so rich + you maybe won't be able to carry him all away with you. And that'd be an + awful shame, wouldn't it, now?" He chuckled at contemplation of so + pleasant a dilemma. + </p> + <p> + Nightfall found him by the edge of the stream, his eyes wrestling with the + gathering darkness over the washing of a five-dollar pan. + </p> + <p> + "Wisht I had an electric light to go on working," he said. + </p> + <p> + He found sleep difficult that night. Many times he composed himself and + closed his eyes for slumber to overtake him; but his blood pounded with + too strong desire, and as many times his eyes opened and he murmured + wearily, "Wisht it was sun-up." + </p> + <p> + Sleep came to him in the end, but his eyes were open with the first paling + of the stars, and the gray of dawn caught him with breakfast finished and + climbing the hillside in the direction of the secret abiding-place of Mr. + Pocket. + </p> + <p> + The first cross-cut the man made, there was space for only three holes, so + narrow had become the pay-streak and so close was he to the fountainhead + of the golden stream he had been following for four days. + </p> + <p> + "Be ca'm, Bill; be ca'm," he admonished himself, as he broke ground for + the final hole where the sides of the "V" had at last come together in a + point. + </p> + <p> + "I've got the almighty cinch on you, Mr. Pocket, an' you can't lose me," + he said many times as he sank the hole deeper and deeper. + </p> + <p> + Four feet, five feet, six feet, he dug his way down into the earth. The + digging grew harder. His pick grated on broken rock. He examined the rock. + "Rotten quartz," was his conclusion as, with the shovel, he cleared the + bottom of the hole of loose dirt. He attacked the crumbling quartz with + the pick, bursting the disintegrating rock asunder with every stroke. + </p> + <p> + He thrust his shovel into the loose mass. His eye caught a gleam of + yellow. He dropped the shovel and squatted suddenly on his heels. As a + farmer rubs the clinging earth from fresh-dug potatoes, so the man, a + piece of rotten quartz held in both hands, rubbed the dirt away. + </p> + <p> + "Sufferin' Sardanopolis!" he cried. "Lumps an' chunks of it! Lumps an' + chunks of it!" + </p> + <p> + It was only half rock he held in his hand. The other half was virgin gold. + He dropped it into his pan and examined another piece. Little yellow was + to be seen, but with his strong fingers he crumbled the rotten quartz away + till both hands were filled with glowing yellow. He rubbed the dirt away + from fragment after fragment, tossing them into the gold-pan. It was a + treasure-hole. So much had the quartz rotted away that there was less of + it than there was of gold. Now and again he found a piece to which no rock + clung—a piece that was all gold. A chunk, where the pick had laid + open the heart of the gold, glittered like a handful of yellow jewels, and + he cocked his head at it and slowly turned it around and over to observe + the rich play of the light upon it. + </p> + <p> + "Talk about yer Too Much Gold diggin's!" the man snorted contemptuously. + "Why, this diggin' 'd make it look like thirty cents. This diggin' is All + Gold. An' right here an' now I name this yere canyon 'All Gold Canyon,' b' + gosh!" + </p> + <p> + Still squatting on his heels, he continued examining the fragments and + tossing them into the pan. Suddenly there came to him a premonition of + danger. It seemed a shadow had fallen upon him. But there was no shadow. + His heart had given a great jump up into his throat and was choking him. + Then his blood slowly chilled and he felt the sweat of his shirt cold + against his flesh. + </p> + <p> + He did not spring up nor look around. He did not move. He was considering + the nature of the premonition he had received, trying to locate the source + of the mysterious force that had warned him, striving to sense the + imperative presence of the unseen thing that threatened him. There is an + aura of things hostile, made manifest by messengers too refined for the + senses to know; and this aura he felt, but knew not how he felt it. His + was the feeling as when a cloud passes over the sun. It seemed that + between him and life had passed something dark and smothering and + menacing; a gloom, as it were, that swallowed up life and made for death—his + death. + </p> + <p> + Every force of his being impelled him to spring up and confront the unseen + danger, but his soul dominated the panic, and he remained squatting on his + heels, in his hands a chunk of gold. He did not dare to look around, but + he knew by now that there was something behind him and above him. He made + believe to be interested in the gold in his hand. He examined it + critically, turned it over and over, and rubbed the dirt from it. And all + the time he knew that something behind him was looking at the gold over + his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + Still feigning interest in the chunk of gold in his hand, he listened + intently and he heard the breathing of the thing behind him. His eyes + searched the ground in front of him for a weapon, but they saw only the + uprooted gold, worthless to him now in his extremity. There was his pick, + a handy weapon on occasion; but this was not such an occasion. The man + realized his predicament. He was in a narrow hole that was seven feet + deep. His head did not come to the surface of the ground. He was in a + trap. + </p> + <p> + He remained squatting on his heels. He was quite cool and collected; but + his mind, considering every factor, showed him only his helplessness. He + continued rubbing the dirt from the quartz fragments and throwing the gold + into the pan. There was nothing else for him to do. Yet he knew that he + would have to rise up, sooner or later, and face the danger that breathed + at his back. The minutes passed, and with the passage of each minute he + knew that by so much he was nearer the time when he must stand up, or else—and + his wet shirt went cold against his flesh again at the thought—or + else he might receive death as he stooped there over his treasure. + </p> + <p> + Still he squatted on his heels, rubbing dirt from gold and debating in + just what manner he should rise up. He might rise up with a rush and claw + his way out of the hole to meet whatever threatened on the even footing + above ground. Or he might rise up slowly and carelessly, and feign + casually to discover the thing that breathed at his back. His instinct and + every fighting fibre of his body favored the mad, clawing rush to the + surface. His intellect, and the craft thereof, favored the slow and + cautious meeting with the thing that menaced and which he could not see. + And while he debated, a loud, crashing noise burst on his ear. At the same + instant he received a stunning blow on the left side of the back, and from + the point of impact felt a rush of flame through his flesh. He sprang up + in the air, but halfway to his feet collapsed. His body crumpled in like a + leaf withered in sudden heat, and he came down, his chest across his pan + of gold, his face in the dirt and rock, his legs tangled and twisted + because of the restricted space at the bottom of the hole. His legs + twitched convulsively several times. His body was shaken as with a mighty + ague. There was a slow expansion of the lungs, accompanied by a deep sigh. + Then the air was slowly, very slowly, exhaled, and his body as slowly + flattened itself down into inertness. + </p> + <p> + Above, revolver in hand, a man was peering down over the edge of the hole. + He peered for a long time at the prone and motionless body beneath him. + After a while the stranger sat down on the edge of the hole so that he + could see into it, and rested the revolver on his knee. Reaching his hand + into a pocket, he drew out a wisp of brown paper. Into this he dropped a + few crumbs of tobacco. The combination became a cigarette, brown and + squat, with the ends turned in. Not once did he take his eyes from the + body at the bottom of the hole. He lighted the cigarette and drew its + smoke into his lungs with a caressing intake of the breath. He smoked + slowly. Once the cigarette went out and he relighted it. And all the while + he studied the body beneath him. + </p> + <p> + In the end he tossed the cigarette stub away and rose to his feet. He + moved to the edge of the hole. Spanning it, a hand resting on each edge, + and with the revolver still in the right hand, he muscled his body down + into the hole. While his feet were yet a yard from the bottom he released + his hands and dropped down. + </p> + <p> + At the instant his feet struck bottom he saw the pocket-miner's arm leap + out, and his own legs knew a swift, jerking grip that overthrew him. In + the nature of the jump his revolver hand was above his head. Swiftly as + the grip had flashed about his legs, just as swiftly he brought the + revolver down. He was still in the air, his fall in process of completion, + when he pulled the trigger. The explosion was deafening in the confined + space. The smoke filled the hole so that he could see nothing. He struck + the bottom on his back, and like a cat's the pocket-miner's body was on + top of him. Even as the miner's body passed on top, the stranger crooked + in his right arm to fire; and even in that instant the miner, with a quick + thrust of elbow, struck his wrist. The muzzle was thrown up and the bullet + thudded into the dirt of the side of the hole. + </p> + <p> + The next instant the stranger felt the miner's hand grip his wrist. The + struggle was now for the revolver. Each man strove to turn it against the + other's body. The smoke in the hole was clearing. The stranger, lying on + his back, was beginning to see dimly. But suddenly he was blinded by a + handful of dirt deliberately flung into his eyes by his antagonist. In + that moment of shock his grip on the revolver was broken. In the next + moment he felt a smashing darkness descend upon his brain, and in the + midst of the darkness even the darkness ceased. + </p> + <p> + But the pocket-miner fired again and again, until the revolver was empty. + Then he tossed it from him and, breathing heavily, sat down on the dead + man's legs. + </p> + <p> + The miner was sobbing and struggling for breath. "Measly skunk!" he + panted; "a-campin' on my trail an' lettin' me do the work, an' then + shootin' me in the back!" + </p> + <p> + He was half crying from anger and exhaustion. He peered at the face of the + dead man. It was sprinkled with loose dirt and gravel, and it was + difficult to distinguish the features. + </p> + <p> + "Never laid eyes on him before," the miner concluded his scrutiny. "Just a + common an' ordinary thief, hang him! An' he shot me in the back! He shot + me in the back!" + </p> + <p> + He opened his shirt and felt himself, front and back, on his left side. + </p> + <p> + "Went clean through, and no harm done!" he cried jubilantly. "I'll bet he + aimed all right all right; but he drew the gun over when he pulled the + trigger—the cur! But I fixed 'm! Oh, I fixed 'm!" + </p> + <p> + His fingers were investigating the bullet-hole in his side, and a shade of + regret passed over his face. "It's goin' to be stiffer'n hell," he said. + "An' it's up to me to get mended an' get out o'here." + </p> + <p> + He crawled out of the hole and went down the hill to his camp. Half an + hour later he returned, leading his pack-horse. His open shirt disclosed + the rude bandages with which he had dressed his wound. He was slow and + awkward with his left-hand movements, but that did not prevent his using + the arm. + </p> + <p> + The bight of the pack-rope under the dead man's shoulders enabled him to + heave the body out of the hole. Then he set to work gathering up his gold. + He worked steadily for several hours, pausing often to rest his stiffening + shoulder and to exclaim: + </p> + <p> + "He shot me in the back, the measly skunk! He shot me in the back!" + </p> + <p> + When his treasure was quite cleaned up and wrapped securely into a number + of blanket-covered parcels, he made an estimate of its value. + </p> + <p> + "Four hundred pounds, or I'm a Hottentot," he concluded. "Say two hundred + in quartz an' dirt—that leaves two hundred pounds of gold. Bill! + Wake up! Two hundred pounds of gold! Forty thousand dollars! An' it's + yourn—all yourn!" + </p> + <p> + He scratched his head delightedly and his fingers blundered into an + unfamiliar groove. They quested along it for several inches. It was a + crease through his scalp where the second bullet had ploughed. + </p> + <p> + He walked angrily over to the dead man. + </p> + <p> + "You would, would you!" he bullied. "You would, eh? Well, I fixed you good + an' plenty, an' I'll give you decent burial, too. That's more'n you'd have + done for me." + </p> + <p> + He dragged the body to the edge of the hole and toppled it in. It struck + the bottom with a dull crash, on its side, the face twisted up to the + light. The miner peered down at it. + </p> + <p> + "An' you shot me in the back!" he said accusingly. + </p> + <p> + With pick and shovel he filled the hole. Then he loaded the gold on his + horse. It was too great a load for the animal, and when he had gained his + camp he transferred part of it to his saddle-horse. Even so, he was + compelled to abandon a portion of his outfit—pick and shovel and + gold-pan, extra food and cooking utensils, and divers odds and ends. + </p> + <p> + The sun was at the zenith when the man forced the horses at the screen of + vines and creepers. To climb the huge boulders the animals were compelled + to uprear and struggle blindly through the tangled mass of vegetation. + Once the saddle-horse fell heavily and the man removed the pack to get the + animal on its feet. After it started on its way again the man thrust his + head out from among the leaves and peered up at the hillside. + </p> + <p> + "The measly skunk!" he said, and disappeared. + </p> + <p> + There was a ripping and tearing of vines and boughs. The trees surged back + and forth, marking the passage of the animals through the midst of them. + There was a clashing of steel-shod hoofs on stone, and now and again a + sharp cry of command. Then the voice of the man was raised in song:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Tu'n around an' tu'n yo' face + Untoe them sweet hills of grace + (D' pow'rs of sin yo' am scornin'!). + Look about an' look aroun' + Fling yo' sin-pack on d' groun' + (Yo'-will meet wid d' Lord in d' mornin'!)." +</pre> + <p> + The song grew faint and fainter, and through the silence crept back the + spirit of the place. The stream once more drowsed and whispered; the hum + of the mountain bees rose sleepily. Down through the perfume-weighted air + fluttered the snowy fluffs of the cottonwoods. The butterflies drifted in + and out among the trees, and over all blazed the quiet sunshine. Only + remained the hoof-marks in the meadow and the torn hillside to mark the + boisterous trail of the life that had broken the peace of the place and + passed on. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE STORY OF KEESH + </h2> + <p> + Keesh lived long ago on the rim of the polar sea, was head man of his + village through many and prosperous years, and died full of honors with + his name on the lips of men. So long ago did he live that only the old men + remember his name, his name and the tale, which they got from the old men + before them, and which the old men to come will tell to their children and + their children's children down to the end of time. And the winter + darkness, when the north gales make their long sweep across the ice-pack, + and the air is filled with flying white, and no man may venture forth, is + the chosen time for the telling of how Keesh, from the poorest <i>igloo</i> + in the village, rose to power and place over them all. + </p> + <p> + He was a bright boy, so the tale runs, healthy and strong, and he had seen + thirteen suns, in their way of reckoning time. For each winter the sun + leaves the land in darkness, and the next year a new sun returns so that + they may be warm again and look upon one another's faces. The father of + Keesh had been a very brave man, but he had met his death in a time of + famine, when he sought to save the lives of his people by taking the life + of a great polar bear. In his eagerness he came to close grapples with the + bear, and his bones were crushed; but the bear had much meat on him and + the people were saved. Keesh was his only son, and after that Keesh lived + alone with his mother. But the people are prone to forget, and they forgot + the deed of his father; and he being but a boy, and his mother only a + woman, they, too, were swiftly forgotten, and ere long came to live in the + meanest of all the <i>igloos</i>. + </p> + <p> + It was at a council, one night, in the big <i>igloo</i> of Klosh-Kwan, the + chief, that Keesh showed the blood that ran in his veins and the manhood + that stiffened his back. With the dignity of an elder, he rose to his + feet, and waited for silence amid the babble of voices. + </p> + <p> + "It is true that meat be apportioned me and mine," he said. "But it is + ofttimes old and tough, this meat, and, moreover, it has an unusual + quantity of bones." + </p> + <p> + The hunters, grizzled and gray, and lusty and young, were aghast. The like + had never been known before. A child, that talked like a grown man, and + said harsh things to their very faces! + </p> + <p> + But steadily and with seriousness, Keesh went on. "For that I know my + father, Bok, was a great hunter, I speak these words. It is said that Bok + brought home more meat than any of the two best hunters, that with his own + hands he attended to the division of it, that with his own eyes he saw to + it that the least old woman and the least old man received fair share." + </p> + <p> + "Na! Na!" the men cried. "Put the child out!" "Send him off to bed!" "He + is no man that he should talk to men and gray-beards!" + </p> + <p> + He waited calmly till the uproar died down. + </p> + <p> + "Thou hast a wife, Ugh-Gluk," he said, "and for her dost thou speak. And + thou, too, Massuk, a mother also, and for them dost thou speak. My mother + has no one, save me; wherefore I speak. As I say, though Bok be dead + because he hunted over-keenly, it is just that I, who am his son, and that + Ikeega, who is my mother and was his wife, should have meat in plenty so + long as there be meat in plenty in the tribe. I, Keesh, the son of Bok, + have spoken." + </p> + <p> + He sat down, his ears keenly alert to the flood of protest and indignation + his words had created. + </p> + <p> + "That a boy should speak in council!" old Ugh-Gluk was mumbling. + </p> + <p> + "Shall the babes in arms tell us men the things we shall do?" Massuk + demanded in a loud voice. "Am I a man that I should be made a mock by + every child that cries for meat?" + </p> + <p> + The anger boiled a white heat. They ordered him to bed, threatened that he + should have no meat at all, and promised him sore beatings for his + presumption. Keesh's eyes began to flash, and the blood to pound darkly + under his skin. In the midst of the abuse he sprang to his feet. + </p> + <p> + "Hear me, ye men!" he cried. "Never shall I speak in the council again, + never again till the men come to me and say, 'It is well, Keesh, that thou + shouldst speak, it is well and it is our wish.' Take this now, ye men, for + my last word. Bok, my father, was a great hunter. I too, his son, shall go + and hunt the meat that I eat. And be it known, now, that the division of + that which I kill shall be fair. And no widow nor weak one shall cry in + the night because there is no meat, when the strong men are groaning in + great pain for that they have eaten overmuch. And in the days to come + there shall be shame upon the strong men who have eaten overmuch. I, + Keesh, have said it!" + </p> + <p> + Jeers and scornful laughter followed him out of the <i>igloo</i>, but his + jaw was set and he went his way, looking neither to right nor left. + </p> + <p> + The next day he went forth along the shoreline where the ice and the land + met together. Those who saw him go noted that he carried his bow, with a + goodly supply of bone-barbed arrows, and that across his shoulder was his + father's big hunting-spear. And there was laughter, and much talk, at the + event. It was an unprecedented occurrence. Never did boys of his tender + age go forth to hunt, much less to hunt alone. Also were there shaking of + heads and prophetic mutterings, and the women looked pityingly at Ikeega, + and her face was grave and sad. + </p> + <p> + "He will be back ere long," they said cheeringly. + </p> + <p> + "Let him go; it will teach him a lesson," the hunters said. "And he will + come back shortly, and he will be meek and soft of speech in the days to + follow." + </p> + <p> + But a day passed, and a second, and on the third a wild gale blew, and + there was no Keesh. Ikeega tore her hair and put soot of the seal-oil on + her face in token of her grief; and the women assailed the men with bitter + words in that they had mistreated the boy and sent him to his death; and + the men made no answer, preparing to go in search of the body when the + storm abated. + </p> + <p> + Early next morning, however, Keesh strode into the village. But he came + not shamefacedly. Across his shoulders he bore a burden of fresh-killed + meat. And there was importance in his step and arrogance in his speech. + </p> + <p> + "Go, ye men, with the dogs and sledges, and take my trail for the better + part of a day's travel," he said. "There is much meat on the ice—a + she-bear and two half-grown cubs." + </p> + <p> + Ikeega was overcome with joy, but he received her demonstrations in + manlike fashion, saying: "Come, Ikeega, let us eat. And after that I shall + sleep, for I am weary." + </p> + <p> + And he passed into their <i>igloo</i> and ate profoundly, and after that + slept for twenty running hours. + </p> + <p> + There was much doubt at first, much doubt and discussion. The killing of a + polar bear is very dangerous, but thrice dangerous is it, and three times + thrice, to kill a mother bear with her cubs. The men could not bring + themselves to believe that the boy Keesh, single-handed, had accomplished + so great a marvel. But the women spoke of the fresh-killed meat he had + brought on his back, and this was an overwhelming argument against their + unbelief. So they finally departed, grumbling greatly that in all + probability, if the thing were so, he had neglected to cut up the + carcasses. Now in the north it is very necessary that this should be done + as soon as a kill is made. If not, the meat freezes so solidly as to turn + the edge of the sharpest knife, and a three-hundred-pound bear, frozen + stiff, is no easy thing to put upon a sled and haul over the rough ice. + But arrived at the spot, they found not only the kill which they had + doubted, but that Keesh had quartered the beasts in true hunter fashion, + and removed the entrails. + </p> + <p> + Thus began the mystery of Keesh, a mystery that deepened and deepened with + the passing of the days. His very next trip he killed a young bear, nearly + full-grown, and on the trip following, a large male bear and his mate. He + was ordinarily gone from three to four days, though it was nothing unusual + for him to stay away a week at a time on the ice-field. Always he declined + company on these expeditions, and the people marveled. "How does he do + it?" they demanded of one another. "Never does he take a dog with him, and + dogs are of such great help, too." + </p> + <p> + "Why dost thou hunt only bear?" Klosh-Kwan once ventured to ask. + </p> + <p> + And Keesh made fitting answer. "It is well known that there is more meat + on the bear," he said. + </p> + <p> + But there was also talk of witchcraft in the village. "He hunts with evil + spirits," some of the people contended, "wherefore his hunting is + rewarded. How else can it be, save that he hunts with evil spirits?" + </p> + <p> + "Mayhap they be not evil, but good, these spirits," others said. "It is + known that his father was a mighty hunter. May not his father hunt with + him so that he may attain excellence and patience and understanding? Who + knows?" + </p> + <p> + None the less, his success continued, and the less skilful hunters were + often kept busy hauling in his meat. And in the division of it he was + just. As his father had done before him, he saw to it that the least old + woman and the last old man received a fair portion, keeping no more for + himself than his needs required. And because of this, and of his merit as + a hunter, he was looked upon with respect, and even awe; and there was + talk of making him chief after old Klosh-Kwan. Because of the things he + had done, they looked for him to appear again in the council, but he never + came, and they were ashamed to ask. + </p> + <p> + "I am minded to build me an <i>igloo</i>," he said one day to Klosh-Kwan + and a number of the hunters. "It shall be a large <i>igloo</i>, wherein + Ikeega and I can dwell in comfort." + </p> + <p> + "Ay," they nodded gravely. + </p> + <p> + "But I have no time. My business is hunting, and it takes all my time. So + it is but just that the men and women of the village who eat my meat + should build me my <i>igloo</i>." + </p> + <p> + And the <i>igloo</i> was built accordingly, on a generous scale which + exceeded even the dwelling of Klosh-Kwan. Keesh and his mother moved into + it, and it was the first prosperity she had enjoyed since the death of + Bok. Nor was material prosperity alone hers, for, because of her wonderful + son and the position he had given her, she came to be looked upon as the + first woman in all the village; and the women were given to visiting her, + to asking her advice, and to quoting her wisdom when arguments arose among + themselves or with the men. + </p> + <p> + But it was the mystery of Keesh's marvelous hunting that took chief place + in all their minds. And one day Ugh-Gluk taxed him with witchcraft to his + face. + </p> + <p> + "It is charged," Ugh-Gluk said ominously, "that thou dealest with evil + spirits, wherefore thy hunting is rewarded." + </p> + <p> + "Is not the meat good?" Keesh made answer. "Has one in the village yet to + fall sick from the eating of it! How dost thou know that witchcraft be + concerned? Or dost thou guess, in the dark, merely because of the envy + that consumes thee?" + </p> + <p> + And Ugh-Gluk withdrew discomfited, the women laughing at him as he walked + away. But in the council one night, after long deliberation, it was + determined to put spies on his track when he went forth to hunt, so that + his methods might be learned. So, on his next trip, Bim and Bawn, two + young men, and of hunters the craftiest, followed after him, taking care + not to be seen. After five days they returned, their eyes bulging and + their tongues a-tremble to tell what they had seen. The council was + hastily called in Klosh-Kwan's dwelling, and Bim took up the tale. + </p> + <p> + "Brothers! As commanded, we journeyed on the trail of Keesh, and cunningly + we journeyed, so that he might not know. And midway of the first day he + picked up with a great he-bear. It was a very great bear." + </p> + <p> + "None greater," Bawn corroborated, and went on himself. "Yet was the bear + not inclined to fight, for he turned away and made off slowly over the + ice. This we saw from the rocks of the shore, and the bear came toward us, + and after him came Keesh, very much unafraid. And he shouted harsh words + after the bear, and waved his arms about, and made much noise. Then did + the bear grow angry, and rise up on his hind legs, and growl. But Keesh + walked right up to the bear." + </p> + <p> + "Ay," Bim continued the story. "Right up to the bear Keesh walked. And the + bear took after him, and Keesh ran away. But as he ran he dropped a little + round ball on the ice. And the bear stopped and smelled of it, and then + swallowed it up. And Keesh continued to run away and drop little round + balls, and the bear continued to swallow them up." + </p> + <p> + Exclamations and cries of doubt were being made, and Ugh-Gluk expressed + open unbelief. + </p> + <p> + "With our own eyes we saw it," Bim affirmed. + </p> + <p> + And Bawn—"Ay, with our own eyes. And this continued until the bear + stood suddenly upright and cried aloud in pain, and thrashed his forepaws + madly about. And Keesh continued to make off over the ice to a safe + distance. But the bear gave him no notice, being occupied with the + misfortune the little round balls had wrought within him." + </p> + <p> + "Ay, within him," Bim interrupted. "For he did claw at himself, and leap + about over the ice like a playful puppy, save from the way he growled and + squealed it was plain it was not play but pain. Never did I see such a + sight!" + </p> + <p> + "Nay, never was such a sight seen," Bawn took up the strain. "And + furthermore, it was such a large bear." + </p> + <p> + "Witchcraft," Ugh-Gluk suggested. + </p> + <p> + "I know not," Bawn replied. "I tell only of what my eyes beheld. And after + a while the bear grew weak and tired, for he was very heavy and he had + jumped about with exceeding violence, and he went off along the shore-ice, + shaking his head slowly from side to side and sitting down ever and again + to squeal and cry. And Keesh followed after the bear, and we followed + after Keesh, and for that day and three days more we followed. The bear + grew weak, and never ceased crying from his pain." + </p> + <p> + "It was a charm!" Ugh-Gluk exclaimed. "Surely it was a charm!" + </p> + <p> + "It may well be." + </p> + <p> + And Bim relieved Bawn. "The bear wandered, now this way and now that, + doubling back and forth and crossing his trail in circles, so that at the + end he was near where Keesh had first come upon him. By this time he was + quite sick, the bear, and could crawl no farther, so Keesh came up close + and speared him to death." + </p> + <p> + "And then?" Klosh-Kwan demanded. + </p> + <p> + "Then we left Keesh skinning the bear, and came running that the news of + the killing might be told." + </p> + <p> + And in the afternoon of that day the women hauled in the meat of the bear + while the men sat in council assembled. When Keesh arrived a messenger was + sent to him, bidding him come to the council. But he sent reply, saying + that he was hungry and tired; also that his <i>igloo</i> was large and + comfortable and could hold many men. + </p> + <p> + And curiosity was so strong on the men that the whole council, Klosh-Kwan + to the fore, rose up and went to the <i>igloo</i> of Keesh. He was eating, + but he received them with respect and seated them according to their rank. + Ikeega was proud and embarrassed by turns, but Keesh was quite composed. + </p> + <p> + Klosh-Kwan recited the information brought by Bim and Bawn, and at its + close said in a stern voice: "So explanation is wanted, O Keesh, of thy + manner of hunting. Is there witchcraft in it?" + </p> + <p> + Keesh looked up and smiled. "Nay, O Klosh-Kwan. It is not for a boy to + know aught of witches, and of witches I know nothing. I have but devised a + means whereby I may kill the ice-bear with ease, that is all. It be + headcraft, not witchcraft." + </p> + <p> + "And may any man?" + </p> + <p> + "Any man." + </p> + <p> + There was a long silence. The men looked in one another's faces, and Keesh + went on eating. + </p> + <p> + "And ... and ... and wilt thou tell us, O Keesh?" Klosh-Kwan finally asked + in a tremulous voice. + </p> + <p> + "Yea, I will tell thee." Keesh finished sucking a marrow-bone and rose to + his feet. "It is quite simple. Behold!" + </p> + <p> + He picked up a thin strip of whalebone and showed it to them. The ends + were sharp as needle-points. The strip he coiled carefully, till it + disappeared in his hand. Then, suddenly releasing it, it sprang straight + again. He picked up a piece of blubber. + </p> + <p> + "So," he said, "one takes a small chunk of blubber, thus, and thus makes + it hollow. Then into the hollow goes the whalebone, so, tightly coiled, + and another piece of blubber is fitted over the whalebone. After that it + is put outside where it freezes into a little round ball. The bear + swallows the little round ball, the blubber melts, the whalebone with its + sharp ends stands out straight, the bear gets sick, and when the bear is + very sick, why, you kill him with a spear. It is quite simple." + </p> + <p> + And Ugh-Gluk said "Oh!" and Klosh-Kwan said "Ah!" And each said something + after his own manner, and all understood. + </p> + <p> + And this is the story of Keesh, who lived long ago on the rim of the polar + sea. Because he exercised headcraft and not witchcraft, he rose from the + meanest <i>igloo</i> to be head man of his village, and through all the + years that he lived, it is related, his tribe was prosperous, and neither + widow nor weak one cried aloud in the night because there was no meat. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + NAM-BOK THE UNVERACIOUS + </h2> + <p> + "A Bidarka, is it not so! Look! a bidarka, and one man who drives clumsily + with a paddle!" + </p> + <p> + Old Bask-Wah-Wan rose to her knees, trembling with weakness and eagerness, + and gazed out over the sea. + </p> + <p> + "Nam-Bok was ever clumsy at the paddle," she maundered reminiscently, + shading the sun from her eyes and staring across the silver-spilled water. + "Nam-Bok was ever clumsy. I remember...." + </p> + <p> + But the women and children laughed loudly, and there was a gentle mockery + in their laughter, and her voice dwindled till her lips moved without + sound. + </p> + <p> + Koogah lifted his grizzled head from his bone-carving and followed the + path of her eyes. Except when wide yawns took it off its course, a bidarka + was heading in for the beach. Its occupant was paddling with more strength + than dexterity, and made his approach along the zigzag line of most + resistance. Koogah's head dropped to his work again, and on the ivory tusk + between his knees he scratched the dorsal fin of a fish the like of which + never swam in the sea. + </p> + <p> + "It is doubtless the man from the next village," he said finally, "come to + consult with me about the marking of things on bone. And the man is a + clumsy man. He will never know how." + </p> + <p> + "It is Nam-Bok," old Bask-Wah-Wan repeated. "Should I not know my son!" + she demanded shrilly. "I say, and I say again, it is Nam-Bok." + </p> + <p> + "And so thou hast said these many summers," one of the women chided + softly. "Ever when the ice passed out of the sea hast thou sat and watched + through the long day, saying at each chance canoe, 'This is Nam-Bok.' + Nam-Bok is dead, O Bask-Wah-Wan, and the dead do not come back. It cannot + be that the dead come back." + </p> + <p> + "Nam-Bok!" the old woman cried, so loud and clear that the whole village + was startled and looked at her. + </p> + <p> + She struggled to her feet and tottered down the sand. She stumbled over a + baby lying in the sun, and the mother hushed its crying and hurled harsh + words after the old woman, who took no notice. The children ran down the + beach in advance of her, and as the man in the bidarka drew closer, nearly + capsizing with one of his ill-directed strokes, the women followed. Koogah + dropped his walrus tusk and went also, leaning heavily upon his staff, and + after him loitered the men in twos and threes. + </p> + <p> + The bidarka turned broadside and the ripple of surf threatened to swamp + it, only a naked boy ran into the water and pulled the bow high up on the + sand. The man stood up and sent a questing glance along the line of + villagers. A rainbow sweater, dirty and the worse for wear, clung loosely + to his broad shoulders, and a red cotton handkerchief was knotted in + sailor fashion about his throat. A fisherman's tam-o'-shanter on his + close-clipped head, and dungaree trousers and heavy brogans completed his + outfit. + </p> + <p> + But he was none the less a striking personage to these simple fisherfolk + of the great Yukon Delta, who, all their lives, had stared out on Bering + Sea and in that time seen but two white men,—the census enumerator + and a lost Jesuit priest. They were a poor people, with neither gold in + the ground nor valuable furs in hand, so the whites had passed them afar. + Also, the Yukon, through the thousands of years, had shoaled that portion + of the sea with the detritus of Alaska till vessels grounded out of sight + of land. So the sodden coast, with its long inside reaches and huge + mud-land archipelagoes, was avoided by the ships of men, and the + fisherfolk knew not that such things were. + </p> + <p> + Koogah, the Bone-Scratcher, retreated backward in sudden haste, tripping + over his staff and falling to the ground. "Nam-Bok!" he cried, as he + scrambled wildly for footing. "Nam-Bok, who was blown off to sea, come + back!" + </p> + <p> + The men and women shrank away, and the children scuttled off between their + legs. Only Opee-Kwan was brave, as befitted the head man of the village. + He strode forward and gazed long and earnestly at the newcomer. + </p> + <p> + "It is Nam-Bok," he said at last, and at the conviction in his voice the + women wailed apprehensively and drew farther away. + </p> + <p> + The lips of the stranger moved indecisively, and his brown throat writhed + and wrestled with unspoken words. + </p> + <p> + "La, la, it is Nam-Bok," Bask-Wah-Wan croaked, peering up into his face. + "Ever did I say Nam-Bok would come back." + </p> + <p> + "Ay, it is Nam-Bok come back." This time it was Nam-Bok himself who spoke, + putting a leg over the side of the bidarka and standing with one foot + afloat and one ashore. Again his throat writhed and wrestled as he + grappled after forgotten words. And when the words came forth they were + strange of sound and a spluttering of the lips accompanied the gutturals. + "Greetings, O brothers," he said, "brothers of old time before I went away + with the off-shore wind." + </p> + <p> + He stepped out with both feet on the sand, and Opee-Kwan waved him back. + </p> + <p> + "Thou art dead, Nam-Bok," he said. + </p> + <p> + Nam-Bok laughed. "I am fat." + </p> + <p> + "Dead men are not fat," Opee-Kwan confessed. "Thou hast fared well, but it + is strange. No man may mate with the off-shore wind and come back on the + heels of the years." + </p> + <p> + "I have come back," Nam-Bok answered simply. + </p> + <p> + "Mayhap thou art a shadow, then, a passing shadow of the Nam-Bok that was. + Shadows come back." + </p> + <p> + "I am hungry. Shadows do not eat." + </p> + <p> + But Opee-Kwan doubted, and brushed his hand across his brow in sore + puzzlement. Nam-Bok was likewise puzzled, and as he looked up and down the + line found no welcome in the eyes of the fisherfolk. The men and women + whispered together. The children stole timidly back among their elders, + and bristling dogs fawned up to him and sniffed suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + "I bore thee, Nam-Bok, and I gave thee suck when thou wast little," + Bask-Wah-Wan whimpered, drawing closer; "and shadow though thou be, or no + shadow, I will give thee to eat now." + </p> + <p> + Nam-Bok made to come to her, but a growl of fear and menace warned him + back. He said something angrily in a strange tongue, and added, "No shadow + am I, but a man." + </p> + <p> + "Who may know concerning the things of mystery?" Opee-Kwan demanded, half + of himself and half of his tribespeople. "We are, and in a breath we are + not. If the man may become shadow, may not the shadow become man? Nam-Bok + was, but is not. This we know, but we do not know if this be Nam-Bok or + the shadow of Nam-Bok." + </p> + <p> + Nam-Bok cleared his throat and made answer. "In the old time long ago, thy + father's father, Opee-Kwan, went away and came back on the heels of the + years. Nor was a place by the fire denied him. It is said ..." He paused + significantly, and they hung on his utterance. "It is said," he repeated, + driving his point home with deliberation, "that Sipsip, his <i>klooch</i>, + bore him two sons after he came back." + </p> + <p> + "But he had no doings with the off-shore wind," Opee-Kwan retorted. "He + went away into the heart of the land, and it is in the nature of things + that a man may go on and on into the land." + </p> + <p> + "And likewise the sea. But that is neither here nor there. It is said ... + that thy father's father told strange tales of the things he saw." + </p> + <p> + "Ay, strange tales he told." + </p> + <p> + "I, too, have strange tales to tell," Nam-Bok stated insidiously. And, as + they wavered, "And presents likewise." + </p> + <p> + He pulled from the bidarka a shawl, marvelous of texture and color, and + flung it about his mother's shoulders. The women voiced a collective sigh + of admiration, and old Bask-Wah-Wan ruffled the gay material and patted it + and crooned in childish joy. + </p> + <p> + "He has tales to tell," Koogah muttered. "And presents," a woman seconded. + </p> + <p> + And Opee-Kwan knew that his people were eager, and further, he was aware + himself of an itching curiosity concerning those untold tales. "The + fishing has been good," he said judiciously, "and we have oil in plenty. + So come, Nam-Bok, let us feast." + </p> + <p> + Two of the men hoisted the bidarka on their shoulders and carried it up to + the fire. Nam-Bok walked by the side of Opee-Kwan, and the villagers + followed after, save those of the women who lingered a moment to lay + caressing fingers on the shawl. + </p> + <p> + There was little talk while the feast went on, though many and curious + were the glances stolen at the son of Bask-Wah-Wan. This embarrassed him—not + because he was modest of spirit, however, but for the fact that the stench + of the seal-oil had robbed him of his appetite, and that he keenly desired + to conceal his feelings on the subject. + </p> + <p> + "Eat; thou art hungry," Opee-Kwan commanded, and Nam-Bok shut both his + eyes and shoved his fist into the big pot of putrid fish. + </p> + <p> + "La la, be not ashamed. The seal were many this year, and strong men are + ever hungry." And Bask-Wah-Wan sopped a particularly offensive chunk of + salmon into the oil and passed it fondly and dripping to her son. + </p> + <p> + In despair, when premonitory symptoms warned him that his stomach was not + so strong as of old, he filled his pipe and struck up a smoke. The people + fed on noisily and watched. Few of them could boast of intimate + acquaintance with the precious weed, though now and again small quantities + and abominable qualities were obtained in trade from the Eskimos to the + northward. Koogah, sitting next to him, indicated that he was not averse + to taking a draw, and between two mouthfuls, with the oil thick on his + lips, sucked away at the amber stem. And thereupon Nam-Bok held his + stomach with a shaky hand and declined the proffered return. Koogah could + keep the pipe, he said, for he had intended so to honor him from the + first. And the people licked their fingers and approved of his liberality. + </p> + <p> + Opee-Kwan rose to his feet. "And now, O Nam-Bok, the feast is ended, and + we would listen concerning the strange things you have seen." + </p> + <p> + The fisherfolk applauded with their hands, and gathering about them their + work, prepared to listen. The men were busy fashioning spears and carving + on ivory, while the women scraped the fat from the hides of the hair seal + and made them pliable or sewed muclucs with threads of sinew. Nam-Bok's + eyes roved over the scene, but there was not the charm about it that his + recollection had warranted him to expect. During the years of his + wandering he had looked forward to just this scene, and now that it had + come he was disappointed. It was a bare and meagre life, he deemed, and + not to be compared to the one to which he had become used. Still, he would + open their eyes a bit, and his own eyes sparkled at the thought. + </p> + <p> + "Brothers," he began, with the smug complacency of a man about to relate + the big things he has done, "it was late summer of many summers back, with + much such weather as this promises to be, when I went away. You all + remember the day, when the gulls flew low, and the wind blew strong from + the land, and I could not hold my bidarka against it. I tied the covering + of the bidarka about me so that no water could get in, and all of the + night I fought with the storm. And in the morning there was no land,—only + the sea,—and the off-shore wind held me close in its arms and bore + me along. Three such nights whitened into dawn and showed me no land, and + the off-shore wind would not let me go. + </p> + <p> + "And when the fourth day came, I was as a madman. I could not dip my + paddle for want of food; and my head went round and round, what of the + thirst that was upon me. But the sea was no longer angry, and the soft + south wind was blowing, and as I looked about me I saw a sight that made + me think I was indeed mad." + </p> + <p> + Nam-Bok paused to pick away a sliver of salmon lodged between his teeth, + and the men and women, with idle hands and heads craned forward, waited. + </p> + <p> + "It was a canoe, a big canoe. If all the canoes I have ever seen were made + into one canoe, it would not be so large." + </p> + <p> + There were exclamations of doubt, and Koogah, whose years were many, shook + his head. + </p> + <p> + "If each bidarka were as a grain of sand," Nam-Bok defiantly continued, + "and if there were as many bidarkas as there be grains of sand in this + beach, still would they not make so big a canoe as this I saw on the + morning of the fourth day. It was a very big canoe, and it was called a <i>schooner</i>. + I saw this thing of wonder, this great schooner, coming after me, and on + it I saw men——" + </p> + <p> + "Hold, O Nam-Bok!" Opee-Kwan broke in. "What manner of men were they?—big + men?" + </p> + <p> + "Nay, mere men like you and me." + </p> + <p> + "Did the big canoe come fast?" + </p> + <p> + "Ay." + </p> + <p> + "The sides were tall, the men short." Opee-Kwan stated the premises with + conviction. "And did these men dip with long paddles?" + </p> + <p> + Nam-Bok grinned. "There were no paddles," he said. + </p> + <p> + Mouths remained open, and a long silence dropped down. Ope-Kwan borrowed + Koogah's pipe for a couple of contemplative sucks. One of the younger + women giggled nervously and drew upon herself angry eyes. + </p> + <p> + "There were no paddles?" Opee-Kwan asked softly, returning the pipe. + </p> + <p> + "The south wind was behind," Nam-Bok explained. + </p> + <p> + "But the wind drift is slow." + </p> + <p> + "The schooner had wings—thus." He sketched a diagram of masts and + sails in the sand, and the men crowded around and studied it. The wind was + blowing briskly, and for more graphic elucidation he seized the corners of + his mother's shawl and spread them out till it bellied like a sail. Bask + Wah-Wan scolded and struggled, but was blown down the breach for a score + of feet and left breathless and stranded in a heap of driftwood. The men + uttered sage grunts of comprehension, but Koogah suddenly tossed back his + hoary head. + </p> + <p> + "Ho! Ho!" he laughed. "A foolish thing, this big canoe! A most foolish + thing! The plaything of the wind! Wheresoever the wind goes, it goes too. + No man who journeys therein may name the landing beach, for always he goes + with the wind, and the wind goes everywhere, but no man knows where." + </p> + <p> + "It is so," Opee-Kwan supplemented gravely. "With the wind the going is + easy, but against the wind a man striveth hard; and for that they had no + paddles these men on the big canoe did not strive at all." + </p> + <p> + "Small need to strive," Nam-Bok cried angrily. "The schooner went likewise + against the wind." + </p> + <p> + "And what said you made the sch—sch—schooner go?" Koogah + asked, tripping craftily over the strange word. + </p> + <p> + "The wind," was the impatient response. + </p> + <p> + "Then the wind made the sch—sch—schooner go against the wind." + Old Koogah dropped an open leer to Opee-Kwan, and, the laughter growing + around him, continued: "The wind blows from the south and blows the + schooner south. The wind blows against the wind. The wind blows one way + and the other at the same time. It is very simple. We understand, Nam-Bok. + We clearly understand." + </p> + <p> + "Thou art a fool!" + </p> + <p> + "Truth falls from thy lips," Koogah answered meekly. "I was over-long in + understanding, and the thing was simple." + </p> + <p> + But Nam-Bok's face was dark, and he said rapid words which they had never + heard before. Bone-scratching and skin-scraping were resumed, but he shut + his lips tightly on the tongue that could not be believed. + </p> + <p> + "This sch—sch—schooner," Koogah imperturbably asked; "it was + made of a big tree?" + </p> + <p> + "It was made of many trees," Nam-Bok snapped shortly. "It was very big." + </p> + <p> + He lapsed into sullen silence again, and Opee-Kwan nudged Koogah, who + shook his head with slow amazement and murmured, "It is very strange." + </p> + <p> + Nam-Bok took the bait. "That is nothing," he said airily; "you should see + the <i>steamer.</i> As the grain of sand is to the bidarka, as the bidarka + is to the schooner, so the schooner is to the steamer. Further, the + steamer is made of iron. It is all iron." + </p> + <p> + "Nay, nay, Nam-Bok," cried the head man; "how can that be? Always iron + goes to the bottom. For behold, I received an iron knife in trade from the + head man of the next village, and yesterday the iron knife slipped from my + fingers and went down, down, into the sea. To all things there be law. + Never was there one thing outside the law. This we know. And, moreover, we + know that things of a kind have the one law, and that all iron has the one + law. So unsay thy words, Nam-Bok, that we may yet honor thee." + </p> + <p> + "It is so," Nam-Bok persisted. "The steamer is all iron and does not + sink." + </p> + <p> + "Nay, nay; this cannot be." + </p> + <p> + "With my own eyes I saw it." + </p> + <p> + "It is not in the nature of things." + </p> + <p> + "But tell me, Nam-Bok," Koogah interrupted, for fear the tale would go no + farther, "tell me the manner of these men in finding their way across the + sea when there is no land by which to steer." + </p> + <p> + "The sun points out the path." + </p> + <p> + "But how?" + </p> + <p> + "At midday the head man of the schooner takes a thing through which his + eye looks at the sun, and then he makes the sun climb down out of the sky + to the edge of the earth." + </p> + <p> + "Now this be evil medicine!" cried Opee-Kwan, aghast at the sacrilege. The + men held up their hands in horror, and the women moaned. "This be evil + medicine. It is not good to misdirect the great sun which drives away the + night and gives us the seal, the salmon, and warm weather." + </p> + <p> + "What if it be evil medicine?" Nam-Bok demanded truculently. "I, too, have + looked through the thing at the sun and made the sun climb down out of the + sky." + </p> + <p> + Those who were nearest drew away from him hurriedly, and a woman covered + the face of a child at her breast so that his eye might not fall upon it. + </p> + <p> + "But on the morning of the fourth day, O Nam-Bok," Koogah suggested; "on + the morning of the fourth day when the sch—sch—schooner came + after thee?" + </p> + <p> + "I had little strength left in me and could not run away. So I was taken + on board and water was poured down my throat and good food given me. + Twice, my brothers, you have seen a white man. These men were all white + and as many as have I fingers and toes. And when I saw they were full of + kindness, I took heart, and I resolved to bring away with me report of all + that I saw. And they taught me the work they did, and gave me good food + and a place to sleep. + </p> + <p> + "And day after day we went over the sea, and each day the head man drew + the sun down out of the sky and made it tell where we were. And when the + waves were kind, we hunted the fur seal and I marvelled much, for always + did they fling the meat and the fat away and save only the skin." + </p> + <p> + Opee-Kwan's mouth was twitching violently, and he was about to make + denunciation of such waste when Koogah kicked him to be still. + </p> + <p> + "After a weary time, when the sun was gone and the bite of the frost come + into the air, the head man pointed the nose of the schooner south. South + and east we traveled for days upon days, with never the land in sight, and + we were near to the village from which hailed the men——" + </p> + <p> + "How did they know they were near?" Opee-Kwan, unable to contain himself + longer, demanded. "There was no land to see." + </p> + <p> + Nam-Bok glowered on him wrathfully. "Did I not say the head man brought + the sun down out of the sky?" + </p> + <p> + Koogah interposed, and Nam-Bok went on. "As I say, when we were near to + that village a great storm blew up, and in the night we were helpless and + knew not where we were——" + </p> + <p> + "Thou hast just said the head man knew——" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, peace, Opee-Kwan. Thou art a fool and cannot understand. As I say, we + were helpless in the night, when I heard, above the roar of the storm, the + sound of the sea on the beach. And next we struck with a mighty crash and + I was in the water, swimming. It was a rock-bound coast, with one patch of + beach in many miles, and the law was that I should dig my hands into the + sand and draw myself clear of the surf. The other men must have pounded + against the rocks, for none of them came ashore but the head man, and him + I knew only by the ring on his finger. + </p> + <p> + "When day came, there being nothing of the schooner, I turned my face to + the land and journeyed into it that I might get food and look upon the + faces of the people. And when I came to a house I was taken in and given + to eat, for I had learned their speech, and the white men are ever kindly. + And it was a house bigger than all the houses built by us and our fathers + before us." + </p> + <p> + "It was a mighty house," Koogah said, masking his unbelief with wonder. + </p> + <p> + "And many trees went into the making of such a house," Opee-Kwan added, + taking the cue. + </p> + <p> + "That is nothing." Nam-Bok shrugged his shoulders in belittling fashion. + "As our houses are to that house, so that house was to the houses I was + yet to see." + </p> + <p> + "And they are not big men?" + </p> + <p> + "Nay; mere men like you and me," Nam-Bok answered. "I had cut a stick that + I might walk in comfort, and remembering that I was to bring report to + you, my brothers, I cut a notch in the stick for each person who lived in + that house. And I stayed there many days, and worked, for which they gave + me <i>money</i>—a thing of which you know nothing, but which is very + good. + </p> + <p> + "And one day I departed from that place to go farther into the land. And + as I walked I met many people, and I cut smaller notches in the stick, + that there might be room for all. Then I came upon a strange thing. On the + ground before me was a bar of iron, as big in thickness as my arm, and a + long step away was another bar of iron——" + </p> + <p> + "Then wert thou a rich man," Opee-Kwan asserted; "for iron be worth more + than anything else in the world. It would have made many knives." + </p> + <p> + "Nay, it was not mine." + </p> + <p> + "It was a find, and a find be lawful." + </p> + <p> + "Not so; the white men had placed it there. And further, these bars were + so long that no man could carry them away—so long that as far as I + could see there was no end to them." + </p> + <p> + "Nam-Bok, that is very much iron," Opee-Kwan cautioned. + </p> + <p> + "Ay, it was hard to believe with my own eyes upon it; but I could not + gainsay my eyes. And as I looked I heard ..." He turned abruptly upon the + head man. "Opee-Kwan, thou hast heard the sea-lion bellow in his anger. + Make it plain in thy mind of as many sea-lions as there be waves to the + sea, and make it plain that all these sea-lions be made into one sea-lion, + and as that one sea-lion would bellow so bellowed the thing I heard." + </p> + <p> + The fisherfolk cried aloud in astonishment, and Opee-Kwan's jaw lowered + and remained lowered. + </p> + <p> + "And in the distance I saw a monster like unto a thousand whales. It was + one-eyed, and vomited smoke, and it snorted with exceeding loudness. I was + afraid and ran with shaking legs along the path between the bars. But it + came with speed of the wind, this monster, and I leaped the iron bars with + its breath hot on my face ..." + </p> + <p> + Opee-Kwan gained control of his jaw again. "And—and then, O + Nam-Bok?" + </p> + <p> + "Then it came by on the bars, and harmed me not; and when my legs could + hold me up again it was gone from sight. And it is a very common thing in + that country. Even the women and children are not afraid. Men make them to + do work, these monsters." + </p> + <p> + "As we make our dogs do work?" Koogah asked, with sceptic twinkle in his + eye. + </p> + <p> + "Ay, as we make our dogs do work." + </p> + <p> + "And how do they breed these—these things?" Opee-Kwan questioned. + </p> + <p> + "They breed not at all. Men fashion them cunningly of iron, and feed them + with stone, and give them water to drink. The stone becomes fire, and the + water becomes steam, and the steam of the water is the breath of their + nostrils, and—" + </p> + <p> + "There, there, O Nam-Bok," Opee-Kwan interrupted. "Tell us of other + wonders. We grow tired of this which we may not understand." + </p> + <p> + "You do not understand?" Nam-Bok asked despairingly. + </p> + <p> + "Nay, we do not understand," the men and women wailed back. "We cannot + understand." + </p> + <p> + Nam-Bok thought of a combined harvester, and of the machines wherein + visions of living men were to be seen, and of the machines from which came + the voices of men, and he knew his people could never understand. + </p> + <p> + "Dare I say I rode this iron monster through the land?" he asked bitterly. + </p> + <p> + Opee-Kwan threw up his hands, palms outward, in open incredulity. "Say on; + say anything. We listen." + </p> + <p> + "Then did I ride the iron monster, for which I gave money—" + </p> + <p> + "Thou saidst it was fed with stone." + </p> + <p> + "And likewise, thou fool, I said money was a thing of which you know + nothing. As I say, I rode the monster through the land, and through many + villages, until I came to a big village on a salt arm of the sea. And the + houses shoved their roofs among the stars in the sky, and the clouds + drifted by them, and everywhere was much smoke. And the roar of that + village was like the roar of the sea in storm, and the people were so many + that I flung away my stick and no longer remembered the notches upon it." + </p> + <p> + "Hadst thou made small notches," Koogah reproved, "thou mightst have + brought report." + </p> + <p> + Nam-Bok whirled upon him in anger. "Had I made small notches! Listen, + Koogah, thou scratcher of bone! If I had made small notches neither the + stick, nor twenty sticks, could have borne them—nay, not all the + driftwood of all the beaches between this village and the next. And if all + of you, the women and children as well, were twenty times as many, and if + you had twenty hands each, and in each hand a stick and a knife, still the + notches could not be cut for the people I saw, so many were they and so + fast did they come and go." + </p> + <p> + "There cannot be so many people in all the world," Opee-Kwan objected, for + he was stunned and his mind could not grasp such magnitude of numbers. + </p> + <p> + "What dost thou know of all the world and how large it is?" Nam-Bok + demanded. + </p> + <p> + "But there cannot be so many people in one place." + </p> + <p> + "Who art thou to say what can be and what cannot be?" + </p> + <p> + "It stands to reason there cannot be so many people in one place. Their + canoes would clutter the sea till there was no room. And they could empty + the sea each day of its fish, and they would not all be fed." + </p> + <p> + "So it would seem," Nam-Bok made final answer; "yet it was so. With my own + eyes I saw, and flung my stick away." He yawned heavily and rose to his + feet. "I have paddled far. The day has been long, and I am tired. Now I + will sleep, and to-morrow we will have further talk upon the things I have + seen." + </p> + <p> + Bask-Wah-Wan, hobbling fearfully in advance, proud indeed, yet awed by her + wonderful son, led him to her <i>igloo</i> and stowed him away among the + greasy, ill-smelling furs. But the men lingered by the fire, and a council + was held wherein was there much whispering and low-voiced discussion. + </p> + <p> + An hour passed, and a second, and Nam-Bok slept, and the talk went on. The + evening sun dipped toward the northwest, and at eleven at night was nearly + due north. Then it was that the head man and the bone-scratcher separated + themselves from the council and aroused Nam-Bok. He blinked up into their + faces and turned on his side to sleep again. Opee-Kwan gripped him by the + arm and kindly but firmly shook his senses back into him. + </p> + <p> + "Come, Nam-Bok, arise!" he commanded. "It be time." + </p> + <p> + "Another feast!" Nam-Bok cried. "Nay, I am not hungry. Go on with the + eating and let me sleep." + </p> + <p> + "Time to be gone!" Koogah thundered. + </p> + <p> + But Opee-Kwan spoke more softly. "Thou wast bidarka-mate with me when we + were boys," he said. "Together we first chased the seal and drew the + salmon from the traps. And thou didst drag me back to life, Nam-Bok, when + the sea closed over me and I was sucked down to the black rocks. Together + we hungered and bore the chill of the frost, and together we crawled + beneath the one fur and lay close to each other. And because of these + things, and the kindness in which I stood to thee, it grieves me sore that + thou shouldst return such a remarkable liar. We cannot understand, and our + heads be dizzy with the things thou hast spoken. It is not good, and there + has been much talk in the council. Wherefore we send thee away, that our + heads may remain clear and strong and be not troubled by the unaccountable + things." + </p> + <p> + "These things thou speakest of be shadows," Koogah took up the strain. + "From the shadow-world thou hast brought them, and to the shadow-world + thou must return them. Thy bidarka be ready, and the tribespeople wait. + They may not sleep until thou art gone." + </p> + <p> + Nam-Bok was perplexed, but hearkened to the voice of the head man. + </p> + <p> + "If thou art Nam-Bok," Opee-Kwan was saying, "thou art a fearful and most + wonderful liar; if thou art the shadow of Nam-Bok, then thou speakest of + shadows, concerning which it is not good that living men have knowledge. + This great village thou hast spoken of we deem the village of shadows. + Therein flutter the souls of the dead; for the dead be many and the living + few. The dead do not come back. Never have the dead come back—save + thou with thy wonder-tales. It is not meet that the dead come back, and + should we permit it, great trouble may be our portion." + </p> + <p> + Nam-Bok knew his people well and was aware that the voice of the council + was supreme. So he allowed himself to be led down to the water's edge, + where he was put aboard his bidarka and a paddle thrust into his hand. A + stray wildfowl honked somewhere to seaward, and the surf broke limply and + hollowly on the sand. A dim twilight brooded over land and water, and in + the north the sun smouldered, vague and troubled, and draped about with + blood-red mists. The gulls were flying low. The off-shore wind blew keen + and chill, and the black-massed clouds behind it gave promise of bitter + weather. + </p> + <p> + "Out of the sea thou earnest," Opee-Kwan chanted oracularly, "and back + into the sea thou goest. Thus is balance achieved and all things brought + to law." + </p> + <p> + Bask-Wah-Wan limped to the froth-mark and cried, "I bless thee, Nam-Bok, + for that thou remembered me." + </p> + <p> + But Koogah, shoving Nam-Bok clear or the beach, tore the shawl from her + shoulders and flung it into the bidarka. + </p> + <p> + "It is cold in the long nights," she wailed; "and the frost is prone to + nip old bones." + </p> + <p> + "The thing is a shadow," the bone-scratcher answered, "and shadows cannot + keep thee warm." + </p> + <p> + Nam-Bok stood up that his voice might carry. "O Bask-Wah-Wan, mother that + bore me!" he called. "Listen to the words of Nam-Bok, thy son. There be + room in his bidarka for two, and he would that thou earnest with him. For + his journey is to where there are fish and oil in plenty. There the frost + comes not, and life is easy, and the things of iron do the work of men. + Wilt thou come, O Bask-Wah-Wan?" + </p> + <p> + She debated a moment, while the bidarka drifted swiftly from her, then + raised her voice to a quavering treble. "I am old, Nam-Bok, and soon I + shall pass down among the shadows. But I have no wish to go before my + time. I am old, Nam-Bok, and I am afraid." + </p> + <p> + A shaft of light shot across the dim-lit sea and wrapped boat and man in a + splendor of red and gold. Then a hush fell upon the fisherfolk, and only + was heard the moan of the off-shore wind and the cries of the gulls flying + low in the air. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + YELLOW HANDKERCHIEF + </h2> + <p> + "I'm not wanting to dictate to you, lad," Charley said, "but I'm very much + against your making a last raid. You've gone safely through rough times + with rough men, and it would be a shame to have something happen to you at + the very end." + </p> + <p> + "But how can I get out of making a last raid?" I demanded, with the + cocksureness of youth. "There always has to be a last, you know, to + anything." + </p> + <p> + Charley crossed his legs, leaned back, and considered the problem. "Very + true. But why not call the capture of Demetrios Contos the last? You're + back from it safe and sound and hearty, for all your good wetting, and—and——" + His voice broke and he could not speak for a moment. "And I could never + forgive myself if anything happened to you now." + </p> + <p> + I laughed at Charley's fears while I gave in to the claims of his + affection, and agreed to consider the last raid already performed. We had + been together for two years, and now I was leaving the fish patrol in + order to go back and finish my education. I had earned and saved money to + put me through three years at the high school, and though the beginning of + the term was several months away, I intended doing a lot of studying for + the entrance examinations. + </p> + <p> + My belongings were packed snugly in a sea-chest, and I was all ready to + buy my ticket and ride down on the train to Oakland, when Neil Partington + arrived in Benicia. The <i>Reindeer</i> was needed immediately for work + far down on the Lower Bay, and Neil said he intended to run straight for + Oakland. As that was his home and as I was to live with his family while + going to school, he saw no reason, he said, why I should not put my chest + aboard and come along. + </p> + <p> + So the chest went aboard, and in the middle of the afternoon we hoisted + the <i>Reindeer's</i> big mainsail and cast off. It was tantalizing fall + weather. The sea-breeze, which had blown steadily all summer, was gone, + and in its place were capricious winds and murky skies which made the time + of arriving anywhere extremely problematical. We started on the first of + the ebb, and as we slipped down the Carquinez Straits, I looked my last + for some time upon Benicia and the bight at Turner's Shipyard, where we + had besieged the <i>Lancashire Queen,</i> and had captured Big Alec, the + King of the Greeks. And at the mouth of the Straits I looked with not a + little interest upon the spot where a few days before I should have + drowned but for the good that was in the nature of Demetrios Contos. + </p> + <p> + A great wall of fog advanced across San Pablo Bay to meet us, and in a few + minutes the <i>Reindeer</i> was running blindly through the damp + obscurity. Charley, who was steering, seemed to have an instinct for that + kind of work. How he did it, he himself confessed that he did not know; + but he had a way of calculating winds, currents, distance, time, drift, + and sailing speed that was truly marvellous. + </p> + <p> + "It looks as though it were lifting," Neil Partington said, a couple of + hours after we had entered the fog. "Where do you say we are, Charley?" + </p> + <p> + Charley looked at his watch. "Six o'clock, and three hours more of ebb," + he remarked casually. + </p> + <p> + "But where do you say we are!" Neil insisted. + </p> + <p> + Charley pondered a moment, and then answered, "The tide has edged us over + a bit out of our course, but if the fog lifts right now, as it is going to + lift, you'll find we're not more than a thousand miles off McNear's + Landing." + </p> + <p> + "You might be a little more definite by a few miles, anyway," Neil + grumbled, showing by his tone that he disagreed. + </p> + <p> + "All right, then," Charley said, conclusively, "not less than a quarter of + a mile, nor more than a half." + </p> + <p> + The wind freshened with a couple of little puffs, and the fog thinned + perceptibly. + </p> + <p> + "McNear's is right off there," Charley said, pointing directly into the + fog on our weather beam. + </p> + <p> + The three of us were peering intently in that direction, when the <i>Reindeer</i> + struck with a dull crash and came to a standstill. We ran forward, and + found her bowsprit entangled in the tanned rigging of a short, chunky + mast. She had collided, head on, with a Chinese junk lying at anchor. + </p> + <p> + At the moment we arrived forward, five Chinese, like so many bees, came + swarming out of the little 'tween-decks cabin, the sleep still in their + eyes. + </p> + <p> + Leading them came a big, muscular man, conspicuous for his pock-marked + face and the yellow silk handkerchief swathed about his head. It was + Yellow Handkerchief, the Chinaman whom we had arrested for illegal + shrimp-fishing the year before, and who, at that time, had nearly sunk the + <i>Reindeer</i>, as he had nearly sunk it now by violating the rules of + navigation. + </p> + <p> + "What d'ye mean, you yellow-faced heathen, lying here in a fairway without + a horn a-going?" Charley cried hotly. + </p> + <p> + "Mean?" Neil calmly answered. "Just take a look—that's what he + means." + </p> + <p> + Our eyes followed the direction indicated by Neil's finger, and we saw the + open amidships of the junk, half filled, as we found on closer + examination, with fresh-caught shrimps. Mingled with the shrimps were + myriads of small fish, from a quarter of an inch upward in size. Yellow + Handkerchief had lifted the trap-net at high-water slack, and, taking + advantage of the concealment offered by the fog, had boldly been lying by, + waiting to lift the net again at low-water slack. + </p> + <p> + "Well," Neil hummed and hawed, "in all my varied and extensive experience + as a fish patrolman, I must say this is the easiest capture I ever made. + What'll we do with them, Charley?" + </p> + <p> + "Tow the junk into San Rafael, of course," came the answer. Charley turned + to me. "You stand by the junk, lad, and I'll pass you a towing line. If + the wind doesn't fail us, we'll make the creek before the tide gets too + low, sleep at San Rafael, and arrive in Oakland to-morrow by midday." + </p> + <p> + So saying, Charley and Neil returned to the <i>Reindeer</i> and got under + way, the junk towing astern. I went aft and took charge of the prize, + steering by means of an antiquated tiller and a rudder with large, + diamond-shaped holes, through which the water rushed back and forth. + </p> + <p> + By now the last of the fog had vanished, and Charley's estimate of our + position was confirmed by the sight of McNear's Landing a short half-mile + away, following: along the west shore, we rounded Point Pedro in plain + view of the Chinese shrimp villages, and a great to-do was raised when + they saw one of their junks towing behind the familiar fish patrol sloop. + </p> + <p> + The wind, coming off the land, was rather puffy and uncertain, and it + would have been more to our advantage had it been stronger. San Rafael + Creek, up which we had to go to reach the town and turn over our prisoners + to the authorities, ran through wide-stretching marshes, and was difficult + to navigate on a falling tide, while at low tide it was impossible to + navigate at all. So, with the tide already half-ebbed, it was necessary + for us to make time. This the heavy junk prevented, lumbering along behind + and holding the <i>Reindeer</i> back by just so much dead weight. + </p> + <p> + "Tell those coolies to get up that sail," Charley finally called to me. + "We don't want to hang up on the mud flats for the rest of the night." + </p> + <p> + I repeated the order to Yellow Handkerchief, who mumbled it huskily to his + men. He was suffering from a bad cold, which doubled him up in convulsive + coughing spells and made his eyes heavy and bloodshot. This made him more + evil-looking than ever, and when he glared viciously at me I remembered + with a shiver the close shave I had had with him at the time of his + previous arrest. + </p> + <p> + His crew sullenly tailed on to the halyards, and the strange, outlandish + sail, lateen in rig and dyed a warm brown, rose in the air. We were + sailing on the wind, and when Yellow Handkerchief flattened down the sheet + the junk forged ahead and the tow-line went slack. Fast as the <i>Reindeer</i> + could sail, the junk outsailed her; and to avoid running her down I hauled + a little closer on the wind. But the junk likewise outpointed, and in a + couple of minutes I was abreast of the <i>Reindeer</i> and to windward. + The tow-line had now tautened, at right angles to the two boats, and the + predicament was laughable. + </p> + <p> + "Cast off!" I shouted. + </p> + <p> + Charley hesitated. + </p> + <p> + "It's all right," I added. "Nothing can happen. We'll make the creek on + this tack, and you'll be right behind me all the way up to San Rafael." + </p> + <p> + At this Charley cast off, and Yellow Handkerchief sent one of his men + forward to haul in the line. In the gathering darkness I could just make + out the mouth of San Rafael Creek, and by the time we entered it I could + barely see its banks. The <i>Reindeer</i> was fully five minutes astern, + and we continued to leave her astern as we beat up the narrow, winding + channel. With Charley behind us, it seemed I had little to fear from my + five prisoners; but the darkness prevented my keeping a sharp eye on them, + so I transferred my revolver from my trousers pocket to the side pocket of + my coat, where I could more quickly put my hand on it. + </p> + <p> + Yellow Handkerchief was the one I feared, and that he knew it and made use + of it, subsequent events will show. He was sitting a few feet away from + me, on what then happened to be the weather side of the junk. I could + scarcely see the outlines of his form, but I soon became convinced that he + was slowly, very slowly, edging closer to me. I watched him carefully. + Steering with my left hand, I slipped my right into my pocket and got hold + of the revolver. + </p> + <p> + I saw him shift along for a couple of inches, and I was just about to + order him back—the words were trembling on the tip of my tongue—when + I was struck with great force by a heavy figure that had leaped through + the air upon me from the lee side. It was one of the crew. He pinioned my + right arm so that I could not withdraw my hand from my pocket, and at the + same time clapped his other hand over my mouth. Of course, I could have + struggled away from him and freed my hand or gotten my mouth clear so that + I might cry an alarm, but in a trice Yellow Handkerchief was on top of me. + </p> + <p> + I struggled around to no purpose in the bottom of the junk, while my legs + and arms were tied and my mouth securely bound in what I afterward found + to be a cotton shirt. Then I was left lying in the bottom. Yellow + Handkerchief took the tiller, issuing his orders in whispers; and from our + position at the time, and from the alteration of the sail, which I could + dimly make out above me as a blot against the stars, I knew the junk was + being headed into the mouth of a small slough which emptied at that point + into San Rafael Creek. + </p> + <p> + In a couple of minutes we ran softly alongside the bank, and the sail was + silently lowered. The Chinese kept very quiet. Yellow Handkerchief sat + down in the bottom alongside of me, and I could feel him straining to + repress his raspy, hacking cough. Possibly seven or eight minutes later I + heard Charley's voice as the <i>Reindeer</i> went past the mouth of the + slough. + </p> + <p> + "I can't tell you how relieved I am," I could plainly hear him saying to + Neil, "that the lad has finished with the fish patrol without accident." + </p> + <p> + Here Neil said something which I could not catch, and then Charley's voice + went on: + </p> + <p> + "The youngster takes naturally to the water, and if when he finishes high + school he takes a course in navigation and goes deep sea, I see no reason + why he shouldn't rise to be master of the finest and biggest ship afloat." + </p> + <p> + It was all very flattering to me, but lying there, bound and gagged by my + own prisoners, with the voices growing faint and fainter as the <i>Reindeer</i> + slipped on through the darkness toward San Rafael, I must say I was not in + quite the proper situation to enjoy my smiling future. With the <i>Reindeer</i> + went my last hope. What was to happen next I could not imagine, for the + Chinese were a different race from mine and from what I knew I was + confident that fair play was no part of their make-up. + </p> + <p> + After waiting a few minutes longer, the crew hoisted the lateen sail, and + Yellow Handkerchief steered down toward the mouth of San Rafael Creek. The + tide was getting lower, and he had difficulty in escaping the mud-banks. I + was hoping he would run aground, but he succeeded in making the bay + without accident. + </p> + <p> + As we passed out of the creek a noisy discussion arose, which I knew + related to me. Yellow Handkerchief was vehement, but the other four as + vehemently opposed him. It was very evident that he advocated doing away + with me and that they were afraid of the consequences. I was familiar + enough with the Chinese character to know that fear alone restrained them. + But what plan they offered in place of Yellow Handkerchief's murderous + one, I could not make out. + </p> + <p> + My feelings, as my fate hung in the balance, may be guessed. The + discussion developed into a quarrel, in the midst of which Yellow + Handkerchief unshipped the heavy tiller and sprang toward me. But his four + companions threw themselves between, and a clumsy struggle took place for + possession of the tiller. In the end Yellow Handkerchief was overcome, and + sullenly returned to the steering, while they soundly berated him for his + rashness. + </p> + <p> + Not long after, the sail was run down and the junk slowly urged forward by + means of the sweeps. I felt it ground gently on the soft mud. Three of the + Chinese—they all wore long sea-boots—got over the side, and + the other two passed me across the rail. With Yellow Handkerchief at my + legs and his two companions at my shoulders, they began to flounder along + through the mud. After some time their feet struck firmer footing, and I + knew they were carrying me up some beach. The location of this beach was + not doubtful in my mind. It could be none other than one of the Marin + Islands, a group of rocky islets which lay off the Marin County shore. + </p> + <p> + When they reached the firm sand that marked high tide, I was dropped, and + none too gently. Yellow Handkerchief kicked me spitefully in the ribs, and + then the trio floundered back through the mud to the junk. A moment later + I heard the sail go up and slat in the wind as they drew in the sheet. + Then silence fell, and I was left to my own devices for getting free. + </p> + <p> + I remembered having seen tricksters writhe and squirm out of ropes with + which they were bound, but though I writhed and squirmed like a good + fellow, the knots remained as hard as ever, and there was no appreciable + slack. In the course of my squirming, however, I rolled over upon a heap + of clam-shells—the remains, evidently, of some yachting party's + clam-bake. This gave me an idea. My hands were tied behind my back; and, + clutching a shell in them, I rolled over and over, up the beach, till I + came to the rocks I knew to be there. + </p> + <p> + Rolling around and searching, I finally discovered a narrow crevice, into + which I shoved the shell. The edge of it was sharp, and across the sharp + edge I proceeded to saw the rope that bound my wrists. The edge of the + shell was also brittle, and I broke it by bearing too heavily upon it. + Then I rolled back to the heap and returned with as many shells as I could + carry in both hands. I broke many shells, cut my hands a number of times, + and got cramps in my legs from my strained position and my exertions. + </p> + <p> + While I was suffering from the cramps, and resting, I heard a familiar + halloo drift across the water. It was Charley, searching for me. The gag + in my mouth prevented me from replying, and I could only lie there, + helplessly fuming, while he rowed past the island and his voice slowly + lost itself in the distance. + </p> + <p> + I returned to the sawing process, and at the end of half an hour succeeded + in severing the rope. The rest was easy. My hands once free, it was a + matter of minutes to loosen my legs and to take the gag out of my mouth. I + ran around the island to make sure it <i>was</i> an island and not by any + chance a portion of the mainland. An island it certainly was, one of the + Marin group, fringed with a sandy beach and surrounded by a sea of mud. + Nothing remained but to wait till daylight and to keep warm; for it was a + cold, raw night for California, with just enough wind to pierce the skin + and cause one to shiver. + </p> + <p> + To keep up the circulation, I ran around the island a dozen times or so, + and clambered across its rocky backbone as many times more—all of + which was of greater service to me, as I afterward discovered, than merely + to warm me up. In the midst of this exercise I wondered if I had lost + anything out of my pockets while rolling over and over in the sand. A + search showed the absence of my revolver and pocket-knife. The first + Yellow Handkerchief had taken; but the knife had been lost in the sand. + </p> + <p> + I was hunting for it when the sound of rowlocks came to my ears. At first, + of course, I thought of Charley; but on second thought I knew Charley + would be calling out as he rowed along. A sudden premonition of danger + seized me. The Marin Islands are lonely places; chance visitors in the + dead of night are hardly to be expected. What if it were Yellow + Handkerchief? The sound made by the rowlocks grew more distinct. I + crouched in the sand and listened intently. The boat, which I judged a + small skiff from the quick stroke of the oars, was landing in the mud + about fifty yards up the beach. I heard a raspy, hacking cough, and my + heart stood still. It was Yellow Handkerchief. Not to be robbed of his + revenge by his more cautious companions, he had stolen away from the + village and come back alone. + </p> + <p> + I did some swift thinking. I was unarmed and helpless on a tiny islet, and + a yellow barbarian, whom I had reason to fear, was coming after me. Any + place was safer than the island, and I turned instinctively to the water, + or rather to the mud. As he began to flounder ashore through the mud, I + started to flounder out into it, going over the same course which the + Chinese had taken in landing me and in returning to the junk. + </p> + <p> + Yellow Handkerchief, believing me to be lying tightly bound, exercised no + care, but came ashore noisily. This helped me, for, under the shield of + his noise and making no more myself than necessary, I managed to cover + fifty feet by the time he had made the beach. Here I lay down in the mud. + It was cold and clammy, and made me shiver, but I did not care to stand up + and run the risk of being discovered by his sharp eyes. + </p> + <p> + He walked down the beach straight to where he had left me lying, and I had + a fleeting feeling of regret at not being able to see his surprise when he + did not find me. But it was a very fleeting regret, for my teeth were + chattering with the cold. + </p> + <p> + What his movements were after that I had largely to deduce from the facts + of the situation, for I could scarcely see him in the dim starlight. But I + was sure that the first thing he did was to make the circuit of the beach + to learn if landings had been made by other boats. This he would have + known at once by the tracks through the mud. + </p> + <p> + Convinced that no boat had removed me from the island, he next started to + find out what had become of me. Beginning at the pile of clam-shells, he + lighted matches to trace my tracks in the sand. At such times I could see + his villainous face plainly, and, when the sulphur from the matches + irritated his lungs, between the raspy cough that followed and the clammy + mud in which I was lying, I confess I shivered harder than ever. + </p> + <p> + The multiplicity of my footprints puzzled him. Then the idea that I might + be out in the mud must have struck him, for he waded out a few yards in my + direction, and, stooping, with his eyes searched the dim surface long and + carefully. He could not have been more than fifteen feet from me, and had + he lighted a match he would surely have discovered me. + </p> + <p> + He returned to the beach and clambered about over the rocky backbone, + again hunting for me with lighted matches. The closeness of the shave + impelled me to further flight. Not daring to wade upright, on account of + the noise made by floundering and by the suck of the mud, I remained lying + down in the mud and propelled myself over its surface by means of my + hands. Still keeping the trail made by the Chinese in going from and to + the junk, I held on until I reached the water. Into this I waded to a + depth of three feet, and then I turned off to the side on a line parallel + with the beach. + </p> + <p> + The thought came to me of going toward Yellow Handkerchief's skiff and + escaping in it, but at that very moment he returned to the beach, and, as + though fearing the very thing I had in mind, he slushed out through the + mud to assure himself that the skiff was safe. This turned me in the + opposite direction. Half swimming, half wading, with my head just out of + water and avoiding splashing, I succeeded in putting about a hundred feet + between myself and the spot where the Chinese had begun to wade ashore + from the junk. I drew myself out on the mud and remained lying flat. + </p> + <p> + Again Yellow Handkerchief returned to the beach and made a search of the + island, and again he returned to the heap of clam-shells. I knew what was + running in his mind as well as he did himself. No one could leave or land + without making tracks in the mud. The only tracks to be seen were those + leading from his skiff and from where the junk had been. I was not on the + island. I must have left it by one or the other of those two tracks. He + had just been over the one to his skiff, and was certain I had not left + that way. Therefore I could have left the island only by going over the + tracks of the junk landing. This he proceeded to verify by wading out over + them himself, lighting matches as he came along. + </p> + <p> + When he arrived at the point where I had first lain, I knew, by the + matches he burned and the time he took, that he had discovered the marks + left by my body. These he followed straight to the water and into it, but + in three feet of water he could no longer see them. On the other hand, as + the tide was still falling, he could easily make out the impression made + by the junk's bow, and could have likewise made out the impression of any + other boat if it had landed at that particular spot. But there was no such + mark; and I knew that he was absolutely convinced that I was hiding + somewhere in the mud. + </p> + <p> + But to hunt on a dark night for a boy in a sea of mud would be like + hunting for a needle in a haystack, and he did not attempt it. Instead he + went back to the beach and prowled around for some time. I was hoping he + would give me up and go, for by this time I was suffering severely from + the cold. At last he waded out to his skiff and rowed away. What if this + departure of Yellow Handkerchief's were a sham? What if he had done it + merely to entice me ashore? + </p> + <p> + The more I thought of it the more certain I became that he had made a + little too much noise with his oars as he rowed away. So I remained, lying + in the mud and shivering. I shivered till the muscles of the small of my + back ached and pained me as badly as the cold, and I had need of all my + self-control to force myself to remain in my miserable situation. + </p> + <p> + It was well that I did, however, for, possibly an hour later, I thought I + could make out something moving on the beach. I watched intently, but my + ears were rewarded first, by a raspy cough I knew only too well. Yellow + Handkerchief had sneaked back, landed on the other side of the island, and + crept around to surprise me if I had returned. + </p> + <p> + After that, though hours passed without sign of him, I was afraid to + return to the island at all. On the other hand, I was almost equally + afraid that I should die of the exposure I was undergoing. I had never + dreamed one could suffer so. I grew so cold and numb, finally, that I + ceased to shiver. But my muscles and bones began to ache in a way that was + agony. The tide had long since begun to rise and, foot by foot, it drove + me in toward the beach. High water came at three o'clock, and at three + o'clock I drew myself up on the beach, more dead than alive, and too + helpless to have offered any resistance had Yellow Handkerchief swooped + down upon me. + </p> + <p> + But no Yellow Handkerchief appeared. He had given me up and gone back to + Point Pedro. Nevertheless, I was in a deplorable, not to say a dangerous, + condition. I could not stand upon my feet, much less walk. My clammy, + muddy garments clung to me like sheets of ice. I thought I should never + get them off. So numb and lifeless were my fingers, and so weak was I that + it seemed to take an hour to get off my shoes. I had not the strength to + break the porpoise-hide laces, and the knots defied me. I repeatedly beat + my hands upon the rocks to get some sort of life into them. Sometimes I + felt sure I was going to die. + </p> + <p> + But in the end,—after several centuries, it seemed to me,—I + got off the last of my clothes. The water was now close at hand, and I + crawled painfully into it and washed the mud from my naked body. Still, I + could not get on my feet and walk and I was afraid to lie still. Nothing + remained but to crawl weakly, like a snail, and at the cost of constant + pain, up and down the sand. I kept this up as long as possible, but as the + east paled with the coming of dawn I began to succumb. The sky grew + rosy-red, and the golden rim of the sun, showing above the horizon, found + me lying helpless and motionless among the clam-shells. + </p> + <p> + As in a dream, I saw the familiar mainsail of the <i>Reindeer</i> as she + slipped out of San Rafael Creek on a light puff of morning air. This dream + was very much broken. There are intervals I can never recollect on looking + back over it. Three things, however, I distinctly remember: the first + sight of the <i>Reindeer's</i> mainsail; her lying at anchor a few hundred + feet away and a small boat leaving her side; and the cabin stove roaring + red-hot, myself swathed all over with blankets, except on the chest and + shoulders, which Charley was pounding and mauling unmercifully, and my + mouth and throat burning with the coffee which Neil Partington was pouring + down a trifle too hot. + </p> + <p> + But burn or no burn, I tell you it felt good. By the time we arrived in + Oakland I was as limber and strong as ever,—though Charley and Neil + Partington were afraid I was going to have pneumonia, and Mrs. Partington, + for my first six months of school, kept an anxious eye upon me to discover + the first symptoms of consumption. + </p> + <p> + Time flies. It seems but yesterday that I was a lad of sixteen on the fish + patrol. Yet I know that I arrived this very morning from China, with a + quick passage to my credit, and master of the barkentine <i>Harvester</i>. + And I know that to-morrow morning I shall run over to Oakland to see Neil + Partington and his wife and family, and later on up to Benicia to see + Charley Le Grant and talk over old times. No; I shall not go to Benicia, + now that I think about it. I expect to be a highly interested party to a + wedding, shortly to take place. Her name is Alice Partington, and, since + Charley has promised to be best man, he will have to come down to Oakland + instead. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MAKE WESTING + </h2> + <p> + <i>Whatever you do, make westing! make westing!</i> —Sailing + directions for Cape Horn. + </p> + <p> + For seven weeks the <i>Mary Rogers</i> had been between 50° south in the + Atlantic and 50° south in the Pacific, which meant that for seven weeks + she had been struggling to round Cape Horn. For seven weeks she had been + either in dirt, or close to dirt, save once, and then, following upon six + days of excessive dirt, which she had ridden out under the shelter of the + redoubtable Terra Del Fuego coast, she had almost gone ashore during a + heavy swell in the dead calm that had suddenly fallen. For seven weeks she + had wrestled with the Cape Horn gray-beards, and in return been buffeted + and smashed by them. She was a wooden ship, and her ceaseless straining + had opened her seams, so that twice a day the watch took its turn at the + pumps. + </p> + <p> + The <i>Mary Rogers</i> was strained, the crew was strained, and big Dan + Cullen, master, was likewise strained. Perhaps he was strained most of + all, for upon him rested the responsibility of that titanic struggle. He + slept most of the time in his clothes, though he rarely slept. He haunted + the deck at night, a great, burly, robust ghost, black with the sunburn of + thirty years of sea and hairy as an orang-utan. He, in turn, was haunted + by one thought of action, a sailing direction for the Horn: <i>Whatever + you do, make westing! make westing!</i> It was an obsession. He thought of + nothing else, except, at times, to blaspheme God for sending such bitter + weather. + </p> + <p> + <i>Make westing!</i> He hugged the Horn, and a dozen times lay hove to + with the iron Cape bearing east-by-north, or north-north-east, a score of + miles away. And each time the eternal west wind smote him back and he made + easting. He fought gale after gale, south to 64°, inside the antarctic + drift-ice, and pledged his immortal soul to the Powers of Darkness for a + bit of westing, for a slant to take him around. And he made easting. In + despair, he had tried to make the passage through the Straits of Le Maire. + Halfway through, the wind hauled to the north 'ard of northwest, the glass + dropped to 28.88, and he turned and ran before a gale of cyclonic fury, + missing, by a hair's breadth, piling up the <i>Mary Rogers</i> on the + black-toothed rocks. Twice he had made west to the Diego Ramirez Rocks, + one of the times saved between two snow-squalls by sighting the + gravestones of ships a quarter of a mile dead ahead. + </p> + <p> + Blow! Captain Dan Cullen instanced all his thirty years at sea to prove + that never had it blown so before. The <i>Mary Rogers</i> was hove to at + the time he gave the evidence, and, to clinch it, inside half an hour the + <i>Mary Rogers</i> was hove down to the hatches. Her new main-topsail and + brand new spencer were blown away like tissue paper; and five sails, + furled and fast under double gaskets, were blown loose and stripped from + the yards. And before morning the <i>Mary Rogers</i> was hove down twice + again, and holes were knocked in her bulwarks to ease her decks from the + weight of ocean that pressed her down. + </p> + <p> + On an average of once a week Captain Dan Cullen caught glimpses of the + sun. Once, for ten minutes, the sun shone at midday, and ten minutes + afterward a new gale was piping up, both watches were shortening sail, and + all was buried in the obscurity of a driving snow-squall. For a fortnight, + once, Captain Dan Cullen was without a meridian or a chronometer sight. + Rarely did he know his position within half a degree, except when in sight + of land; for sun and stars remained hidden behind the sky, and it was so + gloomy that even at the best the horizons were poor for accurate + observations. A gray gloom shrouded the world. The clouds were gray; the + great driving seas were leaden gray gloom shrouded the world. The clouds + were gray; the great driving seas were leadening; even the occasional + albatrosses were gray, while the snow-flurries were not white, but gray, + under the sombre pall of the heavens. + </p> + <p> + Life on board the <i>Mary Rogers</i> was gray,—gray and gloomy. The + faces of the sailors were blue-gray; they were afflicted with sea-cuts and + sea-boils, and suffered exquisitely. They were shadows of men. For seven + weeks, in the forecastle or on deck, they had not known what it was to be + dry. They had forgotten what it was to sleep out a watch, and all watches + it was, "All hands on deck!" They caught snatches of agonized sleep, and + they slept in their oilskins ready for the everlasting call. So weak and + worn were they that it took both watches to do the work of one. That was + why both watches were on deck so much of the time. And no shadow of a man + could shirk duty. Nothing less than a broken leg could enable a man to + knock off work; and there were two such, who had been mauled and pulped by + the seas that broke aboard. + </p> + <p> + One other man who was the shadow of a man was George Dorety. He was the + only passenger on board, a friend of the firm, and he had elected to make + the voyage for his health. But seven weeks of Cape Horn had not bettered + his health. He gasped and panted in his bunk through the long, heaving + nights; and when on deck he was so bundled up for warmth that he resembled + a peripatetic old-clothes shop. At midday, eating at the cabin table in a + gloom so deep that the swinging sea-lamps burned always, he looked as + blue-gray as the sickest, saddest man for'ard. Nor did gazing across the + table at Captain Dan Cullen have any cheering effect upon him. Captain + Cullen chewed and scowled and kept silent. The scowls were for God, and + with every chew he reiterated the sole thought of his existence, which was + <i>make westing.</i> He was a big, hairy brute, and the sight of him was + not stimulating to the other's appetite. He looked upon George Dorety as a + Jonah, and told him so, once each meal, savagely transferring the scowl + from God to the passenger and back again. + </p> + <p> + Nor did the mate prove a first aid to a languid appetite. Joshua Higgins + by name, a seaman by profession and pull, but a pot-wolloper by capacity, + he was a loose-jointed, sniffling creature, heartless and selfish and + cowardly, without a soul, in fear of his life of Dan Cullen, and a bully + over the sailors, who knew that behind the mate was Captain Cullen, the + lawgiver and compeller, the driver and the destroyer, the incarnation of a + dozen bucko mates. In that wild weather at the southern end of the earth, + Joshua Higgins ceased washing. His grimy face usually robbed George Dorety + of what little appetite he managed to accumulate. Ordinarily this + lavatorial dereliction would have caught Captain Cullen's eye and + vocabulary, but in the present his mind was filled with making westing, to + the exclusion of all other things not contributory thereto. Whether the + mate's face was clean or dirty had no bearing upon westing. Later on, when + 50° south in the Pacific had been reached, Joshua Higgins would wash his + face very abruptly. In the meantime, at the cabin table, where gray + twilight alternated with lamplight while the lamps were being filled, + George Dorety sat between the two men, one a tiger and the other a hyena, + and wondered why God had made them. The second mate, Matthew Turner, was a + true sailor and a man, but George Dorety did not have the solace of his + company, for he ate by himself, solitary, when they had finished. + </p> + <p> + On Saturday morning, July 24, George Dorety awoke to a feeling of life and + headlong movement. On deck he found the <i>Mary Rogers</i> running off + before a howling southeaster. Nothing was set but the lower topsails and + the foresail. It was all she could stand, yet she was making fourteen + knots, as Mr. Turner shouted in Dorety's ear when he came on deck. And it + was all westing. She was going around the Horn at last ... if the wind + held. Mr. Turner looked happy. The end of the struggle was in sight. But + Captain Cullen did not look happy. He scowled at Dorety in passing. + Captain Cullen did not want God to know that he was pleased with that + wind. He had a conception of a malicious God, and believed in his secret + soul that if God knew it was a desirable wind, God would promptly efface + it and send a snorter from the west. So he walked softly before God, + smothering his joy down under scowls and muttered curses, and, so, fooling + God, for God was the only thing in the universe of which Dan Cullen was + afraid. + </p> + <p> + All Saturday and Saturday night the <i>Mary Rogers</i> raced her westing. + Persistently she logged her fourteen knots, so that by Sunday morning she + had covered three hundred and fifty miles. If the wind held, she would + make around. If it failed, and the snorter came from anywhere between + southwest and north, back the <i>Mary Rogers</i> would be hurled and be no + better off than she had been seven weeks before. And on Sunday morning the + wind <i>was</i> failing. The big sea was going down and running smooth. + Both watches were on deck setting sail after sail as fast as the ship + could stand it. And now Captain Cullen went around brazenly before God, + smoking a big cigar, smiling jubilantly, as if the failing wind delighted + him, while down underneath he was raging against God for taking the life + out of the blessed wind. <i>Make westing</i>! So he would, if God would + only leave him alone. Secretly, he pledged himself anew to the Powers of + Darkness, if they would let him make westing. He pledged himself so easily + because he did not believe in the Powers of Darkness. He really believed + only in God, though he did not know it. And in his inverted theology God + was really the Prince of Darkness. Captain Cullen was a devil-worshipper, + but he called the devil by another name, that was all. + </p> + <p> + At midday, after calling eight bells, Captain Cullen ordered the royals + on. The men went aloft faster than they had gone in weeks. Not alone were + they nimble because of the westing, but a benignant sun was shining down + and limbering their stiff bodies. George Dorety stood aft, near Captain + Cullen, less bundled in clothes than usual, soaking in the grateful warmth + as he watched the scene. Swiftly and abruptly the incident occurred. There + was a cry from the foreroyal-yard of "Man overboard!" Somebody threw a + life buoy over the side, and at the same instant the second mate's voice + came aft, ringing and peremptory:— + </p> + <p> + "Hard down your helm!" + </p> + <p> + The man at the wheel never moved a spoke. He knew better, for Captain Dan + Cullen was standing alongside of him. He wanted to move a spoke, to move + all the spokes, to grind the wheel down, hard down, for his comrade + drowning in the sea. He glanced at Captain Dan Cullen, and Captain Dan + Cullen gave no sign. + </p> + <p> + "Down! Hard down!" the second mate roared, as he sprang aft. + </p> + <p> + But he ceased springing and commanding, and stood still, when he saw Dan + Cullen by the wheel. And big Dan Cullen puffed at his cigar and said + nothing. Astern, and going astern fast, could be seen the sailor. He had + caught the life buoy and was clinging to it. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. + The men aloft clung to the royal yards and watched with terror stricken + faces. And the <i>Mary Rogers</i> raced on, making her westing. A long, + silent minute passed. + </p> + <p> + "Who was it!" Captain Cullen demanded. + </p> + <p> + "Mops, sir," eagerly answered the sailor at the wheel. + </p> + <p> + Mops topped a wave astern and disappeared temporarily in the trough. It + was a large wave, but it was no graybeard. A small boat could live easily + in such a sea, and in such a sea the <i>Mary Rogers</i> could easily come + to. But she could not come to and make westing at the same time. + </p> + <p> + For the first time in all his years, George Dorety was seeing a real drama + of life and death—a sordid little drama in which the scales balanced + an unknown sailor named Mops against a few miles of longitude. At first he + had watched the man astern, but now he watched big Dan Cullen, hairy and + black, vested with power of life and death, smoking a cigar. + </p> + <p> + Captain Dan Cullen smoked another long, silent minute. Then he removed the + cigar from his mouth. He glanced aloft at the spars of the <i>Mary Rogers</i>, + and overside at the sea. + </p> + <p> + "Sheet home the royals!" he cried. + </p> + <p> + Fifteen minutes later they sat at table, in the cabin, with food served + before them. On one side of George Dorety sat Dan Cullen, the tiger, on + the other side, Joshua Higgins, the hyena. Nobody spoke. On deck the men + were sheeting home the skysails. George Dorety could hear their cries, + while a persistent vision haunted him of a man called Mops, alive and + well, clinging to a life buoy miles astern in that lonely ocean. He + glanced at Captain Cullen, and experienced a feeling of nausea, for the + man was eating his food with relish, almost bolting it. + </p> + <p> + "Captain Cullen," Dorety said, "you are in command of this ship, and it is + not proper for me to comment now upon what you do. But I wish to say one + thing. There is a hereafter, and yours will be a hot one." + </p> + <p> + Captain Cullen did not even scowl. In his voice was regret as he said:—"It + was blowing a living gale. It was impossible to save the man." + </p> + <p> + "He fell from the royal-yard," Dorety cried hotly. "You were setting the + royals at the time. Fifteen minutes afterward you were setting the + skysails." + </p> + <p> + "It was a living gale, wasn't it, Mr. Higgins?" Captain Cullen said, + turning to the mate. + </p> + <p> + "If you'd brought her to, it'd have taken the sticks out of her," was the + mate's answer. "You did the proper thing, Captain Cullen. The man hadn't a + ghost of a show." + </p> + <p> + George Dorety made no answer, and to the meal's end no one spoke. After + that, Dorety had his meals served in his stateroom. Captain Cullen scowled + at him no longer, though no speech was exchanged between them, while the + <i>Mary Rogers</i> sped north toward warmer latitudes. At the end of the + week, Dan Cullen cornered Dorety on deck. + </p> + <p> + "What are you going to do when we get to Frisco?" he demanded bluntly. + </p> + <p> + "I am going to swear out a warrant for your arrest," Dorety answered + quietly. "I am going to charge you with murder, and I am going to see you + hanged for it." + </p> + <p> + "You're almighty sure of yourself," Captain Cullen sneered, turning on his + heel. + </p> + <p> + A second week passed, and one morning found George Dorety standing in the + coach-house companionway at the for'ard end of the long poop, taking his + first gaze around the deck. The <i>Mary Rogers</i> was reaching + full-and-by, in a stiff breeze. Every sail was set and drawing, including + the staysails. Captain Cullen strolled for'ard along the poop. He strolled + carelessly, glancing at the passenger out of the corner of his eye. Dorety + was looking the other way, standing with head and shoulders outside the + companionway, and only the back of his head was to be seen. Captain + Cullen, with swift eye, embraced the mainstaysail-block and the head and + estimated the distance. He glanced about him. Nobody was looking. Aft, + Joshua Higgins, pacing up and down, had just turned his back and was going + the other way. Captain Cullen bent over suddenly and cast the + staysail-sheet off from its pin. The heavy block hurtled through the air, + smashing Dorety's head like an egg-shell and hurtling on and back and + forth as the staysail whipped and slatted in the wind. Joshua Higgins + turned around to see what had carried away, and met the full blast of the + vilest portion of Captain Cullen's profanity. + </p> + <p> + "I made the sheet fast myself," whimpered the mate in the first lull, + "with an extra turn to make sure. I remember it distinctly." + </p> + <p> + "Made fast?" the captain snarled back, for the benefit of the watch as it + struggled to capture the flying sail before it tore to ribbons. "You + couldn't make your grandmother fast, you useless scullion. If you made + that sheet fast with an extra turn, why didn't it stay fast? That's what I + want to know. Why didn't it stay fast?" + </p> + <p> + The mate whined inarticulately. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, shut up!" was the final word of Captain Cullen. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour later he was as surprised as any when the body of George + Dorety was found inside the companionway on the floor. In the afternoon, + alone in his room, he doctored up the log. + </p> + <p> + "<i>Ordinary seaman, Karl Brun," he wrote, "lost overboard from + foreroyal-yard in a gale of wind. Was running at the time, and for the + safety of the ship did not dare come up to the wind. Nor could a boat have + lived in the sea that was running</i>." + </p> + <p> + On another page, he wrote:— + </p> + <p> + "<i>Had often warned Mr. Dorety about the danger he ran because of his + carelessness on deck. I told him, once, that some day he would get his + head knocked off by a block. A carelessly fastened mainstaysail sheet was + the cause of the accident, which was deeply to be regretted because Mr. + Dorety was a favorite with all of us</i>." + </p> + <p> + Captain Dan Cullen read over his literary effort with admiration, blotted + the page, and closed the log. He lighted a cigar and stared before him. He + felt the <i>Mary Rogers</i> lift, and heel, and surge along, and knew that + she was making nine knots. A smile of satisfaction slowly dawned on his + black and hairy face. Well, anyway, he had made his westing and fooled + God. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE HEATHEN + </h2> + <p> + I met him first in a hurricane; and though we had gone through the + hurricane on the same schooner, it was not until the schooner had gone to + pieces under us that I first laid eyes on him. Without doubt I had seen + him with the rest of the kanaka crew on board, but I had not consciously + been aware of his existence, for the <i>Petite Jeanne</i> was rather + overcrowded. In addition to her eight or ten kanaka seamen, her white + captain, mate, and supercargo, and her six cabin passengers, she sailed + from Rangiroa with something like eighty-five deck passengers—Paumotans + and Tahitians, men, women, and children each with a trade box, to say + nothing of sleeping-mats, blankets, and clothes-bundles. + </p> + <p> + The pearling season in the Paumotus was over, and all hands were returning + to Tahiti. The six of us cabin passengers were pearl-buyers. Two were + Americans, one was Ah Choon (the whitest Chinese I have ever known), one + was a German, one was a Polish Jew, and I completed the half dozen. + </p> + <p> + It had been a prosperous season. Not one of us had cause for complaint, + nor one of the eighty-five deck passengers either. All had done well, and + all were looking forward to a rest-off and a good time in Papeete. + </p> + <p> + Of course, the <i>Petite Jeanne</i> was overloaded. She was only seventy + tons, and she had no right to carry a tithe of the mob she had on board. + Beneath her hatches she was crammed and jammed with pearl-shell and copra. + Even the trade room was packed full of shell. It was a miracle that the + sailors could work her. There was no moving about the decks. They simply + climbed back and forth along the rails. + </p> + <p> + In the night-time they walked upon the sleepers, who carpeted the deck, + I'll swear, two deep. Oh! and there were pigs and chickens on deck, and + sacks of yams, while every conceivable place was festooned with strings of + drinking cocoanuts and bunches of bananas. On both sides, between the fore + and main shrouds, guys had been stretched, just low enough for the + foreboom to swing clear; and from each of these guys at least fifty + bunches of bananas were suspended. + </p> + <p> + It promised to be a messy passage, even if we did make it in the two or + three days that would have been required if the southeast trades had been + blowing fresh. But they weren't blowing fresh. After the first five hours + the trade died away in a dozen or so gasping fans. The calm continued all + that night and the next day—one of those glaring, glassy calms, when + the very thought of opening one's eyes to look at it is sufficient to + cause a headache. + </p> + <p> + The second day a man died—an Easter Islander, one of the best divers + that season in the lagoon. Smallpox—that is what it was; though how + smallpox could come on board, when there had been no known cases ashore + when we left Rangiroa, is beyond me. There it was, though—smallpox, + a man dead, and three others down on their backs. + </p> + <p> + There was nothing to be done. We could not segregate the sick, nor could + we care for them. We were packed like sardines. There was nothing to do + but rot or die—that is, there was nothing to do after the night that + followed the first death. On that night, the mate, the supercargo, the + Polish Jew, and four native divers sneaked away in the large whale-boat. + They were never heard of again. In the morning the captain promptly + scuttled the remaining boats, and there we were. + </p> + <p> + That day there were two deaths; the following day three; then it jumped to + eight. It was curious to see how we took it. The natives, for instance, + fell into a condition of dumb, stolid fear. The captain—Oudouse, his + name was, a Frenchman—became very nervous and voluble. He actually + got the twitches. He was a large, fleshy man, weighing at least two + hundred pounds, and he quickly became a faithful representation of a + quivering jelly-mountain of fat. + </p> + <p> + The German, the two Americans, and myself bought up all the Scotch + whiskey, and proceeded to stay drunk. The theory was beautiful—namely, + if we kept ourselves soaked in alcohol, every smallpox germ that came into + contact with us would immediately be scorched to a cinder. And the theory + worked, though I must confess that neither Captain Oudouse nor Ah Choon + were attacked by the disease either. The Frenchman did not drink at all, + while Ah Choon restricted himself to one drink daily. + </p> + <p> + It was a pretty time. The sun, going into northern declination, was + straight overhead. There was no wind, except for frequent squalls, which + blew fiercely for from five minutes to half an hour, and wound up by + deluging us with rain. After each squall, the awful sun would come out, + drawing clouds of steam from the soaked decks. + </p> + <p> + The steam was not nice. It was the vapor of death, freighted with millions + and millions of germs. We always took another drink when we saw it going + up from the dead and dying, and usually we took two or three more drinks, + mixing them exceptionally stiff. Also, we made it a rule to take an + additional several each time they hove the dead over to the sharks that + swarmed about us. + </p> + <p> + We had a week of it, and then the whiskey gave out. It is just as well, or + I shouldn't be alive now. It took a sober man to pull through what + followed, as you will see when I mention the little fact that only two men + did pull through. The other man was the heathen—at least, that was + what I heard Captain Oudouse call him at the moment I first became aware + of the heathen's existence. But to come back. + </p> + <p> + It was at the end of the week, with the whiskey gone, and the pearl-buyers + sober, that I happened to glance at the barometer that hung in the cabin + companionway. Its normal register in the Paumotus was 29.90, and it was + quite customary to see it vacillate between 29.85 and 30.00, or even + 30.05; but to see it as I saw it, down to 29.62, was sufficient to sober + the most drunken pearl-buyer that ever incinerated smallpox microbes in + Scotch whiskey. + </p> + <p> + I called Captain Oudouse's attention to it, only to be informed that he + had watched it going down for several hours. There was little to do, but + that little he did very well, considering the circumstances. He took off + the light sails, shortened right down to storm canvas, spread life-lines, + and waited for the wind. His mistake lay in what he did after the wind + came. He hove to on the port tack, which was the right thing to do south + of the Equator, if—and there was the rub—<i>if</i> one were <i>not</i> + in the direct path of the hurricane. + </p> + <p> + We were in the direct path. I could see that by the steady increase of the + wind and the equally steady fall of the barometer. I wanted him to turn + and run with the wind on the port quarter until the barometer ceased + falling, and then to heave to. We argued till he was reduced to hysteria, + but budge he would not. The worst of it was that I could not get the rest + of the pearl-buyers to back me up. Who was I, anyway, to know more about + the sea and its ways than a properly qualified captain? was what was in + their minds, I knew. + </p> + <p> + Of course the sea rose with the wind frightfully; and I shall never forget + the first three seas the <i>Petite Jeanne</i> shipped. She had fallen off, + as vessels do at times when hove to, and the first sea made a clean + breach. The life-lines were only for the strong and well, and little good + were they even for them when the women and children, the bananas and + cocoanuts, the pigs and trade boxes, the sick and the dying, were swept + along in a solid, screeching, groaning mass. + </p> + <p> + The second sea filled the <i>Petite Jeanne's</i> decks flush with the + rails; and, as her stern sank down and her bow tossed skyward, all the + miserable dunnage of life and luggage poured aft. It was a human torrent. + They came head-first, feet-first, sidewise, rolling over and over, + twisting, squirming, writhing, and crumpling up. Now and again one caught + a grip on a stanchion or a rope; but the weight of the bodies behind tore + such grips loose. + </p> + <p> + One man I noticed fetch up, head on and square on, with the + starboard-bitt. His head cracked like an egg. I saw what was coming, + sprang on top of the cabin, and from there into the mainsail itself. Ah + Choon and one of the Americans tried to follow me, but I was one jump + ahead of them. The American was swept away and over the stern like a piece + of chaff. Ah Choon caught a spoke of the wheel, and swung in behind it. + But a strapping Raratonga vahine (woman)—she must have weighed two + hundred and fifty—brought up against him, and got an arm around his + neck. He clutched the kanaka steersman with his other hand; and just at + that moment the schooner flung down to starboard. + </p> + <p> + The rush of bodies and sea that was coming along the port runway between + the cabin and the rail turned abruptly and poured to starboard. Away they + went—vahine, Ah Choon, and steersman: and I swear I saw Ah Choon + grin at me with philosophic resignation as he cleared the rail and went + under. + </p> + <p> + The third sea—the biggest of the three—did not do so much + damage. By the time it arrived nearly everybody was in the rigging. On + deck perhaps a dozen gasping, half-drowned, and half-stunned wretches were + rolling about or attempting to crawl into safety. They went by the board, + as did the wreckage of the two remaining boats. The other pearl-buyers and + myself, between seas, managed to get about fifteen women and children into + the cabin, and battened down. Little good it did the poor creatures in the + end. + </p> + <p> + Wind? Out of all my experience I could not have believed it possible for + the wind to blow as it did. There is no describing it. How can one + describe a nightmare? It was the same way with that wind. It tore the + clothes off our bodies. I say <i>tore them off</i>, and I mean it. I am + not asking you to believe it. I am merely telling something that I saw and + felt. There are times when I do not believe it myself. I went through it, + and that is enough. One could not face that wind and live. It was a + monstrous thing, and the most monstrous thing about it was that it + increased and continued to increase. + </p> + <p> + Imagine countless millions and billions of tons of sand. Imagine this sand + tearing along at ninety, a hundred, a hundred and twenty, or any other + number of miles per hour. Imagine, further, this sand to be invisible, + impalpable, yet to retain all the weight and density of sand. Do all this, + and you may get a vague inkling of what that wind was like. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps sand is not the right comparison. Consider it mud, invisible, + impalpable, but heavy as mud. Nay, it goes beyond that. Consider every + molecule of air to be a mud-bank in itself. Then try to imagine the + multitudinous impact of mud-banks. No; it is beyond me. Language may be + adequate to express the ordinary conditions of life, but it cannot + possibly express any of the conditions of so enormous a blast of wind. It + would have been better had I stuck by my original intention of not + attempting a description. + </p> + <p> + I will say this much: The sea, which had risen at first, was beaten down + by that wind. More: it seemed as if the whole ocean had been sucked up in + the maw of the hurricane, and hurled on through that portion of space + which previously had been occupied by the air. + </p> + <p> + Of course, our canvas had gone long before. But Captain Oudouse had on the + <i>Petite Jeanne</i> something I had never before seen on a South Sea + schooner—a sea-anchor. It was a conical canvas bag, the mouth of + which was kept open by a huge hoop of iron. The sea-anchor was bridled + something like a kite, so that it bit into the water as a kite bites into + the air, but with a difference. The sea-anchor remained just under the + surface of the ocean in a perpendicular position. A long line, in turn, + connected it with the schooner. As a result, the <i>Petite Jeanne</i> rode + bow on to the wind and to what sea there was. + </p> + <p> + The situation really would have been favorable had we not been in the path + of the storm. True, the wind itself tore our canvas out of the gaskets, + jerked out our topmasts, and made a raffle of our running-gear, but still + we would have come through nicely had we not been square in front of the + advancing storm-centre. That was what fixed us. I was in a state of + stunned, numbed, paralyzed collapse from enduring the impact of the wind, + and I think I was just about ready to give up and die when the centre + smote us. The blow we received was an absolute lull. There was not a + breath of air. The effect on one was sickening. + </p> + <p> + Remember that for hours we had been at terrific muscular tension, + withstanding the awful pressure of that wind. And then, suddenly, the + pressure was removed. I know that I felt as though I was about to expand, + to fly apart in all directions. It seemed as if every atom composing my + body was repelling every other atom and was on the verge of rushing off + irresistibly into space. But that lasted only for a moment. Destruction + was upon us. + </p> + <p> + In the absence of the wind and pressure the sea rose. It jumped, it + leaped, it soared straight toward the clouds. Remember, from every point + of the compass that inconceivable wind was blowing in toward the centre of + calm. The result was that the seas sprang up from every point of the + compass. There was no wind to check them. They popped up like corks + released from the bottom of a pail of water. There was no system to them, + no stability. They were hollow, maniacal seas. They were eighty feet high + at the least. They were not seas at all. They resembled no sea a man had + ever seen. + </p> + <p> + They were splashes, monstrous splashes—that is all. Splashes that + were eighty feet high. Eighty! They were more than eighty. They went over + our mastheads. They were spouts, explosions. They were drunken. They fell + anywhere, anyhow. They jostled one another; they collided. They rushed + together and collapsed upon one another, or fell apart like a thousand + waterfalls all at once. It was no ocean any man had ever dreamed of, that + hurricane centre. It was confusion thrice confounded. It was anarchy. It + was a hell-pit of sea-water gone mad. + </p> + <p> + The <i>Petite Jeanne</i>? I don't know. The heathen told me afterward that + he did not know. She was literally torn apart, ripped wide open, beaten + into a pulp, smashed into kindling wood, annihilated. When I came to I was + in the water, swimming automatically, though I was about two-thirds + drowned. How I got there I had no recollection. I remembered seeing the <i>Petite + Jeanne</i> fly to pieces at what must have been the instant that my own + consciousness was buffetted out of me. But there I was, with nothing to do + but make the best of it, and in that best there was little promise. The + wind was blowing again, the sea was much smaller and more regular, and I + knew that I had passed through the centre. Fortunately, there were no + sharks about. The hurricane had dissipated the ravenous horde that had + surrounded the death ship and fed off the dead. + </p> + <p> + It was about midday when the <i>Petite Jeanne</i> went to pieces, and it + must have been two hours afterward when I picked up with one of her + hatch-covers. Thick rain was driving at the time; and it was the merest + chance that flung me and the hatch-cover together. A short length of line + was trailing from the rope handle; and I knew that I was good for a day, + at least, if the sharks did not return. Three hours later, possibly a + little longer, sticking close to the cover, and, with closed eyes, + concentrating my whole soul upon the task of breathing in enough air to + keep me going and at the same time of avoiding breathing in enough water + to drown me, it seemed to me that I heard voices. The rain had ceased, and + wind and sea were easing marvellously. Not twenty feet away from me on + another hatch-cover, were Captain Oudouse and the heathen. They were + fighting over the possession of the cover—at least, the Frenchman + was. + </p> + <p> + "<i>Paien noir</i>!" I heard him scream, and at the same time I saw him + kick the kanaka. + </p> + <p> + Now, Captain Oudouse had lost all his clothes, except his shoes, and they + were heavy brogans. It was a cruel blow, for it caught the heathen on the + mouth and the point of the chin, half stunning him. I looked for him to + retaliate, but he contented himself with swimming about forlornly a safe + ten feet away. Whenever a fling of the sea threw him closer, the + Frenchman, hanging on with his hands, kicked out at him with both feet. + Also, at the moment of delivering each kick, he called the kanaka a black + heathen. + </p> + <p> + "For two centimes I'd come over there and drown you, you white beast!" I + yelled. + </p> + <p> + The only reason I did not go was that I felt too tired. The very thought + of the effort to swim over was nauseating. So I called to the kanaka to + come to me, and proceeded to share the hatch-cover with him. Otoo, he told + me his name was (pronounced o-to-o); also, he told me that he was a native + of Bora Bora, the most westerly of the Society Group. As I learned + afterward, he had got the hatch-cover first, and, after some time, + encountering Captain Oudouse, had offered to share it with him, and had + been kicked off for his pains. + </p> + <p> + And that was how Otoo and I first came together. He was no fighter. He was + all sweetness and gentleness, a love-creature, though he stood nearly six + feet tall and was muscled like a gladiator. He was no fighter, but he was + also no coward. He had the heart of a lion; and in the years that followed + I have seen him run risks that I would never dream of taking. What I mean + is that while he was no fighter, and while he always avoided precipitating + a row, he never ran away from trouble when it started. And it was "'Ware + shoal!" when once Otoo went into action. I shall never forget what he did + to Bill King. It occurred in German Samoa. Bill King was hailed the + champion heavyweight of the American Navy. He was a big brute of a man, a + veritable gorilla, one of those hard-hitting, rough-housing chaps, and + clever with his fists as well. He picked the quarrel, and he kicked Otoo + twice and struck him once before Otoo felt it to be necessary to fight. I + don't think it lasted four minutes, at the end of which time Bill King was + the unhappy possessor of four broken ribs, a broken forearm, and a + dislocated shoulder-blade. Otoo knew nothing of scientific boxing. He was + merely a manhandler; and Bill King was something like three months in + recovering from the bit of manhandling he received that afternoon on Apia + beach. + </p> + <p> + But I am running ahead of my yarn. We shared the hatch-cover between us. + We took turn and turn about, one lying flat on the cover and resting, + while the other, submerged to the neck, merely held on with his hands. For + two days and nights, spell and spell, on the cover and in the water, we + drifted over the ocean. Toward the last I was delirious most of the time; + and there were times, too, when I heard Otoo babbling and raving in his + native tongue. Our continuous immersion prevented us from dying of thirst, + though the sea-water and the sunshine gave us the prettiest imaginable + combination of salt pickle and sunburn. + </p> + <p> + In the end, Otoo saved my life; for I came to lying on the beach twenty + feet from the water, sheltered from the sun by a couple of cocoanut + leaves. No one but Otoo could have dragged me there and stuck up the + leaves for shade. He was lying beside me. I went off again; and the next + time I came round, it was cool and starry night, and Otoo was pressing a + drinking cocoanut to my lips. + </p> + <p> + We were the sole survivors of the <i>Petite Jeanne.</i> Captain Oudouse + must have succumbed to exhaustion, for several days later his hatch-cover + drifted ashore without him. Otoo and I lived with the natives of the atoll + for a week, when we were rescued by a French cruiser and taken to Tahiti. + In the meantime, however, we had performed the ceremony of exchanging + names. In the South Seas such a ceremony binds two men closer together + than blood-brothership. The initiative had been mine; and Otoo was + rapturously delighted when I suggested it. + </p> + <p> + "It is well," he said, in Tahitian. "For we have been mates together for + two days on the lips of Death." + </p> + <p> + "But Death stuttered." I smiled. + </p> + <p> + "It was a brave deed you did, master," he replied, "and Death was not vile + enough to speak." + </p> + <p> + "Why do you 'master' me?" I demanded, with a show of hurt feelings. "We + have exchanged names. To you I am Otoo. To me you are Charley. And between + you and me, forever and forever, you shall be Charley, and I shall be + Otoo. It is the way of the custom. And when we die, if it does happen that + we live again somewhere beyond the stars and the sky, still shall you be + Charley to me, and I Otoo to you." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, master," he answered, his eyes luminous and soft with joy. + </p> + <p> + "There you go!" I cried indignantly. + </p> + <p> + "What does it matter what my lips utter?" he argued. "They are only my + lips. But I shall think Otoo always. Whenever I think of myself, I shall + think of you. Whenever men call me by name, I shall think of you. And + beyond the sky and beyond the stars, always and forever, you shall be Otoo + to me. Is it well, master?" + </p> + <p> + I hid my smile, and answered that it was well. + </p> + <p> + We parted at Papeete. I remained ashore to recuperate; and he went on in a + cutter to his own island, Bora Bora. Six weeks later he was back. I was + surprised, for he had told me of his wife, and said that he was returning + to her, and would give over sailing on far voyages. + </p> + <p> + "Where do you go, master?" he asked after our first greetings. + </p> + <p> + I shrugged my shoulders. It was a hard question. + </p> + <p> + "All the world," was my answer—"all the world, all the sea, and all + the islands that are in the sea." + </p> + <p> + "I will go with you," he said simply. "My wife is dead." + </p> + <p> + I never had a brother; but from what I have seen of other men's brothers, + I doubt if any man ever had a brother that was to him what Otoo was to me. + He was brother and father and mother as well. And this I know: I lived a + straighter and better man because of Otoo. I cared little for other men, + but I had to live straight in Otoo's eyes. Because of him I dared not + tarnish myself. He made me his ideal, compounding me, I fear, chiefly out + of his own love and worship; and there were times when I stood close to + the steep pitch of Hades, and would have taken the plunge had not the + thought of Otoo restrained me. His pride in me entered into me, until it + became one of the major rules in my personal code to do nothing that would + diminish that pride of his. + </p> + <p> + Naturally, I did not learn right away what his feelings were toward me. He + never criticised, never censured; and slowly the exalted place I held in + his eyes dawned upon me, and slowly I grew to comprehend the hurt I could + inflict upon him by being anything less than my best. + </p> + <p> + For seventeen years we were together; for seventeen years he was at my + shoulder, watching while I slept, nursing me through fever and wounds—ay, + and receiving wounds in fighting for me. He signed on the same ships with + me; and together we ranged the Pacific from Hawaii to Sydney Head, and + from Torres Straits to the Galapagos. We blackbirded from the New Hebrides + and the Line Islands over to the westward clear through the Louisades, New + Britain, New Ireland, and New Hanover. We were wrecked three times—in + the Gilberts, in the Santa Cruz group, and in the Fijis. And we traded and + salved wherever a dollar promised in the way of pearl and pearl-shell, + copra, beche-de-mer, hawkbill turtle-shell, and stranded wrecks. + </p> + <p> + It began in Papeete, immediately after his announcement that he was going + with me over all the sea, and the islands in the midst thereof. There was + a club in those days in Papeete, where the pearlers, traders, captains, + and riffraff of South Sea adventurers foregathered. The play ran high, and + the drink ran high; and I am very much afraid that I kept later hours than + were becoming or proper. No matter what the hour was when I left the club, + there was Otoo waiting to see me safely home. + </p> + <p> + At first I smiled; next I chided him. Then I told him flatly that I stood + in need of no wet-nursing. After that I did not see him when I came out of + the club. Quite by accident, a week or so later, I discovered that he + still saw me home, lurking across the street among the shadows of the + mango-trees. What could I do? I know what I did do. + </p> + <p> + Insensibly I began to keep better hours. On wet and stormy nights, in the + thick of the folly and the fun, the thought would persist in coming to me + of Otoo keeping his dreary vigil under the dripping mangoes. Truly, he had + made a better man of me. Yet he was not strait-laced. And he knew nothing + of common Christian morality. All the people on Bora Bora were Christians; + but he was a heathen, the only unbeliever on the island, a gross + materialist, who believed that when he died he was dead. He believed + merely in fair play and square dealing. Petty meanness, in his code, was + almost as serious as wanton homicide; and I do believe that he respected a + murderer more than a man given to small practices. + </p> + <p> + Otoo had my welfare always at heart. He thought ahead for me, weighed my + plans, and took a greater interest in them than I did myself. At first, + when I was unaware of this interest of his in my affairs, he had to divine + my intentions, as, for instance, at Papeete, when I contemplated going + partners with a knavish fellow-countryman on a guano venture. I did not + know he was a knave. Nor did any white man in Papeete. Neither did Otoo + know, but he saw how thick we were getting, and found out for me, and + without my asking him. Native sailors from the ends of the seas knock + about on the beach in Tahiti; and Otoo, suspicious merely, went among them + till he had gathered sufficient data to justify his suspicions. Oh, it was + a nice history, that of Randolph Waters. I couldn't believe it when Otoo + first narrated it; but when I sheeted it home to Waters he gave in without + a murmur, and got away on the first steamer to Aukland. + </p> + <p> + At first, I am free to confess, I couldn't help resenting Otoo's poking + his nose into my business. But I knew that he was wholly unselfish; and + soon I had to acknowledge his wisdom and discretion. He had his eyes open + always to my main chance, and he was both keen-sighted and far-sighted. In + time he became my counsellor, until he knew more of my business than I did + myself. He really had my interest at heart more than I did. Mine was the + magnificent carelessness of youth, for I preferred romance to dollars, and + adventure to a comfortable billet with all night in. So it was well that I + had some one to look out for me. I know that if it had not been for Otoo, + I should not be here to-day. + </p> + <p> + Of numerous instances, let me give one. I had had some experience in + blackbirding before I went pearling in the Paumotus. Otoo and I were in + Samoa—we really were on the beach and hard aground—when my + chance came to go as recruiter on a blackbird brig. Otoo signed on before + the mast; and for the next half-dozen years, in as many ships, we knocked + about the wildest portions of Melanesia. Otoo saw to it that he always + pulled stroke-oar in my boat. Our custom in recruiting labor was to land + the recruiter on the beach. The covering boat always lay on its oars + several hundred feet off shore, while the recruiter's boat, also lying on + its oars, kept afloat on the edge of the beach. When I landed with my + trade-goods, leaving my steering sweep apeak, Otoo left his stroke + position and came into the stern-sheets, where a Winchester lay ready to + hand under a flap of canvas. The boat's crew was also armed, the Sniders + concealed under canvas flaps that ran the length of the gunwales. While I + was busy arguing and persuading the woolly-headed cannibals to come and + labor on the Queensland plantations Otoo kept watch. And often and often + his low voice warned me of suspicious actions and impending treachery. + Sometimes it was the quick shot from his rifle, knocking a savage over, + that was the first warning I received. And in my rush to the boat his hand + was always there to jerk me flying aboard. Once, I remember, on <i>Santa + Anna</i>, the boat grounded just as the trouble began. The covering boat + was dashing to our assistance, but the several score of savages would have + wiped us out before it arrived. Otoo took a flying leap ashore, dug both + hands into the trade-goods, and scattered tobacco, beads, tomahawks, + knives, and calicoes in all directions. + </p> + <p> + This was too much for the woolly-heads. While they scrambled for the + treasures, the boat was shoved clear, and we were aboard and forty feet + away. And I got thirty recruits off that very beach in the next four + hours. + </p> + <p> + The particular instance I have in mind was on Malaita, the most savage + island in the easterly Solomons. The natives had been remarkably friendly; + and how were we to know that the whole village had been taking up a + collection for over two years with which to buy a white man's head? The + beggars are all head-hunters, and they especially esteem a white man's + head. The fellow who captured the head would receive the whole collection. + As I say, they appeared very friendly; and on this day I was fully a + hundred yards down the beach from the boat. Otoo had cautioned me; and, as + usual when I did not heed him, I came to grief. + </p> + <p> + The first I knew, a cloud of spears sailed out of the mangrove swamp at + me. At least a dozen were sticking into me. I started to run, but tripped + over one that was fast in my calf, and went down. The woolly-heads made a + run for me, each with a long-handled, fantail tomahawk with which to hack + off my head. They were so eager for the prize that they got in one + another's way. In the confusion, I avoided several hacks by throwing + myself right and left on the sand. + </p> + <p> + Then Otoo arrived—Otoo the manhandler. In some way he had got hold + of a heavy war club, and at close quarters it was a far more efficient + weapon than a rifle. He was right in the thick of them, so that they could + not spear him, while their tomahawks seemed worse than useless. He was + fighting for me, and he was in a true Berserker rage. The way he handled + that club was amazing. Their skulls squashed like overripe oranges. It was + not until he had driven them back, picked me up in his arms, and started + to run, that he received his first wounds. He arrived in the boat with + four spear thrusts, got his Winchester, and with it got a man for every + shot. Then we pulled aboard the schooner and doctored up. + </p> + <p> + Seventeen years we were together. He made me. I should to-day be a + supercargo, a recruiter, or a memory, if it had not been for him. + </p> + <p> + "You spend your money, and you go out and get more," he said one day. "It + is easy to get money now. But when you get old, your money will be spent, + and you will not be able to go out and get more. I know, master. I have + studied the way of white men. On the beaches are many old men who were + young once, and who could get money just like you. Now they are old, and + they have nothing, and they wait about for the young men like you to come + ashore and buy drinks for them. + </p> + <p> + "The black boy is a slave on the plantations. He gets twenty dollars a + year. He works hard. The overseer does not work hard. He rides a horse and + watches the black boy work. He gets twelve hundred dollars a year. I am a + sailor on the schooner. I get fifteen dollars a month. That is because I + am a good sailor. I work hard. The captain has a double awning, and drinks + beer out of long bottles. I have never seen him haul a rope or pull an + oar. He gets one hundred and fifty dollars a month. I am a sailor. He is a + navigator. Master, I think it would be very good for you to know + navigation." + </p> + <p> + Otoo spurred me on to it. He sailed with me as second mate on my first + schooner, and he was far prouder of my command than I was myself. Later on + it was: + </p> + <p> + "The captain is well paid, master; but the ship is in his keeping, and he + is never free from the burden. It is the owner who is better paid—the + owner who sits ashore with many servants and turns his money over." + </p> + <p> + "True, but a schooner costs five thousand dollars—an old schooner at + that," I objected. "I should be an old man before I saved five thousand + dollars." + </p> + <p> + "There be short ways for white men to make money," he went on, pointing + ashore at the cocoanut-fringed beach. + </p> + <p> + We were in the Solomons at the time, picking up a cargo of ivory-nuts + along the east coast of Guadalcanar. + </p> + <p> + "Between this river mouth and the next it is two miles," he said. "The + flat land runs far back. It is worth nothing now. Next year—who + knows?—or the year after, men will pay much money for that land. The + anchorage is good. Big steamers can lie close up. You can buy the land + four miles deep from the old chief for ten thousand sticks of tobacco, ten + bottles of square-face, and a Snider, which will cost you, maybe, one + hundred dollars. Then you place the deed with the commissioner; and the + next year, or the year after, you sell and become the owner of a ship." + </p> + <p> + I followed his lead, and his words came true, though in three years, + instead of two. Next came the grasslands deal on Guadalcanar—twenty + thousand acres, on a governmental nine hundred and ninety-nine years' + lease at a nominal sum. I owned the lease for precisely ninety days, when + I sold it to a company for half a fortune. Always it was Otoo who looked + ahead and saw the opportunity. He was responsible for the salving of the + <i>Doncaster</i>—bought in at auction for a hundred pounds, and + clearing three thousand after every expense was paid. He led me into the + Savaii plantation and the cocoa venture on Upolu. + </p> + <p> + We did not go seafaring so much as in the old days. I was too well off. I + married, and my standard of living rose; but Otoo remained the same + old-time Otoo, moving about the house or trailing through the office, his + wooden pipe in his mouth, a shilling undershirt on his back, and a + four-shilling lava-lava about his loins. I could not get him to spend + money. There was no way of repaying him except with love, and God knows he + got that in full measure from all of us. The children worshipped him; and + if he had been spoilable, my wife would surely have been his undoing. + </p> + <p> + The children! He really was the one who showed them the way of their feet + in the world practical. He began by teaching them to walk. He sat up with + them when they were sick. One by one, when they were scarcely toddlers, he + took them down to the lagoon, and made them into amphibians. He taught + them more than I ever knew of the habits of fish and the ways of catching + them. In the bush it was the same thing. At seven, Tom knew more woodcraft + than I ever dreamed existed. At six, Mary went over the Sliding Rock + without a quiver, and I have seen strong men balk at that feat. And when + Frank had just turned six he could bring up shillings from the bottom in + three fathoms. + </p> + <p> + "My people in Bora Bora do not like heathen—they are all Christians; + and I do not like Bora Bora Christians," he said one day, when I, with the + idea of getting him to spend some of the money that was rightfully his, + had been trying to persuade him to make a visit to his own island in one + of our schooners—a special voyage which I had hoped to make a record + breaker in the matter of prodigal expense. + </p> + <p> + I say one of <i>our</i> schooners, though legally at the time they + belonged to me. I struggled long with him to enter into partnership. + </p> + <p> + "We have been partners from the day the <i>Petite Jeanne</i> went down," + he said at last. "But if your heart so wishes, then shall we become + partners by the law. I have no work to do, yet are my expenses large. I + drink and eat and smoke in plenty—it costs much, I know. I do not + pay for the playing of billiards, for I play on your table; but still the + money goes. Fishing on the reef is only a rich man's pleasure. It is + shocking, the cost of hooks and cotton line. Yes; it is necessary that we + be partners by the law. I need the money. I shall get it from the head + clerk in the office." + </p> + <p> + So the papers were made out and recorded. A year later I was compelled to + complain. + </p> + <p> + "Charley," said I, "you are a wicked old fraud, a miserly skinflint, a + miserable land-crab. Behold, your share for the year in all our + partnership has been thousands of dollars. The head clerk has given me + this paper. It says that in the year you have drawn just eighty-seven + dollars and twenty cents." + </p> + <p> + "Is there any owing me?" he asked anxiously. + </p> + <p> + "I tell you thousands and thousands," I answered. + </p> + <p> + His face brightened, as with an immense relief. + </p> + <p> + "It is well," he said. "See that the head clerk keeps good account of it. + When I want it, I shall want it, and there must not be a cent missing. + </p> + <p> + "If there is," he added fiercely, after a pause, "it must come out of the + clerk's wages." + </p> + <p> + And all the time, as I afterward learned, his will, drawn up by + Carruthers, and making me sole beneficiary, lay in the American consul's + safe. + </p> + <p> + But the end came, as the end must come to all human associations. It + occurred in the Solomons, where our wildest work had been done in the wild + young days, and where we were once more—principally on a holiday, + incidentally to look after our holdings on Florida Island and to look over + the pearling possibilities of the Mboli Pass. We were lying at Savo, + having run in to trade for curios. + </p> + <p> + Now, Savo is alive with sharks. The custom of the woolly-heads of burying + their dead in the sea did not tend to discourage the sharks from making + the adjacent waters a hang-out. It was my luck to be coming aboard in a + tiny, overloaded, native canoe, when the thing capsized. There were four + woolly-heads and myself in it, or, rather, hanging to it. The schooner was + a hundred yards away. I was just hailing for a boat when one of the + woolly-heads began to scream. Holding on to the end of the canoe, both he + and that portion of the canoe were dragged under several times. Then he + loosed his clutch and disappeared. A shark had got him. + </p> + <p> + The three remaining savages tried to climb out of the water upon the + bottom of the canoe. I yelled and struck at the nearest with my fist, but + it was no use. They were in a blind funk. The canoe could barely have + supported one of them. Under the three it upended and rolled sidewise, + throwing them back into the water. + </p> + <p> + I abandoned the canoe and started to swim toward the schooner, expecting + to be picked up by the boat before I got there. One of the savages elected + to come with me, and we swam along silently, side by side, now and again + putting our faces into the water and peering about for sharks. The screams + of the man who stayed by the canoe informed us that he was taken. I was + peering into the water when I saw a big shark pass directly beneath me. He + was fully sixteen feet in length. I saw the whole thing. He got the + woolly-head by the middle, and away he went, the poor devil, head, + shoulders, and arms out of water all the time, screeching in a + heartrending way. He was carried along in this fashion for several hundred + feet, when he was dragged beneath the surface. + </p> + <p> + I swam doggedly on, hoping that that was the last unattached shark. But + there was another. Whether it was the one that had attacked the natives + earlier, or whether it was one that had made a good meal elsewhere, I do + not know. At any rate, he was not in such haste as the others. I could not + swim so rapidly now, for a large part of my effort was devoted to keeping + track of him. I was watching him when he made his first attack. By good + luck I got both hands on his nose, and, though his momentum nearly shoved + me under, I managed to keep him off. He veered clear, and began circling + about again. A second time I escaped him by the same maneuver. The third + rush was a miss on both sides. He sheered at the moment my hands should + have landed on his nose, but his sandpaper hide (I had on a sleeveless + undershirt) scraped the skin off one arm from elbow to shoulder. + </p> + <p> + By this time I was played out, and gave up hope. The schooner was still + two hundred feet away. My face was in the water, and I was watching him + maneuver for another attempt, when I saw a brown body pass between us. It + was Otoo. + </p> + <p> + "Swim for the schooner, master!" he said. And he spoke gayly, as though + the affair was a mere lark. "I know sharks. The shark is my brother." + </p> + <p> + I obeyed, swimming slowly on, while Otoo swam about me, keeping always + between me and the shark, foiling his rushes and encouraging me. + </p> + <p> + "The davit tackle carried away, and they are rigging the falls," he + explained, a minute or so later, and then went under to head off another + attack. + </p> + <p> + By the time the schooner was thirty feet away I was about done for. I + could scarcely move. They were heaving lines at us from on board, but they + continually fell short. The shark, finding that it was receiving no hurt, + had become bolder. Several times it nearly got me, but each time Otoo was + there just the moment before it was too late. Of course, Otoo could have + saved himself any time. But he stuck by me. + </p> + <p> + "Good-bye, Charley! I'm finished!" I just managed to gasp. + </p> + <p> + I knew that the end had come, and that the next moment I should throw up + my hands and go down. + </p> + <p> + But Otoo laughed in my face, saying: + </p> + <p> + "I will show you a new trick. I will make that shark feel sick!" + </p> + <p> + He dropped in behind me, where the shark was preparing to come at me. + </p> + <p> + "A little more to the left!" he next called out. "There is a line there on + the water. To the left, master—to the left!" + </p> + <p> + I changed my course and struck out blindly. I was by that time barely + conscious. As my hand closed on the line I heard an exclamation from on + board. I turned and looked. There was no sign of Otoo. The next instant he + broke surface. Both hands were off at the wrist, the stumps spouting + blood. + </p> + <p> + "Otoo!" he called softly. And I could see in his gaze the love that + thrilled in his voice. + </p> + <p> + Then, and then only, at the very last of all our years, he called me by + that name. + </p> + <p> + "Good-by, Otoo!" he called. + </p> + <p> + Then he was dragged under, and I was hauled aboard, where I fainted in the + captain's arms. + </p> + <p> + And so passed Otoo, who saved me and made me a man, and who saved me in + the end. We met in the maw of a hurricane, and parted in the maw of a + shark, with seventeen intervening years of comradeship, the like of which + I dare to assert has never befallen two men, the one brown and the other + white. If Jehovah be from His high place watching every sparrow fall, not + least in His kingdom shall be Otoo, the one heathen of Bora Bora. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE HOBO AND THE FAIRY + </h2> + <p> + He lay on his back. So heavy was his sleep that the stamp of hoofs and + cries of the drivers from the bridge that crossed the creek did not rouse + him. Wagon after wagon, loaded high with grapes, passed the bridge on the + way up the valley to the winery, and the coming of each wagon was like the + explosion of sound and commotion in the lazy quiet of the afternoon. + </p> + <p> + But the man was undisturbed. His head had slipped from the folded + newspaper, and the straggling, unkempt hair was matted with the foxtails + and burrs of the dry grass on which it lay. He was not a pretty sight. His + mouth was open, disclosing a gap in the upper row where several teeth at + some time had been knocked out. He breathed stertorously, at times + grunting and moaning with the pain of his sleep. Also, he was very + restless, tossing his arms about, making jerky, half-convulsive movements, + and at times rolling his head from side to side in the burrs. This + restlessness seemed occasioned partly by some internal discomfort, and + partly by the sun that streamed down on his face and by the flies that + buzzed and lighted and crawled upon the nose and cheeks and eyelids. There + was no other place for them to crawl, for the rest of the face was covered + with matted beard, slightly grizzled, but greatly dirt-stained and + weather-discolored. + </p> + <p> + The cheek-bones were blotched with the blood congested by the debauch that + was evidently being slept off. This, too, accounted for the persistence + with which the flies clustered around the mouth, lured by the + alcohol-laden exhalations. He was a powerfully built man, thick-necked, + broad-shouldered, with sinewy wrists and toil-distorted hands. Yet the + distortion was not due to recent toil, nor were the callouses other than + ancient that showed under the dirt of the one palm upturned. From time to + time this hand clenched tightly and spasmodically into a fist, large, + heavy-boned and wicked-looking. + </p> + <p> + The man lay in the dry grass of a tiny glade that ran down to the + tree-fringed bank of the stream. On either side of the glade was a fence, + of the old stake-and-rider type, though little of it was to be seen, so + thickly was it overgrown by wild blackberry bushes, scrubby oaks and young + madrono trees. In the rear, a gate through a low paling fence led to a + snug, squat bungalow, built in the California Spanish style and seeming to + have been compounded directly from the landscape of which it was so justly + a part. Neat and trim and modestly sweet was the bungalow, redolent of + comfort and repose, telling with quiet certitude of some one that knew, + and that had sought and found. + </p> + <p> + Through the gate and into the glade came as dainty a little maiden as ever + stepped out of an illustration made especially to show how dainty little + maidens may be. Eight years she might have been, and, possibly, a trifle + more, or less. Her little waist and little black-stockinged calves showed + how delicately fragile she was; but the fragility was of mould only. There + was no hint of anemia in the clear, healthy complexion nor in the quick, + tripping step. She was a little, delicious blond, with hair spun of + gossamer gold and wide blue eyes that were but slightly veiled by the long + lashes. Her expression was of sweetness and happiness; it belonged by + right to any face that sheltered in the bungalow. + </p> + <p> + She carried a child's parasol, which she was careful not to tear against + the scrubby branches and bramble bushes as she sought for wild poppies + along the edge of the fence. They were late poppies, a third generation, + which had been unable to resist the call of the warm October sun. + </p> + <p> + Having gathered along one fence, she turned to cross to the opposite + fence. Midway in the glade she came upon the tramp. Her startle was merely + a startle. There was no fear in it. She stood and looked long and + curiously at the forbidding spectacle, and was about to turn back when the + sleeper moved restlessly and rolled his hand among the burrs. She noted + the sun on his face, and the buzzing flies; her face grew solicitous, and + for a moment she debated with herself. Then she tiptoed to his side, + interposed the parasol between him and the sun, and brushed away the + flies. After a time, for greater ease, she sat down beside him. + </p> + <p> + An hour passed, during which she occasionally shifted the parasol from one + tired hand to the other. At first the sleeper had been restless, but, + shielded from the flies and the sun, his breathing became gentler and his + movements ceased. Several times, however, he really frightened her. The + first was the worst, coming abruptly and without warning. "Christ! How + deep! How deep!" the man murmured from some profound of dream. The parasol + was agitated; but the little girl controlled herself and continued her + self-appointed ministrations. + </p> + <p> + Another time it was a gritting of teeth, as of some intolerable agony. So + terribly did the teeth crunch and grind together that it seemed they must + crush into fragments. A little later he suddenly stiffened out. The hands + clenched and the face set with the savage resolution of the dream. The + eyelids trembled from the shock of the fantasy, seemed about to open, but + did not. Instead, the lips muttered: + </p> + <p> + "No; no! And once more no. I won't peach." The lips paused, then went on. + "You might as well tie me up, warden, and cut me to pieces. That's all you + can get outa me—blood. That's all any of you-uns has ever got outa + me in this hole." + </p> + <p> + After this outburst the man slept gently on, while the little girl still + held the parasol aloft and looked down with a great wonder at the frowsy, + unkempt creature, trying to reconcile it with the little part of life that + she knew. To her ears came the cries of men, the stamp of hoofs on the + bridge, and the creak and groan of wagons heavy laden. It was a breathless + California Indian summer day. Light fleeces of cloud drifted in the azure + sky, but to the west heavy cloud banks threatened with rain. A bee droned + lazily by. From farther thickets came the calls of quail, and from the + fields the songs of meadow larks. And oblivious to it all slept Ross + Shanklin—Ross Shanklin, the tramp and outcast, ex-convict 4379, the + bitter and unbreakable one who had defied all keepers and survived all + brutalities. + </p> + <p> + Texas-born, of the old pioneer stock that was always tough and stubborn, + he had been unfortunate. At seventeen years of age he had been apprehended + for horse stealing. Also, he had been convicted of stealing seven horses + which he had not stolen, and he had been sentenced to fourteen years' + imprisonment. This was severe under any circumstances, but with him it had + been especially severe, because there had been no prior convictions + against him. The sentiment of the people who believed him guilty had been + that two years was adequate punishment for the youth, but the county + attorney, paid according to the convictions he secured, had made seven + charges against him and earned seven fees. Which goes to show that the + county attorney valued twelve years of Ross Shanklin's life at less than a + few dollars. + </p> + <p> + Young Ross Shanklin had toiled terribly in jail; he had escaped, more than + once; and he had been caught and sent back to toil in other and various + jails. He had been triced up and lashed till he fainted had been revived + and lashed again. He had been in the dungeon ninety days at a time. He had + experienced the torment of the straightjacket. He knew what the humming + bird was. He had been farmed out as a chattel by the state to the + contractors. He had been trailed through swamps by bloodhounds. Twice he + had been shot. For six years on end he had cut a cord and a half of wood + each day in a convict lumber camp. Sick or well, he had cut that cord and + a half or paid for it under a whip-lash knotted and pickled. + </p> + <p> + And Ross Shanklin had not sweetened under the treatment. He had sneered, + and raved, and defied. He had seen convicts, after the guards had + manhandled them, crippled in body for life, or left to maunder in mind to + the end of their days. He had seen convicts, even his own cell mate, + goaded to murder by their keepers, go to the gallows reviling God. He had + been in a break in which eleven of his kind were shot down. He had been + through a mutiny, where, in the prison yard, with gatling guns trained + upon them, three hundred convicts had been disciplined with pick handles + wielded by brawny guards. + </p> + <p> + He had known every infamy of human cruelty, and through it all he had + never been broken. He had resented and fought to the last, until, + embittered and bestial, the day came when he was discharged. Five dollars + were given him in payment for the years of his labor and the flower of his + manhood. And he had worked little in the years that followed. Work he + hated and despised. He tramped, begged and stole, lied or threatened as + the case might warrant, and drank to besottedness whenever he got the + chance. + </p> + <p> + The little girl was looking at him when he awoke. Like a wild animal, all + of him was awake the instant he opened his eyes. The first he saw was the + parasol, strangely obtruded between him and the sky. He did not start nor + move, though his whole body seemed slightly to tense. His eyes followed + down the parasol handle to the tight-clutched little fingers, and along + the arm to the child's face. Straight and unblinking he looked into her + eyes, and she, returning the look, was chilled and frightened by his + glittering eyes, cold and harsh, withal bloodshot, and with no hint in + them of the warm humanness she had been accustomed to see and feel in + human eyes. They were the true prison eyes—the eyes of a man who had + learned to talk little, who had forgotten almost how to talk. + </p> + <p> + "Hello," he said finally, making no effort to change his position. "What + game are you up to!" + </p> + <p> + His voice was gruff and husky, and at first it had been harsh; but it had + softened queerly in a feeble attempt at forgotten kindliness. + </p> + <p> + "How do you do?" she said. "I'm not playing. The sun was on your face, and + mamma says one oughtn't to sleep in the sun." + </p> + <p> + The sweet clearness of her child's voice was pleasant to him, and he + wondered why he had never noticed it in children's voices before. He sat + up slowly and stared at her. He felt that he ought to say something, but + speech with him was a reluctant thing. + </p> + <p> + "I hope you slept well," she said gravely. + </p> + <p> + "I sure did," he answered, never taking his eyes from her, amazed at the + fairness and delicacy of her. "How long was you holdin' that contraption + up over me?" + </p> + <p> + "O-oh," she debated with herself, "a long, long time. I thought you would + never wake up." + </p> + <p> + "And I thought you was a fairy when I first seen you." + </p> + <p> + He felt elated at his contribution to the conversation. + </p> + <p> + "No, not a fairy," she smiled. + </p> + <p> + He thrilled in a strange, numb way at the immaculate whiteness of her + small even teeth. + </p> + <p> + "I was just the good Samaritan," she added. + </p> + <p> + "I reckon I never heard of that party." + </p> + <p> + He was cudgelling his brains to keep the conversation going. Never having + been at close quarters with a child since he was man-grown, he found it + difficult. + </p> + <p> + "What a funny man not to know about the good Samaritan. Don't you + remember? A certain man went down to Jericho——" + </p> + <p> + "I reckon I've been there," he interrupted. + </p> + <p> + "I knew you were a traveler!" she cried, clapping her hands. "Maybe you + saw the exact spot." + </p> + <p> + "What spot?" + </p> + <p> + "Why, where he fell among thieves and was left half dead. And then the + good Samaritan went to him, and bound up his wounds, and poured in oil and + wine—was that olive oil, do you think?" + </p> + <p> + He shook his head slowly. + </p> + <p> + "I reckon you got me there. Olive oil is something the dagoes cooks with. + I never heard of it for busted heads." + </p> + <p> + She considered his statement for a moment. + </p> + <p> + "Well," she announced, "we use olive oil in <i>our</i> cooking, so we must + be dagoes. I never knew what they were before. I thought it was slang." + </p> + <p> + "And the Samaritan dumped oil on his head," the tramp muttered + reminiscently. "Seems to me I recollect a sky pilot sayin' something about + that old gent. D'ye know, I've been looking for him off 'n on all my life, + and never scared up hide nor hair of him. They ain't no more Samaritans." + </p> + <p> + "Wasn't I one!" she asked quickly. + </p> + <p> + He looked at her steadily, with a great curiosity and wonder. Her ear, by + a movement exposed to the sun, was transparent. It seemed he could almost + see through it. He was amazed at the delicacy of her coloring, at the blue + of her eyes, at the dazzle of the sun-touched golden hair. And he was + astounded by her fragility. It came to him that she was easily broken. His + eye went quickly from his huge, gnarled paw to her tiny hand in which it + seemed to him he could almost see the blood circulate. He knew the power + in his muscles, and he knew the tricks and turns by which men use their + bodies to ill-treat men. In fact, he knew little else, and his mind for + the time ran in its customary channel. It was his way of measuring the + beautiful strangeness of her. He calculated a grip, and not a strong one, + that could grind her little fingers to pulp. He thought of fist blows he + had given to men's heads, and received on his own head, and felt that the + least of them could shatter hers like an egg-shell. He scanned her little + shoulders and slim waist, and knew in all certitude that with his two + hands he could rend her to pieces. + </p> + <p> + "Wasn't I one?" she insisted again. + </p> + <p> + He came back to himself with a shock—or away from himself, as the + case happened. He was loath that the conversation should cease. + </p> + <p> + "What?" he answered. "Oh, yes; you bet you was a Samaritan, even if you + didn't have no olive oil." He remembered what his mind had been dwelling + on, and asked, "But ain't you afraid?" + </p> + <p> + "Of ... of me?" he added lamely. + </p> + <p> + She laughed merrily. + </p> + <p> + "Mamma says never to be afraid of anything. She says that if you're good, + and you think good of other people, they'll be good, too." + </p> + <p> + "And you was thinkin' good of me when you kept the sun off," he marveled. + </p> + <p> + "But it's hard to think good of bees and nasty crawly things," she + confessed. + </p> + <p> + "But there's men that is nasty and crawly things," he argued. + </p> + <p> + "Mamma says no. She says there's good in everyone. + </p> + <p> + "I bet you she locks the house up tight at night just the same," he + proclaimed triumphantly. + </p> + <p> + "But she doesn't. Mamma isn't afraid of anything. That's why she lets me + play out here alone when I want. Why, we had a robber once. Mamma got + right up and found him. And what do you think! He was only a poor hungry + man. And she got him plenty to eat from the pantry, and afterward she got + him work to do." + </p> + <p> + Ross Shanklin was stunned. The vista shown him of human nature was + unthinkable. It had been his lot to live in a world of suspicion and + hatred, of evil-believing and evil-doing. It had been his experience, + slouching along village streets at nightfall, to see little children, + screaming with fear, run from him to their mothers. He had even seen grown + women shrink aside from him as he passed along the sidewalk. + </p> + <p> + He was aroused by the girl clapping her hands as she cried out: + </p> + <p> + "I know what you are! You're an open air crank. That's why you were + sleeping here in the grass." + </p> + <p> + He felt a grim desire to laugh, but repressed it. + </p> + <p> + "And that's what tramps are—open air cranks," she continued. "I + often wondered. Mamma believes in the open air. I sleep on the porch at + night. So does she. This is our land. You must have climbed the fence. + Mamma lets me when I put on my climbers—they're bloomers, you know. + But you ought to be told something. A person doesn't know when they snore + because they're asleep. But you do worse than that. You grit your teeth. + That's bad. Whenever you are going to sleep you must think to yourself, 'I + won't grit my teeth, I won't grit my teeth,' over and over, just like + that, and by and by you'll get out of the habit. + </p> + <p> + "All bad things are habits. And so are all good things. And it depends on + us what kind our habits are going to be. I used to pucker my eyebrows—wrinkle + them all up, but mamma said I must overcome that habit. She said that when + my eyebrows were wrinkled it was an advertisement that my brain was + wrinkled inside, and that it wasn't good to have wrinkles in the brain. + And then she smoothed my eyebrows with her hand and said I must always + think <i>smooth</i>—<i>smooth</i> inside, and <i>smooth</i> outside. + And do you know, it was easy. I haven't wrinkled my brows for ever so + long. I've heard about filling teeth by thinking. But I don't believe + that. Neither does mamma." + </p> + <p> + She paused rather out of breath. Nor did he speak. Her flow of talk had + been too much for him. Also, sleeping drunkenly, with open mouth, had made + him very thirsty. But, rather than lose one precious moment, he endured + the torment of his scorching throat and mouth. He licked his dry lips and + struggled for speech. + </p> + <p> + "What is your name?" he managed at last. + </p> + <p> + "Joan." + </p> + <p> + She looked her own question at him, and it was not necessary to voice it. + </p> + <p> + "Mine is Ross Shanklin," he volunteered, for the first time in forgotten + years giving his real name. + </p> + <p> + "I suppose you've traveled a lot." + </p> + <p> + "I sure have, but not as much as I might have wanted to." + </p> + <p> + "Papa always wanted to travel, but he was too busy at the office. He never + could get much time. He went to Europe once with mamma. That was before I + was born. It takes money to travel." + </p> + <p> + Ross Shanklin did not know whether to agree with this statement or not. + </p> + <p> + "But it doesn't cost tramps much for expenses," she took the thought away + from him. "Is that why you tramp?" + </p> + <p> + He nodded and licked his lips. + </p> + <p> + "Mamma says it's too bad that men must tramp to look for work. But there's + lots of work now in the country. All the farmers in the valley are trying + to get men. Have you been working?" + </p> + <p> + He shook his head, angry with himself that he should feel shame at the + confession when his savage reasoning told him he was right in despising + work. But this was followed by another thought. This beautiful little + creature was some man's child. She was one of the rewards of work. + </p> + <p> + "I wish I had a little girl like you," he blurted out, stirred by a sudden + consciousness of passion for paternity. "I'd work my hands off. I ... I'd + do anything." + </p> + <p> + She considered his case with fitting gravity. + </p> + <p> + "Then you aren't married?" + </p> + <p> + "Nobody would have me." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, they would, if ..." + </p> + <p> + She did not turn up her nose, but she favored his dirt and rags with a + look of disapprobation he could not mistake. + </p> + <p> + "Go on," he half-shouted. "Shoot it into me. If I was washed—if I + wore good clothes—if I was respectable—if I had a job and + worked regular—if I wasn't what I am." + </p> + <p> + To each statement she nodded. + </p> + <p> + "Well, I ain't that kind," he rushed on. "I'm no good. I'm a tramp. I + don't want to work, that's what. And I like dirt." + </p> + <p> + Her face was eloquent with reproach as she said, "Then you were only + making believe when you wished you had a little girl like me?" + </p> + <p> + This left him speechless, for he knew, in all the depths of his new-found + passion, that that was just what he did want. + </p> + <p> + With ready tact, noting his discomfort, she sought to change the subject. + </p> + <p> + "What do you think of God?" she asked. "I ain't never met him. What do you + think about him?" + </p> + <p> + His reply was evidently angry, and she was frank in her disapproval. + </p> + <p> + "You are very strange," she said. "You get angry so easily. I never saw + anybody before that got angry about God, or work, or being clean." + </p> + <p> + "He never done anything for me," he muttered resentfully. He cast back in + quick review of the long years of toil in the convict camps and mines. + "And work never done anything for me neither." + </p> + <p> + An embarrassing silence fell. + </p> + <p> + He looked at her, numb and hungry with the stir of the father-love, sorry + for his ill temper, puzzling his brain for something to say. She was + looking off and away at the clouds, and he devoured her with his eyes. He + reached out stealthily and rested one grimy hand on the very edge of her + little dress. It seemed to him that she was the most wonderful thing in + the world. The quail still called from the coverts, and the harvest sounds + seemed abruptly to become very loud. A great loneliness oppressed him. + </p> + <p> + "I'm ... I'm no good," he murmured huskily and repentantly. + </p> + <p> + But, beyond a glance from her blue eyes, she took no notice. The silence + was more embarrassing than ever. He felt that he could give the world just + to touch with his lips that hem of her dress where his hand rested. But he + was afraid of frightening her. He fought to find something to say, licking + his parched lips and vainly attempting to articulate something, anything. + </p> + <p> + "This ain't Sonoma Valley," he declared finally. "This is fairy land, and + you're a fairy. Mebbe I'm asleep and dreaming. I don't know. You and me + don't know how to talk together, because, you see, you're a fairy and + don't know nothing but good things, and I'm a man from the bad, wicked + world." + </p> + <p> + Having achieved this much, he was left gasping for ideas like a stranded + fish. + </p> + <p> + "And you're going to tell me about the bad, wicked world," she cried, + clapping her hands. "I'm just dying to know." + </p> + <p> + He looked at her, startled, remembering the wreckage of womanhood he had + encountered on the sunken ways of life. She was no fairy. She was flesh + and blood, and the possibilities of wreckage were in her as they had been + in him even when he lay at his mother's breast. And there was in her + eagerness to know. + </p> + <p> + "Nope," he said lightly, "this man from the bad, wicked world ain't going + to tell you nothing of the kind. He's going to tell you of the good things + in that world. He's going to tell you how he loved hosses when he was a + shaver, and about the first hoss he straddled, and the first hoss he + owned. Hosses ain't like men. They're better. They're clean—clean + all the way through and back again. And, little fairy, I want to tell you + one thing—there sure ain't nothing in the world like when you're + settin' a tired hoss at the end of a long day, and when you just speak, + and that tired animal lifts under you willing and hustles along. Hosses! + They're my long suit. I sure dote on hosses. Yep. I used to be a cowboy + once." + </p> + <p> + She clapped her hands in the way that tore so delightfully to his heart, + and her eyes were dancing, as she exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + "A Texas cowboy! I always wanted to see one! I heard papa say once that + cowboys are bow-legged. Are you?" + </p> + <p> + "I sure was a Texas cowboy," he answered. "But it was a long time ago. And + I'm sure bow-legged. You see, you can't ride much when you're young and + soft without getting the legs bent some. Why, I was only a three-year-old + when I begun. He was a three-year-old, too, fresh-broken. I led him up + alongside the fence, dumb to the top rail, and dropped on. He was a pinto, + and a real devil at bucking, but I could do anything with him. I reckon he + knowed I was only a little shaver. Some hosses knows lots more 'n' you + think." + </p> + <p> + For half an hour Ross Shanklin rambled on with his horse reminiscences, + never unconscious for a moment of the supreme joy that was his through the + touch of his hand on the hem of her dress. The sun dropped slowly into the + cloud bank, the quail called more insistently, and empty wagon after empty + wagon rumbled back across the bridge. Then came a woman's voice. + </p> + <p> + "Joan! Joan!" it called. "Where are you, dear?" + </p> + <p> + The little girl answered, and Ross Shanklin saw a woman, clad in a soft, + clinging gown, come through the gate from the bungalow. She was a slender, + graceful woman, and to his charmed eyes she seemed rather to float along + than walk like ordinary flesh and blood. + </p> + <p> + "What have you been doing all afternoon?" the woman asked, as she came up. + </p> + <p> + "Talking, mamma," the little girl replied. "I've had a very interesting + time." + </p> + <p> + Ross Shanklin scrambled to his feet and stood watchfully and awkwardly. + The little girl took the mother's hand, and she, in turn, looked at him + frankly and pleasantly, with a recognition of his humanness that was a new + thing to him. In his mind ran the thought: <i>the woman who ain't afraid</i>. + Not a hint was there of the timidity he was accustomed to seeing in + women's eyes. And he was quite aware, and never more so, of his + bleary-eyed, forbidding appearance. + </p> + <p> + "How do you do?" she greeted him sweetly and naturally. + </p> + <p> + "How do you do, ma'am," he responded, unpleasantly conscious of the + huskiness and rawness of his voice. + </p> + <p> + "And did you have an interesting time, too!" she smiled. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, ma'am. I sure did. I was just telling your little girl about + hosses." + </p> + <p> + "He was a cowboy, once, mamma," she cried. + </p> + <p> + The mother smiled her acknowledgment to him, and looked fondly down at the + little girl. The thought that came into Ross Shanklin's mind was the + awfulness of the crime if any one should harm either of the wonderful + pair. This was followed by the wish that some terrible danger should + threaten, so that he could fight, as he well knew how, with all his + strength and life, to defend them. + </p> + <p> + "You'll have to come along, dear," the mother said. "It's growing late." + She looked at Ross Shanklin hesitantly. "Would you care to have something + to eat?" + </p> + <p> + "No, ma'am, thanking you kindly just the same. I ... I ain't hungry." + </p> + <p> + "Then say good-bye, Joan," she counselled. + </p> + <p> + "Good-bye." The little girl held out her hand, and her eyes lighted + roguishly. "Good-bye, Mr. Man from the bad, wicked world." + </p> + <p> + To him, the touch of her hand as he pressed it in his was the capstone of + the whole adventure. + </p> + <p> + "Good-bye, little fairy," he mumbled. "I reckon I got to be pullin' + along." + </p> + <p> + But he did not pull along. He stood staring after his vision until it + vanished through the gate. The day seemed suddenly empty. He looked about + him irresolutely, then climbed the fence, crossed the bridge, and slouched + along the road. He was in a dream. He did not note his feet nor the way + they led him. At times he stumbled in the dust-filled ruts. + </p> + <p> + A mile farther on, he aroused at the crossroads. Before him stood the + saloon. He came to a stop and stared at it, licking his lips. He sank his + hand into his pants pocket and fumbled a solitary dime. "God!" he + muttered. "God!" Then, with dragging, reluctant feet, went on along the + road. + </p> + <p> + He came to a big farm. He knew it must be big, because of the bigness of + the house and the size and number of the barns and outbuildings. On the + porch, in shirt sleeves, smoking a cigar, keen-eyed and middle-aged, was + the farmer. + </p> + <p> + "What's the chance for a job!" Ross Shanklin asked. + </p> + <p> + The keen eyes scarcely glanced at him. + </p> + <p> + "A dollar a day and grub," was the answer. + </p> + <p> + Ross Shanklin swallowed and braced himself. + </p> + <p> + "I'll pick grapes all right, or anything. But what's the chance for a + steady job? You've got a big ranch here. I know hosses. I was born on one. + I can drive team, ride, plough, break, do anything that anybody ever done + with hosses." + </p> + <p> + The other looked him over with an appraising, incredulous eye. + </p> + <p> + "You don't look it," was the judgment. + </p> + <p> + "I know I don't. Give me a chance. That's all. I'll prove it." + </p> + <p> + The farmer considered, casting an anxious glance at the cloud bank into + which the sun had sunk. + </p> + <p> + "I'm short a teamster, and I'll give you the chance to make good. Go and + get supper with the hands." + </p> + <p> + Ross Shanklin's voice was very husky, and he spoke with an effort. + </p> + <p> + "All right. I'll make good. Where can I get a drink of water and wash up?" + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + "JUST MEAT" + </h2> + <p> + He strolled to the corner and glanced up and down the intersecting street, + but saw nothing save the oases of light shed by the street lamps at the + successive crossings. Then he strolled back the way he had come. He was a + shadow of a man sliding noiselessly and without undue movement through the + semi darkness. Also he was very alert, like a wild animal in the jungle, + keenly perceptive and receptive. The movement of another in the darkness + about him would need to have been more shadowy than he to have escaped + him. + </p> + <p> + In addition to the running advertisement of the state of affairs carried + to him by his senses, he had a subtler perception, a <i>feel</i>, of the + atmosphere around him. He knew that the house in front of which he paused + for a moment, contained children. Yet by no willed effort of perception + did he have this knowledge. For that matter, he was not even aware that he + knew, so occult was the impression. Yet, did a moment arise in which + action, in relation to that house, were imperative, he would have acted on + the assumption that it contained children. He was not aware of all that he + knew about the neighborhood. + </p> + <p> + In the same way, he knew not how, he knew that no danger threatened in the + footfalls that came up the cross street. Before he saw the walker, he knew + him for a belated pedestrian hurrying home. The walker came into view at + the crossing and disappeared on up the street. The man that watched, noted + a light that flared up in the window of a house on the corner, and as it + died down he knew it for an expiring match. This was conscious + identification of familiar phenomena, and through his mind flitted the + thought, "Wanted to know what time." In another house one room was + lighted. The light burned dimly and steadily, and he had the feel that it + was a sick room. + </p> + <p> + He was especially interested in a house across the street in the middle of + the block. To this house he paid most attention. No matter what way he + looked, nor what way he walked, his looks and his steps always returned to + it. Except for an open window above the porch, there was nothing unusual + about the house. Nothing came in nor out. Nothing happened. There were no + lighted windows, nor had lights appeared and disappeared in any of the + windows. Yet it was the central point of his consideration. He rallied to + it each time after a divination of the state of the neighborhood. + </p> + <p> + Despite his feel of things, he was not confident. He was supremely + conscious of the precariousness of his situation. Though unperturbed by + the footfalls of the chance pedestrian, he was as keyed up and sensitive + and ready to be startled as any timorous deer. He was aware of the + possibility of other intelligences prowling about in the darkness—intelligences + similar to his own in movement, perception, and divination. + </p> + <p> + Far down the street he caught a glimpse of something that moved. And he + knew it was no late home-goer, but menace and danger. He whistled twice to + the house across the street, then faded away shadow-like to the corner and + around the corner. Here he paused and looked about him carefully. + Reassured, he peered back around the corner and studied the object that + moved and that was coming nearer. He had divined aright. It was a + policeman. + </p> + <p> + The man went down the cross street to the next corner, from the shelter of + which he watched the corner he had just left. He saw the policeman pass + by, going straight on up the street. He paralleled the policeman's course, + and from the next corner again watched him go by; then he returned the way + he had come. He whistled once to the house across the street, and after a + time whistled once again. There was reassurance in the whistle, just as + there had been warning in the previous double whistle. + </p> + <p> + He saw a dark bulk outline itself on the roof of the porch and slowly + descend a pillar. Then it came down the steps, passed through the small + iron gate, and went down the sidewalk, taking on the form of a man. He + that watched kept on his own side the street and moved on abreast to the + corner, where he crossed over and joined the other. He was quite small + alongside the man he accosted. + </p> + <p> + "How'd you make out, Matt?" he asked. + </p> + <p> + The other grunted indistinctly, and walked on in silence a few steps. + </p> + <p> + "I reckon I landed the goods," he said. + </p> + <p> + Jim chuckled in the darkness, and waited for further information. The + blocks passed by; under their feet, and he grew impatient. + </p> + <p> + "Well, how about them goods?" he asked. "What kind of a haul did you make, + anyway?" + </p> + <p> + "I was too busy to figger it out, but it's fat. I can tell you that much, + Jim, it's fat. I don't dast to think how fat it is. Wait till we get to + the room." + </p> + <p> + Jim looked at him keenly under the street lamp of the next crossing, and + saw that his face was a trifle grim and that he carried his left arm + peculiarly. + </p> + <p> + "What's the matter with your arm?" he demanded. + </p> + <p> + "The little cuss bit me. Hope I don't get hydrophoby. Folks gets + hydrophoby from man-bite sometimes, don't they?" + </p> + <p> + "Gave you a fight, eh!" Jim asked encouragingly. + </p> + <p> + The other grunted. + </p> + <p> + "You're certainly hard to get information from," Jim burst out irritably. + "Tell us about it. You ain't goin' to lose money just a-tellin' a guy." + </p> + <p> + "I guess I choked him some," came the answer. Then, by way of explanation, + "He woke up on me." + </p> + <p> + "You did it neat. I never heard a sound." + </p> + <p> + "Jim," the other said with seriousness, "it's a hangin' matter. I fixed + 'm. I had to. He woke up on me. You an' me's got to do some layin' low for + a spell." + </p> + <p> + Jim gave a low whistle of comprehension. + </p> + <p> + "Did you hear me whistle!" he asked suddenly. + </p> + <p> + "Sure. I was all done. I was just comin' out." + </p> + <p> + "It was a bull. But he wasn't on a little bit. Went right by an' kept + a-paddin' the hoof outa sight. Then I came back an' gave you the whistle. + What made you take so long after that?" + </p> + <p> + "I was waitin' to make sure," Matt explained. + </p> + <p> + "I was mighty glad when I heard you whistle again. It's hard work waitin'. + I just sat there an' thought an' thought ... oh, all kinds of things. It's + remarkable what a fellow'll think about. And then there was a darn cat + that kept movin' around the house an' botherin' me with its noises." + </p> + <p> + "An' it's fat!" Jim exclaimed irrelevantly and with joy. + </p> + <p> + "I'm sure tellin' you, Jim, it's fat. I'm plum' anxious for another look + at 'em." + </p> + <p> + Unconsciously the two men quickened their pace. Yet they did not relax + from their caution. Twice they changed their course in order to avoid + policemen, and they made very sure that they were not observed when they + dived into the dark hallway of a cheap rooming house down town. + </p> + <p> + Not until they had gained their own room on the top floor, did they + scratch a match. While Jim lighted a lamp, Matt locked the door and threw + the bolts into place. As he turned, he noticed that his partner was + waiting expectantly. Matt smiled to himself at the other's eagerness. + </p> + <p> + "Them search-lights is all right," he said, drawing forth a small pocket + electric lamp and examining it. "But we got to get a new battery. It's + runnin' pretty weak. I thought once or twice it'd leave me in the dark. + Funny arrangements in that house. I near got lost. His room was on the + left, an' that fooled me some." + </p> + <p> + "I told you it was on the left," Jim interrupted. + </p> + <p> + "You told me it was on the right," Matt went on. "I guess I know what you + told me, an' there's the map you drew." + </p> + <p> + Fumbling in his vest pocket, he drew out a folded slip of paper. As he + unfolded it, Jim bent over and looked. + </p> + <p> + "I did make a mistake," he confessed. + </p> + <p> + "You sure did. It got me guessin' some for a while." + </p> + <p> + "But it don't matter now," Jim cried. "Let's see what you got." + </p> + <p> + "It does matter," Matt retorted. "It matters a lot ... to me. I've got to + run all the risk. I put my head in the trap while you stay on the street. + You got to get on to yourself an' be more careful. All right, I'll show + you." + </p> + <p> + He dipped loosely into his trousers pocket and brought out a handful of + small diamonds. He spilled them out in a blazing stream on the greasy + table. Jim let out a great oath. + </p> + <p> + "That's nothing," Matt said with triumphant complacence. "I ain't begun + yet." + </p> + <p> + From one pocket after another he continued bringing forth the spoil. There + were many diamonds wrapped in chamois skin that were larger than those in + the first handful. From one pocket he brought out a handful of very small + cut gems. + </p> + <p> + "Sun dust," he remarked, as he spilled them on the table in a space by + themselves. + </p> + <p> + Jim examined them. + </p> + <p> + "Just the same, they retail for a couple of dollars each," he said. "Is + that all?" + </p> + <p> + "Ain't it enough?" the other demanded in an aggrieved tone. + </p> + <p> + "Sure it is," Jim answered with unqualified approval. "Better'n I + expected. I wouldn't take a cent less than ten thousan' for the bunch." + </p> + <p> + "Ten thousan'," Matt sneered. "They're worth twic't that, an' I don't know + anything about joolery, either. Look at that big boy!" + </p> + <p> + He picked it out from the sparkling heap and held it near to the lamp with + the air of an expert, weighing and judging. + </p> + <p> + "Worth a thousan' all by its lonely," was Jim's quicker judgment. + </p> + <p> + "A thousan' your grandmother," was Matt's scornful rejoinder. "You + couldn't buy it for three." + </p> + <p> + "Wake me up! I'm dreamin'!" The sparkle of the gems was in Jim's eyes, and + he began sorting out the larger diamonds and examining them. "We're rich + men, Matt—we'll be regular swells." + </p> + <p> + "It'll take years to get rid of 'em," was Matt's more practical thought. + </p> + <p> + "But think how we'll live! Nothin' to do but spend the money an' go on + gettin' rid of 'em." + </p> + <p> + Matt's eyes were beginning to sparkle, though sombrely, as his phlegmatic + nature woke up. + </p> + <p> + "I told you I didn't dast think how fat it was," he murmured in a low + voice. + </p> + <p> + "What a killin'! What a killin'!" was the other's more ecstatic utterance. + </p> + <p> + "I almost forgot," Matt said, thrusting his hand into his inside coat + pocket. + </p> + <p> + A string of large pearls emerged from wrappings of tissue paper and + chamois skin. Jim scarcely glanced at them. + </p> + <p> + "They're worth money," he said, and returned to the diamonds. + </p> + <p> + A silence fell on the two men. Jim played with the gems, running them + through his fingers, sorting them into piles, and spreading them out flat + and wide. He was a slender, weazened man, nervous, irritable, high-strung, + and anaemic—a typical child of the gutter, with unbeautiful twisted + features, small eyes, with face and mouth perpetually and feverishly + hungry, brutish in a catlike way, stamped to the core with degeneracy. + </p> + <p> + Matt did not finger the diamonds. He sat with chin on hands and elbows on + table, blinking heavily at the blazing array. He was in every way a + contrast to the other. No city had bred him. He was heavy muscled and + hairy, gorilla-like in strength and aspect. For him there was no unseen + world. His eyes were full and wide apart, and there seemed in them a + certain bold brotherliness. They inspired confidence. But a closer + inspection would have shown that his eyes were just a trifle too full, + just a shade too wide apart. He exceeded, spilled over the limits of + normality, and his features told lies about the man beneath. + </p> + <p> + "The bunch is worth fifty thousan'," Jim remarked suddenly. + </p> + <p> + "A hundred thousan'," Matt said. + </p> + <p> + The silence returned and endured a long time, to be broken again by Jim. + </p> + <p> + "What in blazes was he doin' with 'em all at the house?—that's what + I want to know. I'd a-thought he'd kept 'em in the safe down at the + store." + </p> + <p> + Matt had just been considering the vision of the throttled man as he had + last looked upon him in the dim light of the electric lantern; but he did + not start at the mention of him. + </p> + <p> + "There's no tellin'," he answered. "He might a-been getting ready to chuck + his pardner. He might a-pulled out in the mornin' for parts unknown, if we + hadn't happened along. I guess there's just as many thieves among honest + men as there is among thieves. You read about such things in the papers, + Jim. Pardners is always knifin' each other." + </p> + <p> + A queer, nervous look came in the other's eyes. Matt did not betray that + he noted it, though he said:— + </p> + <p> + "What was you thinkin' about, Jim!" + </p> + <p> + Jim was a trifle awkward for the moment. + </p> + <p> + "Nothin'," he answered. "Only I was thinkin' just how funny it was—all + them jools at his house. What made you ask?" + </p> + <p> + "Nothin'. I was just wonderin', that was all." + </p> + <p> + The silence settled down, broken by an occasional low and nervous giggle + on the part of Jim. He was overcome by the spread of gems. It was not that + he felt their beauty. He was unaware that they were beautiful in + themselves. But in them his swift imagination visioned the joys of life + they would buy, and all the desires and appetites of his diseased mind and + sickly flesh were tickled by the promise they extended. He builded + wondrous, orgy-haunted castles out of their brilliant fires, and was + appalled at what he builded. Then it was that he giggled. It was all too + impossible to be real. And yet there they blazed on the table before him, + fanning the flame of the lust of him, and he giggled again. + </p> + <p> + "I guess we might as well count 'em," Matt said suddenly, tearing himself + away from his own visions. "You watch me an' see that it's square, because + you an' me has got to be on the square, Jim. Understand?" + </p> + <p> + Jim did not like this, and betrayed it in his eyes, while Matt did not + like what he saw in his partner's eyes. + </p> + <p> + "Understand!" Matt repeated, almost menacingly. + </p> + <p> + "Ain't we always been square?" the other replied, on the defensive, what + of the treachery already whispering in him. + </p> + <p> + "It don't cost nothin', bein' square in hard times," Matt retorted. "It's + bein' square in prosperity that counts. When we ain't got nothin', we + can't help bein' square. We're prosperous now, an' we've got to be + business men—honest business men. Understand?" + </p> + <p> + "That's the talk for me," Jim approved, but deep down in the meagre soul + of him,—and in spite of him,—wanton and lawless thoughts were + stirring like chained beasts. + </p> + <p> + Matt stepped to the food shelf behind the two-burner kerosene cooking + stove. He emptied the tea from a paper bag, and from a second bag emptied + some red peppers. Returning to the table with the bags, he put into them + the two sizes of small diamonds. Then he counted the large gems and + wrapped them in their tissue paper and chamois skin. + </p> + <p> + "Hundred an' forty-seven good-sized ones," was his inventory; "twenty real + big ones; two big boys and one whopper; an' a couple of fistfuls of teeny + ones an' dust." + </p> + <p> + He looked at Jim. + </p> + <p> + "Correct," was the response. + </p> + <p> + He wrote the count out on a slip of memorandum paper, and made a copy of + it, giving one slip to his partner and retaining the other. + </p> + <p> + "Just for reference," he said. + </p> + <p> + Again he had recourse to the food shelf, where he emptied the sugar from a + large paper bag. Into this he thrust the diamonds, large and small, + wrapped it up in a bandana handkerchief, and stowed it away under his + pillow. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed and took off his shoes. + </p> + <p> + "An' you think they're worth a hundred thousan'?" Jim asked, pausing and + looking up from the unlacing of his shoe. + </p> + <p> + "Sure," was the answer. "I seen a dancer down in Arizona once, with some + big sparklers on her. They wasn't real. She said if they was she wouldn't + be dancin'. Said they'd be worth all of fifty thousan', an' she didn't + have a dozen of 'em all told." + </p> + <p> + "Who'd work for a livin'?" Jim triumphantly demanded. "Pick an' shovel + work!" he sneered. "Work like a dog all my life, an' save all my wages, + an' I wouldn't have half as much as we got to-night." + </p> + <p> + "Dish washin's about your measure, an' you couldn't get more'n twenty a + month an' board. Your figgers is 'way off, but your point is well taken. + Let them that likes it, work. I rode range for thirty a month when I was + young an' foolish. Well, I'm older, an' I ain't ridin' range." + </p> + <p> + He got into bed on one side. Jim put out the light and followed him in on + the other side. + </p> + <p> + "How's your arm feel?" Jim queried amiably. + </p> + <p> + Such concern was unusual, and Matt noted it, and replied:— + </p> + <p> + "I guess there's no danger of hydrophoby. What made you ask?" + </p> + <p> + Jim felt in himself a guilty stir, and under his breath he cursed the + other's way of asking disagreeable questions; but aloud he answered: + "Nothin', only you seemed scared of it at first. What are you goin' to do + with your share, Matt?" + </p> + <p> + "Buy a cattle ranch in Arizona an' set down an' pay other men to ride + range for me. There's some several I'd like to see askin' a job from me, + blast them! An' now you shut your face, Jim. It'll be some time before I + buy that ranch. Just now I'm goin' to sleep." + </p> + <p> + But Jim lay long awake, nervous and twitching, rolling about restlessly + and rolling himself wide awake every time he dozed. The diamonds still + blazed under his eyelids, and the fire of them hurt. Matt, in spite of his + heavy nature, slept lightly, like a wild animal alert in its sleep; and + Jim noticed, every time he moved, that his partner's body moved + sufficiently to show that it had received the impression and that it was + trembling on the verge of awakening. For that matter, Jim did not know + whether or not, frequently, the other was awake. Once, quietly, betokening + complete consciousness, Matt said to him: "Aw, go to sleep, Jim. Don't + worry about them jools. They'll keep." And Jim had thought that at that + particular moment Matt had been surely asleep. + </p> + <p> + In the late morning Matt was awake with Jim's first movement, and + thereafter he awoke and dozed with him until midday, when they got up + together and began dressing. + </p> + <p> + "I'm goin' out to get a paper an' some bread," Matt said. "You boil the + coffee." + </p> + <p> + As Jim listened, unconsciously his gaze left Matt's face and roved to the + pillow, beneath which was the bundle wrapped in the bandana handkerchief. + On the instant Matt's face became like a wild beast's. + </p> + <p> + "Look here, Jim," he snarled. "You've got to play square. If you do me + dirt, I'll fix you. Understand? I'd eat you, Jim. You know that. I'd bite + right into your throat an' eat you like that much beefsteak." + </p> + <p> + His sunburned skin was black with the surge of blood in it, and his + tobacco-stained teeth were exposed by the snarling lips. Jim shivered and + involuntarily cowered. There was death in the man he looked at. Only the + night before that black-faced man had killed another with his hands, and + it had not hurt his sleep. And in his own heart Jim was aware of a + sneaking guilt, of a train of thought that merited all that was threatened. + </p> + <p> + Matt passed out, leaving him still shivering. Then a hatred twisted his + own face, and he softly hurled savage threats at the door. He remembered + the jewels, and hastened to the bed, feeling under the pillow for the + bandana bundle. He crushed it with his fingers to make certain that it + still contained the diamonds. Assured that Matt had not carried them away, + he looked toward the kerosene stove with a guilty start. Then he hurriedly + lighted it, filled the coffee pot at the sink, and put it over the flame. + </p> + <p> + The coffee was boiling when Matt returned, and while the latter cut the + bread and put a slice of butter on the table, Jim poured out the coffee. + It was not until he sat down and had taken a few sips of the coffee, that + Matt pulled out the morning paper from his pocket. + </p> + <p> + "We was way off," he said. "I told you I didn't dast figger out how fat it + was. Look at that." + </p> + <p> + He pointed to the head lines on the first page. "SWIFT NEMESIS ON + BUJANNOFF'S TRACK," they read. "MURDERED IN HIS SLEEP AFTER ROBBING HIS + PARTNER." + </p> + <p> + "There you have it!" Matt cried. "He robbed his partner—robbed him + like a dirty thief." + </p> + <p> + "Half a million of jewels missin'," Jim read aloud. He put the paper down + and stared at Matt. + </p> + <p> + "That's what I told you," the latter said. "What in thunder do we know + about jools? Half a million!—an' the best I could figger it was a + hundred thousan'. Go on an' read the rest of it." + </p> + <p> + They read on silently, their heads side by side, the untouched coffee + growing cold; and ever and anon one or the other burst forth with some + salient printed fact. + </p> + <p> + "I'd like to seen Metzner's face when he opened the safe at the store this + mornin'," Jim gloated. + </p> + <p> + "He hit the high places right away for Bujannoff's house," Matt explained. + "Go on an' read." + </p> + <p> + "Was to have sailed last night at ten on the <i>Sajoda</i> for the South + Seas—steamship delayed by extra freight——" + </p> + <p> + "That's why we caught 'm in bed," Matt interrupted. "It was just luck—like + pickin' a fifty-to-one winner." + </p> + <p> + "<i>Sajoda</i> sailed at six this mornin'——" + </p> + <p> + "He didn't catch her," Matt said. "I saw his alarm clock was set at five. + That'd given 'm plenty of time ... only I come along an' put the <i>kibosh</i> + on his time. Go on." + </p> + <p> + "Adolph Metzner in despair—the famous Haythorne pearl necklace—magnificently + assorted pearls—valued by experts at from fifty to seventy thousan' + dollars." + </p> + <p> + Jim broke off to say solemnly, "Those oyster-eggs worth all that money!" + </p> + <p> + He licked his lips and added, "They was beauties an' no mistake." + </p> + <p> + "Big Brazilian gem," he read on. "Eighty thousan' dollars—many + valuable gems of the first water—several thousan' small diamonds + well worth forty thousan'." + </p> + <p> + "What you don't know about jools is worth knowin'," Matt smiled good + humoredly. + </p> + <p> + "Theory of the sleuths," Jim read. "Thieves must have known—cleverly + kept watch on Bujannoff's actions—must have learned his plan and + trailed him to his house with the fruits of his robbery—" + </p> + <p> + "Clever—" Matt broke out. "That's the way reputations is made ... in + the noos-papers. How'd we know he was robbin' his pardner?" + </p> + <p> + "Anyway, we've got the goods," Jim grinned. "Let's look at 'em again." + </p> + <p> + He assured himself that the door was locked and bolted, while Matt brought + out the bundle in the bandana and opened it on the table. + </p> + <p> + "Ain't they beauties, though!" Jim exclaimed at sight of the pearls; and + for a time he had eyes only for them. "Accordin' to the experts, worth + from fifty to seventy thousan' dollars." + </p> + <p> + "An' women like them things," Matt commented. "An' they'll do everything + to get 'em—sell themselves, commit murder, anything." + </p> + <p> + "Just like you an' me." + </p> + <p> + "Not on your life," Matt retorted. "I'll commit murder for 'em, but not + for their own sakes, but for the sake of what they'll get me. That's the + difference. Women want the jools for themselves, an' I want the jools for + the women an' such things they'll get me." + </p> + <p> + "Lucky that men an' women don't want the same things," Jim remarked. + </p> + <p> + "That's what makes commerce," Matt agreed; "people wantin' different + things." + </p> + <p> + In the middle of the afternoon Jim went out to buy food. While he was + gone, Matt cleared the table of the jewels, wrapping them up as before and + putting them under the pillow. Then he lighted the kerosene stove and + started to boil water for the coffee. A few minutes later, Jim returned. + </p> + <p> + "Most surprising," he remarked. "Streets, an' stores, an' people just like + they always was. Nothin' changed. An' me walkin' along through it all a + millionnaire. Nobody looked at me an' guessed it" + </p> + <p> + Matt grunted unsympathetically. He had little comprehension of the lighter + whims and fancies of his partner's imagination. + </p> + <p> + "Did you get a porterhouse?" he demanded. + </p> + <p> + "Sure, an' an inch thick. It's a peach. Look at it." + </p> + <p> + He unwrapped the steak and held it up for the other's inspection. Then he + made the coffee and set the table, while Matt fried the steak. + </p> + <p> + "Don't put on too much of them red peppers," Jim warned. "I ain't used to + your Mexican cookin'. You always season too hot." + </p> + <p> + Matt grunted a laugh and went on with his cooking. Jim poured out the + coffee, but first, into the nicked china cup, he emptied a powder he had + carried in his vest pocket wrapped in a rice-paper. He had turned his back + for the moment on his partner, but he did not dare to glance around at + him. Matt placed a newspaper on the table, and on the newspaper set the + hot frying pan. He cut the steak in half, and served Jim and himself. + </p> + <p> + "Eat her while she's hot," he counselled, and with knife and fork set the + example. + </p> + <p> + "She's a dandy," was Jim's judgment, after his first mouthful. "But I tell + you one thing straight. I'm never goin' to visit you on that Arizona + ranch, so you needn't ask me." + </p> + <p> + "What's the matter now?" Matt asked. + </p> + <p> + "The Mexican cookin' on your ranch'd be too much for me. If I've got blue + blazes a-comin' in the next life, I'm not goin' to torment my insides in + this one!" + </p> + <p> + He smiled, expelled his breath forcibly to cool his burning mouth, drank + some coffee, and went on eating the steak. + </p> + <p> + "What do you think about the next life anyway, Matt?" he asked a little + later, while secretly he wondered why the other had not yet touched his + coffee. + </p> + <p> + "Ain't no next life," Matt answered, pausing from the steak to take his + first sip of coffee. "Nor heaven nor hell, nor nothin'. You get all that's + comin' right here in this life." + </p> + <p> + "An' afterward?" Jim queried out of his morbid curiosity, for he knew that + he looked upon a man that was soon to die. "An' afterward?" he repeated. + </p> + <p> + "Did you ever see a man two weeks dead?" the other asked. + </p> + <p> + Jim shook his head. + </p> + <p> + "Well, I have. He was like this beefsteak you an' me is eatin'. It was + once steer cavortin' over the landscape. But now it's just meat. That's + all, just meat. An' that's what you an' me an' all people come to—meat." + </p> + <p> + Matt gulped down the whole cup of coffee, and refilled the cup. + </p> + <p> + "Are you scared to die?" he asked. + </p> + <p> + Jim shook his head. "What's the use? I don't die anyway. I pass on an' + live again—" + </p> + <p> + "To go stealin', an' lyin', an' snivellin' through another life, an' go on + that way forever an' ever an' ever?" Matt sneered. + </p> + <p> + "Maybe I'll improve," Jim suggested hopefully. "Maybe stealin' won't be + necessary in the life to come." + </p> + <p> + He ceased abruptly, and stared straight before him, a frightened + expression on his face. + </p> + <p> + "What's the matter!" Matt demanded. + </p> + <p> + "Nothin'. I was just wonderin'"—Jim returned to himself with an + effort—"about this dyin', that was all." + </p> + <p> + But he could not shake off the fright that had startled him. It was as if + an unseen thing of gloom had passed him by, casting upon him the + intangible shadow of its presence. He was aware of a feeling of + foreboding. Something ominous was about to happen. Calamity hovered in the + air. He gazed fixedly across the table at the other man. He could not + understand. Was it that he had blundered and poisoned himself? No, Matt + had the nicked cup, and he had certainly put the poison in the nicked cup. + </p> + <p> + It was all his own imagination, was his next thought. It had played him + tricks before. Fool! Of course it was. Of course something was about to + happen, but it was about to happen to Matt. Had not Matt drunk the whole + cup of coffee? + </p> + <p> + Jim brightened up and finished his steak, sopping bread in the gravy when + the meat was gone. + </p> + <p> + "When I was a kid—" he began, but broke off abruptly. + </p> + <p> + Again the unseen thing of gloom had fluttered, and his being was vibrant + with premonition of impending misfortune. He felt a disruptive influence + at work in the flesh of him, and in all his muscles there was a seeming + that they were about to begin to twitch. He sat back suddenly, and as + suddenly leaned forward with his elbows on the table. A tremor ran dimly + through the muscles of his body. It was like the first rustling of leaves + before the oncoming of wind. He clenched his teeth. It came again, a + spasmodic tensing of his muscles. He knew panic at the revolt within his + being. His muscles no longer recognized his mastery over them. Again they + spasmodically tensed, despite the will of him, for he had willed that they + should not tense. This was revolution within himself, this was anarchy; + and the terror of impotence rushed up in him as his flesh gripped and + seemed to seize him in a clutch, chills running up and down his back and + sweat starting on his brow. He glanced about the room, and all the details + of it smote him with a strange sense of familiarity. It was as though he + had just returned from a long journey. He looked across the table at his + partner. Matt was watching him and smiling. An expression of horror spread + over Jim's face. + </p> + <p> + "Matt!" he screamed. "You ain't doped me?" + </p> + <p> + Matt smiled and continued to watch him. In the paroxysm that followed, Jim + did not become unconscious. His muscles tensed and twitched and knotted, + hurting him and crushing him in their savage grip. And in the midst of it + all, it came to him that Matt was acting queerly. He was traveling the + same road. The smile had gone from his face, and there was on it an + intense expression, as if he were listening to some inner tale of himself + and trying to divine the message. Matt got up and walked across the room + and back again, then sat down. + </p> + <p> + "You did this, Jim," he said quietly. + </p> + <p> + "But I didn't think you'd try to fix <i>me</i>," Jim answered + reproachfully. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, I fixed you all right," Matt said, with teeth close together and + shivering body. "What did you give me?" + </p> + <p> + "Strychnine." + </p> + <p> + "Same as I gave you," Matt volunteered. "It's some mess, ain't it!" + </p> + <p> + "You're lyin', Matt," Jim pleaded. "You ain't doped me, have you?" + </p> + <p> + "I sure did, Jim; an' I didn't overdose you, neither. I cooked it in as + neat as you please in your half the porterhouse.—Hold on! Where're + you goin'?" + </p> + <p> + Jim had made a dash for the door, and was throwing back the bolts. Matt + sprang in between and shoved him away. + </p> + <p> + "Drug store," Jim panted. "Drug store." + </p> + <p> + "No you don't. You'll stay right here. There ain't goin' to be any runnin' + out an' makin' a poison play on the street—not with all them jools + reposin' under the pillow. Savve? Even if you didn't die, you'd be in the + hands of the police with a lot of explanations comin'. Emetics is the + stuff for poison. I'm just as bad bit as you, an' I'm goin' to take a + emetic. That's all they'd give you at a drug store, anyway." + </p> + <p> + He thrust Jim back into the middle of the room and shot the bolts into + place. As he went across the floor to the food shelf, he passed one hand + over his brow and flung off the beaded sweat. It spattered audibly on the + floor. Jim watched agonizedly as Matt got the mustard can and a cup and + ran for the sink. He stirred a cupful of mustard and water and drank it + down. Jim had followed him and was reaching with trembling hands for the + empty cup. Again Matt shoved him away. As he mixed a second cupful, he + demanded: + </p> + <p> + "D'you think one cup'll do for me? You can wait till I'm done." + </p> + <p> + Jim started to totter toward the door, but Matt checked him. + </p> + <p> + "If you monkey with that door, I'll twist your neck. Savve? You can take + yours when I'm done. An' if it saves you, I'll twist your neck, anyway. + You ain't got no chance, nohow. I told you many times what you'd get if + you did me dirt." + </p> + <p> + "But you did me dirt, too," Jim articulated with an effort. + </p> + <p> + Matt was drinking the second cupful, and did not answer. The sweat had got + into Jim's eyes, and he could scarcely see his way to the table, where he + got a cup for himself. But Matt was mixing a third cupful, and, as before, + thrust him away. + </p> + <p> + "I told you to wait till I was done," Matt growled. "Get outa my way." + </p> + <p> + And Jim supported his twitching body by holding on to the sink, the while + he yearned toward the yellowish concoction that stood for life. It was by + sheer will that he stood and clung to the sink. His flesh strove to double + him up and bring him to the floor. Matt drank the third cupful, and with + difficulty managed to get to a chair and sit down. His first paroxysm was + passing. The spasms that afflicted him were dying away. This good effect + he ascribed to the mustard and water. He was safe, at any rate. He wiped + the sweat from his face, and, in the interval of calm, found room for + curiosity. He looked at his partner. + </p> + <p> + A spasm had shaken the mustard can out of Jim's hands, and the contents + were spilled upon the floor. He stooped to scoop some of the mustard into + the cup, and the succeeding spasm doubled him up on the floor. Matt + smiled. + </p> + <p> + "Stay with it," he encouraged. "It's the stuff all right. It's fixed me + up." + </p> + <p> + Jim heard him and turned toward him with a stricken face, twisted with + suffering and pleading. Spasm now followed spasm till he was in + convulsions, rolling on the floor and yellowing his face and hair in the + mustard. + </p> + <p> + Matt laughed hoarsely at the sight, but the laugh broke midway. A tremor + had run through his body. A new paroxysm was beginning. He arose and + staggered across to the sink, where, with probing forefinger, he vainly + strove to assist the action of the emetic. In the end, he clung to the + sink as Jim had clung, filled with the horror of going down to the floor. + </p> + <p> + The other's paroxysm had passed, and he sat up, weak and fainting, too + weak to rise, his forehead dripping, his lips flecked with a foam made + yellow by the mustard in which he had rolled. He rubbed his eyes with his + knuckles, and groans that were like whines came from his throat. + </p> + <p> + "What are you snifflin' about!" Matt demanded out of his agony. "All you + got to do is die. An' when you die you're dead." + </p> + <p> + "I ... ain't ... snifflin' ... it's ... the ... mustard ... stingin' ... + my ... eyes," Jim panted with desperate slowness. + </p> + <p> + It was his last successful attempt at speech. Thereafter he babbled + incoherently, pawing the air with shaking arms till a fresh convulsion + stretched him on the floor. + </p> + <p> + Matt struggled back to the chair, and, doubled up on it, with his arms + clasped about his knees, he fought with his disintegrating flesh. He came + out of the convulsion cool and weak. He looked to see how it went with the + other, and saw him lying motionless. + </p> + <p> + He tried to soliloquize, to be facetious, to have his last grim laugh at + life, but his lips made only incoherent sounds. The thought came to him + that the emetic had failed, and that nothing remained but the drug store. + He looked toward the door and drew himself to his feet. There he saved + himself from falling by clutching the chair. Another paroxysm had begun. + And in the midst of the paroxysm, with his body and all the parts of it + flying apart and writhing and twisting back again into knots, he clung to + the chair and shoved it before him across the floor. The last shreds of + his will were leaving him when he gained the door. He turned the key and + shot back one bolt. He fumbled for the second bolt, but failed. Then he + leaned his weight against the door and slid down gently to the floor. + </p> + + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A NOSE FOR THE KING + </h2> + <p> + In the morning calm of Korea, when its peace and tranquility truly merited + its ancient name, "Cho-sen," there lived a politician by name Yi Chin Ho. + He was a man of parts, and—who shall say?—perhaps in no wise + worse than politicians the world over. But, unlike his brethren in other + lands, Yi Chin Ho was in jail. Not that he had inadvertently diverted to + himself public moneys, but that he had inadvertently diverted too much. + Excess is to be deplored in all things, even in grafting, and Yi Chin Ho's + excess had brought him to most deplorable straits. + </p> + <p> + Ten thousand strings of cash he owed the government, and he lay in prison + under sentence of death. There was one advantage to the situation—he + had plenty of time in which to think. And he thought well. Then called he + the jailer to him. + </p> + <p> + "Most worthy man, you see before you one most wretched," he began. "Yet + all will be well with me if you will but let me go free for one short hour + this night. And all will be well with you, for I shall see to your + advancement through the years, and you shall come at length to the + directorship of all the prisons of Cho-sen." + </p> + <p> + "How now?" demanded the jailer. "What foolishness is this? One short hour, + and you but waiting for your head to be chopped off! And I, with an aged + and much-to-be-respected mother, not to say anything of a wife and several + children of tender years! Out upon you for the scoundrel that you are!" + </p> + <p> + "From the Sacred City to the ends of all the Eight Coasts there is no + place for me to hide," Yi Chin Ho made reply. "I am a man of wisdom, but + of what worth my wisdom here in prison? Were I free, well I know I could + seek out and obtain the money wherewith to repay the government. I know of + a nose that will save me from all my difficulties." + </p> + <p> + "A nose!" cried the jailer. + </p> + <p> + "A nose," said Yi Chin Ho. "A remarkable nose, if I may say so, a most + remarkable nose." + </p> + <p> + The jailer threw up his hands despairingly. "Ah, what a wag you are, what + a wag," he laughed. "To think that that very admirable wit of yours must + go the way of the chopping-block!" + </p> + <p> + And so saying, he turned and went away. But in the end, being a man soft + of head and heart, when the night was well along he permitted Yi Chin Ho + to go. + </p> + <p> + Straight he went to the Governor, catching him alone and arousing him from + his sleep. + </p> + <p> + "Yi Chin Ho, or I'm no Governor!" cried the Governor. "What do you here + who should be in prison waiting on the chopping-block!" + </p> + <p> + "I pray your excellency to listen to me," said Yi Chin Ho, squatting on + his hams by the bedside and lighting his pipe from the fire-box. "A dead + man is without value. It is true, I am as a dead man, without value to the + government, to your excellency, or to myself. But if, so to say, your + excellency were to give me my freedom—" + </p> + <p> + "Impossible!" cried the Governor. "Besides, you are condemned to death." + </p> + <p> + "Your excellency well knows that if I can repay the ten thousand strings + of cash, the government will pardon me," Yi Chin Ho went on. "So, as I + say, if your excellency were to give me my freedom for a few days, being a + man of understanding, I should then repay the government and be in + position to be of service to your excellency. I should be in position to + be of very great service to your excellency." + </p> + <p> + "Have you a plan whereby you hope to obtain this money?" asked the + Governor. + </p> + <p> + "I have," said Yi Chin Ho. + </p> + <p> + "Then come with it to me to-morrow night; I would now sleep," said the + Governor, taking up his snore where it had been interrupted. + </p> + <p> + On the following night, having again obtained leave of absence from the + jailer, Yi Chin Ho presented himself at the Governor's bedside. + </p> + <p> + "Is it you, Yi Chin Ho?" asked the Governor. "And have you the plan?" + </p> + <p> + "It is I, your excellency," answered Yi Chin Ho, "and the plan is here." + </p> + <p> + "Speak," commanded the Governor. + </p> + <p> + "The plan is here," repeated Yi Chin Ho, "here in my hand." + </p> + <p> + The Governor sat up and opened his eyes, Yi Chin Ho proffered in his hand + a sheet of paper. The Governor held it to the light. + </p> + <p> + "Nothing but a nose," said he. + </p> + <p> + "A bit pinched, so, and so, your excellency," said Yi Chin Ho. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, a bit pinched here and there, as you say," said the Governor. + </p> + <p> + "Withal it is an exceeding corpulent nose, thus, and so, all in one place, + at the end," proceeded Yi Chin Ho. "Your excellency would seek far and + wide and many a day for that nose and find it not." + </p> + <p> + "An unusual nose," admitted the Governor. + </p> + <p> + "There is a wart upon it," said Yi Chin Ho. + </p> + <p> + "A most unusual nose," said the Governor. "Never have I seen the like. But + what do you with this nose, Yi Chin Ho!" + </p> + <p> + "I seek it whereby to repay the money to the government," said Yi Chin Ho. + "I seek it to be of service to your excellency, and I seek it to save my + own worthless head. Further, I seek your excellency's seal upon this + picture of the nose." + </p> + <p> + And the Governor laughed and affixed the seal of state, and Yi Chin Ho + departed. For a month and a day he traveled the King's Road which leads to + the shore of the Eastern Sea; and there, one night, at the gate of the + largest mansion of a wealthy city he knocked loudly for admittance. + </p> + <p> + "None other than the master of the house will I see," said he fiercely to + the frightened servants. "I travel upon the King's business." + </p> + <p> + Straightway was he led to an inner room, where the master of the house was + roused from his sleep and brought blinking before him. + </p> + <p> + "You are Pak Chung Chang, head man of this city," said Yi Chin Ho in tones + that were all-accusing. "I am upon the King's business." + </p> + <p> + Pak Chung Chang trembled. Well he knew the King's business was ever a + terrible business. His knees smote together, and he near fell to the + floor. + </p> + <p> + "The hour is late," he quavered. "Were it not well to——" + </p> + <p> + "The King's business never waits!" thundered Yi Chin Ho. "Come apart with + me, and swiftly. I have an affair of moment to discuss with you. + </p> + <p> + "It is the King's affair," he added with even greater fierceness; so that + Pak Chung Chang's silver pipe dropped from his nerveless fingers and + clattered on the floor. + </p> + <p> + "Know then," said Yi Chin Ho, when they had gone apart, "that the King is + troubled with an affliction, a very terrible affliction. In that he failed + to cure, the Court physician has had nothing else than his head chopped + off. From all the Eight Provinces have the physicians come to wait upon + the King. Wise consultation have they held, and they have decided that for + a remedy for the King's affliction nothing else is required than a nose, a + certain kind of nose, a very peculiar certain kind of nose. + </p> + <p> + "Then by none other was I summoned than his excellency the prime minister + himself. He put a paper into my hand. Upon this paper was the very + peculiar kind of nose drawn by the physicians of the Eight Provinces, with + the seal of state upon it. + </p> + <p> + "'Go,' said his excellency the prime minister. 'Seek out this nose, for + the King's affliction is sore. And wheresoever you find this nose upon the + face of a man, strike it off forthright and bring it in all haste to the + Court, for the King must be cured. Go, and come not back until your search + is rewarded.' + </p> + <p> + "And so I departed upon my quest," said Yi Chin Ho. "I have sought out the + remotest corners of the kingdom; I have traveled the Eight Highways, + searched the Eight Provinces, and sailed the seas of the Eight Coasts. And + here I am." + </p> + <p> + With a great flourish he drew a paper from his girdle, unrolled it with + many snappings and cracklings, and thrust it before the face of Pak Chung + Chang. Upon the paper was the picture of the nose. + </p> + <p> + Pak Chung Chang stared upon it with bulging eyes. + </p> + <p> + "Never have I beheld such a nose," he began. + </p> + <p> + "There is a wart upon it," said Yi Chin Ho. + </p> + <p> + "Never have I beheld——" Pak Chung Chang began again. + </p> + <p> + "Bring your father before me," Yi Chin Ho interrupted sternly. + </p> + <p> + "My ancient and very-much-to-be-respected ancestor sleeps," said Pak Chung + Chang. + </p> + <p> + "Why dissemble?" demanded Yi Chin Ho. "You know it is your father's nose. + Bring him before me that I may strike it off and be gone. Hurry, lest I + make bad report of you." + </p> + <p> + "Mercy!" cried Pak Chung Chang, falling on his knees. "It is impossible! + It is impossible! You cannot strike off my father's nose. He cannot go + down without his nose to the grave. He will become a laughter and a + byword, and all my days and nights will be filled with woe. O reflect! + Report that you have seen no such nose in your travels. You, too, have a + father." + </p> + <p> + Pak Chung Chang clasped Yi Chin Ho's knees and fell to weeping on his + sandals. + </p> + <p> + "My heart softens strangely at your tears," said Yi Chin Ho. "I, too, know + filial piety and regard. But—" He hesitated, then added, as though + thinking aloud, "It is as much as my head is worth." + </p> + <p> + "How much is your head worth?" asked Pak Chung Chang in a thin, small + voice. + </p> + <p> + "A not remarkable head," said Yi Chin Ho. "An absurdly unremarkable head! + but, such is my great foolishness, I value it at nothing less than one + hundred thousand strings of cash." + </p> + <p> + "So be it," said Pak Chung Chang, rising to his feet. + </p> + <p> + "I shall need horses to carry the treasure," said Yi Chin Ho, "and men to + guard it well as I journey through the mountains. There are robbers abroad + in the land." + </p> + <p> + "There are robbers abroad in the land," said Pak Chung Chang, sadly. "But + it shall be as you wish, so long as my ancient and + very-much-to-be-respected ancestor's nose abide in its appointed place." + </p> + <p> + "Say nothing to any man of this occurrence," said Yi Chin Ho, "else will + other and more loyal servants than I be sent to strike off your father's + nose." + </p> + <p> + And so Yi Chin Ho departed on his way through the mountains, blithe of + heart and gay of song as he listened to the jingling bells of his + treasure-laden ponies. + </p> + <p> + There is little more to tell. Yi Chin Ho prospered through the years. By + his efforts the jailer attained at length to the directorship of all the + prisons of Cho-sen; the Governor ultimately betook himself to the Sacred + City to be prime minister to the King, while Yi Chin Ho became the King's + boon companion and sat at table with him to the end of a round, fat life. + But Pak Chung Chang fell into a melancholy, and ever after he shook his + head sadly, with tears in his eyes, whenever he regarded the expensive + nose of his ancient and very-much-to-be-respected ancestor. + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12336 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f5b03f2 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #12336 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/12336) diff --git a/old/12336-8.txt b/old/12336-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b7d8506 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12336-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6985 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Brown Wolf and Other Jack London Stories, 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: Brown Wolf and Other Jack London Stories + Chosen and Edited By Franklin K. Mathiews + +Author: Jack London + +Release Date: May 14, 2004 [EBook #12336] +[Last updated: February 17, 2013] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BROWN WOLF AND OTHER JACK *** + + + + +Produced by PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + +BROWN WOLF + +[Illustration] + + + + +Brown Wolf + +AND + +Other Jack London Stories + + +As chosen by + +Franklin K. Mathiews + +Chief Scout Librarian, Boy Scouts of America + + + + +TABLE OF CONTENTS + +BROWN WOLF + +THAT SPOT + +TRUST + +ALL GOLD CANYON + +THE STORY OF KEESH + +NAM-BOK THE UNVERACIOUS + +YELLOW HANDKERCHIEF + +MAKE WESTING + +THE HEATHEN + +THE HOBO AND THE FAIRY + +"JUST MEAT" + +A NOSE FOR THE KING + + +INTRODUCTION + +Boys delight in men who have had adventures, and when they are +privileged to read of such exploits in thrilling story form, that is the +"seventh heaven" for them. Such a "boys' man" was Jack London, whose +whole life was one of stirring action on land and sea. Gifted as a story +teller, he wrote books almost without end. Some of them, "The Call of +the Wild," "The Sea Wolf" and "White Fang," have already been recognized +as fine books for boys. Others, volumes of short stories, contain many +of like interest, possessing the same qualities that have made the other +and longer stories so acceptable as juveniles. + +Effort has been made by the editor to bring together in one volume a +number of such stories, not for the reason alone that there might be +another Jack London book for boys, but also in order to add to our +juvenile literature a volume likely "to be chewed and digested," as +Bacon says, a book worthy "to be read whole, and with diligence and +attention." For my belief is that boys read altogether too few of such +books. Or perhaps it would be more correct to say, have too few +opportunities to read such books, because so often we fail to see how +quick in their reading their minds are to grasp the more difficult, and +how keen and competent their conscience to draw the right conclusion +when situations are presented wherein men err so grievously. + +It is hoped the stories presented will serve to exercise both the boy's +mind and conscience; that seeing and feeling life and nature as Jack +London saw and felt it--the best and the worst in human nature, with the +Infinite always near and from whom there is no escape--seeing and +feeling such things boys will develop the emotional muscles of the +spirit, have opened up new windows to their imaginations, and withal add +some line or color to their life's ideals. + +FRANKLIN K. MATHIEWS, Chief Scout Librarian, Boy Scouts of America. + +[Illustration] + + + + +BROWN WOLF + + +She had delayed, because of the dew-wet grass, in order to put on her +overshoes, and when she emerged from the house found her waiting husband +absorbed in the wonder of a bursting almond-bud. She sent a questing +glance across the tall grass and in and out among the orchard trees. + +"Where's Wolf?" she asked. + +"He was here a moment ago." Walt Irvine drew himself away with a jerk +from the metaphysics and poetry of the organic miracle of blossom, and +surveyed the landscape. "He was running a rabbit the last I saw of him." + +"Wolf! Wolf! Here, Wolf!" she called, as they left the clearing and took +the trail that led down through the waxen-belled manzanita jungle to +the county road. + +Irvine thrust between his lips the little finger of each hand and lent +to her efforts a shrill whistling. + +She covered her ears hastily and made a wry grimace. + +"My! for a poet, delicately attuned and all the rest of it, you can make +unlovely noises. My eardrums are pierced. You outwhistle----" + +"Orpheus." + +"I was about to say a street-arab," she concluded severely. + +"Poesy does not prevent one from being practical--at least it doesn't +prevent _me_. Mine is no futility of genius that can't sell gems to the +magazines." + +He assumed a mock extravagance, and went on: + +"I am no attic singer, no ballroom warbler. And why? Because I am +practical. Mine is no squalor of song that cannot transmute itself, with +proper exchange value, into a flower-crowned cottage, a sweet +mountain-meadow, a grove of redwoods, an orchard of thirty-seven trees, +one long row of blackberries and two short rows of strawberries, to say +nothing of a quarter of a mile of gurgling brook." + +"Oh, that all your song-transmutations were as successful!" she laughed. + +"Name one that wasn't." + +"Those two beautiful sonnets that you transmuted into the cow that was +accounted the worst milker in the township." + +"She was beautiful----" he began. + +"But she didn't give milk," Madge interrupted. + +"But she _was_ beautiful, now, wasn't she?" he insisted. + +"And here's where beauty and utility fall out," was her reply. "And +there's the Wolf!" + +From the thicket-covered hillside came a crashing of underbrush, and +then, forty feet above them, on the edge of the sheer wall of rock, +appeared a wolf's head and shoulders. His braced forepaws dislodged a +pebble, and with sharp-pricked ears and peering eyes he watched the fall +of the pebble till it struck at their feet. Then he transferred his gaze +and with open mouth laughed down at them. + +"You Wolf, you!" and "You blessed Wolf!" the man and woman called out to +him. The ears flattened back and down at the sound, and the head seemed +to snuggle under the caress of an invisible hand. + +They watched him scramble backward into the thicket, then proceeded on +their way. Several minutes later, rounding a turn in the trail where the +descent was less precipitous, he joined them in the midst of a miniature +avalanche of pebbles and loose soil. He was not demonstrative. A pat and +a rub around the ears from the man, and a more prolonged caressing from +the woman, and he was away down the trail in front of them, gliding +effortlessly over the ground in true wolf fashion. + +In build and coat and brush he was a huge timber-wolf; but the lie was +given to his wolf-hood by his color and marking. There the dog +unmistakably advertised itself. No wolf was ever colored like him. He +was brown, deep brown, red-brown, an orgy of browns. Back and shoulders +were a warm brown that paled on the sides and underneath to a yellow +that was dingy because of the brown that lingered in it. The white of +the throat and paws and the spots over the eyes was dirty because of the +persistent and ineradicable brown, while the eyes themselves were twin +topazes, golden and brown. + +The man and woman loved the dog very much; perhaps this was because it +had been such a task to win his love. It had been no easy matter when he +first drifted in mysteriously out of nowhere to their little mountain +cottage. Footsore and famished, he had killed a rabbit under their very +noses and under their very windows, and then crawled away and slept by +the spring at the foot of the blackberry bushes. When Walt Irvine went +down to inspect the intruder, he was snarled at for his pains, and Madge +likewise was snarled at when she went down to present, as a +peace-offering, a large pan of bread and milk. + +A most unsociable dog he proved to be, resenting all their advances, +refusing to let them lay hands on him, menacing them with bared fangs +and bristling hair. Nevertheless he remained, sleeping and resting by +the spring, and eating the food they gave him after they set it down at +a safe distance and retreated. His wretched physical condition explained +why he lingered; and when he had recuperated, after several days' +sojourn, he disappeared. + +And this would have been the end of him, so far as Irvine and his wife +were concerned, had not Irvine at that particular time been called away +into the northern part of the state. Biding along on the train, near to +the line between California and Oregon, he chanced to look out of the +window and saw his unsociable guest sliding along the wagon road, brown +and wolfish, tired yet tireless, dust-covered and soiled with two +hundred miles of travel. + +Now Irvine was a man of impulse, a poet. He got off the train at the +next station, bought a piece of meat at a butcher shop, and captured the +vagrant on the outskirts of the town. The return trip was made in the +baggage car, and so Wolf came a second time to the mountain cottage. +Here he was tied up for a week and made love to by the man and woman. +But it was very circumspect love-making. Remote and alien as a traveller +from another planet, he snarled down their soft-spoken love-words. He +never barked. In all the time they had him he was never known to bark. + +To win him became a problem. Irvine liked problems. He had a metal plate +made, on which was stamped: "Return to Walt Irvine, Glen Ellen, Sonoma +County, California." This was riveted to a collar and strapped about the +dog's neck. Then he was turned loose, and promptly He disappeared. A +day later came a telegram from Mendocino County. In twenty hours he had +made over a hundred miles to the north, and was still going when +captured. + +He came back by Wells Fargo Express, was tied up three days, and was +loosed on the fourth and lost. This time he gained southern Oregon +before he was caught and returned. Always, as soon as he received his +liberty, he fled away, and always he fled north. He was possessed of an +obsession that drove him north. The homing instinct, Irvine called it, +after he had expended the selling price of a sonnet in getting the +animal back from northern Oregon. + +Another time the brown wanderer succeeded in traversing half the length +of California, all of Oregon, and most of Washington, before he was +picked up and returned "Collect." A remarkable thing was the speed with +which he traveled. Fed up and rested, as soon as he was loosed he +devoted all his energy to getting over the ground. On the first day's +run he was known to cover as high as a hundred and fifty miles, and +after that he would average a hundred miles a day until caught. He +always arrived back lean and hungry and savage, and always departed +fresh and vigorous, cleaving his way northward in response to some +prompting of his being that no one could understand. + +But at last, after a futile year of flight, he accepted the inevitable +and elected to remain at the cottage where first he had killed the +rabbit and slept by the spring. Even after that, a long time elapsed +before the man and woman succeeded in patting him. It was a great +victory, for they alone were allowed to put hands on him. He was +fastidiously exclusive, and no guest at the cottage ever succeeded in +making up to him. A low growl greeted such approach; if any one had the +hardihood to come nearer, the lips lifted, the naked fangs appeared, and +the growl became a snarl--a snarl so terrible and malignant that it awed +the stoutest of them, as it likewise awed the farmers' dogs that knew +ordinary dog snarling, but had never seen wolf snarling before. + +He was without antecedents. His history began with Walt and Madge. He +had come up from the south, but never a clew did they get of the owner +from whom he had evidently fled. Mrs. Johnson, their nearest neighbor +and the one who supplied them with milk, proclaimed him a Klondike dog. +Her brother was burrowing for frozen pay-streaks in that far country, +and so she constituted herself an authority on the subject. + +But they did not dispute her. There were the tips of Wolf's ears, +obviously so severely frozen at some time that they would never quite +heal again. Besides, he looked like the photographs of the Alaskan dogs +they saw published in magazines and newspapers. They often speculated +over his past, and tried to conjure up (from what they had read and +heard) what his northland life had been. That the northland still drew +him, they knew; for at night they sometimes heard him crying softly; and +when the north wind blew and the bite of frost was in the air, a great +restlessness would come upon him and he would lift a mournful lament +which they knew to be the long wolf-howl. Yet he never barked. No +provocation was great enough to draw from him that canine cry. + +Long discussion they had, during the time of winning him, as to whose +dog he was. Each claimed him, and each proclaimed loudly any expression +of affection made by him. But the man had the better of it at first, +chiefly because he was a man. It was patent that Wolf had had no +experience with women. He did not understand women. Madge's skirts were +something he never quite accepted. The swish of them was enough to set +him a-bristle with suspicion, and on a windy day she could not approach +him at all. + +On the other hand, it was Madge who fed him; also it was she who ruled +the kitchen, and it was by her favor, and her favor alone, that he was +permitted to come within that sacred precinct. It was because of these +things that she bade fair to overcome the handicap of her garments. Then +it was that Walt put forth special effort, making it a practice to have +Wolf lie at his feet while he wrote, and, between petting and talking, +losing much time from his work. Walt won in the end, and his victory was +most probably due to the fact that he was a man, though Madge averred +that they would have had another quarter of a mile of gurgling brook, +and at least two west winds sighing through their redwoods, had Walt +properly devoted his energies to song-transmutation and left Wolf alone +to exercise a natural taste and an unbiased judgment. + +"It's about time I heard from those triolets," Walt said, after a +silence of five minutes, during which they had swung steadily down the +trail. "There'll be a check at the post office, I know, and we'll +transmute it into beautiful buckwheat flour, a gallon of maple syrup, +and a new pair of overshoes for you." + +"And into beautiful milk from Mrs. Johnson's beautiful cow," Madge +added. "To-morrow's the first of the month, you know." + +Walt scowled unconsciously; then his face brightened, and he clapped his +hand to his breast pocket. + +"Never mind. I have here a nice, beautiful, new cow, the best milker in +California." + +"When did you write it?" she demanded eagerly. Then, reproachfully, "And +you never showed it to me." + +"I saved it to read to you on the way to the post office, in a spot +remarkably like this one," he answered, indicating, with a wave of his +hand, a dry log on which to sit. + +A tiny stream flowed out of a dense fern-brake, slipped down a +mossy-lipped stone, and ran across the path at their feet. From the +valley arose the mellow song of meadow larks, while about them, in and +out, through sunshine and shadow, fluttered great yellow butterflies. + +Up from below came another sound that broke in upon Walt reading softly +from his manuscript. It was a crunching of heavy feet, punctuated now +and again by the clattering of a displaced stone. As Walt finished and +looked to his wife for approval, a man came into view around the turn of +the trail. He was bareheaded and sweaty. With a handkerchief in one hand +he mopped his face, while in the other hand he carried a new hat and a +wilted starched collar which he had removed from his neck. He was a +well-built man, and his muscles seemed on the point of bursting out of +the painfully new and ready-made black clothes he wore. + +"Warm day," Walt greeted him. Walt believed in country democracy, and +never missed an opportunity to practice it. + +The man paused and nodded. + +"I guess I ain't used much to the warm," he vouchsafed half +apologetically. "I'm more accustomed to zero weather." + +"You don't find any of that in this country," Walt laughed. + +"Should say not," the man answered. "An' I ain't here a-lookin' for it +neither. I'm tryin' to find my sister. Mebbe you know where she lives. +Her name's Johnson, Mrs. William Johnson." + +"You're not her Klondike brother!" Madge cried, her eyes bright with +interest, "about whom we've heard so much?" + +"Yes'm, that's me," he answered modestly. "My name's Miller, Skiff +Miller. I just thought I'd s'prise her." + +"You are on the right track then. Only you've come by the footpath." +Madge stood up to direct him, pointing up the canyon a quarter of a +mile. "You see that blasted redwood! Take the little trail turning off +to the right. It's the short cut to her house. You can't miss it." + +"Yes'm, thank you, ma'am," he said. + +He made tentative efforts to go, but seemed awkwardly rooted to the +spot. He was gazing at her with an open admiration of which he was quite +unconscious, and which was drowning, along with him, in the rising sea +of embarrassment in which he floundered. + +"We'd like to hear you tell about the Klondike," Madge said. "Mayn't we +come over some day while you are at your sister's! Or, better yet, +won't you come over and have dinner with us?" + +"Yes'm, thank you, ma'am," he mumbled mechanically. Then he caught +himself up and added: "I ain't stoppin' long. I got to be pullin' north +again. I go out on to-night's train. You see, I've got a mail contract +with the government." + +When Madge had said that it was too bad, he made another futile effort +to go. But he could not take his eyes from her face. He forgot his +embarrassment in his admiration, and it was her turn to flush and feel +uncomfortable. + +It was at this juncture, when Walt had just decided it was time for him +to be saying something to relieve the strain, that Wolf, who had been +away nosing through the brush, trotted wolf-like into view. + +Skiff Miller's abstraction disappeared. The pretty woman before him +passed out of his field of vision. He had eyes only for the dog, and a +great wonder came into his face. + +"Well, I'll be hanged!" he enunciated slowly and solemnly. + +He sat down ponderingly on the log, leaving Madge standing. At the sound +of his voice, Wolf's ears had flattened down, then his mouth had opened +in a laugh. He trotted slowly up to the stranger and first smelled his +hands, then licked them with his tongue. + +Skiff Miller patted the dog's head, and slowly and solemnly repeated, +"Well, I'll be hanged!" + +"Excuse me, ma'am," he said the next moment, "I was just s'prised some, +that was all." + +"We're surprised, too," she answered lightly. "We never saw Wolf make up +to a stranger before." + +"Is that what you call him--Wolf?" the man asked. + +Madge nodded. "But I can't understand his friendliness toward +you--unless it's because you're from the Klondike. He's a Klondike dog, +you know." + +"Yes'm," Miller said absently. He lifted one of Wolf's forelegs and +examined the footpads, pressing them and denting them with his thumb. +"Kind of soft," he remarked. "He ain't been on trail for a long time." + +"I say," Walt broke in, "it is remarkable the way he lets you handle +him." + +Skiff Miller arose, no longer awkward with admiration of Madge, and in +a sharp, businesslike manner asked, "How long have you had him?" + +But just then the dog, squirming and rubbing against the newcomer's +legs, opened his mouth and barked. It was an explosive bark, brief and +joyous, but a bark. + +"That's a new one on me," Skiff Miller remarked. + +Walt and Madge stared at each other. The miracle had happened. Wolf had +barked. + +"It's the first time he ever barked," Madge said. + +"First time I ever heard him, too," Miller volunteered. + +Madge smiled at him. The man was evidently a humorist. + +"Of course," she said, "since you have only seen him for five minutes." + +Skiff Miller looked at her sharply, seeking in her face the guile her +words had led him to suspect. + +"I thought you understood," he said slowly. "I thought you'd tumbled to +it from his makin' up to me. He's my dog. His name ain't Wolf. It's +Brown." + +"Oh, Walt!" was Madge's instinctive cry to her husband. + +Walt was on the defensive at once. + +"How do you know he's your dog?" he demanded. + +"Because he is," was the reply. + +"Mere assertion," Walt said sharply. + +In his slow and pondering way, Skiff Miller looked at him, then asked, +with a nod of his head toward Madge: + +"How d'you know she's your wife? You just say, 'Because she is,' and +I'll say it's mere assertion. The dog's mine. I bred 'm an' raised 'm, +an' I guess I ought to know. Look here. I'll prove it to you." + +Skiff Miller turned to the dog. "Brown!" His voice rang out sharply, and +at the sound the dog's ears flattened down as to a caress. "Gee!" The +dog made a swinging turn to the right. "Now mush-on!" And the dog ceased +his swing abruptly and started straight ahead, halting obediently at +command. + +"I can do it with whistles," Skiff Miller said proudly. "He was my lead +dog." + +"But you are not going to take him away with you?" Madge asked +tremulously. + +The man nodded. + +"Back into that awful Klondike world of suffering?" + +He nodded and added: "Oh, it ain't so bad as all that. Look at me. +Pretty healthy specimen, ain't I!" + +"But the dogs! The terrible hardship, the heart-breaking toil, the +starvation, the frost! Oh, I've read about it and I know." + +"I nearly ate him once, over on Little Fish River," Miller volunteered +grimly. "If I hadn't got a moose that day was all that saved 'm." + +"I'd have died first!" Madge cried. + +"Things is different down here," Miller explained. "You don't have to +eat dogs. You think different just about the time you're all in. You've +never been all in, so you don't know anything about it." + +"That's the very point," she argued warmly. "Dogs are not eaten in +California. Why not leave him here? He is happy. He'll never want for +food--you know that. He'll never suffer from cold and hardship. Here all +is softness and gentleness. Neither the human nor nature is savage. He +will never know a whip-lash again. And as for the weather--why, it +never snows here." + +"But it's all-fired hot in summer, beggin' your pardon," Skiff Miller +laughed. + +"But you do not answer," Madge continued passionately. "What have you to +offer him in that northland life?" + +"Grub, when I've got it, and that's most of the time," came the answer. + +"And the rest of the time?" + +"No grub." + +"And the work?" + +"Yes, plenty of work," Miller blurted out impatiently. "Work without +end, an' famine, an' frost, an' all the rest of the miseries--that's +what he'll get when he comes with me. But he likes it. He is used to it. +He knows that life. He was born to it an' brought up to it. An' you +don't know anything about it. You don't know what you're talking about. +That's where the dog belongs, and that's where he'll be happiest." + +"The dog doesn't go," Walt announced in a determined voice. "So there is +no need of further discussion." + +"What's that?" Skiff Miller demanded, big brows lowering and an +obstinate flush of blood reddening his forehead. + +"I said the dog doesn't go, and that settles it. I don't believe he's +your dog. You may have seen him sometime. You may even sometime have +driven him for his owner. But his obeying the ordinary driving commands +of the Alaskan trail is no demonstration that he is yours. Any dog in +Alaska would obey you as he obeyed. Besides, he is undoubtedly a +valuable dog, as dogs go in Alaska, and that is sufficient explanation +of your desire to get possession of him. Anyway, you've got to prove +property." + +Skiff Miller, cool and collected, the obstinate flush a trifle deeper on +his forehead, his huge muscles bulging under the black cloth of his +coat, carefully looked the poet up and down as though measuring the +strength of his slenderness. + +The Klondiker's face took on a contemptuous expression as he said +finally: "I reckon there's nothin' in sight to prevent me takin' the dog +right here an' now." + +Walt's face reddened, and the striking-muscles of his arms and shoulders +seemed to stiffen and grow tense. His wife fluttered apprehensively +into the breach. + +"Maybe Mr. Miller is right," she said. "I am afraid that he is. Wolf +does seem to know him, and certainly he answers to the name of 'Brown.' +He made friends with him instantly, and you know that's something he +never did with anybody before. Besides, look at the way he barked. He +was just bursting with joy. Joy over what? Without doubt at finding Mr. +Miller." + +Walt's striking-muscles relaxed, and his shoulders seemed to droop with +hopelessness. + +"I guess you're right, Madge," he said. "Wolf isn't Wolf, but Brown, and +he must belong to Mr. Miller." + +"Perhaps Mr. Miller will sell him," she suggested. "We can buy him." + +Skiff Miller shook his head, no longer belligerent, but kindly, quick to +be generous in response to generousness. + +"I had five dogs," he said, casting about for the easiest way to temper +his refusal. "He was the leader. They was the crack team of Alaska. +Nothin' could touch 'em. In 1898 I refused five thousand dollars for the +bunch. Dogs was high, then, anyway; but that wasn't what made the fancy +price. It was the team itself. Brown was the best in the team. That +winter I refused twelve hundred for 'm. I didn't sell 'm then, an' I +ain't a-sellin' 'm now. Besides, I think a mighty lot of that dog. I've +been lookin' for 'm for three years. It made me fair sick when I found +he'd been stole--not the value of him, but the--well, I liked 'm so, +that's all. I couldn't believe my eyes when I seen 'm just now. I +thought I was dreamin'. It was too good to be true. Why, I was his +nurse. I put 'm to bed, snug every night. His mother died, and I brought +'m up on condensed milk at two dollars a can when I couldn't afford it +in my own coffee. He never knew any mother but me. He used to suck my +finger regular, the darn little pup--that finger right there!" + +And Skiff Miller, too overwrought for speech, held up a forefinger for +them to see. + +"That very finger," he managed to articulate, as though it somehow +clinched the proof of ownership and the bond of affection. + +He was still gazing at his extended finger when Madge began to speak. + +"But the dog," she said. "You haven't considered the dog." + +Skiff Miller looked puzzled. + +"Have you thought about him?" she asked. + +"Don't know what you're drivin' at," was the response. + +"Maybe the dog has some choice in the matter," Madge went on. "Maybe he +has his likes and desires. You have not considered him. You give him no +choice. It has never entered your mind that possibly he might prefer +California to Alaska. You consider only what you like. You do with him +as you would with a sack of potatoes or a bale of hay." + +This was a new way of looking at it, and Miller was visibly impressed as +he debated it in his mind. Madge took advantage of his indecision. + +"If you really love him, what would be happiness to him would be your +happiness also," she urged. + +Skiff Miller continued to debate with himself, and Madge stole a glance +of exultation to her husband, who looked back warm approval. + +"What do you think?" the Klondiker suddenly demanded. + +It was her turn to be puzzled. "What do you mean?" she asked. + +"D'ye think he'd sooner stay in California!" + +She nodded her head with positiveness. "I am sure of it." + +Skiff Miller again debated with himself, though this time aloud, at the +same time running his gaze in a judicial way over the mooted animal. + +"He was a good worker. He's done a heap of work for me. He never loafed +on me, an' he was a joe-dandy at hammerin' a raw team into shape. He's +got a head on him. He can do everything but talk. He knows what you say +to him. Look at 'm now. He knows we're talkin' about him." + +The dog was lying at Skiff Miller's feet, head close down on paws, ears +erect and listening, and eyes that were quick and eager to follow the +sound of speech as it fell from the lips of first one and then the +other. + +"An' there's a lot of work in 'm yet. He's good for years to come. An' I +do like him." + +Once or twice after that Skiff Miller opened his mouth and closed it +again without speaking. Finally he said: + +"I'll tell you what I'll do. Your remarks, ma'am, has some weight in +them. The dog's worked hard, and maybe he's earned a soft berth an' has +got a right to choose. Anyway, we'll leave it up to him. Whatever he +says, goes. You people stay right here settin' down. I'll say good-by +and walk off casual-like. If he wants to stay, he can stay. If he wants +to come with me, let 'm come. I won't call 'm to come an' don't you call +'m to come back." + +He looked with sudden suspicion at Madge, and added, "Only you must play +fair. No persuadin' after my back is turned." + +"We'll play fair," Madge began, but Skiff Miller broke in on her +assurances. + +"I know the ways of women," he announced. "Their hearts is soft. When +their hearts is touched they're likely to stack the cards, look at the +bottom of the deck, an' lie--beggin' your pardon, ma'am. I'm only +discoursin' about women in general." + +"I don't know how to thank you," Madge quavered. + +"I don't see as you've got any call to thank me," he replied. "Brown +ain't decided yet. Now you won't mind if I go away slow! It's no more'n +fair, seein' I'll be out of sight inside a hundred yards." + +Madge agreed, and added, "And I promise you faithfully that we won't do +anything to influence him." + +"Well, then, I might as well he gettin' along," Skiff Miller said in the +ordinary tones of one departing. + +At this change in his voice, Wolf lifted his head quickly, and still +more quickly got to his feet when the man and woman shook hands. He +sprang up on his hind legs, resting his fore paws on her hip and at the +same time licking Skiff Miller's hand. When the latter shook hands with +Walt, Wolf repeated his act, resting his weight on Walt and licking both +men's hands. + +"It ain't no picnic, I can tell you that," were the Klondiker's last +words, as he turned and went slowly up the trail. + +For the distance of twenty feet Wolf watched him go, himself all +eagerness and expectancy, as though waiting for the man to turn and +retrace his steps. Then, with a quick low whine, Wolf sprang after him, +overtook him, caught his hand between his teeth with reluctant +tenderness, and strove gently to make him pause. + +Failing in this, Wolf raced back to where Walt Irvine sat, catching his +coat sleeve in his teeth and trying vainly to drag him after the +retreating man. + +Wolf's perturbation began to wax. He desired ubiquity. He wanted to be +in two places at the same time, with the old master and the new, and +steadily the distance between them was increasing. He sprang about +excitedly, making short nervous leaps and twists, now toward one, now +toward the other, in painful indecision, not knowing his own mind, +desiring both and unable to choose, uttering quick sharp whines and +beginning to pant. + +He sat down abruptly on his haunches, thrusting his nose upward, the +mouth opening and closing with jerking movements, each time opening +wider. These jerking movements were in unison with the recurrent spasms +that attacked the throat, each spasm severer and more intense than the +preceding one. And in accord with jerks and spasms the larynx began to +vibrate, at first silently, accompanied by the rush of air expelled from +the lungs, then sounding a low, deep note, the lowest in the register of +the human ear. All this was the nervous and muscular preliminary to +howling. + +But just as the howl was on the verge of bursting from the full throat, +the wide-opened mouth was closed, the paroxysms ceased, and he looked +long and steadily at the retreating man. Suddenly Wolf turned his head, +and over his shoulder just as steadily regarded Walt. The appeal was +unanswered. Not a word nor a sign did the dog receive, no suggestion and +no clew as to what his conduct should be. + +A glance ahead to where the old master was nearing the curve of the +trail excited him again. He sprang to his feet with a whine, and then, +struck by a new idea, turned his attention to Madge. Hitherto he had +ignored her, but now, both masters failing him, she alone was left. He +went over to her and snuggled his head in her lap, nudging her arm with +his nose--an old trick of his when begging for favors. He backed away +from her and began writhing and twisting playfully, curvetting and +prancing, half rearing and striking his forepaws to the earth, +struggling with all his body, from the wheedling eyes and flattening +ears to the wagging tail, to express the thought that was in him and +that was denied him utterance. + +This, too, he soon abandoned. He was depressed by the coldness of these +humans who had never been cold before. No response could he draw from +them, no help could he get. They did not consider him. They were as +dead. + +He turned and silently gazed after the old master. Skiff Miller was +rounding the curve. In a moment he would be gone from view. Yet he never +turned his head, plodding straight onward, slowly and methodically, as +though possessed of no interest in what was occurring behind his back. + +And in this fashion he went out of view. Wolf waited for him to +reappear. He waited a long minute, silently, quietly, without movement, +as though turned to stone--withal stone quick with eagerness and desire. +He barked once, and waited. Then he turned and trotted back to Walt +Irvine. He sniffed his hand and dropped down heavily at his feet, +watching the trail where it curved emptily from view. + +The tiny stream slipping down the mossy-lipped stone seemed suddenly to +increase the volume of its gurgling noise. Save for the meadow larks, +there was no other sound. The great yellow butterflies drifted silently +through the sunshine and lost themselves in the drowsy shadows. Madge +gazed triumphantly at her husband. + +A few minutes later Wolf got upon his feet. Decision and deliberation +marked his movements. He did not glance at the man and woman. His eyes +were fixed up the trail. He had made up his mind. They knew it. And they +knew, so far as they were concerned, that the ordeal had just begun. + +He broke into a trot, and Madge's lips pursed, forming an avenue for the +caressing sound that it was the will of her to send forth. But the +caressing sound was not made. She was impelled to look at her husband, +and she saw the sternness with which he watched her. The pursed lips +relaxed, and she sighed inaudibly. + +Wolf's trot broke into a run. Wider and wider were the leaps he made. +Not once did he turn his head, his wolf's brush standing out straight +behind him. He cut sharply across the curve of the trail and was gone. + +[Illustration] + + + + +THAT SPOT + + +I don't think much of Stephen Mackaye any more, though I used to swear +by him. I know that in those days I loved him more than my own brother. +If ever I meet Stephen Mackaye again, I shall not be responsible for my +actions. It passes beyond me that a man with whom I shared food and +blanket, and with whom I mushed over the Chilcoot Trail, should turn out +the way he did. I always sized Steve up as a square man, a kindly +comrade, without an iota of anything vindictive or malicious in his +nature. I shall never trust my judgment in men again. Why, I nursed that +man through typhoid fever; we starved together on the headwaters of the +Stewart; and he saved my life on the Little Salmon. And now, after the +years we were together, all I can say of Stephen Mackaye is that he is +the meanest man I ever knew. + +We started for the Klondike in the fall rush of 1897, and we started too +late to get over Chilcoot Pass before the freeze-up. We packed our +outfit on our backs part way over, when the snow began to fly, and then +we had to buy dogs in order to sled it the rest of the way. That was how +we came to get that Spot. Dogs were high, and we paid one hundred and +ten dollars for him. He looked worth it. I say _looked_, because he was +one of the finest appearing dogs I ever saw. He weighed sixty pounds, +and he had all the lines of a good sled animal. We never could make out +his breed. He wasn't husky, nor Malemute, nor Hudson Bay; he looked like +all of them and he didn't look like any of them; and on top of it all he +had some of the white man's dog in him, for on one side, in the thick of +the mixed yellow-brown-red-and-dirty-white that was his prevailing +color, there was a spot of coal-black as big as a water-bucket. That was +why we called him Spot. + +He was a good looker all right. When he was in condition his muscles +stood out in bunches all over him. And he was the strongest looking +brute I ever saw in Alaska, also the most intelligent looking. To run +your eyes over him, you'd think he could outpull three dogs of his own +weight. Maybe he could, but I never saw it. His intelligence didn't run +that way. He could steal and forage to perfection; he had an instinct +that was positively grewsome for divining when work was to be done and +for making a sneak accordingly; and for getting lost and not staying +lost he was nothing short of inspired. But when it came to work, the way +that intelligence dribbled out of him and left him a mere clot of +wobbling, stupid jelly would make your heart bleed. + +There are times when I think it wasn't stupidity. Maybe, like some men I +know, he was too wise to work. I shouldn't wonder if he put it all over +us with that intelligence of his. Maybe he figured it all out and +decided that a licking now and again and no work was a whole lot better +than work all the time and no licking. He was intelligent enough for +such a computation. I tell you, I've sat and looked into that dog's eyes +till the shivers ran up and down my spine and the marrow crawled like +yeast, what of the intelligence I saw shining out. I can't express +myself about that intelligence. It is beyond mere words. I saw it, +that's all. At times it was like gazing into a human soul, to look into +his eyes; and what I saw there frightened me and started all sorts of +ideas in my own mind of reincarnation and all the rest. I tell you I +sensed something big in that brute's eyes; there was a message there, +but I wasn't big enough myself to catch it. Whatever it was (I know I'm +making a fool of myself)--whatever it was, it baffled me. I can't give +an inkling of what I saw in that brute's eyes; it wasn't light, it +wasn't color; it was something that moved, away back, when the eyes +themselves weren't moving. And I guess I didn't see it move, either; I +only sensed that it moved. It was an expression,--that's what it +was,--and I got an impression of it. No; it was different from a mere +expression; it was more than that. I don't know what it was, but it gave +me a feeling of kinship just the same. Oh, no, not sentimental kinship. +It was, rather, a kinship of equality. Those eyes never pleaded like a +deer's eyes. They challenged. No, it wasn't defiance. It was just a calm +assumption of equality. And I don't think it was deliberate. My belief +is that it was unconscious on his part. It was there because it was +there, and it couldn't help shining out. No, I don't mean shine. It +didn't shine; it _moved_. I know I'm talking rot, but if you'd looked +into that animal's eyes the way I have, you'd understand. Steve was +affected the same way I was. Why, I tried to kill that Spot once--he was +no good for anything; and I fell down on it. I led him out into the +brush, and he came along slow and unwilling. He knew what was going on. +I stopped in a likely place, put my foot on the rope, and pulled my big +Colt's. And that dog sat down and looked at me. I tell you he didn't +plead. He just looked. And I saw all kinds of incomprehensible things +moving, yes, _moving,_ in those eyes of his. I didn't really see them +move; I thought I saw them, for, as I said before, I guess I only sensed +them. And I want to tell you right now that it got beyond me. It was +like killing a man, a conscious, brave man who looked calmly into your +gun as much as to say, "Who's afraid?" Then, too, the message seemed so +near that, instead of pulling the trigger quick, I stopped to see if I +could catch the message. There it was, right before me, glimmering all +around in those eyes of his. And then it was too late. I got scared. I +was trembly all over, and my stomach generated a nervous palpitation +that made me seasick. I just sat down and looked at that dog, and he +looked at me, till I thought I was going crazy. Do you want to know what +I did? I threw down the gun and ran back to camp with the fear of God in +my heart. Steve laughed at me. But I notice that Steve led Spot into the +woods, a week later, for the same purpose, and that Steve came back +alone, and a little later Spot drifted back, too. + +At any rate, Spot wouldn't work. We paid a hundred and ten dollars for +him from the bottom of our sack, and he wouldn't work. He wouldn't even +tighten the traces. Steve spoke to him the first time we put him in +harness, and he sort of shivered, that was all. Not an ounce on the +traces. He just stood still and wobbled, like so much jelly. Steve +touched him with the whip. He yelped, but not an ounce. Steve touched +him again, a bit harder, and he howled--the regular long wolf howl. Then +Steve got mad and gave him half a dozen, and I came on the run from the +tent. I told Steve he was brutal with the animal, and we had some +words--the first we'd ever had. He threw the whip down in the snow, and +walked away mad. I picked it up and went to it. That Spot trembled and +wobbled and cowered before ever I swung the lash, and with the first +bite of it he howled like a lost soul. Next he lay down in the snow. I +started the rest of the dogs, and they dragged him along while I threw +the whip into him. He rolled over on his back and bumped along, his four +legs waving in the air, himself howling as though he was going through a +sausage machine. Steve came back and laughed at me, and I apologized for +what I'd said. + +There was no getting any work out of that Spot; and to make up for it, +he was the biggest pig-glutton of a dog I ever saw. On top of that, he +was the cleverest thief. There was no circumventing him. Many a +breakfast we went without our bacon because Spot had been there first. +And it was because of him that we nearly starved to death up the +Stewart. He figured out the way to break into our meat-cache, and what +he didn't eat, the rest of the team did. But he was impartial. He stole +from every body. He was a restless dog always very busy snooping around +or going somewhere. And there was never a camp within five miles that he +didn't raid. The worst of it was that they always came back on us to pay +his board bill, which was just, being the law of the land; but it was +mighty hard on us, especially that first winter on the Chilcoot, when we +were busted, paying for whole hams and sides of bacon that we never ate. +He could fight, too, that Spot. He could do anything but work. He never +pulled a pound, but he was the boss of the whole team. The way he made +those dogs stand around was an education. He bullied them, and there was +always one or more of them fresh-marked with his fangs. But he was more +than a bully. He wasn't afraid of anything that walked on four legs; and +I've seen him march, single-handed, into a strange team, without any +provocation whatever, and put the _kibosh_ on the whole outfit. Did I +say he could eat? I caught him eating the whip once. That's straight. He +started in at the lash, and when I caught him he was down to the handle, +and still going. + +But he was a good looker. At the end of the first week we sold him for +seventy-five dollars to the Mounted Police. They had experienced +dog-drivers, and we knew that by the time he'd covered the six hundred +miles to Dawson he'd be a good sled-dog. I say we _knew_, for we were +just getting acquainted with that Spot. A little later we were not brash +enough to know anything where he was concerned. A week later we woke up +in the morning to the dangdest dog-fight we'd ever heard. It was that +Spot came back and knocking the team into shape. We ate a pretty +depressing breakfast, I can tell you; but cheered up two hours afterward +when we sold him to an official courier, bound in to Dawson with +government despatches. That Spot was only three days in coming back, +and, as usual, celebrated his arrival with a rough-house. + +We spent the winter and spring, after our own outfit was across the +pass, freighting other people's outfits; and we made a fat stake. Also, +we made money out of Spot. If we sold him once, we sold him twenty +times. He always came back, and no one asked for their money. We didn't +want the money. We'd have paid handsomely for any one to take him off +our hands for keeps. We had to get rid of him, and we couldn't give him +away, for that would have been suspicious. But he was such a fine looker +that we never had any difficulty in selling him. "Unbroke," we'd say, +and they'd pay any old price for him. We sold him as low as twenty-five +dollars, and once we got a hundred and fifty for him. That particular +party returned him in person, refused to take his money back, and the +way he abused us was something awful. He said it was cheap at the price +to tell us what he thought of us; and we felt he was so justified that +we never talked back. But to this day I've never quite regained all the +old self-respect that was mine before that man talked to me. + +When the ice cleared out of the lakes and river, we put our outfit in a +Lake Bennett boat and started for Dawson. We had a good team of dogs, +and of course we piled them on top the outfit. That Spot was +along--there was no losing him; and a dozen times, the first day, he +knocked one or another of the dogs overboard in the course of fighting +with them. It was close quarters, and he didn't like being crowded. + +"What that dog needs is space," Steve said the second day. "Let's +maroon him." + +We did, running the boat in at Caribou Crossing for him to jump ashore. +Two of the other dogs, good dogs, followed him; and we lost two whole +days trying to find them. We never saw those two dogs again; but the +quietness and relief we enjoyed made us decide, like the man who refused +his hundred and fifty, that it was cheap at the price. For the first +time in months Steve and I laughed and whistled and sang. We were as +happy as clams. The dark days were over. The nightmare had been lifted. +That Spot was gone. + +Three weeks later, one morning, Steve and I were standing on the +river-bank at Dawson. A small boat was just arriving from Lake Bennett. +I saw Steve give a start, and heard him say something that was not nice +and that was not under his breath. Then I looked; and there, in the bow +of the boat, with ears pricked up, sat Spot. Steve and I sneaked +immediately, like beaten curs, like cowards, like absconders from +justice. It was this last that the lieutenant of police thought when he +saw us sneaking. He surmised that there was law-officers in the boat +who were after us. He didn't wait to find out, but kept us in sight, +and in the M. & M. saloon got us in a corner. We had a merry time +explaining, for we refused to go back to the boat and meet Spot; and +finally he held us under guard of another policeman while he went to the +boat. After we got clear of him, we started for the cabin, and when we +arrived, there was that Spot sitting on the stoop waiting for us. Now +how did he know we lived there? There were forty thousand people in +Dawson that summer, and how did he _savve_ our cabin out of all the +cabins? How did he know we were in Dawson, anyway? I leave it to you. +But don't forget what I have said about his intelligence and that +immortal something I have seen glimmering in his eyes. + +There was no getting rid of him any more. There were too many people in +Dawson who had bought him up on Chilcoot, and the story got around. Half +a dozen times we put him on board steamboats going down the Yukon; but +he merely went ashore at the first landing and trotted back up the bank. +We couldn't sell him, we couldn't kill him (both Steve and I had tried), +and nobody else was able to kill him. He bore a charmed life. I've seen +him go down in a dog-fight on the main street with fifty dogs on top of +him, and when they were separated, he'd appear on all his four legs, +unharmed, while two of the dogs that had been on top of him would be +lying dead. + +I saw him steal a chunk of moose meat from Major Dinwiddie's cache so +heavy that he could just keep one jump ahead of Mrs. Dinwiddie's squaw +cook, who was after him with an axe. As he went up the hill, after the +squaw gave up, Major Dinwiddie himself came out and pumped his +Winchester into the landscape. He emptied his magazine twice, and never +touched that Spot. Then a policeman came along and arrested him for +discharging firearms inside the city limits. Major Dinwiddie paid his +fine, and Steve and I paid him for the moose meat at the rate of a +dollar a pound, bones and all. That was what he paid for it. Meat was +high that year. + +I am only telling what I saw with my own eyes. And now I'll tell you +something also. I saw that Spot fall through a water-hole. The ice was +three and a half feet thick, and the current sucked him under like a +straw. Three hundred yards below was the big water-hole used by the +hospital. Spot crawled out of the hospital water-hole, licked off the +water, bit out the ice that had formed between his toes, trotted up the +bank, and whipped a big Newfoundland belonging to the Gold Commissioner. + +In the fall of 1898, Steve and I poled up the Yukon on the last water, +bound for Stewart River. We took the dogs along, all except Spot. We +figured we'd been feeding him long enough. He'd cost us more time and +trouble and money and grub than we'd got by selling him on the +Chilcoot--especially grub. So Steve and I tied him down in the cabin and +pulled our freight. We camped that night at the mouth of Indian River, +and Steve and I were pretty facetious over having shaken him. Steve was +a funny fellow, and I was just sitting up in the blankets and laughing +when a tornado hit camp. The way that Spot walked into those dogs and +gave them what-for was hair-raising. Now how did he get loose? It's up +to you. I haven't any theory. And how did he get across the Klondike +River? That's another facer. And anyway, how did he know we had gone up +the Yukon? You see, we went by water, and he couldn't smell our tracks. +Steve and I began to get superstitious about that dog. He got on our +nerves, too; and, between you and me, we were just a mite afraid of him. + +The freeze-up came on when we were at the mouth of Henderson Creek, and +we traded him off for two sacks of flour to an outfit that was bound up +White River after copper. Now that whole outfit was lost. Never trace +nor hide nor hair of men, dogs, sleds, or anything was ever found. They +dropped clean out of sight. It became one of the mysteries of the +country. Steve and I plugged away up the Stewart, and six weeks +afterward that Spot crawled into camp. He was a perambulating skeleton, +and could just drag along; but he got there. And what I want to know is +who told him we were up the Stewart? We could have gone a thousand other +places. How did he know? You tell me, and I'll tell you. + +No losing him. At the Mayo he started a row with an Indian dog. The buck +who owned the dog took a swing at Spot with an axe, missed him, and +killed his own dog. Talk about magic and turning bullets aside--I, for +one, consider it a blamed sight harder to turn an axe aside with a big +buck at the other end of it. And I saw him do it with my own eyes. That +buck didn't want to kill his own dog. You've got to show me. + +I told you about Spot breaking into our meat-cache. It was nearly the +death of us. There wasn't any more meat to be killed and meat was all we +had to live on. The moose had gone back several hundred miles and the +Indians with them. There we were. Spring was on and we had to wait for +the river to break. We got pretty thin before we decided to eat the +dogs, and we decided to eat Spot first. Do you know what that dog did? +He sneaked. Now how did he know our minds were made up to eat him? We +sat up nights laying for him, but he never came back, and we ate the +other dogs. We ate the whole team. + +And now for the sequel. You know what it is when a big river breaks up +and a few billion tons of ice go out, jamming and milling and grinding. +Just in the thick of it, when the Stewart went out, rumbling and +roaring, we sighted Spot out in the middle. He'd got caught as he was +trying to cross up above somewhere. Steve and I yelled and shouted and +ran up and down the bank, tossing our hats in the air. Sometimes we'd +stop and hug each other, we were that boisterous, for we saw Spot's +finish. He didn't have a chance in a million. He didn't have any chance +at all. After the ice-run, we got into a canoe and paddled down to the +Yukon, and down the Yukon to Dawson, stopping to feed up for a week at +the cabins at the mouth of Henderson Creek. And as we came in to the +bank at Dawson, there sat that Spot, waiting for us, his ears pricked +up, his tail wagging, his mouth smiling, extending a hearty welcome to +us. Now how did he get out of that ice? How did he know we were coming +to Dawson, to the very hour and minute, to be out there on the bank +waiting for us? + +The more I think of that Spot, the more I am convinced that there are +things in this world that go beyond science. On no scientific grounds +can that Spot be explained. It's psychic phenomena, or mysticism, or +something of that sort, I guess, with a lot of Theosophy thrown in. The +Klondike is a good country. I might have been there yet, and become a +millionaire, if it hadn't been for Spot. He got on my nerves. I stood +him for two years all together, and then I guess my stamina broke. It +was the summer of 1899 when I pulled out. I didn't say anything to +Steve. I just sneaked. But I fixed it up all right. I wrote Steve a +note, and enclosed a package of "rough-on-rats," telling him what to do +with it. I was worn down to skin and bone by that Spot, and I was that +nervous that I'd jump and look around when there wasn't anybody within +hailing distance. But it was astonishing the way I recuperated when I +got quit of him. I got back twenty pounds before I arrived in San +Francisco, and by the time I'd crossed the ferry to Oakland I was my old +self again, so that even my wife looked in vain for any change in me. + +Steve wrote to me once, and his letter seemed irritated. He took it kind +of hard because I'd left him with Spot. Also, he said he'd used the +"rough-on-rats," per directions, and that there was nothing doing. A +year went by. I was back in the office and prospering in all ways--even +getting a bit fat. And then Steve arrived. He didn't look me up. I read +his name in the steamer list, and wondered why. But I didn't wonder +long. I got up one morning and found that Spot chained to the gatepost +and holding up the milkman. Steve went north to Seattle, I learned, that +very morning. I didn't put on any more weight. My wife made me buy him a +collar and tag, and within an hour he showed his gratitude by killing +her pet Persian cat. There is no getting rid of that Spot. He will be +with me until I die, for he'll never die. My appetite is not so good +since he arrived, and my wife says I am looking peaked. Last night that +Spot got into Mr. Harvey's hen-house (Harvey is my next door neighbor) +and killed nineteen of his fancy-bred chickens. I shall have to pay for +them. My neighbors on the other side quarreled with my wife and then +moved out. Spot was the cause of it. And that is why I am disappointed +in Stephen Mackaye. I had no idea he was so mean a man. + +[Illustration] + + + + +TRUST + + +All lines had been cast off, and the _Seattle No. 4_ was pulling slowly +out from the shore. Her decks were piled high with freight and baggage, +and swarmed with a heterogeneous company of Indians, dogs, and +dog-mushers, prospectors, traders, and homeward-bound gold-seekers. A +goodly portion of Dawson was lined up on the bank, saying good-by. As +the gang-plank came in and the steamer nosed into the stream, the clamor +of farewell became deafening. Also, in that eleventh moment, everybody +began to remember final farewell messages and to shout them back and +forth across the widening stretch of water. Louis Bondell, curling his +yellow mustache with one hand and languidly waving the other hand to his +friends on shore, suddenly remembered something and sprang to the rail. + +"Oh, Fred!" he bawled. "Oh, Fred!" + +The "Fred" desired thrust a strapping pair of shoulders through the +forefront of the crowd on the bank and tried to catch Louis Bondell's +message. The latter grew red in the face with vain vociferation. Still +the water widened between steamboat and shore. + +"Hey you, Captain Scott!" he yelled at the pilot-house. "Stop the boat!" + +The gongs clanged, and the big stern wheel reversed, then stopped. All +hands on steamboat and on bank took advantage of this respite to +exchange final, new, and imperative farewells. More futile than ever was +Louis Bondell's effort to make himself heard. The _Seattle No. 4_ lost +way and drifted down-stream, and Captain Scott had to go ahead and +reverse a second time. His head disappeared inside the pilot-house, +coming into view a moment later behind a big megaphone. + +Now Captain Scott had a remarkable voice, and the "Shut up!" he +launched at the crowd on deck and on shore could have been heard at the +top of Moosehide Mountain and as far as Klondike City. This official +remonstrance from the pilot-house spread a film of silence over the +tumult. + +"Now, what do you want to say?" Captain Scott demanded. + +"Tell Fred Churchill--he's on the bank there--tell him to go to +Macdonald. It's in his safe--a small gripsack of mine. Tell him to get +it and bring it out when he comes." + +In the silence Captain Scott bellowed the message ashore through the +megaphone:-- + +"You, Fred Churchill, go to Macdonald--in his safe--small +gripsack--belongs to Louis Bondell--important! Bring it out when you +come! Got it?" + +Churchill waved his hand in token that he had got it. In truth, had +Macdonald, half a mile away, opened his window, he'd have got it, too. +The tumult of farewell rose again, the gongs clanged, and the _Seattle +No. 4_ went ahead, swung out into the stream, turned on her heel, and +headed down the Yukon, Bondell and Churchill waving farewell and mutual +affection to the last. + +That was in midsummer. In the fall of the year, the _W.H. Willis_ +started up the Yukon with two hundred homeward-bound pilgrims on board. +Among them was Churchill. In his stateroom, in the middle of a +clothes-bag, was Louis Bondell's grip. It was a small, stout leather +affair, and its weight of forty pounds always made Churchill nervous +when he wandered too far from it. The man in the adjoining stateroom had +a treasure of gold-dust hidden similarly in a clothes-bag, and the pair +of them ultimately arranged to stand watch and watch. While one went +down to eat, the other kept an eye on the two stateroom doors. When +Churchill wanted to take a hand at whist, the other man mounted guard, +and when the other man wanted to relax his soul, Churchill read +four-months'-old newspapers on a camp stool between the two doors. + +There were signs of an early winter, and the question that was discussed +from dawn till dark, and far into the dark, was whether they would get +out before the freeze-up or be compelled to abandon the steamboat and +tramp out over the ice. There were irritating delays. Twice the engines +broke down and had to be tinkered up, and each time there were snow +flurries to warn them of the imminence of winter. Nine times the _W.H. +Willis_ essayed to ascend the Five-Finger Rapids with her impaired +machinery, and when she succeeded, she was four days behind her very +liberal schedule. The question that then arose was whether or not the +steamboat _Flora_ would wait for her above the Box Cañon. The stretch of +water between the head of the Box Cañon and the foot of the White Horse +Rapids was unnavigable for steamboats and passengers were transshipped +at that point, walking around the rapids from one steamboat to the +other. There were no telephones in the country, hence no way of +informing the waiting _Flora_ that the _Willis_ was four days late, but +coming. + +When the _W.H. Willis_ pulled into White Horse, it was learned that the +_Flora_ had waited three days over the limit, and had departed only a +few hours before. Also, it was learned that she would tie up at Tagish +Post till nine o'clock, Sunday morning. It was then four o'clock +Saturday afternoon. The pilgrims called a meeting. On board was a large +Peterborough canoe, consigned to the police post at the head of Lake +Bennett. They agreed to be responsible for it and to deliver it. Next, +they called for volunteers. Two men were needed to make a race for the +_Flora_. A score of men volunteered on the instant. Among them was +Churchill, such being his nature that he volunteered before he thought +of Bondell's gripsack. When this thought came to him, he began to hope +that he would not be selected; but a man who had made a name as captain +of a college football eleven, as a president of an athletic club, as a +dog-musher and a stampeder in the Yukon, and, moreover, who possessed +such shoulders as he, had no right to avoid the honor. It was thrust +upon him and upon a gigantic German, Nick Antonsen. + +While a crowd of the pilgrims, the canoe on their shoulders, started on +a trot over the portage, Churchill ran to his stateroom. He turned the +contents of the clothes-bag on the floor and caught up the grip with the +intention of intrusting it to the man next door. Then the thought smote +him that it was not his grip, and that he had no right to let it out of +his own possession. So he dashed ashore with it and ran up the portage, +changing it often from one hand to the other, and wondering if it really +did not weigh more than forty pounds. + +It was half-past four in the afternoon when the two men started. The +current of the Thirty Mile River was so strong that rarely could they +use the paddles. It was out on one bank with a tow-line over the +shoulders stumbling over the rocks, forcing a way through the +underbrush, slipping at times and falling into the water, wading often +up to the knees and waist; and then, when an insurmountable bluff was +encountered, it was into the canoe, out paddles, and a wild and losing +dash across the current to the other bank, in paddles, over the side, +and out tow-line again. It was exhausting work. Antonsen toiled like the +giant he was, uncomplaining, persistent, but driven to his utmost by the +powerful body and indomitable brain of Churchill. They never paused for +rest. It was go, go, and keep on going. A crisp wind blew down the +river, freezing their hands and making it imperative, from time to time, +to beat the blood back into the numb fingers. As night came on, they +were compelled to trust to luck. They fell repeatedly on the untraveled +banks and tore their clothing to shreds in the underbrush they could not +see. Both men were badly scratched and bleeding. A dozen times, in their +wild dashes from bank to bank, they struck snags and were capsized. The +first time this happened, Churchill dived and groped in three feet of +water for the gripsack. He lost half an hour in recovering it, and after +that it was carried securely lashed to the canoe. As long as the canoe +floated it was safe. Antonsen jeered at the grip, and toward morning +began to abuse it; but Churchill vouchsafed no explanations. + +Their delays and mischances were endless. On one swift bend, around +which poured a healthy young rapid, they lost two hours, making a score +of attempts and capsizing twice. At this point, on both banks, were +precipitous bluffs, rising out of deep water, and along which they could +neither tow nor pole, while they could not gain with the paddles against +the current. At each attempt they strained to the utmost with the +paddles, and each time, with hearts nigh to bursting from the effort, +they were played out and swept back. They succeeded finally by an +accident. In the swiftest current, near the end of another failure, a +freak of the current sheered the canoe out of Churchill's control and +flung it against the bluff. Churchill made a blind leap at the bluff and +landed in a crevice. Holding on with one hand, he held the swamped canoe +with the other till Antonsen dragged himself out of the water. Then they +pulled the canoe out and rested. A fresh start at this crucial point +took them by. They landed on the bank above and plunged immediately +ashore and into the brush with the tow-line. + +Daylight found them far below Tagish Post. At nine o 'clock Sunday +morning they could hear the _Flora_ whistling her departure. And when, +at ten o'clock, they dragged themselves in to the Post, they could just +barely see the _Flora's_ smoke far to the southward. It was a pair of +worn-out tatterdemalions that Captain Jones of the Mounted Police +welcomed and fed, and he afterward averred that they possessed two of +the most tremendous appetites he had ever observed. They lay down and +slept in their wet rags by the stove. At the end of two hours Churchill +got up, carried Bondell's grip, which he had used for a pillow, down to +the canoe, kicked Antonsen awake, and started in pursuit of the _Flora_. + +"There's no telling what might happen--machinery break down or +something," was his reply to Captain Jones's expostulations. "I'm going +to catch that steamer and send her back for the boys." + +Tagish Lake was white with a fall gale that blew in their teeth. Big, +swinging seas rushed upon the canoe, compelling one man to bail and +leaving one man to paddle. Headway could not be made. They ran along the +shallow shore and went overboard, one man ahead on the tow-line, the +other shoving on the canoe. They fought the gale up to their waists in +the icy water, often up to their necks, often over their heads and +buried by the big, crested waves. There was no rest, never a moment's +pause from the cheerless, heart-breaking battle. That night, at the head +of Tagish Lake, in the thick of a driving snow-squall, they overhauled +the _Flora._ Antonsen fell on board, lay where he had fallen, and snored. +Churchill looked like a wild man. His clothes barely clung to him. His +face was iced up and swollen from the protracted effort of twenty-four +hours, while his hands were so swollen that he could not close the +fingers. As for his feet, it was an agony to stand upon them. + +The captain of the _Flora_ was loath to go back to White Horse. +Churchill was persistent and imperative; the captain was stubborn. He +pointed out finally that nothing was to be gained by going back, because +the only ocean steamer at Dyea, the _Athenian_, was to sail on Tuesday +morning, and that he could not make the back trip to White Horse and +bring up the stranded pilgrims in time to make the connection. + +"What time does the _Athenian_ sail?" Churchill demanded. + +"Seven o'clock, Tuesday morning." + +"All right," Churchill said, at the same time kicking a tattoo on the +ribs of the snoring Antonsen. "You go back to White Horse. We'll go +ahead and hold the _Athenian_." + +Antonsen, stupid with sleep, not yet clothed in his waking mind, was +bundled into the canoe, and did not realize what had happened till he +was drenched with the icy spray of a big sea, and heard Churchill +snarling at him through the darkness:-- + +"Paddle, can't you! Do you want to be swamped?" + +Daylight found them at Caribou Crossing, the wind dying down, and +Antonsen too far gone to dip a paddle. Churchill grounded the canoe on a +quiet beach, where they slept. He took the precaution of twisting his +arm under the weight of his head. Every few minutes the pain of the pent +circulation aroused him, whereupon he would look at his watch and twist +the other arm under his head. At the end of two hours he fought with +Antonsen to rouse him. Then they started. Lake Bennett, thirty miles in +length, was like a mill-pond; but, halfway across, a gale from the south +smote them and turned the water white. Hour after hour they repeated the +struggle on Tagish, over the side, pulling and shoving on the canoe, up +to their waists and necks, and over their heads, in the icy water; +toward the last the good-natured giant played completely out. Churchill +drove him mercilessly; but when he pitched forward and bade fair to +drown in three feet of water, the other dragged him into the canoe. +After that, Churchill fought on alone, arriving at the police post at +the head of Bennett in the early afternoon. He tried to help Antonsen +out of the canoe, but failed. He listened to the exhausted man's heavy +breathing, and envied him when he thought of what he himself had yet to +undergo. Antonsen could lie there and sleep; but he, behind time, must +go on over mighty Chilcoot and down to the sea. The real struggle lay +before him, and he almost regretted the strength that resided in his +frame because of the torment it could inflict upon that frame. + +Churchill pulled the canoe up on the beach, seized Bondell's grip, and +started on a limping dog-trot for the police post. + +"There's a canoe down there, consigned to you from Dawson," he hurled at +the officer who answered his knock. "And there's a man in it pretty near +dead. Nothing serious; only played out. Take care of him. I've got to +rush. Good-by. Want to catch the _Athenian_." + +A mile portage connected Lake Bennett and Lake Linderman, and his last +words he flung back after him as he resumed the trot. It was a very +painful trot, but he clenched his teeth and kept on, forgetting his pain +most of the time in the fervent heat with which he regarded the +gripsack. It was a severe handicap. He swung it from one hand to the +other, and back again. He tucked it under his arm. He threw one hand +over the opposite shoulder, and the bag bumped and pounded on his back +as he ran along. He could scarcely hold it in his bruised and swollen +fingers, and several times he dropped it. Once, in changing from one +hand to the other, it escaped his clutch and fell in front of him, +tripped him up, and threw him violently to the ground. + +At the far end of the portage he bought an old set of pack-straps for a +dollar, and in them he swung the grip. Also, he chartered a launch to +run him the six miles to the upper end of Lake Linderman, where he +arrived at four in the afternoon. The _Athenian_ was to sail from Dyea +next morning at seven. Dyea was twenty-eight miles away, and between +towered Chilcoot. He sat down to adjust his foot-gear for the long +climb, and woke up. He had dozed the instant he sat down, though he had +not slept thirty seconds. He was afraid his next doze might be longer, +so he finished fixing his foot-gear standing up. Even then he was +overpowered for a fleeting moment. He experienced the flash of +unconsciousness; becoming aware of it, in midair, as his relaxed body +was sinking to the ground and as he caught himself together, he +stiffened his muscles with a spasmodic wrench, and escaped the fall. The +sudden jerk back to consciousness left him sick and trembling. He beat +his head with the heel of his hand, knocking wakefulness into the numb +brain. + +Jack Burns's pack-train was starting back light for Crater Lake, and +Churchill was invited to a mule. Burns wanted to put the gripsack on +another animal, but Churchill held on to it, carrying it on his +saddle-pommel. But he dozed, and the grip persisted in dropping off the +pommel, one side or the other, each time wakening him with a sickening +start. Then, in the early darkness, Churchill's mule brushed him against +a projecting branch that laid his cheek open. To cap it, the mule +blundered off the trail and fell, throwing rider and gripsack out upon +the rocks. After that, Churchill walked, or stumbled, rather, over the +apology for a trail, leading the mule. Stray and awful odors, drifting +from each side the trail, told of the horses that had died in the rush +for gold. But he did not mind. He was too sleepy. By the time Long Lake +was reached, however, he had recovered from his sleepiness; and at Deep +Lake he resigned the gripsack to Burns. But thereafter, by the light of +the dim stars, he kept his eyes on Burns. There were not going to be any +accidents with that bag. + +At Crater Lake the pack-train went into camp, and Churchill, slinging +the grip on his back, started the steep climb for the summit. For the +first time, on that precipitous wall, he realized how tired he was. He +crept and crawled like a crab, burdened by the weight of his limbs. A +distinct and painful effort of will was required each time he lifted a +foot. An hallucination came to him that he was shod with lead, like a +deep-sea diver, and it was all he could do to resist the desire to reach +down and feel the lead. As for Bondell's gripsack, it was inconceivable +that forty pounds could weigh so much. It pressed him down like a +mountain, and he looked back with unbelief to the year before, when he +had climbed that same pass with a hundred and fifty pounds on his back, +If those loads had weighed a hundred and fifty pounds, then Bondell's +grip weighed five hundred. + +The first rise of the divide from Crater Lake was across a small +glacier. Here was a well-defined trail. But above the glacier, which was +also above timber-line, was naught but a chaos of naked rock and +enormous boulders. There was no way of seeing the trail in the darkness, +and he blundered on, paying thrice the ordinary exertion for all that he +accomplished. He won the summit in the thick of howling wind and driving +snow, providentially stumbling upon a small, deserted tent, into which +he crawled. There he found and bolted some ancient fried potatoes and +half a dozen raw eggs. + +When the snow ceased and the wind eased down, he began the almost +impossible descent. There was no trail, and he stumbled and blundered, +often finding himself, at the last moment, on the edge of rocky walls +and steep slopes the depth of which he had no way of judging. Part way +down, the stars clouded over again, and in the consequent obscurity he +slipped and rolled and slid for a hundred feet, landing bruised and +bleeding on the bottom of a large shallow hole. From all about him arose +the stench of dead horses. The hole was handy to the trail, and the +packers had made a practice of tumbling into it their broken and dying +animals. The stench overpowered him, making him deathly sick, and as in +a nightmare he scrambled out. Halfway up, he recollected Bondell's +gripsack. It had fallen into the hole with him; the pack-strap had +evidently broken, and he had forgotten it. Back he went into the +pestilential charnel-pit, where he crawled around on hands and knees and +groped for half an hour. Altogether he encountered and counted seventeen +dead horses (and one horse still alive that he shot with his revolver) +before he found Bondell's grip. Looking back upon a life that had not +been without valor and achievement, he unhesitatingly declared to +himself that this return after the grip was the most heroic act he had +ever performed. So heroic was it that he was twice on the verge of +fainting before he crawled out of the hole. + +By the time he had descended to the Scales, the steep pitch of Chilcoot +was past, and the way became easier. Not that it was an easy way, +however, in the best of places; but it became a really possible trail, +along which he could have made good time if he had not been worn out, if +he had had light with which to pick his steps, and if it had not been +for Bondell's gripsack. To him, in his exhausted condition, it was the +last straw. Having barely strength to carry himself along, the +additional weight of the grip was sufficient to throw him nearly every +time he tripped or stumbled. And when he escaped tripping, branches +reached out in the darkness, hooked the grip between his shoulders, and +held him back. + +His mind was made up that if he missed the _Athenian_ it would be the +fault of the gripsack. In fact, only two things remained in his +consciousness--Bondell's grip and the steamer. He knew only those two +things, and they became identified, in a way, with some stern mission +upon which he had journeyed and toiled for centuries. He walked and +struggled on as in a dream. A part of the dream was his arrival at Sheep +Camp. He stumbled into a saloon, slid his shoulders out of the straps, +and started to deposit the grip at his feet. But it slipped from his +fingers and struck the floor with a heavy thud that was not unnoticed by +two men who were just leaving. Churchill drank a glass of whiskey, told +the barkeeper to call him in ten minutes, and sat down, his feet on the +grip, his head on his knees. + +So badly did his misused body stiffen, that when he was called it +required another ten minutes and a second glass of whiskey to unbend his +joints and limber up the muscles. + +"Hey! not that way!" the barkeeper shouted, and then went after him and +started him through the darkness toward Canyon City. Some little husk of +inner consciousness told Churchill that the direction was right, and, +still as in a dream, he took the canyon trail. He did not know what +warned him, but after what seemed several centuries of travelling, he +sensed danger and drew his revolver. Still in the dream, he saw two men +step out and heard them halt him. His revolver went off four times, and +he saw the flashes and heard the explosions of their revolvers. Also, he +was aware that he had been hit in the thigh. He saw one man go down, +and, as the other came for him, he smashed him a straight blow with the +heavy revolver full in the face. Then he turned and ran. He came from +the dream shortly afterward, to find himself plunging down the trail at +a limping lope. His first thought was for the gripsack. It was still on +his back. He was convinced that what had happened was a dream till he +felt for his revolver and found it gone. Next he became aware of a sharp +stinging of his thigh, and after investigating, he found his hand warm +with blood. It was a superficial wound, but it was incontestable. He +became wider awake, and kept up the lumbering run to Canyon City. + +He found a man, with a team of horses and a wagon, who got out of bed +and harnessed up for twenty dollars. Churchill crawled in on the +wagon-bed and slept, the gripsack still on his back. It was a rough +ride, over water-washed boulders down the Dyea Valley; but he roused +only when the wagon hit the highest places. Any altitude of his body +above the wagon-bed of less than a foot did not faze him. The last mile +was smooth going, and he slept soundly. + +He came to in the gray dawn, the driver shaking him savagely and howling +into his ear that the _Athenian_ was gone. Churchill looked blankly at +the deserted harbor. + +"There's a smoke over at Skaguay," the man said. + +Churchill's eyes were too swollen to see that far, but he said: "It's +she. Get me a boat." + +The driver was obliging, and found a skiff and a man to row it for ten +dollars, payment in advance. Churchill paid, and was helped into the +skiff. It was beyond him to get in by himself. It was six miles to +Skaguay, and he had a blissful thought of sleeping those six miles. But +the man did not know how to row, and Churchill took the oars and toiled +for a few more centuries. He never knew six longer and more excruciating +miles. A snappy little breeze blew up the inlet and held him back. He +had a gone feeling at the pit of the stomach, and suffered from +faintness and numbness. At his command, the man took the bailer and +threw salt water into his face. + +The _Athenian's_ anchor was up-and-down when they came alongside, and +Churchill was at the end of his last remnant of strength. + +"Stop her! Stop her!" he shouted hoarsely. "Important message! Stop +her!" + +Then he dropped his chin on his chest and slept. "When half a dozen men +started to carry him up the gang-plank, he awoke, reached for the grip, +and clung to it like a drowning man. On deck he became a center of +horror and curiosity. The clothing in which he had left White Horse was +represented by a few rags, and he was as frayed as his clothing. He had +traveled for fifty-five hours at the top notch of endurance. He had +slept six hours in that time, and he was twenty pounds lighter than when +he started. Face and hands and body were scratched and bruised, and he +could scarcely see. He tried to stand up, but failed, sprawling out on +the deck, hanging on to the gripsack, and delivering his message. + +"Now, put me to bed," he finished; "I'll eat when I wake up." + +They did him honor, carrying him down in his rags and dirt and +depositing him and Bondell's grip in the bridal chamber, which was the +biggest and most luxurious stateroom in the ship. Twice he slept the +clock around, and he had bathed and shaved and eaten and was leaning +over the rail smoking a cigar when the two hundred pilgrims from White +Horse came alongside. + +By the time the _Athenian_ arrived in Seattle, Churchill had fully +recuperated, and he went ashore with Bondell's grip in his hand. He +felt proud of that grip. To him it stood for achievement and integrity +and trust. "I've delivered the goods," was the way he expressed these +various high terms to himself. It was early in the evening, and he went +straight to Bondell's home. Louis Bondell was glad to see him, shaking +hands with both hands at the same time and dragging him into the house. + +"Oh, thanks, old man; it was good of you to bring it out," Bondell said +when he received the gripsack. + +He tossed it carelessly upon a couch, and Churchill noted with an +appreciative eye the rebound of its weight from the springs. Bondell was +volleying him with questions. + +"How did you make out? How're the boys! What became of Bill Smithers? Is +Del Bishop still with Pierce? Did he sell my dogs? How did Sulphur +Bottom show up? You're looking fine. What steamer did you come out on?" + +To all of which Churchill gave answer, till half an hour had gone by and +the first lull in the conversation had arrived. + +"Hadn't you better take a look at it?" he suggested, nodding his head at +the gripsack. + +"Oh, it's all right," Bondell answered. "Did Mitchell's dump turn out +as much as he expected?" + +"I think you'd better look at it," Churchill insisted. "When I deliver a +thing, I want to be satisfied that it's all right. There's always the +chance that somebody might have got into it when I was asleep, or +something." + +"It's nothing important, old man," Bondell answered, with a laugh. + +"Nothing important," Churchill echoed in a faint, small voice. Then he +spoke with decision: "Louis, what's in that bag? I want to know." + +Louis looked at him curiously, then left the room and returned with a +bunch of keys. He inserted his hand and drew out a heavy .44 Colt's +revolver. Next came out a few boxes of ammunition for the revolver and +several boxes of Winchester cartridges. + +Churchill took the gripsack and looked into it. Then he turned it upside +down and shook it gently. + +"The gun's all rusted," Bondell said. "Must have been out in the rain." + +"Yes," Churchill answered. "Too bad it got wet. I guess I was a bit +careless." + +He got up and went outside. Ten minutes later Louis Bondell went out +and found him on the steps, sitting down, elbows on knees and chin on +hands, gazing steadfastly out into the darkness. + +[Illustration] + + + + +ALL GOLD CANYON + + +It was the green heart of the canyon, where the walls swerved back from +the rigid plan and relieved their harshness of line by making a little +sheltered nook and filling it to the brim with sweetness and roundness +and softness. Here all things rested. Even the narrow stream ceased its +turbulent down-rush long enough to form a quiet pool. Knee-deep in the +water, with drooping head and half-shut eyes, drowsed a red-coated, +many-antlered buck. + +On one side, beginning at the very lip of the pool, was a tiny meadow, a +cool, resilient surface of green that extended to the base of the +frowning wall. Beyond the pool a gentle slope of earth ran up and up to +meet the opposing wall. Fine grass covered the slope--grass that was +spangled with flowers, with here and there patches of color, orange and +purple and golden. Below, the canyon was shut in. There was no view. +The walls leaned together abruptly and the canyon ended in a chaos of +rocks, moss-covered and hidden by a green screen of vines and creepers +and boughs of trees. Up the canyon rose far hills and peaks, the big +foothills, pine-covered and remote. And far beyond, like clouds upon the +border of the sky, towered minarets of white, where the Sierra's eternal +snows flashed austerely the blazes of the sun. + +There was no dust in the canyon. The leaves and flowers were clean and +virginal. The grass was young velvet. Over the pool three cottonwoods +sent their snowy fluffs fluttering down the quiet air. On the slope the +blossoms of the wine-wooded manzanita filled the air with springtime +odors, while the leaves, wise with experience, were already beginning +their vertical twist against the coming aridity of summer. In the open +spaces on the slope, beyond the farthest shadow-reach of the manzanita, +poised the mariposa lilies, like so many flights of jewelled moths +suddenly arrested and on the verge of trembling into flight again. Here +and there that woods harlequin, the madrone, permitting itself to be +caught in the act of changing its pea-green trunk to madder-red, +breathed its fragrance into the air from great clusters of waxen bells. +Creamy white were these bells, shaped like lilies-of-the-valley, with +the sweetness of perfume that is of the springtime. + +There was not a sigh of wind. The air was drowsy with its weight of +perfume. It was a sweetness that would have been cloying had the air +been heavy and humid. But the air was sharp and thin. It was as +starlight transmuted into atmosphere, shot through and warmed by +sunshine, and flower-drenched with sweetness. + +An occasional butterfly drifted in and out through the patches of light +and shade. And from all about rose the low and sleepy hum of mountain +bees--feasting Sybarites that jostled one another good-naturedly at the +board, nor found time for rough discourtesy. So quietly did the little +stream drip and ripple its way through the canyon that it spoke only in +faint and occasional gurgles. The voice of the stream was as a drowsy +whisper, ever interrupted by dozings and silences, ever lifted again in +the awakenings. + +The motion of all things was a drifting in the heart of the canyon. +Sunshine and butterflies drifted in and out among the trees. The hum of +the bees and the whisper of the stream were a drifting of sound. And the +drifting sound and drifting color seemed to weave together in the making +of a delicate and intangible fabric which was the spirit of the place. +It was a spirit of peace that was not of death, but of smooth-pulsing +life, of quietude that was not silence, of movement that was not action, +of repose that was quick with existence without being violent with +struggle and travail. The spirit of the place was the spirit of the +peace of the living, somnolent with the easement and content of +prosperity, and undisturbed by rumors of far wars. + +The red-coated, many-antlered buck acknowledged the lordship of the +spirit of the place and dozed knee-deep in the cool, shaded pool. There +seemed no flies to vex him and he was languid with rest. Sometimes his +ears moved when the stream awoke and whispered; but they moved lazily, +with foreknowledge that it was merely the stream grown garrulous at +discovery that it had slept. + +But there came a time when the buck's ears lifted and tensed with swift +eagerness for sound. His head was turned down the canyon. His +sensitive, quivering nostrils scented the air. His eyes could not +pierce the green screen through which the stream rippled away, but to +his ears came the voice of a man. It was a steady, monotonous, singsong +voice. Once the buck heard the harsh clash of metal upon rock. At the +sound he snorted with a sudden start that jerked him through the air +from water to meadow, and his feet sank into the young velvet, while he +pricked his ears and again scented the air. Then he stole across the +tiny meadow, pausing once and again to listen, and faded away out of the +canyon like a wraith, soft-footed and without sound. + +The clash of steel-shod soles against the rocks began to be heard, and +the man's voice grew louder. It was raised in a sort of chant and became +distinct with nearness, so that the words could be heard: + + "Tu'n around an' tu'n yo' face + Untoe them sweet hills of grace + (D' pow'rs of sin yo' am scornin'!). + Look about an' look aroun' + Fling yo' sin-pack on d' groun' + (Yo' will meet wid d' Lord in d' mornin'!)." + +'A sound of scrambling accompanied the song, and the spirit of the place +fled away on the heels of the red-coated buck. The green screen was +burst asunder, and a man peered out at the meadow and the pool and the +sloping side-hill. He was a deliberate sort of man. He took in the scene +with one embracing glance, then ran his eyes over the details to verify +the general impression. Then, and not until then, did he open his mouth +in vivid and solemn approval: + +"Smoke of life an' snakes of purgatory! Will you just look at that! Wood +an' water an' grass an' a side-hill! A pocket-hunter's delight an' a +cayuse's paradise! Cool green for tired eyes! Pink pills for pale people +ain't in it. A secret pasture for prospectors and a resting-place for +tired burros. It's just booful!" + +He was a sandy-complexioned man in whose face geniality and humor seemed +the salient characteristics. It was a mobile face, quick-changing to +inward mood and thought. Thinking was in him a visible process. Ideas +chased across his face like wind-flaws across the surface of a lake. His +hair, sparse and unkempt of growth, was as indeterminate and colorless +as his complexion. It would seem that all the color of his frame had +gone into his eyes, for they were startlingly blue. Also, they were +laughing and merry eyes, within them much of the naiveté and wonder of +the child; and yet, in an unassertive way, they contained much of calm +self-reliance and strength of purpose founded upon self-experience and +experience of the world. + +From out the screen of vines and creepers he flung ahead of him a +miner's pick and shovel and gold-pan. Then he crawled out himself into +the open. He was clad in faded overalls and black cotton shirt, with +hobnailed brogans on his feet, and on his head a hat whose shapelessness +and stains advertised the rough usage of wind and rain and sun and +camp-smoke. He stood erect, seeing wide-eyed the secrecy of the scene +and sensuously inhaling the warm, sweet breath of the canyon-garden +through nostrils that dilated and quivered with delight. His eyes +narrowed to laughing slits of blue, his face wreathed itself in joy, and +his mouth curled in a smile as he cried aloud: + +"Jumping dandelions and happy hollyhocks, but that smells good to me! +Talk about your attar o' roses an' cologne factories! They ain't in it!" + +He had the habit of soliloquy. His quick-changing facial expressions +might tell every thought and mood, but the tongue, perforce, ran hard +after, repeating, like a second Boswell. + +The man lay down on the lip of the pool and drank long and deep of its +water. "Tastes good to me," he murmured, lifting his head and gazing +across the pool at the side-hill, while he wiped his mouth with the back +of his hand. The side-hill attracted his attention. Still lying on his +stomach, he studied the hill formation long and carefully. It was a +practised eye that traveled up the slope to the crumbling canyon-wall +and back and down again to the edge of the pool. He scrambled to his +feet and favored the side-hill with a second survey. + +"Looks good to me," he concluded, picking up his pick and shovel and +gold-pan. + +He crossed the stream below the pool, stepping agilely from stone to +stone. Where the side-hill touched the water he dug up a shovelful of +dirt and put it into the gold-pan. He squatted down, holding the pan in +his two hands, and partly immersing it in the stream. Then he imparted +to the pan a deft circular motion that sent the water sluicing in and +out through the dirt and gravel. The larger and the lighter particles +worked to the surface, and these, by a skilful dipping movement of the +pan, he spilled out and over the edge. Occasionally, to expedite +matters, he rested the pan and with his fingers raked out the large +pebbles and pieces of rock. + +The contents of the pan diminished rapidly until only fine dirt and the +smallest bits of gravel remained. At this stage he began to work very +deliberately and carefully. It was fine washing, and he washed fine and +finer, with a keen scrutiny and delicate and fastidious touch. At last +the pan seemed empty of everything but water; but with a quick +semi-circular flirt that sent the water flying over the shallow rim into +the stream, he disclosed a layer of black sand on the bottom of the pan. +So thin was this layer that it was like a streak of paint. He examined +it closely. In the midst of it was a tiny golden speck. He dribbled a +little water in over the depressed edge of the pan. With a quick flirt +he sent the water sluicing across the bottom, turning the grains of +black sand over and over. A second tiny golden speck rewarded his +effort. + +The washing had now become very fine--fine beyond all need of ordinary +placer-mining. He worked the black sand, a small portion at a time, up +the shallow rim of the pan. Each small portion he examined sharply, so +that his eyes saw every grain of it before he allowed it to slide over +the edge and away. Jealously, bit by bit, he let the black sand slip +away. A golden speck, no larger than a pin-point, appeared on the rim, +and by his manipulation of the water it returned to the bottom of the +pan. And in such fashion another speck was disclosed, and another. Great +was his care of them. Like a shepherd he herded his flock of golden +specks so that not one should be lost. At last, of the pan of dirt +nothing remained but his golden herd. He counted it, and then, after all +his labor, sent it flying out of the pan with one final swirl of water. + +But his blue eyes were shining with desire as he rose to his feet. +"Seven," he muttered aloud, asserting the sum of the specks for which he +had toiled so hard and which he had so wantonly thrown away. "Seven," he +repeated, with the emphasis of one trying to impress a number on his +memory. + +He stood still a long while, surveying the hillside. In his eyes was a +curiosity, new-aroused and burning. There was an exultance about his +bearing and a keenness like that of a hunting animal catching the fresh +scent of game. + +He moved down the stream a few steps and took a second panful of dirt. + +Again came the careful washing, the jealous herding of the golden +specks, and the wantonness with which he sent them flying into the +stream. + +"Five," he muttered, and repeated, "five." + +He could not forbear another survey of the hill before filling the pan +farther down the stream. His golden herds diminished. "Four, three, two, +two, one," were his memory tabulations as he moved down the stream. When +but one speck of gold rewarded his washing, he stopped and built a fire +of dry twigs. Into this he thrust the gold-pan and burned it till it was +blue-black. He held up the pan and examined it critically. Then he +nodded approbation. Against such a color-background he could defy the +tiniest yellow speck to elude him. + +Still moving down the stream, he panned again. A single speck was his +reward. A third pan contained no gold at all. Not satisfied with this, +he panned three times again, taking his shovels of dirt within a foot of +one another. Each pan proved empty of gold, and the fact, instead of +discouraging him, seemed to give him satisfaction. His elation increased +with each barren washing, until he arose, exclaiming jubilantly: + +"If it ain't the real thing, may God knock off my head with sour +apples!" + +Returning to where he had started operations, he began to pan up the +stream. At first his golden herds increased--increased prodigiously. +"Fourteen, eighteen, twenty-one, twenty-six," ran his memory +tabulations. Just above the pool he struck his richest pan--thirty-five +colors. + +"Almost enough to save," he remarked regretfully as he allowed the water +to sweep them away. + +The sun climbed to the top of the sky. The man worked on. Pan by pan, he +went up the stream, the tally of results steadily decreasing. + +"It's just booful, the way it peters out," he exulted when a shovelful +of dirt contained no more than a single speck of gold. And when no +specks at all were found in several pans, he straightened up and favored +the hillside with a confident glance. + +"Ah, ha! Mr. Pocket!" he cried out, as though to an auditor hidden +somewhere above him beneath the surface of the slope. "Ah, ha! Mr. +Pocket! I'm a-comin', I'm a-comin', an' I'm shorely gwine to get yer! +You heah me, Mr. Pocket? I'm gwine to get yer as shore as punkins ain't +cauliflowers!" + +He turned and flung a measuring glance at the sun poised above him in +the azure of the cloudless sky. Then he went down the canyon, following +the line of shovel-holes he had made in filling the pans. He crossed the +stream below the pool and disappeared through the green screen. There +was little opportunity for the spirit of the place to return with its +quietude and repose, for the man's voice, raised in ragtime song, still +dominated the canyon with possession. + +After a time, with a greater clashing of steel-shod feet on rock, he +returned. The green screen was tremendously agitated. It surged back and +forth in the throes of a struggle. There was a loud grating and clanging +of metal. The man's voice leaped to a higher pitch and was sharp with +imperativeness. A large body plunged and panted. There was a snapping +and ripping and rending, and amid a shower of falling leaves a horse +burst through the screen. On its back was a pack, and from this trailed +broken vines and torn creepers. The animal gazed with astonished eyes at +the scene into which it had been precipitated, then dropped its head to +the grass and began contentedly to graze. A second horse scrambled into +view, slipping once on the mossy rocks and regaining equilibrium when +its hoofs sank into the yielding surface of the meadow. It was +riderless, though on its back was a high-horned Mexican saddle, scarred +and discolored by long usage. + +The man brought up the rear. He threw off pack and saddle, with an eye +to camp location, and gave the animals their freedom to graze. He +unpacked his food and got out frying-pan and coffee-pot. He gathered an +armful of dry wood, and with a few stones made a place for his fire. + +"My!" he said, "but I've got an appetite. I could scoff iron-filings an' +horseshoe nails an' thank you kindly, ma'am, for a second helpin'." + +He straightened up, and, while he reached for matches in the pocket of +his overalls, his eyes traveled across the pool to the side-hill. His +fingers had clutched the match-box, but they relaxed their hold and the +hand came out empty. The man wavered perceptibly. He looked at his +preparations for cooking and he looked at the hill. + +"Guess I'll take another whack at her," he concluded, starting to cross +the stream. + +"They ain't no sense in it, I know," he mumbled apologetically. "But +keepin' grub back an hour ain't go in' to hurt none, I reckon." + +A few feet back from his first line of test-pans he started a second +line. The sun dropped down the western sky, the shadows lengthened, but +the man worked on. He began a third line of test-pans. He was +cross-cutting the hillside, line by line, as he ascended. The center of +each line produced the richest pans, while the ends came where no colors +showed in the pan. And as he ascended the hillside the lines grew +perceptibly shorter. The regularity with which their length diminished +served to indicate that somewhere up the slope the last line would be so +short as to have scarcely length at all, and that beyond could come +only a point. The design was growing into an inverted "V." The +converging sides of this "V" marked the boundaries of the gold-bearing +dirt. + +The apex of the "V" was evidently the man's goal. Often he ran his eye +along the converging sides and on up the hill, trying to divine the +apex, the point where the gold-bearing dirt must cease. Here resided +"Mr. Pocket"--for so the man familiarly addressed the imaginary point +above him on the slope, crying out: + +"Come down out o' that, Mr. Pocket! Be right smart an' agreeable, an' +come down!" + +"All right," he would add later, in a voice resigned to determination. +"All right, Mr. Pocket. It's plain to me I got to come right up an' +snatch you out bald-headed. An' I'll do it! I'll do it!" he would +threaten still later. + +Each pan he carried down to the water to wash, and as he went higher up +the hill the pans grew richer, until he began to save the gold in an +empty baking powder can which he carried carelessly in his hip-pocket. +So engrossed was he in his toil that he did not notice the long twilight +of oncoming night. It was not until he tried vainly to see the gold +colors in the bottom of the pan that he realized the passage of time. +He straightened up abruptly. An expression of whimsical wonderment and +awe overspread his face as he drawled: + +"Gosh darn my buttons! if I didn't plumb forget dinner!" + +He stumbled across the stream in the darkness and lighted his +long-delayed fire. Flapjacks and bacon and warmed-over beans constituted +his supper. Then he smoked a pipe by the smouldering coals, listening to +the night noises and watching the moonlight stream through the canyon. +After that he unrolled his bed, took off his heavy shoes, and pulled the +blankets up to his chin. His face showed white in the moonlight, like +the face of a corpse. But it was a corpse that knew its resurrection, +for the man rose suddenly on one elbow and gazed across at his hillside. + +"Good night, Mr. Pocket," he called sleepily. "Goodnight." + +He slept through the early gray of morning until the direct rays of the +sun smote his closed eyelids, when he awoke with a start and looked +about him until he had established the continuity of his existence and +identified his present self with the days previously lived. + +To dress, he had merely to buckle on his shoes. He glanced at his +fireplace and at his hillside, wavered, but fought down the temptation +and started the fire. + +"Keep yer shirt on, Bill; keep yer shirt on," he admonished himself. +"What's the good of rushin'? No use in gettin' all het up an' sweaty. +Mr. Pocket'll wait for you. He ain't a-runnin' away before you can get +your breakfast. Now, what you want, Bill, is something fresh in yer bill +o' fare. So it's up to you to go an' get it." + +He cut a short pole at the water's edge and drew from one of his pockets +a bit of line and a draggled fly that had once been a royal coachman. + +"Mebbe they'll bite in the early morning," he muttered, as he made his +first cast into the pool. And a moment later he was gleefully crying: +"What'd I tell you, eh? What'd I tell you?" + +He had no reel, nor any inclination to waste time, and by main strength, +and swiftly, he drew out of the water a flashing ten-inch trout. Three +more, caught in rapid succession, furnished his breakfast. When he came +to the stepping-stones on his way to his hillside, he was struck by a +sudden thought, and paused. + +"I'd just better take a hike down-stream a ways," he said. "There's no +tellin' who may be snoopin' around." + +But he crossed over on the stones, and with a "I really oughter take +that hike," the need of the precaution passed out of his mind and he +fell to work. + +At nightfall he straightened up. The small of his back was stiff from +stooping toil, and as he put his hand behind him to soothe the +protesting muscles, he said: + +"Now what d'ye think of that? I clean forgot my dinner again! If I don't +watch out, I'll sure be degeneratin' into a two-meal-a-day crank." + +"Pockets is the hangedest things I ever see for makin' a man +absent-minded," he communed that night, as he crawled into his blankets. +Nor did he forget to call up the hillside, "Good night, Mr. Pocket! Good +night!" + +Rising with the sun, and snatching a hasty breakfast, he was early at +work. A fever seemed to be growing in him, nor did the increasing +richness of the test-pans allay this fever. There was a flush in his +cheek other than that made by the heat of the sun, and he was oblivious +to fatigue and the passage of time. When he filled a pan with dirt, he +ran down the hill to wash it; nor could he forbear running up the hill +again, panting and stumbling profanely, to refill the pan. + +He was now a hundred yards from the water, and the inverted "V" was +assuming definite proportions. The width of the pay-dirt steadily +decreased, and the man extended in his mind's eye the sides of the "V" +to their meeting place far up the hill. This was his goal, the apex of +the "V," and he panned many times to locate it. + +"Just about two yards above that manzanita bush an' a yard to the +right," he finally concluded. + +Then the temptation seized him. "As plain as the nose on your face," he +said, as he abandoned his laborious cross-cutting and climbed to the +indicated apex. He filled a pan and carried it down the hill to wash. It +contained no trace of gold. He dug deep, and he dug shallow, filling +and washing a dozen pans, and was unrewarded even by the tiniest golden +speck. He was enraged at having yielded to the temptation, and berated +himself blasphemously and pridelessly. Then he went down the hill and +took up the cross-cutting. + +"Slow an' certain, Bill; slow an' certain," he crooned. "Short-cuts to +fortune ain't in your line, an' it's about time you know it. Get wise, +Bill; get wise. Slow an' certain's the only hand you can play; so go to +it, an' keep to it, too." + +As the cross-cuts decreased, showing that the sides of the "V" were +converging, the depth of the "V" increased. The gold-trace was dipping +into the hill. It was only at thirty inches beneath the surface that he +could get colors in his pan. The dirt he found at twenty-five inches +from the surface, and at thirty-five inches yielded barren pans. At the +base of the "V," by the water's edge, he had found the gold colors at +the grass roots. The higher he went up the hill, the deeper the gold +dipped. To dig a hole three feet deep in order to get one test-pan was a +task of no mean magnitude; while between the man and the apex intervened +an untold number of such holes to be dug. "An' there's no tellin' how +much deeper it'll pitch," he sighed, in a moment's pause, while his +fingers soothed his aching back. + +Feverish with desire, with aching back and stiffening muscles, with pick +and shovel gouging and mauling the soft brown earth, the man toiled up +the hill. Before him was the smooth slope, spangled with flowers and +made sweet with their breath. Behind him was devastation. It looked like +some terrible eruption breaking out on the smooth skin of the hill. His +slow progress was like that of a slug, befouling beauty with a monstrous +trail. + +Though the dipping gold-trace increased the man's work, he found +consolation in the increasing richness of the pans. Twenty cents, thirty +cents, fifty cents, sixty cents, were the values of the gold found in +the pans, and at nightfall he washed his banner pan, which gave him a +dollar's worth of gold-dust from a shovelful of dirt. + +"I'll just bet it's my luck to have some inquisitive one come buttin' in +here on my pasture," he mumbled sleepily that night as he pulled the +blankets up to his chin. + +Suddenly he sat upright. "Bill!" he called sharply. "Now, listen to me, +Bill; d'ye hear! It's up to you, to-morrow mornin', to mosey round an' +see what you can see. Understand? To-morrow morning, an' don't you +forget it!" + +He yawned and glanced across at his side-hill. "Good night, Mr. Pocket," +he called. + +In the morning he stole a march on the sun, for he had finished +breakfast when its first rays caught him, and he was climbing the wall +of the canyon where it crumbled away and gave footing. From the outlook +at the top he found himself in the midst of loneliness. As far as he +could see, chain after chain of mountains heaved themselves into his +vision. To the east his eyes, leaping the miles between range and range +and between many ranges, brought up at last against the white-peaked +Sierras--the main crest, where the backbone of the Western world reared +itself against the sky. To the north and south he could see more +distinctly the cross-systems that broke through the main trend of the +sea of mountains. To the west the ranges fell away, one behind the +other, diminishing and fading into the gentle foothills that, in turn, +descended into the great valley which he could not see. + +And in all that mighty sweep of earth he saw no sign of man nor of the +handiwork of man--save only the torn bosom of the hillside at his feet. +The man looked long and carefully. Once, far down his own canyon, he +thought he saw in the air a faint hint of smoke. He looked again and +decided that it was the purple haze of the hills made dark by a +convolution of the canyon wall at its back. + +"Hey, you, Mr. Pocket!" he called down into the canyon. "Stand out from +under! I'm a-comin', Mr. Pocket! I'm a-comin'!" + +The heavy brogans on the man's feet made him appear clumsy-footed, but +he swung down from the giddy height as lightly and airily as a mountain +goat. A rock, turning under his foot on the edge of the precipice, did +not disconcert him. He seemed to know the precise time required for the +turn to culminate in disaster, and in the meantime he utilized the false +footing itself for the momentary earth-contact necessary to carry him on +into safety. Where the earth sloped so steeply that it was impossible to +stand for a second upright, the man did not hesitate. His foot pressed +the impossible surface for but a fraction of the fatal second and gave +him the bound that carried him onward. Again, where even the fraction +of a second's footing was out of the question, he would swing his body +past by a moment's hand-grip on a jutting knob of rock, a crevice, or a +precariously rooted shrub. At last, with a wild leap and yell, he +exchanged the face of the wall for an earth-slide and finished the +descent in the midst of several tons of sliding earth and gravel. + +His first pan of the morning washed out over two dollars in coarse gold. +It was from the centre of the "V." To either side the diminution in the +values of the pans was swift. His lines of cross-cutting holes were +growing very short. The converging sides of the inverted "V" were only a +few yards apart. Their meeting-point was only a few yards above him. But +the pay-streak was dipping deeper and deeper into the earth. By early +afternoon he was sinking the test-holes five feet before the pans could +show the gold-trace. + +For that matter, the gold-trace had become something more than a trace; +it was a placer mine in itself, and the man resolved to come back after +he had found the pocket and work over the ground. But the increasing +richness of the pans began to worry him. By late afternoon the worth of +the pans had grown to three and four dollars. The man scratched his head +perplexedly and looked a few feet up the hill at the manzanita bush that +marked approximately the apex of the "V." He nodded his head and said +oracularly: + +"It's one o' two things, Bill: one o' two things. Either Mr. Pocket's +spilled himself all out an' down the hill, or else Mr. Pocket's so rich +you maybe won't be able to carry him all away with you. And that'd be an +awful shame, wouldn't it, now?" He chuckled at contemplation of so +pleasant a dilemma. + +Nightfall found him by the edge of the stream, his eyes wrestling with +the gathering darkness over the washing of a five-dollar pan. + +"Wisht I had an electric light to go on working," he said. + +He found sleep difficult that night. Many times he composed himself and +closed his eyes for slumber to overtake him; but his blood pounded with +too strong desire, and as many times his eyes opened and he murmured +wearily, "Wisht it was sun-up." + +Sleep came to him in the end, but his eyes were open with the first +paling of the stars, and the gray of dawn caught him with breakfast +finished and climbing the hillside in the direction of the secret +abiding-place of Mr. Pocket. + +The first cross-cut the man made, there was space for only three holes, +so narrow had become the pay-streak and so close was he to the +fountainhead of the golden stream he had been following for four days. + +"Be ca'm, Bill; be ca'm," he admonished himself, as he broke ground for +the final hole where the sides of the "V" had at last come together in a +point. + +"I've got the almighty cinch on you, Mr. Pocket, an' you can't lose me," +he said many times as he sank the hole deeper and deeper. + +Four feet, five feet, six feet, he dug his way down into the earth. The +digging grew harder. His pick grated on broken rock. He examined the +rock. "Rotten quartz," was his conclusion as, with the shovel, he +cleared the bottom of the hole of loose dirt. He attacked the crumbling +quartz with the pick, bursting the disintegrating rock asunder with +every stroke. + +He thrust his shovel into the loose mass. His eye caught a gleam of +yellow. He dropped the shovel and squatted suddenly on his heels. As a +farmer rubs the clinging earth from fresh-dug potatoes, so the man, a +piece of rotten quartz held in both hands, rubbed the dirt away. + +"Sufferin' Sardanopolis!" he cried. "Lumps an' chunks of it! Lumps an' +chunks of it!" + +It was only half rock he held in his hand. The other half was virgin +gold. He dropped it into his pan and examined another piece. Little +yellow was to be seen, but with his strong fingers he crumbled the +rotten quartz away till both hands were filled with glowing yellow. He +rubbed the dirt away from fragment after fragment, tossing them into the +gold-pan. It was a treasure-hole. So much had the quartz rotted away +that there was less of it than there was of gold. Now and again he found +a piece to which no rock clung--a piece that was all gold. A chunk, +where the pick had laid open the heart of the gold, glittered like a +handful of yellow jewels, and he cocked his head at it and slowly turned +it around and over to observe the rich play of the light upon it. + +"Talk about yer Too Much Gold diggin's!" the man snorted contemptuously. +"Why, this diggin' 'd make it look like thirty cents. This diggin' is +All Gold. An' right here an' now I name this yere canyon 'All Gold +Canyon,' b' gosh!" + +Still squatting on his heels, he continued examining the fragments and +tossing them into the pan. Suddenly there came to him a premonition of +danger. It seemed a shadow had fallen upon him. But there was no shadow. +His heart had given a great jump up into his throat and was choking him. +Then his blood slowly chilled and he felt the sweat of his shirt cold +against his flesh. + +He did not spring up nor look around. He did not move. He was +considering the nature of the premonition he had received, trying to +locate the source of the mysterious force that had warned him, striving +to sense the imperative presence of the unseen thing that threatened +him. There is an aura of things hostile, made manifest by messengers too +refined for the senses to know; and this aura he felt, but knew not how +he felt it. His was the feeling as when a cloud passes over the sun. It +seemed that between him and life had passed something dark and +smothering and menacing; a gloom, as it were, that swallowed up life and +made for death--his death. + +Every force of his being impelled him to spring up and confront the +unseen danger, but his soul dominated the panic, and he remained +squatting on his heels, in his hands a chunk of gold. He did not dare to +look around, but he knew by now that there was something behind him and +above him. He made believe to be interested in the gold in his hand. He +examined it critically, turned it over and over, and rubbed the dirt +from it. And all the time he knew that something behind him was looking +at the gold over his shoulder. + +Still feigning interest in the chunk of gold in his hand, he listened +intently and he heard the breathing of the thing behind him. His eyes +searched the ground in front of him for a weapon, but they saw only the +uprooted gold, worthless to him now in his extremity. There was his +pick, a handy weapon on occasion; but this was not such an occasion. The +man realized his predicament. He was in a narrow hole that was seven +feet deep. His head did not come to the surface of the ground. He was in +a trap. + +He remained squatting on his heels. He was quite cool and collected; but +his mind, considering every factor, showed him only his helplessness. +He continued rubbing the dirt from the quartz fragments and throwing the +gold into the pan. There was nothing else for him to do. Yet he knew +that he would have to rise up, sooner or later, and face the danger that +breathed at his back. The minutes passed, and with the passage of each +minute he knew that by so much he was nearer the time when he must stand +up, or else--and his wet shirt went cold against his flesh again at the +thought--or else he might receive death as he stooped there over his +treasure. + +Still he squatted on his heels, rubbing dirt from gold and debating in +just what manner he should rise up. He might rise up with a rush and +claw his way out of the hole to meet whatever threatened on the even +footing above ground. Or he might rise up slowly and carelessly, and +feign casually to discover the thing that breathed at his back. His +instinct and every fighting fibre of his body favored the mad, clawing +rush to the surface. His intellect, and the craft thereof, favored the +slow and cautious meeting with the thing that menaced and which he could +not see. And while he debated, a loud, crashing noise burst on his ear. +At the same instant he received a stunning blow on the left side of the +back, and from the point of impact felt a rush of flame through his +flesh. He sprang up in the air, but halfway to his feet collapsed. His +body crumpled in like a leaf withered in sudden heat, and he came down, +his chest across his pan of gold, his face in the dirt and rock, his +legs tangled and twisted because of the restricted space at the bottom +of the hole. His legs twitched convulsively several times. His body was +shaken as with a mighty ague. There was a slow expansion of the lungs, +accompanied by a deep sigh. Then the air was slowly, very slowly, +exhaled, and his body as slowly flattened itself down into inertness. + +Above, revolver in hand, a man was peering down over the edge of the +hole. He peered for a long time at the prone and motionless body beneath +him. After a while the stranger sat down on the edge of the hole so that +he could see into it, and rested the revolver on his knee. Reaching his +hand into a pocket, he drew out a wisp of brown paper. Into this he +dropped a few crumbs of tobacco. The combination became a cigarette, +brown and squat, with the ends turned in. Not once did he take his eyes +from the body at the bottom of the hole. He lighted the cigarette and +drew its smoke into his lungs with a caressing intake of the breath. He +smoked slowly. Once the cigarette went out and he relighted it. And all +the while he studied the body beneath him. + +In the end he tossed the cigarette stub away and rose to his feet. He +moved to the edge of the hole. Spanning it, a hand resting on each edge, +and with the revolver still in the right hand, he muscled his body down +into the hole. While his feet were yet a yard from the bottom he +released his hands and dropped down. + +At the instant his feet struck bottom he saw the pocket-miner's arm leap +out, and his own legs knew a swift, jerking grip that overthrew him. In +the nature of the jump his revolver hand was above his head. Swiftly as +the grip had flashed about his legs, just as swiftly he brought the +revolver down. He was still in the air, his fall in process of +completion, when he pulled the trigger. The explosion was deafening in +the confined space. The smoke filled the hole so that he could see +nothing. He struck the bottom on his back, and like a cat's the +pocket-miner's body was on top of him. Even as the miner's body passed +on top, the stranger crooked in his right arm to fire; and even in that +instant the miner, with a quick thrust of elbow, struck his wrist. The +muzzle was thrown up and the bullet thudded into the dirt of the side of +the hole. + +The next instant the stranger felt the miner's hand grip his wrist. The +struggle was now for the revolver. Each man strove to turn it against +the other's body. The smoke in the hole was clearing. The stranger, +lying on his back, was beginning to see dimly. But suddenly he was +blinded by a handful of dirt deliberately flung into his eyes by his +antagonist. In that moment of shock his grip on the revolver was broken. +In the next moment he felt a smashing darkness descend upon his brain, +and in the midst of the darkness even the darkness ceased. + +But the pocket-miner fired again and again, until the revolver was +empty. Then he tossed it from him and, breathing heavily, sat down on +the dead man's legs. + +The miner was sobbing and struggling for breath. "Measly skunk!" he +panted; "a-campin' on my trail an' lettin' me do the work, an' then +shootin' me in the back!" + +He was half crying from anger and exhaustion. He peered at the face of +the dead man. It was sprinkled with loose dirt and gravel, and it was +difficult to distinguish the features. + +"Never laid eyes on him before," the miner concluded his scrutiny. "Just +a common an' ordinary thief, hang him! An' he shot me in the back! He +shot me in the back!" + +He opened his shirt and felt himself, front and back, on his left side. + +"Went clean through, and no harm done!" he cried jubilantly. "I'll bet +he aimed all right all right; but he drew the gun over when he pulled +the trigger--the cur! But I fixed 'm! Oh, I fixed 'm!" + +His fingers were investigating the bullet-hole in his side, and a shade +of regret passed over his face. "It's goin' to be stiffer'n hell," he +said. "An' it's up to me to get mended an' get out o'here." + +He crawled out of the hole and went down the hill to his camp. Half an +hour later he returned, leading his pack-horse. His open shirt +disclosed the rude bandages with which he had dressed his wound. He was +slow and awkward with his left-hand movements, but that did not prevent +his using the arm. + +The bight of the pack-rope under the dead man's shoulders enabled him to +heave the body out of the hole. Then he set to work gathering up his +gold. He worked steadily for several hours, pausing often to rest his +stiffening shoulder and to exclaim: + +"He shot me in the back, the measly skunk! He shot me in the back!" + +When his treasure was quite cleaned up and wrapped securely into a +number of blanket-covered parcels, he made an estimate of its value. + +"Four hundred pounds, or I'm a Hottentot," he concluded. "Say two +hundred in quartz an' dirt--that leaves two hundred pounds of gold. +Bill! Wake up! Two hundred pounds of gold! Forty thousand dollars! An' +it's yourn--all yourn!" + +He scratched his head delightedly and his fingers blundered into an +unfamiliar groove. They quested along it for several inches. It was a +crease through his scalp where the second bullet had ploughed. + +He walked angrily over to the dead man. + +"You would, would you!" he bullied. "You would, eh? Well, I fixed you +good an' plenty, an' I'll give you decent burial, too. That's more'n +you'd have done for me." + +He dragged the body to the edge of the hole and toppled it in. It struck +the bottom with a dull crash, on its side, the face twisted up to the +light. The miner peered down at it. + +"An' you shot me in the back!" he said accusingly. + +With pick and shovel he filled the hole. Then he loaded the gold on his +horse. It was too great a load for the animal, and when he had gained +his camp he transferred part of it to his saddle-horse. Even so, he was +compelled to abandon a portion of his outfit--pick and shovel and +gold-pan, extra food and cooking utensils, and divers odds and ends. + +The sun was at the zenith when the man forced the horses at the screen +of vines and creepers. To climb the huge boulders the animals were +compelled to uprear and struggle blindly through the tangled mass of +vegetation. Once the saddle-horse fell heavily and the man removed the +pack to get the animal on its feet. After it started on its way again +the man thrust his head out from among the leaves and peered up at the +hillside. + +"The measly skunk!" he said, and disappeared. + +There was a ripping and tearing of vines and boughs. The trees surged +back and forth, marking the passage of the animals through the midst of +them. There was a clashing of steel-shod hoofs on stone, and now and +again a sharp cry of command. Then the voice of the man was raised in +song:-- + + "Tu'n around an' tu'n yo' face + Untoe them sweet hills of grace + (D' pow'rs of sin yo' am scornin'!). + Look about an' look aroun' + Fling yo' sin-pack on d' groun' + (Yo'-will meet wid d' Lord in d' mornin'!)." + +The song grew faint and fainter, and through the silence crept back the +spirit of the place. The stream once more drowsed and whispered; the hum +of the mountain bees rose sleepily. Down through the perfume-weighted +air fluttered the snowy fluffs of the cottonwoods. The butterflies +drifted in and out among the trees, and over all blazed the quiet +sunshine. Only remained the hoof-marks in the meadow and the torn +hillside to mark the boisterous trail of the life that had broken the +peace of the place and passed on. + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE STORY OF KEESH + + +Keesh lived long ago on the rim of the polar sea, was head man of his +village through many and prosperous years, and died full of honors with +his name on the lips of men. So long ago did he live that only the old +men remember his name, his name and the tale, which they got from the +old men before them, and which the old men to come will tell to their +children and their children's children down to the end of time. And the +winter darkness, when the north gales make their long sweep across the +ice-pack, and the air is filled with flying white, and no man may +venture forth, is the chosen time for the telling of how Keesh, from the +poorest _igloo_ in the village, rose to power and place over them all. + +He was a bright boy, so the tale runs, healthy and strong, and he had +seen thirteen suns, in their way of reckoning time. For each winter the +sun leaves the land in darkness, and the next year a new sun returns so +that they may be warm again and look upon one another's faces. The +father of Keesh had been a very brave man, but he had met his death in a +time of famine, when he sought to save the lives of his people by taking +the life of a great polar bear. In his eagerness he came to close +grapples with the bear, and his bones were crushed; but the bear had +much meat on him and the people were saved. Keesh was his only son, and +after that Keesh lived alone with his mother. But the people are prone +to forget, and they forgot the deed of his father; and he being but a +boy, and his mother only a woman, they, too, were swiftly forgotten, and +ere long came to live in the meanest of all the _igloos_. + +It was at a council, one night, in the big _igloo_ of Klosh-Kwan, the +chief, that Keesh showed the blood that ran in his veins and the manhood +that stiffened his back. With the dignity of an elder, he rose to his +feet, and waited for silence amid the babble of voices. + +"It is true that meat be apportioned me and mine," he said. "But it is +ofttimes old and tough, this meat, and, moreover, it has an unusual +quantity of bones." + +The hunters, grizzled and gray, and lusty and young, were aghast. The +like had never been known before. A child, that talked like a grown man, +and said harsh things to their very faces! + +But steadily and with seriousness, Keesh went on. "For that I know my +father, Bok, was a great hunter, I speak these words. It is said that +Bok brought home more meat than any of the two best hunters, that with +his own hands he attended to the division of it, that with his own eyes +he saw to it that the least old woman and the least old man received +fair share." + +"Na! Na!" the men cried. "Put the child out!" "Send him off to bed!" "He +is no man that he should talk to men and gray-beards!" + +He waited calmly till the uproar died down. + +"Thou hast a wife, Ugh-Gluk," he said, "and for her dost thou speak. And +thou, too, Massuk, a mother also, and for them dost thou speak. My +mother has no one, save me; wherefore I speak. As I say, though Bok be +dead because he hunted over-keenly, it is just that I, who am his son, +and that Ikeega, who is my mother and was his wife, should have meat in +plenty so long as there be meat in plenty in the tribe. I, Keesh, the +son of Bok, have spoken." + +He sat down, his ears keenly alert to the flood of protest and +indignation his words had created. + +"That a boy should speak in council!" old Ugh-Gluk was mumbling. + +"Shall the babes in arms tell us men the things we shall do?" Massuk +demanded in a loud voice. "Am I a man that I should be made a mock by +every child that cries for meat?" + +The anger boiled a white heat. They ordered him to bed, threatened that +he should have no meat at all, and promised him sore beatings for his +presumption. Keesh's eyes began to flash, and the blood to pound darkly +under his skin. In the midst of the abuse he sprang to his feet. + +"Hear me, ye men!" he cried. "Never shall I speak in the council again, +never again till the men come to me and say, 'It is well, Keesh, that +thou shouldst speak, it is well and it is our wish.' Take this now, ye +men, for my last word. Bok, my father, was a great hunter. I too, his +son, shall go and hunt the meat that I eat. And be it known, now, that +the division of that which I kill shall be fair. And no widow nor weak +one shall cry in the night because there is no meat, when the strong men +are groaning in great pain for that they have eaten overmuch. And in the +days to come there shall be shame upon the strong men who have eaten +overmuch. I, Keesh, have said it!" + +Jeers and scornful laughter followed him out of the _igloo_, but his jaw +was set and he went his way, looking neither to right nor left. + +The next day he went forth along the shoreline where the ice and the +land met together. Those who saw him go noted that he carried his bow, +with a goodly supply of bone-barbed arrows, and that across his shoulder +was his father's big hunting-spear. And there was laughter, and much +talk, at the event. It was an unprecedented occurrence. Never did boys +of his tender age go forth to hunt, much less to hunt alone. Also were +there shaking of heads and prophetic mutterings, and the women looked +pityingly at Ikeega, and her face was grave and sad. + +"He will be back ere long," they said cheeringly. + +"Let him go; it will teach him a lesson," the hunters said. "And he will +come back shortly, and he will be meek and soft of speech in the days to +follow." + +But a day passed, and a second, and on the third a wild gale blew, and +there was no Keesh. Ikeega tore her hair and put soot of the seal-oil on +her face in token of her grief; and the women assailed the men with +bitter words in that they had mistreated the boy and sent him to his +death; and the men made no answer, preparing to go in search of the body +when the storm abated. + +Early next morning, however, Keesh strode into the village. But he came +not shamefacedly. Across his shoulders he bore a burden of fresh-killed +meat. And there was importance in his step and arrogance in his speech. + +"Go, ye men, with the dogs and sledges, and take my trail for the better +part of a day's travel," he said. "There is much meat on the ice--a +she-bear and two half-grown cubs." + +Ikeega was overcome with joy, but he received her demonstrations in +manlike fashion, saying: "Come, Ikeega, let us eat. And after that I +shall sleep, for I am weary." + +And he passed into their _igloo_ and ate profoundly, and after that +slept for twenty running hours. + +There was much doubt at first, much doubt and discussion. The killing of +a polar bear is very dangerous, but thrice dangerous is it, and three +times thrice, to kill a mother bear with her cubs. The men could not +bring themselves to believe that the boy Keesh, single-handed, had +accomplished so great a marvel. But the women spoke of the fresh-killed +meat he had brought on his back, and this was an overwhelming argument +against their unbelief. So they finally departed, grumbling greatly that +in all probability, if the thing were so, he had neglected to cut up the +carcasses. Now in the north it is very necessary that this should be +done as soon as a kill is made. If not, the meat freezes so solidly as +to turn the edge of the sharpest knife, and a three-hundred-pound bear, +frozen stiff, is no easy thing to put upon a sled and haul over the +rough ice. But arrived at the spot, they found not only the kill which +they had doubted, but that Keesh had quartered the beasts in true hunter +fashion, and removed the entrails. + +Thus began the mystery of Keesh, a mystery that deepened and deepened +with the passing of the days. His very next trip he killed a young bear, +nearly full-grown, and on the trip following, a large male bear and his +mate. He was ordinarily gone from three to four days, though it was +nothing unusual for him to stay away a week at a time on the ice-field. +Always he declined company on these expeditions, and the people +marveled. "How does he do it?" they demanded of one another. "Never does +he take a dog with him, and dogs are of such great help, too." + +"Why dost thou hunt only bear?" Klosh-Kwan once ventured to ask. + +And Keesh made fitting answer. "It is well known that there is more meat +on the bear," he said. + +But there was also talk of witchcraft in the village. "He hunts with +evil spirits," some of the people contended, "wherefore his hunting is +rewarded. How else can it be, save that he hunts with evil spirits?" + +"Mayhap they be not evil, but good, these spirits," others said. "It is +known that his father was a mighty hunter. May not his father hunt with +him so that he may attain excellence and patience and understanding? Who +knows?" + +None the less, his success continued, and the less skilful hunters were +often kept busy hauling in his meat. And in the division of it he was +just. As his father had done before him, he saw to it that the least old +woman and the last old man received a fair portion, keeping no more for +himself than his needs required. And because of this, and of his merit +as a hunter, he was looked upon with respect, and even awe; and there +was talk of making him chief after old Klosh-Kwan. Because of the things +he had done, they looked for him to appear again in the council, but he +never came, and they were ashamed to ask. + +"I am minded to build me an _igloo_," he said one day to Klosh-Kwan and +a number of the hunters. "It shall be a large _igloo_, wherein Ikeega +and I can dwell in comfort." + +"Ay," they nodded gravely. + +"But I have no time. My business is hunting, and it takes all my time. +So it is but just that the men and women of the village who eat my meat +should build me my _igloo_." + +And the _igloo_ was built accordingly, on a generous scale which +exceeded even the dwelling of Klosh-Kwan. Keesh and his mother moved +into it, and it was the first prosperity she had enjoyed since the death +of Bok. Nor was material prosperity alone hers, for, because of her +wonderful son and the position he had given her, she came to be looked +upon as the first woman in all the village; and the women were given to +visiting her, to asking her advice, and to quoting her wisdom when +arguments arose among themselves or with the men. + +But it was the mystery of Keesh's marvelous hunting that took chief +place in all their minds. And one day Ugh-Gluk taxed him with witchcraft +to his face. + +"It is charged," Ugh-Gluk said ominously, "that thou dealest with evil +spirits, wherefore thy hunting is rewarded." + +"Is not the meat good?" Keesh made answer. "Has one in the village yet +to fall sick from the eating of it! How dost thou know that witchcraft +be concerned? Or dost thou guess, in the dark, merely because of the +envy that consumes thee?" + +And Ugh-Gluk withdrew discomfited, the women laughing at him as he +walked away. But in the council one night, after long deliberation, it +was determined to put spies on his track when he went forth to hunt, so +that his methods might be learned. So, on his next trip, Bim and Bawn, +two young men, and of hunters the craftiest, followed after him, taking +care not to be seen. After five days they returned, their eyes bulging +and their tongues a-tremble to tell what they had seen. The council was +hastily called in Klosh-Kwan's dwelling, and Bim took up the tale. + +"Brothers! As commanded, we journeyed on the trail of Keesh, and +cunningly we journeyed, so that he might not know. And midway of the +first day he picked up with a great he-bear. It was a very great bear." + +"None greater," Bawn corroborated, and went on himself. "Yet was the +bear not inclined to fight, for he turned away and made off slowly over +the ice. This we saw from the rocks of the shore, and the bear came +toward us, and after him came Keesh, very much unafraid. And he shouted +harsh words after the bear, and waved his arms about, and made much +noise. Then did the bear grow angry, and rise up on his hind legs, and +growl. But Keesh walked right up to the bear." + +"Ay," Bim continued the story. "Right up to the bear Keesh walked. And +the bear took after him, and Keesh ran away. But as he ran he dropped a +little round ball on the ice. And the bear stopped and smelled of it, +and then swallowed it up. And Keesh continued to run away and drop +little round balls, and the bear continued to swallow them up." + +Exclamations and cries of doubt were being made, and Ugh-Gluk expressed +open unbelief. + +"With our own eyes we saw it," Bim affirmed. + +And Bawn--"Ay, with our own eyes. And this continued until the bear +stood suddenly upright and cried aloud in pain, and thrashed his +forepaws madly about. And Keesh continued to make off over the ice to a +safe distance. But the bear gave him no notice, being occupied with the +misfortune the little round balls had wrought within him." + +"Ay, within him," Bim interrupted. "For he did claw at himself, and +leap about over the ice like a playful puppy, save from the way he +growled and squealed it was plain it was not play but pain. Never did I +see such a sight!" + +"Nay, never was such a sight seen," Bawn took up the strain. "And +furthermore, it was such a large bear." + +"Witchcraft," Ugh-Gluk suggested. + +"I know not," Bawn replied. "I tell only of what my eyes beheld. And +after a while the bear grew weak and tired, for he was very heavy and he +had jumped about with exceeding violence, and he went off along the +shore-ice, shaking his head slowly from side to side and sitting down +ever and again to squeal and cry. And Keesh followed after the bear, and +we followed after Keesh, and for that day and three days more we +followed. The bear grew weak, and never ceased crying from his pain." + +"It was a charm!" Ugh-Gluk exclaimed. "Surely it was a charm!" + +"It may well be." + +And Bim relieved Bawn. "The bear wandered, now this way and now that, +doubling back and forth and crossing his trail in circles, so that at +the end he was near where Keesh had first come upon him. By this time he +was quite sick, the bear, and could crawl no farther, so Keesh came up +close and speared him to death." + +"And then?" Klosh-Kwan demanded. + +"Then we left Keesh skinning the bear, and came running that the news of +the killing might be told." + +And in the afternoon of that day the women hauled in the meat of the +bear while the men sat in council assembled. When Keesh arrived a +messenger was sent to him, bidding him come to the council. But he sent +reply, saying that he was hungry and tired; also that his _igloo_ was +large and comfortable and could hold many men. + +And curiosity was so strong on the men that the whole council, +Klosh-Kwan to the fore, rose up and went to the _igloo_ of Keesh. He was +eating, but he received them with respect and seated them according to +their rank. Ikeega was proud and embarrassed by turns, but Keesh was +quite composed. + +Klosh-Kwan recited the information brought by Bim and Bawn, and at its +close said in a stern voice: "So explanation is wanted, O Keesh, of thy +manner of hunting. Is there witchcraft in it?" + +Keesh looked up and smiled. "Nay, O Klosh-Kwan. It is not for a boy to +know aught of witches, and of witches I know nothing. I have but devised +a means whereby I may kill the ice-bear with ease, that is all. It be +headcraft, not witchcraft." + +"And may any man?" + +"Any man." + +There was a long silence. The men looked in one another's faces, and +Keesh went on eating. + +"And ... and ... and wilt thou tell us, O Keesh?" Klosh-Kwan finally +asked in a tremulous voice. + +"Yea, I will tell thee." Keesh finished sucking a marrow-bone and rose +to his feet. "It is quite simple. Behold!" + +He picked up a thin strip of whalebone and showed it to them. The ends +were sharp as needle-points. The strip he coiled carefully, till it +disappeared in his hand. Then, suddenly releasing it, it sprang straight +again. He picked up a piece of blubber. + +"So," he said, "one takes a small chunk of blubber, thus, and thus makes +it hollow. Then into the hollow goes the whalebone, so, tightly coiled, +and another piece of blubber is fitted over the whalebone. After that it +is put outside where it freezes into a little round ball. The bear +swallows the little round ball, the blubber melts, the whalebone with +its sharp ends stands out straight, the bear gets sick, and when the +bear is very sick, why, you kill him with a spear. It is quite simple." + +And Ugh-Gluk said "Oh!" and Klosh-Kwan said "Ah!" And each said +something after his own manner, and all understood. + +And this is the story of Keesh, who lived long ago on the rim of the +polar sea. Because he exercised headcraft and not witchcraft, he rose +from the meanest _igloo_ to be head man of his village, and through all +the years that he lived, it is related, his tribe was prosperous, and +neither widow nor weak one cried aloud in the night because there was no +meat. + +[Illustration] + + + + +NAM-BOK THE UNVERACIOUS + + +"A Bidarka, is it not so! Look! a bidarka, and one man who drives +clumsily with a paddle!" + +Old Bask-Wah-Wan rose to her knees, trembling with weakness and +eagerness, and gazed out over the sea. + +"Nam-Bok was ever clumsy at the paddle," she maundered reminiscently, +shading the sun from her eyes and staring across the silver-spilled +water. "Nam-Bok was ever clumsy. I remember...." + +But the women and children laughed loudly, and there was a gentle +mockery in their laughter, and her voice dwindled till her lips moved +without sound. + +Koogah lifted his grizzled head from his bone-carving and followed the +path of her eyes. Except when wide yawns took it off its course, a +bidarka was heading in for the beach. Its occupant was paddling with +more strength than dexterity, and made his approach along the zigzag +line of most resistance. Koogah's head dropped to his work again, and on +the ivory tusk between his knees he scratched the dorsal fin of a fish +the like of which never swam in the sea. + +"It is doubtless the man from the next village," he said finally, "come +to consult with me about the marking of things on bone. And the man is a +clumsy man. He will never know how." + +"It is Nam-Bok," old Bask-Wah-Wan repeated. "Should I not know my son!" +she demanded shrilly. "I say, and I say again, it is Nam-Bok." + +"And so thou hast said these many summers," one of the women chided +softly. "Ever when the ice passed out of the sea hast thou sat and +watched through the long day, saying at each chance canoe, 'This is +Nam-Bok.' Nam-Bok is dead, O Bask-Wah-Wan, and the dead do not come +back. It cannot be that the dead come back." + +"Nam-Bok!" the old woman cried, so loud and clear that the whole +village was startled and looked at her. + +She struggled to her feet and tottered down the sand. She stumbled over +a baby lying in the sun, and the mother hushed its crying and hurled +harsh words after the old woman, who took no notice. The children ran +down the beach in advance of her, and as the man in the bidarka drew +closer, nearly capsizing with one of his ill-directed strokes, the women +followed. Koogah dropped his walrus tusk and went also, leaning heavily +upon his staff, and after him loitered the men in twos and threes. + +The bidarka turned broadside and the ripple of surf threatened to swamp +it, only a naked boy ran into the water and pulled the bow high up on +the sand. The man stood up and sent a questing glance along the line of +villagers. A rainbow sweater, dirty and the worse for wear, clung +loosely to his broad shoulders, and a red cotton handkerchief was +knotted in sailor fashion about his throat. A fisherman's tam-o'-shanter +on his close-clipped head, and dungaree trousers and heavy brogans +completed his outfit. + +But he was none the less a striking personage to these simple +fisherfolk of the great Yukon Delta, who, all their lives, had stared +out on Bering Sea and in that time seen but two white men,--the census +enumerator and a lost Jesuit priest. They were a poor people, with +neither gold in the ground nor valuable furs in hand, so the whites had +passed them afar. Also, the Yukon, through the thousands of years, had +shoaled that portion of the sea with the detritus of Alaska till vessels +grounded out of sight of land. So the sodden coast, with its long inside +reaches and huge mud-land archipelagoes, was avoided by the ships of +men, and the fisherfolk knew not that such things were. + +Koogah, the Bone-Scratcher, retreated backward in sudden haste, tripping +over his staff and falling to the ground. "Nam-Bok!" he cried, as he +scrambled wildly for footing. "Nam-Bok, who was blown off to sea, come +back!" + +The men and women shrank away, and the children scuttled off between +their legs. Only Opee-Kwan was brave, as befitted the head man of the +village. He strode forward and gazed long and earnestly at the newcomer. + +"It is Nam-Bok," he said at last, and at the conviction in his voice +the women wailed apprehensively and drew farther away. + +The lips of the stranger moved indecisively, and his brown throat +writhed and wrestled with unspoken words. + +"La, la, it is Nam-Bok," Bask-Wah-Wan croaked, peering up into his face. +"Ever did I say Nam-Bok would come back." + +"Ay, it is Nam-Bok come back." This time it was Nam-Bok himself who +spoke, putting a leg over the side of the bidarka and standing with one +foot afloat and one ashore. Again his throat writhed and wrestled as he +grappled after forgotten words. And when the words came forth they were +strange of sound and a spluttering of the lips accompanied the +gutturals. "Greetings, O brothers," he said, "brothers of old time +before I went away with the off-shore wind." + +He stepped out with both feet on the sand, and Opee-Kwan waved him back. + +"Thou art dead, Nam-Bok," he said. + +Nam-Bok laughed. "I am fat." + +"Dead men are not fat," Opee-Kwan confessed. "Thou hast fared well, but +it is strange. No man may mate with the off-shore wind and come back on +the heels of the years." + +"I have come back," Nam-Bok answered simply. + +"Mayhap thou art a shadow, then, a passing shadow of the Nam-Bok that +was. Shadows come back." + +"I am hungry. Shadows do not eat." + +But Opee-Kwan doubted, and brushed his hand across his brow in sore +puzzlement. Nam-Bok was likewise puzzled, and as he looked up and down +the line found no welcome in the eyes of the fisherfolk. The men and +women whispered together. The children stole timidly back among their +elders, and bristling dogs fawned up to him and sniffed suspiciously. + +"I bore thee, Nam-Bok, and I gave thee suck when thou wast little," +Bask-Wah-Wan whimpered, drawing closer; "and shadow though thou be, or +no shadow, I will give thee to eat now." + +Nam-Bok made to come to her, but a growl of fear and menace warned him +back. He said something angrily in a strange tongue, and added, "No +shadow am I, but a man." + +"Who may know concerning the things of mystery?" Opee-Kwan demanded, +half of himself and half of his tribespeople. "We are, and in a breath +we are not. If the man may become shadow, may not the shadow become man? +Nam-Bok was, but is not. This we know, but we do not know if this be +Nam-Bok or the shadow of Nam-Bok." + +Nam-Bok cleared his throat and made answer. "In the old time long ago, +thy father's father, Opee-Kwan, went away and came back on the heels of +the years. Nor was a place by the fire denied him. It is said ..." He +paused significantly, and they hung on his utterance. "It is said," he +repeated, driving his point home with deliberation, "that Sipsip, his +_klooch_, bore him two sons after he came back." + +"But he had no doings with the off-shore wind," Opee-Kwan retorted. "He +went away into the heart of the land, and it is in the nature of things +that a man may go on and on into the land." + +"And likewise the sea. But that is neither here nor there. It is said +... that thy father's father told strange tales of the things he saw." + +"Ay, strange tales he told." + +"I, too, have strange tales to tell," Nam-Bok stated insidiously. And, +as they wavered, "And presents likewise." + +He pulled from the bidarka a shawl, marvelous of texture and color, and +flung it about his mother's shoulders. The women voiced a collective +sigh of admiration, and old Bask-Wah-Wan ruffled the gay material and +patted it and crooned in childish joy. + +"He has tales to tell," Koogah muttered. "And presents," a woman +seconded. + +And Opee-Kwan knew that his people were eager, and further, he was aware +himself of an itching curiosity concerning those untold tales. "The +fishing has been good," he said judiciously, "and we have oil in plenty. +So come, Nam-Bok, let us feast." + +Two of the men hoisted the bidarka on their shoulders and carried it up +to the fire. Nam-Bok walked by the side of Opee-Kwan, and the villagers +followed after, save those of the women who lingered a moment to lay +caressing fingers on the shawl. + +There was little talk while the feast went on, though many and curious +were the glances stolen at the son of Bask-Wah-Wan. This embarrassed +him--not because he was modest of spirit, however, but for the fact +that the stench of the seal-oil had robbed him of his appetite, and that +he keenly desired to conceal his feelings on the subject. + +"Eat; thou art hungry," Opee-Kwan commanded, and Nam-Bok shut both his +eyes and shoved his fist into the big pot of putrid fish. + +"La la, be not ashamed. The seal were many this year, and strong men are +ever hungry." And Bask-Wah-Wan sopped a particularly offensive chunk of +salmon into the oil and passed it fondly and dripping to her son. + +In despair, when premonitory symptoms warned him that his stomach was +not so strong as of old, he filled his pipe and struck up a smoke. The +people fed on noisily and watched. Few of them could boast of intimate +acquaintance with the precious weed, though now and again small +quantities and abominable qualities were obtained in trade from the +Eskimos to the northward. Koogah, sitting next to him, indicated that he +was not averse to taking a draw, and between two mouthfuls, with the oil +thick on his lips, sucked away at the amber stem. And thereupon Nam-Bok +held his stomach with a shaky hand and declined the proffered return. +Koogah could keep the pipe, he said, for he had intended so to honor him +from the first. And the people licked their fingers and approved of his +liberality. + +Opee-Kwan rose to his feet. "And now, O Nam-Bok, the feast is ended, and +we would listen concerning the strange things you have seen." + +The fisherfolk applauded with their hands, and gathering about them +their work, prepared to listen. The men were busy fashioning spears and +carving on ivory, while the women scraped the fat from the hides of the +hair seal and made them pliable or sewed muclucs with threads of sinew. +Nam-Bok's eyes roved over the scene, but there was not the charm about +it that his recollection had warranted him to expect. During the years +of his wandering he had looked forward to just this scene, and now that +it had come he was disappointed. It was a bare and meagre life, he +deemed, and not to be compared to the one to which he had become used. +Still, he would open their eyes a bit, and his own eyes sparkled at the +thought. + +"Brothers," he began, with the smug complacency of a man about to relate +the big things he has done, "it was late summer of many summers back, +with much such weather as this promises to be, when I went away. You all +remember the day, when the gulls flew low, and the wind blew strong from +the land, and I could not hold my bidarka against it. I tied the +covering of the bidarka about me so that no water could get in, and all +of the night I fought with the storm. And in the morning there was no +land,--only the sea,--and the off-shore wind held me close in its arms +and bore me along. Three such nights whitened into dawn and showed me no +land, and the off-shore wind would not let me go. + +"And when the fourth day came, I was as a madman. I could not dip my +paddle for want of food; and my head went round and round, what of the +thirst that was upon me. But the sea was no longer angry, and the soft +south wind was blowing, and as I looked about me I saw a sight that made +me think I was indeed mad." + +Nam-Bok paused to pick away a sliver of salmon lodged between his teeth, +and the men and women, with idle hands and heads craned forward, waited. + +"It was a canoe, a big canoe. If all the canoes I have ever seen were +made into one canoe, it would not be so large." + +There were exclamations of doubt, and Koogah, whose years were many, +shook his head. + +"If each bidarka were as a grain of sand," Nam-Bok defiantly continued, +"and if there were as many bidarkas as there be grains of sand in this +beach, still would they not make so big a canoe as this I saw on the +morning of the fourth day. It was a very big canoe, and it was called a +_schooner_. I saw this thing of wonder, this great schooner, coming +after me, and on it I saw men----" + +"Hold, O Nam-Bok!" Opee-Kwan broke in. "What manner of men were +they?--big men?" + +"Nay, mere men like you and me." + +"Did the big canoe come fast?" + +"Ay." + +"The sides were tall, the men short." Opee-Kwan stated the premises with +conviction. "And did these men dip with long paddles?" + +Nam-Bok grinned. "There were no paddles," he said. + +Mouths remained open, and a long silence dropped down. Ope-Kwan +borrowed Koogah's pipe for a couple of contemplative sucks. One of the +younger women giggled nervously and drew upon herself angry eyes. + +"There were no paddles?" Opee-Kwan asked softly, returning the pipe. + +"The south wind was behind," Nam-Bok explained. + +"But the wind drift is slow." + +"The schooner had wings--thus." He sketched a diagram of masts and sails +in the sand, and the men crowded around and studied it. The wind was +blowing briskly, and for more graphic elucidation he seized the corners +of his mother's shawl and spread them out till it bellied like a sail. +Bask Wah-Wan scolded and struggled, but was blown down the breach for a +score of feet and left breathless and stranded in a heap of driftwood. +The men uttered sage grunts of comprehension, but Koogah suddenly tossed +back his hoary head. + +"Ho! Ho!" he laughed. "A foolish thing, this big canoe! A most foolish +thing! The plaything of the wind! Wheresoever the wind goes, it goes +too. No man who journeys therein may name the landing beach, for always +he goes with the wind, and the wind goes everywhere, but no man knows +where." + +"It is so," Opee-Kwan supplemented gravely. "With the wind the going is +easy, but against the wind a man striveth hard; and for that they had no +paddles these men on the big canoe did not strive at all." + +"Small need to strive," Nam-Bok cried angrily. "The schooner went +likewise against the wind." + +"And what said you made the sch--sch--schooner go?" Koogah asked, +tripping craftily over the strange word. + +"The wind," was the impatient response. + +"Then the wind made the sch--sch--schooner go against the wind." Old +Koogah dropped an open leer to Opee-Kwan, and, the laughter growing +around him, continued: "The wind blows from the south and blows the +schooner south. The wind blows against the wind. The wind blows one way +and the other at the same time. It is very simple. We understand, +Nam-Bok. We clearly understand." + +"Thou art a fool!" + +"Truth falls from thy lips," Koogah answered meekly. "I was over-long +in understanding, and the thing was simple." + +But Nam-Bok's face was dark, and he said rapid words which they had +never heard before. Bone-scratching and skin-scraping were resumed, but +he shut his lips tightly on the tongue that could not be believed. + +"This sch--sch--schooner," Koogah imperturbably asked; "it was made of a +big tree?" + +"It was made of many trees," Nam-Bok snapped shortly. "It was very big." + +He lapsed into sullen silence again, and Opee-Kwan nudged Koogah, who +shook his head with slow amazement and murmured, "It is very strange." + +Nam-Bok took the bait. "That is nothing," he said airily; "you should +see the _steamer._ As the grain of sand is to the bidarka, as the +bidarka is to the schooner, so the schooner is to the steamer. Further, +the steamer is made of iron. It is all iron." + +"Nay, nay, Nam-Bok," cried the head man; "how can that be? Always iron +goes to the bottom. For behold, I received an iron knife in trade from +the head man of the next village, and yesterday the iron knife slipped +from my fingers and went down, down, into the sea. To all things there +be law. Never was there one thing outside the law. This we know. And, +moreover, we know that things of a kind have the one law, and that all +iron has the one law. So unsay thy words, Nam-Bok, that we may yet honor +thee." + +"It is so," Nam-Bok persisted. "The steamer is all iron and does not +sink." + +"Nay, nay; this cannot be." + +"With my own eyes I saw it." + +"It is not in the nature of things." + +"But tell me, Nam-Bok," Koogah interrupted, for fear the tale would go +no farther, "tell me the manner of these men in finding their way across +the sea when there is no land by which to steer." + +"The sun points out the path." + +"But how?" + +"At midday the head man of the schooner takes a thing through which his +eye looks at the sun, and then he makes the sun climb down out of the +sky to the edge of the earth." + +"Now this be evil medicine!" cried Opee-Kwan, aghast at the sacrilege. +The men held up their hands in horror, and the women moaned. "This be +evil medicine. It is not good to misdirect the great sun which drives +away the night and gives us the seal, the salmon, and warm weather." + +"What if it be evil medicine?" Nam-Bok demanded truculently. "I, too, +have looked through the thing at the sun and made the sun climb down out +of the sky." + +Those who were nearest drew away from him hurriedly, and a woman covered +the face of a child at her breast so that his eye might not fall upon +it. + +"But on the morning of the fourth day, O Nam-Bok," Koogah suggested; "on +the morning of the fourth day when the sch--sch--schooner came after +thee?" + +"I had little strength left in me and could not run away. So I was taken +on board and water was poured down my throat and good food given me. +Twice, my brothers, you have seen a white man. These men were all white +and as many as have I fingers and toes. And when I saw they were full of +kindness, I took heart, and I resolved to bring away with me report of +all that I saw. And they taught me the work they did, and gave me good +food and a place to sleep. + +"And day after day we went over the sea, and each day the head man drew +the sun down out of the sky and made it tell where we were. And when the +waves were kind, we hunted the fur seal and I marvelled much, for always +did they fling the meat and the fat away and save only the skin." + +Opee-Kwan's mouth was twitching violently, and he was about to make +denunciation of such waste when Koogah kicked him to be still. + +"After a weary time, when the sun was gone and the bite of the frost +come into the air, the head man pointed the nose of the schooner south. +South and east we traveled for days upon days, with never the land in +sight, and we were near to the village from which hailed the men----" + +"How did they know they were near?" Opee-Kwan, unable to contain himself +longer, demanded. "There was no land to see." + +Nam-Bok glowered on him wrathfully. "Did I not say the head man brought +the sun down out of the sky?" + +Koogah interposed, and Nam-Bok went on. "As I say, when we were near to +that village a great storm blew up, and in the night we were helpless +and knew not where we were----" + +"Thou hast just said the head man knew----" + +"Oh, peace, Opee-Kwan. Thou art a fool and cannot understand. As I say, +we were helpless in the night, when I heard, above the roar of the +storm, the sound of the sea on the beach. And next we struck with a +mighty crash and I was in the water, swimming. It was a rock-bound +coast, with one patch of beach in many miles, and the law was that I +should dig my hands into the sand and draw myself clear of the surf. The +other men must have pounded against the rocks, for none of them came +ashore but the head man, and him I knew only by the ring on his finger. + +"When day came, there being nothing of the schooner, I turned my face to +the land and journeyed into it that I might get food and look upon the +faces of the people. And when I came to a house I was taken in and given +to eat, for I had learned their speech, and the white men are ever +kindly. And it was a house bigger than all the houses built by us and +our fathers before us." + +"It was a mighty house," Koogah said, masking his unbelief with wonder. + +"And many trees went into the making of such a house," Opee-Kwan added, +taking the cue. + +"That is nothing." Nam-Bok shrugged his shoulders in belittling fashion. +"As our houses are to that house, so that house was to the houses I was +yet to see." + +"And they are not big men?" + +"Nay; mere men like you and me," Nam-Bok answered. "I had cut a stick +that I might walk in comfort, and remembering that I was to bring report +to you, my brothers, I cut a notch in the stick for each person who +lived in that house. And I stayed there many days, and worked, for which +they gave me _money_--a thing of which you know nothing, but which is +very good. + +"And one day I departed from that place to go farther into the land. And +as I walked I met many people, and I cut smaller notches in the stick, +that there might be room for all. Then I came upon a strange thing. On +the ground before me was a bar of iron, as big in thickness as my arm, +and a long step away was another bar of iron----" + +"Then wert thou a rich man," Opee-Kwan asserted; "for iron be worth more +than anything else in the world. It would have made many knives." + +"Nay, it was not mine." + +"It was a find, and a find be lawful." + +"Not so; the white men had placed it there. And further, these bars were +so long that no man could carry them away--so long that as far as I +could see there was no end to them." + +"Nam-Bok, that is very much iron," Opee-Kwan cautioned. + +"Ay, it was hard to believe with my own eyes upon it; but I could not +gainsay my eyes. And as I looked I heard ..." He turned abruptly upon +the head man. "Opee-Kwan, thou hast heard the sea-lion bellow in his +anger. Make it plain in thy mind of as many sea-lions as there be waves +to the sea, and make it plain that all these sea-lions be made into one +sea-lion, and as that one sea-lion would bellow so bellowed the thing I +heard." + +The fisherfolk cried aloud in astonishment, and Opee-Kwan's jaw lowered +and remained lowered. + +"And in the distance I saw a monster like unto a thousand whales. It was +one-eyed, and vomited smoke, and it snorted with exceeding loudness. I +was afraid and ran with shaking legs along the path between the bars. +But it came with speed of the wind, this monster, and I leaped the iron +bars with its breath hot on my face ..." + +Opee-Kwan gained control of his jaw again. "And--and then, O Nam-Bok?" + +"Then it came by on the bars, and harmed me not; and when my legs could +hold me up again it was gone from sight. And it is a very common thing +in that country. Even the women and children are not afraid. Men make +them to do work, these monsters." + +"As we make our dogs do work?" Koogah asked, with sceptic twinkle in his +eye. + +"Ay, as we make our dogs do work." + +"And how do they breed these--these things?" Opee-Kwan questioned. + +"They breed not at all. Men fashion them cunningly of iron, and feed +them with stone, and give them water to drink. The stone becomes fire, +and the water becomes steam, and the steam of the water is the breath of +their nostrils, and--" + +"There, there, O Nam-Bok," Opee-Kwan interrupted. "Tell us of other +wonders. We grow tired of this which we may not understand." + +"You do not understand?" Nam-Bok asked despairingly. + +"Nay, we do not understand," the men and women wailed back. "We cannot +understand." + +Nam-Bok thought of a combined harvester, and of the machines wherein +visions of living men were to be seen, and of the machines from which +came the voices of men, and he knew his people could never understand. + +"Dare I say I rode this iron monster through the land?" he asked +bitterly. + +Opee-Kwan threw up his hands, palms outward, in open incredulity. "Say +on; say anything. We listen." + +"Then did I ride the iron monster, for which I gave money--" + +"Thou saidst it was fed with stone." + +"And likewise, thou fool, I said money was a thing of which you know +nothing. As I say, I rode the monster through the land, and through +many villages, until I came to a big village on a salt arm of the sea. +And the houses shoved their roofs among the stars in the sky, and the +clouds drifted by them, and everywhere was much smoke. And the roar of +that village was like the roar of the sea in storm, and the people were +so many that I flung away my stick and no longer remembered the notches +upon it." + +"Hadst thou made small notches," Koogah reproved, "thou mightst have +brought report." + +Nam-Bok whirled upon him in anger. "Had I made small notches! Listen, +Koogah, thou scratcher of bone! If I had made small notches neither the +stick, nor twenty sticks, could have borne them--nay, not all the +driftwood of all the beaches between this village and the next. And if +all of you, the women and children as well, were twenty times as many, +and if you had twenty hands each, and in each hand a stick and a knife, +still the notches could not be cut for the people I saw, so many were +they and so fast did they come and go." + +"There cannot be so many people in all the world," Opee-Kwan objected, +for he was stunned and his mind could not grasp such magnitude of +numbers. + +"What dost thou know of all the world and how large it is?" Nam-Bok +demanded. + +"But there cannot be so many people in one place." + +"Who art thou to say what can be and what cannot be?" + +"It stands to reason there cannot be so many people in one place. Their +canoes would clutter the sea till there was no room. And they could +empty the sea each day of its fish, and they would not all be fed." + +"So it would seem," Nam-Bok made final answer; "yet it was so. With my +own eyes I saw, and flung my stick away." He yawned heavily and rose to +his feet. "I have paddled far. The day has been long, and I am tired. +Now I will sleep, and to-morrow we will have further talk upon the +things I have seen." + +Bask-Wah-Wan, hobbling fearfully in advance, proud indeed, yet awed by +her wonderful son, led him to her _igloo_ and stowed him away among the +greasy, ill-smelling furs. But the men lingered by the fire, and a +council was held wherein was there much whispering and low-voiced +discussion. + +An hour passed, and a second, and Nam-Bok slept, and the talk went on. +The evening sun dipped toward the northwest, and at eleven at night was +nearly due north. Then it was that the head man and the bone-scratcher +separated themselves from the council and aroused Nam-Bok. He blinked up +into their faces and turned on his side to sleep again. Opee-Kwan +gripped him by the arm and kindly but firmly shook his senses back into +him. + +"Come, Nam-Bok, arise!" he commanded. "It be time." + +"Another feast!" Nam-Bok cried. "Nay, I am not hungry. Go on with the +eating and let me sleep." + +"Time to be gone!" Koogah thundered. + +But Opee-Kwan spoke more softly. "Thou wast bidarka-mate with me when we +were boys," he said. "Together we first chased the seal and drew the +salmon from the traps. And thou didst drag me back to life, Nam-Bok, +when the sea closed over me and I was sucked down to the black rocks. +Together we hungered and bore the chill of the frost, and together we +crawled beneath the one fur and lay close to each other. And because of +these things, and the kindness in which I stood to thee, it grieves me +sore that thou shouldst return such a remarkable liar. We cannot +understand, and our heads be dizzy with the things thou hast spoken. It +is not good, and there has been much talk in the council. Wherefore we +send thee away, that our heads may remain clear and strong and be not +troubled by the unaccountable things." + +"These things thou speakest of be shadows," Koogah took up the strain. +"From the shadow-world thou hast brought them, and to the shadow-world +thou must return them. Thy bidarka be ready, and the tribespeople wait. +They may not sleep until thou art gone." + +Nam-Bok was perplexed, but hearkened to the voice of the head man. + +"If thou art Nam-Bok," Opee-Kwan was saying, "thou art a fearful and +most wonderful liar; if thou art the shadow of Nam-Bok, then thou +speakest of shadows, concerning which it is not good that living men +have knowledge. This great village thou hast spoken of we deem the +village of shadows. Therein flutter the souls of the dead; for the dead +be many and the living few. The dead do not come back. Never have the +dead come back--save thou with thy wonder-tales. It is not meet that the +dead come back, and should we permit it, great trouble may be our +portion." + +Nam-Bok knew his people well and was aware that the voice of the council +was supreme. So he allowed himself to be led down to the water's edge, +where he was put aboard his bidarka and a paddle thrust into his hand. A +stray wildfowl honked somewhere to seaward, and the surf broke limply +and hollowly on the sand. A dim twilight brooded over land and water, +and in the north the sun smouldered, vague and troubled, and draped +about with blood-red mists. The gulls were flying low. The off-shore +wind blew keen and chill, and the black-massed clouds behind it gave +promise of bitter weather. + +"Out of the sea thou earnest," Opee-Kwan chanted oracularly, "and back +into the sea thou goest. Thus is balance achieved and all things brought +to law." + +Bask-Wah-Wan limped to the froth-mark and cried, "I bless thee, +Nam-Bok, for that thou remembered me." + +But Koogah, shoving Nam-Bok clear or the beach, tore the shawl from her +shoulders and flung it into the bidarka. + +"It is cold in the long nights," she wailed; "and the frost is prone to +nip old bones." + +"The thing is a shadow," the bone-scratcher answered, "and shadows +cannot keep thee warm." + +Nam-Bok stood up that his voice might carry. "O Bask-Wah-Wan, mother +that bore me!" he called. "Listen to the words of Nam-Bok, thy son. +There be room in his bidarka for two, and he would that thou earnest +with him. For his journey is to where there are fish and oil in plenty. +There the frost comes not, and life is easy, and the things of iron do +the work of men. Wilt thou come, O Bask-Wah-Wan?" + +She debated a moment, while the bidarka drifted swiftly from her, then +raised her voice to a quavering treble. "I am old, Nam-Bok, and soon I +shall pass down among the shadows. But I have no wish to go before my +time. I am old, Nam-Bok, and I am afraid." + +A shaft of light shot across the dim-lit sea and wrapped boat and man +in a splendor of red and gold. Then a hush fell upon the fisherfolk, and +only was heard the moan of the off-shore wind and the cries of the gulls +flying low in the air. + +[Illustration] + + + + +YELLOW HANDKERCHIEF + + +"I'm not wanting to dictate to you, lad," Charley said, "but I'm very +much against your making a last raid. You've gone safely through rough +times with rough men, and it would be a shame to have something happen +to you at the very end." + +"But how can I get out of making a last raid?" I demanded, with the +cocksureness of youth. "There always has to be a last, you know, to +anything." + +Charley crossed his legs, leaned back, and considered the problem. "Very +true. But why not call the capture of Demetrios Contos the last? You're +back from it safe and sound and hearty, for all your good wetting, +and--and----" His voice broke and he could not speak for a moment. "And +I could never forgive myself if anything happened to you now." + +I laughed at Charley's fears while I gave in to the claims of his +affection, and agreed to consider the last raid already performed. We +had been together for two years, and now I was leaving the fish patrol +in order to go back and finish my education. I had earned and saved +money to put me through three years at the high school, and though the +beginning of the term was several months away, I intended doing a lot of +studying for the entrance examinations. + +My belongings were packed snugly in a sea-chest, and I was all ready to +buy my ticket and ride down on the train to Oakland, when Neil +Partington arrived in Benicia. The _Reindeer_ was needed immediately for +work far down on the Lower Bay, and Neil said he intended to run +straight for Oakland. As that was his home and as I was to live with his +family while going to school, he saw no reason, he said, why I should +not put my chest aboard and come along. + +So the chest went aboard, and in the middle of the afternoon we hoisted +the _Reindeer's_ big mainsail and cast off. It was tantalizing fall +weather. The sea-breeze, which had blown steadily all summer, was gone, +and in its place were capricious winds and murky skies which made the +time of arriving anywhere extremely problematical. We started on the +first of the ebb, and as we slipped down the Carquinez Straits, I looked +my last for some time upon Benicia and the bight at Turner's Shipyard, +where we had besieged the _Lancashire Queen,_ and had captured Big Alec, +the King of the Greeks. And at the mouth of the Straits I looked with +not a little interest upon the spot where a few days before I should +have drowned but for the good that was in the nature of Demetrios +Contos. + +A great wall of fog advanced across San Pablo Bay to meet us, and in a +few minutes the _Reindeer_ was running blindly through the damp +obscurity. Charley, who was steering, seemed to have an instinct for +that kind of work. How he did it, he himself confessed that he did not +know; but he had a way of calculating winds, currents, distance, time, +drift, and sailing speed that was truly marvellous. + +"It looks as though it were lifting," Neil Partington said, a couple of +hours after we had entered the fog. "Where do you say we are, Charley?" + +Charley looked at his watch. "Six o'clock, and three hours more of +ebb," he remarked casually. + +"But where do you say we are!" Neil insisted. + +Charley pondered a moment, and then answered, "The tide has edged us +over a bit out of our course, but if the fog lifts right now, as it is +going to lift, you'll find we're not more than a thousand miles off +McNear's Landing." + +"You might be a little more definite by a few miles, anyway," Neil +grumbled, showing by his tone that he disagreed. + +"All right, then," Charley said, conclusively, "not less than a quarter +of a mile, nor more than a half." + +The wind freshened with a couple of little puffs, and the fog thinned +perceptibly. + +"McNear's is right off there," Charley said, pointing directly into the +fog on our weather beam. + +The three of us were peering intently in that direction, when the +_Reindeer_ struck with a dull crash and came to a standstill. We ran +forward, and found her bowsprit entangled in the tanned rigging of a +short, chunky mast. She had collided, head on, with a Chinese junk +lying at anchor. + +At the moment we arrived forward, five Chinese, like so many bees, came +swarming out of the little 'tween-decks cabin, the sleep still in their +eyes. + +Leading them came a big, muscular man, conspicuous for his pock-marked +face and the yellow silk handkerchief swathed about his head. It was +Yellow Handkerchief, the Chinaman whom we had arrested for illegal +shrimp-fishing the year before, and who, at that time, had nearly sunk +the _Reindeer_, as he had nearly sunk it now by violating the rules of +navigation. + +"What d'ye mean, you yellow-faced heathen, lying here in a fairway +without a horn a-going?" Charley cried hotly. + +"Mean?" Neil calmly answered. "Just take a look--that's what he means." + +Our eyes followed the direction indicated by Neil's finger, and we saw +the open amidships of the junk, half filled, as we found on closer +examination, with fresh-caught shrimps. Mingled with the shrimps were +myriads of small fish, from a quarter of an inch upward in size. Yellow +Handkerchief had lifted the trap-net at high-water slack, and, taking +advantage of the concealment offered by the fog, had boldly been lying +by, waiting to lift the net again at low-water slack. + +"Well," Neil hummed and hawed, "in all my varied and extensive +experience as a fish patrolman, I must say this is the easiest capture I +ever made. What'll we do with them, Charley?" + +"Tow the junk into San Rafael, of course," came the answer. Charley +turned to me. "You stand by the junk, lad, and I'll pass you a towing +line. If the wind doesn't fail us, we'll make the creek before the tide +gets too low, sleep at San Rafael, and arrive in Oakland to-morrow by +midday." + +So saying, Charley and Neil returned to the _Reindeer_ and got under +way, the junk towing astern. I went aft and took charge of the prize, +steering by means of an antiquated tiller and a rudder with large, +diamond-shaped holes, through which the water rushed back and forth. + +By now the last of the fog had vanished, and Charley's estimate of our +position was confirmed by the sight of McNear's Landing a short +half-mile away, following: along the west shore, we rounded Point Pedro +in plain view of the Chinese shrimp villages, and a great to-do was +raised when they saw one of their junks towing behind the familiar fish +patrol sloop. + +The wind, coming off the land, was rather puffy and uncertain, and it +would have been more to our advantage had it been stronger. San Rafael +Creek, up which we had to go to reach the town and turn over our +prisoners to the authorities, ran through wide-stretching marshes, and +was difficult to navigate on a falling tide, while at low tide it was +impossible to navigate at all. So, with the tide already half-ebbed, it +was necessary for us to make time. This the heavy junk prevented, +lumbering along behind and holding the _Reindeer_ back by just so much +dead weight. + +"Tell those coolies to get up that sail," Charley finally called to me. +"We don't want to hang up on the mud flats for the rest of the night." + +I repeated the order to Yellow Handkerchief, who mumbled it huskily to +his men. He was suffering from a bad cold, which doubled him up in +convulsive coughing spells and made his eyes heavy and bloodshot. This +made him more evil-looking than ever, and when he glared viciously at +me I remembered with a shiver the close shave I had had with him at the +time of his previous arrest. + +His crew sullenly tailed on to the halyards, and the strange, outlandish +sail, lateen in rig and dyed a warm brown, rose in the air. We were +sailing on the wind, and when Yellow Handkerchief flattened down the +sheet the junk forged ahead and the tow-line went slack. Fast as the +_Reindeer_ could sail, the junk outsailed her; and to avoid running her +down I hauled a little closer on the wind. But the junk likewise +outpointed, and in a couple of minutes I was abreast of the _Reindeer_ +and to windward. The tow-line had now tautened, at right angles to the +two boats, and the predicament was laughable. + +"Cast off!" I shouted. + +Charley hesitated. + +"It's all right," I added. "Nothing can happen. We'll make the creek on +this tack, and you'll be right behind me all the way up to San Rafael." + +At this Charley cast off, and Yellow Handkerchief sent one of his men +forward to haul in the line. In the gathering darkness I could just +make out the mouth of San Rafael Creek, and by the time we entered it I +could barely see its banks. The _Reindeer_ was fully five minutes +astern, and we continued to leave her astern as we beat up the narrow, +winding channel. With Charley behind us, it seemed I had little to fear +from my five prisoners; but the darkness prevented my keeping a sharp +eye on them, so I transferred my revolver from my trousers pocket to the +side pocket of my coat, where I could more quickly put my hand on it. + +Yellow Handkerchief was the one I feared, and that he knew it and made +use of it, subsequent events will show. He was sitting a few feet away +from me, on what then happened to be the weather side of the junk. I +could scarcely see the outlines of his form, but I soon became convinced +that he was slowly, very slowly, edging closer to me. I watched him +carefully. Steering with my left hand, I slipped my right into my pocket +and got hold of the revolver. + +I saw him shift along for a couple of inches, and I was just about to +order him back--the words were trembling on the tip of my tongue--when +I was struck with great force by a heavy figure that had leaped through +the air upon me from the lee side. It was one of the crew. He pinioned +my right arm so that I could not withdraw my hand from my pocket, and at +the same time clapped his other hand over my mouth. Of course, I could +have struggled away from him and freed my hand or gotten my mouth clear +so that I might cry an alarm, but in a trice Yellow Handkerchief was on +top of me. + +I struggled around to no purpose in the bottom of the junk, while my +legs and arms were tied and my mouth securely bound in what I afterward +found to be a cotton shirt. Then I was left lying in the bottom. Yellow +Handkerchief took the tiller, issuing his orders in whispers; and from +our position at the time, and from the alteration of the sail, which I +could dimly make out above me as a blot against the stars, I knew the +junk was being headed into the mouth of a small slough which emptied at +that point into San Rafael Creek. + +In a couple of minutes we ran softly alongside the bank, and the sail +was silently lowered. The Chinese kept very quiet. Yellow Handkerchief +sat down in the bottom alongside of me, and I could feel him straining +to repress his raspy, hacking cough. Possibly seven or eight minutes +later I heard Charley's voice as the _Reindeer_ went past the mouth of +the slough. + +"I can't tell you how relieved I am," I could plainly hear him saying to +Neil, "that the lad has finished with the fish patrol without accident." + +Here Neil said something which I could not catch, and then Charley's +voice went on: + +"The youngster takes naturally to the water, and if when he finishes +high school he takes a course in navigation and goes deep sea, I see no +reason why he shouldn't rise to be master of the finest and biggest ship +afloat." + +It was all very flattering to me, but lying there, bound and gagged by +my own prisoners, with the voices growing faint and fainter as the +_Reindeer_ slipped on through the darkness toward San Rafael, I must say +I was not in quite the proper situation to enjoy my smiling future. With +the _Reindeer_ went my last hope. What was to happen next I could not +imagine, for the Chinese were a different race from mine and from what +I knew I was confident that fair play was no part of their make-up. + +After waiting a few minutes longer, the crew hoisted the lateen sail, +and Yellow Handkerchief steered down toward the mouth of San Rafael +Creek. The tide was getting lower, and he had difficulty in escaping the +mud-banks. I was hoping he would run aground, but he succeeded in making +the bay without accident. + +As we passed out of the creek a noisy discussion arose, which I knew +related to me. Yellow Handkerchief was vehement, but the other four as +vehemently opposed him. It was very evident that he advocated doing away +with me and that they were afraid of the consequences. I was familiar +enough with the Chinese character to know that fear alone restrained +them. But what plan they offered in place of Yellow Handkerchief's +murderous one, I could not make out. + +My feelings, as my fate hung in the balance, may be guessed. The +discussion developed into a quarrel, in the midst of which Yellow +Handkerchief unshipped the heavy tiller and sprang toward me. But his +four companions threw themselves between, and a clumsy struggle took +place for possession of the tiller. In the end Yellow Handkerchief was +overcome, and sullenly returned to the steering, while they soundly +berated him for his rashness. + +Not long after, the sail was run down and the junk slowly urged forward +by means of the sweeps. I felt it ground gently on the soft mud. Three +of the Chinese--they all wore long sea-boots--got over the side, and the +other two passed me across the rail. With Yellow Handkerchief at my legs +and his two companions at my shoulders, they began to flounder along +through the mud. After some time their feet struck firmer footing, and I +knew they were carrying me up some beach. The location of this beach was +not doubtful in my mind. It could be none other than one of the Marin +Islands, a group of rocky islets which lay off the Marin County shore. + +When they reached the firm sand that marked high tide, I was dropped, +and none too gently. Yellow Handkerchief kicked me spitefully in the +ribs, and then the trio floundered back through the mud to the junk. A +moment later I heard the sail go up and slat in the wind as they drew +in the sheet. Then silence fell, and I was left to my own devices for +getting free. + +I remembered having seen tricksters writhe and squirm out of ropes with +which they were bound, but though I writhed and squirmed like a good +fellow, the knots remained as hard as ever, and there was no appreciable +slack. In the course of my squirming, however, I rolled over upon a heap +of clam-shells--the remains, evidently, of some yachting party's +clam-bake. This gave me an idea. My hands were tied behind my back; and, +clutching a shell in them, I rolled over and over, up the beach, till I +came to the rocks I knew to be there. + +Rolling around and searching, I finally discovered a narrow crevice, +into which I shoved the shell. The edge of it was sharp, and across the +sharp edge I proceeded to saw the rope that bound my wrists. The edge of +the shell was also brittle, and I broke it by bearing too heavily upon +it. Then I rolled back to the heap and returned with as many shells as I +could carry in both hands. I broke many shells, cut my hands a number of +times, and got cramps in my legs from my strained position and my +exertions. + +While I was suffering from the cramps, and resting, I heard a familiar +halloo drift across the water. It was Charley, searching for me. The gag +in my mouth prevented me from replying, and I could only lie there, +helplessly fuming, while he rowed past the island and his voice slowly +lost itself in the distance. + +I returned to the sawing process, and at the end of half an hour +succeeded in severing the rope. The rest was easy. My hands once free, +it was a matter of minutes to loosen my legs and to take the gag out of +my mouth. I ran around the island to make sure it _was_ an island and +not by any chance a portion of the mainland. An island it certainly was, +one of the Marin group, fringed with a sandy beach and surrounded by a +sea of mud. Nothing remained but to wait till daylight and to keep warm; +for it was a cold, raw night for California, with just enough wind to +pierce the skin and cause one to shiver. + +To keep up the circulation, I ran around the island a dozen times or so, +and clambered across its rocky backbone as many times more--all of which +was of greater service to me, as I afterward discovered, than merely to +warm me up. In the midst of this exercise I wondered if I had lost +anything out of my pockets while rolling over and over in the sand. A +search showed the absence of my revolver and pocket-knife. The first +Yellow Handkerchief had taken; but the knife had been lost in the sand. + +I was hunting for it when the sound of rowlocks came to my ears. At +first, of course, I thought of Charley; but on second thought I knew +Charley would be calling out as he rowed along. A sudden premonition of +danger seized me. The Marin Islands are lonely places; chance visitors +in the dead of night are hardly to be expected. What if it were Yellow +Handkerchief? The sound made by the rowlocks grew more distinct. I +crouched in the sand and listened intently. The boat, which I judged a +small skiff from the quick stroke of the oars, was landing in the mud +about fifty yards up the beach. I heard a raspy, hacking cough, and my +heart stood still. It was Yellow Handkerchief. Not to be robbed of his +revenge by his more cautious companions, he had stolen away from the +village and come back alone. + +I did some swift thinking. I was unarmed and helpless on a tiny islet, +and a yellow barbarian, whom I had reason to fear, was coming after me. +Any place was safer than the island, and I turned instinctively to the +water, or rather to the mud. As he began to flounder ashore through the +mud, I started to flounder out into it, going over the same course which +the Chinese had taken in landing me and in returning to the junk. + +Yellow Handkerchief, believing me to be lying tightly bound, exercised +no care, but came ashore noisily. This helped me, for, under the shield +of his noise and making no more myself than necessary, I managed to +cover fifty feet by the time he had made the beach. Here I lay down in +the mud. It was cold and clammy, and made me shiver, but I did not care +to stand up and run the risk of being discovered by his sharp eyes. + +He walked down the beach straight to where he had left me lying, and I +had a fleeting feeling of regret at not being able to see his surprise +when he did not find me. But it was a very fleeting regret, for my teeth +were chattering with the cold. + +What his movements were after that I had largely to deduce from the +facts of the situation, for I could scarcely see him in the dim +starlight. But I was sure that the first thing he did was to make the +circuit of the beach to learn if landings had been made by other boats. +This he would have known at once by the tracks through the mud. + +Convinced that no boat had removed me from the island, he next started +to find out what had become of me. Beginning at the pile of clam-shells, +he lighted matches to trace my tracks in the sand. At such times I could +see his villainous face plainly, and, when the sulphur from the matches +irritated his lungs, between the raspy cough that followed and the +clammy mud in which I was lying, I confess I shivered harder than ever. + +The multiplicity of my footprints puzzled him. Then the idea that I +might be out in the mud must have struck him, for he waded out a few +yards in my direction, and, stooping, with his eyes searched the dim +surface long and carefully. He could not have been more than fifteen +feet from me, and had he lighted a match he would surely have discovered +me. + +He returned to the beach and clambered about over the rocky backbone, +again hunting for me with lighted matches. The closeness of the shave +impelled me to further flight. Not daring to wade upright, on account of +the noise made by floundering and by the suck of the mud, I remained +lying down in the mud and propelled myself over its surface by means of +my hands. Still keeping the trail made by the Chinese in going from and +to the junk, I held on until I reached the water. Into this I waded to a +depth of three feet, and then I turned off to the side on a line +parallel with the beach. + +The thought came to me of going toward Yellow Handkerchief's skiff and +escaping in it, but at that very moment he returned to the beach, and, +as though fearing the very thing I had in mind, he slushed out through +the mud to assure himself that the skiff was safe. This turned me in the +opposite direction. Half swimming, half wading, with my head just out of +water and avoiding splashing, I succeeded in putting about a hundred +feet between myself and the spot where the Chinese had begun to wade +ashore from the junk. I drew myself out on the mud and remained lying +flat. + +Again Yellow Handkerchief returned to the beach and made a search of +the island, and again he returned to the heap of clam-shells. I knew +what was running in his mind as well as he did himself. No one could +leave or land without making tracks in the mud. The only tracks to be +seen were those leading from his skiff and from where the junk had been. +I was not on the island. I must have left it by one or the other of +those two tracks. He had just been over the one to his skiff, and was +certain I had not left that way. Therefore I could have left the island +only by going over the tracks of the junk landing. This he proceeded to +verify by wading out over them himself, lighting matches as he came +along. + +When he arrived at the point where I had first lain, I knew, by the +matches he burned and the time he took, that he had discovered the marks +left by my body. These he followed straight to the water and into it, +but in three feet of water he could no longer see them. On the other +hand, as the tide was still falling, he could easily make out the +impression made by the junk's bow, and could have likewise made out the +impression of any other boat if it had landed at that particular spot. +But there was no such mark; and I knew that he was absolutely convinced +that I was hiding somewhere in the mud. + +But to hunt on a dark night for a boy in a sea of mud would be like +hunting for a needle in a haystack, and he did not attempt it. Instead +he went back to the beach and prowled around for some time. I was hoping +he would give me up and go, for by this time I was suffering severely +from the cold. At last he waded out to his skiff and rowed away. What if +this departure of Yellow Handkerchief's were a sham? What if he had done +it merely to entice me ashore? + +The more I thought of it the more certain I became that he had made a +little too much noise with his oars as he rowed away. So I remained, +lying in the mud and shivering. I shivered till the muscles of the small +of my back ached and pained me as badly as the cold, and I had need of +all my self-control to force myself to remain in my miserable situation. + +It was well that I did, however, for, possibly an hour later, I thought +I could make out something moving on the beach. I watched intently, but +my ears were rewarded first, by a raspy cough I knew only too well. +Yellow Handkerchief had sneaked back, landed on the other side of the +island, and crept around to surprise me if I had returned. + +After that, though hours passed without sign of him, I was afraid to +return to the island at all. On the other hand, I was almost equally +afraid that I should die of the exposure I was undergoing. I had never +dreamed one could suffer so. I grew so cold and numb, finally, that I +ceased to shiver. But my muscles and bones began to ache in a way that +was agony. The tide had long since begun to rise and, foot by foot, it +drove me in toward the beach. High water came at three o'clock, and at +three o'clock I drew myself up on the beach, more dead than alive, and +too helpless to have offered any resistance had Yellow Handkerchief +swooped down upon me. + +But no Yellow Handkerchief appeared. He had given me up and gone back to +Point Pedro. Nevertheless, I was in a deplorable, not to say a +dangerous, condition. I could not stand upon my feet, much less walk. My +clammy, muddy garments clung to me like sheets of ice. I thought I +should never get them off. So numb and lifeless were my fingers, and so +weak was I that it seemed to take an hour to get off my shoes. I had not +the strength to break the porpoise-hide laces, and the knots defied me. +I repeatedly beat my hands upon the rocks to get some sort of life into +them. Sometimes I felt sure I was going to die. + +But in the end,--after several centuries, it seemed to me,--I got off +the last of my clothes. The water was now close at hand, and I crawled +painfully into it and washed the mud from my naked body. Still, I could +not get on my feet and walk and I was afraid to lie still. Nothing +remained but to crawl weakly, like a snail, and at the cost of constant +pain, up and down the sand. I kept this up as long as possible, but as +the east paled with the coming of dawn I began to succumb. The sky grew +rosy-red, and the golden rim of the sun, showing above the horizon, +found me lying helpless and motionless among the clam-shells. + +As in a dream, I saw the familiar mainsail of the _Reindeer_ as she +slipped out of San Rafael Creek on a light puff of morning air. This +dream was very much broken. There are intervals I can never recollect on +looking back over it. Three things, however, I distinctly remember: the +first sight of the _Reindeer's_ mainsail; her lying at anchor a few +hundred feet away and a small boat leaving her side; and the cabin stove +roaring red-hot, myself swathed all over with blankets, except on the +chest and shoulders, which Charley was pounding and mauling +unmercifully, and my mouth and throat burning with the coffee which Neil +Partington was pouring down a trifle too hot. + +But burn or no burn, I tell you it felt good. By the time we arrived in +Oakland I was as limber and strong as ever,--though Charley and Neil +Partington were afraid I was going to have pneumonia, and Mrs. +Partington, for my first six months of school, kept an anxious eye upon +me to discover the first symptoms of consumption. + +Time flies. It seems but yesterday that I was a lad of sixteen on the +fish patrol. Yet I know that I arrived this very morning from China, +with a quick passage to my credit, and master of the barkentine +_Harvester_. And I know that to-morrow morning I shall run over to +Oakland to see Neil Partington and his wife and family, and later on up +to Benicia to see Charley Le Grant and talk over old times. No; I shall +not go to Benicia, now that I think about it. I expect to be a highly +interested party to a wedding, shortly to take place. Her name is Alice +Partington, and, since Charley has promised to be best man, he will have +to come down to Oakland instead. + +[Illustration] + + + + +MAKE WESTING + +_Whatever you do, make westing! make westing!_ +--Sailing directions for Cape Horn. + + +For seven weeks the _Mary Rogers_ had been between 50° south in the +Atlantic and 50° south in the Pacific, which meant that for seven weeks +she had been struggling to round Cape Horn. For seven weeks she had been +either in dirt, or close to dirt, save once, and then, following upon +six days of excessive dirt, which she had ridden out under the shelter +of the redoubtable Terra Del Fuego coast, she had almost gone ashore +during a heavy swell in the dead calm that had suddenly fallen. For +seven weeks she had wrestled with the Cape Horn gray-beards, and in +return been buffeted and smashed by them. She was a wooden ship, and her +ceaseless straining had opened her seams, so that twice a day the watch +took its turn at the pumps. + +The _Mary Rogers_ was strained, the crew was strained, and big Dan +Cullen, master, was likewise strained. Perhaps he was strained most of +all, for upon him rested the responsibility of that titanic struggle. He +slept most of the time in his clothes, though he rarely slept. He +haunted the deck at night, a great, burly, robust ghost, black with the +sunburn of thirty years of sea and hairy as an orang-utan. He, in turn, +was haunted by one thought of action, a sailing direction for the Horn: +_Whatever you do, make westing! make westing!_ It was an obsession. He +thought of nothing else, except, at times, to blaspheme God for sending +such bitter weather. + +_Make westing!_ He hugged the Horn, and a dozen times lay hove to with +the iron Cape bearing east-by-north, or north-north-east, a score of +miles away. And each time the eternal west wind smote him back and he +made easting. He fought gale after gale, south to 64°, inside the +antarctic drift-ice, and pledged his immortal soul to the Powers of +Darkness for a bit of westing, for a slant to take him around. And he +made easting. In despair, he had tried to make the passage through the +Straits of Le Maire. Halfway through, the wind hauled to the north 'ard +of northwest, the glass dropped to 28.88, and he turned and ran before a +gale of cyclonic fury, missing, by a hair's breadth, piling up the _Mary +Rogers_ on the black-toothed rocks. Twice he had made west to the Diego +Ramirez Rocks, one of the times saved between two snow-squalls by +sighting the gravestones of ships a quarter of a mile dead ahead. + +Blow! Captain Dan Cullen instanced all his thirty years at sea to prove +that never had it blown so before. The _Mary Rogers_ was hove to at the +time he gave the evidence, and, to clinch it, inside half an hour the +_Mary Rogers_ was hove down to the hatches. Her new main-topsail and +brand new spencer were blown away like tissue paper; and five sails, +furled and fast under double gaskets, were blown loose and stripped from +the yards. And before morning the _Mary Rogers_ was hove down twice +again, and holes were knocked in her bulwarks to ease her decks from +the weight of ocean that pressed her down. + +On an average of once a week Captain Dan Cullen caught glimpses of the +sun. Once, for ten minutes, the sun shone at midday, and ten minutes +afterward a new gale was piping up, both watches were shortening sail, +and all was buried in the obscurity of a driving snow-squall. For a +fortnight, once, Captain Dan Cullen was without a meridian or a +chronometer sight. Rarely did he know his position within half a degree, +except when in sight of land; for sun and stars remained hidden behind +the sky, and it was so gloomy that even at the best the horizons were +poor for accurate observations. A gray gloom shrouded the world. The +clouds were gray; the great driving seas were leaden gray gloom shrouded +the world. The clouds were gray; the great driving seas were leadening; +even the occasional albatrosses were gray, while the snow-flurries were +not white, but gray, under the sombre pall of the heavens. + +Life on board the _Mary Rogers_ was gray,--gray and gloomy. The faces of +the sailors were blue-gray; they were afflicted with sea-cuts and +sea-boils, and suffered exquisitely. They were shadows of men. For +seven weeks, in the forecastle or on deck, they had not known what it +was to be dry. They had forgotten what it was to sleep out a watch, and +all watches it was, "All hands on deck!" They caught snatches of +agonized sleep, and they slept in their oilskins ready for the +everlasting call. So weak and worn were they that it took both watches +to do the work of one. That was why both watches were on deck so much of +the time. And no shadow of a man could shirk duty. Nothing less than a +broken leg could enable a man to knock off work; and there were two +such, who had been mauled and pulped by the seas that broke aboard. + +One other man who was the shadow of a man was George Dorety. He was the +only passenger on board, a friend of the firm, and he had elected to +make the voyage for his health. But seven weeks of Cape Horn had not +bettered his health. He gasped and panted in his bunk through the long, +heaving nights; and when on deck he was so bundled up for warmth that he +resembled a peripatetic old-clothes shop. At midday, eating at the cabin +table in a gloom so deep that the swinging sea-lamps burned always, he +looked as blue-gray as the sickest, saddest man for'ard. Nor did gazing +across the table at Captain Dan Cullen have any cheering effect upon +him. Captain Cullen chewed and scowled and kept silent. The scowls were +for God, and with every chew he reiterated the sole thought of his +existence, which was _make westing._ He was a big, hairy brute, and the +sight of him was not stimulating to the other's appetite. He looked upon +George Dorety as a Jonah, and told him so, once each meal, savagely +transferring the scowl from God to the passenger and back again. + +Nor did the mate prove a first aid to a languid appetite. Joshua Higgins +by name, a seaman by profession and pull, but a pot-wolloper by +capacity, he was a loose-jointed, sniffling creature, heartless and +selfish and cowardly, without a soul, in fear of his life of Dan Cullen, +and a bully over the sailors, who knew that behind the mate was Captain +Cullen, the lawgiver and compeller, the driver and the destroyer, the +incarnation of a dozen bucko mates. In that wild weather at the southern +end of the earth, Joshua Higgins ceased washing. His grimy face usually +robbed George Dorety of what little appetite he managed to accumulate. +Ordinarily this lavatorial dereliction would have caught Captain +Cullen's eye and vocabulary, but in the present his mind was filled with +making westing, to the exclusion of all other things not contributory +thereto. Whether the mate's face was clean or dirty had no bearing upon +westing. Later on, when 50° south in the Pacific had been reached, +Joshua Higgins would wash his face very abruptly. In the meantime, at +the cabin table, where gray twilight alternated with lamplight while the +lamps were being filled, George Dorety sat between the two men, one a +tiger and the other a hyena, and wondered why God had made them. The +second mate, Matthew Turner, was a true sailor and a man, but George +Dorety did not have the solace of his company, for he ate by himself, +solitary, when they had finished. + +On Saturday morning, July 24, George Dorety awoke to a feeling of life +and headlong movement. On deck he found the _Mary Rogers_ running off +before a howling southeaster. Nothing was set but the lower topsails and +the foresail. It was all she could stand, yet she was making fourteen +knots, as Mr. Turner shouted in Dorety's ear when he came on deck. And +it was all westing. She was going around the Horn at last ... if the +wind held. Mr. Turner looked happy. The end of the struggle was in +sight. But Captain Cullen did not look happy. He scowled at Dorety in +passing. Captain Cullen did not want God to know that he was pleased +with that wind. He had a conception of a malicious God, and believed in +his secret soul that if God knew it was a desirable wind, God would +promptly efface it and send a snorter from the west. So he walked softly +before God, smothering his joy down under scowls and muttered curses, +and, so, fooling God, for God was the only thing in the universe of +which Dan Cullen was afraid. + +All Saturday and Saturday night the _Mary Rogers_ raced her westing. +Persistently she logged her fourteen knots, so that by Sunday morning +she had covered three hundred and fifty miles. If the wind held, she +would make around. If it failed, and the snorter came from anywhere +between southwest and north, back the _Mary Rogers_ would be hurled and +be no better off than she had been seven weeks before. And on Sunday +morning the wind _was_ failing. The big sea was going down and running +smooth. Both watches were on deck setting sail after sail as fast as the +ship could stand it. And now Captain Cullen went around brazenly before +God, smoking a big cigar, smiling jubilantly, as if the failing wind +delighted him, while down underneath he was raging against God for +taking the life out of the blessed wind. _Make westing_! So he would, if +God would only leave him alone. Secretly, he pledged himself anew to the +Powers of Darkness, if they would let him make westing. He pledged +himself so easily because he did not believe in the Powers of Darkness. +He really believed only in God, though he did not know it. And in his +inverted theology God was really the Prince of Darkness. Captain Cullen +was a devil-worshipper, but he called the devil by another name, that +was all. + +At midday, after calling eight bells, Captain Cullen ordered the royals +on. The men went aloft faster than they had gone in weeks. Not alone +were they nimble because of the westing, but a benignant sun was shining +down and limbering their stiff bodies. George Dorety stood aft, near +Captain Cullen, less bundled in clothes than usual, soaking in the +grateful warmth as he watched the scene. Swiftly and abruptly the +incident occurred. There was a cry from the foreroyal-yard of "Man +overboard!" Somebody threw a life buoy over the side, and at the same +instant the second mate's voice came aft, ringing and peremptory:-- + +"Hard down your helm!" + +The man at the wheel never moved a spoke. He knew better, for Captain +Dan Cullen was standing alongside of him. He wanted to move a spoke, to +move all the spokes, to grind the wheel down, hard down, for his comrade +drowning in the sea. He glanced at Captain Dan Cullen, and Captain Dan +Cullen gave no sign. + +"Down! Hard down!" the second mate roared, as he sprang aft. + +But he ceased springing and commanding, and stood still, when he saw Dan +Cullen by the wheel. And big Dan Cullen puffed at his cigar and said +nothing. Astern, and going astern fast, could be seen the sailor. He had +caught the life buoy and was clinging to it. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. +The men aloft clung to the royal yards and watched with terror stricken +faces. And the _Mary Rogers_ raced on, making her westing. A long, +silent minute passed. + +"Who was it!" Captain Cullen demanded. + +"Mops, sir," eagerly answered the sailor at the wheel. + +Mops topped a wave astern and disappeared temporarily in the trough. It +was a large wave, but it was no graybeard. A small boat could live +easily in such a sea, and in such a sea the _Mary Rogers_ could easily +come to. But she could not come to and make westing at the same time. + +For the first time in all his years, George Dorety was seeing a real +drama of life and death--a sordid little drama in which the scales +balanced an unknown sailor named Mops against a few miles of longitude. +At first he had watched the man astern, but now he watched big Dan +Cullen, hairy and black, vested with power of life and death, smoking a +cigar. + +Captain Dan Cullen smoked another long, silent minute. Then he removed +the cigar from his mouth. He glanced aloft at the spars of the _Mary +Rogers_, and overside at the sea. + +"Sheet home the royals!" he cried. + +Fifteen minutes later they sat at table, in the cabin, with food served +before them. On one side of George Dorety sat Dan Cullen, the tiger, on +the other side, Joshua Higgins, the hyena. Nobody spoke. On deck the men +were sheeting home the skysails. George Dorety could hear their cries, +while a persistent vision haunted him of a man called Mops, alive and +well, clinging to a life buoy miles astern in that lonely ocean. He +glanced at Captain Cullen, and experienced a feeling of nausea, for the +man was eating his food with relish, almost bolting it. + +"Captain Cullen," Dorety said, "you are in command of this ship, and it +is not proper for me to comment now upon what you do. But I wish to say +one thing. There is a hereafter, and yours will be a hot one." + +Captain Cullen did not even scowl. In his voice was regret as he +said:--"It was blowing a living gale. It was impossible to save the +man." + +"He fell from the royal-yard," Dorety cried hotly. "You were setting the +royals at the time. Fifteen minutes afterward you were setting the +skysails." + +"It was a living gale, wasn't it, Mr. Higgins?" Captain Cullen said, +turning to the mate. + +"If you'd brought her to, it'd have taken the sticks out of her," was +the mate's answer. "You did the proper thing, Captain Cullen. The man +hadn't a ghost of a show." + +George Dorety made no answer, and to the meal's end no one spoke. After +that, Dorety had his meals served in his stateroom. Captain Cullen +scowled at him no longer, though no speech was exchanged between them, +while the _Mary Rogers_ sped north toward warmer latitudes. At the end +of the week, Dan Cullen cornered Dorety on deck. + +"What are you going to do when we get to Frisco?" he demanded bluntly. + +"I am going to swear out a warrant for your arrest," Dorety answered +quietly. "I am going to charge you with murder, and I am going to see +you hanged for it." + +"You're almighty sure of yourself," Captain Cullen sneered, turning on +his heel. + +A second week passed, and one morning found George Dorety standing in +the coach-house companionway at the for'ard end of the long poop, taking +his first gaze around the deck. The _Mary Rogers_ was reaching +full-and-by, in a stiff breeze. Every sail was set and drawing, +including the staysails. Captain Cullen strolled for'ard along the poop. +He strolled carelessly, glancing at the passenger out of the corner of +his eye. Dorety was looking the other way, standing with head and +shoulders outside the companionway, and only the back of his head was to +be seen. Captain Cullen, with swift eye, embraced the mainstaysail-block +and the head and estimated the distance. He glanced about him. Nobody +was looking. Aft, Joshua Higgins, pacing up and down, had just turned +his back and was going the other way. Captain Cullen bent over suddenly +and cast the staysail-sheet off from its pin. The heavy block hurtled +through the air, smashing Dorety's head like an egg-shell and hurtling +on and back and forth as the staysail whipped and slatted in the wind. +Joshua Higgins turned around to see what had carried away, and met the +full blast of the vilest portion of Captain Cullen's profanity. + +"I made the sheet fast myself," whimpered the mate in the first lull, +"with an extra turn to make sure. I remember it distinctly." + +"Made fast?" the captain snarled back, for the benefit of the watch as +it struggled to capture the flying sail before it tore to ribbons. "You +couldn't make your grandmother fast, you useless scullion. If you made +that sheet fast with an extra turn, why didn't it stay fast? That's what +I want to know. Why didn't it stay fast?" + +The mate whined inarticulately. + +"Oh, shut up!" was the final word of Captain Cullen. + +Half an hour later he was as surprised as any when the body of George +Dorety was found inside the companionway on the floor. In the afternoon, +alone in his room, he doctored up the log. + +"_Ordinary seaman, Karl Brun," he wrote, "lost overboard from +foreroyal-yard in a gale of wind. Was running at the time, and for the +safety of the ship did not dare come up to the wind. Nor could a boat +have lived in the sea that was running_." + +On another page, he wrote:-- + +"_Had often warned Mr. Dorety about the danger he ran because of his +carelessness on deck. I told him, once, that some day he would get his +head knocked off by a block. A carelessly fastened mainstaysail sheet +was the cause of the accident, which was deeply to be regretted because +Mr. Dorety was a favorite with all of us_." + +Captain Dan Cullen read over his literary effort with admiration, +blotted the page, and closed the log. He lighted a cigar and stared +before him. He felt the _Mary Rogers_ lift, and heel, and surge along, +and knew that she was making nine knots. A smile of satisfaction slowly +dawned on his black and hairy face. Well, anyway, he had made his +westing and fooled God. + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE HEATHEN + + +I met him first in a hurricane; and though we had gone through the +hurricane on the same schooner, it was not until the schooner had gone +to pieces under us that I first laid eyes on him. Without doubt I had +seen him with the rest of the kanaka crew on board, but I had not +consciously been aware of his existence, for the _Petite Jeanne_ was +rather overcrowded. In addition to her eight or ten kanaka seamen, her +white captain, mate, and supercargo, and her six cabin passengers, she +sailed from Rangiroa with something like eighty-five deck +passengers--Paumotans and Tahitians, men, women, and children each with +a trade box, to say nothing of sleeping-mats, blankets, and +clothes-bundles. + +The pearling season in the Paumotus was over, and all hands were +returning to Tahiti. The six of us cabin passengers were pearl-buyers. +Two were Americans, one was Ah Choon (the whitest Chinese I have ever +known), one was a German, one was a Polish Jew, and I completed the half +dozen. + +It had been a prosperous season. Not one of us had cause for complaint, +nor one of the eighty-five deck passengers either. All had done well, +and all were looking forward to a rest-off and a good time in Papeete. + +Of course, the _Petite Jeanne_ was overloaded. She was only seventy +tons, and she had no right to carry a tithe of the mob she had on board. +Beneath her hatches she was crammed and jammed with pearl-shell and +copra. Even the trade room was packed full of shell. It was a miracle +that the sailors could work her. There was no moving about the decks. +They simply climbed back and forth along the rails. + +In the night-time they walked upon the sleepers, who carpeted the deck, +I'll swear, two deep. Oh! and there were pigs and chickens on deck, and +sacks of yams, while every conceivable place was festooned with strings +of drinking cocoanuts and bunches of bananas. On both sides, between the +fore and main shrouds, guys had been stretched, just low enough for the +foreboom to swing clear; and from each of these guys at least fifty +bunches of bananas were suspended. + +It promised to be a messy passage, even if we did make it in the two or +three days that would have been required if the southeast trades had +been blowing fresh. But they weren't blowing fresh. After the first five +hours the trade died away in a dozen or so gasping fans. The calm +continued all that night and the next day--one of those glaring, glassy +calms, when the very thought of opening one's eyes to look at it is +sufficient to cause a headache. + +The second day a man died--an Easter Islander, one of the best divers +that season in the lagoon. Smallpox--that is what it was; though how +smallpox could come on board, when there had been no known cases ashore +when we left Rangiroa, is beyond me. There it was, though--smallpox, a +man dead, and three others down on their backs. + +There was nothing to be done. We could not segregate the sick, nor could +we care for them. We were packed like sardines. There was nothing to do +but rot or die--that is, there was nothing to do after the night that +followed the first death. On that night, the mate, the supercargo, the +Polish Jew, and four native divers sneaked away in the large whale-boat. +They were never heard of again. In the morning the captain promptly +scuttled the remaining boats, and there we were. + +That day there were two deaths; the following day three; then it jumped +to eight. It was curious to see how we took it. The natives, for +instance, fell into a condition of dumb, stolid fear. The +captain--Oudouse, his name was, a Frenchman--became very nervous and +voluble. He actually got the twitches. He was a large, fleshy man, +weighing at least two hundred pounds, and he quickly became a faithful +representation of a quivering jelly-mountain of fat. + +The German, the two Americans, and myself bought up all the Scotch +whiskey, and proceeded to stay drunk. The theory was beautiful--namely, +if we kept ourselves soaked in alcohol, every smallpox germ that came +into contact with us would immediately be scorched to a cinder. And the +theory worked, though I must confess that neither Captain Oudouse nor Ah +Choon were attacked by the disease either. The Frenchman did not drink +at all, while Ah Choon restricted himself to one drink daily. + +It was a pretty time. The sun, going into northern declination, was +straight overhead. There was no wind, except for frequent squalls, which +blew fiercely for from five minutes to half an hour, and wound up by +deluging us with rain. After each squall, the awful sun would come out, +drawing clouds of steam from the soaked decks. + +The steam was not nice. It was the vapor of death, freighted with +millions and millions of germs. We always took another drink when we saw +it going up from the dead and dying, and usually we took two or three +more drinks, mixing them exceptionally stiff. Also, we made it a rule to +take an additional several each time they hove the dead over to the +sharks that swarmed about us. + +We had a week of it, and then the whiskey gave out. It is just as well, +or I shouldn't be alive now. It took a sober man to pull through what +followed, as you will see when I mention the little fact that only two +men did pull through. The other man was the heathen--at least, that was +what I heard Captain Oudouse call him at the moment I first became +aware of the heathen's existence. But to come back. + +It was at the end of the week, with the whiskey gone, and the +pearl-buyers sober, that I happened to glance at the barometer that hung +in the cabin companionway. Its normal register in the Paumotus was +29.90, and it was quite customary to see it vacillate between 29.85 and +30.00, or even 30.05; but to see it as I saw it, down to 29.62, was +sufficient to sober the most drunken pearl-buyer that ever incinerated +smallpox microbes in Scotch whiskey. + +I called Captain Oudouse's attention to it, only to be informed that he +had watched it going down for several hours. There was little to do, but +that little he did very well, considering the circumstances. He took off +the light sails, shortened right down to storm canvas, spread +life-lines, and waited for the wind. His mistake lay in what he did +after the wind came. He hove to on the port tack, which was the right +thing to do south of the Equator, if--and there was the rub--_if_ one +were _not_ in the direct path of the hurricane. + +We were in the direct path. I could see that by the steady increase of +the wind and the equally steady fall of the barometer. I wanted him to +turn and run with the wind on the port quarter until the barometer +ceased falling, and then to heave to. We argued till he was reduced to +hysteria, but budge he would not. The worst of it was that I could not +get the rest of the pearl-buyers to back me up. Who was I, anyway, to +know more about the sea and its ways than a properly qualified captain? +was what was in their minds, I knew. + +Of course the sea rose with the wind frightfully; and I shall never +forget the first three seas the _Petite Jeanne_ shipped. She had fallen +off, as vessels do at times when hove to, and the first sea made a clean +breach. The life-lines were only for the strong and well, and little +good were they even for them when the women and children, the bananas +and cocoanuts, the pigs and trade boxes, the sick and the dying, were +swept along in a solid, screeching, groaning mass. + +The second sea filled the _Petite Jeanne's_ decks flush with the rails; +and, as her stern sank down and her bow tossed skyward, all the +miserable dunnage of life and luggage poured aft. It was a human +torrent. They came head-first, feet-first, sidewise, rolling over and +over, twisting, squirming, writhing, and crumpling up. Now and again one +caught a grip on a stanchion or a rope; but the weight of the bodies +behind tore such grips loose. + +One man I noticed fetch up, head on and square on, with the +starboard-bitt. His head cracked like an egg. I saw what was coming, +sprang on top of the cabin, and from there into the mainsail itself. Ah +Choon and one of the Americans tried to follow me, but I was one jump +ahead of them. The American was swept away and over the stern like a +piece of chaff. Ah Choon caught a spoke of the wheel, and swung in +behind it. But a strapping Raratonga vahine (woman)--she must have +weighed two hundred and fifty--brought up against him, and got an arm +around his neck. He clutched the kanaka steersman with his other hand; +and just at that moment the schooner flung down to starboard. + +The rush of bodies and sea that was coming along the port runway between +the cabin and the rail turned abruptly and poured to starboard. Away +they went--vahine, Ah Choon, and steersman: and I swear I saw Ah Choon +grin at me with philosophic resignation as he cleared the rail and went +under. + +The third sea--the biggest of the three--did not do so much damage. By +the time it arrived nearly everybody was in the rigging. On deck perhaps +a dozen gasping, half-drowned, and half-stunned wretches were rolling +about or attempting to crawl into safety. They went by the board, as did +the wreckage of the two remaining boats. The other pearl-buyers and +myself, between seas, managed to get about fifteen women and children +into the cabin, and battened down. Little good it did the poor creatures +in the end. + +Wind? Out of all my experience I could not have believed it possible for +the wind to blow as it did. There is no describing it. How can one +describe a nightmare? It was the same way with that wind. It tore the +clothes off our bodies. I say _tore them off_, and I mean it. I am not +asking you to believe it. I am merely telling something that I saw and +felt. There are times when I do not believe it myself. I went through +it, and that is enough. One could not face that wind and live. It was a +monstrous thing, and the most monstrous thing about it was that it +increased and continued to increase. + +Imagine countless millions and billions of tons of sand. Imagine this +sand tearing along at ninety, a hundred, a hundred and twenty, or any +other number of miles per hour. Imagine, further, this sand to be +invisible, impalpable, yet to retain all the weight and density of sand. +Do all this, and you may get a vague inkling of what that wind was like. + +Perhaps sand is not the right comparison. Consider it mud, invisible, +impalpable, but heavy as mud. Nay, it goes beyond that. Consider every +molecule of air to be a mud-bank in itself. Then try to imagine the +multitudinous impact of mud-banks. No; it is beyond me. Language may be +adequate to express the ordinary conditions of life, but it cannot +possibly express any of the conditions of so enormous a blast of wind. +It would have been better had I stuck by my original intention of not +attempting a description. + +I will say this much: The sea, which had risen at first, was beaten down +by that wind. More: it seemed as if the whole ocean had been sucked up +in the maw of the hurricane, and hurled on through that portion of +space which previously had been occupied by the air. + +Of course, our canvas had gone long before. But Captain Oudouse had on +the _Petite Jeanne_ something I had never before seen on a South Sea +schooner--a sea-anchor. It was a conical canvas bag, the mouth of which +was kept open by a huge hoop of iron. The sea-anchor was bridled +something like a kite, so that it bit into the water as a kite bites +into the air, but with a difference. The sea-anchor remained just under +the surface of the ocean in a perpendicular position. A long line, in +turn, connected it with the schooner. As a result, the _Petite Jeanne_ +rode bow on to the wind and to what sea there was. + +The situation really would have been favorable had we not been in the +path of the storm. True, the wind itself tore our canvas out of the +gaskets, jerked out our topmasts, and made a raffle of our running-gear, +but still we would have come through nicely had we not been square in +front of the advancing storm-centre. That was what fixed us. I was in a +state of stunned, numbed, paralyzed collapse from enduring the impact +of the wind, and I think I was just about ready to give up and die when +the centre smote us. The blow we received was an absolute lull. There +was not a breath of air. The effect on one was sickening. + +Remember that for hours we had been at terrific muscular tension, +withstanding the awful pressure of that wind. And then, suddenly, the +pressure was removed. I know that I felt as though I was about to +expand, to fly apart in all directions. It seemed as if every atom +composing my body was repelling every other atom and was on the verge of +rushing off irresistibly into space. But that lasted only for a moment. +Destruction was upon us. + +In the absence of the wind and pressure the sea rose. It jumped, it +leaped, it soared straight toward the clouds. Remember, from every point +of the compass that inconceivable wind was blowing in toward the centre +of calm. The result was that the seas sprang up from every point of the +compass. There was no wind to check them. They popped up like corks +released from the bottom of a pail of water. There was no system to +them, no stability. They were hollow, maniacal seas. They were eighty +feet high at the least. They were not seas at all. They resembled no sea +a man had ever seen. + +They were splashes, monstrous splashes--that is all. Splashes that were +eighty feet high. Eighty! They were more than eighty. They went over our +mastheads. They were spouts, explosions. They were drunken. They fell +anywhere, anyhow. They jostled one another; they collided. They rushed +together and collapsed upon one another, or fell apart like a thousand +waterfalls all at once. It was no ocean any man had ever dreamed of, +that hurricane centre. It was confusion thrice confounded. It was +anarchy. It was a hell-pit of sea-water gone mad. + +The _Petite Jeanne_? I don't know. The heathen told me afterward that he +did not know. She was literally torn apart, ripped wide open, beaten +into a pulp, smashed into kindling wood, annihilated. When I came to I +was in the water, swimming automatically, though I was about two-thirds +drowned. How I got there I had no recollection. I remembered seeing the +_Petite Jeanne_ fly to pieces at what must have been the instant that my +own consciousness was buffetted out of me. But there I was, with +nothing to do but make the best of it, and in that best there was little +promise. The wind was blowing again, the sea was much smaller and more +regular, and I knew that I had passed through the centre. Fortunately, +there were no sharks about. The hurricane had dissipated the ravenous +horde that had surrounded the death ship and fed off the dead. + +It was about midday when the _Petite Jeanne_ went to pieces, and it must +have been two hours afterward when I picked up with one of her +hatch-covers. Thick rain was driving at the time; and it was the merest +chance that flung me and the hatch-cover together. A short length of +line was trailing from the rope handle; and I knew that I was good for a +day, at least, if the sharks did not return. Three hours later, possibly +a little longer, sticking close to the cover, and, with closed eyes, +concentrating my whole soul upon the task of breathing in enough air to +keep me going and at the same time of avoiding breathing in enough water +to drown me, it seemed to me that I heard voices. The rain had ceased, +and wind and sea were easing marvellously. Not twenty feet away from me +on another hatch-cover, were Captain Oudouse and the heathen. They were +fighting over the possession of the cover--at least, the Frenchman was. + +"_Paien noir_!" I heard him scream, and at the same time I saw him kick +the kanaka. + +Now, Captain Oudouse had lost all his clothes, except his shoes, and +they were heavy brogans. It was a cruel blow, for it caught the heathen +on the mouth and the point of the chin, half stunning him. I looked for +him to retaliate, but he contented himself with swimming about forlornly +a safe ten feet away. Whenever a fling of the sea threw him closer, the +Frenchman, hanging on with his hands, kicked out at him with both feet. +Also, at the moment of delivering each kick, he called the kanaka a +black heathen. + +"For two centimes I'd come over there and drown you, you white beast!" I +yelled. + +The only reason I did not go was that I felt too tired. The very thought +of the effort to swim over was nauseating. So I called to the kanaka to +come to me, and proceeded to share the hatch-cover with him. Otoo, he +told me his name was (pronounced o-to-o); also, he told me that he was +a native of Bora Bora, the most westerly of the Society Group. As I +learned afterward, he had got the hatch-cover first, and, after some +time, encountering Captain Oudouse, had offered to share it with him, +and had been kicked off for his pains. + +And that was how Otoo and I first came together. He was no fighter. He +was all sweetness and gentleness, a love-creature, though he stood +nearly six feet tall and was muscled like a gladiator. He was no +fighter, but he was also no coward. He had the heart of a lion; and in +the years that followed I have seen him run risks that I would never +dream of taking. What I mean is that while he was no fighter, and while +he always avoided precipitating a row, he never ran away from trouble +when it started. And it was "'Ware shoal!" when once Otoo went into +action. I shall never forget what he did to Bill King. It occurred in +German Samoa. Bill King was hailed the champion heavyweight of the +American Navy. He was a big brute of a man, a veritable gorilla, one of +those hard-hitting, rough-housing chaps, and clever with his fists as +well. He picked the quarrel, and he kicked Otoo twice and struck him +once before Otoo felt it to be necessary to fight. I don't think it +lasted four minutes, at the end of which time Bill King was the unhappy +possessor of four broken ribs, a broken forearm, and a dislocated +shoulder-blade. Otoo knew nothing of scientific boxing. He was merely a +manhandler; and Bill King was something like three months in recovering +from the bit of manhandling he received that afternoon on Apia beach. + +But I am running ahead of my yarn. We shared the hatch-cover between us. +We took turn and turn about, one lying flat on the cover and resting, +while the other, submerged to the neck, merely held on with his hands. +For two days and nights, spell and spell, on the cover and in the water, +we drifted over the ocean. Toward the last I was delirious most of the +time; and there were times, too, when I heard Otoo babbling and raving +in his native tongue. Our continuous immersion prevented us from dying +of thirst, though the sea-water and the sunshine gave us the prettiest +imaginable combination of salt pickle and sunburn. + +In the end, Otoo saved my life; for I came to lying on the beach twenty +feet from the water, sheltered from the sun by a couple of cocoanut +leaves. No one but Otoo could have dragged me there and stuck up the +leaves for shade. He was lying beside me. I went off again; and the next +time I came round, it was cool and starry night, and Otoo was pressing a +drinking cocoanut to my lips. + +We were the sole survivors of the _Petite Jeanne._ Captain Oudouse must +have succumbed to exhaustion, for several days later his hatch-cover +drifted ashore without him. Otoo and I lived with the natives of the +atoll for a week, when we were rescued by a French cruiser and taken to +Tahiti. In the meantime, however, we had performed the ceremony of +exchanging names. In the South Seas such a ceremony binds two men closer +together than blood-brothership. The initiative had been mine; and Otoo +was rapturously delighted when I suggested it. + +"It is well," he said, in Tahitian. "For we have been mates together for +two days on the lips of Death." + +"But Death stuttered." I smiled. + +"It was a brave deed you did, master," he replied, "and Death was not +vile enough to speak." + +"Why do you 'master' me?" I demanded, with a show of hurt feelings. "We +have exchanged names. To you I am Otoo. To me you are Charley. And +between you and me, forever and forever, you shall be Charley, and I +shall be Otoo. It is the way of the custom. And when we die, if it does +happen that we live again somewhere beyond the stars and the sky, still +shall you be Charley to me, and I Otoo to you." + +"Yes, master," he answered, his eyes luminous and soft with joy. + +"There you go!" I cried indignantly. + +"What does it matter what my lips utter?" he argued. "They are only my +lips. But I shall think Otoo always. Whenever I think of myself, I shall +think of you. Whenever men call me by name, I shall think of you. And +beyond the sky and beyond the stars, always and forever, you shall be +Otoo to me. Is it well, master?" + +I hid my smile, and answered that it was well. + +We parted at Papeete. I remained ashore to recuperate; and he went on +in a cutter to his own island, Bora Bora. Six weeks later he was back. I +was surprised, for he had told me of his wife, and said that he was +returning to her, and would give over sailing on far voyages. + +"Where do you go, master?" he asked after our first greetings. + +I shrugged my shoulders. It was a hard question. + +"All the world," was my answer--"all the world, all the sea, and all the +islands that are in the sea." + +"I will go with you," he said simply. "My wife is dead." + +I never had a brother; but from what I have seen of other men's +brothers, I doubt if any man ever had a brother that was to him what +Otoo was to me. He was brother and father and mother as well. And this I +know: I lived a straighter and better man because of Otoo. I cared +little for other men, but I had to live straight in Otoo's eyes. Because +of him I dared not tarnish myself. He made me his ideal, compounding me, +I fear, chiefly out of his own love and worship; and there were times +when I stood close to the steep pitch of Hades, and would have taken +the plunge had not the thought of Otoo restrained me. His pride in me +entered into me, until it became one of the major rules in my personal +code to do nothing that would diminish that pride of his. + +Naturally, I did not learn right away what his feelings were toward me. +He never criticised, never censured; and slowly the exalted place I held +in his eyes dawned upon me, and slowly I grew to comprehend the hurt I +could inflict upon him by being anything less than my best. + +For seventeen years we were together; for seventeen years he was at my +shoulder, watching while I slept, nursing me through fever and +wounds--ay, and receiving wounds in fighting for me. He signed on the +same ships with me; and together we ranged the Pacific from Hawaii to +Sydney Head, and from Torres Straits to the Galapagos. We blackbirded +from the New Hebrides and the Line Islands over to the westward clear +through the Louisades, New Britain, New Ireland, and New Hanover. We +were wrecked three times--in the Gilberts, in the Santa Cruz group, and +in the Fijis. And we traded and salved wherever a dollar promised in +the way of pearl and pearl-shell, copra, beche-de-mer, hawkbill +turtle-shell, and stranded wrecks. + +It began in Papeete, immediately after his announcement that he was +going with me over all the sea, and the islands in the midst thereof. +There was a club in those days in Papeete, where the pearlers, traders, +captains, and riffraff of South Sea adventurers foregathered. The play +ran high, and the drink ran high; and I am very much afraid that I kept +later hours than were becoming or proper. No matter what the hour was +when I left the club, there was Otoo waiting to see me safely home. + +At first I smiled; next I chided him. Then I told him flatly that I +stood in need of no wet-nursing. After that I did not see him when I +came out of the club. Quite by accident, a week or so later, I +discovered that he still saw me home, lurking across the street among +the shadows of the mango-trees. What could I do? I know what I did do. + +Insensibly I began to keep better hours. On wet and stormy nights, in +the thick of the folly and the fun, the thought would persist in coming +to me of Otoo keeping his dreary vigil under the dripping mangoes. +Truly, he had made a better man of me. Yet he was not strait-laced. And +he knew nothing of common Christian morality. All the people on Bora +Bora were Christians; but he was a heathen, the only unbeliever on the +island, a gross materialist, who believed that when he died he was dead. +He believed merely in fair play and square dealing. Petty meanness, in +his code, was almost as serious as wanton homicide; and I do believe +that he respected a murderer more than a man given to small practices. + +Otoo had my welfare always at heart. He thought ahead for me, weighed my +plans, and took a greater interest in them than I did myself. At first, +when I was unaware of this interest of his in my affairs, he had to +divine my intentions, as, for instance, at Papeete, when I contemplated +going partners with a knavish fellow-countryman on a guano venture. I +did not know he was a knave. Nor did any white man in Papeete. Neither +did Otoo know, but he saw how thick we were getting, and found out for +me, and without my asking him. Native sailors from the ends of the seas +knock about on the beach in Tahiti; and Otoo, suspicious merely, went +among them till he had gathered sufficient data to justify his +suspicions. Oh, it was a nice history, that of Randolph Waters. I +couldn't believe it when Otoo first narrated it; but when I sheeted it +home to Waters he gave in without a murmur, and got away on the first +steamer to Aukland. + +At first, I am free to confess, I couldn't help resenting Otoo's poking +his nose into my business. But I knew that he was wholly unselfish; and +soon I had to acknowledge his wisdom and discretion. He had his eyes +open always to my main chance, and he was both keen-sighted and +far-sighted. In time he became my counsellor, until he knew more of my +business than I did myself. He really had my interest at heart more than +I did. Mine was the magnificent carelessness of youth, for I preferred +romance to dollars, and adventure to a comfortable billet with all night +in. So it was well that I had some one to look out for me. I know that +if it had not been for Otoo, I should not be here to-day. + +Of numerous instances, let me give one. I had had some experience in +blackbirding before I went pearling in the Paumotus. Otoo and I were in +Samoa--we really were on the beach and hard aground--when my chance came +to go as recruiter on a blackbird brig. Otoo signed on before the mast; +and for the next half-dozen years, in as many ships, we knocked about +the wildest portions of Melanesia. Otoo saw to it that he always pulled +stroke-oar in my boat. Our custom in recruiting labor was to land the +recruiter on the beach. The covering boat always lay on its oars several +hundred feet off shore, while the recruiter's boat, also lying on its +oars, kept afloat on the edge of the beach. When I landed with my +trade-goods, leaving my steering sweep apeak, Otoo left his stroke +position and came into the stern-sheets, where a Winchester lay ready to +hand under a flap of canvas. The boat's crew was also armed, the Sniders +concealed under canvas flaps that ran the length of the gunwales. While +I was busy arguing and persuading the woolly-headed cannibals to come +and labor on the Queensland plantations Otoo kept watch. And often and +often his low voice warned me of suspicious actions and impending +treachery. Sometimes it was the quick shot from his rifle, knocking a +savage over, that was the first warning I received. And in my rush to +the boat his hand was always there to jerk me flying aboard. Once, I +remember, on _Santa Anna_, the boat grounded just as the trouble began. +The covering boat was dashing to our assistance, but the several score +of savages would have wiped us out before it arrived. Otoo took a flying +leap ashore, dug both hands into the trade-goods, and scattered tobacco, +beads, tomahawks, knives, and calicoes in all directions. + +This was too much for the woolly-heads. While they scrambled for the +treasures, the boat was shoved clear, and we were aboard and forty feet +away. And I got thirty recruits off that very beach in the next four +hours. + +The particular instance I have in mind was on Malaita, the most savage +island in the easterly Solomons. The natives had been remarkably +friendly; and how were we to know that the whole village had been taking +up a collection for over two years with which to buy a white man's head? +The beggars are all head-hunters, and they especially esteem a white +man's head. The fellow who captured the head would receive the whole +collection. As I say, they appeared very friendly; and on this day I +was fully a hundred yards down the beach from the boat. Otoo had +cautioned me; and, as usual when I did not heed him, I came to grief. + +The first I knew, a cloud of spears sailed out of the mangrove swamp at +me. At least a dozen were sticking into me. I started to run, but +tripped over one that was fast in my calf, and went down. The +woolly-heads made a run for me, each with a long-handled, fantail +tomahawk with which to hack off my head. They were so eager for the +prize that they got in one another's way. In the confusion, I avoided +several hacks by throwing myself right and left on the sand. + +Then Otoo arrived--Otoo the manhandler. In some way he had got hold of a +heavy war club, and at close quarters it was a far more efficient weapon +than a rifle. He was right in the thick of them, so that they could not +spear him, while their tomahawks seemed worse than useless. He was +fighting for me, and he was in a true Berserker rage. The way he handled +that club was amazing. Their skulls squashed like overripe oranges. It +was not until he had driven them back, picked me up in his arms, and +started to run, that he received his first wounds. He arrived in the +boat with four spear thrusts, got his Winchester, and with it got a man +for every shot. Then we pulled aboard the schooner and doctored up. + +Seventeen years we were together. He made me. I should to-day be a +supercargo, a recruiter, or a memory, if it had not been for him. + +"You spend your money, and you go out and get more," he said one day. +"It is easy to get money now. But when you get old, your money will be +spent, and you will not be able to go out and get more. I know, master. +I have studied the way of white men. On the beaches are many old men who +were young once, and who could get money just like you. Now they are +old, and they have nothing, and they wait about for the young men like +you to come ashore and buy drinks for them. + +"The black boy is a slave on the plantations. He gets twenty dollars a +year. He works hard. The overseer does not work hard. He rides a horse +and watches the black boy work. He gets twelve hundred dollars a year. I +am a sailor on the schooner. I get fifteen dollars a month. That is +because I am a good sailor. I work hard. The captain has a double +awning, and drinks beer out of long bottles. I have never seen him haul +a rope or pull an oar. He gets one hundred and fifty dollars a month. I +am a sailor. He is a navigator. Master, I think it would be very good +for you to know navigation." + +Otoo spurred me on to it. He sailed with me as second mate on my first +schooner, and he was far prouder of my command than I was myself. Later +on it was: + +"The captain is well paid, master; but the ship is in his keeping, and +he is never free from the burden. It is the owner who is better +paid--the owner who sits ashore with many servants and turns his money +over." + +"True, but a schooner costs five thousand dollars--an old schooner at +that," I objected. "I should be an old man before I saved five thousand +dollars." + +"There be short ways for white men to make money," he went on, pointing +ashore at the cocoanut-fringed beach. + +We were in the Solomons at the time, picking up a cargo of ivory-nuts +along the east coast of Guadalcanar. + +"Between this river mouth and the next it is two miles," he said. "The +flat land runs far back. It is worth nothing now. Next year--who +knows?--or the year after, men will pay much money for that land. The +anchorage is good. Big steamers can lie close up. You can buy the land +four miles deep from the old chief for ten thousand sticks of tobacco, +ten bottles of square-face, and a Snider, which will cost you, maybe, +one hundred dollars. Then you place the deed with the commissioner; and +the next year, or the year after, you sell and become the owner of a +ship." + +I followed his lead, and his words came true, though in three years, +instead of two. Next came the grasslands deal on Guadalcanar--twenty +thousand acres, on a governmental nine hundred and ninety-nine years' +lease at a nominal sum. I owned the lease for precisely ninety days, +when I sold it to a company for half a fortune. Always it was Otoo who +looked ahead and saw the opportunity. He was responsible for the salving +of the _Doncaster_--bought in at auction for a hundred pounds, and +clearing three thousand after every expense was paid. He led me into the +Savaii plantation and the cocoa venture on Upolu. + +We did not go seafaring so much as in the old days. I was too well off. +I married, and my standard of living rose; but Otoo remained the same +old-time Otoo, moving about the house or trailing through the office, +his wooden pipe in his mouth, a shilling undershirt on his back, and a +four-shilling lava-lava about his loins. I could not get him to spend +money. There was no way of repaying him except with love, and God knows +he got that in full measure from all of us. The children worshipped him; +and if he had been spoilable, my wife would surely have been his +undoing. + +The children! He really was the one who showed them the way of their +feet in the world practical. He began by teaching them to walk. He sat +up with them when they were sick. One by one, when they were scarcely +toddlers, he took them down to the lagoon, and made them into +amphibians. He taught them more than I ever knew of the habits of fish +and the ways of catching them. In the bush it was the same thing. At +seven, Tom knew more woodcraft than I ever dreamed existed. At six, Mary +went over the Sliding Rock without a quiver, and I have seen strong men +balk at that feat. And when Frank had just turned six he could bring up +shillings from the bottom in three fathoms. + +"My people in Bora Bora do not like heathen--they are all Christians; +and I do not like Bora Bora Christians," he said one day, when I, with +the idea of getting him to spend some of the money that was rightfully +his, had been trying to persuade him to make a visit to his own island +in one of our schooners--a special voyage which I had hoped to make a +record breaker in the matter of prodigal expense. + +I say one of _our_ schooners, though legally at the time they belonged +to me. I struggled long with him to enter into partnership. + +"We have been partners from the day the _Petite Jeanne_ went down," he +said at last. "But if your heart so wishes, then shall we become +partners by the law. I have no work to do, yet are my expenses large. I +drink and eat and smoke in plenty--it costs much, I know. I do not pay +for the playing of billiards, for I play on your table; but still the +money goes. Fishing on the reef is only a rich man's pleasure. It is +shocking, the cost of hooks and cotton line. Yes; it is necessary that +we be partners by the law. I need the money. I shall get it from the +head clerk in the office." + +So the papers were made out and recorded. A year later I was compelled +to complain. + +"Charley," said I, "you are a wicked old fraud, a miserly skinflint, a +miserable land-crab. Behold, your share for the year in all our +partnership has been thousands of dollars. The head clerk has given me +this paper. It says that in the year you have drawn just eighty-seven +dollars and twenty cents." + +"Is there any owing me?" he asked anxiously. + +"I tell you thousands and thousands," I answered. + +His face brightened, as with an immense relief. + +"It is well," he said. "See that the head clerk keeps good account of +it. When I want it, I shall want it, and there must not be a cent +missing. + +"If there is," he added fiercely, after a pause, "it must come out of +the clerk's wages." + +And all the time, as I afterward learned, his will, drawn up by +Carruthers, and making me sole beneficiary, lay in the American consul's +safe. + +But the end came, as the end must come to all human associations. It +occurred in the Solomons, where our wildest work had been done in the +wild young days, and where we were once more--principally on a holiday, +incidentally to look after our holdings on Florida Island and to look +over the pearling possibilities of the Mboli Pass. We were lying at +Savo, having run in to trade for curios. + +Now, Savo is alive with sharks. The custom of the woolly-heads of +burying their dead in the sea did not tend to discourage the sharks from +making the adjacent waters a hang-out. It was my luck to be coming +aboard in a tiny, overloaded, native canoe, when the thing capsized. +There were four woolly-heads and myself in it, or, rather, hanging to +it. The schooner was a hundred yards away. I was just hailing for a boat +when one of the woolly-heads began to scream. Holding on to the end of +the canoe, both he and that portion of the canoe were dragged under +several times. Then he loosed his clutch and disappeared. A shark had +got him. + +The three remaining savages tried to climb out of the water upon the +bottom of the canoe. I yelled and struck at the nearest with my fist, +but it was no use. They were in a blind funk. The canoe could barely +have supported one of them. Under the three it upended and rolled +sidewise, throwing them back into the water. + +I abandoned the canoe and started to swim toward the schooner, expecting +to be picked up by the boat before I got there. One of the savages +elected to come with me, and we swam along silently, side by side, now +and again putting our faces into the water and peering about for sharks. +The screams of the man who stayed by the canoe informed us that he was +taken. I was peering into the water when I saw a big shark pass directly +beneath me. He was fully sixteen feet in length. I saw the whole thing. +He got the woolly-head by the middle, and away he went, the poor devil, +head, shoulders, and arms out of water all the time, screeching in a +heartrending way. He was carried along in this fashion for several +hundred feet, when he was dragged beneath the surface. + +I swam doggedly on, hoping that that was the last unattached shark. But +there was another. Whether it was the one that had attacked the natives +earlier, or whether it was one that had made a good meal elsewhere, I do +not know. At any rate, he was not in such haste as the others. I could +not swim so rapidly now, for a large part of my effort was devoted to +keeping track of him. I was watching him when he made his first attack. +By good luck I got both hands on his nose, and, though his momentum +nearly shoved me under, I managed to keep him off. He veered clear, and +began circling about again. A second time I escaped him by the same +maneuver. The third rush was a miss on both sides. He sheered at the +moment my hands should have landed on his nose, but his sandpaper hide +(I had on a sleeveless undershirt) scraped the skin off one arm from +elbow to shoulder. + +By this time I was played out, and gave up hope. The schooner was still +two hundred feet away. My face was in the water, and I was watching him +maneuver for another attempt, when I saw a brown body pass between us. +It was Otoo. + +"Swim for the schooner, master!" he said. And he spoke gayly, as though +the affair was a mere lark. "I know sharks. The shark is my brother." + +I obeyed, swimming slowly on, while Otoo swam about me, keeping always +between me and the shark, foiling his rushes and encouraging me. + +"The davit tackle carried away, and they are rigging the falls," he +explained, a minute or so later, and then went under to head off another +attack. + +By the time the schooner was thirty feet away I was about done for. I +could scarcely move. They were heaving lines at us from on board, but +they continually fell short. The shark, finding that it was receiving no +hurt, had become bolder. Several times it nearly got me, but each time +Otoo was there just the moment before it was too late. Of course, Otoo +could have saved himself any time. But he stuck by me. + +"Good-bye, Charley! I'm finished!" I just managed to gasp. + +I knew that the end had come, and that the next moment I should throw +up my hands and go down. + +But Otoo laughed in my face, saying: + +"I will show you a new trick. I will make that shark feel sick!" + +He dropped in behind me, where the shark was preparing to come at me. + +"A little more to the left!" he next called out. "There is a line there +on the water. To the left, master--to the left!" + +I changed my course and struck out blindly. I was by that time barely +conscious. As my hand closed on the line I heard an exclamation from on +board. I turned and looked. There was no sign of Otoo. The next instant +he broke surface. Both hands were off at the wrist, the stumps spouting +blood. + +"Otoo!" he called softly. And I could see in his gaze the love that +thrilled in his voice. + +Then, and then only, at the very last of all our years, he called me by +that name. + +"Good-by, Otoo!" he called. + +Then he was dragged under, and I was hauled aboard, where I fainted in +the captain's arms. + +And so passed Otoo, who saved me and made me a man, and who saved me in +the end. We met in the maw of a hurricane, and parted in the maw of a +shark, with seventeen intervening years of comradeship, the like of +which I dare to assert has never befallen two men, the one brown and the +other white. If Jehovah be from His high place watching every sparrow +fall, not least in His kingdom shall be Otoo, the one heathen of Bora +Bora. + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE HOBO AND THE FAIRY + + +He lay on his back. So heavy was his sleep that the stamp of hoofs and +cries of the drivers from the bridge that crossed the creek did not +rouse him. Wagon after wagon, loaded high with grapes, passed the bridge +on the way up the valley to the winery, and the coming of each wagon was +like the explosion of sound and commotion in the lazy quiet of the +afternoon. + +But the man was undisturbed. His head had slipped from the folded +newspaper, and the straggling, unkempt hair was matted with the foxtails +and burrs of the dry grass on which it lay. He was not a pretty sight. +His mouth was open, disclosing a gap in the upper row where several +teeth at some time had been knocked out. He breathed stertorously, at +times grunting and moaning with the pain of his sleep. Also, he was very +restless, tossing his arms about, making jerky, half-convulsive +movements, and at times rolling his head from side to side in the burrs. +This restlessness seemed occasioned partly by some internal discomfort, +and partly by the sun that streamed down on his face and by the flies +that buzzed and lighted and crawled upon the nose and cheeks and +eyelids. There was no other place for them to crawl, for the rest of the +face was covered with matted beard, slightly grizzled, but greatly +dirt-stained and weather-discolored. + +The cheek-bones were blotched with the blood congested by the debauch +that was evidently being slept off. This, too, accounted for the +persistence with which the flies clustered around the mouth, lured by +the alcohol-laden exhalations. He was a powerfully built man, +thick-necked, broad-shouldered, with sinewy wrists and toil-distorted +hands. Yet the distortion was not due to recent toil, nor were the +callouses other than ancient that showed under the dirt of the one palm +upturned. From time to time this hand clenched tightly and +spasmodically into a fist, large, heavy-boned and wicked-looking. + +The man lay in the dry grass of a tiny glade that ran down to the +tree-fringed bank of the stream. On either side of the glade was a +fence, of the old stake-and-rider type, though little of it was to be +seen, so thickly was it overgrown by wild blackberry bushes, scrubby +oaks and young madrono trees. In the rear, a gate through a low paling +fence led to a snug, squat bungalow, built in the California Spanish +style and seeming to have been compounded directly from the landscape of +which it was so justly a part. Neat and trim and modestly sweet was the +bungalow, redolent of comfort and repose, telling with quiet certitude +of some one that knew, and that had sought and found. + +Through the gate and into the glade came as dainty a little maiden as +ever stepped out of an illustration made especially to show how dainty +little maidens may be. Eight years she might have been, and, possibly, a +trifle more, or less. Her little waist and little black-stockinged +calves showed how delicately fragile she was; but the fragility was of +mould only. There was no hint of anemia in the clear, healthy +complexion nor in the quick, tripping step. She was a little, delicious +blond, with hair spun of gossamer gold and wide blue eyes that were but +slightly veiled by the long lashes. Her expression was of sweetness and +happiness; it belonged by right to any face that sheltered in the +bungalow. + +She carried a child's parasol, which she was careful not to tear against +the scrubby branches and bramble bushes as she sought for wild poppies +along the edge of the fence. They were late poppies, a third generation, +which had been unable to resist the call of the warm October sun. + +Having gathered along one fence, she turned to cross to the opposite +fence. Midway in the glade she came upon the tramp. Her startle was +merely a startle. There was no fear in it. She stood and looked long and +curiously at the forbidding spectacle, and was about to turn back when +the sleeper moved restlessly and rolled his hand among the burrs. She +noted the sun on his face, and the buzzing flies; her face grew +solicitous, and for a moment she debated with herself. Then she tiptoed +to his side, interposed the parasol between him and the sun, and +brushed away the flies. After a time, for greater ease, she sat down +beside him. + +An hour passed, during which she occasionally shifted the parasol from +one tired hand to the other. At first the sleeper had been restless, +but, shielded from the flies and the sun, his breathing became gentler +and his movements ceased. Several times, however, he really frightened +her. The first was the worst, coming abruptly and without warning. +"Christ! How deep! How deep!" the man murmured from some profound of +dream. The parasol was agitated; but the little girl controlled herself +and continued her self-appointed ministrations. + +Another time it was a gritting of teeth, as of some intolerable agony. +So terribly did the teeth crunch and grind together that it seemed they +must crush into fragments. A little later he suddenly stiffened out. The +hands clenched and the face set with the savage resolution of the dream. +The eyelids trembled from the shock of the fantasy, seemed about to +open, but did not. Instead, the lips muttered: + +"No; no! And once more no. I won't peach." The lips paused, then went +on. "You might as well tie me up, warden, and cut me to pieces. That's +all you can get outa me--blood. That's all any of you-uns has ever got +outa me in this hole." + +After this outburst the man slept gently on, while the little girl still +held the parasol aloft and looked down with a great wonder at the +frowsy, unkempt creature, trying to reconcile it with the little part of +life that she knew. To her ears came the cries of men, the stamp of +hoofs on the bridge, and the creak and groan of wagons heavy laden. It +was a breathless California Indian summer day. Light fleeces of cloud +drifted in the azure sky, but to the west heavy cloud banks threatened +with rain. A bee droned lazily by. From farther thickets came the calls +of quail, and from the fields the songs of meadow larks. And oblivious +to it all slept Ross Shanklin--Ross Shanklin, the tramp and outcast, +ex-convict 4379, the bitter and unbreakable one who had defied all +keepers and survived all brutalities. + +Texas-born, of the old pioneer stock that was always tough and stubborn, +he had been unfortunate. At seventeen years of age he had been +apprehended for horse stealing. Also, he had been convicted of stealing +seven horses which he had not stolen, and he had been sentenced to +fourteen years' imprisonment. This was severe under any circumstances, +but with him it had been especially severe, because there had been no +prior convictions against him. The sentiment of the people who believed +him guilty had been that two years was adequate punishment for the +youth, but the county attorney, paid according to the convictions he +secured, had made seven charges against him and earned seven fees. Which +goes to show that the county attorney valued twelve years of Ross +Shanklin's life at less than a few dollars. + +Young Ross Shanklin had toiled terribly in jail; he had escaped, more +than once; and he had been caught and sent back to toil in other and +various jails. He had been triced up and lashed till he fainted had been +revived and lashed again. He had been in the dungeon ninety days at a +time. He had experienced the torment of the straightjacket. He knew what +the humming bird was. He had been farmed out as a chattel by the state +to the contractors. He had been trailed through swamps by bloodhounds. +Twice he had been shot. For six years on end he had cut a cord and a +half of wood each day in a convict lumber camp. Sick or well, he had cut +that cord and a half or paid for it under a whip-lash knotted and +pickled. + +And Ross Shanklin had not sweetened under the treatment. He had sneered, +and raved, and defied. He had seen convicts, after the guards had +manhandled them, crippled in body for life, or left to maunder in mind +to the end of their days. He had seen convicts, even his own cell mate, +goaded to murder by their keepers, go to the gallows reviling God. He +had been in a break in which eleven of his kind were shot down. He had +been through a mutiny, where, in the prison yard, with gatling guns +trained upon them, three hundred convicts had been disciplined with pick +handles wielded by brawny guards. + +He had known every infamy of human cruelty, and through it all he had +never been broken. He had resented and fought to the last, until, +embittered and bestial, the day came when he was discharged. Five +dollars were given him in payment for the years of his labor and the +flower of his manhood. And he had worked little in the years that +followed. Work he hated and despised. He tramped, begged and stole, +lied or threatened as the case might warrant, and drank to besottedness +whenever he got the chance. + +The little girl was looking at him when he awoke. Like a wild animal, +all of him was awake the instant he opened his eyes. The first he saw +was the parasol, strangely obtruded between him and the sky. He did not +start nor move, though his whole body seemed slightly to tense. His eyes +followed down the parasol handle to the tight-clutched little fingers, +and along the arm to the child's face. Straight and unblinking he looked +into her eyes, and she, returning the look, was chilled and frightened +by his glittering eyes, cold and harsh, withal bloodshot, and with no +hint in them of the warm humanness she had been accustomed to see and +feel in human eyes. They were the true prison eyes--the eyes of a man +who had learned to talk little, who had forgotten almost how to talk. + +"Hello," he said finally, making no effort to change his position. "What +game are you up to!" + +His voice was gruff and husky, and at first it had been harsh; but it +had softened queerly in a feeble attempt at forgotten kindliness. + +"How do you do?" she said. "I'm not playing. The sun was on your face, +and mamma says one oughtn't to sleep in the sun." + +The sweet clearness of her child's voice was pleasant to him, and he +wondered why he had never noticed it in children's voices before. He sat +up slowly and stared at her. He felt that he ought to say something, but +speech with him was a reluctant thing. + +"I hope you slept well," she said gravely. + +"I sure did," he answered, never taking his eyes from her, amazed at the +fairness and delicacy of her. "How long was you holdin' that contraption +up over me?" + +"O-oh," she debated with herself, "a long, long time. I thought you +would never wake up." + +"And I thought you was a fairy when I first seen you." + +He felt elated at his contribution to the conversation. + +"No, not a fairy," she smiled. + +He thrilled in a strange, numb way at the immaculate whiteness of her +small even teeth. + +"I was just the good Samaritan," she added. + +"I reckon I never heard of that party." + +He was cudgelling his brains to keep the conversation going. Never +having been at close quarters with a child since he was man-grown, he +found it difficult. + +"What a funny man not to know about the good Samaritan. Don't you +remember? A certain man went down to Jericho----" + +"I reckon I've been there," he interrupted. + +"I knew you were a traveler!" she cried, clapping her hands. "Maybe you +saw the exact spot." + +"What spot?" + +"Why, where he fell among thieves and was left half dead. And then the +good Samaritan went to him, and bound up his wounds, and poured in oil +and wine--was that olive oil, do you think?" + +He shook his head slowly. + +"I reckon you got me there. Olive oil is something the dagoes cooks +with. I never heard of it for busted heads." + +She considered his statement for a moment. + +"Well," she announced, "we use olive oil in _our_ cooking, so we must be +dagoes. I never knew what they were before. I thought it was slang." + +"And the Samaritan dumped oil on his head," the tramp muttered +reminiscently. "Seems to me I recollect a sky pilot sayin' something +about that old gent. D'ye know, I've been looking for him off 'n on all +my life, and never scared up hide nor hair of him. They ain't no more +Samaritans." + +"Wasn't I one!" she asked quickly. + +He looked at her steadily, with a great curiosity and wonder. Her ear, +by a movement exposed to the sun, was transparent. It seemed he could +almost see through it. He was amazed at the delicacy of her coloring, at +the blue of her eyes, at the dazzle of the sun-touched golden hair. And +he was astounded by her fragility. It came to him that she was easily +broken. His eye went quickly from his huge, gnarled paw to her tiny hand +in which it seemed to him he could almost see the blood circulate. He +knew the power in his muscles, and he knew the tricks and turns by which +men use their bodies to ill-treat men. In fact, he knew little else, and +his mind for the time ran in its customary channel. It was his way of +measuring the beautiful strangeness of her. He calculated a grip, and +not a strong one, that could grind her little fingers to pulp. He +thought of fist blows he had given to men's heads, and received on his +own head, and felt that the least of them could shatter hers like an +egg-shell. He scanned her little shoulders and slim waist, and knew in +all certitude that with his two hands he could rend her to pieces. + +"Wasn't I one?" she insisted again. + +He came back to himself with a shock--or away from himself, as the case +happened. He was loath that the conversation should cease. + +"What?" he answered. "Oh, yes; you bet you was a Samaritan, even if you +didn't have no olive oil." He remembered what his mind had been dwelling +on, and asked, "But ain't you afraid?" + +"Of ... of me?" he added lamely. + +She laughed merrily. + +"Mamma says never to be afraid of anything. She says that if you're +good, and you think good of other people, they'll be good, too." + +"And you was thinkin' good of me when you kept the sun off," he +marveled. + +"But it's hard to think good of bees and nasty crawly things," she +confessed. + +"But there's men that is nasty and crawly things," he argued. + +"Mamma says no. She says there's good in everyone. + +"I bet you she locks the house up tight at night just the same," he +proclaimed triumphantly. + +"But she doesn't. Mamma isn't afraid of anything. That's why she lets me +play out here alone when I want. Why, we had a robber once. Mamma got +right up and found him. And what do you think! He was only a poor hungry +man. And she got him plenty to eat from the pantry, and afterward she +got him work to do." + +Ross Shanklin was stunned. The vista shown him of human nature was +unthinkable. It had been his lot to live in a world of suspicion and +hatred, of evil-believing and evil-doing. It had been his experience, +slouching along village streets at nightfall, to see little children, +screaming with fear, run from him to their mothers. He had even seen +grown women shrink aside from him as he passed along the sidewalk. + +He was aroused by the girl clapping her hands as she cried out: + +"I know what you are! You're an open air crank. That's why you were +sleeping here in the grass." + +He felt a grim desire to laugh, but repressed it. + +"And that's what tramps are--open air cranks," she continued. "I often +wondered. Mamma believes in the open air. I sleep on the porch at night. +So does she. This is our land. You must have climbed the fence. Mamma +lets me when I put on my climbers--they're bloomers, you know. But you +ought to be told something. A person doesn't know when they snore +because they're asleep. But you do worse than that. You grit your teeth. +That's bad. Whenever you are going to sleep you must think to yourself, +'I won't grit my teeth, I won't grit my teeth,' over and over, just like +that, and by and by you'll get out of the habit. + +"All bad things are habits. And so are all good things. And it depends +on us what kind our habits are going to be. I used to pucker my +eyebrows--wrinkle them all up, but mamma said I must overcome that +habit. She said that when my eyebrows were wrinkled it was an +advertisement that my brain was wrinkled inside, and that it wasn't good +to have wrinkles in the brain. And then she smoothed my eyebrows with +her hand and said I must always think _smooth_--_smooth_ inside, and +_smooth_ outside. And do you know, it was easy. I haven't wrinkled my +brows for ever so long. I've heard about filling teeth by thinking. But +I don't believe that. Neither does mamma." + +She paused rather out of breath. Nor did he speak. Her flow of talk had +been too much for him. Also, sleeping drunkenly, with open mouth, had +made him very thirsty. But, rather than lose one precious moment, he +endured the torment of his scorching throat and mouth. He licked his dry +lips and struggled for speech. + +"What is your name?" he managed at last. + +"Joan." + +She looked her own question at him, and it was not necessary to voice +it. + +"Mine is Ross Shanklin," he volunteered, for the first time in forgotten +years giving his real name. + +"I suppose you've traveled a lot." + +"I sure have, but not as much as I might have wanted to." + +"Papa always wanted to travel, but he was too busy at the office. He +never could get much time. He went to Europe once with mamma. That was +before I was born. It takes money to travel." + +Ross Shanklin did not know whether to agree with this statement or not. + +"But it doesn't cost tramps much for expenses," she took the thought +away from him. "Is that why you tramp?" + +He nodded and licked his lips. + +"Mamma says it's too bad that men must tramp to look for work. But +there's lots of work now in the country. All the farmers in the valley +are trying to get men. Have you been working?" + +He shook his head, angry with himself that he should feel shame at the +confession when his savage reasoning told him he was right in despising +work. But this was followed by another thought. This beautiful little +creature was some man's child. She was one of the rewards of work. + +"I wish I had a little girl like you," he blurted out, stirred by a +sudden consciousness of passion for paternity. "I'd work my hands off. I +... I'd do anything." + +She considered his case with fitting gravity. + +"Then you aren't married?" + +"Nobody would have me." + +"Yes, they would, if ..." + +She did not turn up her nose, but she favored his dirt and rags with a +look of disapprobation he could not mistake. + +"Go on," he half-shouted. "Shoot it into me. If I was washed--if I wore +good clothes--if I was respectable--if I had a job and worked +regular--if I wasn't what I am." + +To each statement she nodded. + +"Well, I ain't that kind," he rushed on. "I'm no good. I'm a tramp. I +don't want to work, that's what. And I like dirt." + +Her face was eloquent with reproach as she said, "Then you were only +making believe when you wished you had a little girl like me?" + +This left him speechless, for he knew, in all the depths of his +new-found passion, that that was just what he did want. + +With ready tact, noting his discomfort, she sought to change the +subject. + +"What do you think of God?" she asked. "I ain't never met him. What do +you think about him?" + +His reply was evidently angry, and she was frank in her disapproval. + +"You are very strange," she said. "You get angry so easily. I never saw +anybody before that got angry about God, or work, or being clean." + +"He never done anything for me," he muttered resentfully. He cast back +in quick review of the long years of toil in the convict camps and +mines. "And work never done anything for me neither." + +An embarrassing silence fell. + +He looked at her, numb and hungry with the stir of the father-love, +sorry for his ill temper, puzzling his brain for something to say. She +was looking off and away at the clouds, and he devoured her with his +eyes. He reached out stealthily and rested one grimy hand on the very +edge of her little dress. It seemed to him that she was the most +wonderful thing in the world. The quail still called from the coverts, +and the harvest sounds seemed abruptly to become very loud. A great +loneliness oppressed him. + +"I'm ... I'm no good," he murmured huskily and repentantly. + +But, beyond a glance from her blue eyes, she took no notice. The silence +was more embarrassing than ever. He felt that he could give the world +just to touch with his lips that hem of her dress where his hand rested. +But he was afraid of frightening her. He fought to find something to +say, licking his parched lips and vainly attempting to articulate +something, anything. + +"This ain't Sonoma Valley," he declared finally. "This is fairy land, +and you're a fairy. Mebbe I'm asleep and dreaming. I don't know. You and +me don't know how to talk together, because, you see, you're a fairy and +don't know nothing but good things, and I'm a man from the bad, wicked +world." + +Having achieved this much, he was left gasping for ideas like a stranded +fish. + +"And you're going to tell me about the bad, wicked world," she cried, +clapping her hands. "I'm just dying to know." + +He looked at her, startled, remembering the wreckage of womanhood he +had encountered on the sunken ways of life. She was no fairy. She was +flesh and blood, and the possibilities of wreckage were in her as they +had been in him even when he lay at his mother's breast. And there was +in her eagerness to know. + +"Nope," he said lightly, "this man from the bad, wicked world ain't +going to tell you nothing of the kind. He's going to tell you of the +good things in that world. He's going to tell you how he loved hosses +when he was a shaver, and about the first hoss he straddled, and the +first hoss he owned. Hosses ain't like men. They're better. They're +clean--clean all the way through and back again. And, little fairy, I +want to tell you one thing--there sure ain't nothing in the world like +when you're settin' a tired hoss at the end of a long day, and when you +just speak, and that tired animal lifts under you willing and hustles +along. Hosses! They're my long suit. I sure dote on hosses. Yep. I used +to be a cowboy once." + +She clapped her hands in the way that tore so delightfully to his heart, +and her eyes were dancing, as she exclaimed: + +"A Texas cowboy! I always wanted to see one! I heard papa say once that +cowboys are bow-legged. Are you?" + +"I sure was a Texas cowboy," he answered. "But it was a long time ago. +And I'm sure bow-legged. You see, you can't ride much when you're young +and soft without getting the legs bent some. Why, I was only a +three-year-old when I begun. He was a three-year-old, too, fresh-broken. +I led him up alongside the fence, dumb to the top rail, and dropped on. +He was a pinto, and a real devil at bucking, but I could do anything +with him. I reckon he knowed I was only a little shaver. Some hosses +knows lots more 'n' you think." + +For half an hour Ross Shanklin rambled on with his horse reminiscences, +never unconscious for a moment of the supreme joy that was his through +the touch of his hand on the hem of her dress. The sun dropped slowly +into the cloud bank, the quail called more insistently, and empty wagon +after empty wagon rumbled back across the bridge. Then came a woman's +voice. + +"Joan! Joan!" it called. "Where are you, dear?" + +The little girl answered, and Ross Shanklin saw a woman, clad in a +soft, clinging gown, come through the gate from the bungalow. She was a +slender, graceful woman, and to his charmed eyes she seemed rather to +float along than walk like ordinary flesh and blood. + +"What have you been doing all afternoon?" the woman asked, as she came +up. + +"Talking, mamma," the little girl replied. "I've had a very interesting +time." + +Ross Shanklin scrambled to his feet and stood watchfully and awkwardly. +The little girl took the mother's hand, and she, in turn, looked at him +frankly and pleasantly, with a recognition of his humanness that was a +new thing to him. In his mind ran the thought: _the woman who ain't +afraid_. Not a hint was there of the timidity he was accustomed to +seeing in women's eyes. And he was quite aware, and never more so, of +his bleary-eyed, forbidding appearance. + +"How do you do?" she greeted him sweetly and naturally. + +"How do you do, ma'am," he responded, unpleasantly conscious of the +huskiness and rawness of his voice. + +"And did you have an interesting time, too!" she smiled. + +"Yes, ma'am. I sure did. I was just telling your little girl about +hosses." + +"He was a cowboy, once, mamma," she cried. + +The mother smiled her acknowledgment to him, and looked fondly down at +the little girl. The thought that came into Ross Shanklin's mind was the +awfulness of the crime if any one should harm either of the wonderful +pair. This was followed by the wish that some terrible danger should +threaten, so that he could fight, as he well knew how, with all his +strength and life, to defend them. + +"You'll have to come along, dear," the mother said. "It's growing late." +She looked at Ross Shanklin hesitantly. "Would you care to have +something to eat?" + +"No, ma'am, thanking you kindly just the same. I ... I ain't hungry." + +"Then say good-bye, Joan," she counselled. + +"Good-bye." The little girl held out her hand, and her eyes lighted +roguishly. "Good-bye, Mr. Man from the bad, wicked world." + +To him, the touch of her hand as he pressed it in his was the capstone +of the whole adventure. + +"Good-bye, little fairy," he mumbled. "I reckon I got to be pullin' +along." + +But he did not pull along. He stood staring after his vision until it +vanished through the gate. The day seemed suddenly empty. He looked +about him irresolutely, then climbed the fence, crossed the bridge, and +slouched along the road. He was in a dream. He did not note his feet nor +the way they led him. At times he stumbled in the dust-filled ruts. + +A mile farther on, he aroused at the crossroads. Before him stood the +saloon. He came to a stop and stared at it, licking his lips. He sank +his hand into his pants pocket and fumbled a solitary dime. "God!" he +muttered. "God!" Then, with dragging, reluctant feet, went on along the +road. + +He came to a big farm. He knew it must be big, because of the bigness of +the house and the size and number of the barns and outbuildings. On the +porch, in shirt sleeves, smoking a cigar, keen-eyed and middle-aged, was +the farmer. + +"What's the chance for a job!" Ross Shanklin asked. + +The keen eyes scarcely glanced at him. + +"A dollar a day and grub," was the answer. + +Ross Shanklin swallowed and braced himself. + +"I'll pick grapes all right, or anything. But what's the chance for a +steady job? You've got a big ranch here. I know hosses. I was born on +one. I can drive team, ride, plough, break, do anything that anybody +ever done with hosses." + +The other looked him over with an appraising, incredulous eye. + +"You don't look it," was the judgment. + +"I know I don't. Give me a chance. That's all. I'll prove it." + +The farmer considered, casting an anxious glance at the cloud bank into +which the sun had sunk. + +"I'm short a teamster, and I'll give you the chance to make good. Go and +get supper with the hands." + +Ross Shanklin's voice was very husky, and he spoke with an effort. + +"All right. I'll make good. Where can I get a drink of water and wash +up?" + +[Illustration] + + + + +"JUST MEAT" + + +He strolled to the corner and glanced up and down the intersecting +street, but saw nothing save the oases of light shed by the street lamps +at the successive crossings. Then he strolled back the way he had come. +He was a shadow of a man sliding noiselessly and without undue movement +through the semi darkness. Also he was very alert, like a wild animal in +the jungle, keenly perceptive and receptive. The movement of another in +the darkness about him would need to have been more shadowy than he to +have escaped him. + +In addition to the running advertisement of the state of affairs carried +to him by his senses, he had a subtler perception, a _feel_, of the +atmosphere around him. He knew that the house in front of which he +paused for a moment, contained children. Yet by no willed effort of +perception did he have this knowledge. For that matter, he was not even +aware that he knew, so occult was the impression. Yet, did a moment +arise in which action, in relation to that house, were imperative, he +would have acted on the assumption that it contained children. He was +not aware of all that he knew about the neighborhood. + +In the same way, he knew not how, he knew that no danger threatened in +the footfalls that came up the cross street. Before he saw the walker, +he knew him for a belated pedestrian hurrying home. The walker came into +view at the crossing and disappeared on up the street. The man that +watched, noted a light that flared up in the window of a house on the +corner, and as it died down he knew it for an expiring match. This was +conscious identification of familiar phenomena, and through his mind +flitted the thought, "Wanted to know what time." In another house one +room was lighted. The light burned dimly and steadily, and he had the +feel that it was a sick room. + +He was especially interested in a house across the street in the middle +of the block. To this house he paid most attention. No matter what way +he looked, nor what way he walked, his looks and his steps always +returned to it. Except for an open window above the porch, there was +nothing unusual about the house. Nothing came in nor out. Nothing +happened. There were no lighted windows, nor had lights appeared and +disappeared in any of the windows. Yet it was the central point of his +consideration. He rallied to it each time after a divination of the +state of the neighborhood. + +Despite his feel of things, he was not confident. He was supremely +conscious of the precariousness of his situation. Though unperturbed by +the footfalls of the chance pedestrian, he was as keyed up and sensitive +and ready to be startled as any timorous deer. He was aware of the +possibility of other intelligences prowling about in the +darkness--intelligences similar to his own in movement, perception, and +divination. + +Far down the street he caught a glimpse of something that moved. And he +knew it was no late home-goer, but menace and danger. He whistled twice +to the house across the street, then faded away shadow-like to the +corner and around the corner. Here he paused and looked about him +carefully. Reassured, he peered back around the corner and studied the +object that moved and that was coming nearer. He had divined aright. It +was a policeman. + +The man went down the cross street to the next corner, from the shelter +of which he watched the corner he had just left. He saw the policeman +pass by, going straight on up the street. He paralleled the policeman's +course, and from the next corner again watched him go by; then he +returned the way he had come. He whistled once to the house across the +street, and after a time whistled once again. There was reassurance in +the whistle, just as there had been warning in the previous double +whistle. + +He saw a dark bulk outline itself on the roof of the porch and slowly +descend a pillar. Then it came down the steps, passed through the small +iron gate, and went down the sidewalk, taking on the form of a man. He +that watched kept on his own side the street and moved on abreast to the +corner, where he crossed over and joined the other. He was quite small +alongside the man he accosted. + +"How'd you make out, Matt?" he asked. + +The other grunted indistinctly, and walked on in silence a few steps. + +"I reckon I landed the goods," he said. + +Jim chuckled in the darkness, and waited for further information. The +blocks passed by; under their feet, and he grew impatient. + +"Well, how about them goods?" he asked. "What kind of a haul did you +make, anyway?" + +"I was too busy to figger it out, but it's fat. I can tell you that +much, Jim, it's fat. I don't dast to think how fat it is. Wait till we +get to the room." + +Jim looked at him keenly under the street lamp of the next crossing, and +saw that his face was a trifle grim and that he carried his left arm +peculiarly. + +"What's the matter with your arm?" he demanded. + +"The little cuss bit me. Hope I don't get hydrophoby. Folks gets +hydrophoby from man-bite sometimes, don't they?" + +"Gave you a fight, eh!" Jim asked encouragingly. + +The other grunted. + +"You're certainly hard to get information from," Jim burst out +irritably. "Tell us about it. You ain't goin' to lose money just +a-tellin' a guy." + +"I guess I choked him some," came the answer. Then, by way of +explanation, "He woke up on me." + +"You did it neat. I never heard a sound." + +"Jim," the other said with seriousness, "it's a hangin' matter. I fixed +'m. I had to. He woke up on me. You an' me's got to do some layin' low +for a spell." + +Jim gave a low whistle of comprehension. + +"Did you hear me whistle!" he asked suddenly. + +"Sure. I was all done. I was just comin' out." + +"It was a bull. But he wasn't on a little bit. Went right by an' kept +a-paddin' the hoof outa sight. Then I came back an' gave you the +whistle. What made you take so long after that?" + +"I was waitin' to make sure," Matt explained. + +"I was mighty glad when I heard you whistle again. It's hard work +waitin'. I just sat there an' thought an' thought ... oh, all kinds of +things. It's remarkable what a fellow'll think about. And then there +was a darn cat that kept movin' around the house an' botherin' me with +its noises." + +"An' it's fat!" Jim exclaimed irrelevantly and with joy. + +"I'm sure tellin' you, Jim, it's fat. I'm plum' anxious for another look +at 'em." + +Unconsciously the two men quickened their pace. Yet they did not relax +from their caution. Twice they changed their course in order to avoid +policemen, and they made very sure that they were not observed when they +dived into the dark hallway of a cheap rooming house down town. + +Not until they had gained their own room on the top floor, did they +scratch a match. While Jim lighted a lamp, Matt locked the door and +threw the bolts into place. As he turned, he noticed that his partner +was waiting expectantly. Matt smiled to himself at the other's +eagerness. + +"Them search-lights is all right," he said, drawing forth a small pocket +electric lamp and examining it. "But we got to get a new battery. It's +runnin' pretty weak. I thought once or twice it'd leave me in the dark. +Funny arrangements in that house. I near got lost. His room was on the +left, an' that fooled me some." + +"I told you it was on the left," Jim interrupted. + +"You told me it was on the right," Matt went on. "I guess I know what +you told me, an' there's the map you drew." + +Fumbling in his vest pocket, he drew out a folded slip of paper. As he +unfolded it, Jim bent over and looked. + +"I did make a mistake," he confessed. + +"You sure did. It got me guessin' some for a while." + +"But it don't matter now," Jim cried. "Let's see what you got." + +"It does matter," Matt retorted. "It matters a lot ... to me. I've got +to run all the risk. I put my head in the trap while you stay on the +street. You got to get on to yourself an' be more careful. All right, +I'll show you." + +He dipped loosely into his trousers pocket and brought out a handful of +small diamonds. He spilled them out in a blazing stream on the greasy +table. Jim let out a great oath. + +"That's nothing," Matt said with triumphant complacence. "I ain't begun +yet." + +From one pocket after another he continued bringing forth the spoil. +There were many diamonds wrapped in chamois skin that were larger than +those in the first handful. From one pocket he brought out a handful of +very small cut gems. + +"Sun dust," he remarked, as he spilled them on the table in a space by +themselves. + +Jim examined them. + +"Just the same, they retail for a couple of dollars each," he said. "Is +that all?" + +"Ain't it enough?" the other demanded in an aggrieved tone. + +"Sure it is," Jim answered with unqualified approval. "Better'n I +expected. I wouldn't take a cent less than ten thousan' for the bunch." + +"Ten thousan'," Matt sneered. "They're worth twic't that, an' I don't +know anything about joolery, either. Look at that big boy!" + +He picked it out from the sparkling heap and held it near to the lamp +with the air of an expert, weighing and judging. + +"Worth a thousan' all by its lonely," was Jim's quicker judgment. + +"A thousan' your grandmother," was Matt's scornful rejoinder. "You +couldn't buy it for three." + +"Wake me up! I'm dreamin'!" The sparkle of the gems was in Jim's eyes, +and he began sorting out the larger diamonds and examining them. "We're +rich men, Matt--we'll be regular swells." + +"It'll take years to get rid of 'em," was Matt's more practical thought. + +"But think how we'll live! Nothin' to do but spend the money an' go on +gettin' rid of 'em." + +Matt's eyes were beginning to sparkle, though sombrely, as his +phlegmatic nature woke up. + +"I told you I didn't dast think how fat it was," he murmured in a low +voice. + +"What a killin'! What a killin'!" was the other's more ecstatic +utterance. + +"I almost forgot," Matt said, thrusting his hand into his inside coat +pocket. + +A string of large pearls emerged from wrappings of tissue paper and +chamois skin. Jim scarcely glanced at them. + +"They're worth money," he said, and returned to the diamonds. + +A silence fell on the two men. Jim played with the gems, running them +through his fingers, sorting them into piles, and spreading them out +flat and wide. He was a slender, weazened man, nervous, irritable, +high-strung, and anaemic--a typical child of the gutter, with +unbeautiful twisted features, small eyes, with face and mouth +perpetually and feverishly hungry, brutish in a catlike way, stamped to +the core with degeneracy. + +Matt did not finger the diamonds. He sat with chin on hands and elbows +on table, blinking heavily at the blazing array. He was in every way a +contrast to the other. No city had bred him. He was heavy muscled and +hairy, gorilla-like in strength and aspect. For him there was no unseen +world. His eyes were full and wide apart, and there seemed in them a +certain bold brotherliness. They inspired confidence. But a closer +inspection would have shown that his eyes were just a trifle too full, +just a shade too wide apart. He exceeded, spilled over the limits of +normality, and his features told lies about the man beneath. + +"The bunch is worth fifty thousan'," Jim remarked suddenly. + +"A hundred thousan'," Matt said. + +The silence returned and endured a long time, to be broken again by Jim. + +"What in blazes was he doin' with 'em all at the house?--that's what I +want to know. I'd a-thought he'd kept 'em in the safe down at the +store." + +Matt had just been considering the vision of the throttled man as he had +last looked upon him in the dim light of the electric lantern; but he +did not start at the mention of him. + +"There's no tellin'," he answered. "He might a-been getting ready to +chuck his pardner. He might a-pulled out in the mornin' for parts +unknown, if we hadn't happened along. I guess there's just as many +thieves among honest men as there is among thieves. You read about such +things in the papers, Jim. Pardners is always knifin' each other." + +A queer, nervous look came in the other's eyes. Matt did not betray that +he noted it, though he said:-- + +"What was you thinkin' about, Jim!" + +Jim was a trifle awkward for the moment. + +"Nothin'," he answered. "Only I was thinkin' just how funny it was--all +them jools at his house. What made you ask?" + +"Nothin'. I was just wonderin', that was all." + +The silence settled down, broken by an occasional low and nervous giggle +on the part of Jim. He was overcome by the spread of gems. It was not +that he felt their beauty. He was unaware that they were beautiful in +themselves. But in them his swift imagination visioned the joys of life +they would buy, and all the desires and appetites of his diseased mind +and sickly flesh were tickled by the promise they extended. He builded +wondrous, orgy-haunted castles out of their brilliant fires, and was +appalled at what he builded. Then it was that he giggled. It was all too +impossible to be real. And yet there they blazed on the table before +him, fanning the flame of the lust of him, and he giggled again. + +"I guess we might as well count 'em," Matt said suddenly, tearing +himself away from his own visions. "You watch me an' see that it's +square, because you an' me has got to be on the square, Jim. +Understand?" + +Jim did not like this, and betrayed it in his eyes, while Matt did not +like what he saw in his partner's eyes. + +"Understand!" Matt repeated, almost menacingly. + +"Ain't we always been square?" the other replied, on the defensive, what +of the treachery already whispering in him. + +"It don't cost nothin', bein' square in hard times," Matt retorted. +"It's bein' square in prosperity that counts. When we ain't got nothin', +we can't help bein' square. We're prosperous now, an' we've got to be +business men--honest business men. Understand?" + +"That's the talk for me," Jim approved, but deep down in the meagre soul +of him,--and in spite of him,--wanton and lawless thoughts were stirring +like chained beasts. + +Matt stepped to the food shelf behind the two-burner kerosene cooking +stove. He emptied the tea from a paper bag, and from a second bag +emptied some red peppers. Returning to the table with the bags, he put +into them the two sizes of small diamonds. Then he counted the large +gems and wrapped them in their tissue paper and chamois skin. + +"Hundred an' forty-seven good-sized ones," was his inventory; "twenty +real big ones; two big boys and one whopper; an' a couple of fistfuls of +teeny ones an' dust." + +He looked at Jim. + +"Correct," was the response. + +He wrote the count out on a slip of memorandum paper, and made a copy of +it, giving one slip to his partner and retaining the other. + +"Just for reference," he said. + +Again he had recourse to the food shelf, where he emptied the sugar from +a large paper bag. Into this he thrust the diamonds, large and small, +wrapped it up in a bandana handkerchief, and stowed it away under his +pillow. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed and took off his shoes. + +"An' you think they're worth a hundred thousan'?" Jim asked, pausing and +looking up from the unlacing of his shoe. + +"Sure," was the answer. "I seen a dancer down in Arizona once, with some +big sparklers on her. They wasn't real. She said if they was she +wouldn't be dancin'. Said they'd be worth all of fifty thousan', an' +she didn't have a dozen of 'em all told." + +"Who'd work for a livin'?" Jim triumphantly demanded. "Pick an' shovel +work!" he sneered. "Work like a dog all my life, an' save all my wages, +an' I wouldn't have half as much as we got to-night." + +"Dish washin's about your measure, an' you couldn't get more'n twenty a +month an' board. Your figgers is 'way off, but your point is well taken. +Let them that likes it, work. I rode range for thirty a month when I was +young an' foolish. Well, I'm older, an' I ain't ridin' range." + +He got into bed on one side. Jim put out the light and followed him in +on the other side. + +"How's your arm feel?" Jim queried amiably. + +Such concern was unusual, and Matt noted it, and replied:-- + +"I guess there's no danger of hydrophoby. What made you ask?" + +Jim felt in himself a guilty stir, and under his breath he cursed the +other's way of asking disagreeable questions; but aloud he answered: +"Nothin', only you seemed scared of it at first. What are you goin' to +do with your share, Matt?" + +"Buy a cattle ranch in Arizona an' set down an' pay other men to ride +range for me. There's some several I'd like to see askin' a job from me, +blast them! An' now you shut your face, Jim. It'll be some time before I +buy that ranch. Just now I'm goin' to sleep." + +But Jim lay long awake, nervous and twitching, rolling about restlessly +and rolling himself wide awake every time he dozed. The diamonds still +blazed under his eyelids, and the fire of them hurt. Matt, in spite of +his heavy nature, slept lightly, like a wild animal alert in its sleep; +and Jim noticed, every time he moved, that his partner's body moved +sufficiently to show that it had received the impression and that it was +trembling on the verge of awakening. For that matter, Jim did not know +whether or not, frequently, the other was awake. Once, quietly, +betokening complete consciousness, Matt said to him: "Aw, go to sleep, +Jim. Don't worry about them jools. They'll keep." And Jim had thought +that at that particular moment Matt had been surely asleep. + +In the late morning Matt was awake with Jim's first movement, and +thereafter he awoke and dozed with him until midday, when they got up +together and began dressing. + +"I'm goin' out to get a paper an' some bread," Matt said. "You boil the +coffee." + +As Jim listened, unconsciously his gaze left Matt's face and roved to +the pillow, beneath which was the bundle wrapped in the bandana +handkerchief. On the instant Matt's face became like a wild beast's. + +"Look here, Jim," he snarled. "You've got to play square. If you do me +dirt, I'll fix you. Understand? I'd eat you, Jim. You know that. I'd +bite right into your throat an' eat you like that much beefsteak." + +His sunburned skin was black with the surge of blood in it, and his +tobacco-stained teeth were exposed by the snarling lips. Jim shivered +and involuntarily cowered. There was death in the man he looked at. Only +the night before that black-faced man had killed another with his hands, +and it had not hurt his sleep. And in his own heart Jim was aware of a +sneaking guilt, of a train of thought that merited all that was +threatened. + +Matt passed out, leaving him still shivering. Then a hatred twisted his +own face, and he softly hurled savage threats at the door. He remembered +the jewels, and hastened to the bed, feeling under the pillow for the +bandana bundle. He crushed it with his fingers to make certain that it +still contained the diamonds. Assured that Matt had not carried them +away, he looked toward the kerosene stove with a guilty start. Then he +hurriedly lighted it, filled the coffee pot at the sink, and put it over +the flame. + +The coffee was boiling when Matt returned, and while the latter cut the +bread and put a slice of butter on the table, Jim poured out the coffee. +It was not until he sat down and had taken a few sips of the coffee, +that Matt pulled out the morning paper from his pocket. + +"We was way off," he said. "I told you I didn't dast figger out how fat +it was. Look at that." + +He pointed to the head lines on the first page. "SWIFT NEMESIS ON +BUJANNOFF'S TRACK," they read. "MURDERED IN HIS SLEEP AFTER ROBBING HIS +PARTNER." + +"There you have it!" Matt cried. "He robbed his partner--robbed him +like a dirty thief." + +"Half a million of jewels missin'," Jim read aloud. He put the paper +down and stared at Matt. + +"That's what I told you," the latter said. "What in thunder do we know +about jools? Half a million!--an' the best I could figger it was a +hundred thousan'. Go on an' read the rest of it." + +They read on silently, their heads side by side, the untouched coffee +growing cold; and ever and anon one or the other burst forth with some +salient printed fact. + +"I'd like to seen Metzner's face when he opened the safe at the store +this mornin'," Jim gloated. + +"He hit the high places right away for Bujannoff's house," Matt +explained. "Go on an' read." + +"Was to have sailed last night at ten on the _Sajoda_ for the South +Seas--steamship delayed by extra freight----" + +"That's why we caught 'm in bed," Matt interrupted. "It was just +luck--like pickin' a fifty-to-one winner." + +"_Sajoda_ sailed at six this mornin'----" + +"He didn't catch her," Matt said. "I saw his alarm clock was set at +five. That'd given 'm plenty of time ... only I come along an' put the +_kibosh_ on his time. Go on." + +"Adolph Metzner in despair--the famous Haythorne pearl +necklace--magnificently assorted pearls--valued by experts at from fifty +to seventy thousan' dollars." + +Jim broke off to say solemnly, "Those oyster-eggs worth all that money!" + +He licked his lips and added, "They was beauties an' no mistake." + +"Big Brazilian gem," he read on. "Eighty thousan' dollars--many valuable +gems of the first water--several thousan' small diamonds well worth +forty thousan'." + +"What you don't know about jools is worth knowin'," Matt smiled good +humoredly. + +"Theory of the sleuths," Jim read. "Thieves must have known--cleverly +kept watch on Bujannoff's actions--must have learned his plan and +trailed him to his house with the fruits of his robbery--" + +"Clever--" Matt broke out. "That's the way reputations is made ... in +the noos-papers. How'd we know he was robbin' his pardner?" + +"Anyway, we've got the goods," Jim grinned. "Let's look at 'em again." + +He assured himself that the door was locked and bolted, while Matt +brought out the bundle in the bandana and opened it on the table. + +"Ain't they beauties, though!" Jim exclaimed at sight of the pearls; and +for a time he had eyes only for them. "Accordin' to the experts, worth +from fifty to seventy thousan' dollars." + +"An' women like them things," Matt commented. "An' they'll do everything +to get 'em--sell themselves, commit murder, anything." + +"Just like you an' me." + +"Not on your life," Matt retorted. "I'll commit murder for 'em, but not +for their own sakes, but for the sake of what they'll get me. That's the +difference. Women want the jools for themselves, an' I want the jools +for the women an' such things they'll get me." + +"Lucky that men an' women don't want the same things," Jim remarked. + +"That's what makes commerce," Matt agreed; "people wantin' different +things." + +In the middle of the afternoon Jim went out to buy food. While he was +gone, Matt cleared the table of the jewels, wrapping them up as before +and putting them under the pillow. Then he lighted the kerosene stove +and started to boil water for the coffee. A few minutes later, Jim +returned. + +"Most surprising," he remarked. "Streets, an' stores, an' people just +like they always was. Nothin' changed. An' me walkin' along through it +all a millionnaire. Nobody looked at me an' guessed it" + +Matt grunted unsympathetically. He had little comprehension of the +lighter whims and fancies of his partner's imagination. + +"Did you get a porterhouse?" he demanded. + +"Sure, an' an inch thick. It's a peach. Look at it." + +He unwrapped the steak and held it up for the other's inspection. Then +he made the coffee and set the table, while Matt fried the steak. + +"Don't put on too much of them red peppers," Jim warned. "I ain't used +to your Mexican cookin'. You always season too hot." + +Matt grunted a laugh and went on with his cooking. Jim poured out the +coffee, but first, into the nicked china cup, he emptied a powder he had +carried in his vest pocket wrapped in a rice-paper. He had turned his +back for the moment on his partner, but he did not dare to glance around +at him. Matt placed a newspaper on the table, and on the newspaper set +the hot frying pan. He cut the steak in half, and served Jim and +himself. + +"Eat her while she's hot," he counselled, and with knife and fork set +the example. + +"She's a dandy," was Jim's judgment, after his first mouthful. "But I +tell you one thing straight. I'm never goin' to visit you on that +Arizona ranch, so you needn't ask me." + +"What's the matter now?" Matt asked. + +"The Mexican cookin' on your ranch'd be too much for me. If I've got +blue blazes a-comin' in the next life, I'm not goin' to torment my +insides in this one!" + +He smiled, expelled his breath forcibly to cool his burning mouth, drank +some coffee, and went on eating the steak. + +"What do you think about the next life anyway, Matt?" he asked a little +later, while secretly he wondered why the other had not yet touched his +coffee. + +"Ain't no next life," Matt answered, pausing from the steak to take his +first sip of coffee. "Nor heaven nor hell, nor nothin'. You get all +that's comin' right here in this life." + +"An' afterward?" Jim queried out of his morbid curiosity, for he knew +that he looked upon a man that was soon to die. "An' afterward?" he +repeated. + +"Did you ever see a man two weeks dead?" the other asked. + +Jim shook his head. + +"Well, I have. He was like this beefsteak you an' me is eatin'. It was +once steer cavortin' over the landscape. But now it's just meat. That's +all, just meat. An' that's what you an' me an' all people come +to--meat." + +Matt gulped down the whole cup of coffee, and refilled the cup. + +"Are you scared to die?" he asked. + +Jim shook his head. "What's the use? I don't die anyway. I pass on an' +live again--" + +"To go stealin', an' lyin', an' snivellin' through another life, an' go +on that way forever an' ever an' ever?" Matt sneered. + +"Maybe I'll improve," Jim suggested hopefully. "Maybe stealin' won't be +necessary in the life to come." + +He ceased abruptly, and stared straight before him, a frightened +expression on his face. + +"What's the matter!" Matt demanded. + +"Nothin'. I was just wonderin'"--Jim returned to himself with an +effort--"about this dyin', that was all." + +But he could not shake off the fright that had startled him. It was as +if an unseen thing of gloom had passed him by, casting upon him the +intangible shadow of its presence. He was aware of a feeling of +foreboding. Something ominous was about to happen. Calamity hovered in +the air. He gazed fixedly across the table at the other man. He could +not understand. Was it that he had blundered and poisoned himself? No, +Matt had the nicked cup, and he had certainly put the poison in the +nicked cup. + +It was all his own imagination, was his next thought. It had played him +tricks before. Fool! Of course it was. Of course something was about to +happen, but it was about to happen to Matt. Had not Matt drunk the +whole cup of coffee? + +Jim brightened up and finished his steak, sopping bread in the gravy +when the meat was gone. + +"When I was a kid--" he began, but broke off abruptly. + +Again the unseen thing of gloom had fluttered, and his being was vibrant +with premonition of impending misfortune. He felt a disruptive influence +at work in the flesh of him, and in all his muscles there was a seeming +that they were about to begin to twitch. He sat back suddenly, and as +suddenly leaned forward with his elbows on the table. A tremor ran dimly +through the muscles of his body. It was like the first rustling of +leaves before the oncoming of wind. He clenched his teeth. It came +again, a spasmodic tensing of his muscles. He knew panic at the revolt +within his being. His muscles no longer recognized his mastery over +them. Again they spasmodically tensed, despite the will of him, for he +had willed that they should not tense. This was revolution within +himself, this was anarchy; and the terror of impotence rushed up in him +as his flesh gripped and seemed to seize him in a clutch, chills running +up and down his back and sweat starting on his brow. He glanced about +the room, and all the details of it smote him with a strange sense of +familiarity. It was as though he had just returned from a long journey. +He looked across the table at his partner. Matt was watching him and +smiling. An expression of horror spread over Jim's face. + +"Matt!" he screamed. "You ain't doped me?" + +Matt smiled and continued to watch him. In the paroxysm that followed, +Jim did not become unconscious. His muscles tensed and twitched and +knotted, hurting him and crushing him in their savage grip. And in the +midst of it all, it came to him that Matt was acting queerly. He was +traveling the same road. The smile had gone from his face, and there was +on it an intense expression, as if he were listening to some inner tale +of himself and trying to divine the message. Matt got up and walked +across the room and back again, then sat down. + +"You did this, Jim," he said quietly. + +"But I didn't think you'd try to fix _me_," Jim answered reproachfully. + +"Oh, I fixed you all right," Matt said, with teeth close together and +shivering body. "What did you give me?" + +"Strychnine." + +"Same as I gave you," Matt volunteered. "It's some mess, ain't it!" + +"You're lyin', Matt," Jim pleaded. "You ain't doped me, have you?" + +"I sure did, Jim; an' I didn't overdose you, neither. I cooked it in as +neat as you please in your half the porterhouse.--Hold on! Where're you +goin'?" + +Jim had made a dash for the door, and was throwing back the bolts. Matt +sprang in between and shoved him away. + +"Drug store," Jim panted. "Drug store." + +"No you don't. You'll stay right here. There ain't goin' to be any +runnin' out an' makin' a poison play on the street--not with all them +jools reposin' under the pillow. Savve? Even if you didn't die, you'd be +in the hands of the police with a lot of explanations comin'. Emetics is +the stuff for poison. I'm just as bad bit as you, an' I'm goin' to take +a emetic. That's all they'd give you at a drug store, anyway." + +He thrust Jim back into the middle of the room and shot the bolts into +place. As he went across the floor to the food shelf, he passed one hand +over his brow and flung off the beaded sweat. It spattered audibly on +the floor. Jim watched agonizedly as Matt got the mustard can and a cup +and ran for the sink. He stirred a cupful of mustard and water and drank +it down. Jim had followed him and was reaching with trembling hands for +the empty cup. Again Matt shoved him away. As he mixed a second cupful, +he demanded: + +"D'you think one cup'll do for me? You can wait till I'm done." + +Jim started to totter toward the door, but Matt checked him. + +"If you monkey with that door, I'll twist your neck. Savve? You can take +yours when I'm done. An' if it saves you, I'll twist your neck, anyway. +You ain't got no chance, nohow. I told you many times what you'd get if +you did me dirt." + +"But you did me dirt, too," Jim articulated with an effort. + +Matt was drinking the second cupful, and did not answer. The sweat had +got into Jim's eyes, and he could scarcely see his way to the table, +where he got a cup for himself. But Matt was mixing a third cupful, and, +as before, thrust him away. + +"I told you to wait till I was done," Matt growled. "Get outa my way." + +And Jim supported his twitching body by holding on to the sink, the +while he yearned toward the yellowish concoction that stood for life. It +was by sheer will that he stood and clung to the sink. His flesh strove +to double him up and bring him to the floor. Matt drank the third +cupful, and with difficulty managed to get to a chair and sit down. His +first paroxysm was passing. The spasms that afflicted him were dying +away. This good effect he ascribed to the mustard and water. He was +safe, at any rate. He wiped the sweat from his face, and, in the +interval of calm, found room for curiosity. He looked at his partner. + +A spasm had shaken the mustard can out of Jim's hands, and the contents +were spilled upon the floor. He stooped to scoop some of the mustard +into the cup, and the succeeding spasm doubled him up on the floor. Matt +smiled. + +"Stay with it," he encouraged. "It's the stuff all right. It's fixed me +up." + +Jim heard him and turned toward him with a stricken face, twisted with +suffering and pleading. Spasm now followed spasm till he was in +convulsions, rolling on the floor and yellowing his face and hair in the +mustard. + +Matt laughed hoarsely at the sight, but the laugh broke midway. A tremor +had run through his body. A new paroxysm was beginning. He arose and +staggered across to the sink, where, with probing forefinger, he vainly +strove to assist the action of the emetic. In the end, he clung to the +sink as Jim had clung, filled with the horror of going down to the +floor. + +The other's paroxysm had passed, and he sat up, weak and fainting, too +weak to rise, his forehead dripping, his lips flecked with a foam made +yellow by the mustard in which he had rolled. He rubbed his eyes with +his knuckles, and groans that were like whines came from his throat. + +"What are you snifflin' about!" Matt demanded out of his agony. "All you +got to do is die. An' when you die you're dead." + +"I ... ain't ... snifflin' ... it's ... the ... mustard ... stingin' +... my ... eyes," Jim panted with desperate slowness. + +It was his last successful attempt at speech. Thereafter he babbled +incoherently, pawing the air with shaking arms till a fresh convulsion +stretched him on the floor. + +Matt struggled back to the chair, and, doubled up on it, with his arms +clasped about his knees, he fought with his disintegrating flesh. He +came out of the convulsion cool and weak. He looked to see how it went +with the other, and saw him lying motionless. + +He tried to soliloquize, to be facetious, to have his last grim laugh at +life, but his lips made only incoherent sounds. The thought came to him +that the emetic had failed, and that nothing remained but the drug +store. He looked toward the door and drew himself to his feet. There he +saved himself from falling by clutching the chair. Another paroxysm had +begun. And in the midst of the paroxysm, with his body and all the parts +of it flying apart and writhing and twisting back again into knots, he +clung to the chair and shoved it before him across the floor. The last +shreds of his will were leaving him when he gained the door. He turned +the key and shot back one bolt. He fumbled for the second bolt, but +failed. Then he leaned his weight against the door and slid down gently +to the floor. + +[Illustration:] + + + + +A NOSE FOR THE KING + + +In the morning calm of Korea, when its peace and tranquility truly +merited its ancient name, "Cho-sen," there lived a politician by name Yi +Chin Ho. He was a man of parts, and--who shall say?--perhaps in no wise +worse than politicians the world over. But, unlike his brethren in other +lands, Yi Chin Ho was in jail. Not that he had inadvertently diverted to +himself public moneys, but that he had inadvertently diverted too much. +Excess is to be deplored in all things, even in grafting, and Yi Chin +Ho's excess had brought him to most deplorable straits. + +Ten thousand strings of cash he owed the government, and he lay in +prison under sentence of death. There was one advantage to the +situation--he had plenty of time in which to think. And he thought well. +Then called he the jailer to him. + +"Most worthy man, you see before you one most wretched," he began. "Yet +all will be well with me if you will but let me go free for one short +hour this night. And all will be well with you, for I shall see to your +advancement through the years, and you shall come at length to the +directorship of all the prisons of Cho-sen." + +"How now?" demanded the jailer. "What foolishness is this? One short +hour, and you but waiting for your head to be chopped off! And I, with +an aged and much-to-be-respected mother, not to say anything of a wife +and several children of tender years! Out upon you for the scoundrel +that you are!" + +"From the Sacred City to the ends of all the Eight Coasts there is no +place for me to hide," Yi Chin Ho made reply. "I am a man of wisdom, but +of what worth my wisdom here in prison? Were I free, well I know I could +seek out and obtain the money wherewith to repay the government. I know +of a nose that will save me from all my difficulties." + +"A nose!" cried the jailer. + +"A nose," said Yi Chin Ho. "A remarkable nose, if I may say so, a most +remarkable nose." + +The jailer threw up his hands despairingly. "Ah, what a wag you are, +what a wag," he laughed. "To think that that very admirable wit of yours +must go the way of the chopping-block!" + +And so saying, he turned and went away. But in the end, being a man soft +of head and heart, when the night was well along he permitted Yi Chin Ho +to go. + +Straight he went to the Governor, catching him alone and arousing him +from his sleep. + +"Yi Chin Ho, or I'm no Governor!" cried the Governor. "What do you here +who should be in prison waiting on the chopping-block!" + +"I pray your excellency to listen to me," said Yi Chin Ho, squatting on +his hams by the bedside and lighting his pipe from the fire-box. "A dead +man is without value. It is true, I am as a dead man, without value to +the government, to your excellency, or to myself. But if, so to say, +your excellency were to give me my freedom--" + +"Impossible!" cried the Governor. "Besides, you are condemned to death." + +"Your excellency well knows that if I can repay the ten thousand strings +of cash, the government will pardon me," Yi Chin Ho went on. "So, as I +say, if your excellency were to give me my freedom for a few days, being +a man of understanding, I should then repay the government and be in +position to be of service to your excellency. I should be in position to +be of very great service to your excellency." + +"Have you a plan whereby you hope to obtain this money?" asked the +Governor. + +"I have," said Yi Chin Ho. + +"Then come with it to me to-morrow night; I would now sleep," said the +Governor, taking up his snore where it had been interrupted. + +On the following night, having again obtained leave of absence from the +jailer, Yi Chin Ho presented himself at the Governor's bedside. + +"Is it you, Yi Chin Ho?" asked the Governor. "And have you the plan?" + +"It is I, your excellency," answered Yi Chin Ho, "and the plan is here." + +"Speak," commanded the Governor. + +"The plan is here," repeated Yi Chin Ho, "here in my hand." + +The Governor sat up and opened his eyes, Yi Chin Ho proffered in his +hand a sheet of paper. The Governor held it to the light. + +"Nothing but a nose," said he. + +"A bit pinched, so, and so, your excellency," said Yi Chin Ho. + +"Yes, a bit pinched here and there, as you say," said the Governor. + +"Withal it is an exceeding corpulent nose, thus, and so, all in one +place, at the end," proceeded Yi Chin Ho. "Your excellency would seek +far and wide and many a day for that nose and find it not." + +"An unusual nose," admitted the Governor. + +"There is a wart upon it," said Yi Chin Ho. + +"A most unusual nose," said the Governor. "Never have I seen the like. +But what do you with this nose, Yi Chin Ho!" + +"I seek it whereby to repay the money to the government," said Yi Chin +Ho. "I seek it to be of service to your excellency, and I seek it to +save my own worthless head. Further, I seek your excellency's seal upon +this picture of the nose." + +And the Governor laughed and affixed the seal of state, and Yi Chin Ho +departed. For a month and a day he traveled the King's Road which leads +to the shore of the Eastern Sea; and there, one night, at the gate of +the largest mansion of a wealthy city he knocked loudly for admittance. + +"None other than the master of the house will I see," said he fiercely +to the frightened servants. "I travel upon the King's business." + +Straightway was he led to an inner room, where the master of the house +was roused from his sleep and brought blinking before him. + +"You are Pak Chung Chang, head man of this city," said Yi Chin Ho in +tones that were all-accusing. "I am upon the King's business." + +Pak Chung Chang trembled. Well he knew the King's business was ever a +terrible business. His knees smote together, and he near fell to the +floor. + +"The hour is late," he quavered. "Were it not well to----" + +"The King's business never waits!" thundered Yi Chin Ho. "Come apart +with me, and swiftly. I have an affair of moment to discuss with you. + +"It is the King's affair," he added with even greater fierceness; so +that Pak Chung Chang's silver pipe dropped from his nerveless fingers +and clattered on the floor. + +"Know then," said Yi Chin Ho, when they had gone apart, "that the King +is troubled with an affliction, a very terrible affliction. In that he +failed to cure, the Court physician has had nothing else than his head +chopped off. From all the Eight Provinces have the physicians come to +wait upon the King. Wise consultation have they held, and they have +decided that for a remedy for the King's affliction nothing else is +required than a nose, a certain kind of nose, a very peculiar certain +kind of nose. + +"Then by none other was I summoned than his excellency the prime +minister himself. He put a paper into my hand. Upon this paper was the +very peculiar kind of nose drawn by the physicians of the Eight +Provinces, with the seal of state upon it. + +"'Go,' said his excellency the prime minister. 'Seek out this nose, for +the King's affliction is sore. And wheresoever you find this nose upon +the face of a man, strike it off forthright and bring it in all haste to +the Court, for the King must be cured. Go, and come not back until your +search is rewarded.' + +"And so I departed upon my quest," said Yi Chin Ho. "I have sought out +the remotest corners of the kingdom; I have traveled the Eight +Highways, searched the Eight Provinces, and sailed the seas of the Eight +Coasts. And here I am." + +With a great flourish he drew a paper from his girdle, unrolled it with +many snappings and cracklings, and thrust it before the face of Pak +Chung Chang. Upon the paper was the picture of the nose. + +Pak Chung Chang stared upon it with bulging eyes. + +"Never have I beheld such a nose," he began. + +"There is a wart upon it," said Yi Chin Ho. + +"Never have I beheld----" Pak Chung Chang began again. + +"Bring your father before me," Yi Chin Ho interrupted sternly. + +"My ancient and very-much-to-be-respected ancestor sleeps," said Pak +Chung Chang. + +"Why dissemble?" demanded Yi Chin Ho. "You know it is your father's +nose. Bring him before me that I may strike it off and be gone. Hurry, +lest I make bad report of you." + +"Mercy!" cried Pak Chung Chang, falling on his knees. "It is impossible! +It is impossible! You cannot strike off my father's nose. He cannot go +down without his nose to the grave. He will become a laughter and a +byword, and all my days and nights will be filled with woe. O reflect! +Report that you have seen no such nose in your travels. You, too, have a +father." + +Pak Chung Chang clasped Yi Chin Ho's knees and fell to weeping on his +sandals. + +"My heart softens strangely at your tears," said Yi Chin Ho. "I, too, +know filial piety and regard. But--" He hesitated, then added, as though +thinking aloud, "It is as much as my head is worth." + +"How much is your head worth?" asked Pak Chung Chang in a thin, small +voice. + +"A not remarkable head," said Yi Chin Ho. "An absurdly unremarkable +head! but, such is my great foolishness, I value it at nothing less than +one hundred thousand strings of cash." + +"So be it," said Pak Chung Chang, rising to his feet. + +"I shall need horses to carry the treasure," said Yi Chin Ho, "and men +to guard it well as I journey through the mountains. There are robbers +abroad in the land." + +"There are robbers abroad in the land," said Pak Chung Chang, sadly. +"But it shall be as you wish, so long as my ancient and +very-much-to-be-respected ancestor's nose abide in its appointed +place." + +"Say nothing to any man of this occurrence," said Yi Chin Ho, "else will +other and more loyal servants than I be sent to strike off your father's +nose." + +And so Yi Chin Ho departed on his way through the mountains, blithe of +heart and gay of song as he listened to the jingling bells of his +treasure-laden ponies. + +There is little more to tell. Yi Chin Ho prospered through the years. By +his efforts the jailer attained at length to the directorship of all the +prisons of Cho-sen; the Governor ultimately betook himself to the Sacred +City to be prime minister to the King, while Yi Chin Ho became the +King's boon companion and sat at table with him to the end of a round, +fat life. But Pak Chung Chang fell into a melancholy, and ever after he +shook his head sadly, with tears in his eyes, whenever he regarded the +expensive nose of his ancient and very-much-to-be-respected ancestor. + + + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Brown Wolf and Other Jack London +Stories, by Jack London + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BROWN WOLF AND OTHER JACK *** + +***** This file should be named 12336-8.txt or 12336-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/3/3/12336/ + +Produced by PG Distributed Proofreaders + +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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +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 + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Each eBook is in a subdirectory of the same number as the eBook's +eBook number, often in several formats including plain vanilla ASCII, +compressed (zipped), HTML and others. + +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks replace the old file and take over +the old filename and etext number. The replaced older file is renamed. +VERSIONS based on separate sources are treated as new eBooks receiving +new filenames and etext numbers. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +EBooks posted prior to November 2003, with eBook numbers BELOW #10000, +are filed in directories based on their release date. If you want to +download any of these eBooks directly, rather than using the regular +search system you may utilize the following addresses and just +download by the etext year. + + https://www.gutenberg.org/etext06 + + (Or /etext 05, 04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99, + 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90) + +EBooks posted since November 2003, with etext numbers OVER #10000, are +filed in a different way. The year of a release date is no longer part +of the directory path. The path is based on the etext number (which is +identical to the filename). The path to the file is made up of single +digits corresponding to all but the last digit in the filename. For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: + https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + + diff --git a/old/12336-8.zip b/old/12336-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0218072 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12336-8.zip diff --git a/old/12336-h.zip b/old/12336-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..bec1e5a --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12336-h.zip diff --git a/old/12336-h/12336-h.htm b/old/12336-h/12336-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1ea630f --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12336-h/12336-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8223 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="iso-8859-1"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta content="pg2html (binary v0.17)" name="linkgenerator" /> + <title> + Brown Wolf, by Jack London + </title> + + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} + .x-small {font-size: 75%;} + .small {font-size: 85%;} + .large {font-size: 115%;} + .x-large {font-size: 130%;} + .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} + .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} + .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} + .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} + .indent25 { margin-left: 25%;} + .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} + .indent35 { margin-left: 35%;} + .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; + font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; + text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; + border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} + .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} + span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +Project Gutenberg's Brown Wolf and Other Jack London Stories, 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: Brown Wolf and Other Jack London Stories + Chosen and Edited By Franklin K. Mathiews + +Author: Jack London + +Release Date: May 14, 2004 [EBook #12336] +Last updated: April 4, 2019 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BROWN WOLF AND OTHER JACK *** + + + + +Etext produced by PG Distributed Proofreaders + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + + +</pre> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + BROWN WOLF + </h1> + <h2> + By Jack London + </h2> + <h3> + And Other Jack London Stories + </h3> + <h4> + As chosen by Franklin K. Mathiews Chief Scout Librarian, Boy Scouts of + America + </h4> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_INTR"> INTRODUCTION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> BROWN WOLF </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> THAT SPOT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> TRUST </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> ALL GOLD CANYON </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> THE STORY OF KEESH </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> NAM-BOK THE UNVERACIOUS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> YELLOW HANDKERCHIEF </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> MAKE WESTING </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> THE HEATHEN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> THE HOBO AND THE FAIRY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> "JUST MEAT" </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> A NOSE FOR THE KING </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + INTRODUCTION + </h2> + <p> + Boys delight in men who have had adventures, and when they are privileged + to read of such exploits in thrilling story form, that is the "seventh + heaven" for them. Such a "boys' man" was Jack London, whose whole life was + one of stirring action on land and sea. Gifted as a story teller, he wrote + books almost without end. Some of them, "The Call of the Wild," "The Sea + Wolf" and "White Fang," have already been recognized as fine books for + boys. Others, volumes of short stories, contain many of like interest, + possessing the same qualities that have made the other and longer stories + so acceptable as juveniles. + </p> + <p> + Effort has been made by the editor to bring together in one volume a + number of such stories, not for the reason alone that there might be + another Jack London book for boys, but also in order to add to our + juvenile literature a volume likely "to be chewed and digested," as Bacon + says, a book worthy "to be read whole, and with diligence and attention." + For my belief is that boys read altogether too few of such books. Or + perhaps it would be more correct to say, have too few opportunities to + read such books, because so often we fail to see how quick in their + reading their minds are to grasp the more difficult, and how keen and + competent their conscience to draw the right conclusion when situations + are presented wherein men err so grievously. + </p> + <p> + It is hoped the stories presented will serve to exercise both the boy's + mind and conscience; that seeing and feeling life and nature as Jack + London saw and felt it—the best and the worst in human nature, with + the Infinite always near and from whom there is no escape—seeing and + feeling such things boys will develop the emotional muscles of the spirit, + have opened up new windows to their imaginations, and withal add some line + or color to their life's ideals. + </p> + <p> + FRANKLIN K. MATHIEWS, Chief Scout Librarian, Boy Scouts of America. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BROWN WOLF + </h2> + <p> + She had delayed, because of the dew-wet grass, in order to put on her + overshoes, and when she emerged from the house found her waiting husband + absorbed in the wonder of a bursting almond-bud. She sent a questing + glance across the tall grass and in and out among the orchard trees. + </p> + <p> + "Where's Wolf?" she asked. + </p> + <p> + "He was here a moment ago." Walt Irvine drew himself away with a jerk from + the metaphysics and poetry of the organic miracle of blossom, and surveyed + the landscape. "He was running a rabbit the last I saw of him." + </p> + <p> + "Wolf! Wolf! Here, Wolf!" she called, as they left the clearing and took + the trail that led down through the waxen-belled manzanita jungle to the + county road. + </p> + <p> + Irvine thrust between his lips the little finger of each hand and lent to + her efforts a shrill whistling. + </p> + <p> + She covered her ears hastily and made a wry grimace. + </p> + <p> + "My! for a poet, delicately attuned and all the rest of it, you can make + unlovely noises. My eardrums are pierced. You outwhistle——" + </p> + <p> + "Orpheus." + </p> + <p> + "I was about to say a street-arab," she concluded severely. + </p> + <p> + "Poesy does not prevent one from being practical—at least it doesn't + prevent <i>me</i>. Mine is no futility of genius that can't sell gems to + the magazines." + </p> + <p> + He assumed a mock extravagance, and went on: + </p> + <p> + "I am no attic singer, no ballroom warbler. And why? Because I am + practical. Mine is no squalor of song that cannot transmute itself, with + proper exchange value, into a flower-crowned cottage, a sweet + mountain-meadow, a grove of redwoods, an orchard of thirty-seven trees, + one long row of blackberries and two short rows of strawberries, to say + nothing of a quarter of a mile of gurgling brook." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, that all your song-transmutations were as successful!" she laughed. + </p> + <p> + "Name one that wasn't." + </p> + <p> + "Those two beautiful sonnets that you transmuted into the cow that was + accounted the worst milker in the township." + </p> + <p> + "She was beautiful——" he began. + </p> + <p> + "But she didn't give milk," Madge interrupted. + </p> + <p> + "But she <i>was</i> beautiful, now, wasn't she?" he insisted. + </p> + <p> + "And here's where beauty and utility fall out," was her reply. "And + there's the Wolf!" + </p> + <p> + From the thicket-covered hillside came a crashing of underbrush, and then, + forty feet above them, on the edge of the sheer wall of rock, appeared a + wolf's head and shoulders. His braced forepaws dislodged a pebble, and + with sharp-pricked ears and peering eyes he watched the fall of the pebble + till it struck at their feet. Then he transferred his gaze and with open + mouth laughed down at them. + </p> + <p> + "You Wolf, you!" and "You blessed Wolf!" the man and woman called out to + him. The ears flattened back and down at the sound, and the head seemed to + snuggle under the caress of an invisible hand. + </p> + <p> + They watched him scramble backward into the thicket, then proceeded on + their way. Several minutes later, rounding a turn in the trail where the + descent was less precipitous, he joined them in the midst of a miniature + avalanche of pebbles and loose soil. He was not demonstrative. A pat and a + rub around the ears from the man, and a more prolonged caressing from the + woman, and he was away down the trail in front of them, gliding + effortlessly over the ground in true wolf fashion. + </p> + <p> + In build and coat and brush he was a huge timber-wolf; but the lie was + given to his wolf-hood by his color and marking. There the dog + unmistakably advertised itself. No wolf was ever colored like him. He was + brown, deep brown, red-brown, an orgy of browns. Back and shoulders were a + warm brown that paled on the sides and underneath to a yellow that was + dingy because of the brown that lingered in it. The white of the throat + and paws and the spots over the eyes was dirty because of the persistent + and ineradicable brown, while the eyes themselves were twin topazes, + golden and brown. + </p> + <p> + The man and woman loved the dog very much; perhaps this was because it had + been such a task to win his love. It had been no easy matter when he first + drifted in mysteriously out of nowhere to their little mountain cottage. + Footsore and famished, he had killed a rabbit under their very noses and + under their very windows, and then crawled away and slept by the spring at + the foot of the blackberry bushes. When Walt Irvine went down to inspect + the intruder, he was snarled at for his pains, and Madge likewise was + snarled at when she went down to present, as a peace-offering, a large pan + of bread and milk. + </p> + <p> + A most unsociable dog he proved to be, resenting all their advances, + refusing to let them lay hands on him, menacing them with bared fangs and + bristling hair. Nevertheless he remained, sleeping and resting by the + spring, and eating the food they gave him after they set it down at a safe + distance and retreated. His wretched physical condition explained why he + lingered; and when he had recuperated, after several days' sojourn, he + disappeared. + </p> + <p> + And this would have been the end of him, so far as Irvine and his wife + were concerned, had not Irvine at that particular time been called away + into the northern part of the state. Biding along on the train, near to + the line between California and Oregon, he chanced to look out of the + window and saw his unsociable guest sliding along the wagon road, brown + and wolfish, tired yet tireless, dust-covered and soiled with two hundred + miles of travel. + </p> + <p> + Now Irvine was a man of impulse, a poet. He got off the train at the next + station, bought a piece of meat at a butcher shop, and captured the + vagrant on the outskirts of the town. The return trip was made in the + baggage car, and so Wolf came a second time to the mountain cottage. Here + he was tied up for a week and made love to by the man and woman. But it + was very circumspect love-making. Remote and alien as a traveller from + another planet, he snarled down their soft-spoken love-words. He never + barked. In all the time they had him he was never known to bark. + </p> + <p> + To win him became a problem. Irvine liked problems. He had a metal plate + made, on which was stamped: "Return to Walt Irvine, Glen Ellen, Sonoma + County, California." This was riveted to a collar and strapped about the + dog's neck. Then he was turned loose, and promptly He disappeared. A day + later came a telegram from Mendocino County. In twenty hours he had made + over a hundred miles to the north, and was still going when captured. + </p> + <p> + He came back by Wells Fargo Express, was tied up three days, and was + loosed on the fourth and lost. This time he gained southern Oregon before + he was caught and returned. Always, as soon as he received his liberty, he + fled away, and always he fled north. He was possessed of an obsession that + drove him north. The homing instinct, Irvine called it, after he had + expended the selling price of a sonnet in getting the animal back from + northern Oregon. + </p> + <p> + Another time the brown wanderer succeeded in traversing half the length of + California, all of Oregon, and most of Washington, before he was picked up + and returned "Collect." A remarkable thing was the speed with which he + traveled. Fed up and rested, as soon as he was loosed he devoted all his + energy to getting over the ground. On the first day's run he was known to + cover as high as a hundred and fifty miles, and after that he would + average a hundred miles a day until caught. He always arrived back lean + and hungry and savage, and always departed fresh and vigorous, cleaving + his way northward in response to some prompting of his being that no one + could understand. + </p> + <p> + But at last, after a futile year of flight, he accepted the inevitable and + elected to remain at the cottage where first he had killed the rabbit and + slept by the spring. Even after that, a long time elapsed before the man + and woman succeeded in patting him. It was a great victory, for they alone + were allowed to put hands on him. He was fastidiously exclusive, and no + guest at the cottage ever succeeded in making up to him. A low growl + greeted such approach; if any one had the hardihood to come nearer, the + lips lifted, the naked fangs appeared, and the growl became a snarl—a + snarl so terrible and malignant that it awed the stoutest of them, as it + likewise awed the farmers' dogs that knew ordinary dog snarling, but had + never seen wolf snarling before. + </p> + <p> + He was without antecedents. His history began with Walt and Madge. He had + come up from the south, but never a clew did they get of the owner from + whom he had evidently fled. Mrs. Johnson, their nearest neighbor and the + one who supplied them with milk, proclaimed him a Klondike dog. Her + brother was burrowing for frozen pay-streaks in that far country, and so + she constituted herself an authority on the subject. + </p> + <p> + But they did not dispute her. There were the tips of Wolf's ears, + obviously so severely frozen at some time that they would never quite heal + again. Besides, he looked like the photographs of the Alaskan dogs they + saw published in magazines and newspapers. They often speculated over his + past, and tried to conjure up (from what they had read and heard) what his + northland life had been. That the northland still drew him, they knew; for + at night they sometimes heard him crying softly; and when the north wind + blew and the bite of frost was in the air, a great restlessness would come + upon him and he would lift a mournful lament which they knew to be the + long wolf-howl. Yet he never barked. No provocation was great enough to + draw from him that canine cry. + </p> + <p> + Long discussion they had, during the time of winning him, as to whose dog + he was. Each claimed him, and each proclaimed loudly any expression of + affection made by him. But the man had the better of it at first, chiefly + because he was a man. It was patent that Wolf had had no experience with + women. He did not understand women. Madge's skirts were something he never + quite accepted. The swish of them was enough to set him a-bristle with + suspicion, and on a windy day she could not approach him at all. + </p> + <p> + On the other hand, it was Madge who fed him; also it was she who ruled the + kitchen, and it was by her favor, and her favor alone, that he was + permitted to come within that sacred precinct. It was because of these + things that she bade fair to overcome the handicap of her garments. Then + it was that Walt put forth special effort, making it a practice to have + Wolf lie at his feet while he wrote, and, between petting and talking, + losing much time from his work. Walt won in the end, and his victory was + most probably due to the fact that he was a man, though Madge averred that + they would have had another quarter of a mile of gurgling brook, and at + least two west winds sighing through their redwoods, had Walt properly + devoted his energies to song-transmutation and left Wolf alone to exercise + a natural taste and an unbiased judgment. + </p> + <p> + "It's about time I heard from those triolets," Walt said, after a silence + of five minutes, during which they had swung steadily down the trail. + "There'll be a check at the post office, I know, and we'll transmute it + into beautiful buckwheat flour, a gallon of maple syrup, and a new pair of + overshoes for you." + </p> + <p> + "And into beautiful milk from Mrs. Johnson's beautiful cow," Madge added. + "To-morrow's the first of the month, you know." + </p> + <p> + Walt scowled unconsciously; then his face brightened, and he clapped his + hand to his breast pocket. + </p> + <p> + "Never mind. I have here a nice, beautiful, new cow, the best milker in + California." + </p> + <p> + "When did you write it?" she demanded eagerly. Then, reproachfully, "And + you never showed it to me." + </p> + <p> + "I saved it to read to you on the way to the post office, in a spot + remarkably like this one," he answered, indicating, with a wave of his + hand, a dry log on which to sit. + </p> + <p> + A tiny stream flowed out of a dense fern-brake, slipped down a + mossy-lipped stone, and ran across the path at their feet. From the valley + arose the mellow song of meadow larks, while about them, in and out, + through sunshine and shadow, fluttered great yellow butterflies. + </p> + <p> + Up from below came another sound that broke in upon Walt reading softly + from his manuscript. It was a crunching of heavy feet, punctuated now and + again by the clattering of a displaced stone. As Walt finished and looked + to his wife for approval, a man came into view around the turn of the + trail. He was bareheaded and sweaty. With a handkerchief in one hand he + mopped his face, while in the other hand he carried a new hat and a wilted + starched collar which he had removed from his neck. He was a well-built + man, and his muscles seemed on the point of bursting out of the painfully + new and ready-made black clothes he wore. + </p> + <p> + "Warm day," Walt greeted him. Walt believed in country democracy, and + never missed an opportunity to practice it. + </p> + <p> + The man paused and nodded. + </p> + <p> + "I guess I ain't used much to the warm," he vouchsafed half + apologetically. "I'm more accustomed to zero weather." + </p> + <p> + "You don't find any of that in this country," Walt laughed. + </p> + <p> + "Should say not," the man answered. "An' I ain't here a-lookin' for it + neither. I'm tryin' to find my sister. Mebbe you know where she lives. Her + name's Johnson, Mrs. William Johnson." + </p> + <p> + "You're not her Klondike brother!" Madge cried, her eyes bright with + interest, "about whom we've heard so much?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes'm, that's me," he answered modestly. "My name's Miller, Skiff Miller. + I just thought I'd s'prise her." + </p> + <p> + "You are on the right track then. Only you've come by the footpath." Madge + stood up to direct him, pointing up the canyon a quarter of a mile. "You + see that blasted redwood! Take the little trail turning off to the right. + It's the short cut to her house. You can't miss it." + </p> + <p> + "Yes'm, thank you, ma'am," he said. + </p> + <p> + He made tentative efforts to go, but seemed awkwardly rooted to the spot. + He was gazing at her with an open admiration of which he was quite + unconscious, and which was drowning, along with him, in the rising sea of + embarrassment in which he floundered. + </p> + <p> + "We'd like to hear you tell about the Klondike," Madge said. "Mayn't we + come over some day while you are at your sister's! Or, better yet, won't + you come over and have dinner with us?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes'm, thank you, ma'am," he mumbled mechanically. Then he caught himself + up and added: "I ain't stoppin' long. I got to be pullin' north again. I + go out on to-night's train. You see, I've got a mail contract with the + government." + </p> + <p> + When Madge had said that it was too bad, he made another futile effort to + go. But he could not take his eyes from her face. He forgot his + embarrassment in his admiration, and it was her turn to flush and feel + uncomfortable. + </p> + <p> + It was at this juncture, when Walt had just decided it was time for him to + be saying something to relieve the strain, that Wolf, who had been away + nosing through the brush, trotted wolf-like into view. + </p> + <p> + Skiff Miller's abstraction disappeared. The pretty woman before him passed + out of his field of vision. He had eyes only for the dog, and a great + wonder came into his face. + </p> + <p> + "Well, I'll be hanged!" he enunciated slowly and solemnly. + </p> + <p> + He sat down ponderingly on the log, leaving Madge standing. At the sound + of his voice, Wolf's ears had flattened down, then his mouth had opened in + a laugh. He trotted slowly up to the stranger and first smelled his hands, + then licked them with his tongue. + </p> + <p> + Skiff Miller patted the dog's head, and slowly and solemnly repeated, + "Well, I'll be hanged!" + </p> + <p> + "Excuse me, ma'am," he said the next moment, "I was just s'prised some, + that was all." + </p> + <p> + "We're surprised, too," she answered lightly. "We never saw Wolf make up + to a stranger before." + </p> + <p> + "Is that what you call him—Wolf?" the man asked. + </p> + <p> + Madge nodded. "But I can't understand his friendliness toward you—unless + it's because you're from the Klondike. He's a Klondike dog, you know." + </p> + <p> + "Yes'm," Miller said absently. He lifted one of Wolf's forelegs and + examined the footpads, pressing them and denting them with his thumb. + "Kind of soft," he remarked. "He ain't been on trail for a long time." + </p> + <p> + "I say," Walt broke in, "it is remarkable the way he lets you handle him." + </p> + <p> + Skiff Miller arose, no longer awkward with admiration of Madge, and in a + sharp, businesslike manner asked, "How long have you had him?" + </p> + <p> + But just then the dog, squirming and rubbing against the newcomer's legs, + opened his mouth and barked. It was an explosive bark, brief and joyous, + but a bark. + </p> + <p> + "That's a new one on me," Skiff Miller remarked. + </p> + <p> + Walt and Madge stared at each other. The miracle had happened. Wolf had + barked. + </p> + <p> + "It's the first time he ever barked," Madge said. + </p> + <p> + "First time I ever heard him, too," Miller volunteered. + </p> + <p> + Madge smiled at him. The man was evidently a humorist. + </p> + <p> + "Of course," she said, "since you have only seen him for five minutes." + </p> + <p> + Skiff Miller looked at her sharply, seeking in her face the guile her + words had led him to suspect. + </p> + <p> + "I thought you understood," he said slowly. "I thought you'd tumbled to it + from his makin' up to me. He's my dog. His name ain't Wolf. It's Brown." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, Walt!" was Madge's instinctive cry to her husband. + </p> + <p> + Walt was on the defensive at once. + </p> + <p> + "How do you know he's your dog?" he demanded. + </p> + <p> + "Because he is," was the reply. + </p> + <p> + "Mere assertion," Walt said sharply. + </p> + <p> + In his slow and pondering way, Skiff Miller looked at him, then asked, + with a nod of his head toward Madge: + </p> + <p> + "How d'you know she's your wife? You just say, 'Because she is,' and I'll + say it's mere assertion. The dog's mine. I bred 'm an' raised 'm, an' I + guess I ought to know. Look here. I'll prove it to you." + </p> + <p> + Skiff Miller turned to the dog. "Brown!" His voice rang out sharply, and + at the sound the dog's ears flattened down as to a caress. "Gee!" The dog + made a swinging turn to the right. "Now mush-on!" And the dog ceased his + swing abruptly and started straight ahead, halting obediently at command. + </p> + <p> + "I can do it with whistles," Skiff Miller said proudly. "He was my lead + dog." + </p> + <p> + "But you are not going to take him away with you?" Madge asked + tremulously. + </p> + <p> + The man nodded. + </p> + <p> + "Back into that awful Klondike world of suffering?" + </p> + <p> + He nodded and added: "Oh, it ain't so bad as all that. Look at me. Pretty + healthy specimen, ain't I!" + </p> + <p> + "But the dogs! The terrible hardship, the heart-breaking toil, the + starvation, the frost! Oh, I've read about it and I know." + </p> + <p> + "I nearly ate him once, over on Little Fish River," Miller volunteered + grimly. "If I hadn't got a moose that day was all that saved 'm." + </p> + <p> + "I'd have died first!" Madge cried. + </p> + <p> + "Things is different down here," Miller explained. "You don't have to eat + dogs. You think different just about the time you're all in. You've never + been all in, so you don't know anything about it." + </p> + <p> + "That's the very point," she argued warmly. "Dogs are not eaten in + California. Why not leave him here? He is happy. He'll never want for food—you + know that. He'll never suffer from cold and hardship. Here all is softness + and gentleness. Neither the human nor nature is savage. He will never know + a whip-lash again. And as for the weather—why, it never snows here." + </p> + <p> + "But it's all-fired hot in summer, beggin' your pardon," Skiff Miller + laughed. + </p> + <p> + "But you do not answer," Madge continued passionately. "What have you to + offer him in that northland life?" + </p> + <p> + "Grub, when I've got it, and that's most of the time," came the answer. + </p> + <p> + "And the rest of the time?" + </p> + <p> + "No grub." + </p> + <p> + "And the work?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, plenty of work," Miller blurted out impatiently. "Work without end, + an' famine, an' frost, an' all the rest of the miseries—that's what + he'll get when he comes with me. But he likes it. He is used to it. He + knows that life. He was born to it an' brought up to it. An' you don't + know anything about it. You don't know what you're talking about. That's + where the dog belongs, and that's where he'll be happiest." + </p> + <p> + "The dog doesn't go," Walt announced in a determined voice. "So there is + no need of further discussion." + </p> + <p> + "What's that?" Skiff Miller demanded, big brows lowering and an obstinate + flush of blood reddening his forehead. + </p> + <p> + "I said the dog doesn't go, and that settles it. I don't believe he's your + dog. You may have seen him sometime. You may even sometime have driven him + for his owner. But his obeying the ordinary driving commands of the + Alaskan trail is no demonstration that he is yours. Any dog in Alaska + would obey you as he obeyed. Besides, he is undoubtedly a valuable dog, as + dogs go in Alaska, and that is sufficient explanation of your desire to + get possession of him. Anyway, you've got to prove property." + </p> + <p> + Skiff Miller, cool and collected, the obstinate flush a trifle deeper on + his forehead, his huge muscles bulging under the black cloth of his coat, + carefully looked the poet up and down as though measuring the strength of + his slenderness. + </p> + <p> + The Klondiker's face took on a contemptuous expression as he said finally: + "I reckon there's nothin' in sight to prevent me takin' the dog right here + an' now." + </p> + <p> + Walt's face reddened, and the striking-muscles of his arms and shoulders + seemed to stiffen and grow tense. His wife fluttered apprehensively into + the breach. + </p> + <p> + "Maybe Mr. Miller is right," she said. "I am afraid that he is. Wolf does + seem to know him, and certainly he answers to the name of 'Brown.' He made + friends with him instantly, and you know that's something he never did + with anybody before. Besides, look at the way he barked. He was just + bursting with joy. Joy over what? Without doubt at finding Mr. Miller." + </p> + <p> + Walt's striking-muscles relaxed, and his shoulders seemed to droop with + hopelessness. + </p> + <p> + "I guess you're right, Madge," he said. "Wolf isn't Wolf, but Brown, and + he must belong to Mr. Miller." + </p> + <p> + "Perhaps Mr. Miller will sell him," she suggested. "We can buy him." + </p> + <p> + Skiff Miller shook his head, no longer belligerent, but kindly, quick to + be generous in response to generousness. + </p> + <p> + "I had five dogs," he said, casting about for the easiest way to temper + his refusal. "He was the leader. They was the crack team of Alaska. + Nothin' could touch 'em. In 1898 I refused five thousand dollars for the + bunch. Dogs was high, then, anyway; but that wasn't what made the fancy + price. It was the team itself. Brown was the best in the team. That winter + I refused twelve hundred for 'm. I didn't sell 'm then, an' I ain't + a-sellin' 'm now. Besides, I think a mighty lot of that dog. I've been + lookin' for 'm for three years. It made me fair sick when I found he'd + been stole—not the value of him, but the—well, I liked 'm so, + that's all. I couldn't believe my eyes when I seen 'm just now. I thought + I was dreamin'. It was too good to be true. Why, I was his nurse. I put 'm + to bed, snug every night. His mother died, and I brought 'm up on + condensed milk at two dollars a can when I couldn't afford it in my own + coffee. He never knew any mother but me. He used to suck my finger + regular, the darn little pup—that finger right there!" + </p> + <p> + And Skiff Miller, too overwrought for speech, held up a forefinger for + them to see. + </p> + <p> + "That very finger," he managed to articulate, as though it somehow + clinched the proof of ownership and the bond of affection. + </p> + <p> + He was still gazing at his extended finger when Madge began to speak. + </p> + <p> + "But the dog," she said. "You haven't considered the dog." + </p> + <p> + Skiff Miller looked puzzled. + </p> + <p> + "Have you thought about him?" she asked. + </p> + <p> + "Don't know what you're drivin' at," was the response. + </p> + <p> + "Maybe the dog has some choice in the matter," Madge went on. "Maybe he + has his likes and desires. You have not considered him. You give him no + choice. It has never entered your mind that possibly he might prefer + California to Alaska. You consider only what you like. You do with him as + you would with a sack of potatoes or a bale of hay." + </p> + <p> + This was a new way of looking at it, and Miller was visibly impressed as + he debated it in his mind. Madge took advantage of his indecision. + </p> + <p> + "If you really love him, what would be happiness to him would be your + happiness also," she urged. + </p> + <p> + Skiff Miller continued to debate with himself, and Madge stole a glance of + exultation to her husband, who looked back warm approval. + </p> + <p> + "What do you think?" the Klondiker suddenly demanded. + </p> + <p> + It was her turn to be puzzled. "What do you mean?" she asked. + </p> + <p> + "D'ye think he'd sooner stay in California!" + </p> + <p> + She nodded her head with positiveness. "I am sure of it." + </p> + <p> + Skiff Miller again debated with himself, though this time aloud, at the + same time running his gaze in a judicial way over the mooted animal. + </p> + <p> + "He was a good worker. He's done a heap of work for me. He never loafed on + me, an' he was a joe-dandy at hammerin' a raw team into shape. He's got a + head on him. He can do everything but talk. He knows what you say to him. + Look at 'm now. He knows we're talkin' about him." + </p> + <p> + The dog was lying at Skiff Miller's feet, head close down on paws, ears + erect and listening, and eyes that were quick and eager to follow the + sound of speech as it fell from the lips of first one and then the other. + </p> + <p> + "An' there's a lot of work in 'm yet. He's good for years to come. An' I + do like him." + </p> + <p> + Once or twice after that Skiff Miller opened his mouth and closed it again + without speaking. Finally he said: + </p> + <p> + "I'll tell you what I'll do. Your remarks, ma'am, has some weight in them. + The dog's worked hard, and maybe he's earned a soft berth an' has got a + right to choose. Anyway, we'll leave it up to him. Whatever he says, goes. + You people stay right here settin' down. I'll say good-by and walk off + casual-like. If he wants to stay, he can stay. If he wants to come with + me, let 'm come. I won't call 'm to come an' don't you call 'm to come + back." + </p> + <p> + He looked with sudden suspicion at Madge, and added, "Only you must play + fair. No persuadin' after my back is turned." + </p> + <p> + "We'll play fair," Madge began, but Skiff Miller broke in on her + assurances. + </p> + <p> + "I know the ways of women," he announced. "Their hearts is soft. When + their hearts is touched they're likely to stack the cards, look at the + bottom of the deck, an' lie—beggin' your pardon, ma'am. I'm only + discoursin' about women in general." + </p> + <p> + "I don't know how to thank you," Madge quavered. + </p> + <p> + "I don't see as you've got any call to thank me," he replied. "Brown ain't + decided yet. Now you won't mind if I go away slow! It's no more'n fair, + seein' I'll be out of sight inside a hundred yards." + </p> + <p> + Madge agreed, and added, "And I promise you faithfully that we won't do + anything to influence him." + </p> + <p> + "Well, then, I might as well he gettin' along," Skiff Miller said in the + ordinary tones of one departing. + </p> + <p> + At this change in his voice, Wolf lifted his head quickly, and still more + quickly got to his feet when the man and woman shook hands. He sprang up + on his hind legs, resting his fore paws on her hip and at the same time + licking Skiff Miller's hand. When the latter shook hands with Walt, Wolf + repeated his act, resting his weight on Walt and licking both men's hands. + </p> + <p> + "It ain't no picnic, I can tell you that," were the Klondiker's last + words, as he turned and went slowly up the trail. + </p> + <p> + For the distance of twenty feet Wolf watched him go, himself all eagerness + and expectancy, as though waiting for the man to turn and retrace his + steps. Then, with a quick low whine, Wolf sprang after him, overtook him, + caught his hand between his teeth with reluctant tenderness, and strove + gently to make him pause. + </p> + <p> + Failing in this, Wolf raced back to where Walt Irvine sat, catching his + coat sleeve in his teeth and trying vainly to drag him after the + retreating man. + </p> + <p> + Wolf's perturbation began to wax. He desired ubiquity. He wanted to be in + two places at the same time, with the old master and the new, and steadily + the distance between them was increasing. He sprang about excitedly, + making short nervous leaps and twists, now toward one, now toward the + other, in painful indecision, not knowing his own mind, desiring both and + unable to choose, uttering quick sharp whines and beginning to pant. + </p> + <p> + He sat down abruptly on his haunches, thrusting his nose upward, the mouth + opening and closing with jerking movements, each time opening wider. These + jerking movements were in unison with the recurrent spasms that attacked + the throat, each spasm severer and more intense than the preceding one. + And in accord with jerks and spasms the larynx began to vibrate, at first + silently, accompanied by the rush of air expelled from the lungs, then + sounding a low, deep note, the lowest in the register of the human ear. + All this was the nervous and muscular preliminary to howling. + </p> + <p> + But just as the howl was on the verge of bursting from the full throat, + the wide-opened mouth was closed, the paroxysms ceased, and he looked long + and steadily at the retreating man. Suddenly Wolf turned his head, and + over his shoulder just as steadily regarded Walt. The appeal was + unanswered. Not a word nor a sign did the dog receive, no suggestion and + no clew as to what his conduct should be. + </p> + <p> + A glance ahead to where the old master was nearing the curve of the trail + excited him again. He sprang to his feet with a whine, and then, struck by + a new idea, turned his attention to Madge. Hitherto he had ignored her, + but now, both masters failing him, she alone was left. He went over to her + and snuggled his head in her lap, nudging her arm with his nose—an + old trick of his when begging for favors. He backed away from her and + began writhing and twisting playfully, curvetting and prancing, half + rearing and striking his forepaws to the earth, struggling with all his + body, from the wheedling eyes and flattening ears to the wagging tail, to + express the thought that was in him and that was denied him utterance. + </p> + <p> + This, too, he soon abandoned. He was depressed by the coldness of these + humans who had never been cold before. No response could he draw from + them, no help could he get. They did not consider him. They were as dead. + </p> + <p> + He turned and silently gazed after the old master. Skiff Miller was + rounding the curve. In a moment he would be gone from view. Yet he never + turned his head, plodding straight onward, slowly and methodically, as + though possessed of no interest in what was occurring behind his back. + </p> + <p> + And in this fashion he went out of view. Wolf waited for him to reappear. + He waited a long minute, silently, quietly, without movement, as though + turned to stone—withal stone quick with eagerness and desire. He + barked once, and waited. Then he turned and trotted back to Walt Irvine. + He sniffed his hand and dropped down heavily at his feet, watching the + trail where it curved emptily from view. + </p> + <p> + The tiny stream slipping down the mossy-lipped stone seemed suddenly to + increase the volume of its gurgling noise. Save for the meadow larks, + there was no other sound. The great yellow butterflies drifted silently + through the sunshine and lost themselves in the drowsy shadows. Madge + gazed triumphantly at her husband. + </p> + <p> + A few minutes later Wolf got upon his feet. Decision and deliberation + marked his movements. He did not glance at the man and woman. His eyes + were fixed up the trail. He had made up his mind. They knew it. And they + knew, so far as they were concerned, that the ordeal had just begun. + </p> + <p> + He broke into a trot, and Madge's lips pursed, forming an avenue for the + caressing sound that it was the will of her to send forth. But the + caressing sound was not made. She was impelled to look at her husband, and + she saw the sternness with which he watched her. The pursed lips relaxed, + and she sighed inaudibly. + </p> + <p> + Wolf's trot broke into a run. Wider and wider were the leaps he made. Not + once did he turn his head, his wolf's brush standing out straight behind + him. He cut sharply across the curve of the trail and was gone. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THAT SPOT + </h2> + <p> + I don't think much of Stephen Mackaye any more, though I used to swear by + him. I know that in those days I loved him more than my own brother. If + ever I meet Stephen Mackaye again, I shall not be responsible for my + actions. It passes beyond me that a man with whom I shared food and + blanket, and with whom I mushed over the Chilcoot Trail, should turn out + the way he did. I always sized Steve up as a square man, a kindly comrade, + without an iota of anything vindictive or malicious in his nature. I shall + never trust my judgment in men again. Why, I nursed that man through + typhoid fever; we starved together on the headwaters of the Stewart; and + he saved my life on the Little Salmon. And now, after the years we were + together, all I can say of Stephen Mackaye is that he is the meanest man I + ever knew. + </p> + <p> + We started for the Klondike in the fall rush of 1897, and we started too + late to get over Chilcoot Pass before the freeze-up. We packed our outfit + on our backs part way over, when the snow began to fly, and then we had to + buy dogs in order to sled it the rest of the way. That was how we came to + get that Spot. Dogs were high, and we paid one hundred and ten dollars for + him. He looked worth it. I say <i>looked</i>, because he was one of the + finest appearing dogs I ever saw. He weighed sixty pounds, and he had all + the lines of a good sled animal. We never could make out his breed. He + wasn't husky, nor Malemute, nor Hudson Bay; he looked like all of them and + he didn't look like any of them; and on top of it all he had some of the + white man's dog in him, for on one side, in the thick of the mixed + yellow-brown-red-and-dirty-white that was his prevailing color, there was + a spot of coal-black as big as a water-bucket. That was why we called him + Spot. + </p> + <p> + He was a good looker all right. When he was in condition his muscles stood + out in bunches all over him. And he was the strongest looking brute I ever + saw in Alaska, also the most intelligent looking. To run your eyes over + him, you'd think he could outpull three dogs of his own weight. Maybe he + could, but I never saw it. His intelligence didn't run that way. He could + steal and forage to perfection; he had an instinct that was positively + grewsome for divining when work was to be done and for making a sneak + accordingly; and for getting lost and not staying lost he was nothing + short of inspired. But when it came to work, the way that intelligence + dribbled out of him and left him a mere clot of wobbling, stupid jelly + would make your heart bleed. + </p> + <p> + There are times when I think it wasn't stupidity. Maybe, like some men I + know, he was too wise to work. I shouldn't wonder if he put it all over us + with that intelligence of his. Maybe he figured it all out and decided + that a licking now and again and no work was a whole lot better than work + all the time and no licking. He was intelligent enough for such a + computation. I tell you, I've sat and looked into that dog's eyes till the + shivers ran up and down my spine and the marrow crawled like yeast, what + of the intelligence I saw shining out. I can't express myself about that + intelligence. It is beyond mere words. I saw it, that's all. At times it + was like gazing into a human soul, to look into his eyes; and what I saw + there frightened me and started all sorts of ideas in my own mind of + reincarnation and all the rest. I tell you I sensed something big in that + brute's eyes; there was a message there, but I wasn't big enough myself to + catch it. Whatever it was (I know I'm making a fool of myself)—whatever + it was, it baffled me. I can't give an inkling of what I saw in that + brute's eyes; it wasn't light, it wasn't color; it was something that + moved, away back, when the eyes themselves weren't moving. And I guess I + didn't see it move, either; I only sensed that it moved. It was an + expression,—that's what it was,—and I got an impression of it. + No; it was different from a mere expression; it was more than that. I + don't know what it was, but it gave me a feeling of kinship just the same. + Oh, no, not sentimental kinship. It was, rather, a kinship of equality. + Those eyes never pleaded like a deer's eyes. They challenged. No, it + wasn't defiance. It was just a calm assumption of equality. And I don't + think it was deliberate. My belief is that it was unconscious on his part. + It was there because it was there, and it couldn't help shining out. No, I + don't mean shine. It didn't shine; it <i>moved</i>. I know I'm talking + rot, but if you'd looked into that animal's eyes the way I have, you'd + understand. Steve was affected the same way I was. Why, I tried to kill + that Spot once—he was no good for anything; and I fell down on it. I + led him out into the brush, and he came along slow and unwilling. He knew + what was going on. I stopped in a likely place, put my foot on the rope, + and pulled my big Colt's. And that dog sat down and looked at me. I tell + you he didn't plead. He just looked. And I saw all kinds of + incomprehensible things moving, yes, <i>moving,</i> in those eyes of his. + I didn't really see them move; I thought I saw them, for, as I said + before, I guess I only sensed them. And I want to tell you right now that + it got beyond me. It was like killing a man, a conscious, brave man who + looked calmly into your gun as much as to say, "Who's afraid?" Then, too, + the message seemed so near that, instead of pulling the trigger quick, I + stopped to see if I could catch the message. There it was, right before + me, glimmering all around in those eyes of his. And then it was too late. + I got scared. I was trembly all over, and my stomach generated a nervous + palpitation that made me seasick. I just sat down and looked at that dog, + and he looked at me, till I thought I was going crazy. Do you want to know + what I did? I threw down the gun and ran back to camp with the fear of God + in my heart. Steve laughed at me. But I notice that Steve led Spot into + the woods, a week later, for the same purpose, and that Steve came back + alone, and a little later Spot drifted back, too. + </p> + <p> + At any rate, Spot wouldn't work. We paid a hundred and ten dollars for him + from the bottom of our sack, and he wouldn't work. He wouldn't even + tighten the traces. Steve spoke to him the first time we put him in + harness, and he sort of shivered, that was all. Not an ounce on the + traces. He just stood still and wobbled, like so much jelly. Steve touched + him with the whip. He yelped, but not an ounce. Steve touched him again, a + bit harder, and he howled—the regular long wolf howl. Then Steve got + mad and gave him half a dozen, and I came on the run from the tent. I told + Steve he was brutal with the animal, and we had some words—the first + we'd ever had. He threw the whip down in the snow, and walked away mad. I + picked it up and went to it. That Spot trembled and wobbled and cowered + before ever I swung the lash, and with the first bite of it he howled like + a lost soul. Next he lay down in the snow. I started the rest of the dogs, + and they dragged him along while I threw the whip into him. He rolled over + on his back and bumped along, his four legs waving in the air, himself + howling as though he was going through a sausage machine. Steve came back + and laughed at me, and I apologized for what I'd said. + </p> + <p> + There was no getting any work out of that Spot; and to make up for it, he + was the biggest pig-glutton of a dog I ever saw. On top of that, he was + the cleverest thief. There was no circumventing him. Many a breakfast we + went without our bacon because Spot had been there first. And it was + because of him that we nearly starved to death up the Stewart. He figured + out the way to break into our meat-cache, and what he didn't eat, the rest + of the team did. But he was impartial. He stole from every body. He was a + restless dog always very busy snooping around or going somewhere. And + there was never a camp within five miles that he didn't raid. The worst of + it was that they always came back on us to pay his board bill, which was + just, being the law of the land; but it was mighty hard on us, especially + that first winter on the Chilcoot, when we were busted, paying for whole + hams and sides of bacon that we never ate. He could fight, too, that Spot. + He could do anything but work. He never pulled a pound, but he was the + boss of the whole team. The way he made those dogs stand around was an + education. He bullied them, and there was always one or more of them + fresh-marked with his fangs. But he was more than a bully. He wasn't + afraid of anything that walked on four legs; and I've seen him march, + single-handed, into a strange team, without any provocation whatever, and + put the <i>kibosh</i> on the whole outfit. Did I say he could eat? I + caught him eating the whip once. That's straight. He started in at the + lash, and when I caught him he was down to the handle, and still going. + </p> + <p> + But he was a good looker. At the end of the first week we sold him for + seventy-five dollars to the Mounted Police. They had experienced + dog-drivers, and we knew that by the time he'd covered the six hundred + miles to Dawson he'd be a good sled-dog. I say we <i>knew</i>, for we were + just getting acquainted with that Spot. A little later we were not brash + enough to know anything where he was concerned. A week later we woke up in + the morning to the dangdest dog-fight we'd ever heard. It was that Spot + came back and knocking the team into shape. We ate a pretty depressing + breakfast, I can tell you; but cheered up two hours afterward when we sold + him to an official courier, bound in to Dawson with government despatches. + That Spot was only three days in coming back, and, as usual, celebrated + his arrival with a rough-house. + </p> + <p> + We spent the winter and spring, after our own outfit was across the pass, + freighting other people's outfits; and we made a fat stake. Also, we made + money out of Spot. If we sold him once, we sold him twenty times. He + always came back, and no one asked for their money. We didn't want the + money. We'd have paid handsomely for any one to take him off our hands for + keeps. We had to get rid of him, and we couldn't give him away, for that + would have been suspicious. But he was such a fine looker that we never + had any difficulty in selling him. "Unbroke," we'd say, and they'd pay any + old price for him. We sold him as low as twenty-five dollars, and once we + got a hundred and fifty for him. That particular party returned him in + person, refused to take his money back, and the way he abused us was + something awful. He said it was cheap at the price to tell us what he + thought of us; and we felt he was so justified that we never talked back. + But to this day I've never quite regained all the old self-respect that + was mine before that man talked to me. + </p> + <p> + When the ice cleared out of the lakes and river, we put our outfit in a + Lake Bennett boat and started for Dawson. We had a good team of dogs, and + of course we piled them on top the outfit. That Spot was along—there + was no losing him; and a dozen times, the first day, he knocked one or + another of the dogs overboard in the course of fighting with them. It was + close quarters, and he didn't like being crowded. + </p> + <p> + "What that dog needs is space," Steve said the second day. "Let's maroon + him." + </p> + <p> + We did, running the boat in at Caribou Crossing for him to jump ashore. + Two of the other dogs, good dogs, followed him; and we lost two whole days + trying to find them. We never saw those two dogs again; but the quietness + and relief we enjoyed made us decide, like the man who refused his hundred + and fifty, that it was cheap at the price. For the first time in months + Steve and I laughed and whistled and sang. We were as happy as clams. The + dark days were over. The nightmare had been lifted. That Spot was gone. + </p> + <p> + Three weeks later, one morning, Steve and I were standing on the + river-bank at Dawson. A small boat was just arriving from Lake Bennett. I + saw Steve give a start, and heard him say something that was not nice and + that was not under his breath. Then I looked; and there, in the bow of the + boat, with ears pricked up, sat Spot. Steve and I sneaked immediately, + like beaten curs, like cowards, like absconders from justice. It was this + last that the lieutenant of police thought when he saw us sneaking. He + surmised that there was law-officers in the boat who were after us. He + didn't wait to find out, but kept us in sight, and in the M. & M. + saloon got us in a corner. We had a merry time explaining, for we refused + to go back to the boat and meet Spot; and finally he held us under guard + of another policeman while he went to the boat. After we got clear of him, + we started for the cabin, and when we arrived, there was that Spot sitting + on the stoop waiting for us. Now how did he know we lived there? There + were forty thousand people in Dawson that summer, and how did he <i>savve</i> + our cabin out of all the cabins? How did he know we were in Dawson, + anyway? I leave it to you. But don't forget what I have said about his + intelligence and that immortal something I have seen glimmering in his + eyes. + </p> + <p> + There was no getting rid of him any more. There were too many people in + Dawson who had bought him up on Chilcoot, and the story got around. Half a + dozen times we put him on board steamboats going down the Yukon; but he + merely went ashore at the first landing and trotted back up the bank. We + couldn't sell him, we couldn't kill him (both Steve and I had tried), and + nobody else was able to kill him. He bore a charmed life. I've seen him go + down in a dog-fight on the main street with fifty dogs on top of him, and + when they were separated, he'd appear on all his four legs, unharmed, + while two of the dogs that had been on top of him would be lying dead. + </p> + <p> + I saw him steal a chunk of moose meat from Major Dinwiddie's cache so + heavy that he could just keep one jump ahead of Mrs. Dinwiddie's squaw + cook, who was after him with an axe. As he went up the hill, after the + squaw gave up, Major Dinwiddie himself came out and pumped his Winchester + into the landscape. He emptied his magazine twice, and never touched that + Spot. Then a policeman came along and arrested him for discharging + firearms inside the city limits. Major Dinwiddie paid his fine, and Steve + and I paid him for the moose meat at the rate of a dollar a pound, bones + and all. That was what he paid for it. Meat was high that year. + </p> + <p> + I am only telling what I saw with my own eyes. And now I'll tell you + something also. I saw that Spot fall through a water-hole. The ice was + three and a half feet thick, and the current sucked him under like a + straw. Three hundred yards below was the big water-hole used by the + hospital. Spot crawled out of the hospital water-hole, licked off the + water, bit out the ice that had formed between his toes, trotted up the + bank, and whipped a big Newfoundland belonging to the Gold Commissioner. + </p> + <p> + In the fall of 1898, Steve and I poled up the Yukon on the last water, + bound for Stewart River. We took the dogs along, all except Spot. We + figured we'd been feeding him long enough. He'd cost us more time and + trouble and money and grub than we'd got by selling him on the Chilcoot—especially + grub. So Steve and I tied him down in the cabin and pulled our freight. We + camped that night at the mouth of Indian River, and Steve and I were + pretty facetious over having shaken him. Steve was a funny fellow, and I + was just sitting up in the blankets and laughing when a tornado hit camp. + The way that Spot walked into those dogs and gave them what-for was + hair-raising. Now how did he get loose? It's up to you. I haven't any + theory. And how did he get across the Klondike River? That's another + facer. And anyway, how did he know we had gone up the Yukon? You see, we + went by water, and he couldn't smell our tracks. Steve and I began to get + superstitious about that dog. He got on our nerves, too; and, between you + and me, we were just a mite afraid of him. + </p> + <p> + The freeze-up came on when we were at the mouth of Henderson Creek, and we + traded him off for two sacks of flour to an outfit that was bound up White + River after copper. Now that whole outfit was lost. Never trace nor hide + nor hair of men, dogs, sleds, or anything was ever found. They dropped + clean out of sight. It became one of the mysteries of the country. Steve + and I plugged away up the Stewart, and six weeks afterward that Spot + crawled into camp. He was a perambulating skeleton, and could just drag + along; but he got there. And what I want to know is who told him we were + up the Stewart? We could have gone a thousand other places. How did he + know? You tell me, and I'll tell you. + </p> + <p> + No losing him. At the Mayo he started a row with an Indian dog. The buck + who owned the dog took a swing at Spot with an axe, missed him, and killed + his own dog. Talk about magic and turning bullets aside—I, for one, + consider it a blamed sight harder to turn an axe aside with a big buck at + the other end of it. And I saw him do it with my own eyes. That buck + didn't want to kill his own dog. You've got to show me. + </p> + <p> + I told you about Spot breaking into our meat-cache. It was nearly the + death of us. There wasn't any more meat to be killed and meat was all we + had to live on. The moose had gone back several hundred miles and the + Indians with them. There we were. Spring was on and we had to wait for the + river to break. We got pretty thin before we decided to eat the dogs, and + we decided to eat Spot first. Do you know what that dog did? He sneaked. + Now how did he know our minds were made up to eat him? We sat up nights + laying for him, but he never came back, and we ate the other dogs. We ate + the whole team. + </p> + <p> + And now for the sequel. You know what it is when a big river breaks up and + a few billion tons of ice go out, jamming and milling and grinding. Just + in the thick of it, when the Stewart went out, rumbling and roaring, we + sighted Spot out in the middle. He'd got caught as he was trying to cross + up above somewhere. Steve and I yelled and shouted and ran up and down the + bank, tossing our hats in the air. Sometimes we'd stop and hug each other, + we were that boisterous, for we saw Spot's finish. He didn't have a chance + in a million. He didn't have any chance at all. After the ice-run, we got + into a canoe and paddled down to the Yukon, and down the Yukon to Dawson, + stopping to feed up for a week at the cabins at the mouth of Henderson + Creek. And as we came in to the bank at Dawson, there sat that Spot, + waiting for us, his ears pricked up, his tail wagging, his mouth smiling, + extending a hearty welcome to us. Now how did he get out of that ice? How + did he know we were coming to Dawson, to the very hour and minute, to be + out there on the bank waiting for us? + </p> + <p> + The more I think of that Spot, the more I am convinced that there are + things in this world that go beyond science. On no scientific grounds can + that Spot be explained. It's psychic phenomena, or mysticism, or something + of that sort, I guess, with a lot of Theosophy thrown in. The Klondike is + a good country. I might have been there yet, and become a millionaire, if + it hadn't been for Spot. He got on my nerves. I stood him for two years + all together, and then I guess my stamina broke. It was the summer of 1899 + when I pulled out. I didn't say anything to Steve. I just sneaked. But I + fixed it up all right. I wrote Steve a note, and enclosed a package of + "rough-on-rats," telling him what to do with it. I was worn down to skin + and bone by that Spot, and I was that nervous that I'd jump and look + around when there wasn't anybody within hailing distance. But it was + astonishing the way I recuperated when I got quit of him. I got back + twenty pounds before I arrived in San Francisco, and by the time I'd + crossed the ferry to Oakland I was my old self again, so that even my wife + looked in vain for any change in me. + </p> + <p> + Steve wrote to me once, and his letter seemed irritated. He took it kind + of hard because I'd left him with Spot. Also, he said he'd used the + "rough-on-rats," per directions, and that there was nothing doing. A year + went by. I was back in the office and prospering in all ways—even + getting a bit fat. And then Steve arrived. He didn't look me up. I read + his name in the steamer list, and wondered why. But I didn't wonder long. + I got up one morning and found that Spot chained to the gatepost and + holding up the milkman. Steve went north to Seattle, I learned, that very + morning. I didn't put on any more weight. My wife made me buy him a collar + and tag, and within an hour he showed his gratitude by killing her pet + Persian cat. There is no getting rid of that Spot. He will be with me + until I die, for he'll never die. My appetite is not so good since he + arrived, and my wife says I am looking peaked. Last night that Spot got + into Mr. Harvey's hen-house (Harvey is my next door neighbor) and killed + nineteen of his fancy-bred chickens. I shall have to pay for them. My + neighbors on the other side quarreled with my wife and then moved out. + Spot was the cause of it. And that is why I am disappointed in Stephen + Mackaye. I had no idea he was so mean a man. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TRUST + </h2> + <p> + All lines had been cast off, and the <i>Seattle No. 4</i> was pulling + slowly out from the shore. Her decks were piled high with freight and + baggage, and swarmed with a heterogeneous company of Indians, dogs, and + dog-mushers, prospectors, traders, and homeward-bound gold-seekers. A + goodly portion of Dawson was lined up on the bank, saying good-by. As the + gang-plank came in and the steamer nosed into the stream, the clamor of + farewell became deafening. Also, in that eleventh moment, everybody began + to remember final farewell messages and to shout them back and forth + across the widening stretch of water. Louis Bondell, curling his yellow + mustache with one hand and languidly waving the other hand to his friends + on shore, suddenly remembered something and sprang to the rail. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, Fred!" he bawled. "Oh, Fred!" + </p> + <p> + The "Fred" desired thrust a strapping pair of shoulders through the + forefront of the crowd on the bank and tried to catch Louis Bondell's + message. The latter grew red in the face with vain vociferation. Still the + water widened between steamboat and shore. + </p> + <p> + "Hey you, Captain Scott!" he yelled at the pilot-house. "Stop the boat!" + </p> + <p> + The gongs clanged, and the big stern wheel reversed, then stopped. All + hands on steamboat and on bank took advantage of this respite to exchange + final, new, and imperative farewells. More futile than ever was Louis + Bondell's effort to make himself heard. The <i>Seattle No. 4</i> lost way + and drifted down-stream, and Captain Scott had to go ahead and reverse a + second time. His head disappeared inside the pilot-house, coming into view + a moment later behind a big megaphone. + </p> + <p> + Now Captain Scott had a remarkable voice, and the "Shut up!" he launched + at the crowd on deck and on shore could have been heard at the top of + Moosehide Mountain and as far as Klondike City. This official remonstrance + from the pilot-house spread a film of silence over the tumult. + </p> + <p> + "Now, what do you want to say?" Captain Scott demanded. + </p> + <p> + "Tell Fred Churchill—he's on the bank there—tell him to go to + Macdonald. It's in his safe—a small gripsack of mine. Tell him to + get it and bring it out when he comes." + </p> + <p> + In the silence Captain Scott bellowed the message ashore through the + megaphone:— + </p> + <p> + "You, Fred Churchill, go to Macdonald—in his safe—small + gripsack—belongs to Louis Bondell—important! Bring it out when + you come! Got it?" + </p> + <p> + Churchill waved his hand in token that he had got it. In truth, had + Macdonald, half a mile away, opened his window, he'd have got it, too. The + tumult of farewell rose again, the gongs clanged, and the <i>Seattle No. 4</i> + went ahead, swung out into the stream, turned on her heel, and headed down + the Yukon, Bondell and Churchill waving farewell and mutual affection to + the last. + </p> + <p> + That was in midsummer. In the fall of the year, the <i>W.H. Willis</i> + started up the Yukon with two hundred homeward-bound pilgrims on board. + Among them was Churchill. In his stateroom, in the middle of a + clothes-bag, was Louis Bondell's grip. It was a small, stout leather + affair, and its weight of forty pounds always made Churchill nervous when + he wandered too far from it. The man in the adjoining stateroom had a + treasure of gold-dust hidden similarly in a clothes-bag, and the pair of + them ultimately arranged to stand watch and watch. While one went down to + eat, the other kept an eye on the two stateroom doors. When Churchill + wanted to take a hand at whist, the other man mounted guard, and when the + other man wanted to relax his soul, Churchill read four-months'-old + newspapers on a camp stool between the two doors. + </p> + <p> + There were signs of an early winter, and the question that was discussed + from dawn till dark, and far into the dark, was whether they would get out + before the freeze-up or be compelled to abandon the steamboat and tramp + out over the ice. There were irritating delays. Twice the engines broke + down and had to be tinkered up, and each time there were snow flurries to + warn them of the imminence of winter. Nine times the <i>W.H. Willis</i> + essayed to ascend the Five-Finger Rapids with her impaired machinery, and + when she succeeded, she was four days behind her very liberal schedule. + The question that then arose was whether or not the steamboat <i>Flora</i> + would wait for her above the Box Cañon. The stretch of water between the + head of the Box Cañon and the foot of the White Horse Rapids was + unnavigable for steamboats and passengers were transshipped at that point, + walking around the rapids from one steamboat to the other. There were no + telephones in the country, hence no way of informing the waiting <i>Flora</i> + that the <i>Willis</i> was four days late, but coming. + </p> + <p> + When the <i>W.H. Willis</i> pulled into White Horse, it was learned that + the <i>Flora</i> had waited three days over the limit, and had departed + only a few hours before. Also, it was learned that she would tie up at + Tagish Post till nine o'clock, Sunday morning. It was then four o'clock + Saturday afternoon. The pilgrims called a meeting. On board was a large + Peterborough canoe, consigned to the police post at the head of Lake + Bennett. They agreed to be responsible for it and to deliver it. Next, + they called for volunteers. Two men were needed to make a race for the <i>Flora</i>. + A score of men volunteered on the instant. Among them was Churchill, such + being his nature that he volunteered before he thought of Bondell's + gripsack. When this thought came to him, he began to hope that he would + not be selected; but a man who had made a name as captain of a college + football eleven, as a president of an athletic club, as a dog-musher and a + stampeder in the Yukon, and, moreover, who possessed such shoulders as he, + had no right to avoid the honor. It was thrust upon him and upon a + gigantic German, Nick Antonsen. + </p> + <p> + While a crowd of the pilgrims, the canoe on their shoulders, started on a + trot over the portage, Churchill ran to his stateroom. He turned the + contents of the clothes-bag on the floor and caught up the grip with the + intention of intrusting it to the man next door. Then the thought smote + him that it was not his grip, and that he had no right to let it out of + his own possession. So he dashed ashore with it and ran up the portage, + changing it often from one hand to the other, and wondering if it really + did not weigh more than forty pounds. + </p> + <p> + It was half-past four in the afternoon when the two men started. The + current of the Thirty Mile River was so strong that rarely could they use + the paddles. It was out on one bank with a tow-line over the shoulders + stumbling over the rocks, forcing a way through the underbrush, slipping + at times and falling into the water, wading often up to the knees and + waist; and then, when an insurmountable bluff was encountered, it was into + the canoe, out paddles, and a wild and losing dash across the current to + the other bank, in paddles, over the side, and out tow-line again. It was + exhausting work. Antonsen toiled like the giant he was, uncomplaining, + persistent, but driven to his utmost by the powerful body and indomitable + brain of Churchill. They never paused for rest. It was go, go, and keep on + going. A crisp wind blew down the river, freezing their hands and making + it imperative, from time to time, to beat the blood back into the numb + fingers. As night came on, they were compelled to trust to luck. They fell + repeatedly on the untraveled banks and tore their clothing to shreds in + the underbrush they could not see. Both men were badly scratched and + bleeding. A dozen times, in their wild dashes from bank to bank, they + struck snags and were capsized. The first time this happened, Churchill + dived and groped in three feet of water for the gripsack. He lost half an + hour in recovering it, and after that it was carried securely lashed to + the canoe. As long as the canoe floated it was safe. Antonsen jeered at + the grip, and toward morning began to abuse it; but Churchill vouchsafed + no explanations. + </p> + <p> + Their delays and mischances were endless. On one swift bend, around which + poured a healthy young rapid, they lost two hours, making a score of + attempts and capsizing twice. At this point, on both banks, were + precipitous bluffs, rising out of deep water, and along which they could + neither tow nor pole, while they could not gain with the paddles against + the current. At each attempt they strained to the utmost with the paddles, + and each time, with hearts nigh to bursting from the effort, they were + played out and swept back. They succeeded finally by an accident. In the + swiftest current, near the end of another failure, a freak of the current + sheered the canoe out of Churchill's control and flung it against the + bluff. Churchill made a blind leap at the bluff and landed in a crevice. + Holding on with one hand, he held the swamped canoe with the other till + Antonsen dragged himself out of the water. Then they pulled the canoe out + and rested. A fresh start at this crucial point took them by. They landed + on the bank above and plunged immediately ashore and into the brush with + the tow-line. + </p> + <p> + Daylight found them far below Tagish Post. At nine o 'clock Sunday morning + they could hear the <i>Flora</i> whistling her departure. And when, at ten + o'clock, they dragged themselves in to the Post, they could just barely + see the <i>Flora's</i> smoke far to the southward. It was a pair of + worn-out tatterdemalions that Captain Jones of the Mounted Police welcomed + and fed, and he afterward averred that they possessed two of the most + tremendous appetites he had ever observed. They lay down and slept in + their wet rags by the stove. At the end of two hours Churchill got up, + carried Bondell's grip, which he had used for a pillow, down to the canoe, + kicked Antonsen awake, and started in pursuit of the <i>Flora</i>. + </p> + <p> + "There's no telling what might happen—machinery break down or + something," was his reply to Captain Jones's expostulations. "I'm going to + catch that steamer and send her back for the boys." + </p> + <p> + Tagish Lake was white with a fall gale that blew in their teeth. Big, + swinging seas rushed upon the canoe, compelling one man to bail and + leaving one man to paddle. Headway could not be made. They ran along the + shallow shore and went overboard, one man ahead on the tow-line, the other + shoving on the canoe. They fought the gale up to their waists in the icy + water, often up to their necks, often over their heads and buried by the + big, crested waves. There was no rest, never a moment's pause from the + cheerless, heart-breaking battle. That night, at the head of Tagish Lake, + in the thick of a driving snow-squall, they overhauled the <i>Flora.</i> + Antonsen fell on board, lay where he had fallen, and snored. Churchill + looked like a wild man. His clothes barely clung to him. His face was iced + up and swollen from the protracted effort of twenty-four hours, while his + hands were so swollen that he could not close the fingers. As for his + feet, it was an agony to stand upon them. + </p> + <p> + The captain of the <i>Flora</i> was loath to go back to White Horse. + Churchill was persistent and imperative; the captain was stubborn. He + pointed out finally that nothing was to be gained by going back, because + the only ocean steamer at Dyea, the <i>Athenian</i>, was to sail on + Tuesday morning, and that he could not make the back trip to White Horse + and bring up the stranded pilgrims in time to make the connection. + </p> + <p> + "What time does the <i>Athenian</i> sail?" Churchill demanded. + </p> + <p> + "Seven o'clock, Tuesday morning." + </p> + <p> + "All right," Churchill said, at the same time kicking a tattoo on the ribs + of the snoring Antonsen. "You go back to White Horse. We'll go ahead and + hold the <i>Athenian</i>." + </p> + <p> + Antonsen, stupid with sleep, not yet clothed in his waking mind, was + bundled into the canoe, and did not realize what had happened till he was + drenched with the icy spray of a big sea, and heard Churchill snarling at + him through the darkness:— + </p> + <p> + "Paddle, can't you! Do you want to be swamped?" + </p> + <p> + Daylight found them at Caribou Crossing, the wind dying down, and Antonsen + too far gone to dip a paddle. Churchill grounded the canoe on a quiet + beach, where they slept. He took the precaution of twisting his arm under + the weight of his head. Every few minutes the pain of the pent circulation + aroused him, whereupon he would look at his watch and twist the other arm + under his head. At the end of two hours he fought with Antonsen to rouse + him. Then they started. Lake Bennett, thirty miles in length, was like a + mill-pond; but, halfway across, a gale from the south smote them and + turned the water white. Hour after hour they repeated the struggle on + Tagish, over the side, pulling and shoving on the canoe, up to their + waists and necks, and over their heads, in the icy water; toward the last + the good-natured giant played completely out. Churchill drove him + mercilessly; but when he pitched forward and bade fair to drown in three + feet of water, the other dragged him into the canoe. After that, Churchill + fought on alone, arriving at the police post at the head of Bennett in the + early afternoon. He tried to help Antonsen out of the canoe, but failed. + He listened to the exhausted man's heavy breathing, and envied him when he + thought of what he himself had yet to undergo. Antonsen could lie there + and sleep; but he, behind time, must go on over mighty Chilcoot and down + to the sea. The real struggle lay before him, and he almost regretted the + strength that resided in his frame because of the torment it could inflict + upon that frame. + </p> + <p> + Churchill pulled the canoe up on the beach, seized Bondell's grip, and + started on a limping dog-trot for the police post. + </p> + <p> + "There's a canoe down there, consigned to you from Dawson," he hurled at + the officer who answered his knock. "And there's a man in it pretty near + dead. Nothing serious; only played out. Take care of him. I've got to + rush. Good-by. Want to catch the <i>Athenian</i>." + </p> + <p> + A mile portage connected Lake Bennett and Lake Linderman, and his last + words he flung back after him as he resumed the trot. It was a very + painful trot, but he clenched his teeth and kept on, forgetting his pain + most of the time in the fervent heat with which he regarded the gripsack. + It was a severe handicap. He swung it from one hand to the other, and back + again. He tucked it under his arm. He threw one hand over the opposite + shoulder, and the bag bumped and pounded on his back as he ran along. He + could scarcely hold it in his bruised and swollen fingers, and several + times he dropped it. Once, in changing from one hand to the other, it + escaped his clutch and fell in front of him, tripped him up, and threw him + violently to the ground. + </p> + <p> + At the far end of the portage he bought an old set of pack-straps for a + dollar, and in them he swung the grip. Also, he chartered a launch to run + him the six miles to the upper end of Lake Linderman, where he arrived at + four in the afternoon. The <i>Athenian</i> was to sail from Dyea next + morning at seven. Dyea was twenty-eight miles away, and between towered + Chilcoot. He sat down to adjust his foot-gear for the long climb, and woke + up. He had dozed the instant he sat down, though he had not slept thirty + seconds. He was afraid his next doze might be longer, so he finished + fixing his foot-gear standing up. Even then he was overpowered for a + fleeting moment. He experienced the flash of unconsciousness; becoming + aware of it, in midair, as his relaxed body was sinking to the ground and + as he caught himself together, he stiffened his muscles with a spasmodic + wrench, and escaped the fall. The sudden jerk back to consciousness left + him sick and trembling. He beat his head with the heel of his hand, + knocking wakefulness into the numb brain. + </p> + <p> + Jack Burns's pack-train was starting back light for Crater Lake, and + Churchill was invited to a mule. Burns wanted to put the gripsack on + another animal, but Churchill held on to it, carrying it on his + saddle-pommel. But he dozed, and the grip persisted in dropping off the + pommel, one side or the other, each time wakening him with a sickening + start. Then, in the early darkness, Churchill's mule brushed him against a + projecting branch that laid his cheek open. To cap it, the mule blundered + off the trail and fell, throwing rider and gripsack out upon the rocks. + After that, Churchill walked, or stumbled, rather, over the apology for a + trail, leading the mule. Stray and awful odors, drifting from each side + the trail, told of the horses that had died in the rush for gold. But he + did not mind. He was too sleepy. By the time Long Lake was reached, + however, he had recovered from his sleepiness; and at Deep Lake he + resigned the gripsack to Burns. But thereafter, by the light of the dim + stars, he kept his eyes on Burns. There were not going to be any accidents + with that bag. + </p> + <p> + At Crater Lake the pack-train went into camp, and Churchill, slinging the + grip on his back, started the steep climb for the summit. For the first + time, on that precipitous wall, he realized how tired he was. He crept and + crawled like a crab, burdened by the weight of his limbs. A distinct and + painful effort of will was required each time he lifted a foot. An + hallucination came to him that he was shod with lead, like a deep-sea + diver, and it was all he could do to resist the desire to reach down and + feel the lead. As for Bondell's gripsack, it was inconceivable that forty + pounds could weigh so much. It pressed him down like a mountain, and he + looked back with unbelief to the year before, when he had climbed that + same pass with a hundred and fifty pounds on his back, If those loads had + weighed a hundred and fifty pounds, then Bondell's grip weighed five + hundred. + </p> + <p> + The first rise of the divide from Crater Lake was across a small glacier. + Here was a well-defined trail. But above the glacier, which was also above + timber-line, was naught but a chaos of naked rock and enormous boulders. + There was no way of seeing the trail in the darkness, and he blundered on, + paying thrice the ordinary exertion for all that he accomplished. He won + the summit in the thick of howling wind and driving snow, providentially + stumbling upon a small, deserted tent, into which he crawled. There he + found and bolted some ancient fried potatoes and half a dozen raw eggs. + </p> + <p> + When the snow ceased and the wind eased down, he began the almost + impossible descent. There was no trail, and he stumbled and blundered, + often finding himself, at the last moment, on the edge of rocky walls and + steep slopes the depth of which he had no way of judging. Part way down, + the stars clouded over again, and in the consequent obscurity he slipped + and rolled and slid for a hundred feet, landing bruised and bleeding on + the bottom of a large shallow hole. From all about him arose the stench of + dead horses. The hole was handy to the trail, and the packers had made a + practice of tumbling into it their broken and dying animals. The stench + overpowered him, making him deathly sick, and as in a nightmare he + scrambled out. Halfway up, he recollected Bondell's gripsack. It had + fallen into the hole with him; the pack-strap had evidently broken, and he + had forgotten it. Back he went into the pestilential charnel-pit, where he + crawled around on hands and knees and groped for half an hour. Altogether + he encountered and counted seventeen dead horses (and one horse still + alive that he shot with his revolver) before he found Bondell's grip. + Looking back upon a life that had not been without valor and achievement, + he unhesitatingly declared to himself that this return after the grip was + the most heroic act he had ever performed. So heroic was it that he was + twice on the verge of fainting before he crawled out of the hole. + </p> + <p> + By the time he had descended to the Scales, the steep pitch of Chilcoot + was past, and the way became easier. Not that it was an easy way, however, + in the best of places; but it became a really possible trail, along which + he could have made good time if he had not been worn out, if he had had + light with which to pick his steps, and if it had not been for Bondell's + gripsack. To him, in his exhausted condition, it was the last straw. + Having barely strength to carry himself along, the additional weight of + the grip was sufficient to throw him nearly every time he tripped or + stumbled. And when he escaped tripping, branches reached out in the + darkness, hooked the grip between his shoulders, and held him back. + </p> + <p> + His mind was made up that if he missed the <i>Athenian</i> it would be the + fault of the gripsack. In fact, only two things remained in his + consciousness—Bondell's grip and the steamer. He knew only those two + things, and they became identified, in a way, with some stern mission upon + which he had journeyed and toiled for centuries. He walked and struggled + on as in a dream. A part of the dream was his arrival at Sheep Camp. He + stumbled into a saloon, slid his shoulders out of the straps, and started + to deposit the grip at his feet. But it slipped from his fingers and + struck the floor with a heavy thud that was not unnoticed by two men who + were just leaving. Churchill drank a glass of whiskey, told the barkeeper + to call him in ten minutes, and sat down, his feet on the grip, his head + on his knees. + </p> + <p> + So badly did his misused body stiffen, that when he was called it required + another ten minutes and a second glass of whiskey to unbend his joints and + limber up the muscles. + </p> + <p> + "Hey! not that way!" the barkeeper shouted, and then went after him and + started him through the darkness toward Canyon City. Some little husk of + inner consciousness told Churchill that the direction was right, and, + still as in a dream, he took the canyon trail. He did not know what warned + him, but after what seemed several centuries of travelling, he sensed + danger and drew his revolver. Still in the dream, he saw two men step out + and heard them halt him. His revolver went off four times, and he saw the + flashes and heard the explosions of their revolvers. Also, he was aware + that he had been hit in the thigh. He saw one man go down, and, as the + other came for him, he smashed him a straight blow with the heavy revolver + full in the face. Then he turned and ran. He came from the dream shortly + afterward, to find himself plunging down the trail at a limping lope. His + first thought was for the gripsack. It was still on his back. He was + convinced that what had happened was a dream till he felt for his revolver + and found it gone. Next he became aware of a sharp stinging of his thigh, + and after investigating, he found his hand warm with blood. It was a + superficial wound, but it was incontestable. He became wider awake, and + kept up the lumbering run to Canyon City. + </p> + <p> + He found a man, with a team of horses and a wagon, who got out of bed and + harnessed up for twenty dollars. Churchill crawled in on the wagon-bed and + slept, the gripsack still on his back. It was a rough ride, over + water-washed boulders down the Dyea Valley; but he roused only when the + wagon hit the highest places. Any altitude of his body above the wagon-bed + of less than a foot did not faze him. The last mile was smooth going, and + he slept soundly. + </p> + <p> + He came to in the gray dawn, the driver shaking him savagely and howling + into his ear that the <i>Athenian</i> was gone. Churchill looked blankly + at the deserted harbor. + </p> + <p> + "There's a smoke over at Skaguay," the man said. + </p> + <p> + Churchill's eyes were too swollen to see that far, but he said: "It's she. + Get me a boat." + </p> + <p> + The driver was obliging, and found a skiff and a man to row it for ten + dollars, payment in advance. Churchill paid, and was helped into the + skiff. It was beyond him to get in by himself. It was six miles to + Skaguay, and he had a blissful thought of sleeping those six miles. But + the man did not know how to row, and Churchill took the oars and toiled + for a few more centuries. He never knew six longer and more excruciating + miles. A snappy little breeze blew up the inlet and held him back. He had + a gone feeling at the pit of the stomach, and suffered from faintness and + numbness. At his command, the man took the bailer and threw salt water + into his face. + </p> + <p> + The <i>Athenian's</i> anchor was up-and-down when they came alongside, and + Churchill was at the end of his last remnant of strength. + </p> + <p> + "Stop her! Stop her!" he shouted hoarsely. "Important message! Stop her!" + </p> + <p> + Then he dropped his chin on his chest and slept. "When half a dozen men + started to carry him up the gang-plank, he awoke, reached for the grip, + and clung to it like a drowning man. On deck he became a center of horror + and curiosity. The clothing in which he had left White Horse was + represented by a few rags, and he was as frayed as his clothing. He had + traveled for fifty-five hours at the top notch of endurance. He had slept + six hours in that time, and he was twenty pounds lighter than when he + started. Face and hands and body were scratched and bruised, and he could + scarcely see. He tried to stand up, but failed, sprawling out on the deck, + hanging on to the gripsack, and delivering his message. + </p> + <p> + "Now, put me to bed," he finished; "I'll eat when I wake up." + </p> + <p> + They did him honor, carrying him down in his rags and dirt and depositing + him and Bondell's grip in the bridal chamber, which was the biggest and + most luxurious stateroom in the ship. Twice he slept the clock around, and + he had bathed and shaved and eaten and was leaning over the rail smoking a + cigar when the two hundred pilgrims from White Horse came alongside. + </p> + <p> + By the time the <i>Athenian</i> arrived in Seattle, Churchill had fully + recuperated, and he went ashore with Bondell's grip in his hand. He felt + proud of that grip. To him it stood for achievement and integrity and + trust. "I've delivered the goods," was the way he expressed these various + high terms to himself. It was early in the evening, and he went straight + to Bondell's home. Louis Bondell was glad to see him, shaking hands with + both hands at the same time and dragging him into the house. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, thanks, old man; it was good of you to bring it out," Bondell said + when he received the gripsack. + </p> + <p> + He tossed it carelessly upon a couch, and Churchill noted with an + appreciative eye the rebound of its weight from the springs. Bondell was + volleying him with questions. + </p> + <p> + "How did you make out? How're the boys! What became of Bill Smithers? Is + Del Bishop still with Pierce? Did he sell my dogs? How did Sulphur Bottom + show up? You're looking fine. What steamer did you come out on?" + </p> + <p> + To all of which Churchill gave answer, till half an hour had gone by and + the first lull in the conversation had arrived. + </p> + <p> + "Hadn't you better take a look at it?" he suggested, nodding his head at + the gripsack. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, it's all right," Bondell answered. "Did Mitchell's dump turn out as + much as he expected?" + </p> + <p> + "I think you'd better look at it," Churchill insisted. "When I deliver a + thing, I want to be satisfied that it's all right. There's always the + chance that somebody might have got into it when I was asleep, or + something." + </p> + <p> + "It's nothing important, old man," Bondell answered, with a laugh. + </p> + <p> + "Nothing important," Churchill echoed in a faint, small voice. Then he + spoke with decision: "Louis, what's in that bag? I want to know." + </p> + <p> + Louis looked at him curiously, then left the room and returned with a + bunch of keys. He inserted his hand and drew out a heavy .44 Colt's + revolver. Next came out a few boxes of ammunition for the revolver and + several boxes of Winchester cartridges. + </p> + <p> + Churchill took the gripsack and looked into it. Then he turned it upside + down and shook it gently. + </p> + <p> + "The gun's all rusted," Bondell said. "Must have been out in the rain." + </p> + <p> + "Yes," Churchill answered. "Too bad it got wet. I guess I was a bit + careless." + </p> + <p> + He got up and went outside. Ten minutes later Louis Bondell went out and + found him on the steps, sitting down, elbows on knees and chin on hands, + gazing steadfastly out into the darkness. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ALL GOLD CANYON + </h2> + <p> + It was the green heart of the canyon, where the walls swerved back from + the rigid plan and relieved their harshness of line by making a little + sheltered nook and filling it to the brim with sweetness and roundness and + softness. Here all things rested. Even the narrow stream ceased its + turbulent down-rush long enough to form a quiet pool. Knee-deep in the + water, with drooping head and half-shut eyes, drowsed a red-coated, + many-antlered buck. + </p> + <p> + On one side, beginning at the very lip of the pool, was a tiny meadow, a + cool, resilient surface of green that extended to the base of the frowning + wall. Beyond the pool a gentle slope of earth ran up and up to meet the + opposing wall. Fine grass covered the slope—grass that was spangled + with flowers, with here and there patches of color, orange and purple and + golden. Below, the canyon was shut in. There was no view. The walls leaned + together abruptly and the canyon ended in a chaos of rocks, moss-covered + and hidden by a green screen of vines and creepers and boughs of trees. Up + the canyon rose far hills and peaks, the big foothills, pine-covered and + remote. And far beyond, like clouds upon the border of the sky, towered + minarets of white, where the Sierra's eternal snows flashed austerely the + blazes of the sun. + </p> + <p> + There was no dust in the canyon. The leaves and flowers were clean and + virginal. The grass was young velvet. Over the pool three cottonwoods sent + their snowy fluffs fluttering down the quiet air. On the slope the + blossoms of the wine-wooded manzanita filled the air with springtime + odors, while the leaves, wise with experience, were already beginning + their vertical twist against the coming aridity of summer. In the open + spaces on the slope, beyond the farthest shadow-reach of the manzanita, + poised the mariposa lilies, like so many flights of jewelled moths + suddenly arrested and on the verge of trembling into flight again. Here + and there that woods harlequin, the madrone, permitting itself to be + caught in the act of changing its pea-green trunk to madder-red, breathed + its fragrance into the air from great clusters of waxen bells. Creamy + white were these bells, shaped like lilies-of-the-valley, with the + sweetness of perfume that is of the springtime. + </p> + <p> + There was not a sigh of wind. The air was drowsy with its weight of + perfume. It was a sweetness that would have been cloying had the air been + heavy and humid. But the air was sharp and thin. It was as starlight + transmuted into atmosphere, shot through and warmed by sunshine, and + flower-drenched with sweetness. + </p> + <p> + An occasional butterfly drifted in and out through the patches of light + and shade. And from all about rose the low and sleepy hum of mountain bees—feasting + Sybarites that jostled one another good-naturedly at the board, nor found + time for rough discourtesy. So quietly did the little stream drip and + ripple its way through the canyon that it spoke only in faint and + occasional gurgles. The voice of the stream was as a drowsy whisper, ever + interrupted by dozings and silences, ever lifted again in the awakenings. + </p> + <p> + The motion of all things was a drifting in the heart of the canyon. + Sunshine and butterflies drifted in and out among the trees. The hum of + the bees and the whisper of the stream were a drifting of sound. And the + drifting sound and drifting color seemed to weave together in the making + of a delicate and intangible fabric which was the spirit of the place. It + was a spirit of peace that was not of death, but of smooth-pulsing life, + of quietude that was not silence, of movement that was not action, of + repose that was quick with existence without being violent with struggle + and travail. The spirit of the place was the spirit of the peace of the + living, somnolent with the easement and content of prosperity, and + undisturbed by rumors of far wars. + </p> + <p> + The red-coated, many-antlered buck acknowledged the lordship of the spirit + of the place and dozed knee-deep in the cool, shaded pool. There seemed no + flies to vex him and he was languid with rest. Sometimes his ears moved + when the stream awoke and whispered; but they moved lazily, with + foreknowledge that it was merely the stream grown garrulous at discovery + that it had slept. + </p> + <p> + But there came a time when the buck's ears lifted and tensed with swift + eagerness for sound. His head was turned down the canyon. His sensitive, + quivering nostrils scented the air. His eyes could not pierce the green + screen through which the stream rippled away, but to his ears came the + voice of a man. It was a steady, monotonous, singsong voice. Once the buck + heard the harsh clash of metal upon rock. At the sound he snorted with a + sudden start that jerked him through the air from water to meadow, and his + feet sank into the young velvet, while he pricked his ears and again + scented the air. Then he stole across the tiny meadow, pausing once and + again to listen, and faded away out of the canyon like a wraith, + soft-footed and without sound. + </p> + <p> + The clash of steel-shod soles against the rocks began to be heard, and the + man's voice grew louder. It was raised in a sort of chant and became + distinct with nearness, so that the words could be heard: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Tu'n around an' tu'n yo' face + Untoe them sweet hills of grace + (D' pow'rs of sin yo' am scornin'!). + Look about an' look aroun' + Fling yo' sin-pack on d' groun' + (Yo' will meet wid d' Lord in d' mornin'!)." +</pre> + <p> + 'A sound of scrambling accompanied the song, and the spirit of the place + fled away on the heels of the red-coated buck. The green screen was burst + asunder, and a man peered out at the meadow and the pool and the sloping + side-hill. He was a deliberate sort of man. He took in the scene with one + embracing glance, then ran his eyes over the details to verify the general + impression. Then, and not until then, did he open his mouth in vivid and + solemn approval: + </p> + <p> + "Smoke of life an' snakes of purgatory! Will you just look at that! Wood + an' water an' grass an' a side-hill! A pocket-hunter's delight an' a + cayuse's paradise! Cool green for tired eyes! Pink pills for pale people + ain't in it. A secret pasture for prospectors and a resting-place for + tired burros. It's just booful!" + </p> + <p> + He was a sandy-complexioned man in whose face geniality and humor seemed + the salient characteristics. It was a mobile face, quick-changing to + inward mood and thought. Thinking was in him a visible process. Ideas + chased across his face like wind-flaws across the surface of a lake. His + hair, sparse and unkempt of growth, was as indeterminate and colorless as + his complexion. It would seem that all the color of his frame had gone + into his eyes, for they were startlingly blue. Also, they were laughing + and merry eyes, within them much of the naiveté and wonder of the child; + and yet, in an unassertive way, they contained much of calm self-reliance + and strength of purpose founded upon self-experience and experience of the + world. + </p> + <p> + From out the screen of vines and creepers he flung ahead of him a miner's + pick and shovel and gold-pan. Then he crawled out himself into the open. + He was clad in faded overalls and black cotton shirt, with hobnailed + brogans on his feet, and on his head a hat whose shapelessness and stains + advertised the rough usage of wind and rain and sun and camp-smoke. He + stood erect, seeing wide-eyed the secrecy of the scene and sensuously + inhaling the warm, sweet breath of the canyon-garden through nostrils that + dilated and quivered with delight. His eyes narrowed to laughing slits of + blue, his face wreathed itself in joy, and his mouth curled in a smile as + he cried aloud: + </p> + <p> + "Jumping dandelions and happy hollyhocks, but that smells good to me! Talk + about your attar o' roses an' cologne factories! They ain't in it!" + </p> + <p> + He had the habit of soliloquy. His quick-changing facial expressions might + tell every thought and mood, but the tongue, perforce, ran hard after, + repeating, like a second Boswell. + </p> + <p> + The man lay down on the lip of the pool and drank long and deep of its + water. "Tastes good to me," he murmured, lifting his head and gazing + across the pool at the side-hill, while he wiped his mouth with the back + of his hand. The side-hill attracted his attention. Still lying on his + stomach, he studied the hill formation long and carefully. It was a + practised eye that traveled up the slope to the crumbling canyon-wall and + back and down again to the edge of the pool. He scrambled to his feet and + favored the side-hill with a second survey. + </p> + <p> + "Looks good to me," he concluded, picking up his pick and shovel and + gold-pan. + </p> + <p> + He crossed the stream below the pool, stepping agilely from stone to + stone. Where the side-hill touched the water he dug up a shovelful of dirt + and put it into the gold-pan. He squatted down, holding the pan in his two + hands, and partly immersing it in the stream. Then he imparted to the pan + a deft circular motion that sent the water sluicing in and out through the + dirt and gravel. The larger and the lighter particles worked to the + surface, and these, by a skilful dipping movement of the pan, he spilled + out and over the edge. Occasionally, to expedite matters, he rested the + pan and with his fingers raked out the large pebbles and pieces of rock. + </p> + <p> + The contents of the pan diminished rapidly until only fine dirt and the + smallest bits of gravel remained. At this stage he began to work very + deliberately and carefully. It was fine washing, and he washed fine and + finer, with a keen scrutiny and delicate and fastidious touch. At last the + pan seemed empty of everything but water; but with a quick semi-circular + flirt that sent the water flying over the shallow rim into the stream, he + disclosed a layer of black sand on the bottom of the pan. So thin was this + layer that it was like a streak of paint. He examined it closely. In the + midst of it was a tiny golden speck. He dribbled a little water in over + the depressed edge of the pan. With a quick flirt he sent the water + sluicing across the bottom, turning the grains of black sand over and + over. A second tiny golden speck rewarded his effort. + </p> + <p> + The washing had now become very fine—fine beyond all need of + ordinary placer-mining. He worked the black sand, a small portion at a + time, up the shallow rim of the pan. Each small portion he examined + sharply, so that his eyes saw every grain of it before he allowed it to + slide over the edge and away. Jealously, bit by bit, he let the black sand + slip away. A golden speck, no larger than a pin-point, appeared on the + rim, and by his manipulation of the water it returned to the bottom of the + pan. And in such fashion another speck was disclosed, and another. Great + was his care of them. Like a shepherd he herded his flock of golden specks + so that not one should be lost. At last, of the pan of dirt nothing + remained but his golden herd. He counted it, and then, after all his + labor, sent it flying out of the pan with one final swirl of water. + </p> + <p> + But his blue eyes were shining with desire as he rose to his feet. + "Seven," he muttered aloud, asserting the sum of the specks for which he + had toiled so hard and which he had so wantonly thrown away. "Seven," he + repeated, with the emphasis of one trying to impress a number on his + memory. + </p> + <p> + He stood still a long while, surveying the hillside. In his eyes was a + curiosity, new-aroused and burning. There was an exultance about his + bearing and a keenness like that of a hunting animal catching the fresh + scent of game. + </p> + <p> + He moved down the stream a few steps and took a second panful of dirt. + </p> + <p> + Again came the careful washing, the jealous herding of the golden specks, + and the wantonness with which he sent them flying into the stream. + </p> + <p> + "Five," he muttered, and repeated, "five." + </p> + <p> + He could not forbear another survey of the hill before filling the pan + farther down the stream. His golden herds diminished. "Four, three, two, + two, one," were his memory tabulations as he moved down the stream. When + but one speck of gold rewarded his washing, he stopped and built a fire of + dry twigs. Into this he thrust the gold-pan and burned it till it was + blue-black. He held up the pan and examined it critically. Then he nodded + approbation. Against such a color-background he could defy the tiniest + yellow speck to elude him. + </p> + <p> + Still moving down the stream, he panned again. A single speck was his + reward. A third pan contained no gold at all. Not satisfied with this, he + panned three times again, taking his shovels of dirt within a foot of one + another. Each pan proved empty of gold, and the fact, instead of + discouraging him, seemed to give him satisfaction. His elation increased + with each barren washing, until he arose, exclaiming jubilantly: + </p> + <p> + "If it ain't the real thing, may God knock off my head with sour apples!" + </p> + <p> + Returning to where he had started operations, he began to pan up the + stream. At first his golden herds increased—increased prodigiously. + "Fourteen, eighteen, twenty-one, twenty-six," ran his memory tabulations. + Just above the pool he struck his richest pan—thirty-five colors. + </p> + <p> + "Almost enough to save," he remarked regretfully as he allowed the water + to sweep them away. + </p> + <p> + The sun climbed to the top of the sky. The man worked on. Pan by pan, he + went up the stream, the tally of results steadily decreasing. + </p> + <p> + "It's just booful, the way it peters out," he exulted when a shovelful of + dirt contained no more than a single speck of gold. And when no specks at + all were found in several pans, he straightened up and favored the + hillside with a confident glance. + </p> + <p> + "Ah, ha! Mr. Pocket!" he cried out, as though to an auditor hidden + somewhere above him beneath the surface of the slope. "Ah, ha! Mr. Pocket! + I'm a-comin', I'm a-comin', an' I'm shorely gwine to get yer! You heah me, + Mr. Pocket? I'm gwine to get yer as shore as punkins ain't cauliflowers!" + </p> + <p> + He turned and flung a measuring glance at the sun poised above him in the + azure of the cloudless sky. Then he went down the canyon, following the + line of shovel-holes he had made in filling the pans. He crossed the + stream below the pool and disappeared through the green screen. There was + little opportunity for the spirit of the place to return with its quietude + and repose, for the man's voice, raised in ragtime song, still dominated + the canyon with possession. + </p> + <p> + After a time, with a greater clashing of steel-shod feet on rock, he + returned. The green screen was tremendously agitated. It surged back and + forth in the throes of a struggle. There was a loud grating and clanging + of metal. The man's voice leaped to a higher pitch and was sharp with + imperativeness. A large body plunged and panted. There was a snapping and + ripping and rending, and amid a shower of falling leaves a horse burst + through the screen. On its back was a pack, and from this trailed broken + vines and torn creepers. The animal gazed with astonished eyes at the + scene into which it had been precipitated, then dropped its head to the + grass and began contentedly to graze. A second horse scrambled into view, + slipping once on the mossy rocks and regaining equilibrium when its hoofs + sank into the yielding surface of the meadow. It was riderless, though on + its back was a high-horned Mexican saddle, scarred and discolored by long + usage. + </p> + <p> + The man brought up the rear. He threw off pack and saddle, with an eye to + camp location, and gave the animals their freedom to graze. He unpacked + his food and got out frying-pan and coffee-pot. He gathered an armful of + dry wood, and with a few stones made a place for his fire. + </p> + <p> + "My!" he said, "but I've got an appetite. I could scoff iron-filings an' + horseshoe nails an' thank you kindly, ma'am, for a second helpin'." + </p> + <p> + He straightened up, and, while he reached for matches in the pocket of his + overalls, his eyes traveled across the pool to the side-hill. His fingers + had clutched the match-box, but they relaxed their hold and the hand came + out empty. The man wavered perceptibly. He looked at his preparations for + cooking and he looked at the hill. + </p> + <p> + "Guess I'll take another whack at her," he concluded, starting to cross + the stream. + </p> + <p> + "They ain't no sense in it, I know," he mumbled apologetically. "But + keepin' grub back an hour ain't go in' to hurt none, I reckon." + </p> + <p> + A few feet back from his first line of test-pans he started a second line. + The sun dropped down the western sky, the shadows lengthened, but the man + worked on. He began a third line of test-pans. He was cross-cutting the + hillside, line by line, as he ascended. The center of each line produced + the richest pans, while the ends came where no colors showed in the pan. + And as he ascended the hillside the lines grew perceptibly shorter. The + regularity with which their length diminished served to indicate that + somewhere up the slope the last line would be so short as to have scarcely + length at all, and that beyond could come only a point. The design was + growing into an inverted "V." The converging sides of this "V" marked the + boundaries of the gold-bearing dirt. + </p> + <p> + The apex of the "V" was evidently the man's goal. Often he ran his eye + along the converging sides and on up the hill, trying to divine the apex, + the point where the gold-bearing dirt must cease. Here resided "Mr. + Pocket"—for so the man familiarly addressed the imaginary point + above him on the slope, crying out: + </p> + <p> + "Come down out o' that, Mr. Pocket! Be right smart an' agreeable, an' come + down!" + </p> + <p> + "All right," he would add later, in a voice resigned to determination. + "All right, Mr. Pocket. It's plain to me I got to come right up an' snatch + you out bald-headed. An' I'll do it! I'll do it!" he would threaten still + later. + </p> + <p> + Each pan he carried down to the water to wash, and as he went higher up + the hill the pans grew richer, until he began to save the gold in an empty + baking powder can which he carried carelessly in his hip-pocket. So + engrossed was he in his toil that he did not notice the long twilight of + oncoming night. It was not until he tried vainly to see the gold colors in + the bottom of the pan that he realized the passage of time. He + straightened up abruptly. An expression of whimsical wonderment and awe + overspread his face as he drawled: + </p> + <p> + "Gosh darn my buttons! if I didn't plumb forget dinner!" + </p> + <p> + He stumbled across the stream in the darkness and lighted his long-delayed + fire. Flapjacks and bacon and warmed-over beans constituted his supper. + Then he smoked a pipe by the smouldering coals, listening to the night + noises and watching the moonlight stream through the canyon. After that he + unrolled his bed, took off his heavy shoes, and pulled the blankets up to + his chin. His face showed white in the moonlight, like the face of a + corpse. But it was a corpse that knew its resurrection, for the man rose + suddenly on one elbow and gazed across at his hillside. + </p> + <p> + "Good night, Mr. Pocket," he called sleepily. "Goodnight." + </p> + <p> + He slept through the early gray of morning until the direct rays of the + sun smote his closed eyelids, when he awoke with a start and looked about + him until he had established the continuity of his existence and + identified his present self with the days previously lived. + </p> + <p> + To dress, he had merely to buckle on his shoes. He glanced at his + fireplace and at his hillside, wavered, but fought down the temptation and + started the fire. + </p> + <p> + "Keep yer shirt on, Bill; keep yer shirt on," he admonished himself. + "What's the good of rushin'? No use in gettin' all het up an' sweaty. Mr. + Pocket'll wait for you. He ain't a-runnin' away before you can get your + breakfast. Now, what you want, Bill, is something fresh in yer bill o' + fare. So it's up to you to go an' get it." + </p> + <p> + He cut a short pole at the water's edge and drew from one of his pockets a + bit of line and a draggled fly that had once been a royal coachman. + </p> + <p> + "Mebbe they'll bite in the early morning," he muttered, as he made his + first cast into the pool. And a moment later he was gleefully crying: + "What'd I tell you, eh? What'd I tell you?" + </p> + <p> + He had no reel, nor any inclination to waste time, and by main strength, + and swiftly, he drew out of the water a flashing ten-inch trout. Three + more, caught in rapid succession, furnished his breakfast. When he came to + the stepping-stones on his way to his hillside, he was struck by a sudden + thought, and paused. + </p> + <p> + "I'd just better take a hike down-stream a ways," he said. "There's no + tellin' who may be snoopin' around." + </p> + <p> + But he crossed over on the stones, and with a "I really oughter take that + hike," the need of the precaution passed out of his mind and he fell to + work. + </p> + <p> + At nightfall he straightened up. The small of his back was stiff from + stooping toil, and as he put his hand behind him to soothe the protesting + muscles, he said: + </p> + <p> + "Now what d'ye think of that? I clean forgot my dinner again! If I don't + watch out, I'll sure be degeneratin' into a two-meal-a-day crank." + </p> + <p> + "Pockets is the hangedest things I ever see for makin' a man + absent-minded," he communed that night, as he crawled into his blankets. + Nor did he forget to call up the hillside, "Good night, Mr. Pocket! Good + night!" + </p> + <p> + Rising with the sun, and snatching a hasty breakfast, he was early at + work. A fever seemed to be growing in him, nor did the increasing richness + of the test-pans allay this fever. There was a flush in his cheek other + than that made by the heat of the sun, and he was oblivious to fatigue and + the passage of time. When he filled a pan with dirt, he ran down the hill + to wash it; nor could he forbear running up the hill again, panting and + stumbling profanely, to refill the pan. + </p> + <p> + He was now a hundred yards from the water, and the inverted "V" was + assuming definite proportions. The width of the pay-dirt steadily + decreased, and the man extended in his mind's eye the sides of the "V" to + their meeting place far up the hill. This was his goal, the apex of the + "V," and he panned many times to locate it. + </p> + <p> + "Just about two yards above that manzanita bush an' a yard to the right," + he finally concluded. + </p> + <p> + Then the temptation seized him. "As plain as the nose on your face," he + said, as he abandoned his laborious cross-cutting and climbed to the + indicated apex. He filled a pan and carried it down the hill to wash. It + contained no trace of gold. He dug deep, and he dug shallow, filling and + washing a dozen pans, and was unrewarded even by the tiniest golden speck. + He was enraged at having yielded to the temptation, and berated himself + blasphemously and pridelessly. Then he went down the hill and took up the + cross-cutting. + </p> + <p> + "Slow an' certain, Bill; slow an' certain," he crooned. "Short-cuts to + fortune ain't in your line, an' it's about time you know it. Get wise, + Bill; get wise. Slow an' certain's the only hand you can play; so go to + it, an' keep to it, too." + </p> + <p> + As the cross-cuts decreased, showing that the sides of the "V" were + converging, the depth of the "V" increased. The gold-trace was dipping + into the hill. It was only at thirty inches beneath the surface that he + could get colors in his pan. The dirt he found at twenty-five inches from + the surface, and at thirty-five inches yielded barren pans. At the base of + the "V," by the water's edge, he had found the gold colors at the grass + roots. The higher he went up the hill, the deeper the gold dipped. To dig + a hole three feet deep in order to get one test-pan was a task of no mean + magnitude; while between the man and the apex intervened an untold number + of such holes to be dug. "An' there's no tellin' how much deeper it'll + pitch," he sighed, in a moment's pause, while his fingers soothed his + aching back. + </p> + <p> + Feverish with desire, with aching back and stiffening muscles, with pick + and shovel gouging and mauling the soft brown earth, the man toiled up the + hill. Before him was the smooth slope, spangled with flowers and made + sweet with their breath. Behind him was devastation. It looked like some + terrible eruption breaking out on the smooth skin of the hill. His slow + progress was like that of a slug, befouling beauty with a monstrous trail. + </p> + <p> + Though the dipping gold-trace increased the man's work, he found + consolation in the increasing richness of the pans. Twenty cents, thirty + cents, fifty cents, sixty cents, were the values of the gold found in the + pans, and at nightfall he washed his banner pan, which gave him a dollar's + worth of gold-dust from a shovelful of dirt. + </p> + <p> + "I'll just bet it's my luck to have some inquisitive one come buttin' in + here on my pasture," he mumbled sleepily that night as he pulled the + blankets up to his chin. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he sat upright. "Bill!" he called sharply. "Now, listen to me, + Bill; d'ye hear! It's up to you, to-morrow mornin', to mosey round an' see + what you can see. Understand? To-morrow morning, an' don't you forget it!" + </p> + <p> + He yawned and glanced across at his side-hill. "Good night, Mr. Pocket," + he called. + </p> + <p> + In the morning he stole a march on the sun, for he had finished breakfast + when its first rays caught him, and he was climbing the wall of the canyon + where it crumbled away and gave footing. From the outlook at the top he + found himself in the midst of loneliness. As far as he could see, chain + after chain of mountains heaved themselves into his vision. To the east + his eyes, leaping the miles between range and range and between many + ranges, brought up at last against the white-peaked Sierras—the main + crest, where the backbone of the Western world reared itself against the + sky. To the north and south he could see more distinctly the cross-systems + that broke through the main trend of the sea of mountains. To the west the + ranges fell away, one behind the other, diminishing and fading into the + gentle foothills that, in turn, descended into the great valley which he + could not see. + </p> + <p> + And in all that mighty sweep of earth he saw no sign of man nor of the + handiwork of man—save only the torn bosom of the hillside at his + feet. The man looked long and carefully. Once, far down his own canyon, he + thought he saw in the air a faint hint of smoke. He looked again and + decided that it was the purple haze of the hills made dark by a + convolution of the canyon wall at its back. + </p> + <p> + "Hey, you, Mr. Pocket!" he called down into the canyon. "Stand out from + under! I'm a-comin', Mr. Pocket! I'm a-comin'!" + </p> + <p> + The heavy brogans on the man's feet made him appear clumsy-footed, but he + swung down from the giddy height as lightly and airily as a mountain goat. + A rock, turning under his foot on the edge of the precipice, did not + disconcert him. He seemed to know the precise time required for the turn + to culminate in disaster, and in the meantime he utilized the false + footing itself for the momentary earth-contact necessary to carry him on + into safety. Where the earth sloped so steeply that it was impossible to + stand for a second upright, the man did not hesitate. His foot pressed the + impossible surface for but a fraction of the fatal second and gave him the + bound that carried him onward. Again, where even the fraction of a + second's footing was out of the question, he would swing his body past by + a moment's hand-grip on a jutting knob of rock, a crevice, or a + precariously rooted shrub. At last, with a wild leap and yell, he + exchanged the face of the wall for an earth-slide and finished the descent + in the midst of several tons of sliding earth and gravel. + </p> + <p> + His first pan of the morning washed out over two dollars in coarse gold. + It was from the centre of the "V." To either side the diminution in the + values of the pans was swift. His lines of cross-cutting holes were + growing very short. The converging sides of the inverted "V" were only a + few yards apart. Their meeting-point was only a few yards above him. But + the pay-streak was dipping deeper and deeper into the earth. By early + afternoon he was sinking the test-holes five feet before the pans could + show the gold-trace. + </p> + <p> + For that matter, the gold-trace had become something more than a trace; it + was a placer mine in itself, and the man resolved to come back after he + had found the pocket and work over the ground. But the increasing richness + of the pans began to worry him. By late afternoon the worth of the pans + had grown to three and four dollars. The man scratched his head + perplexedly and looked a few feet up the hill at the manzanita bush that + marked approximately the apex of the "V." He nodded his head and said + oracularly: + </p> + <p> + "It's one o' two things, Bill: one o' two things. Either Mr. Pocket's + spilled himself all out an' down the hill, or else Mr. Pocket's so rich + you maybe won't be able to carry him all away with you. And that'd be an + awful shame, wouldn't it, now?" He chuckled at contemplation of so + pleasant a dilemma. + </p> + <p> + Nightfall found him by the edge of the stream, his eyes wrestling with the + gathering darkness over the washing of a five-dollar pan. + </p> + <p> + "Wisht I had an electric light to go on working," he said. + </p> + <p> + He found sleep difficult that night. Many times he composed himself and + closed his eyes for slumber to overtake him; but his blood pounded with + too strong desire, and as many times his eyes opened and he murmured + wearily, "Wisht it was sun-up." + </p> + <p> + Sleep came to him in the end, but his eyes were open with the first paling + of the stars, and the gray of dawn caught him with breakfast finished and + climbing the hillside in the direction of the secret abiding-place of Mr. + Pocket. + </p> + <p> + The first cross-cut the man made, there was space for only three holes, so + narrow had become the pay-streak and so close was he to the fountainhead + of the golden stream he had been following for four days. + </p> + <p> + "Be ca'm, Bill; be ca'm," he admonished himself, as he broke ground for + the final hole where the sides of the "V" had at last come together in a + point. + </p> + <p> + "I've got the almighty cinch on you, Mr. Pocket, an' you can't lose me," + he said many times as he sank the hole deeper and deeper. + </p> + <p> + Four feet, five feet, six feet, he dug his way down into the earth. The + digging grew harder. His pick grated on broken rock. He examined the rock. + "Rotten quartz," was his conclusion as, with the shovel, he cleared the + bottom of the hole of loose dirt. He attacked the crumbling quartz with + the pick, bursting the disintegrating rock asunder with every stroke. + </p> + <p> + He thrust his shovel into the loose mass. His eye caught a gleam of + yellow. He dropped the shovel and squatted suddenly on his heels. As a + farmer rubs the clinging earth from fresh-dug potatoes, so the man, a + piece of rotten quartz held in both hands, rubbed the dirt away. + </p> + <p> + "Sufferin' Sardanopolis!" he cried. "Lumps an' chunks of it! Lumps an' + chunks of it!" + </p> + <p> + It was only half rock he held in his hand. The other half was virgin gold. + He dropped it into his pan and examined another piece. Little yellow was + to be seen, but with his strong fingers he crumbled the rotten quartz away + till both hands were filled with glowing yellow. He rubbed the dirt away + from fragment after fragment, tossing them into the gold-pan. It was a + treasure-hole. So much had the quartz rotted away that there was less of + it than there was of gold. Now and again he found a piece to which no rock + clung—a piece that was all gold. A chunk, where the pick had laid + open the heart of the gold, glittered like a handful of yellow jewels, and + he cocked his head at it and slowly turned it around and over to observe + the rich play of the light upon it. + </p> + <p> + "Talk about yer Too Much Gold diggin's!" the man snorted contemptuously. + "Why, this diggin' 'd make it look like thirty cents. This diggin' is All + Gold. An' right here an' now I name this yere canyon 'All Gold Canyon,' b' + gosh!" + </p> + <p> + Still squatting on his heels, he continued examining the fragments and + tossing them into the pan. Suddenly there came to him a premonition of + danger. It seemed a shadow had fallen upon him. But there was no shadow. + His heart had given a great jump up into his throat and was choking him. + Then his blood slowly chilled and he felt the sweat of his shirt cold + against his flesh. + </p> + <p> + He did not spring up nor look around. He did not move. He was considering + the nature of the premonition he had received, trying to locate the source + of the mysterious force that had warned him, striving to sense the + imperative presence of the unseen thing that threatened him. There is an + aura of things hostile, made manifest by messengers too refined for the + senses to know; and this aura he felt, but knew not how he felt it. His + was the feeling as when a cloud passes over the sun. It seemed that + between him and life had passed something dark and smothering and + menacing; a gloom, as it were, that swallowed up life and made for death—his + death. + </p> + <p> + Every force of his being impelled him to spring up and confront the unseen + danger, but his soul dominated the panic, and he remained squatting on his + heels, in his hands a chunk of gold. He did not dare to look around, but + he knew by now that there was something behind him and above him. He made + believe to be interested in the gold in his hand. He examined it + critically, turned it over and over, and rubbed the dirt from it. And all + the time he knew that something behind him was looking at the gold over + his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + Still feigning interest in the chunk of gold in his hand, he listened + intently and he heard the breathing of the thing behind him. His eyes + searched the ground in front of him for a weapon, but they saw only the + uprooted gold, worthless to him now in his extremity. There was his pick, + a handy weapon on occasion; but this was not such an occasion. The man + realized his predicament. He was in a narrow hole that was seven feet + deep. His head did not come to the surface of the ground. He was in a + trap. + </p> + <p> + He remained squatting on his heels. He was quite cool and collected; but + his mind, considering every factor, showed him only his helplessness. He + continued rubbing the dirt from the quartz fragments and throwing the gold + into the pan. There was nothing else for him to do. Yet he knew that he + would have to rise up, sooner or later, and face the danger that breathed + at his back. The minutes passed, and with the passage of each minute he + knew that by so much he was nearer the time when he must stand up, or else—and + his wet shirt went cold against his flesh again at the thought—or + else he might receive death as he stooped there over his treasure. + </p> + <p> + Still he squatted on his heels, rubbing dirt from gold and debating in + just what manner he should rise up. He might rise up with a rush and claw + his way out of the hole to meet whatever threatened on the even footing + above ground. Or he might rise up slowly and carelessly, and feign + casually to discover the thing that breathed at his back. His instinct and + every fighting fibre of his body favored the mad, clawing rush to the + surface. His intellect, and the craft thereof, favored the slow and + cautious meeting with the thing that menaced and which he could not see. + And while he debated, a loud, crashing noise burst on his ear. At the same + instant he received a stunning blow on the left side of the back, and from + the point of impact felt a rush of flame through his flesh. He sprang up + in the air, but halfway to his feet collapsed. His body crumpled in like a + leaf withered in sudden heat, and he came down, his chest across his pan + of gold, his face in the dirt and rock, his legs tangled and twisted + because of the restricted space at the bottom of the hole. His legs + twitched convulsively several times. His body was shaken as with a mighty + ague. There was a slow expansion of the lungs, accompanied by a deep sigh. + Then the air was slowly, very slowly, exhaled, and his body as slowly + flattened itself down into inertness. + </p> + <p> + Above, revolver in hand, a man was peering down over the edge of the hole. + He peered for a long time at the prone and motionless body beneath him. + After a while the stranger sat down on the edge of the hole so that he + could see into it, and rested the revolver on his knee. Reaching his hand + into a pocket, he drew out a wisp of brown paper. Into this he dropped a + few crumbs of tobacco. The combination became a cigarette, brown and + squat, with the ends turned in. Not once did he take his eyes from the + body at the bottom of the hole. He lighted the cigarette and drew its + smoke into his lungs with a caressing intake of the breath. He smoked + slowly. Once the cigarette went out and he relighted it. And all the while + he studied the body beneath him. + </p> + <p> + In the end he tossed the cigarette stub away and rose to his feet. He + moved to the edge of the hole. Spanning it, a hand resting on each edge, + and with the revolver still in the right hand, he muscled his body down + into the hole. While his feet were yet a yard from the bottom he released + his hands and dropped down. + </p> + <p> + At the instant his feet struck bottom he saw the pocket-miner's arm leap + out, and his own legs knew a swift, jerking grip that overthrew him. In + the nature of the jump his revolver hand was above his head. Swiftly as + the grip had flashed about his legs, just as swiftly he brought the + revolver down. He was still in the air, his fall in process of completion, + when he pulled the trigger. The explosion was deafening in the confined + space. The smoke filled the hole so that he could see nothing. He struck + the bottom on his back, and like a cat's the pocket-miner's body was on + top of him. Even as the miner's body passed on top, the stranger crooked + in his right arm to fire; and even in that instant the miner, with a quick + thrust of elbow, struck his wrist. The muzzle was thrown up and the bullet + thudded into the dirt of the side of the hole. + </p> + <p> + The next instant the stranger felt the miner's hand grip his wrist. The + struggle was now for the revolver. Each man strove to turn it against the + other's body. The smoke in the hole was clearing. The stranger, lying on + his back, was beginning to see dimly. But suddenly he was blinded by a + handful of dirt deliberately flung into his eyes by his antagonist. In + that moment of shock his grip on the revolver was broken. In the next + moment he felt a smashing darkness descend upon his brain, and in the + midst of the darkness even the darkness ceased. + </p> + <p> + But the pocket-miner fired again and again, until the revolver was empty. + Then he tossed it from him and, breathing heavily, sat down on the dead + man's legs. + </p> + <p> + The miner was sobbing and struggling for breath. "Measly skunk!" he + panted; "a-campin' on my trail an' lettin' me do the work, an' then + shootin' me in the back!" + </p> + <p> + He was half crying from anger and exhaustion. He peered at the face of the + dead man. It was sprinkled with loose dirt and gravel, and it was + difficult to distinguish the features. + </p> + <p> + "Never laid eyes on him before," the miner concluded his scrutiny. "Just a + common an' ordinary thief, hang him! An' he shot me in the back! He shot + me in the back!" + </p> + <p> + He opened his shirt and felt himself, front and back, on his left side. + </p> + <p> + "Went clean through, and no harm done!" he cried jubilantly. "I'll bet he + aimed all right all right; but he drew the gun over when he pulled the + trigger—the cur! But I fixed 'm! Oh, I fixed 'm!" + </p> + <p> + His fingers were investigating the bullet-hole in his side, and a shade of + regret passed over his face. "It's goin' to be stiffer'n hell," he said. + "An' it's up to me to get mended an' get out o'here." + </p> + <p> + He crawled out of the hole and went down the hill to his camp. Half an + hour later he returned, leading his pack-horse. His open shirt disclosed + the rude bandages with which he had dressed his wound. He was slow and + awkward with his left-hand movements, but that did not prevent his using + the arm. + </p> + <p> + The bight of the pack-rope under the dead man's shoulders enabled him to + heave the body out of the hole. Then he set to work gathering up his gold. + He worked steadily for several hours, pausing often to rest his stiffening + shoulder and to exclaim: + </p> + <p> + "He shot me in the back, the measly skunk! He shot me in the back!" + </p> + <p> + When his treasure was quite cleaned up and wrapped securely into a number + of blanket-covered parcels, he made an estimate of its value. + </p> + <p> + "Four hundred pounds, or I'm a Hottentot," he concluded. "Say two hundred + in quartz an' dirt—that leaves two hundred pounds of gold. Bill! + Wake up! Two hundred pounds of gold! Forty thousand dollars! An' it's + yourn—all yourn!" + </p> + <p> + He scratched his head delightedly and his fingers blundered into an + unfamiliar groove. They quested along it for several inches. It was a + crease through his scalp where the second bullet had ploughed. + </p> + <p> + He walked angrily over to the dead man. + </p> + <p> + "You would, would you!" he bullied. "You would, eh? Well, I fixed you good + an' plenty, an' I'll give you decent burial, too. That's more'n you'd have + done for me." + </p> + <p> + He dragged the body to the edge of the hole and toppled it in. It struck + the bottom with a dull crash, on its side, the face twisted up to the + light. The miner peered down at it. + </p> + <p> + "An' you shot me in the back!" he said accusingly. + </p> + <p> + With pick and shovel he filled the hole. Then he loaded the gold on his + horse. It was too great a load for the animal, and when he had gained his + camp he transferred part of it to his saddle-horse. Even so, he was + compelled to abandon a portion of his outfit—pick and shovel and + gold-pan, extra food and cooking utensils, and divers odds and ends. + </p> + <p> + The sun was at the zenith when the man forced the horses at the screen of + vines and creepers. To climb the huge boulders the animals were compelled + to uprear and struggle blindly through the tangled mass of vegetation. + Once the saddle-horse fell heavily and the man removed the pack to get the + animal on its feet. After it started on its way again the man thrust his + head out from among the leaves and peered up at the hillside. + </p> + <p> + "The measly skunk!" he said, and disappeared. + </p> + <p> + There was a ripping and tearing of vines and boughs. The trees surged back + and forth, marking the passage of the animals through the midst of them. + There was a clashing of steel-shod hoofs on stone, and now and again a + sharp cry of command. Then the voice of the man was raised in song:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Tu'n around an' tu'n yo' face + Untoe them sweet hills of grace + (D' pow'rs of sin yo' am scornin'!). + Look about an' look aroun' + Fling yo' sin-pack on d' groun' + (Yo'-will meet wid d' Lord in d' mornin'!)." +</pre> + <p> + The song grew faint and fainter, and through the silence crept back the + spirit of the place. The stream once more drowsed and whispered; the hum + of the mountain bees rose sleepily. Down through the perfume-weighted air + fluttered the snowy fluffs of the cottonwoods. The butterflies drifted in + and out among the trees, and over all blazed the quiet sunshine. Only + remained the hoof-marks in the meadow and the torn hillside to mark the + boisterous trail of the life that had broken the peace of the place and + passed on. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE STORY OF KEESH + </h2> + <p> + Keesh lived long ago on the rim of the polar sea, was head man of his + village through many and prosperous years, and died full of honors with + his name on the lips of men. So long ago did he live that only the old men + remember his name, his name and the tale, which they got from the old men + before them, and which the old men to come will tell to their children and + their children's children down to the end of time. And the winter + darkness, when the north gales make their long sweep across the ice-pack, + and the air is filled with flying white, and no man may venture forth, is + the chosen time for the telling of how Keesh, from the poorest <i>igloo</i> + in the village, rose to power and place over them all. + </p> + <p> + He was a bright boy, so the tale runs, healthy and strong, and he had seen + thirteen suns, in their way of reckoning time. For each winter the sun + leaves the land in darkness, and the next year a new sun returns so that + they may be warm again and look upon one another's faces. The father of + Keesh had been a very brave man, but he had met his death in a time of + famine, when he sought to save the lives of his people by taking the life + of a great polar bear. In his eagerness he came to close grapples with the + bear, and his bones were crushed; but the bear had much meat on him and + the people were saved. Keesh was his only son, and after that Keesh lived + alone with his mother. But the people are prone to forget, and they forgot + the deed of his father; and he being but a boy, and his mother only a + woman, they, too, were swiftly forgotten, and ere long came to live in the + meanest of all the <i>igloos</i>. + </p> + <p> + It was at a council, one night, in the big <i>igloo</i> of Klosh-Kwan, the + chief, that Keesh showed the blood that ran in his veins and the manhood + that stiffened his back. With the dignity of an elder, he rose to his + feet, and waited for silence amid the babble of voices. + </p> + <p> + "It is true that meat be apportioned me and mine," he said. "But it is + ofttimes old and tough, this meat, and, moreover, it has an unusual + quantity of bones." + </p> + <p> + The hunters, grizzled and gray, and lusty and young, were aghast. The like + had never been known before. A child, that talked like a grown man, and + said harsh things to their very faces! + </p> + <p> + But steadily and with seriousness, Keesh went on. "For that I know my + father, Bok, was a great hunter, I speak these words. It is said that Bok + brought home more meat than any of the two best hunters, that with his own + hands he attended to the division of it, that with his own eyes he saw to + it that the least old woman and the least old man received fair share." + </p> + <p> + "Na! Na!" the men cried. "Put the child out!" "Send him off to bed!" "He + is no man that he should talk to men and gray-beards!" + </p> + <p> + He waited calmly till the uproar died down. + </p> + <p> + "Thou hast a wife, Ugh-Gluk," he said, "and for her dost thou speak. And + thou, too, Massuk, a mother also, and for them dost thou speak. My mother + has no one, save me; wherefore I speak. As I say, though Bok be dead + because he hunted over-keenly, it is just that I, who am his son, and that + Ikeega, who is my mother and was his wife, should have meat in plenty so + long as there be meat in plenty in the tribe. I, Keesh, the son of Bok, + have spoken." + </p> + <p> + He sat down, his ears keenly alert to the flood of protest and indignation + his words had created. + </p> + <p> + "That a boy should speak in council!" old Ugh-Gluk was mumbling. + </p> + <p> + "Shall the babes in arms tell us men the things we shall do?" Massuk + demanded in a loud voice. "Am I a man that I should be made a mock by + every child that cries for meat?" + </p> + <p> + The anger boiled a white heat. They ordered him to bed, threatened that he + should have no meat at all, and promised him sore beatings for his + presumption. Keesh's eyes began to flash, and the blood to pound darkly + under his skin. In the midst of the abuse he sprang to his feet. + </p> + <p> + "Hear me, ye men!" he cried. "Never shall I speak in the council again, + never again till the men come to me and say, 'It is well, Keesh, that thou + shouldst speak, it is well and it is our wish.' Take this now, ye men, for + my last word. Bok, my father, was a great hunter. I too, his son, shall go + and hunt the meat that I eat. And be it known, now, that the division of + that which I kill shall be fair. And no widow nor weak one shall cry in + the night because there is no meat, when the strong men are groaning in + great pain for that they have eaten overmuch. And in the days to come + there shall be shame upon the strong men who have eaten overmuch. I, + Keesh, have said it!" + </p> + <p> + Jeers and scornful laughter followed him out of the <i>igloo</i>, but his + jaw was set and he went his way, looking neither to right nor left. + </p> + <p> + The next day he went forth along the shoreline where the ice and the land + met together. Those who saw him go noted that he carried his bow, with a + goodly supply of bone-barbed arrows, and that across his shoulder was his + father's big hunting-spear. And there was laughter, and much talk, at the + event. It was an unprecedented occurrence. Never did boys of his tender + age go forth to hunt, much less to hunt alone. Also were there shaking of + heads and prophetic mutterings, and the women looked pityingly at Ikeega, + and her face was grave and sad. + </p> + <p> + "He will be back ere long," they said cheeringly. + </p> + <p> + "Let him go; it will teach him a lesson," the hunters said. "And he will + come back shortly, and he will be meek and soft of speech in the days to + follow." + </p> + <p> + But a day passed, and a second, and on the third a wild gale blew, and + there was no Keesh. Ikeega tore her hair and put soot of the seal-oil on + her face in token of her grief; and the women assailed the men with bitter + words in that they had mistreated the boy and sent him to his death; and + the men made no answer, preparing to go in search of the body when the + storm abated. + </p> + <p> + Early next morning, however, Keesh strode into the village. But he came + not shamefacedly. Across his shoulders he bore a burden of fresh-killed + meat. And there was importance in his step and arrogance in his speech. + </p> + <p> + "Go, ye men, with the dogs and sledges, and take my trail for the better + part of a day's travel," he said. "There is much meat on the ice—a + she-bear and two half-grown cubs." + </p> + <p> + Ikeega was overcome with joy, but he received her demonstrations in + manlike fashion, saying: "Come, Ikeega, let us eat. And after that I shall + sleep, for I am weary." + </p> + <p> + And he passed into their <i>igloo</i> and ate profoundly, and after that + slept for twenty running hours. + </p> + <p> + There was much doubt at first, much doubt and discussion. The killing of a + polar bear is very dangerous, but thrice dangerous is it, and three times + thrice, to kill a mother bear with her cubs. The men could not bring + themselves to believe that the boy Keesh, single-handed, had accomplished + so great a marvel. But the women spoke of the fresh-killed meat he had + brought on his back, and this was an overwhelming argument against their + unbelief. So they finally departed, grumbling greatly that in all + probability, if the thing were so, he had neglected to cut up the + carcasses. Now in the north it is very necessary that this should be done + as soon as a kill is made. If not, the meat freezes so solidly as to turn + the edge of the sharpest knife, and a three-hundred-pound bear, frozen + stiff, is no easy thing to put upon a sled and haul over the rough ice. + But arrived at the spot, they found not only the kill which they had + doubted, but that Keesh had quartered the beasts in true hunter fashion, + and removed the entrails. + </p> + <p> + Thus began the mystery of Keesh, a mystery that deepened and deepened with + the passing of the days. His very next trip he killed a young bear, nearly + full-grown, and on the trip following, a large male bear and his mate. He + was ordinarily gone from three to four days, though it was nothing unusual + for him to stay away a week at a time on the ice-field. Always he declined + company on these expeditions, and the people marveled. "How does he do + it?" they demanded of one another. "Never does he take a dog with him, and + dogs are of such great help, too." + </p> + <p> + "Why dost thou hunt only bear?" Klosh-Kwan once ventured to ask. + </p> + <p> + And Keesh made fitting answer. "It is well known that there is more meat + on the bear," he said. + </p> + <p> + But there was also talk of witchcraft in the village. "He hunts with evil + spirits," some of the people contended, "wherefore his hunting is + rewarded. How else can it be, save that he hunts with evil spirits?" + </p> + <p> + "Mayhap they be not evil, but good, these spirits," others said. "It is + known that his father was a mighty hunter. May not his father hunt with + him so that he may attain excellence and patience and understanding? Who + knows?" + </p> + <p> + None the less, his success continued, and the less skilful hunters were + often kept busy hauling in his meat. And in the division of it he was + just. As his father had done before him, he saw to it that the least old + woman and the last old man received a fair portion, keeping no more for + himself than his needs required. And because of this, and of his merit as + a hunter, he was looked upon with respect, and even awe; and there was + talk of making him chief after old Klosh-Kwan. Because of the things he + had done, they looked for him to appear again in the council, but he never + came, and they were ashamed to ask. + </p> + <p> + "I am minded to build me an <i>igloo</i>," he said one day to Klosh-Kwan + and a number of the hunters. "It shall be a large <i>igloo</i>, wherein + Ikeega and I can dwell in comfort." + </p> + <p> + "Ay," they nodded gravely. + </p> + <p> + "But I have no time. My business is hunting, and it takes all my time. So + it is but just that the men and women of the village who eat my meat + should build me my <i>igloo</i>." + </p> + <p> + And the <i>igloo</i> was built accordingly, on a generous scale which + exceeded even the dwelling of Klosh-Kwan. Keesh and his mother moved into + it, and it was the first prosperity she had enjoyed since the death of + Bok. Nor was material prosperity alone hers, for, because of her wonderful + son and the position he had given her, she came to be looked upon as the + first woman in all the village; and the women were given to visiting her, + to asking her advice, and to quoting her wisdom when arguments arose among + themselves or with the men. + </p> + <p> + But it was the mystery of Keesh's marvelous hunting that took chief place + in all their minds. And one day Ugh-Gluk taxed him with witchcraft to his + face. + </p> + <p> + "It is charged," Ugh-Gluk said ominously, "that thou dealest with evil + spirits, wherefore thy hunting is rewarded." + </p> + <p> + "Is not the meat good?" Keesh made answer. "Has one in the village yet to + fall sick from the eating of it! How dost thou know that witchcraft be + concerned? Or dost thou guess, in the dark, merely because of the envy + that consumes thee?" + </p> + <p> + And Ugh-Gluk withdrew discomfited, the women laughing at him as he walked + away. But in the council one night, after long deliberation, it was + determined to put spies on his track when he went forth to hunt, so that + his methods might be learned. So, on his next trip, Bim and Bawn, two + young men, and of hunters the craftiest, followed after him, taking care + not to be seen. After five days they returned, their eyes bulging and + their tongues a-tremble to tell what they had seen. The council was + hastily called in Klosh-Kwan's dwelling, and Bim took up the tale. + </p> + <p> + "Brothers! As commanded, we journeyed on the trail of Keesh, and cunningly + we journeyed, so that he might not know. And midway of the first day he + picked up with a great he-bear. It was a very great bear." + </p> + <p> + "None greater," Bawn corroborated, and went on himself. "Yet was the bear + not inclined to fight, for he turned away and made off slowly over the + ice. This we saw from the rocks of the shore, and the bear came toward us, + and after him came Keesh, very much unafraid. And he shouted harsh words + after the bear, and waved his arms about, and made much noise. Then did + the bear grow angry, and rise up on his hind legs, and growl. But Keesh + walked right up to the bear." + </p> + <p> + "Ay," Bim continued the story. "Right up to the bear Keesh walked. And the + bear took after him, and Keesh ran away. But as he ran he dropped a little + round ball on the ice. And the bear stopped and smelled of it, and then + swallowed it up. And Keesh continued to run away and drop little round + balls, and the bear continued to swallow them up." + </p> + <p> + Exclamations and cries of doubt were being made, and Ugh-Gluk expressed + open unbelief. + </p> + <p> + "With our own eyes we saw it," Bim affirmed. + </p> + <p> + And Bawn—"Ay, with our own eyes. And this continued until the bear + stood suddenly upright and cried aloud in pain, and thrashed his forepaws + madly about. And Keesh continued to make off over the ice to a safe + distance. But the bear gave him no notice, being occupied with the + misfortune the little round balls had wrought within him." + </p> + <p> + "Ay, within him," Bim interrupted. "For he did claw at himself, and leap + about over the ice like a playful puppy, save from the way he growled and + squealed it was plain it was not play but pain. Never did I see such a + sight!" + </p> + <p> + "Nay, never was such a sight seen," Bawn took up the strain. "And + furthermore, it was such a large bear." + </p> + <p> + "Witchcraft," Ugh-Gluk suggested. + </p> + <p> + "I know not," Bawn replied. "I tell only of what my eyes beheld. And after + a while the bear grew weak and tired, for he was very heavy and he had + jumped about with exceeding violence, and he went off along the shore-ice, + shaking his head slowly from side to side and sitting down ever and again + to squeal and cry. And Keesh followed after the bear, and we followed + after Keesh, and for that day and three days more we followed. The bear + grew weak, and never ceased crying from his pain." + </p> + <p> + "It was a charm!" Ugh-Gluk exclaimed. "Surely it was a charm!" + </p> + <p> + "It may well be." + </p> + <p> + And Bim relieved Bawn. "The bear wandered, now this way and now that, + doubling back and forth and crossing his trail in circles, so that at the + end he was near where Keesh had first come upon him. By this time he was + quite sick, the bear, and could crawl no farther, so Keesh came up close + and speared him to death." + </p> + <p> + "And then?" Klosh-Kwan demanded. + </p> + <p> + "Then we left Keesh skinning the bear, and came running that the news of + the killing might be told." + </p> + <p> + And in the afternoon of that day the women hauled in the meat of the bear + while the men sat in council assembled. When Keesh arrived a messenger was + sent to him, bidding him come to the council. But he sent reply, saying + that he was hungry and tired; also that his <i>igloo</i> was large and + comfortable and could hold many men. + </p> + <p> + And curiosity was so strong on the men that the whole council, Klosh-Kwan + to the fore, rose up and went to the <i>igloo</i> of Keesh. He was eating, + but he received them with respect and seated them according to their rank. + Ikeega was proud and embarrassed by turns, but Keesh was quite composed. + </p> + <p> + Klosh-Kwan recited the information brought by Bim and Bawn, and at its + close said in a stern voice: "So explanation is wanted, O Keesh, of thy + manner of hunting. Is there witchcraft in it?" + </p> + <p> + Keesh looked up and smiled. "Nay, O Klosh-Kwan. It is not for a boy to + know aught of witches, and of witches I know nothing. I have but devised a + means whereby I may kill the ice-bear with ease, that is all. It be + headcraft, not witchcraft." + </p> + <p> + "And may any man?" + </p> + <p> + "Any man." + </p> + <p> + There was a long silence. The men looked in one another's faces, and Keesh + went on eating. + </p> + <p> + "And ... and ... and wilt thou tell us, O Keesh?" Klosh-Kwan finally asked + in a tremulous voice. + </p> + <p> + "Yea, I will tell thee." Keesh finished sucking a marrow-bone and rose to + his feet. "It is quite simple. Behold!" + </p> + <p> + He picked up a thin strip of whalebone and showed it to them. The ends + were sharp as needle-points. The strip he coiled carefully, till it + disappeared in his hand. Then, suddenly releasing it, it sprang straight + again. He picked up a piece of blubber. + </p> + <p> + "So," he said, "one takes a small chunk of blubber, thus, and thus makes + it hollow. Then into the hollow goes the whalebone, so, tightly coiled, + and another piece of blubber is fitted over the whalebone. After that it + is put outside where it freezes into a little round ball. The bear + swallows the little round ball, the blubber melts, the whalebone with its + sharp ends stands out straight, the bear gets sick, and when the bear is + very sick, why, you kill him with a spear. It is quite simple." + </p> + <p> + And Ugh-Gluk said "Oh!" and Klosh-Kwan said "Ah!" And each said something + after his own manner, and all understood. + </p> + <p> + And this is the story of Keesh, who lived long ago on the rim of the polar + sea. Because he exercised headcraft and not witchcraft, he rose from the + meanest <i>igloo</i> to be head man of his village, and through all the + years that he lived, it is related, his tribe was prosperous, and neither + widow nor weak one cried aloud in the night because there was no meat. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + NAM-BOK THE UNVERACIOUS + </h2> + <p> + "A Bidarka, is it not so! Look! a bidarka, and one man who drives clumsily + with a paddle!" + </p> + <p> + Old Bask-Wah-Wan rose to her knees, trembling with weakness and eagerness, + and gazed out over the sea. + </p> + <p> + "Nam-Bok was ever clumsy at the paddle," she maundered reminiscently, + shading the sun from her eyes and staring across the silver-spilled water. + "Nam-Bok was ever clumsy. I remember...." + </p> + <p> + But the women and children laughed loudly, and there was a gentle mockery + in their laughter, and her voice dwindled till her lips moved without + sound. + </p> + <p> + Koogah lifted his grizzled head from his bone-carving and followed the + path of her eyes. Except when wide yawns took it off its course, a bidarka + was heading in for the beach. Its occupant was paddling with more strength + than dexterity, and made his approach along the zigzag line of most + resistance. Koogah's head dropped to his work again, and on the ivory tusk + between his knees he scratched the dorsal fin of a fish the like of which + never swam in the sea. + </p> + <p> + "It is doubtless the man from the next village," he said finally, "come to + consult with me about the marking of things on bone. And the man is a + clumsy man. He will never know how." + </p> + <p> + "It is Nam-Bok," old Bask-Wah-Wan repeated. "Should I not know my son!" + she demanded shrilly. "I say, and I say again, it is Nam-Bok." + </p> + <p> + "And so thou hast said these many summers," one of the women chided + softly. "Ever when the ice passed out of the sea hast thou sat and watched + through the long day, saying at each chance canoe, 'This is Nam-Bok.' + Nam-Bok is dead, O Bask-Wah-Wan, and the dead do not come back. It cannot + be that the dead come back." + </p> + <p> + "Nam-Bok!" the old woman cried, so loud and clear that the whole village + was startled and looked at her. + </p> + <p> + She struggled to her feet and tottered down the sand. She stumbled over a + baby lying in the sun, and the mother hushed its crying and hurled harsh + words after the old woman, who took no notice. The children ran down the + beach in advance of her, and as the man in the bidarka drew closer, nearly + capsizing with one of his ill-directed strokes, the women followed. Koogah + dropped his walrus tusk and went also, leaning heavily upon his staff, and + after him loitered the men in twos and threes. + </p> + <p> + The bidarka turned broadside and the ripple of surf threatened to swamp + it, only a naked boy ran into the water and pulled the bow high up on the + sand. The man stood up and sent a questing glance along the line of + villagers. A rainbow sweater, dirty and the worse for wear, clung loosely + to his broad shoulders, and a red cotton handkerchief was knotted in + sailor fashion about his throat. A fisherman's tam-o'-shanter on his + close-clipped head, and dungaree trousers and heavy brogans completed his + outfit. + </p> + <p> + But he was none the less a striking personage to these simple fisherfolk + of the great Yukon Delta, who, all their lives, had stared out on Bering + Sea and in that time seen but two white men,—the census enumerator + and a lost Jesuit priest. They were a poor people, with neither gold in + the ground nor valuable furs in hand, so the whites had passed them afar. + Also, the Yukon, through the thousands of years, had shoaled that portion + of the sea with the detritus of Alaska till vessels grounded out of sight + of land. So the sodden coast, with its long inside reaches and huge + mud-land archipelagoes, was avoided by the ships of men, and the + fisherfolk knew not that such things were. + </p> + <p> + Koogah, the Bone-Scratcher, retreated backward in sudden haste, tripping + over his staff and falling to the ground. "Nam-Bok!" he cried, as he + scrambled wildly for footing. "Nam-Bok, who was blown off to sea, come + back!" + </p> + <p> + The men and women shrank away, and the children scuttled off between their + legs. Only Opee-Kwan was brave, as befitted the head man of the village. + He strode forward and gazed long and earnestly at the newcomer. + </p> + <p> + "It is Nam-Bok," he said at last, and at the conviction in his voice the + women wailed apprehensively and drew farther away. + </p> + <p> + The lips of the stranger moved indecisively, and his brown throat writhed + and wrestled with unspoken words. + </p> + <p> + "La, la, it is Nam-Bok," Bask-Wah-Wan croaked, peering up into his face. + "Ever did I say Nam-Bok would come back." + </p> + <p> + "Ay, it is Nam-Bok come back." This time it was Nam-Bok himself who spoke, + putting a leg over the side of the bidarka and standing with one foot + afloat and one ashore. Again his throat writhed and wrestled as he + grappled after forgotten words. And when the words came forth they were + strange of sound and a spluttering of the lips accompanied the gutturals. + "Greetings, O brothers," he said, "brothers of old time before I went away + with the off-shore wind." + </p> + <p> + He stepped out with both feet on the sand, and Opee-Kwan waved him back. + </p> + <p> + "Thou art dead, Nam-Bok," he said. + </p> + <p> + Nam-Bok laughed. "I am fat." + </p> + <p> + "Dead men are not fat," Opee-Kwan confessed. "Thou hast fared well, but it + is strange. No man may mate with the off-shore wind and come back on the + heels of the years." + </p> + <p> + "I have come back," Nam-Bok answered simply. + </p> + <p> + "Mayhap thou art a shadow, then, a passing shadow of the Nam-Bok that was. + Shadows come back." + </p> + <p> + "I am hungry. Shadows do not eat." + </p> + <p> + But Opee-Kwan doubted, and brushed his hand across his brow in sore + puzzlement. Nam-Bok was likewise puzzled, and as he looked up and down the + line found no welcome in the eyes of the fisherfolk. The men and women + whispered together. The children stole timidly back among their elders, + and bristling dogs fawned up to him and sniffed suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + "I bore thee, Nam-Bok, and I gave thee suck when thou wast little," + Bask-Wah-Wan whimpered, drawing closer; "and shadow though thou be, or no + shadow, I will give thee to eat now." + </p> + <p> + Nam-Bok made to come to her, but a growl of fear and menace warned him + back. He said something angrily in a strange tongue, and added, "No shadow + am I, but a man." + </p> + <p> + "Who may know concerning the things of mystery?" Opee-Kwan demanded, half + of himself and half of his tribespeople. "We are, and in a breath we are + not. If the man may become shadow, may not the shadow become man? Nam-Bok + was, but is not. This we know, but we do not know if this be Nam-Bok or + the shadow of Nam-Bok." + </p> + <p> + Nam-Bok cleared his throat and made answer. "In the old time long ago, thy + father's father, Opee-Kwan, went away and came back on the heels of the + years. Nor was a place by the fire denied him. It is said ..." He paused + significantly, and they hung on his utterance. "It is said," he repeated, + driving his point home with deliberation, "that Sipsip, his <i>klooch</i>, + bore him two sons after he came back." + </p> + <p> + "But he had no doings with the off-shore wind," Opee-Kwan retorted. "He + went away into the heart of the land, and it is in the nature of things + that a man may go on and on into the land." + </p> + <p> + "And likewise the sea. But that is neither here nor there. It is said ... + that thy father's father told strange tales of the things he saw." + </p> + <p> + "Ay, strange tales he told." + </p> + <p> + "I, too, have strange tales to tell," Nam-Bok stated insidiously. And, as + they wavered, "And presents likewise." + </p> + <p> + He pulled from the bidarka a shawl, marvelous of texture and color, and + flung it about his mother's shoulders. The women voiced a collective sigh + of admiration, and old Bask-Wah-Wan ruffled the gay material and patted it + and crooned in childish joy. + </p> + <p> + "He has tales to tell," Koogah muttered. "And presents," a woman seconded. + </p> + <p> + And Opee-Kwan knew that his people were eager, and further, he was aware + himself of an itching curiosity concerning those untold tales. "The + fishing has been good," he said judiciously, "and we have oil in plenty. + So come, Nam-Bok, let us feast." + </p> + <p> + Two of the men hoisted the bidarka on their shoulders and carried it up to + the fire. Nam-Bok walked by the side of Opee-Kwan, and the villagers + followed after, save those of the women who lingered a moment to lay + caressing fingers on the shawl. + </p> + <p> + There was little talk while the feast went on, though many and curious + were the glances stolen at the son of Bask-Wah-Wan. This embarrassed him—not + because he was modest of spirit, however, but for the fact that the stench + of the seal-oil had robbed him of his appetite, and that he keenly desired + to conceal his feelings on the subject. + </p> + <p> + "Eat; thou art hungry," Opee-Kwan commanded, and Nam-Bok shut both his + eyes and shoved his fist into the big pot of putrid fish. + </p> + <p> + "La la, be not ashamed. The seal were many this year, and strong men are + ever hungry." And Bask-Wah-Wan sopped a particularly offensive chunk of + salmon into the oil and passed it fondly and dripping to her son. + </p> + <p> + In despair, when premonitory symptoms warned him that his stomach was not + so strong as of old, he filled his pipe and struck up a smoke. The people + fed on noisily and watched. Few of them could boast of intimate + acquaintance with the precious weed, though now and again small quantities + and abominable qualities were obtained in trade from the Eskimos to the + northward. Koogah, sitting next to him, indicated that he was not averse + to taking a draw, and between two mouthfuls, with the oil thick on his + lips, sucked away at the amber stem. And thereupon Nam-Bok held his + stomach with a shaky hand and declined the proffered return. Koogah could + keep the pipe, he said, for he had intended so to honor him from the + first. And the people licked their fingers and approved of his liberality. + </p> + <p> + Opee-Kwan rose to his feet. "And now, O Nam-Bok, the feast is ended, and + we would listen concerning the strange things you have seen." + </p> + <p> + The fisherfolk applauded with their hands, and gathering about them their + work, prepared to listen. The men were busy fashioning spears and carving + on ivory, while the women scraped the fat from the hides of the hair seal + and made them pliable or sewed muclucs with threads of sinew. Nam-Bok's + eyes roved over the scene, but there was not the charm about it that his + recollection had warranted him to expect. During the years of his + wandering he had looked forward to just this scene, and now that it had + come he was disappointed. It was a bare and meagre life, he deemed, and + not to be compared to the one to which he had become used. Still, he would + open their eyes a bit, and his own eyes sparkled at the thought. + </p> + <p> + "Brothers," he began, with the smug complacency of a man about to relate + the big things he has done, "it was late summer of many summers back, with + much such weather as this promises to be, when I went away. You all + remember the day, when the gulls flew low, and the wind blew strong from + the land, and I could not hold my bidarka against it. I tied the covering + of the bidarka about me so that no water could get in, and all of the + night I fought with the storm. And in the morning there was no land,—only + the sea,—and the off-shore wind held me close in its arms and bore + me along. Three such nights whitened into dawn and showed me no land, and + the off-shore wind would not let me go. + </p> + <p> + "And when the fourth day came, I was as a madman. I could not dip my + paddle for want of food; and my head went round and round, what of the + thirst that was upon me. But the sea was no longer angry, and the soft + south wind was blowing, and as I looked about me I saw a sight that made + me think I was indeed mad." + </p> + <p> + Nam-Bok paused to pick away a sliver of salmon lodged between his teeth, + and the men and women, with idle hands and heads craned forward, waited. + </p> + <p> + "It was a canoe, a big canoe. If all the canoes I have ever seen were made + into one canoe, it would not be so large." + </p> + <p> + There were exclamations of doubt, and Koogah, whose years were many, shook + his head. + </p> + <p> + "If each bidarka were as a grain of sand," Nam-Bok defiantly continued, + "and if there were as many bidarkas as there be grains of sand in this + beach, still would they not make so big a canoe as this I saw on the + morning of the fourth day. It was a very big canoe, and it was called a <i>schooner</i>. + I saw this thing of wonder, this great schooner, coming after me, and on + it I saw men——" + </p> + <p> + "Hold, O Nam-Bok!" Opee-Kwan broke in. "What manner of men were they?—big + men?" + </p> + <p> + "Nay, mere men like you and me." + </p> + <p> + "Did the big canoe come fast?" + </p> + <p> + "Ay." + </p> + <p> + "The sides were tall, the men short." Opee-Kwan stated the premises with + conviction. "And did these men dip with long paddles?" + </p> + <p> + Nam-Bok grinned. "There were no paddles," he said. + </p> + <p> + Mouths remained open, and a long silence dropped down. Ope-Kwan borrowed + Koogah's pipe for a couple of contemplative sucks. One of the younger + women giggled nervously and drew upon herself angry eyes. + </p> + <p> + "There were no paddles?" Opee-Kwan asked softly, returning the pipe. + </p> + <p> + "The south wind was behind," Nam-Bok explained. + </p> + <p> + "But the wind drift is slow." + </p> + <p> + "The schooner had wings—thus." He sketched a diagram of masts and + sails in the sand, and the men crowded around and studied it. The wind was + blowing briskly, and for more graphic elucidation he seized the corners of + his mother's shawl and spread them out till it bellied like a sail. Bask + Wah-Wan scolded and struggled, but was blown down the breach for a score + of feet and left breathless and stranded in a heap of driftwood. The men + uttered sage grunts of comprehension, but Koogah suddenly tossed back his + hoary head. + </p> + <p> + "Ho! Ho!" he laughed. "A foolish thing, this big canoe! A most foolish + thing! The plaything of the wind! Wheresoever the wind goes, it goes too. + No man who journeys therein may name the landing beach, for always he goes + with the wind, and the wind goes everywhere, but no man knows where." + </p> + <p> + "It is so," Opee-Kwan supplemented gravely. "With the wind the going is + easy, but against the wind a man striveth hard; and for that they had no + paddles these men on the big canoe did not strive at all." + </p> + <p> + "Small need to strive," Nam-Bok cried angrily. "The schooner went likewise + against the wind." + </p> + <p> + "And what said you made the sch—sch—schooner go?" Koogah + asked, tripping craftily over the strange word. + </p> + <p> + "The wind," was the impatient response. + </p> + <p> + "Then the wind made the sch—sch—schooner go against the wind." + Old Koogah dropped an open leer to Opee-Kwan, and, the laughter growing + around him, continued: "The wind blows from the south and blows the + schooner south. The wind blows against the wind. The wind blows one way + and the other at the same time. It is very simple. We understand, Nam-Bok. + We clearly understand." + </p> + <p> + "Thou art a fool!" + </p> + <p> + "Truth falls from thy lips," Koogah answered meekly. "I was over-long in + understanding, and the thing was simple." + </p> + <p> + But Nam-Bok's face was dark, and he said rapid words which they had never + heard before. Bone-scratching and skin-scraping were resumed, but he shut + his lips tightly on the tongue that could not be believed. + </p> + <p> + "This sch—sch—schooner," Koogah imperturbably asked; "it was + made of a big tree?" + </p> + <p> + "It was made of many trees," Nam-Bok snapped shortly. "It was very big." + </p> + <p> + He lapsed into sullen silence again, and Opee-Kwan nudged Koogah, who + shook his head with slow amazement and murmured, "It is very strange." + </p> + <p> + Nam-Bok took the bait. "That is nothing," he said airily; "you should see + the <i>steamer.</i> As the grain of sand is to the bidarka, as the bidarka + is to the schooner, so the schooner is to the steamer. Further, the + steamer is made of iron. It is all iron." + </p> + <p> + "Nay, nay, Nam-Bok," cried the head man; "how can that be? Always iron + goes to the bottom. For behold, I received an iron knife in trade from the + head man of the next village, and yesterday the iron knife slipped from my + fingers and went down, down, into the sea. To all things there be law. + Never was there one thing outside the law. This we know. And, moreover, we + know that things of a kind have the one law, and that all iron has the one + law. So unsay thy words, Nam-Bok, that we may yet honor thee." + </p> + <p> + "It is so," Nam-Bok persisted. "The steamer is all iron and does not + sink." + </p> + <p> + "Nay, nay; this cannot be." + </p> + <p> + "With my own eyes I saw it." + </p> + <p> + "It is not in the nature of things." + </p> + <p> + "But tell me, Nam-Bok," Koogah interrupted, for fear the tale would go no + farther, "tell me the manner of these men in finding their way across the + sea when there is no land by which to steer." + </p> + <p> + "The sun points out the path." + </p> + <p> + "But how?" + </p> + <p> + "At midday the head man of the schooner takes a thing through which his + eye looks at the sun, and then he makes the sun climb down out of the sky + to the edge of the earth." + </p> + <p> + "Now this be evil medicine!" cried Opee-Kwan, aghast at the sacrilege. The + men held up their hands in horror, and the women moaned. "This be evil + medicine. It is not good to misdirect the great sun which drives away the + night and gives us the seal, the salmon, and warm weather." + </p> + <p> + "What if it be evil medicine?" Nam-Bok demanded truculently. "I, too, have + looked through the thing at the sun and made the sun climb down out of the + sky." + </p> + <p> + Those who were nearest drew away from him hurriedly, and a woman covered + the face of a child at her breast so that his eye might not fall upon it. + </p> + <p> + "But on the morning of the fourth day, O Nam-Bok," Koogah suggested; "on + the morning of the fourth day when the sch—sch—schooner came + after thee?" + </p> + <p> + "I had little strength left in me and could not run away. So I was taken + on board and water was poured down my throat and good food given me. + Twice, my brothers, you have seen a white man. These men were all white + and as many as have I fingers and toes. And when I saw they were full of + kindness, I took heart, and I resolved to bring away with me report of all + that I saw. And they taught me the work they did, and gave me good food + and a place to sleep. + </p> + <p> + "And day after day we went over the sea, and each day the head man drew + the sun down out of the sky and made it tell where we were. And when the + waves were kind, we hunted the fur seal and I marvelled much, for always + did they fling the meat and the fat away and save only the skin." + </p> + <p> + Opee-Kwan's mouth was twitching violently, and he was about to make + denunciation of such waste when Koogah kicked him to be still. + </p> + <p> + "After a weary time, when the sun was gone and the bite of the frost come + into the air, the head man pointed the nose of the schooner south. South + and east we traveled for days upon days, with never the land in sight, and + we were near to the village from which hailed the men——" + </p> + <p> + "How did they know they were near?" Opee-Kwan, unable to contain himself + longer, demanded. "There was no land to see." + </p> + <p> + Nam-Bok glowered on him wrathfully. "Did I not say the head man brought + the sun down out of the sky?" + </p> + <p> + Koogah interposed, and Nam-Bok went on. "As I say, when we were near to + that village a great storm blew up, and in the night we were helpless and + knew not where we were——" + </p> + <p> + "Thou hast just said the head man knew——" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, peace, Opee-Kwan. Thou art a fool and cannot understand. As I say, we + were helpless in the night, when I heard, above the roar of the storm, the + sound of the sea on the beach. And next we struck with a mighty crash and + I was in the water, swimming. It was a rock-bound coast, with one patch of + beach in many miles, and the law was that I should dig my hands into the + sand and draw myself clear of the surf. The other men must have pounded + against the rocks, for none of them came ashore but the head man, and him + I knew only by the ring on his finger. + </p> + <p> + "When day came, there being nothing of the schooner, I turned my face to + the land and journeyed into it that I might get food and look upon the + faces of the people. And when I came to a house I was taken in and given + to eat, for I had learned their speech, and the white men are ever kindly. + And it was a house bigger than all the houses built by us and our fathers + before us." + </p> + <p> + "It was a mighty house," Koogah said, masking his unbelief with wonder. + </p> + <p> + "And many trees went into the making of such a house," Opee-Kwan added, + taking the cue. + </p> + <p> + "That is nothing." Nam-Bok shrugged his shoulders in belittling fashion. + "As our houses are to that house, so that house was to the houses I was + yet to see." + </p> + <p> + "And they are not big men?" + </p> + <p> + "Nay; mere men like you and me," Nam-Bok answered. "I had cut a stick that + I might walk in comfort, and remembering that I was to bring report to + you, my brothers, I cut a notch in the stick for each person who lived in + that house. And I stayed there many days, and worked, for which they gave + me <i>money</i>—a thing of which you know nothing, but which is very + good. + </p> + <p> + "And one day I departed from that place to go farther into the land. And + as I walked I met many people, and I cut smaller notches in the stick, + that there might be room for all. Then I came upon a strange thing. On the + ground before me was a bar of iron, as big in thickness as my arm, and a + long step away was another bar of iron——" + </p> + <p> + "Then wert thou a rich man," Opee-Kwan asserted; "for iron be worth more + than anything else in the world. It would have made many knives." + </p> + <p> + "Nay, it was not mine." + </p> + <p> + "It was a find, and a find be lawful." + </p> + <p> + "Not so; the white men had placed it there. And further, these bars were + so long that no man could carry them away—so long that as far as I + could see there was no end to them." + </p> + <p> + "Nam-Bok, that is very much iron," Opee-Kwan cautioned. + </p> + <p> + "Ay, it was hard to believe with my own eyes upon it; but I could not + gainsay my eyes. And as I looked I heard ..." He turned abruptly upon the + head man. "Opee-Kwan, thou hast heard the sea-lion bellow in his anger. + Make it plain in thy mind of as many sea-lions as there be waves to the + sea, and make it plain that all these sea-lions be made into one sea-lion, + and as that one sea-lion would bellow so bellowed the thing I heard." + </p> + <p> + The fisherfolk cried aloud in astonishment, and Opee-Kwan's jaw lowered + and remained lowered. + </p> + <p> + "And in the distance I saw a monster like unto a thousand whales. It was + one-eyed, and vomited smoke, and it snorted with exceeding loudness. I was + afraid and ran with shaking legs along the path between the bars. But it + came with speed of the wind, this monster, and I leaped the iron bars with + its breath hot on my face ..." + </p> + <p> + Opee-Kwan gained control of his jaw again. "And—and then, O + Nam-Bok?" + </p> + <p> + "Then it came by on the bars, and harmed me not; and when my legs could + hold me up again it was gone from sight. And it is a very common thing in + that country. Even the women and children are not afraid. Men make them to + do work, these monsters." + </p> + <p> + "As we make our dogs do work?" Koogah asked, with sceptic twinkle in his + eye. + </p> + <p> + "Ay, as we make our dogs do work." + </p> + <p> + "And how do they breed these—these things?" Opee-Kwan questioned. + </p> + <p> + "They breed not at all. Men fashion them cunningly of iron, and feed them + with stone, and give them water to drink. The stone becomes fire, and the + water becomes steam, and the steam of the water is the breath of their + nostrils, and—" + </p> + <p> + "There, there, O Nam-Bok," Opee-Kwan interrupted. "Tell us of other + wonders. We grow tired of this which we may not understand." + </p> + <p> + "You do not understand?" Nam-Bok asked despairingly. + </p> + <p> + "Nay, we do not understand," the men and women wailed back. "We cannot + understand." + </p> + <p> + Nam-Bok thought of a combined harvester, and of the machines wherein + visions of living men were to be seen, and of the machines from which came + the voices of men, and he knew his people could never understand. + </p> + <p> + "Dare I say I rode this iron monster through the land?" he asked bitterly. + </p> + <p> + Opee-Kwan threw up his hands, palms outward, in open incredulity. "Say on; + say anything. We listen." + </p> + <p> + "Then did I ride the iron monster, for which I gave money—" + </p> + <p> + "Thou saidst it was fed with stone." + </p> + <p> + "And likewise, thou fool, I said money was a thing of which you know + nothing. As I say, I rode the monster through the land, and through many + villages, until I came to a big village on a salt arm of the sea. And the + houses shoved their roofs among the stars in the sky, and the clouds + drifted by them, and everywhere was much smoke. And the roar of that + village was like the roar of the sea in storm, and the people were so many + that I flung away my stick and no longer remembered the notches upon it." + </p> + <p> + "Hadst thou made small notches," Koogah reproved, "thou mightst have + brought report." + </p> + <p> + Nam-Bok whirled upon him in anger. "Had I made small notches! Listen, + Koogah, thou scratcher of bone! If I had made small notches neither the + stick, nor twenty sticks, could have borne them—nay, not all the + driftwood of all the beaches between this village and the next. And if all + of you, the women and children as well, were twenty times as many, and if + you had twenty hands each, and in each hand a stick and a knife, still the + notches could not be cut for the people I saw, so many were they and so + fast did they come and go." + </p> + <p> + "There cannot be so many people in all the world," Opee-Kwan objected, for + he was stunned and his mind could not grasp such magnitude of numbers. + </p> + <p> + "What dost thou know of all the world and how large it is?" Nam-Bok + demanded. + </p> + <p> + "But there cannot be so many people in one place." + </p> + <p> + "Who art thou to say what can be and what cannot be?" + </p> + <p> + "It stands to reason there cannot be so many people in one place. Their + canoes would clutter the sea till there was no room. And they could empty + the sea each day of its fish, and they would not all be fed." + </p> + <p> + "So it would seem," Nam-Bok made final answer; "yet it was so. With my own + eyes I saw, and flung my stick away." He yawned heavily and rose to his + feet. "I have paddled far. The day has been long, and I am tired. Now I + will sleep, and to-morrow we will have further talk upon the things I have + seen." + </p> + <p> + Bask-Wah-Wan, hobbling fearfully in advance, proud indeed, yet awed by her + wonderful son, led him to her <i>igloo</i> and stowed him away among the + greasy, ill-smelling furs. But the men lingered by the fire, and a council + was held wherein was there much whispering and low-voiced discussion. + </p> + <p> + An hour passed, and a second, and Nam-Bok slept, and the talk went on. The + evening sun dipped toward the northwest, and at eleven at night was nearly + due north. Then it was that the head man and the bone-scratcher separated + themselves from the council and aroused Nam-Bok. He blinked up into their + faces and turned on his side to sleep again. Opee-Kwan gripped him by the + arm and kindly but firmly shook his senses back into him. + </p> + <p> + "Come, Nam-Bok, arise!" he commanded. "It be time." + </p> + <p> + "Another feast!" Nam-Bok cried. "Nay, I am not hungry. Go on with the + eating and let me sleep." + </p> + <p> + "Time to be gone!" Koogah thundered. + </p> + <p> + But Opee-Kwan spoke more softly. "Thou wast bidarka-mate with me when we + were boys," he said. "Together we first chased the seal and drew the + salmon from the traps. And thou didst drag me back to life, Nam-Bok, when + the sea closed over me and I was sucked down to the black rocks. Together + we hungered and bore the chill of the frost, and together we crawled + beneath the one fur and lay close to each other. And because of these + things, and the kindness in which I stood to thee, it grieves me sore that + thou shouldst return such a remarkable liar. We cannot understand, and our + heads be dizzy with the things thou hast spoken. It is not good, and there + has been much talk in the council. Wherefore we send thee away, that our + heads may remain clear and strong and be not troubled by the unaccountable + things." + </p> + <p> + "These things thou speakest of be shadows," Koogah took up the strain. + "From the shadow-world thou hast brought them, and to the shadow-world + thou must return them. Thy bidarka be ready, and the tribespeople wait. + They may not sleep until thou art gone." + </p> + <p> + Nam-Bok was perplexed, but hearkened to the voice of the head man. + </p> + <p> + "If thou art Nam-Bok," Opee-Kwan was saying, "thou art a fearful and most + wonderful liar; if thou art the shadow of Nam-Bok, then thou speakest of + shadows, concerning which it is not good that living men have knowledge. + This great village thou hast spoken of we deem the village of shadows. + Therein flutter the souls of the dead; for the dead be many and the living + few. The dead do not come back. Never have the dead come back—save + thou with thy wonder-tales. It is not meet that the dead come back, and + should we permit it, great trouble may be our portion." + </p> + <p> + Nam-Bok knew his people well and was aware that the voice of the council + was supreme. So he allowed himself to be led down to the water's edge, + where he was put aboard his bidarka and a paddle thrust into his hand. A + stray wildfowl honked somewhere to seaward, and the surf broke limply and + hollowly on the sand. A dim twilight brooded over land and water, and in + the north the sun smouldered, vague and troubled, and draped about with + blood-red mists. The gulls were flying low. The off-shore wind blew keen + and chill, and the black-massed clouds behind it gave promise of bitter + weather. + </p> + <p> + "Out of the sea thou earnest," Opee-Kwan chanted oracularly, "and back + into the sea thou goest. Thus is balance achieved and all things brought + to law." + </p> + <p> + Bask-Wah-Wan limped to the froth-mark and cried, "I bless thee, Nam-Bok, + for that thou remembered me." + </p> + <p> + But Koogah, shoving Nam-Bok clear or the beach, tore the shawl from her + shoulders and flung it into the bidarka. + </p> + <p> + "It is cold in the long nights," she wailed; "and the frost is prone to + nip old bones." + </p> + <p> + "The thing is a shadow," the bone-scratcher answered, "and shadows cannot + keep thee warm." + </p> + <p> + Nam-Bok stood up that his voice might carry. "O Bask-Wah-Wan, mother that + bore me!" he called. "Listen to the words of Nam-Bok, thy son. There be + room in his bidarka for two, and he would that thou earnest with him. For + his journey is to where there are fish and oil in plenty. There the frost + comes not, and life is easy, and the things of iron do the work of men. + Wilt thou come, O Bask-Wah-Wan?" + </p> + <p> + She debated a moment, while the bidarka drifted swiftly from her, then + raised her voice to a quavering treble. "I am old, Nam-Bok, and soon I + shall pass down among the shadows. But I have no wish to go before my + time. I am old, Nam-Bok, and I am afraid." + </p> + <p> + A shaft of light shot across the dim-lit sea and wrapped boat and man in a + splendor of red and gold. Then a hush fell upon the fisherfolk, and only + was heard the moan of the off-shore wind and the cries of the gulls flying + low in the air. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + YELLOW HANDKERCHIEF + </h2> + <p> + "I'm not wanting to dictate to you, lad," Charley said, "but I'm very much + against your making a last raid. You've gone safely through rough times + with rough men, and it would be a shame to have something happen to you at + the very end." + </p> + <p> + "But how can I get out of making a last raid?" I demanded, with the + cocksureness of youth. "There always has to be a last, you know, to + anything." + </p> + <p> + Charley crossed his legs, leaned back, and considered the problem. "Very + true. But why not call the capture of Demetrios Contos the last? You're + back from it safe and sound and hearty, for all your good wetting, and—and——" + His voice broke and he could not speak for a moment. "And I could never + forgive myself if anything happened to you now." + </p> + <p> + I laughed at Charley's fears while I gave in to the claims of his + affection, and agreed to consider the last raid already performed. We had + been together for two years, and now I was leaving the fish patrol in + order to go back and finish my education. I had earned and saved money to + put me through three years at the high school, and though the beginning of + the term was several months away, I intended doing a lot of studying for + the entrance examinations. + </p> + <p> + My belongings were packed snugly in a sea-chest, and I was all ready to + buy my ticket and ride down on the train to Oakland, when Neil Partington + arrived in Benicia. The <i>Reindeer</i> was needed immediately for work + far down on the Lower Bay, and Neil said he intended to run straight for + Oakland. As that was his home and as I was to live with his family while + going to school, he saw no reason, he said, why I should not put my chest + aboard and come along. + </p> + <p> + So the chest went aboard, and in the middle of the afternoon we hoisted + the <i>Reindeer's</i> big mainsail and cast off. It was tantalizing fall + weather. The sea-breeze, which had blown steadily all summer, was gone, + and in its place were capricious winds and murky skies which made the time + of arriving anywhere extremely problematical. We started on the first of + the ebb, and as we slipped down the Carquinez Straits, I looked my last + for some time upon Benicia and the bight at Turner's Shipyard, where we + had besieged the <i>Lancashire Queen,</i> and had captured Big Alec, the + King of the Greeks. And at the mouth of the Straits I looked with not a + little interest upon the spot where a few days before I should have + drowned but for the good that was in the nature of Demetrios Contos. + </p> + <p> + A great wall of fog advanced across San Pablo Bay to meet us, and in a few + minutes the <i>Reindeer</i> was running blindly through the damp + obscurity. Charley, who was steering, seemed to have an instinct for that + kind of work. How he did it, he himself confessed that he did not know; + but he had a way of calculating winds, currents, distance, time, drift, + and sailing speed that was truly marvellous. + </p> + <p> + "It looks as though it were lifting," Neil Partington said, a couple of + hours after we had entered the fog. "Where do you say we are, Charley?" + </p> + <p> + Charley looked at his watch. "Six o'clock, and three hours more of ebb," + he remarked casually. + </p> + <p> + "But where do you say we are!" Neil insisted. + </p> + <p> + Charley pondered a moment, and then answered, "The tide has edged us over + a bit out of our course, but if the fog lifts right now, as it is going to + lift, you'll find we're not more than a thousand miles off McNear's + Landing." + </p> + <p> + "You might be a little more definite by a few miles, anyway," Neil + grumbled, showing by his tone that he disagreed. + </p> + <p> + "All right, then," Charley said, conclusively, "not less than a quarter of + a mile, nor more than a half." + </p> + <p> + The wind freshened with a couple of little puffs, and the fog thinned + perceptibly. + </p> + <p> + "McNear's is right off there," Charley said, pointing directly into the + fog on our weather beam. + </p> + <p> + The three of us were peering intently in that direction, when the <i>Reindeer</i> + struck with a dull crash and came to a standstill. We ran forward, and + found her bowsprit entangled in the tanned rigging of a short, chunky + mast. She had collided, head on, with a Chinese junk lying at anchor. + </p> + <p> + At the moment we arrived forward, five Chinese, like so many bees, came + swarming out of the little 'tween-decks cabin, the sleep still in their + eyes. + </p> + <p> + Leading them came a big, muscular man, conspicuous for his pock-marked + face and the yellow silk handkerchief swathed about his head. It was + Yellow Handkerchief, the Chinaman whom we had arrested for illegal + shrimp-fishing the year before, and who, at that time, had nearly sunk the + <i>Reindeer</i>, as he had nearly sunk it now by violating the rules of + navigation. + </p> + <p> + "What d'ye mean, you yellow-faced heathen, lying here in a fairway without + a horn a-going?" Charley cried hotly. + </p> + <p> + "Mean?" Neil calmly answered. "Just take a look—that's what he + means." + </p> + <p> + Our eyes followed the direction indicated by Neil's finger, and we saw the + open amidships of the junk, half filled, as we found on closer + examination, with fresh-caught shrimps. Mingled with the shrimps were + myriads of small fish, from a quarter of an inch upward in size. Yellow + Handkerchief had lifted the trap-net at high-water slack, and, taking + advantage of the concealment offered by the fog, had boldly been lying by, + waiting to lift the net again at low-water slack. + </p> + <p> + "Well," Neil hummed and hawed, "in all my varied and extensive experience + as a fish patrolman, I must say this is the easiest capture I ever made. + What'll we do with them, Charley?" + </p> + <p> + "Tow the junk into San Rafael, of course," came the answer. Charley turned + to me. "You stand by the junk, lad, and I'll pass you a towing line. If + the wind doesn't fail us, we'll make the creek before the tide gets too + low, sleep at San Rafael, and arrive in Oakland to-morrow by midday." + </p> + <p> + So saying, Charley and Neil returned to the <i>Reindeer</i> and got under + way, the junk towing astern. I went aft and took charge of the prize, + steering by means of an antiquated tiller and a rudder with large, + diamond-shaped holes, through which the water rushed back and forth. + </p> + <p> + By now the last of the fog had vanished, and Charley's estimate of our + position was confirmed by the sight of McNear's Landing a short half-mile + away, following: along the west shore, we rounded Point Pedro in plain + view of the Chinese shrimp villages, and a great to-do was raised when + they saw one of their junks towing behind the familiar fish patrol sloop. + </p> + <p> + The wind, coming off the land, was rather puffy and uncertain, and it + would have been more to our advantage had it been stronger. San Rafael + Creek, up which we had to go to reach the town and turn over our prisoners + to the authorities, ran through wide-stretching marshes, and was difficult + to navigate on a falling tide, while at low tide it was impossible to + navigate at all. So, with the tide already half-ebbed, it was necessary + for us to make time. This the heavy junk prevented, lumbering along behind + and holding the <i>Reindeer</i> back by just so much dead weight. + </p> + <p> + "Tell those coolies to get up that sail," Charley finally called to me. + "We don't want to hang up on the mud flats for the rest of the night." + </p> + <p> + I repeated the order to Yellow Handkerchief, who mumbled it huskily to his + men. He was suffering from a bad cold, which doubled him up in convulsive + coughing spells and made his eyes heavy and bloodshot. This made him more + evil-looking than ever, and when he glared viciously at me I remembered + with a shiver the close shave I had had with him at the time of his + previous arrest. + </p> + <p> + His crew sullenly tailed on to the halyards, and the strange, outlandish + sail, lateen in rig and dyed a warm brown, rose in the air. We were + sailing on the wind, and when Yellow Handkerchief flattened down the sheet + the junk forged ahead and the tow-line went slack. Fast as the <i>Reindeer</i> + could sail, the junk outsailed her; and to avoid running her down I hauled + a little closer on the wind. But the junk likewise outpointed, and in a + couple of minutes I was abreast of the <i>Reindeer</i> and to windward. + The tow-line had now tautened, at right angles to the two boats, and the + predicament was laughable. + </p> + <p> + "Cast off!" I shouted. + </p> + <p> + Charley hesitated. + </p> + <p> + "It's all right," I added. "Nothing can happen. We'll make the creek on + this tack, and you'll be right behind me all the way up to San Rafael." + </p> + <p> + At this Charley cast off, and Yellow Handkerchief sent one of his men + forward to haul in the line. In the gathering darkness I could just make + out the mouth of San Rafael Creek, and by the time we entered it I could + barely see its banks. The <i>Reindeer</i> was fully five minutes astern, + and we continued to leave her astern as we beat up the narrow, winding + channel. With Charley behind us, it seemed I had little to fear from my + five prisoners; but the darkness prevented my keeping a sharp eye on them, + so I transferred my revolver from my trousers pocket to the side pocket of + my coat, where I could more quickly put my hand on it. + </p> + <p> + Yellow Handkerchief was the one I feared, and that he knew it and made use + of it, subsequent events will show. He was sitting a few feet away from + me, on what then happened to be the weather side of the junk. I could + scarcely see the outlines of his form, but I soon became convinced that he + was slowly, very slowly, edging closer to me. I watched him carefully. + Steering with my left hand, I slipped my right into my pocket and got hold + of the revolver. + </p> + <p> + I saw him shift along for a couple of inches, and I was just about to + order him back—the words were trembling on the tip of my tongue—when + I was struck with great force by a heavy figure that had leaped through + the air upon me from the lee side. It was one of the crew. He pinioned my + right arm so that I could not withdraw my hand from my pocket, and at the + same time clapped his other hand over my mouth. Of course, I could have + struggled away from him and freed my hand or gotten my mouth clear so that + I might cry an alarm, but in a trice Yellow Handkerchief was on top of me. + </p> + <p> + I struggled around to no purpose in the bottom of the junk, while my legs + and arms were tied and my mouth securely bound in what I afterward found + to be a cotton shirt. Then I was left lying in the bottom. Yellow + Handkerchief took the tiller, issuing his orders in whispers; and from our + position at the time, and from the alteration of the sail, which I could + dimly make out above me as a blot against the stars, I knew the junk was + being headed into the mouth of a small slough which emptied at that point + into San Rafael Creek. + </p> + <p> + In a couple of minutes we ran softly alongside the bank, and the sail was + silently lowered. The Chinese kept very quiet. Yellow Handkerchief sat + down in the bottom alongside of me, and I could feel him straining to + repress his raspy, hacking cough. Possibly seven or eight minutes later I + heard Charley's voice as the <i>Reindeer</i> went past the mouth of the + slough. + </p> + <p> + "I can't tell you how relieved I am," I could plainly hear him saying to + Neil, "that the lad has finished with the fish patrol without accident." + </p> + <p> + Here Neil said something which I could not catch, and then Charley's voice + went on: + </p> + <p> + "The youngster takes naturally to the water, and if when he finishes high + school he takes a course in navigation and goes deep sea, I see no reason + why he shouldn't rise to be master of the finest and biggest ship afloat." + </p> + <p> + It was all very flattering to me, but lying there, bound and gagged by my + own prisoners, with the voices growing faint and fainter as the <i>Reindeer</i> + slipped on through the darkness toward San Rafael, I must say I was not in + quite the proper situation to enjoy my smiling future. With the <i>Reindeer</i> + went my last hope. What was to happen next I could not imagine, for the + Chinese were a different race from mine and from what I knew I was + confident that fair play was no part of their make-up. + </p> + <p> + After waiting a few minutes longer, the crew hoisted the lateen sail, and + Yellow Handkerchief steered down toward the mouth of San Rafael Creek. The + tide was getting lower, and he had difficulty in escaping the mud-banks. I + was hoping he would run aground, but he succeeded in making the bay + without accident. + </p> + <p> + As we passed out of the creek a noisy discussion arose, which I knew + related to me. Yellow Handkerchief was vehement, but the other four as + vehemently opposed him. It was very evident that he advocated doing away + with me and that they were afraid of the consequences. I was familiar + enough with the Chinese character to know that fear alone restrained them. + But what plan they offered in place of Yellow Handkerchief's murderous + one, I could not make out. + </p> + <p> + My feelings, as my fate hung in the balance, may be guessed. The + discussion developed into a quarrel, in the midst of which Yellow + Handkerchief unshipped the heavy tiller and sprang toward me. But his four + companions threw themselves between, and a clumsy struggle took place for + possession of the tiller. In the end Yellow Handkerchief was overcome, and + sullenly returned to the steering, while they soundly berated him for his + rashness. + </p> + <p> + Not long after, the sail was run down and the junk slowly urged forward by + means of the sweeps. I felt it ground gently on the soft mud. Three of the + Chinese—they all wore long sea-boots—got over the side, and + the other two passed me across the rail. With Yellow Handkerchief at my + legs and his two companions at my shoulders, they began to flounder along + through the mud. After some time their feet struck firmer footing, and I + knew they were carrying me up some beach. The location of this beach was + not doubtful in my mind. It could be none other than one of the Marin + Islands, a group of rocky islets which lay off the Marin County shore. + </p> + <p> + When they reached the firm sand that marked high tide, I was dropped, and + none too gently. Yellow Handkerchief kicked me spitefully in the ribs, and + then the trio floundered back through the mud to the junk. A moment later + I heard the sail go up and slat in the wind as they drew in the sheet. + Then silence fell, and I was left to my own devices for getting free. + </p> + <p> + I remembered having seen tricksters writhe and squirm out of ropes with + which they were bound, but though I writhed and squirmed like a good + fellow, the knots remained as hard as ever, and there was no appreciable + slack. In the course of my squirming, however, I rolled over upon a heap + of clam-shells—the remains, evidently, of some yachting party's + clam-bake. This gave me an idea. My hands were tied behind my back; and, + clutching a shell in them, I rolled over and over, up the beach, till I + came to the rocks I knew to be there. + </p> + <p> + Rolling around and searching, I finally discovered a narrow crevice, into + which I shoved the shell. The edge of it was sharp, and across the sharp + edge I proceeded to saw the rope that bound my wrists. The edge of the + shell was also brittle, and I broke it by bearing too heavily upon it. + Then I rolled back to the heap and returned with as many shells as I could + carry in both hands. I broke many shells, cut my hands a number of times, + and got cramps in my legs from my strained position and my exertions. + </p> + <p> + While I was suffering from the cramps, and resting, I heard a familiar + halloo drift across the water. It was Charley, searching for me. The gag + in my mouth prevented me from replying, and I could only lie there, + helplessly fuming, while he rowed past the island and his voice slowly + lost itself in the distance. + </p> + <p> + I returned to the sawing process, and at the end of half an hour succeeded + in severing the rope. The rest was easy. My hands once free, it was a + matter of minutes to loosen my legs and to take the gag out of my mouth. I + ran around the island to make sure it <i>was</i> an island and not by any + chance a portion of the mainland. An island it certainly was, one of the + Marin group, fringed with a sandy beach and surrounded by a sea of mud. + Nothing remained but to wait till daylight and to keep warm; for it was a + cold, raw night for California, with just enough wind to pierce the skin + and cause one to shiver. + </p> + <p> + To keep up the circulation, I ran around the island a dozen times or so, + and clambered across its rocky backbone as many times more—all of + which was of greater service to me, as I afterward discovered, than merely + to warm me up. In the midst of this exercise I wondered if I had lost + anything out of my pockets while rolling over and over in the sand. A + search showed the absence of my revolver and pocket-knife. The first + Yellow Handkerchief had taken; but the knife had been lost in the sand. + </p> + <p> + I was hunting for it when the sound of rowlocks came to my ears. At first, + of course, I thought of Charley; but on second thought I knew Charley + would be calling out as he rowed along. A sudden premonition of danger + seized me. The Marin Islands are lonely places; chance visitors in the + dead of night are hardly to be expected. What if it were Yellow + Handkerchief? The sound made by the rowlocks grew more distinct. I + crouched in the sand and listened intently. The boat, which I judged a + small skiff from the quick stroke of the oars, was landing in the mud + about fifty yards up the beach. I heard a raspy, hacking cough, and my + heart stood still. It was Yellow Handkerchief. Not to be robbed of his + revenge by his more cautious companions, he had stolen away from the + village and come back alone. + </p> + <p> + I did some swift thinking. I was unarmed and helpless on a tiny islet, and + a yellow barbarian, whom I had reason to fear, was coming after me. Any + place was safer than the island, and I turned instinctively to the water, + or rather to the mud. As he began to flounder ashore through the mud, I + started to flounder out into it, going over the same course which the + Chinese had taken in landing me and in returning to the junk. + </p> + <p> + Yellow Handkerchief, believing me to be lying tightly bound, exercised no + care, but came ashore noisily. This helped me, for, under the shield of + his noise and making no more myself than necessary, I managed to cover + fifty feet by the time he had made the beach. Here I lay down in the mud. + It was cold and clammy, and made me shiver, but I did not care to stand up + and run the risk of being discovered by his sharp eyes. + </p> + <p> + He walked down the beach straight to where he had left me lying, and I had + a fleeting feeling of regret at not being able to see his surprise when he + did not find me. But it was a very fleeting regret, for my teeth were + chattering with the cold. + </p> + <p> + What his movements were after that I had largely to deduce from the facts + of the situation, for I could scarcely see him in the dim starlight. But I + was sure that the first thing he did was to make the circuit of the beach + to learn if landings had been made by other boats. This he would have + known at once by the tracks through the mud. + </p> + <p> + Convinced that no boat had removed me from the island, he next started to + find out what had become of me. Beginning at the pile of clam-shells, he + lighted matches to trace my tracks in the sand. At such times I could see + his villainous face plainly, and, when the sulphur from the matches + irritated his lungs, between the raspy cough that followed and the clammy + mud in which I was lying, I confess I shivered harder than ever. + </p> + <p> + The multiplicity of my footprints puzzled him. Then the idea that I might + be out in the mud must have struck him, for he waded out a few yards in my + direction, and, stooping, with his eyes searched the dim surface long and + carefully. He could not have been more than fifteen feet from me, and had + he lighted a match he would surely have discovered me. + </p> + <p> + He returned to the beach and clambered about over the rocky backbone, + again hunting for me with lighted matches. The closeness of the shave + impelled me to further flight. Not daring to wade upright, on account of + the noise made by floundering and by the suck of the mud, I remained lying + down in the mud and propelled myself over its surface by means of my + hands. Still keeping the trail made by the Chinese in going from and to + the junk, I held on until I reached the water. Into this I waded to a + depth of three feet, and then I turned off to the side on a line parallel + with the beach. + </p> + <p> + The thought came to me of going toward Yellow Handkerchief's skiff and + escaping in it, but at that very moment he returned to the beach, and, as + though fearing the very thing I had in mind, he slushed out through the + mud to assure himself that the skiff was safe. This turned me in the + opposite direction. Half swimming, half wading, with my head just out of + water and avoiding splashing, I succeeded in putting about a hundred feet + between myself and the spot where the Chinese had begun to wade ashore + from the junk. I drew myself out on the mud and remained lying flat. + </p> + <p> + Again Yellow Handkerchief returned to the beach and made a search of the + island, and again he returned to the heap of clam-shells. I knew what was + running in his mind as well as he did himself. No one could leave or land + without making tracks in the mud. The only tracks to be seen were those + leading from his skiff and from where the junk had been. I was not on the + island. I must have left it by one or the other of those two tracks. He + had just been over the one to his skiff, and was certain I had not left + that way. Therefore I could have left the island only by going over the + tracks of the junk landing. This he proceeded to verify by wading out over + them himself, lighting matches as he came along. + </p> + <p> + When he arrived at the point where I had first lain, I knew, by the + matches he burned and the time he took, that he had discovered the marks + left by my body. These he followed straight to the water and into it, but + in three feet of water he could no longer see them. On the other hand, as + the tide was still falling, he could easily make out the impression made + by the junk's bow, and could have likewise made out the impression of any + other boat if it had landed at that particular spot. But there was no such + mark; and I knew that he was absolutely convinced that I was hiding + somewhere in the mud. + </p> + <p> + But to hunt on a dark night for a boy in a sea of mud would be like + hunting for a needle in a haystack, and he did not attempt it. Instead he + went back to the beach and prowled around for some time. I was hoping he + would give me up and go, for by this time I was suffering severely from + the cold. At last he waded out to his skiff and rowed away. What if this + departure of Yellow Handkerchief's were a sham? What if he had done it + merely to entice me ashore? + </p> + <p> + The more I thought of it the more certain I became that he had made a + little too much noise with his oars as he rowed away. So I remained, lying + in the mud and shivering. I shivered till the muscles of the small of my + back ached and pained me as badly as the cold, and I had need of all my + self-control to force myself to remain in my miserable situation. + </p> + <p> + It was well that I did, however, for, possibly an hour later, I thought I + could make out something moving on the beach. I watched intently, but my + ears were rewarded first, by a raspy cough I knew only too well. Yellow + Handkerchief had sneaked back, landed on the other side of the island, and + crept around to surprise me if I had returned. + </p> + <p> + After that, though hours passed without sign of him, I was afraid to + return to the island at all. On the other hand, I was almost equally + afraid that I should die of the exposure I was undergoing. I had never + dreamed one could suffer so. I grew so cold and numb, finally, that I + ceased to shiver. But my muscles and bones began to ache in a way that was + agony. The tide had long since begun to rise and, foot by foot, it drove + me in toward the beach. High water came at three o'clock, and at three + o'clock I drew myself up on the beach, more dead than alive, and too + helpless to have offered any resistance had Yellow Handkerchief swooped + down upon me. + </p> + <p> + But no Yellow Handkerchief appeared. He had given me up and gone back to + Point Pedro. Nevertheless, I was in a deplorable, not to say a dangerous, + condition. I could not stand upon my feet, much less walk. My clammy, + muddy garments clung to me like sheets of ice. I thought I should never + get them off. So numb and lifeless were my fingers, and so weak was I that + it seemed to take an hour to get off my shoes. I had not the strength to + break the porpoise-hide laces, and the knots defied me. I repeatedly beat + my hands upon the rocks to get some sort of life into them. Sometimes I + felt sure I was going to die. + </p> + <p> + But in the end,—after several centuries, it seemed to me,—I + got off the last of my clothes. The water was now close at hand, and I + crawled painfully into it and washed the mud from my naked body. Still, I + could not get on my feet and walk and I was afraid to lie still. Nothing + remained but to crawl weakly, like a snail, and at the cost of constant + pain, up and down the sand. I kept this up as long as possible, but as the + east paled with the coming of dawn I began to succumb. The sky grew + rosy-red, and the golden rim of the sun, showing above the horizon, found + me lying helpless and motionless among the clam-shells. + </p> + <p> + As in a dream, I saw the familiar mainsail of the <i>Reindeer</i> as she + slipped out of San Rafael Creek on a light puff of morning air. This dream + was very much broken. There are intervals I can never recollect on looking + back over it. Three things, however, I distinctly remember: the first + sight of the <i>Reindeer's</i> mainsail; her lying at anchor a few hundred + feet away and a small boat leaving her side; and the cabin stove roaring + red-hot, myself swathed all over with blankets, except on the chest and + shoulders, which Charley was pounding and mauling unmercifully, and my + mouth and throat burning with the coffee which Neil Partington was pouring + down a trifle too hot. + </p> + <p> + But burn or no burn, I tell you it felt good. By the time we arrived in + Oakland I was as limber and strong as ever,—though Charley and Neil + Partington were afraid I was going to have pneumonia, and Mrs. Partington, + for my first six months of school, kept an anxious eye upon me to discover + the first symptoms of consumption. + </p> + <p> + Time flies. It seems but yesterday that I was a lad of sixteen on the fish + patrol. Yet I know that I arrived this very morning from China, with a + quick passage to my credit, and master of the barkentine <i>Harvester</i>. + And I know that to-morrow morning I shall run over to Oakland to see Neil + Partington and his wife and family, and later on up to Benicia to see + Charley Le Grant and talk over old times. No; I shall not go to Benicia, + now that I think about it. I expect to be a highly interested party to a + wedding, shortly to take place. Her name is Alice Partington, and, since + Charley has promised to be best man, he will have to come down to Oakland + instead. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MAKE WESTING + </h2> + <p> + <i>Whatever you do, make westing! make westing!</i> —Sailing + directions for Cape Horn. + </p> + <p> + For seven weeks the <i>Mary Rogers</i> had been between 50° south in the + Atlantic and 50° south in the Pacific, which meant that for seven weeks + she had been struggling to round Cape Horn. For seven weeks she had been + either in dirt, or close to dirt, save once, and then, following upon six + days of excessive dirt, which she had ridden out under the shelter of the + redoubtable Terra Del Fuego coast, she had almost gone ashore during a + heavy swell in the dead calm that had suddenly fallen. For seven weeks she + had wrestled with the Cape Horn gray-beards, and in return been buffeted + and smashed by them. She was a wooden ship, and her ceaseless straining + had opened her seams, so that twice a day the watch took its turn at the + pumps. + </p> + <p> + The <i>Mary Rogers</i> was strained, the crew was strained, and big Dan + Cullen, master, was likewise strained. Perhaps he was strained most of + all, for upon him rested the responsibility of that titanic struggle. He + slept most of the time in his clothes, though he rarely slept. He haunted + the deck at night, a great, burly, robust ghost, black with the sunburn of + thirty years of sea and hairy as an orang-utan. He, in turn, was haunted + by one thought of action, a sailing direction for the Horn: <i>Whatever + you do, make westing! make westing!</i> It was an obsession. He thought of + nothing else, except, at times, to blaspheme God for sending such bitter + weather. + </p> + <p> + <i>Make westing!</i> He hugged the Horn, and a dozen times lay hove to + with the iron Cape bearing east-by-north, or north-north-east, a score of + miles away. And each time the eternal west wind smote him back and he made + easting. He fought gale after gale, south to 64°, inside the antarctic + drift-ice, and pledged his immortal soul to the Powers of Darkness for a + bit of westing, for a slant to take him around. And he made easting. In + despair, he had tried to make the passage through the Straits of Le Maire. + Halfway through, the wind hauled to the north 'ard of northwest, the glass + dropped to 28.88, and he turned and ran before a gale of cyclonic fury, + missing, by a hair's breadth, piling up the <i>Mary Rogers</i> on the + black-toothed rocks. Twice he had made west to the Diego Ramirez Rocks, + one of the times saved between two snow-squalls by sighting the + gravestones of ships a quarter of a mile dead ahead. + </p> + <p> + Blow! Captain Dan Cullen instanced all his thirty years at sea to prove + that never had it blown so before. The <i>Mary Rogers</i> was hove to at + the time he gave the evidence, and, to clinch it, inside half an hour the + <i>Mary Rogers</i> was hove down to the hatches. Her new main-topsail and + brand new spencer were blown away like tissue paper; and five sails, + furled and fast under double gaskets, were blown loose and stripped from + the yards. And before morning the <i>Mary Rogers</i> was hove down twice + again, and holes were knocked in her bulwarks to ease her decks from the + weight of ocean that pressed her down. + </p> + <p> + On an average of once a week Captain Dan Cullen caught glimpses of the + sun. Once, for ten minutes, the sun shone at midday, and ten minutes + afterward a new gale was piping up, both watches were shortening sail, and + all was buried in the obscurity of a driving snow-squall. For a fortnight, + once, Captain Dan Cullen was without a meridian or a chronometer sight. + Rarely did he know his position within half a degree, except when in sight + of land; for sun and stars remained hidden behind the sky, and it was so + gloomy that even at the best the horizons were poor for accurate + observations. A gray gloom shrouded the world. The clouds were gray; the + great driving seas were leaden gray gloom shrouded the world. The clouds + were gray; the great driving seas were leadening; even the occasional + albatrosses were gray, while the snow-flurries were not white, but gray, + under the sombre pall of the heavens. + </p> + <p> + Life on board the <i>Mary Rogers</i> was gray,—gray and gloomy. The + faces of the sailors were blue-gray; they were afflicted with sea-cuts and + sea-boils, and suffered exquisitely. They were shadows of men. For seven + weeks, in the forecastle or on deck, they had not known what it was to be + dry. They had forgotten what it was to sleep out a watch, and all watches + it was, "All hands on deck!" They caught snatches of agonized sleep, and + they slept in their oilskins ready for the everlasting call. So weak and + worn were they that it took both watches to do the work of one. That was + why both watches were on deck so much of the time. And no shadow of a man + could shirk duty. Nothing less than a broken leg could enable a man to + knock off work; and there were two such, who had been mauled and pulped by + the seas that broke aboard. + </p> + <p> + One other man who was the shadow of a man was George Dorety. He was the + only passenger on board, a friend of the firm, and he had elected to make + the voyage for his health. But seven weeks of Cape Horn had not bettered + his health. He gasped and panted in his bunk through the long, heaving + nights; and when on deck he was so bundled up for warmth that he resembled + a peripatetic old-clothes shop. At midday, eating at the cabin table in a + gloom so deep that the swinging sea-lamps burned always, he looked as + blue-gray as the sickest, saddest man for'ard. Nor did gazing across the + table at Captain Dan Cullen have any cheering effect upon him. Captain + Cullen chewed and scowled and kept silent. The scowls were for God, and + with every chew he reiterated the sole thought of his existence, which was + <i>make westing.</i> He was a big, hairy brute, and the sight of him was + not stimulating to the other's appetite. He looked upon George Dorety as a + Jonah, and told him so, once each meal, savagely transferring the scowl + from God to the passenger and back again. + </p> + <p> + Nor did the mate prove a first aid to a languid appetite. Joshua Higgins + by name, a seaman by profession and pull, but a pot-wolloper by capacity, + he was a loose-jointed, sniffling creature, heartless and selfish and + cowardly, without a soul, in fear of his life of Dan Cullen, and a bully + over the sailors, who knew that behind the mate was Captain Cullen, the + lawgiver and compeller, the driver and the destroyer, the incarnation of a + dozen bucko mates. In that wild weather at the southern end of the earth, + Joshua Higgins ceased washing. His grimy face usually robbed George Dorety + of what little appetite he managed to accumulate. Ordinarily this + lavatorial dereliction would have caught Captain Cullen's eye and + vocabulary, but in the present his mind was filled with making westing, to + the exclusion of all other things not contributory thereto. Whether the + mate's face was clean or dirty had no bearing upon westing. Later on, when + 50° south in the Pacific had been reached, Joshua Higgins would wash his + face very abruptly. In the meantime, at the cabin table, where gray + twilight alternated with lamplight while the lamps were being filled, + George Dorety sat between the two men, one a tiger and the other a hyena, + and wondered why God had made them. The second mate, Matthew Turner, was a + true sailor and a man, but George Dorety did not have the solace of his + company, for he ate by himself, solitary, when they had finished. + </p> + <p> + On Saturday morning, July 24, George Dorety awoke to a feeling of life and + headlong movement. On deck he found the <i>Mary Rogers</i> running off + before a howling southeaster. Nothing was set but the lower topsails and + the foresail. It was all she could stand, yet she was making fourteen + knots, as Mr. Turner shouted in Dorety's ear when he came on deck. And it + was all westing. She was going around the Horn at last ... if the wind + held. Mr. Turner looked happy. The end of the struggle was in sight. But + Captain Cullen did not look happy. He scowled at Dorety in passing. + Captain Cullen did not want God to know that he was pleased with that + wind. He had a conception of a malicious God, and believed in his secret + soul that if God knew it was a desirable wind, God would promptly efface + it and send a snorter from the west. So he walked softly before God, + smothering his joy down under scowls and muttered curses, and, so, fooling + God, for God was the only thing in the universe of which Dan Cullen was + afraid. + </p> + <p> + All Saturday and Saturday night the <i>Mary Rogers</i> raced her westing. + Persistently she logged her fourteen knots, so that by Sunday morning she + had covered three hundred and fifty miles. If the wind held, she would + make around. If it failed, and the snorter came from anywhere between + southwest and north, back the <i>Mary Rogers</i> would be hurled and be no + better off than she had been seven weeks before. And on Sunday morning the + wind <i>was</i> failing. The big sea was going down and running smooth. + Both watches were on deck setting sail after sail as fast as the ship + could stand it. And now Captain Cullen went around brazenly before God, + smoking a big cigar, smiling jubilantly, as if the failing wind delighted + him, while down underneath he was raging against God for taking the life + out of the blessed wind. <i>Make westing</i>! So he would, if God would + only leave him alone. Secretly, he pledged himself anew to the Powers of + Darkness, if they would let him make westing. He pledged himself so easily + because he did not believe in the Powers of Darkness. He really believed + only in God, though he did not know it. And in his inverted theology God + was really the Prince of Darkness. Captain Cullen was a devil-worshipper, + but he called the devil by another name, that was all. + </p> + <p> + At midday, after calling eight bells, Captain Cullen ordered the royals + on. The men went aloft faster than they had gone in weeks. Not alone were + they nimble because of the westing, but a benignant sun was shining down + and limbering their stiff bodies. George Dorety stood aft, near Captain + Cullen, less bundled in clothes than usual, soaking in the grateful warmth + as he watched the scene. Swiftly and abruptly the incident occurred. There + was a cry from the foreroyal-yard of "Man overboard!" Somebody threw a + life buoy over the side, and at the same instant the second mate's voice + came aft, ringing and peremptory:— + </p> + <p> + "Hard down your helm!" + </p> + <p> + The man at the wheel never moved a spoke. He knew better, for Captain Dan + Cullen was standing alongside of him. He wanted to move a spoke, to move + all the spokes, to grind the wheel down, hard down, for his comrade + drowning in the sea. He glanced at Captain Dan Cullen, and Captain Dan + Cullen gave no sign. + </p> + <p> + "Down! Hard down!" the second mate roared, as he sprang aft. + </p> + <p> + But he ceased springing and commanding, and stood still, when he saw Dan + Cullen by the wheel. And big Dan Cullen puffed at his cigar and said + nothing. Astern, and going astern fast, could be seen the sailor. He had + caught the life buoy and was clinging to it. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. + The men aloft clung to the royal yards and watched with terror stricken + faces. And the <i>Mary Rogers</i> raced on, making her westing. A long, + silent minute passed. + </p> + <p> + "Who was it!" Captain Cullen demanded. + </p> + <p> + "Mops, sir," eagerly answered the sailor at the wheel. + </p> + <p> + Mops topped a wave astern and disappeared temporarily in the trough. It + was a large wave, but it was no graybeard. A small boat could live easily + in such a sea, and in such a sea the <i>Mary Rogers</i> could easily come + to. But she could not come to and make westing at the same time. + </p> + <p> + For the first time in all his years, George Dorety was seeing a real drama + of life and death—a sordid little drama in which the scales balanced + an unknown sailor named Mops against a few miles of longitude. At first he + had watched the man astern, but now he watched big Dan Cullen, hairy and + black, vested with power of life and death, smoking a cigar. + </p> + <p> + Captain Dan Cullen smoked another long, silent minute. Then he removed the + cigar from his mouth. He glanced aloft at the spars of the <i>Mary Rogers</i>, + and overside at the sea. + </p> + <p> + "Sheet home the royals!" he cried. + </p> + <p> + Fifteen minutes later they sat at table, in the cabin, with food served + before them. On one side of George Dorety sat Dan Cullen, the tiger, on + the other side, Joshua Higgins, the hyena. Nobody spoke. On deck the men + were sheeting home the skysails. George Dorety could hear their cries, + while a persistent vision haunted him of a man called Mops, alive and + well, clinging to a life buoy miles astern in that lonely ocean. He + glanced at Captain Cullen, and experienced a feeling of nausea, for the + man was eating his food with relish, almost bolting it. + </p> + <p> + "Captain Cullen," Dorety said, "you are in command of this ship, and it is + not proper for me to comment now upon what you do. But I wish to say one + thing. There is a hereafter, and yours will be a hot one." + </p> + <p> + Captain Cullen did not even scowl. In his voice was regret as he said:—"It + was blowing a living gale. It was impossible to save the man." + </p> + <p> + "He fell from the royal-yard," Dorety cried hotly. "You were setting the + royals at the time. Fifteen minutes afterward you were setting the + skysails." + </p> + <p> + "It was a living gale, wasn't it, Mr. Higgins?" Captain Cullen said, + turning to the mate. + </p> + <p> + "If you'd brought her to, it'd have taken the sticks out of her," was the + mate's answer. "You did the proper thing, Captain Cullen. The man hadn't a + ghost of a show." + </p> + <p> + George Dorety made no answer, and to the meal's end no one spoke. After + that, Dorety had his meals served in his stateroom. Captain Cullen scowled + at him no longer, though no speech was exchanged between them, while the + <i>Mary Rogers</i> sped north toward warmer latitudes. At the end of the + week, Dan Cullen cornered Dorety on deck. + </p> + <p> + "What are you going to do when we get to Frisco?" he demanded bluntly. + </p> + <p> + "I am going to swear out a warrant for your arrest," Dorety answered + quietly. "I am going to charge you with murder, and I am going to see you + hanged for it." + </p> + <p> + "You're almighty sure of yourself," Captain Cullen sneered, turning on his + heel. + </p> + <p> + A second week passed, and one morning found George Dorety standing in the + coach-house companionway at the for'ard end of the long poop, taking his + first gaze around the deck. The <i>Mary Rogers</i> was reaching + full-and-by, in a stiff breeze. Every sail was set and drawing, including + the staysails. Captain Cullen strolled for'ard along the poop. He strolled + carelessly, glancing at the passenger out of the corner of his eye. Dorety + was looking the other way, standing with head and shoulders outside the + companionway, and only the back of his head was to be seen. Captain + Cullen, with swift eye, embraced the mainstaysail-block and the head and + estimated the distance. He glanced about him. Nobody was looking. Aft, + Joshua Higgins, pacing up and down, had just turned his back and was going + the other way. Captain Cullen bent over suddenly and cast the + staysail-sheet off from its pin. The heavy block hurtled through the air, + smashing Dorety's head like an egg-shell and hurtling on and back and + forth as the staysail whipped and slatted in the wind. Joshua Higgins + turned around to see what had carried away, and met the full blast of the + vilest portion of Captain Cullen's profanity. + </p> + <p> + "I made the sheet fast myself," whimpered the mate in the first lull, + "with an extra turn to make sure. I remember it distinctly." + </p> + <p> + "Made fast?" the captain snarled back, for the benefit of the watch as it + struggled to capture the flying sail before it tore to ribbons. "You + couldn't make your grandmother fast, you useless scullion. If you made + that sheet fast with an extra turn, why didn't it stay fast? That's what I + want to know. Why didn't it stay fast?" + </p> + <p> + The mate whined inarticulately. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, shut up!" was the final word of Captain Cullen. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour later he was as surprised as any when the body of George + Dorety was found inside the companionway on the floor. In the afternoon, + alone in his room, he doctored up the log. + </p> + <p> + "<i>Ordinary seaman, Karl Brun," he wrote, "lost overboard from + foreroyal-yard in a gale of wind. Was running at the time, and for the + safety of the ship did not dare come up to the wind. Nor could a boat have + lived in the sea that was running</i>." + </p> + <p> + On another page, he wrote:— + </p> + <p> + "<i>Had often warned Mr. Dorety about the danger he ran because of his + carelessness on deck. I told him, once, that some day he would get his + head knocked off by a block. A carelessly fastened mainstaysail sheet was + the cause of the accident, which was deeply to be regretted because Mr. + Dorety was a favorite with all of us</i>." + </p> + <p> + Captain Dan Cullen read over his literary effort with admiration, blotted + the page, and closed the log. He lighted a cigar and stared before him. He + felt the <i>Mary Rogers</i> lift, and heel, and surge along, and knew that + she was making nine knots. A smile of satisfaction slowly dawned on his + black and hairy face. Well, anyway, he had made his westing and fooled + God. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE HEATHEN + </h2> + <p> + I met him first in a hurricane; and though we had gone through the + hurricane on the same schooner, it was not until the schooner had gone to + pieces under us that I first laid eyes on him. Without doubt I had seen + him with the rest of the kanaka crew on board, but I had not consciously + been aware of his existence, for the <i>Petite Jeanne</i> was rather + overcrowded. In addition to her eight or ten kanaka seamen, her white + captain, mate, and supercargo, and her six cabin passengers, she sailed + from Rangiroa with something like eighty-five deck passengers—Paumotans + and Tahitians, men, women, and children each with a trade box, to say + nothing of sleeping-mats, blankets, and clothes-bundles. + </p> + <p> + The pearling season in the Paumotus was over, and all hands were returning + to Tahiti. The six of us cabin passengers were pearl-buyers. Two were + Americans, one was Ah Choon (the whitest Chinese I have ever known), one + was a German, one was a Polish Jew, and I completed the half dozen. + </p> + <p> + It had been a prosperous season. Not one of us had cause for complaint, + nor one of the eighty-five deck passengers either. All had done well, and + all were looking forward to a rest-off and a good time in Papeete. + </p> + <p> + Of course, the <i>Petite Jeanne</i> was overloaded. She was only seventy + tons, and she had no right to carry a tithe of the mob she had on board. + Beneath her hatches she was crammed and jammed with pearl-shell and copra. + Even the trade room was packed full of shell. It was a miracle that the + sailors could work her. There was no moving about the decks. They simply + climbed back and forth along the rails. + </p> + <p> + In the night-time they walked upon the sleepers, who carpeted the deck, + I'll swear, two deep. Oh! and there were pigs and chickens on deck, and + sacks of yams, while every conceivable place was festooned with strings of + drinking cocoanuts and bunches of bananas. On both sides, between the fore + and main shrouds, guys had been stretched, just low enough for the + foreboom to swing clear; and from each of these guys at least fifty + bunches of bananas were suspended. + </p> + <p> + It promised to be a messy passage, even if we did make it in the two or + three days that would have been required if the southeast trades had been + blowing fresh. But they weren't blowing fresh. After the first five hours + the trade died away in a dozen or so gasping fans. The calm continued all + that night and the next day—one of those glaring, glassy calms, when + the very thought of opening one's eyes to look at it is sufficient to + cause a headache. + </p> + <p> + The second day a man died—an Easter Islander, one of the best divers + that season in the lagoon. Smallpox—that is what it was; though how + smallpox could come on board, when there had been no known cases ashore + when we left Rangiroa, is beyond me. There it was, though—smallpox, + a man dead, and three others down on their backs. + </p> + <p> + There was nothing to be done. We could not segregate the sick, nor could + we care for them. We were packed like sardines. There was nothing to do + but rot or die—that is, there was nothing to do after the night that + followed the first death. On that night, the mate, the supercargo, the + Polish Jew, and four native divers sneaked away in the large whale-boat. + They were never heard of again. In the morning the captain promptly + scuttled the remaining boats, and there we were. + </p> + <p> + That day there were two deaths; the following day three; then it jumped to + eight. It was curious to see how we took it. The natives, for instance, + fell into a condition of dumb, stolid fear. The captain—Oudouse, his + name was, a Frenchman—became very nervous and voluble. He actually + got the twitches. He was a large, fleshy man, weighing at least two + hundred pounds, and he quickly became a faithful representation of a + quivering jelly-mountain of fat. + </p> + <p> + The German, the two Americans, and myself bought up all the Scotch + whiskey, and proceeded to stay drunk. The theory was beautiful—namely, + if we kept ourselves soaked in alcohol, every smallpox germ that came into + contact with us would immediately be scorched to a cinder. And the theory + worked, though I must confess that neither Captain Oudouse nor Ah Choon + were attacked by the disease either. The Frenchman did not drink at all, + while Ah Choon restricted himself to one drink daily. + </p> + <p> + It was a pretty time. The sun, going into northern declination, was + straight overhead. There was no wind, except for frequent squalls, which + blew fiercely for from five minutes to half an hour, and wound up by + deluging us with rain. After each squall, the awful sun would come out, + drawing clouds of steam from the soaked decks. + </p> + <p> + The steam was not nice. It was the vapor of death, freighted with millions + and millions of germs. We always took another drink when we saw it going + up from the dead and dying, and usually we took two or three more drinks, + mixing them exceptionally stiff. Also, we made it a rule to take an + additional several each time they hove the dead over to the sharks that + swarmed about us. + </p> + <p> + We had a week of it, and then the whiskey gave out. It is just as well, or + I shouldn't be alive now. It took a sober man to pull through what + followed, as you will see when I mention the little fact that only two men + did pull through. The other man was the heathen—at least, that was + what I heard Captain Oudouse call him at the moment I first became aware + of the heathen's existence. But to come back. + </p> + <p> + It was at the end of the week, with the whiskey gone, and the pearl-buyers + sober, that I happened to glance at the barometer that hung in the cabin + companionway. Its normal register in the Paumotus was 29.90, and it was + quite customary to see it vacillate between 29.85 and 30.00, or even + 30.05; but to see it as I saw it, down to 29.62, was sufficient to sober + the most drunken pearl-buyer that ever incinerated smallpox microbes in + Scotch whiskey. + </p> + <p> + I called Captain Oudouse's attention to it, only to be informed that he + had watched it going down for several hours. There was little to do, but + that little he did very well, considering the circumstances. He took off + the light sails, shortened right down to storm canvas, spread life-lines, + and waited for the wind. His mistake lay in what he did after the wind + came. He hove to on the port tack, which was the right thing to do south + of the Equator, if—and there was the rub—<i>if</i> one were <i>not</i> + in the direct path of the hurricane. + </p> + <p> + We were in the direct path. I could see that by the steady increase of the + wind and the equally steady fall of the barometer. I wanted him to turn + and run with the wind on the port quarter until the barometer ceased + falling, and then to heave to. We argued till he was reduced to hysteria, + but budge he would not. The worst of it was that I could not get the rest + of the pearl-buyers to back me up. Who was I, anyway, to know more about + the sea and its ways than a properly qualified captain? was what was in + their minds, I knew. + </p> + <p> + Of course the sea rose with the wind frightfully; and I shall never forget + the first three seas the <i>Petite Jeanne</i> shipped. She had fallen off, + as vessels do at times when hove to, and the first sea made a clean + breach. The life-lines were only for the strong and well, and little good + were they even for them when the women and children, the bananas and + cocoanuts, the pigs and trade boxes, the sick and the dying, were swept + along in a solid, screeching, groaning mass. + </p> + <p> + The second sea filled the <i>Petite Jeanne's</i> decks flush with the + rails; and, as her stern sank down and her bow tossed skyward, all the + miserable dunnage of life and luggage poured aft. It was a human torrent. + They came head-first, feet-first, sidewise, rolling over and over, + twisting, squirming, writhing, and crumpling up. Now and again one caught + a grip on a stanchion or a rope; but the weight of the bodies behind tore + such grips loose. + </p> + <p> + One man I noticed fetch up, head on and square on, with the + starboard-bitt. His head cracked like an egg. I saw what was coming, + sprang on top of the cabin, and from there into the mainsail itself. Ah + Choon and one of the Americans tried to follow me, but I was one jump + ahead of them. The American was swept away and over the stern like a piece + of chaff. Ah Choon caught a spoke of the wheel, and swung in behind it. + But a strapping Raratonga vahine (woman)—she must have weighed two + hundred and fifty—brought up against him, and got an arm around his + neck. He clutched the kanaka steersman with his other hand; and just at + that moment the schooner flung down to starboard. + </p> + <p> + The rush of bodies and sea that was coming along the port runway between + the cabin and the rail turned abruptly and poured to starboard. Away they + went—vahine, Ah Choon, and steersman: and I swear I saw Ah Choon + grin at me with philosophic resignation as he cleared the rail and went + under. + </p> + <p> + The third sea—the biggest of the three—did not do so much + damage. By the time it arrived nearly everybody was in the rigging. On + deck perhaps a dozen gasping, half-drowned, and half-stunned wretches were + rolling about or attempting to crawl into safety. They went by the board, + as did the wreckage of the two remaining boats. The other pearl-buyers and + myself, between seas, managed to get about fifteen women and children into + the cabin, and battened down. Little good it did the poor creatures in the + end. + </p> + <p> + Wind? Out of all my experience I could not have believed it possible for + the wind to blow as it did. There is no describing it. How can one + describe a nightmare? It was the same way with that wind. It tore the + clothes off our bodies. I say <i>tore them off</i>, and I mean it. I am + not asking you to believe it. I am merely telling something that I saw and + felt. There are times when I do not believe it myself. I went through it, + and that is enough. One could not face that wind and live. It was a + monstrous thing, and the most monstrous thing about it was that it + increased and continued to increase. + </p> + <p> + Imagine countless millions and billions of tons of sand. Imagine this sand + tearing along at ninety, a hundred, a hundred and twenty, or any other + number of miles per hour. Imagine, further, this sand to be invisible, + impalpable, yet to retain all the weight and density of sand. Do all this, + and you may get a vague inkling of what that wind was like. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps sand is not the right comparison. Consider it mud, invisible, + impalpable, but heavy as mud. Nay, it goes beyond that. Consider every + molecule of air to be a mud-bank in itself. Then try to imagine the + multitudinous impact of mud-banks. No; it is beyond me. Language may be + adequate to express the ordinary conditions of life, but it cannot + possibly express any of the conditions of so enormous a blast of wind. It + would have been better had I stuck by my original intention of not + attempting a description. + </p> + <p> + I will say this much: The sea, which had risen at first, was beaten down + by that wind. More: it seemed as if the whole ocean had been sucked up in + the maw of the hurricane, and hurled on through that portion of space + which previously had been occupied by the air. + </p> + <p> + Of course, our canvas had gone long before. But Captain Oudouse had on the + <i>Petite Jeanne</i> something I had never before seen on a South Sea + schooner—a sea-anchor. It was a conical canvas bag, the mouth of + which was kept open by a huge hoop of iron. The sea-anchor was bridled + something like a kite, so that it bit into the water as a kite bites into + the air, but with a difference. The sea-anchor remained just under the + surface of the ocean in a perpendicular position. A long line, in turn, + connected it with the schooner. As a result, the <i>Petite Jeanne</i> rode + bow on to the wind and to what sea there was. + </p> + <p> + The situation really would have been favorable had we not been in the path + of the storm. True, the wind itself tore our canvas out of the gaskets, + jerked out our topmasts, and made a raffle of our running-gear, but still + we would have come through nicely had we not been square in front of the + advancing storm-centre. That was what fixed us. I was in a state of + stunned, numbed, paralyzed collapse from enduring the impact of the wind, + and I think I was just about ready to give up and die when the centre + smote us. The blow we received was an absolute lull. There was not a + breath of air. The effect on one was sickening. + </p> + <p> + Remember that for hours we had been at terrific muscular tension, + withstanding the awful pressure of that wind. And then, suddenly, the + pressure was removed. I know that I felt as though I was about to expand, + to fly apart in all directions. It seemed as if every atom composing my + body was repelling every other atom and was on the verge of rushing off + irresistibly into space. But that lasted only for a moment. Destruction + was upon us. + </p> + <p> + In the absence of the wind and pressure the sea rose. It jumped, it + leaped, it soared straight toward the clouds. Remember, from every point + of the compass that inconceivable wind was blowing in toward the centre of + calm. The result was that the seas sprang up from every point of the + compass. There was no wind to check them. They popped up like corks + released from the bottom of a pail of water. There was no system to them, + no stability. They were hollow, maniacal seas. They were eighty feet high + at the least. They were not seas at all. They resembled no sea a man had + ever seen. + </p> + <p> + They were splashes, monstrous splashes—that is all. Splashes that + were eighty feet high. Eighty! They were more than eighty. They went over + our mastheads. They were spouts, explosions. They were drunken. They fell + anywhere, anyhow. They jostled one another; they collided. They rushed + together and collapsed upon one another, or fell apart like a thousand + waterfalls all at once. It was no ocean any man had ever dreamed of, that + hurricane centre. It was confusion thrice confounded. It was anarchy. It + was a hell-pit of sea-water gone mad. + </p> + <p> + The <i>Petite Jeanne</i>? I don't know. The heathen told me afterward that + he did not know. She was literally torn apart, ripped wide open, beaten + into a pulp, smashed into kindling wood, annihilated. When I came to I was + in the water, swimming automatically, though I was about two-thirds + drowned. How I got there I had no recollection. I remembered seeing the <i>Petite + Jeanne</i> fly to pieces at what must have been the instant that my own + consciousness was buffetted out of me. But there I was, with nothing to do + but make the best of it, and in that best there was little promise. The + wind was blowing again, the sea was much smaller and more regular, and I + knew that I had passed through the centre. Fortunately, there were no + sharks about. The hurricane had dissipated the ravenous horde that had + surrounded the death ship and fed off the dead. + </p> + <p> + It was about midday when the <i>Petite Jeanne</i> went to pieces, and it + must have been two hours afterward when I picked up with one of her + hatch-covers. Thick rain was driving at the time; and it was the merest + chance that flung me and the hatch-cover together. A short length of line + was trailing from the rope handle; and I knew that I was good for a day, + at least, if the sharks did not return. Three hours later, possibly a + little longer, sticking close to the cover, and, with closed eyes, + concentrating my whole soul upon the task of breathing in enough air to + keep me going and at the same time of avoiding breathing in enough water + to drown me, it seemed to me that I heard voices. The rain had ceased, and + wind and sea were easing marvellously. Not twenty feet away from me on + another hatch-cover, were Captain Oudouse and the heathen. They were + fighting over the possession of the cover—at least, the Frenchman + was. + </p> + <p> + "<i>Paien noir</i>!" I heard him scream, and at the same time I saw him + kick the kanaka. + </p> + <p> + Now, Captain Oudouse had lost all his clothes, except his shoes, and they + were heavy brogans. It was a cruel blow, for it caught the heathen on the + mouth and the point of the chin, half stunning him. I looked for him to + retaliate, but he contented himself with swimming about forlornly a safe + ten feet away. Whenever a fling of the sea threw him closer, the + Frenchman, hanging on with his hands, kicked out at him with both feet. + Also, at the moment of delivering each kick, he called the kanaka a black + heathen. + </p> + <p> + "For two centimes I'd come over there and drown you, you white beast!" I + yelled. + </p> + <p> + The only reason I did not go was that I felt too tired. The very thought + of the effort to swim over was nauseating. So I called to the kanaka to + come to me, and proceeded to share the hatch-cover with him. Otoo, he told + me his name was (pronounced o-to-o); also, he told me that he was a native + of Bora Bora, the most westerly of the Society Group. As I learned + afterward, he had got the hatch-cover first, and, after some time, + encountering Captain Oudouse, had offered to share it with him, and had + been kicked off for his pains. + </p> + <p> + And that was how Otoo and I first came together. He was no fighter. He was + all sweetness and gentleness, a love-creature, though he stood nearly six + feet tall and was muscled like a gladiator. He was no fighter, but he was + also no coward. He had the heart of a lion; and in the years that followed + I have seen him run risks that I would never dream of taking. What I mean + is that while he was no fighter, and while he always avoided precipitating + a row, he never ran away from trouble when it started. And it was "'Ware + shoal!" when once Otoo went into action. I shall never forget what he did + to Bill King. It occurred in German Samoa. Bill King was hailed the + champion heavyweight of the American Navy. He was a big brute of a man, a + veritable gorilla, one of those hard-hitting, rough-housing chaps, and + clever with his fists as well. He picked the quarrel, and he kicked Otoo + twice and struck him once before Otoo felt it to be necessary to fight. I + don't think it lasted four minutes, at the end of which time Bill King was + the unhappy possessor of four broken ribs, a broken forearm, and a + dislocated shoulder-blade. Otoo knew nothing of scientific boxing. He was + merely a manhandler; and Bill King was something like three months in + recovering from the bit of manhandling he received that afternoon on Apia + beach. + </p> + <p> + But I am running ahead of my yarn. We shared the hatch-cover between us. + We took turn and turn about, one lying flat on the cover and resting, + while the other, submerged to the neck, merely held on with his hands. For + two days and nights, spell and spell, on the cover and in the water, we + drifted over the ocean. Toward the last I was delirious most of the time; + and there were times, too, when I heard Otoo babbling and raving in his + native tongue. Our continuous immersion prevented us from dying of thirst, + though the sea-water and the sunshine gave us the prettiest imaginable + combination of salt pickle and sunburn. + </p> + <p> + In the end, Otoo saved my life; for I came to lying on the beach twenty + feet from the water, sheltered from the sun by a couple of cocoanut + leaves. No one but Otoo could have dragged me there and stuck up the + leaves for shade. He was lying beside me. I went off again; and the next + time I came round, it was cool and starry night, and Otoo was pressing a + drinking cocoanut to my lips. + </p> + <p> + We were the sole survivors of the <i>Petite Jeanne.</i> Captain Oudouse + must have succumbed to exhaustion, for several days later his hatch-cover + drifted ashore without him. Otoo and I lived with the natives of the atoll + for a week, when we were rescued by a French cruiser and taken to Tahiti. + In the meantime, however, we had performed the ceremony of exchanging + names. In the South Seas such a ceremony binds two men closer together + than blood-brothership. The initiative had been mine; and Otoo was + rapturously delighted when I suggested it. + </p> + <p> + "It is well," he said, in Tahitian. "For we have been mates together for + two days on the lips of Death." + </p> + <p> + "But Death stuttered." I smiled. + </p> + <p> + "It was a brave deed you did, master," he replied, "and Death was not vile + enough to speak." + </p> + <p> + "Why do you 'master' me?" I demanded, with a show of hurt feelings. "We + have exchanged names. To you I am Otoo. To me you are Charley. And between + you and me, forever and forever, you shall be Charley, and I shall be + Otoo. It is the way of the custom. And when we die, if it does happen that + we live again somewhere beyond the stars and the sky, still shall you be + Charley to me, and I Otoo to you." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, master," he answered, his eyes luminous and soft with joy. + </p> + <p> + "There you go!" I cried indignantly. + </p> + <p> + "What does it matter what my lips utter?" he argued. "They are only my + lips. But I shall think Otoo always. Whenever I think of myself, I shall + think of you. Whenever men call me by name, I shall think of you. And + beyond the sky and beyond the stars, always and forever, you shall be Otoo + to me. Is it well, master?" + </p> + <p> + I hid my smile, and answered that it was well. + </p> + <p> + We parted at Papeete. I remained ashore to recuperate; and he went on in a + cutter to his own island, Bora Bora. Six weeks later he was back. I was + surprised, for he had told me of his wife, and said that he was returning + to her, and would give over sailing on far voyages. + </p> + <p> + "Where do you go, master?" he asked after our first greetings. + </p> + <p> + I shrugged my shoulders. It was a hard question. + </p> + <p> + "All the world," was my answer—"all the world, all the sea, and all + the islands that are in the sea." + </p> + <p> + "I will go with you," he said simply. "My wife is dead." + </p> + <p> + I never had a brother; but from what I have seen of other men's brothers, + I doubt if any man ever had a brother that was to him what Otoo was to me. + He was brother and father and mother as well. And this I know: I lived a + straighter and better man because of Otoo. I cared little for other men, + but I had to live straight in Otoo's eyes. Because of him I dared not + tarnish myself. He made me his ideal, compounding me, I fear, chiefly out + of his own love and worship; and there were times when I stood close to + the steep pitch of Hades, and would have taken the plunge had not the + thought of Otoo restrained me. His pride in me entered into me, until it + became one of the major rules in my personal code to do nothing that would + diminish that pride of his. + </p> + <p> + Naturally, I did not learn right away what his feelings were toward me. He + never criticised, never censured; and slowly the exalted place I held in + his eyes dawned upon me, and slowly I grew to comprehend the hurt I could + inflict upon him by being anything less than my best. + </p> + <p> + For seventeen years we were together; for seventeen years he was at my + shoulder, watching while I slept, nursing me through fever and wounds—ay, + and receiving wounds in fighting for me. He signed on the same ships with + me; and together we ranged the Pacific from Hawaii to Sydney Head, and + from Torres Straits to the Galapagos. We blackbirded from the New Hebrides + and the Line Islands over to the westward clear through the Louisades, New + Britain, New Ireland, and New Hanover. We were wrecked three times—in + the Gilberts, in the Santa Cruz group, and in the Fijis. And we traded and + salved wherever a dollar promised in the way of pearl and pearl-shell, + copra, beche-de-mer, hawkbill turtle-shell, and stranded wrecks. + </p> + <p> + It began in Papeete, immediately after his announcement that he was going + with me over all the sea, and the islands in the midst thereof. There was + a club in those days in Papeete, where the pearlers, traders, captains, + and riffraff of South Sea adventurers foregathered. The play ran high, and + the drink ran high; and I am very much afraid that I kept later hours than + were becoming or proper. No matter what the hour was when I left the club, + there was Otoo waiting to see me safely home. + </p> + <p> + At first I smiled; next I chided him. Then I told him flatly that I stood + in need of no wet-nursing. After that I did not see him when I came out of + the club. Quite by accident, a week or so later, I discovered that he + still saw me home, lurking across the street among the shadows of the + mango-trees. What could I do? I know what I did do. + </p> + <p> + Insensibly I began to keep better hours. On wet and stormy nights, in the + thick of the folly and the fun, the thought would persist in coming to me + of Otoo keeping his dreary vigil under the dripping mangoes. Truly, he had + made a better man of me. Yet he was not strait-laced. And he knew nothing + of common Christian morality. All the people on Bora Bora were Christians; + but he was a heathen, the only unbeliever on the island, a gross + materialist, who believed that when he died he was dead. He believed + merely in fair play and square dealing. Petty meanness, in his code, was + almost as serious as wanton homicide; and I do believe that he respected a + murderer more than a man given to small practices. + </p> + <p> + Otoo had my welfare always at heart. He thought ahead for me, weighed my + plans, and took a greater interest in them than I did myself. At first, + when I was unaware of this interest of his in my affairs, he had to divine + my intentions, as, for instance, at Papeete, when I contemplated going + partners with a knavish fellow-countryman on a guano venture. I did not + know he was a knave. Nor did any white man in Papeete. Neither did Otoo + know, but he saw how thick we were getting, and found out for me, and + without my asking him. Native sailors from the ends of the seas knock + about on the beach in Tahiti; and Otoo, suspicious merely, went among them + till he had gathered sufficient data to justify his suspicions. Oh, it was + a nice history, that of Randolph Waters. I couldn't believe it when Otoo + first narrated it; but when I sheeted it home to Waters he gave in without + a murmur, and got away on the first steamer to Aukland. + </p> + <p> + At first, I am free to confess, I couldn't help resenting Otoo's poking + his nose into my business. But I knew that he was wholly unselfish; and + soon I had to acknowledge his wisdom and discretion. He had his eyes open + always to my main chance, and he was both keen-sighted and far-sighted. In + time he became my counsellor, until he knew more of my business than I did + myself. He really had my interest at heart more than I did. Mine was the + magnificent carelessness of youth, for I preferred romance to dollars, and + adventure to a comfortable billet with all night in. So it was well that I + had some one to look out for me. I know that if it had not been for Otoo, + I should not be here to-day. + </p> + <p> + Of numerous instances, let me give one. I had had some experience in + blackbirding before I went pearling in the Paumotus. Otoo and I were in + Samoa—we really were on the beach and hard aground—when my + chance came to go as recruiter on a blackbird brig. Otoo signed on before + the mast; and for the next half-dozen years, in as many ships, we knocked + about the wildest portions of Melanesia. Otoo saw to it that he always + pulled stroke-oar in my boat. Our custom in recruiting labor was to land + the recruiter on the beach. The covering boat always lay on its oars + several hundred feet off shore, while the recruiter's boat, also lying on + its oars, kept afloat on the edge of the beach. When I landed with my + trade-goods, leaving my steering sweep apeak, Otoo left his stroke + position and came into the stern-sheets, where a Winchester lay ready to + hand under a flap of canvas. The boat's crew was also armed, the Sniders + concealed under canvas flaps that ran the length of the gunwales. While I + was busy arguing and persuading the woolly-headed cannibals to come and + labor on the Queensland plantations Otoo kept watch. And often and often + his low voice warned me of suspicious actions and impending treachery. + Sometimes it was the quick shot from his rifle, knocking a savage over, + that was the first warning I received. And in my rush to the boat his hand + was always there to jerk me flying aboard. Once, I remember, on <i>Santa + Anna</i>, the boat grounded just as the trouble began. The covering boat + was dashing to our assistance, but the several score of savages would have + wiped us out before it arrived. Otoo took a flying leap ashore, dug both + hands into the trade-goods, and scattered tobacco, beads, tomahawks, + knives, and calicoes in all directions. + </p> + <p> + This was too much for the woolly-heads. While they scrambled for the + treasures, the boat was shoved clear, and we were aboard and forty feet + away. And I got thirty recruits off that very beach in the next four + hours. + </p> + <p> + The particular instance I have in mind was on Malaita, the most savage + island in the easterly Solomons. The natives had been remarkably friendly; + and how were we to know that the whole village had been taking up a + collection for over two years with which to buy a white man's head? The + beggars are all head-hunters, and they especially esteem a white man's + head. The fellow who captured the head would receive the whole collection. + As I say, they appeared very friendly; and on this day I was fully a + hundred yards down the beach from the boat. Otoo had cautioned me; and, as + usual when I did not heed him, I came to grief. + </p> + <p> + The first I knew, a cloud of spears sailed out of the mangrove swamp at + me. At least a dozen were sticking into me. I started to run, but tripped + over one that was fast in my calf, and went down. The woolly-heads made a + run for me, each with a long-handled, fantail tomahawk with which to hack + off my head. They were so eager for the prize that they got in one + another's way. In the confusion, I avoided several hacks by throwing + myself right and left on the sand. + </p> + <p> + Then Otoo arrived—Otoo the manhandler. In some way he had got hold + of a heavy war club, and at close quarters it was a far more efficient + weapon than a rifle. He was right in the thick of them, so that they could + not spear him, while their tomahawks seemed worse than useless. He was + fighting for me, and he was in a true Berserker rage. The way he handled + that club was amazing. Their skulls squashed like overripe oranges. It was + not until he had driven them back, picked me up in his arms, and started + to run, that he received his first wounds. He arrived in the boat with + four spear thrusts, got his Winchester, and with it got a man for every + shot. Then we pulled aboard the schooner and doctored up. + </p> + <p> + Seventeen years we were together. He made me. I should to-day be a + supercargo, a recruiter, or a memory, if it had not been for him. + </p> + <p> + "You spend your money, and you go out and get more," he said one day. "It + is easy to get money now. But when you get old, your money will be spent, + and you will not be able to go out and get more. I know, master. I have + studied the way of white men. On the beaches are many old men who were + young once, and who could get money just like you. Now they are old, and + they have nothing, and they wait about for the young men like you to come + ashore and buy drinks for them. + </p> + <p> + "The black boy is a slave on the plantations. He gets twenty dollars a + year. He works hard. The overseer does not work hard. He rides a horse and + watches the black boy work. He gets twelve hundred dollars a year. I am a + sailor on the schooner. I get fifteen dollars a month. That is because I + am a good sailor. I work hard. The captain has a double awning, and drinks + beer out of long bottles. I have never seen him haul a rope or pull an + oar. He gets one hundred and fifty dollars a month. I am a sailor. He is a + navigator. Master, I think it would be very good for you to know + navigation." + </p> + <p> + Otoo spurred me on to it. He sailed with me as second mate on my first + schooner, and he was far prouder of my command than I was myself. Later on + it was: + </p> + <p> + "The captain is well paid, master; but the ship is in his keeping, and he + is never free from the burden. It is the owner who is better paid—the + owner who sits ashore with many servants and turns his money over." + </p> + <p> + "True, but a schooner costs five thousand dollars—an old schooner at + that," I objected. "I should be an old man before I saved five thousand + dollars." + </p> + <p> + "There be short ways for white men to make money," he went on, pointing + ashore at the cocoanut-fringed beach. + </p> + <p> + We were in the Solomons at the time, picking up a cargo of ivory-nuts + along the east coast of Guadalcanar. + </p> + <p> + "Between this river mouth and the next it is two miles," he said. "The + flat land runs far back. It is worth nothing now. Next year—who + knows?—or the year after, men will pay much money for that land. The + anchorage is good. Big steamers can lie close up. You can buy the land + four miles deep from the old chief for ten thousand sticks of tobacco, ten + bottles of square-face, and a Snider, which will cost you, maybe, one + hundred dollars. Then you place the deed with the commissioner; and the + next year, or the year after, you sell and become the owner of a ship." + </p> + <p> + I followed his lead, and his words came true, though in three years, + instead of two. Next came the grasslands deal on Guadalcanar—twenty + thousand acres, on a governmental nine hundred and ninety-nine years' + lease at a nominal sum. I owned the lease for precisely ninety days, when + I sold it to a company for half a fortune. Always it was Otoo who looked + ahead and saw the opportunity. He was responsible for the salving of the + <i>Doncaster</i>—bought in at auction for a hundred pounds, and + clearing three thousand after every expense was paid. He led me into the + Savaii plantation and the cocoa venture on Upolu. + </p> + <p> + We did not go seafaring so much as in the old days. I was too well off. I + married, and my standard of living rose; but Otoo remained the same + old-time Otoo, moving about the house or trailing through the office, his + wooden pipe in his mouth, a shilling undershirt on his back, and a + four-shilling lava-lava about his loins. I could not get him to spend + money. There was no way of repaying him except with love, and God knows he + got that in full measure from all of us. The children worshipped him; and + if he had been spoilable, my wife would surely have been his undoing. + </p> + <p> + The children! He really was the one who showed them the way of their feet + in the world practical. He began by teaching them to walk. He sat up with + them when they were sick. One by one, when they were scarcely toddlers, he + took them down to the lagoon, and made them into amphibians. He taught + them more than I ever knew of the habits of fish and the ways of catching + them. In the bush it was the same thing. At seven, Tom knew more woodcraft + than I ever dreamed existed. At six, Mary went over the Sliding Rock + without a quiver, and I have seen strong men balk at that feat. And when + Frank had just turned six he could bring up shillings from the bottom in + three fathoms. + </p> + <p> + "My people in Bora Bora do not like heathen—they are all Christians; + and I do not like Bora Bora Christians," he said one day, when I, with the + idea of getting him to spend some of the money that was rightfully his, + had been trying to persuade him to make a visit to his own island in one + of our schooners—a special voyage which I had hoped to make a record + breaker in the matter of prodigal expense. + </p> + <p> + I say one of <i>our</i> schooners, though legally at the time they + belonged to me. I struggled long with him to enter into partnership. + </p> + <p> + "We have been partners from the day the <i>Petite Jeanne</i> went down," + he said at last. "But if your heart so wishes, then shall we become + partners by the law. I have no work to do, yet are my expenses large. I + drink and eat and smoke in plenty—it costs much, I know. I do not + pay for the playing of billiards, for I play on your table; but still the + money goes. Fishing on the reef is only a rich man's pleasure. It is + shocking, the cost of hooks and cotton line. Yes; it is necessary that we + be partners by the law. I need the money. I shall get it from the head + clerk in the office." + </p> + <p> + So the papers were made out and recorded. A year later I was compelled to + complain. + </p> + <p> + "Charley," said I, "you are a wicked old fraud, a miserly skinflint, a + miserable land-crab. Behold, your share for the year in all our + partnership has been thousands of dollars. The head clerk has given me + this paper. It says that in the year you have drawn just eighty-seven + dollars and twenty cents." + </p> + <p> + "Is there any owing me?" he asked anxiously. + </p> + <p> + "I tell you thousands and thousands," I answered. + </p> + <p> + His face brightened, as with an immense relief. + </p> + <p> + "It is well," he said. "See that the head clerk keeps good account of it. + When I want it, I shall want it, and there must not be a cent missing. + </p> + <p> + "If there is," he added fiercely, after a pause, "it must come out of the + clerk's wages." + </p> + <p> + And all the time, as I afterward learned, his will, drawn up by + Carruthers, and making me sole beneficiary, lay in the American consul's + safe. + </p> + <p> + But the end came, as the end must come to all human associations. It + occurred in the Solomons, where our wildest work had been done in the wild + young days, and where we were once more—principally on a holiday, + incidentally to look after our holdings on Florida Island and to look over + the pearling possibilities of the Mboli Pass. We were lying at Savo, + having run in to trade for curios. + </p> + <p> + Now, Savo is alive with sharks. The custom of the woolly-heads of burying + their dead in the sea did not tend to discourage the sharks from making + the adjacent waters a hang-out. It was my luck to be coming aboard in a + tiny, overloaded, native canoe, when the thing capsized. There were four + woolly-heads and myself in it, or, rather, hanging to it. The schooner was + a hundred yards away. I was just hailing for a boat when one of the + woolly-heads began to scream. Holding on to the end of the canoe, both he + and that portion of the canoe were dragged under several times. Then he + loosed his clutch and disappeared. A shark had got him. + </p> + <p> + The three remaining savages tried to climb out of the water upon the + bottom of the canoe. I yelled and struck at the nearest with my fist, but + it was no use. They were in a blind funk. The canoe could barely have + supported one of them. Under the three it upended and rolled sidewise, + throwing them back into the water. + </p> + <p> + I abandoned the canoe and started to swim toward the schooner, expecting + to be picked up by the boat before I got there. One of the savages elected + to come with me, and we swam along silently, side by side, now and again + putting our faces into the water and peering about for sharks. The screams + of the man who stayed by the canoe informed us that he was taken. I was + peering into the water when I saw a big shark pass directly beneath me. He + was fully sixteen feet in length. I saw the whole thing. He got the + woolly-head by the middle, and away he went, the poor devil, head, + shoulders, and arms out of water all the time, screeching in a + heartrending way. He was carried along in this fashion for several hundred + feet, when he was dragged beneath the surface. + </p> + <p> + I swam doggedly on, hoping that that was the last unattached shark. But + there was another. Whether it was the one that had attacked the natives + earlier, or whether it was one that had made a good meal elsewhere, I do + not know. At any rate, he was not in such haste as the others. I could not + swim so rapidly now, for a large part of my effort was devoted to keeping + track of him. I was watching him when he made his first attack. By good + luck I got both hands on his nose, and, though his momentum nearly shoved + me under, I managed to keep him off. He veered clear, and began circling + about again. A second time I escaped him by the same maneuver. The third + rush was a miss on both sides. He sheered at the moment my hands should + have landed on his nose, but his sandpaper hide (I had on a sleeveless + undershirt) scraped the skin off one arm from elbow to shoulder. + </p> + <p> + By this time I was played out, and gave up hope. The schooner was still + two hundred feet away. My face was in the water, and I was watching him + maneuver for another attempt, when I saw a brown body pass between us. It + was Otoo. + </p> + <p> + "Swim for the schooner, master!" he said. And he spoke gayly, as though + the affair was a mere lark. "I know sharks. The shark is my brother." + </p> + <p> + I obeyed, swimming slowly on, while Otoo swam about me, keeping always + between me and the shark, foiling his rushes and encouraging me. + </p> + <p> + "The davit tackle carried away, and they are rigging the falls," he + explained, a minute or so later, and then went under to head off another + attack. + </p> + <p> + By the time the schooner was thirty feet away I was about done for. I + could scarcely move. They were heaving lines at us from on board, but they + continually fell short. The shark, finding that it was receiving no hurt, + had become bolder. Several times it nearly got me, but each time Otoo was + there just the moment before it was too late. Of course, Otoo could have + saved himself any time. But he stuck by me. + </p> + <p> + "Good-bye, Charley! I'm finished!" I just managed to gasp. + </p> + <p> + I knew that the end had come, and that the next moment I should throw up + my hands and go down. + </p> + <p> + But Otoo laughed in my face, saying: + </p> + <p> + "I will show you a new trick. I will make that shark feel sick!" + </p> + <p> + He dropped in behind me, where the shark was preparing to come at me. + </p> + <p> + "A little more to the left!" he next called out. "There is a line there on + the water. To the left, master—to the left!" + </p> + <p> + I changed my course and struck out blindly. I was by that time barely + conscious. As my hand closed on the line I heard an exclamation from on + board. I turned and looked. There was no sign of Otoo. The next instant he + broke surface. Both hands were off at the wrist, the stumps spouting + blood. + </p> + <p> + "Otoo!" he called softly. And I could see in his gaze the love that + thrilled in his voice. + </p> + <p> + Then, and then only, at the very last of all our years, he called me by + that name. + </p> + <p> + "Good-by, Otoo!" he called. + </p> + <p> + Then he was dragged under, and I was hauled aboard, where I fainted in the + captain's arms. + </p> + <p> + And so passed Otoo, who saved me and made me a man, and who saved me in + the end. We met in the maw of a hurricane, and parted in the maw of a + shark, with seventeen intervening years of comradeship, the like of which + I dare to assert has never befallen two men, the one brown and the other + white. If Jehovah be from His high place watching every sparrow fall, not + least in His kingdom shall be Otoo, the one heathen of Bora Bora. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE HOBO AND THE FAIRY + </h2> + <p> + He lay on his back. So heavy was his sleep that the stamp of hoofs and + cries of the drivers from the bridge that crossed the creek did not rouse + him. Wagon after wagon, loaded high with grapes, passed the bridge on the + way up the valley to the winery, and the coming of each wagon was like the + explosion of sound and commotion in the lazy quiet of the afternoon. + </p> + <p> + But the man was undisturbed. His head had slipped from the folded + newspaper, and the straggling, unkempt hair was matted with the foxtails + and burrs of the dry grass on which it lay. He was not a pretty sight. His + mouth was open, disclosing a gap in the upper row where several teeth at + some time had been knocked out. He breathed stertorously, at times + grunting and moaning with the pain of his sleep. Also, he was very + restless, tossing his arms about, making jerky, half-convulsive movements, + and at times rolling his head from side to side in the burrs. This + restlessness seemed occasioned partly by some internal discomfort, and + partly by the sun that streamed down on his face and by the flies that + buzzed and lighted and crawled upon the nose and cheeks and eyelids. There + was no other place for them to crawl, for the rest of the face was covered + with matted beard, slightly grizzled, but greatly dirt-stained and + weather-discolored. + </p> + <p> + The cheek-bones were blotched with the blood congested by the debauch that + was evidently being slept off. This, too, accounted for the persistence + with which the flies clustered around the mouth, lured by the + alcohol-laden exhalations. He was a powerfully built man, thick-necked, + broad-shouldered, with sinewy wrists and toil-distorted hands. Yet the + distortion was not due to recent toil, nor were the callouses other than + ancient that showed under the dirt of the one palm upturned. From time to + time this hand clenched tightly and spasmodically into a fist, large, + heavy-boned and wicked-looking. + </p> + <p> + The man lay in the dry grass of a tiny glade that ran down to the + tree-fringed bank of the stream. On either side of the glade was a fence, + of the old stake-and-rider type, though little of it was to be seen, so + thickly was it overgrown by wild blackberry bushes, scrubby oaks and young + madrono trees. In the rear, a gate through a low paling fence led to a + snug, squat bungalow, built in the California Spanish style and seeming to + have been compounded directly from the landscape of which it was so justly + a part. Neat and trim and modestly sweet was the bungalow, redolent of + comfort and repose, telling with quiet certitude of some one that knew, + and that had sought and found. + </p> + <p> + Through the gate and into the glade came as dainty a little maiden as ever + stepped out of an illustration made especially to show how dainty little + maidens may be. Eight years she might have been, and, possibly, a trifle + more, or less. Her little waist and little black-stockinged calves showed + how delicately fragile she was; but the fragility was of mould only. There + was no hint of anemia in the clear, healthy complexion nor in the quick, + tripping step. She was a little, delicious blond, with hair spun of + gossamer gold and wide blue eyes that were but slightly veiled by the long + lashes. Her expression was of sweetness and happiness; it belonged by + right to any face that sheltered in the bungalow. + </p> + <p> + She carried a child's parasol, which she was careful not to tear against + the scrubby branches and bramble bushes as she sought for wild poppies + along the edge of the fence. They were late poppies, a third generation, + which had been unable to resist the call of the warm October sun. + </p> + <p> + Having gathered along one fence, she turned to cross to the opposite + fence. Midway in the glade she came upon the tramp. Her startle was merely + a startle. There was no fear in it. She stood and looked long and + curiously at the forbidding spectacle, and was about to turn back when the + sleeper moved restlessly and rolled his hand among the burrs. She noted + the sun on his face, and the buzzing flies; her face grew solicitous, and + for a moment she debated with herself. Then she tiptoed to his side, + interposed the parasol between him and the sun, and brushed away the + flies. After a time, for greater ease, she sat down beside him. + </p> + <p> + An hour passed, during which she occasionally shifted the parasol from one + tired hand to the other. At first the sleeper had been restless, but, + shielded from the flies and the sun, his breathing became gentler and his + movements ceased. Several times, however, he really frightened her. The + first was the worst, coming abruptly and without warning. "Christ! How + deep! How deep!" the man murmured from some profound of dream. The parasol + was agitated; but the little girl controlled herself and continued her + self-appointed ministrations. + </p> + <p> + Another time it was a gritting of teeth, as of some intolerable agony. So + terribly did the teeth crunch and grind together that it seemed they must + crush into fragments. A little later he suddenly stiffened out. The hands + clenched and the face set with the savage resolution of the dream. The + eyelids trembled from the shock of the fantasy, seemed about to open, but + did not. Instead, the lips muttered: + </p> + <p> + "No; no! And once more no. I won't peach." The lips paused, then went on. + "You might as well tie me up, warden, and cut me to pieces. That's all you + can get outa me—blood. That's all any of you-uns has ever got outa + me in this hole." + </p> + <p> + After this outburst the man slept gently on, while the little girl still + held the parasol aloft and looked down with a great wonder at the frowsy, + unkempt creature, trying to reconcile it with the little part of life that + she knew. To her ears came the cries of men, the stamp of hoofs on the + bridge, and the creak and groan of wagons heavy laden. It was a breathless + California Indian summer day. Light fleeces of cloud drifted in the azure + sky, but to the west heavy cloud banks threatened with rain. A bee droned + lazily by. From farther thickets came the calls of quail, and from the + fields the songs of meadow larks. And oblivious to it all slept Ross + Shanklin—Ross Shanklin, the tramp and outcast, ex-convict 4379, the + bitter and unbreakable one who had defied all keepers and survived all + brutalities. + </p> + <p> + Texas-born, of the old pioneer stock that was always tough and stubborn, + he had been unfortunate. At seventeen years of age he had been apprehended + for horse stealing. Also, he had been convicted of stealing seven horses + which he had not stolen, and he had been sentenced to fourteen years' + imprisonment. This was severe under any circumstances, but with him it had + been especially severe, because there had been no prior convictions + against him. The sentiment of the people who believed him guilty had been + that two years was adequate punishment for the youth, but the county + attorney, paid according to the convictions he secured, had made seven + charges against him and earned seven fees. Which goes to show that the + county attorney valued twelve years of Ross Shanklin's life at less than a + few dollars. + </p> + <p> + Young Ross Shanklin had toiled terribly in jail; he had escaped, more than + once; and he had been caught and sent back to toil in other and various + jails. He had been triced up and lashed till he fainted had been revived + and lashed again. He had been in the dungeon ninety days at a time. He had + experienced the torment of the straightjacket. He knew what the humming + bird was. He had been farmed out as a chattel by the state to the + contractors. He had been trailed through swamps by bloodhounds. Twice he + had been shot. For six years on end he had cut a cord and a half of wood + each day in a convict lumber camp. Sick or well, he had cut that cord and + a half or paid for it under a whip-lash knotted and pickled. + </p> + <p> + And Ross Shanklin had not sweetened under the treatment. He had sneered, + and raved, and defied. He had seen convicts, after the guards had + manhandled them, crippled in body for life, or left to maunder in mind to + the end of their days. He had seen convicts, even his own cell mate, + goaded to murder by their keepers, go to the gallows reviling God. He had + been in a break in which eleven of his kind were shot down. He had been + through a mutiny, where, in the prison yard, with gatling guns trained + upon them, three hundred convicts had been disciplined with pick handles + wielded by brawny guards. + </p> + <p> + He had known every infamy of human cruelty, and through it all he had + never been broken. He had resented and fought to the last, until, + embittered and bestial, the day came when he was discharged. Five dollars + were given him in payment for the years of his labor and the flower of his + manhood. And he had worked little in the years that followed. Work he + hated and despised. He tramped, begged and stole, lied or threatened as + the case might warrant, and drank to besottedness whenever he got the + chance. + </p> + <p> + The little girl was looking at him when he awoke. Like a wild animal, all + of him was awake the instant he opened his eyes. The first he saw was the + parasol, strangely obtruded between him and the sky. He did not start nor + move, though his whole body seemed slightly to tense. His eyes followed + down the parasol handle to the tight-clutched little fingers, and along + the arm to the child's face. Straight and unblinking he looked into her + eyes, and she, returning the look, was chilled and frightened by his + glittering eyes, cold and harsh, withal bloodshot, and with no hint in + them of the warm humanness she had been accustomed to see and feel in + human eyes. They were the true prison eyes—the eyes of a man who had + learned to talk little, who had forgotten almost how to talk. + </p> + <p> + "Hello," he said finally, making no effort to change his position. "What + game are you up to!" + </p> + <p> + His voice was gruff and husky, and at first it had been harsh; but it had + softened queerly in a feeble attempt at forgotten kindliness. + </p> + <p> + "How do you do?" she said. "I'm not playing. The sun was on your face, and + mamma says one oughtn't to sleep in the sun." + </p> + <p> + The sweet clearness of her child's voice was pleasant to him, and he + wondered why he had never noticed it in children's voices before. He sat + up slowly and stared at her. He felt that he ought to say something, but + speech with him was a reluctant thing. + </p> + <p> + "I hope you slept well," she said gravely. + </p> + <p> + "I sure did," he answered, never taking his eyes from her, amazed at the + fairness and delicacy of her. "How long was you holdin' that contraption + up over me?" + </p> + <p> + "O-oh," she debated with herself, "a long, long time. I thought you would + never wake up." + </p> + <p> + "And I thought you was a fairy when I first seen you." + </p> + <p> + He felt elated at his contribution to the conversation. + </p> + <p> + "No, not a fairy," she smiled. + </p> + <p> + He thrilled in a strange, numb way at the immaculate whiteness of her + small even teeth. + </p> + <p> + "I was just the good Samaritan," she added. + </p> + <p> + "I reckon I never heard of that party." + </p> + <p> + He was cudgelling his brains to keep the conversation going. Never having + been at close quarters with a child since he was man-grown, he found it + difficult. + </p> + <p> + "What a funny man not to know about the good Samaritan. Don't you + remember? A certain man went down to Jericho——" + </p> + <p> + "I reckon I've been there," he interrupted. + </p> + <p> + "I knew you were a traveler!" she cried, clapping her hands. "Maybe you + saw the exact spot." + </p> + <p> + "What spot?" + </p> + <p> + "Why, where he fell among thieves and was left half dead. And then the + good Samaritan went to him, and bound up his wounds, and poured in oil and + wine—was that olive oil, do you think?" + </p> + <p> + He shook his head slowly. + </p> + <p> + "I reckon you got me there. Olive oil is something the dagoes cooks with. + I never heard of it for busted heads." + </p> + <p> + She considered his statement for a moment. + </p> + <p> + "Well," she announced, "we use olive oil in <i>our</i> cooking, so we must + be dagoes. I never knew what they were before. I thought it was slang." + </p> + <p> + "And the Samaritan dumped oil on his head," the tramp muttered + reminiscently. "Seems to me I recollect a sky pilot sayin' something about + that old gent. D'ye know, I've been looking for him off 'n on all my life, + and never scared up hide nor hair of him. They ain't no more Samaritans." + </p> + <p> + "Wasn't I one!" she asked quickly. + </p> + <p> + He looked at her steadily, with a great curiosity and wonder. Her ear, by + a movement exposed to the sun, was transparent. It seemed he could almost + see through it. He was amazed at the delicacy of her coloring, at the blue + of her eyes, at the dazzle of the sun-touched golden hair. And he was + astounded by her fragility. It came to him that she was easily broken. His + eye went quickly from his huge, gnarled paw to her tiny hand in which it + seemed to him he could almost see the blood circulate. He knew the power + in his muscles, and he knew the tricks and turns by which men use their + bodies to ill-treat men. In fact, he knew little else, and his mind for + the time ran in its customary channel. It was his way of measuring the + beautiful strangeness of her. He calculated a grip, and not a strong one, + that could grind her little fingers to pulp. He thought of fist blows he + had given to men's heads, and received on his own head, and felt that the + least of them could shatter hers like an egg-shell. He scanned her little + shoulders and slim waist, and knew in all certitude that with his two + hands he could rend her to pieces. + </p> + <p> + "Wasn't I one?" she insisted again. + </p> + <p> + He came back to himself with a shock—or away from himself, as the + case happened. He was loath that the conversation should cease. + </p> + <p> + "What?" he answered. "Oh, yes; you bet you was a Samaritan, even if you + didn't have no olive oil." He remembered what his mind had been dwelling + on, and asked, "But ain't you afraid?" + </p> + <p> + "Of ... of me?" he added lamely. + </p> + <p> + She laughed merrily. + </p> + <p> + "Mamma says never to be afraid of anything. She says that if you're good, + and you think good of other people, they'll be good, too." + </p> + <p> + "And you was thinkin' good of me when you kept the sun off," he marveled. + </p> + <p> + "But it's hard to think good of bees and nasty crawly things," she + confessed. + </p> + <p> + "But there's men that is nasty and crawly things," he argued. + </p> + <p> + "Mamma says no. She says there's good in everyone. + </p> + <p> + "I bet you she locks the house up tight at night just the same," he + proclaimed triumphantly. + </p> + <p> + "But she doesn't. Mamma isn't afraid of anything. That's why she lets me + play out here alone when I want. Why, we had a robber once. Mamma got + right up and found him. And what do you think! He was only a poor hungry + man. And she got him plenty to eat from the pantry, and afterward she got + him work to do." + </p> + <p> + Ross Shanklin was stunned. The vista shown him of human nature was + unthinkable. It had been his lot to live in a world of suspicion and + hatred, of evil-believing and evil-doing. It had been his experience, + slouching along village streets at nightfall, to see little children, + screaming with fear, run from him to their mothers. He had even seen grown + women shrink aside from him as he passed along the sidewalk. + </p> + <p> + He was aroused by the girl clapping her hands as she cried out: + </p> + <p> + "I know what you are! You're an open air crank. That's why you were + sleeping here in the grass." + </p> + <p> + He felt a grim desire to laugh, but repressed it. + </p> + <p> + "And that's what tramps are—open air cranks," she continued. "I + often wondered. Mamma believes in the open air. I sleep on the porch at + night. So does she. This is our land. You must have climbed the fence. + Mamma lets me when I put on my climbers—they're bloomers, you know. + But you ought to be told something. A person doesn't know when they snore + because they're asleep. But you do worse than that. You grit your teeth. + That's bad. Whenever you are going to sleep you must think to yourself, 'I + won't grit my teeth, I won't grit my teeth,' over and over, just like + that, and by and by you'll get out of the habit. + </p> + <p> + "All bad things are habits. And so are all good things. And it depends on + us what kind our habits are going to be. I used to pucker my eyebrows—wrinkle + them all up, but mamma said I must overcome that habit. She said that when + my eyebrows were wrinkled it was an advertisement that my brain was + wrinkled inside, and that it wasn't good to have wrinkles in the brain. + And then she smoothed my eyebrows with her hand and said I must always + think <i>smooth</i>—<i>smooth</i> inside, and <i>smooth</i> outside. + And do you know, it was easy. I haven't wrinkled my brows for ever so + long. I've heard about filling teeth by thinking. But I don't believe + that. Neither does mamma." + </p> + <p> + She paused rather out of breath. Nor did he speak. Her flow of talk had + been too much for him. Also, sleeping drunkenly, with open mouth, had made + him very thirsty. But, rather than lose one precious moment, he endured + the torment of his scorching throat and mouth. He licked his dry lips and + struggled for speech. + </p> + <p> + "What is your name?" he managed at last. + </p> + <p> + "Joan." + </p> + <p> + She looked her own question at him, and it was not necessary to voice it. + </p> + <p> + "Mine is Ross Shanklin," he volunteered, for the first time in forgotten + years giving his real name. + </p> + <p> + "I suppose you've traveled a lot." + </p> + <p> + "I sure have, but not as much as I might have wanted to." + </p> + <p> + "Papa always wanted to travel, but he was too busy at the office. He never + could get much time. He went to Europe once with mamma. That was before I + was born. It takes money to travel." + </p> + <p> + Ross Shanklin did not know whether to agree with this statement or not. + </p> + <p> + "But it doesn't cost tramps much for expenses," she took the thought away + from him. "Is that why you tramp?" + </p> + <p> + He nodded and licked his lips. + </p> + <p> + "Mamma says it's too bad that men must tramp to look for work. But there's + lots of work now in the country. All the farmers in the valley are trying + to get men. Have you been working?" + </p> + <p> + He shook his head, angry with himself that he should feel shame at the + confession when his savage reasoning told him he was right in despising + work. But this was followed by another thought. This beautiful little + creature was some man's child. She was one of the rewards of work. + </p> + <p> + "I wish I had a little girl like you," he blurted out, stirred by a sudden + consciousness of passion for paternity. "I'd work my hands off. I ... I'd + do anything." + </p> + <p> + She considered his case with fitting gravity. + </p> + <p> + "Then you aren't married?" + </p> + <p> + "Nobody would have me." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, they would, if ..." + </p> + <p> + She did not turn up her nose, but she favored his dirt and rags with a + look of disapprobation he could not mistake. + </p> + <p> + "Go on," he half-shouted. "Shoot it into me. If I was washed—if I + wore good clothes—if I was respectable—if I had a job and + worked regular—if I wasn't what I am." + </p> + <p> + To each statement she nodded. + </p> + <p> + "Well, I ain't that kind," he rushed on. "I'm no good. I'm a tramp. I + don't want to work, that's what. And I like dirt." + </p> + <p> + Her face was eloquent with reproach as she said, "Then you were only + making believe when you wished you had a little girl like me?" + </p> + <p> + This left him speechless, for he knew, in all the depths of his new-found + passion, that that was just what he did want. + </p> + <p> + With ready tact, noting his discomfort, she sought to change the subject. + </p> + <p> + "What do you think of God?" she asked. "I ain't never met him. What do you + think about him?" + </p> + <p> + His reply was evidently angry, and she was frank in her disapproval. + </p> + <p> + "You are very strange," she said. "You get angry so easily. I never saw + anybody before that got angry about God, or work, or being clean." + </p> + <p> + "He never done anything for me," he muttered resentfully. He cast back in + quick review of the long years of toil in the convict camps and mines. + "And work never done anything for me neither." + </p> + <p> + An embarrassing silence fell. + </p> + <p> + He looked at her, numb and hungry with the stir of the father-love, sorry + for his ill temper, puzzling his brain for something to say. She was + looking off and away at the clouds, and he devoured her with his eyes. He + reached out stealthily and rested one grimy hand on the very edge of her + little dress. It seemed to him that she was the most wonderful thing in + the world. The quail still called from the coverts, and the harvest sounds + seemed abruptly to become very loud. A great loneliness oppressed him. + </p> + <p> + "I'm ... I'm no good," he murmured huskily and repentantly. + </p> + <p> + But, beyond a glance from her blue eyes, she took no notice. The silence + was more embarrassing than ever. He felt that he could give the world just + to touch with his lips that hem of her dress where his hand rested. But he + was afraid of frightening her. He fought to find something to say, licking + his parched lips and vainly attempting to articulate something, anything. + </p> + <p> + "This ain't Sonoma Valley," he declared finally. "This is fairy land, and + you're a fairy. Mebbe I'm asleep and dreaming. I don't know. You and me + don't know how to talk together, because, you see, you're a fairy and + don't know nothing but good things, and I'm a man from the bad, wicked + world." + </p> + <p> + Having achieved this much, he was left gasping for ideas like a stranded + fish. + </p> + <p> + "And you're going to tell me about the bad, wicked world," she cried, + clapping her hands. "I'm just dying to know." + </p> + <p> + He looked at her, startled, remembering the wreckage of womanhood he had + encountered on the sunken ways of life. She was no fairy. She was flesh + and blood, and the possibilities of wreckage were in her as they had been + in him even when he lay at his mother's breast. And there was in her + eagerness to know. + </p> + <p> + "Nope," he said lightly, "this man from the bad, wicked world ain't going + to tell you nothing of the kind. He's going to tell you of the good things + in that world. He's going to tell you how he loved hosses when he was a + shaver, and about the first hoss he straddled, and the first hoss he + owned. Hosses ain't like men. They're better. They're clean—clean + all the way through and back again. And, little fairy, I want to tell you + one thing—there sure ain't nothing in the world like when you're + settin' a tired hoss at the end of a long day, and when you just speak, + and that tired animal lifts under you willing and hustles along. Hosses! + They're my long suit. I sure dote on hosses. Yep. I used to be a cowboy + once." + </p> + <p> + She clapped her hands in the way that tore so delightfully to his heart, + and her eyes were dancing, as she exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + "A Texas cowboy! I always wanted to see one! I heard papa say once that + cowboys are bow-legged. Are you?" + </p> + <p> + "I sure was a Texas cowboy," he answered. "But it was a long time ago. And + I'm sure bow-legged. You see, you can't ride much when you're young and + soft without getting the legs bent some. Why, I was only a three-year-old + when I begun. He was a three-year-old, too, fresh-broken. I led him up + alongside the fence, dumb to the top rail, and dropped on. He was a pinto, + and a real devil at bucking, but I could do anything with him. I reckon he + knowed I was only a little shaver. Some hosses knows lots more 'n' you + think." + </p> + <p> + For half an hour Ross Shanklin rambled on with his horse reminiscences, + never unconscious for a moment of the supreme joy that was his through the + touch of his hand on the hem of her dress. The sun dropped slowly into the + cloud bank, the quail called more insistently, and empty wagon after empty + wagon rumbled back across the bridge. Then came a woman's voice. + </p> + <p> + "Joan! Joan!" it called. "Where are you, dear?" + </p> + <p> + The little girl answered, and Ross Shanklin saw a woman, clad in a soft, + clinging gown, come through the gate from the bungalow. She was a slender, + graceful woman, and to his charmed eyes she seemed rather to float along + than walk like ordinary flesh and blood. + </p> + <p> + "What have you been doing all afternoon?" the woman asked, as she came up. + </p> + <p> + "Talking, mamma," the little girl replied. "I've had a very interesting + time." + </p> + <p> + Ross Shanklin scrambled to his feet and stood watchfully and awkwardly. + The little girl took the mother's hand, and she, in turn, looked at him + frankly and pleasantly, with a recognition of his humanness that was a new + thing to him. In his mind ran the thought: <i>the woman who ain't afraid</i>. + Not a hint was there of the timidity he was accustomed to seeing in + women's eyes. And he was quite aware, and never more so, of his + bleary-eyed, forbidding appearance. + </p> + <p> + "How do you do?" she greeted him sweetly and naturally. + </p> + <p> + "How do you do, ma'am," he responded, unpleasantly conscious of the + huskiness and rawness of his voice. + </p> + <p> + "And did you have an interesting time, too!" she smiled. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, ma'am. I sure did. I was just telling your little girl about + hosses." + </p> + <p> + "He was a cowboy, once, mamma," she cried. + </p> + <p> + The mother smiled her acknowledgment to him, and looked fondly down at the + little girl. The thought that came into Ross Shanklin's mind was the + awfulness of the crime if any one should harm either of the wonderful + pair. This was followed by the wish that some terrible danger should + threaten, so that he could fight, as he well knew how, with all his + strength and life, to defend them. + </p> + <p> + "You'll have to come along, dear," the mother said. "It's growing late." + She looked at Ross Shanklin hesitantly. "Would you care to have something + to eat?" + </p> + <p> + "No, ma'am, thanking you kindly just the same. I ... I ain't hungry." + </p> + <p> + "Then say good-bye, Joan," she counselled. + </p> + <p> + "Good-bye." The little girl held out her hand, and her eyes lighted + roguishly. "Good-bye, Mr. Man from the bad, wicked world." + </p> + <p> + To him, the touch of her hand as he pressed it in his was the capstone of + the whole adventure. + </p> + <p> + "Good-bye, little fairy," he mumbled. "I reckon I got to be pullin' + along." + </p> + <p> + But he did not pull along. He stood staring after his vision until it + vanished through the gate. The day seemed suddenly empty. He looked about + him irresolutely, then climbed the fence, crossed the bridge, and slouched + along the road. He was in a dream. He did not note his feet nor the way + they led him. At times he stumbled in the dust-filled ruts. + </p> + <p> + A mile farther on, he aroused at the crossroads. Before him stood the + saloon. He came to a stop and stared at it, licking his lips. He sank his + hand into his pants pocket and fumbled a solitary dime. "God!" he + muttered. "God!" Then, with dragging, reluctant feet, went on along the + road. + </p> + <p> + He came to a big farm. He knew it must be big, because of the bigness of + the house and the size and number of the barns and outbuildings. On the + porch, in shirt sleeves, smoking a cigar, keen-eyed and middle-aged, was + the farmer. + </p> + <p> + "What's the chance for a job!" Ross Shanklin asked. + </p> + <p> + The keen eyes scarcely glanced at him. + </p> + <p> + "A dollar a day and grub," was the answer. + </p> + <p> + Ross Shanklin swallowed and braced himself. + </p> + <p> + "I'll pick grapes all right, or anything. But what's the chance for a + steady job? You've got a big ranch here. I know hosses. I was born on one. + I can drive team, ride, plough, break, do anything that anybody ever done + with hosses." + </p> + <p> + The other looked him over with an appraising, incredulous eye. + </p> + <p> + "You don't look it," was the judgment. + </p> + <p> + "I know I don't. Give me a chance. That's all. I'll prove it." + </p> + <p> + The farmer considered, casting an anxious glance at the cloud bank into + which the sun had sunk. + </p> + <p> + "I'm short a teamster, and I'll give you the chance to make good. Go and + get supper with the hands." + </p> + <p> + Ross Shanklin's voice was very husky, and he spoke with an effort. + </p> + <p> + "All right. I'll make good. Where can I get a drink of water and wash up?" + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + "JUST MEAT" + </h2> + <p> + He strolled to the corner and glanced up and down the intersecting street, + but saw nothing save the oases of light shed by the street lamps at the + successive crossings. Then he strolled back the way he had come. He was a + shadow of a man sliding noiselessly and without undue movement through the + semi darkness. Also he was very alert, like a wild animal in the jungle, + keenly perceptive and receptive. The movement of another in the darkness + about him would need to have been more shadowy than he to have escaped + him. + </p> + <p> + In addition to the running advertisement of the state of affairs carried + to him by his senses, he had a subtler perception, a <i>feel</i>, of the + atmosphere around him. He knew that the house in front of which he paused + for a moment, contained children. Yet by no willed effort of perception + did he have this knowledge. For that matter, he was not even aware that he + knew, so occult was the impression. Yet, did a moment arise in which + action, in relation to that house, were imperative, he would have acted on + the assumption that it contained children. He was not aware of all that he + knew about the neighborhood. + </p> + <p> + In the same way, he knew not how, he knew that no danger threatened in the + footfalls that came up the cross street. Before he saw the walker, he knew + him for a belated pedestrian hurrying home. The walker came into view at + the crossing and disappeared on up the street. The man that watched, noted + a light that flared up in the window of a house on the corner, and as it + died down he knew it for an expiring match. This was conscious + identification of familiar phenomena, and through his mind flitted the + thought, "Wanted to know what time." In another house one room was + lighted. The light burned dimly and steadily, and he had the feel that it + was a sick room. + </p> + <p> + He was especially interested in a house across the street in the middle of + the block. To this house he paid most attention. No matter what way he + looked, nor what way he walked, his looks and his steps always returned to + it. Except for an open window above the porch, there was nothing unusual + about the house. Nothing came in nor out. Nothing happened. There were no + lighted windows, nor had lights appeared and disappeared in any of the + windows. Yet it was the central point of his consideration. He rallied to + it each time after a divination of the state of the neighborhood. + </p> + <p> + Despite his feel of things, he was not confident. He was supremely + conscious of the precariousness of his situation. Though unperturbed by + the footfalls of the chance pedestrian, he was as keyed up and sensitive + and ready to be startled as any timorous deer. He was aware of the + possibility of other intelligences prowling about in the darkness—intelligences + similar to his own in movement, perception, and divination. + </p> + <p> + Far down the street he caught a glimpse of something that moved. And he + knew it was no late home-goer, but menace and danger. He whistled twice to + the house across the street, then faded away shadow-like to the corner and + around the corner. Here he paused and looked about him carefully. + Reassured, he peered back around the corner and studied the object that + moved and that was coming nearer. He had divined aright. It was a + policeman. + </p> + <p> + The man went down the cross street to the next corner, from the shelter of + which he watched the corner he had just left. He saw the policeman pass + by, going straight on up the street. He paralleled the policeman's course, + and from the next corner again watched him go by; then he returned the way + he had come. He whistled once to the house across the street, and after a + time whistled once again. There was reassurance in the whistle, just as + there had been warning in the previous double whistle. + </p> + <p> + He saw a dark bulk outline itself on the roof of the porch and slowly + descend a pillar. Then it came down the steps, passed through the small + iron gate, and went down the sidewalk, taking on the form of a man. He + that watched kept on his own side the street and moved on abreast to the + corner, where he crossed over and joined the other. He was quite small + alongside the man he accosted. + </p> + <p> + "How'd you make out, Matt?" he asked. + </p> + <p> + The other grunted indistinctly, and walked on in silence a few steps. + </p> + <p> + "I reckon I landed the goods," he said. + </p> + <p> + Jim chuckled in the darkness, and waited for further information. The + blocks passed by; under their feet, and he grew impatient. + </p> + <p> + "Well, how about them goods?" he asked. "What kind of a haul did you make, + anyway?" + </p> + <p> + "I was too busy to figger it out, but it's fat. I can tell you that much, + Jim, it's fat. I don't dast to think how fat it is. Wait till we get to + the room." + </p> + <p> + Jim looked at him keenly under the street lamp of the next crossing, and + saw that his face was a trifle grim and that he carried his left arm + peculiarly. + </p> + <p> + "What's the matter with your arm?" he demanded. + </p> + <p> + "The little cuss bit me. Hope I don't get hydrophoby. Folks gets + hydrophoby from man-bite sometimes, don't they?" + </p> + <p> + "Gave you a fight, eh!" Jim asked encouragingly. + </p> + <p> + The other grunted. + </p> + <p> + "You're certainly hard to get information from," Jim burst out irritably. + "Tell us about it. You ain't goin' to lose money just a-tellin' a guy." + </p> + <p> + "I guess I choked him some," came the answer. Then, by way of explanation, + "He woke up on me." + </p> + <p> + "You did it neat. I never heard a sound." + </p> + <p> + "Jim," the other said with seriousness, "it's a hangin' matter. I fixed + 'm. I had to. He woke up on me. You an' me's got to do some layin' low for + a spell." + </p> + <p> + Jim gave a low whistle of comprehension. + </p> + <p> + "Did you hear me whistle!" he asked suddenly. + </p> + <p> + "Sure. I was all done. I was just comin' out." + </p> + <p> + "It was a bull. But he wasn't on a little bit. Went right by an' kept + a-paddin' the hoof outa sight. Then I came back an' gave you the whistle. + What made you take so long after that?" + </p> + <p> + "I was waitin' to make sure," Matt explained. + </p> + <p> + "I was mighty glad when I heard you whistle again. It's hard work waitin'. + I just sat there an' thought an' thought ... oh, all kinds of things. It's + remarkable what a fellow'll think about. And then there was a darn cat + that kept movin' around the house an' botherin' me with its noises." + </p> + <p> + "An' it's fat!" Jim exclaimed irrelevantly and with joy. + </p> + <p> + "I'm sure tellin' you, Jim, it's fat. I'm plum' anxious for another look + at 'em." + </p> + <p> + Unconsciously the two men quickened their pace. Yet they did not relax + from their caution. Twice they changed their course in order to avoid + policemen, and they made very sure that they were not observed when they + dived into the dark hallway of a cheap rooming house down town. + </p> + <p> + Not until they had gained their own room on the top floor, did they + scratch a match. While Jim lighted a lamp, Matt locked the door and threw + the bolts into place. As he turned, he noticed that his partner was + waiting expectantly. Matt smiled to himself at the other's eagerness. + </p> + <p> + "Them search-lights is all right," he said, drawing forth a small pocket + electric lamp and examining it. "But we got to get a new battery. It's + runnin' pretty weak. I thought once or twice it'd leave me in the dark. + Funny arrangements in that house. I near got lost. His room was on the + left, an' that fooled me some." + </p> + <p> + "I told you it was on the left," Jim interrupted. + </p> + <p> + "You told me it was on the right," Matt went on. "I guess I know what you + told me, an' there's the map you drew." + </p> + <p> + Fumbling in his vest pocket, he drew out a folded slip of paper. As he + unfolded it, Jim bent over and looked. + </p> + <p> + "I did make a mistake," he confessed. + </p> + <p> + "You sure did. It got me guessin' some for a while." + </p> + <p> + "But it don't matter now," Jim cried. "Let's see what you got." + </p> + <p> + "It does matter," Matt retorted. "It matters a lot ... to me. I've got to + run all the risk. I put my head in the trap while you stay on the street. + You got to get on to yourself an' be more careful. All right, I'll show + you." + </p> + <p> + He dipped loosely into his trousers pocket and brought out a handful of + small diamonds. He spilled them out in a blazing stream on the greasy + table. Jim let out a great oath. + </p> + <p> + "That's nothing," Matt said with triumphant complacence. "I ain't begun + yet." + </p> + <p> + From one pocket after another he continued bringing forth the spoil. There + were many diamonds wrapped in chamois skin that were larger than those in + the first handful. From one pocket he brought out a handful of very small + cut gems. + </p> + <p> + "Sun dust," he remarked, as he spilled them on the table in a space by + themselves. + </p> + <p> + Jim examined them. + </p> + <p> + "Just the same, they retail for a couple of dollars each," he said. "Is + that all?" + </p> + <p> + "Ain't it enough?" the other demanded in an aggrieved tone. + </p> + <p> + "Sure it is," Jim answered with unqualified approval. "Better'n I + expected. I wouldn't take a cent less than ten thousan' for the bunch." + </p> + <p> + "Ten thousan'," Matt sneered. "They're worth twic't that, an' I don't know + anything about joolery, either. Look at that big boy!" + </p> + <p> + He picked it out from the sparkling heap and held it near to the lamp with + the air of an expert, weighing and judging. + </p> + <p> + "Worth a thousan' all by its lonely," was Jim's quicker judgment. + </p> + <p> + "A thousan' your grandmother," was Matt's scornful rejoinder. "You + couldn't buy it for three." + </p> + <p> + "Wake me up! I'm dreamin'!" The sparkle of the gems was in Jim's eyes, and + he began sorting out the larger diamonds and examining them. "We're rich + men, Matt—we'll be regular swells." + </p> + <p> + "It'll take years to get rid of 'em," was Matt's more practical thought. + </p> + <p> + "But think how we'll live! Nothin' to do but spend the money an' go on + gettin' rid of 'em." + </p> + <p> + Matt's eyes were beginning to sparkle, though sombrely, as his phlegmatic + nature woke up. + </p> + <p> + "I told you I didn't dast think how fat it was," he murmured in a low + voice. + </p> + <p> + "What a killin'! What a killin'!" was the other's more ecstatic utterance. + </p> + <p> + "I almost forgot," Matt said, thrusting his hand into his inside coat + pocket. + </p> + <p> + A string of large pearls emerged from wrappings of tissue paper and + chamois skin. Jim scarcely glanced at them. + </p> + <p> + "They're worth money," he said, and returned to the diamonds. + </p> + <p> + A silence fell on the two men. Jim played with the gems, running them + through his fingers, sorting them into piles, and spreading them out flat + and wide. He was a slender, weazened man, nervous, irritable, high-strung, + and anaemic—a typical child of the gutter, with unbeautiful twisted + features, small eyes, with face and mouth perpetually and feverishly + hungry, brutish in a catlike way, stamped to the core with degeneracy. + </p> + <p> + Matt did not finger the diamonds. He sat with chin on hands and elbows on + table, blinking heavily at the blazing array. He was in every way a + contrast to the other. No city had bred him. He was heavy muscled and + hairy, gorilla-like in strength and aspect. For him there was no unseen + world. His eyes were full and wide apart, and there seemed in them a + certain bold brotherliness. They inspired confidence. But a closer + inspection would have shown that his eyes were just a trifle too full, + just a shade too wide apart. He exceeded, spilled over the limits of + normality, and his features told lies about the man beneath. + </p> + <p> + "The bunch is worth fifty thousan'," Jim remarked suddenly. + </p> + <p> + "A hundred thousan'," Matt said. + </p> + <p> + The silence returned and endured a long time, to be broken again by Jim. + </p> + <p> + "What in blazes was he doin' with 'em all at the house?—that's what + I want to know. I'd a-thought he'd kept 'em in the safe down at the + store." + </p> + <p> + Matt had just been considering the vision of the throttled man as he had + last looked upon him in the dim light of the electric lantern; but he did + not start at the mention of him. + </p> + <p> + "There's no tellin'," he answered. "He might a-been getting ready to chuck + his pardner. He might a-pulled out in the mornin' for parts unknown, if we + hadn't happened along. I guess there's just as many thieves among honest + men as there is among thieves. You read about such things in the papers, + Jim. Pardners is always knifin' each other." + </p> + <p> + A queer, nervous look came in the other's eyes. Matt did not betray that + he noted it, though he said:— + </p> + <p> + "What was you thinkin' about, Jim!" + </p> + <p> + Jim was a trifle awkward for the moment. + </p> + <p> + "Nothin'," he answered. "Only I was thinkin' just how funny it was—all + them jools at his house. What made you ask?" + </p> + <p> + "Nothin'. I was just wonderin', that was all." + </p> + <p> + The silence settled down, broken by an occasional low and nervous giggle + on the part of Jim. He was overcome by the spread of gems. It was not that + he felt their beauty. He was unaware that they were beautiful in + themselves. But in them his swift imagination visioned the joys of life + they would buy, and all the desires and appetites of his diseased mind and + sickly flesh were tickled by the promise they extended. He builded + wondrous, orgy-haunted castles out of their brilliant fires, and was + appalled at what he builded. Then it was that he giggled. It was all too + impossible to be real. And yet there they blazed on the table before him, + fanning the flame of the lust of him, and he giggled again. + </p> + <p> + "I guess we might as well count 'em," Matt said suddenly, tearing himself + away from his own visions. "You watch me an' see that it's square, because + you an' me has got to be on the square, Jim. Understand?" + </p> + <p> + Jim did not like this, and betrayed it in his eyes, while Matt did not + like what he saw in his partner's eyes. + </p> + <p> + "Understand!" Matt repeated, almost menacingly. + </p> + <p> + "Ain't we always been square?" the other replied, on the defensive, what + of the treachery already whispering in him. + </p> + <p> + "It don't cost nothin', bein' square in hard times," Matt retorted. "It's + bein' square in prosperity that counts. When we ain't got nothin', we + can't help bein' square. We're prosperous now, an' we've got to be + business men—honest business men. Understand?" + </p> + <p> + "That's the talk for me," Jim approved, but deep down in the meagre soul + of him,—and in spite of him,—wanton and lawless thoughts were + stirring like chained beasts. + </p> + <p> + Matt stepped to the food shelf behind the two-burner kerosene cooking + stove. He emptied the tea from a paper bag, and from a second bag emptied + some red peppers. Returning to the table with the bags, he put into them + the two sizes of small diamonds. Then he counted the large gems and + wrapped them in their tissue paper and chamois skin. + </p> + <p> + "Hundred an' forty-seven good-sized ones," was his inventory; "twenty real + big ones; two big boys and one whopper; an' a couple of fistfuls of teeny + ones an' dust." + </p> + <p> + He looked at Jim. + </p> + <p> + "Correct," was the response. + </p> + <p> + He wrote the count out on a slip of memorandum paper, and made a copy of + it, giving one slip to his partner and retaining the other. + </p> + <p> + "Just for reference," he said. + </p> + <p> + Again he had recourse to the food shelf, where he emptied the sugar from a + large paper bag. Into this he thrust the diamonds, large and small, + wrapped it up in a bandana handkerchief, and stowed it away under his + pillow. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed and took off his shoes. + </p> + <p> + "An' you think they're worth a hundred thousan'?" Jim asked, pausing and + looking up from the unlacing of his shoe. + </p> + <p> + "Sure," was the answer. "I seen a dancer down in Arizona once, with some + big sparklers on her. They wasn't real. She said if they was she wouldn't + be dancin'. Said they'd be worth all of fifty thousan', an' she didn't + have a dozen of 'em all told." + </p> + <p> + "Who'd work for a livin'?" Jim triumphantly demanded. "Pick an' shovel + work!" he sneered. "Work like a dog all my life, an' save all my wages, + an' I wouldn't have half as much as we got to-night." + </p> + <p> + "Dish washin's about your measure, an' you couldn't get more'n twenty a + month an' board. Your figgers is 'way off, but your point is well taken. + Let them that likes it, work. I rode range for thirty a month when I was + young an' foolish. Well, I'm older, an' I ain't ridin' range." + </p> + <p> + He got into bed on one side. Jim put out the light and followed him in on + the other side. + </p> + <p> + "How's your arm feel?" Jim queried amiably. + </p> + <p> + Such concern was unusual, and Matt noted it, and replied:— + </p> + <p> + "I guess there's no danger of hydrophoby. What made you ask?" + </p> + <p> + Jim felt in himself a guilty stir, and under his breath he cursed the + other's way of asking disagreeable questions; but aloud he answered: + "Nothin', only you seemed scared of it at first. What are you goin' to do + with your share, Matt?" + </p> + <p> + "Buy a cattle ranch in Arizona an' set down an' pay other men to ride + range for me. There's some several I'd like to see askin' a job from me, + blast them! An' now you shut your face, Jim. It'll be some time before I + buy that ranch. Just now I'm goin' to sleep." + </p> + <p> + But Jim lay long awake, nervous and twitching, rolling about restlessly + and rolling himself wide awake every time he dozed. The diamonds still + blazed under his eyelids, and the fire of them hurt. Matt, in spite of his + heavy nature, slept lightly, like a wild animal alert in its sleep; and + Jim noticed, every time he moved, that his partner's body moved + sufficiently to show that it had received the impression and that it was + trembling on the verge of awakening. For that matter, Jim did not know + whether or not, frequently, the other was awake. Once, quietly, betokening + complete consciousness, Matt said to him: "Aw, go to sleep, Jim. Don't + worry about them jools. They'll keep." And Jim had thought that at that + particular moment Matt had been surely asleep. + </p> + <p> + In the late morning Matt was awake with Jim's first movement, and + thereafter he awoke and dozed with him until midday, when they got up + together and began dressing. + </p> + <p> + "I'm goin' out to get a paper an' some bread," Matt said. "You boil the + coffee." + </p> + <p> + As Jim listened, unconsciously his gaze left Matt's face and roved to the + pillow, beneath which was the bundle wrapped in the bandana handkerchief. + On the instant Matt's face became like a wild beast's. + </p> + <p> + "Look here, Jim," he snarled. "You've got to play square. If you do me + dirt, I'll fix you. Understand? I'd eat you, Jim. You know that. I'd bite + right into your throat an' eat you like that much beefsteak." + </p> + <p> + His sunburned skin was black with the surge of blood in it, and his + tobacco-stained teeth were exposed by the snarling lips. Jim shivered and + involuntarily cowered. There was death in the man he looked at. Only the + night before that black-faced man had killed another with his hands, and + it had not hurt his sleep. And in his own heart Jim was aware of a + sneaking guilt, of a train of thought that merited all that was threatened. + </p> + <p> + Matt passed out, leaving him still shivering. Then a hatred twisted his + own face, and he softly hurled savage threats at the door. He remembered + the jewels, and hastened to the bed, feeling under the pillow for the + bandana bundle. He crushed it with his fingers to make certain that it + still contained the diamonds. Assured that Matt had not carried them away, + he looked toward the kerosene stove with a guilty start. Then he hurriedly + lighted it, filled the coffee pot at the sink, and put it over the flame. + </p> + <p> + The coffee was boiling when Matt returned, and while the latter cut the + bread and put a slice of butter on the table, Jim poured out the coffee. + It was not until he sat down and had taken a few sips of the coffee, that + Matt pulled out the morning paper from his pocket. + </p> + <p> + "We was way off," he said. "I told you I didn't dast figger out how fat it + was. Look at that." + </p> + <p> + He pointed to the head lines on the first page. "SWIFT NEMESIS ON + BUJANNOFF'S TRACK," they read. "MURDERED IN HIS SLEEP AFTER ROBBING HIS + PARTNER." + </p> + <p> + "There you have it!" Matt cried. "He robbed his partner—robbed him + like a dirty thief." + </p> + <p> + "Half a million of jewels missin'," Jim read aloud. He put the paper down + and stared at Matt. + </p> + <p> + "That's what I told you," the latter said. "What in thunder do we know + about jools? Half a million!—an' the best I could figger it was a + hundred thousan'. Go on an' read the rest of it." + </p> + <p> + They read on silently, their heads side by side, the untouched coffee + growing cold; and ever and anon one or the other burst forth with some + salient printed fact. + </p> + <p> + "I'd like to seen Metzner's face when he opened the safe at the store this + mornin'," Jim gloated. + </p> + <p> + "He hit the high places right away for Bujannoff's house," Matt explained. + "Go on an' read." + </p> + <p> + "Was to have sailed last night at ten on the <i>Sajoda</i> for the South + Seas—steamship delayed by extra freight——" + </p> + <p> + "That's why we caught 'm in bed," Matt interrupted. "It was just luck—like + pickin' a fifty-to-one winner." + </p> + <p> + "<i>Sajoda</i> sailed at six this mornin'——" + </p> + <p> + "He didn't catch her," Matt said. "I saw his alarm clock was set at five. + That'd given 'm plenty of time ... only I come along an' put the <i>kibosh</i> + on his time. Go on." + </p> + <p> + "Adolph Metzner in despair—the famous Haythorne pearl necklace—magnificently + assorted pearls—valued by experts at from fifty to seventy thousan' + dollars." + </p> + <p> + Jim broke off to say solemnly, "Those oyster-eggs worth all that money!" + </p> + <p> + He licked his lips and added, "They was beauties an' no mistake." + </p> + <p> + "Big Brazilian gem," he read on. "Eighty thousan' dollars—many + valuable gems of the first water—several thousan' small diamonds + well worth forty thousan'." + </p> + <p> + "What you don't know about jools is worth knowin'," Matt smiled good + humoredly. + </p> + <p> + "Theory of the sleuths," Jim read. "Thieves must have known—cleverly + kept watch on Bujannoff's actions—must have learned his plan and + trailed him to his house with the fruits of his robbery—" + </p> + <p> + "Clever—" Matt broke out. "That's the way reputations is made ... in + the noos-papers. How'd we know he was robbin' his pardner?" + </p> + <p> + "Anyway, we've got the goods," Jim grinned. "Let's look at 'em again." + </p> + <p> + He assured himself that the door was locked and bolted, while Matt brought + out the bundle in the bandana and opened it on the table. + </p> + <p> + "Ain't they beauties, though!" Jim exclaimed at sight of the pearls; and + for a time he had eyes only for them. "Accordin' to the experts, worth + from fifty to seventy thousan' dollars." + </p> + <p> + "An' women like them things," Matt commented. "An' they'll do everything + to get 'em—sell themselves, commit murder, anything." + </p> + <p> + "Just like you an' me." + </p> + <p> + "Not on your life," Matt retorted. "I'll commit murder for 'em, but not + for their own sakes, but for the sake of what they'll get me. That's the + difference. Women want the jools for themselves, an' I want the jools for + the women an' such things they'll get me." + </p> + <p> + "Lucky that men an' women don't want the same things," Jim remarked. + </p> + <p> + "That's what makes commerce," Matt agreed; "people wantin' different + things." + </p> + <p> + In the middle of the afternoon Jim went out to buy food. While he was + gone, Matt cleared the table of the jewels, wrapping them up as before and + putting them under the pillow. Then he lighted the kerosene stove and + started to boil water for the coffee. A few minutes later, Jim returned. + </p> + <p> + "Most surprising," he remarked. "Streets, an' stores, an' people just like + they always was. Nothin' changed. An' me walkin' along through it all a + millionnaire. Nobody looked at me an' guessed it" + </p> + <p> + Matt grunted unsympathetically. He had little comprehension of the lighter + whims and fancies of his partner's imagination. + </p> + <p> + "Did you get a porterhouse?" he demanded. + </p> + <p> + "Sure, an' an inch thick. It's a peach. Look at it." + </p> + <p> + He unwrapped the steak and held it up for the other's inspection. Then he + made the coffee and set the table, while Matt fried the steak. + </p> + <p> + "Don't put on too much of them red peppers," Jim warned. "I ain't used to + your Mexican cookin'. You always season too hot." + </p> + <p> + Matt grunted a laugh and went on with his cooking. Jim poured out the + coffee, but first, into the nicked china cup, he emptied a powder he had + carried in his vest pocket wrapped in a rice-paper. He had turned his back + for the moment on his partner, but he did not dare to glance around at + him. Matt placed a newspaper on the table, and on the newspaper set the + hot frying pan. He cut the steak in half, and served Jim and himself. + </p> + <p> + "Eat her while she's hot," he counselled, and with knife and fork set the + example. + </p> + <p> + "She's a dandy," was Jim's judgment, after his first mouthful. "But I tell + you one thing straight. I'm never goin' to visit you on that Arizona + ranch, so you needn't ask me." + </p> + <p> + "What's the matter now?" Matt asked. + </p> + <p> + "The Mexican cookin' on your ranch'd be too much for me. If I've got blue + blazes a-comin' in the next life, I'm not goin' to torment my insides in + this one!" + </p> + <p> + He smiled, expelled his breath forcibly to cool his burning mouth, drank + some coffee, and went on eating the steak. + </p> + <p> + "What do you think about the next life anyway, Matt?" he asked a little + later, while secretly he wondered why the other had not yet touched his + coffee. + </p> + <p> + "Ain't no next life," Matt answered, pausing from the steak to take his + first sip of coffee. "Nor heaven nor hell, nor nothin'. You get all that's + comin' right here in this life." + </p> + <p> + "An' afterward?" Jim queried out of his morbid curiosity, for he knew that + he looked upon a man that was soon to die. "An' afterward?" he repeated. + </p> + <p> + "Did you ever see a man two weeks dead?" the other asked. + </p> + <p> + Jim shook his head. + </p> + <p> + "Well, I have. He was like this beefsteak you an' me is eatin'. It was + once steer cavortin' over the landscape. But now it's just meat. That's + all, just meat. An' that's what you an' me an' all people come to—meat." + </p> + <p> + Matt gulped down the whole cup of coffee, and refilled the cup. + </p> + <p> + "Are you scared to die?" he asked. + </p> + <p> + Jim shook his head. "What's the use? I don't die anyway. I pass on an' + live again—" + </p> + <p> + "To go stealin', an' lyin', an' snivellin' through another life, an' go on + that way forever an' ever an' ever?" Matt sneered. + </p> + <p> + "Maybe I'll improve," Jim suggested hopefully. "Maybe stealin' won't be + necessary in the life to come." + </p> + <p> + He ceased abruptly, and stared straight before him, a frightened + expression on his face. + </p> + <p> + "What's the matter!" Matt demanded. + </p> + <p> + "Nothin'. I was just wonderin'"—Jim returned to himself with an + effort—"about this dyin', that was all." + </p> + <p> + But he could not shake off the fright that had startled him. It was as if + an unseen thing of gloom had passed him by, casting upon him the + intangible shadow of its presence. He was aware of a feeling of + foreboding. Something ominous was about to happen. Calamity hovered in the + air. He gazed fixedly across the table at the other man. He could not + understand. Was it that he had blundered and poisoned himself? No, Matt + had the nicked cup, and he had certainly put the poison in the nicked cup. + </p> + <p> + It was all his own imagination, was his next thought. It had played him + tricks before. Fool! Of course it was. Of course something was about to + happen, but it was about to happen to Matt. Had not Matt drunk the whole + cup of coffee? + </p> + <p> + Jim brightened up and finished his steak, sopping bread in the gravy when + the meat was gone. + </p> + <p> + "When I was a kid—" he began, but broke off abruptly. + </p> + <p> + Again the unseen thing of gloom had fluttered, and his being was vibrant + with premonition of impending misfortune. He felt a disruptive influence + at work in the flesh of him, and in all his muscles there was a seeming + that they were about to begin to twitch. He sat back suddenly, and as + suddenly leaned forward with his elbows on the table. A tremor ran dimly + through the muscles of his body. It was like the first rustling of leaves + before the oncoming of wind. He clenched his teeth. It came again, a + spasmodic tensing of his muscles. He knew panic at the revolt within his + being. His muscles no longer recognized his mastery over them. Again they + spasmodically tensed, despite the will of him, for he had willed that they + should not tense. This was revolution within himself, this was anarchy; + and the terror of impotence rushed up in him as his flesh gripped and + seemed to seize him in a clutch, chills running up and down his back and + sweat starting on his brow. He glanced about the room, and all the details + of it smote him with a strange sense of familiarity. It was as though he + had just returned from a long journey. He looked across the table at his + partner. Matt was watching him and smiling. An expression of horror spread + over Jim's face. + </p> + <p> + "Matt!" he screamed. "You ain't doped me?" + </p> + <p> + Matt smiled and continued to watch him. In the paroxysm that followed, Jim + did not become unconscious. His muscles tensed and twitched and knotted, + hurting him and crushing him in their savage grip. And in the midst of it + all, it came to him that Matt was acting queerly. He was traveling the + same road. The smile had gone from his face, and there was on it an + intense expression, as if he were listening to some inner tale of himself + and trying to divine the message. Matt got up and walked across the room + and back again, then sat down. + </p> + <p> + "You did this, Jim," he said quietly. + </p> + <p> + "But I didn't think you'd try to fix <i>me</i>," Jim answered + reproachfully. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, I fixed you all right," Matt said, with teeth close together and + shivering body. "What did you give me?" + </p> + <p> + "Strychnine." + </p> + <p> + "Same as I gave you," Matt volunteered. "It's some mess, ain't it!" + </p> + <p> + "You're lyin', Matt," Jim pleaded. "You ain't doped me, have you?" + </p> + <p> + "I sure did, Jim; an' I didn't overdose you, neither. I cooked it in as + neat as you please in your half the porterhouse.—Hold on! Where're + you goin'?" + </p> + <p> + Jim had made a dash for the door, and was throwing back the bolts. Matt + sprang in between and shoved him away. + </p> + <p> + "Drug store," Jim panted. "Drug store." + </p> + <p> + "No you don't. You'll stay right here. There ain't goin' to be any runnin' + out an' makin' a poison play on the street—not with all them jools + reposin' under the pillow. Savve? Even if you didn't die, you'd be in the + hands of the police with a lot of explanations comin'. Emetics is the + stuff for poison. I'm just as bad bit as you, an' I'm goin' to take a + emetic. That's all they'd give you at a drug store, anyway." + </p> + <p> + He thrust Jim back into the middle of the room and shot the bolts into + place. As he went across the floor to the food shelf, he passed one hand + over his brow and flung off the beaded sweat. It spattered audibly on the + floor. Jim watched agonizedly as Matt got the mustard can and a cup and + ran for the sink. He stirred a cupful of mustard and water and drank it + down. Jim had followed him and was reaching with trembling hands for the + empty cup. Again Matt shoved him away. As he mixed a second cupful, he + demanded: + </p> + <p> + "D'you think one cup'll do for me? You can wait till I'm done." + </p> + <p> + Jim started to totter toward the door, but Matt checked him. + </p> + <p> + "If you monkey with that door, I'll twist your neck. Savve? You can take + yours when I'm done. An' if it saves you, I'll twist your neck, anyway. + You ain't got no chance, nohow. I told you many times what you'd get if + you did me dirt." + </p> + <p> + "But you did me dirt, too," Jim articulated with an effort. + </p> + <p> + Matt was drinking the second cupful, and did not answer. The sweat had got + into Jim's eyes, and he could scarcely see his way to the table, where he + got a cup for himself. But Matt was mixing a third cupful, and, as before, + thrust him away. + </p> + <p> + "I told you to wait till I was done," Matt growled. "Get outa my way." + </p> + <p> + And Jim supported his twitching body by holding on to the sink, the while + he yearned toward the yellowish concoction that stood for life. It was by + sheer will that he stood and clung to the sink. His flesh strove to double + him up and bring him to the floor. Matt drank the third cupful, and with + difficulty managed to get to a chair and sit down. His first paroxysm was + passing. The spasms that afflicted him were dying away. This good effect + he ascribed to the mustard and water. He was safe, at any rate. He wiped + the sweat from his face, and, in the interval of calm, found room for + curiosity. He looked at his partner. + </p> + <p> + A spasm had shaken the mustard can out of Jim's hands, and the contents + were spilled upon the floor. He stooped to scoop some of the mustard into + the cup, and the succeeding spasm doubled him up on the floor. Matt + smiled. + </p> + <p> + "Stay with it," he encouraged. "It's the stuff all right. It's fixed me + up." + </p> + <p> + Jim heard him and turned toward him with a stricken face, twisted with + suffering and pleading. Spasm now followed spasm till he was in + convulsions, rolling on the floor and yellowing his face and hair in the + mustard. + </p> + <p> + Matt laughed hoarsely at the sight, but the laugh broke midway. A tremor + had run through his body. A new paroxysm was beginning. He arose and + staggered across to the sink, where, with probing forefinger, he vainly + strove to assist the action of the emetic. In the end, he clung to the + sink as Jim had clung, filled with the horror of going down to the floor. + </p> + <p> + The other's paroxysm had passed, and he sat up, weak and fainting, too + weak to rise, his forehead dripping, his lips flecked with a foam made + yellow by the mustard in which he had rolled. He rubbed his eyes with his + knuckles, and groans that were like whines came from his throat. + </p> + <p> + "What are you snifflin' about!" Matt demanded out of his agony. "All you + got to do is die. An' when you die you're dead." + </p> + <p> + "I ... ain't ... snifflin' ... it's ... the ... mustard ... stingin' ... + my ... eyes," Jim panted with desperate slowness. + </p> + <p> + It was his last successful attempt at speech. Thereafter he babbled + incoherently, pawing the air with shaking arms till a fresh convulsion + stretched him on the floor. + </p> + <p> + Matt struggled back to the chair, and, doubled up on it, with his arms + clasped about his knees, he fought with his disintegrating flesh. He came + out of the convulsion cool and weak. He looked to see how it went with the + other, and saw him lying motionless. + </p> + <p> + He tried to soliloquize, to be facetious, to have his last grim laugh at + life, but his lips made only incoherent sounds. The thought came to him + that the emetic had failed, and that nothing remained but the drug store. + He looked toward the door and drew himself to his feet. There he saved + himself from falling by clutching the chair. Another paroxysm had begun. + And in the midst of the paroxysm, with his body and all the parts of it + flying apart and writhing and twisting back again into knots, he clung to + the chair and shoved it before him across the floor. The last shreds of + his will were leaving him when he gained the door. He turned the key and + shot back one bolt. He fumbled for the second bolt, but failed. Then he + leaned his weight against the door and slid down gently to the floor. + </p> + + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A NOSE FOR THE KING + </h2> + <p> + In the morning calm of Korea, when its peace and tranquility truly merited + its ancient name, "Cho-sen," there lived a politician by name Yi Chin Ho. + He was a man of parts, and—who shall say?—perhaps in no wise + worse than politicians the world over. But, unlike his brethren in other + lands, Yi Chin Ho was in jail. Not that he had inadvertently diverted to + himself public moneys, but that he had inadvertently diverted too much. + Excess is to be deplored in all things, even in grafting, and Yi Chin Ho's + excess had brought him to most deplorable straits. + </p> + <p> + Ten thousand strings of cash he owed the government, and he lay in prison + under sentence of death. There was one advantage to the situation—he + had plenty of time in which to think. And he thought well. Then called he + the jailer to him. + </p> + <p> + "Most worthy man, you see before you one most wretched," he began. "Yet + all will be well with me if you will but let me go free for one short hour + this night. And all will be well with you, for I shall see to your + advancement through the years, and you shall come at length to the + directorship of all the prisons of Cho-sen." + </p> + <p> + "How now?" demanded the jailer. "What foolishness is this? One short hour, + and you but waiting for your head to be chopped off! And I, with an aged + and much-to-be-respected mother, not to say anything of a wife and several + children of tender years! Out upon you for the scoundrel that you are!" + </p> + <p> + "From the Sacred City to the ends of all the Eight Coasts there is no + place for me to hide," Yi Chin Ho made reply. "I am a man of wisdom, but + of what worth my wisdom here in prison? Were I free, well I know I could + seek out and obtain the money wherewith to repay the government. I know of + a nose that will save me from all my difficulties." + </p> + <p> + "A nose!" cried the jailer. + </p> + <p> + "A nose," said Yi Chin Ho. "A remarkable nose, if I may say so, a most + remarkable nose." + </p> + <p> + The jailer threw up his hands despairingly. "Ah, what a wag you are, what + a wag," he laughed. "To think that that very admirable wit of yours must + go the way of the chopping-block!" + </p> + <p> + And so saying, he turned and went away. But in the end, being a man soft + of head and heart, when the night was well along he permitted Yi Chin Ho + to go. + </p> + <p> + Straight he went to the Governor, catching him alone and arousing him from + his sleep. + </p> + <p> + "Yi Chin Ho, or I'm no Governor!" cried the Governor. "What do you here + who should be in prison waiting on the chopping-block!" + </p> + <p> + "I pray your excellency to listen to me," said Yi Chin Ho, squatting on + his hams by the bedside and lighting his pipe from the fire-box. "A dead + man is without value. It is true, I am as a dead man, without value to the + government, to your excellency, or to myself. But if, so to say, your + excellency were to give me my freedom—" + </p> + <p> + "Impossible!" cried the Governor. "Besides, you are condemned to death." + </p> + <p> + "Your excellency well knows that if I can repay the ten thousand strings + of cash, the government will pardon me," Yi Chin Ho went on. "So, as I + say, if your excellency were to give me my freedom for a few days, being a + man of understanding, I should then repay the government and be in + position to be of service to your excellency. I should be in position to + be of very great service to your excellency." + </p> + <p> + "Have you a plan whereby you hope to obtain this money?" asked the + Governor. + </p> + <p> + "I have," said Yi Chin Ho. + </p> + <p> + "Then come with it to me to-morrow night; I would now sleep," said the + Governor, taking up his snore where it had been interrupted. + </p> + <p> + On the following night, having again obtained leave of absence from the + jailer, Yi Chin Ho presented himself at the Governor's bedside. + </p> + <p> + "Is it you, Yi Chin Ho?" asked the Governor. "And have you the plan?" + </p> + <p> + "It is I, your excellency," answered Yi Chin Ho, "and the plan is here." + </p> + <p> + "Speak," commanded the Governor. + </p> + <p> + "The plan is here," repeated Yi Chin Ho, "here in my hand." + </p> + <p> + The Governor sat up and opened his eyes, Yi Chin Ho proffered in his hand + a sheet of paper. The Governor held it to the light. + </p> + <p> + "Nothing but a nose," said he. + </p> + <p> + "A bit pinched, so, and so, your excellency," said Yi Chin Ho. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, a bit pinched here and there, as you say," said the Governor. + </p> + <p> + "Withal it is an exceeding corpulent nose, thus, and so, all in one place, + at the end," proceeded Yi Chin Ho. "Your excellency would seek far and + wide and many a day for that nose and find it not." + </p> + <p> + "An unusual nose," admitted the Governor. + </p> + <p> + "There is a wart upon it," said Yi Chin Ho. + </p> + <p> + "A most unusual nose," said the Governor. "Never have I seen the like. But + what do you with this nose, Yi Chin Ho!" + </p> + <p> + "I seek it whereby to repay the money to the government," said Yi Chin Ho. + "I seek it to be of service to your excellency, and I seek it to save my + own worthless head. Further, I seek your excellency's seal upon this + picture of the nose." + </p> + <p> + And the Governor laughed and affixed the seal of state, and Yi Chin Ho + departed. For a month and a day he traveled the King's Road which leads to + the shore of the Eastern Sea; and there, one night, at the gate of the + largest mansion of a wealthy city he knocked loudly for admittance. + </p> + <p> + "None other than the master of the house will I see," said he fiercely to + the frightened servants. "I travel upon the King's business." + </p> + <p> + Straightway was he led to an inner room, where the master of the house was + roused from his sleep and brought blinking before him. + </p> + <p> + "You are Pak Chung Chang, head man of this city," said Yi Chin Ho in tones + that were all-accusing. "I am upon the King's business." + </p> + <p> + Pak Chung Chang trembled. Well he knew the King's business was ever a + terrible business. His knees smote together, and he near fell to the + floor. + </p> + <p> + "The hour is late," he quavered. "Were it not well to——" + </p> + <p> + "The King's business never waits!" thundered Yi Chin Ho. "Come apart with + me, and swiftly. I have an affair of moment to discuss with you. + </p> + <p> + "It is the King's affair," he added with even greater fierceness; so that + Pak Chung Chang's silver pipe dropped from his nerveless fingers and + clattered on the floor. + </p> + <p> + "Know then," said Yi Chin Ho, when they had gone apart, "that the King is + troubled with an affliction, a very terrible affliction. In that he failed + to cure, the Court physician has had nothing else than his head chopped + off. From all the Eight Provinces have the physicians come to wait upon + the King. Wise consultation have they held, and they have decided that for + a remedy for the King's affliction nothing else is required than a nose, a + certain kind of nose, a very peculiar certain kind of nose. + </p> + <p> + "Then by none other was I summoned than his excellency the prime minister + himself. He put a paper into my hand. Upon this paper was the very + peculiar kind of nose drawn by the physicians of the Eight Provinces, with + the seal of state upon it. + </p> + <p> + "'Go,' said his excellency the prime minister. 'Seek out this nose, for + the King's affliction is sore. And wheresoever you find this nose upon the + face of a man, strike it off forthright and bring it in all haste to the + Court, for the King must be cured. Go, and come not back until your search + is rewarded.' + </p> + <p> + "And so I departed upon my quest," said Yi Chin Ho. "I have sought out the + remotest corners of the kingdom; I have traveled the Eight Highways, + searched the Eight Provinces, and sailed the seas of the Eight Coasts. And + here I am." + </p> + <p> + With a great flourish he drew a paper from his girdle, unrolled it with + many snappings and cracklings, and thrust it before the face of Pak Chung + Chang. Upon the paper was the picture of the nose. + </p> + <p> + Pak Chung Chang stared upon it with bulging eyes. + </p> + <p> + "Never have I beheld such a nose," he began. + </p> + <p> + "There is a wart upon it," said Yi Chin Ho. + </p> + <p> + "Never have I beheld——" Pak Chung Chang began again. + </p> + <p> + "Bring your father before me," Yi Chin Ho interrupted sternly. + </p> + <p> + "My ancient and very-much-to-be-respected ancestor sleeps," said Pak Chung + Chang. + </p> + <p> + "Why dissemble?" demanded Yi Chin Ho. "You know it is your father's nose. + Bring him before me that I may strike it off and be gone. Hurry, lest I + make bad report of you." + </p> + <p> + "Mercy!" cried Pak Chung Chang, falling on his knees. "It is impossible! + It is impossible! You cannot strike off my father's nose. He cannot go + down without his nose to the grave. He will become a laughter and a + byword, and all my days and nights will be filled with woe. O reflect! + Report that you have seen no such nose in your travels. You, too, have a + father." + </p> + <p> + Pak Chung Chang clasped Yi Chin Ho's knees and fell to weeping on his + sandals. + </p> + <p> + "My heart softens strangely at your tears," said Yi Chin Ho. "I, too, know + filial piety and regard. But—" He hesitated, then added, as though + thinking aloud, "It is as much as my head is worth." + </p> + <p> + "How much is your head worth?" asked Pak Chung Chang in a thin, small + voice. + </p> + <p> + "A not remarkable head," said Yi Chin Ho. "An absurdly unremarkable head! + but, such is my great foolishness, I value it at nothing less than one + hundred thousand strings of cash." + </p> + <p> + "So be it," said Pak Chung Chang, rising to his feet. + </p> + <p> + "I shall need horses to carry the treasure," said Yi Chin Ho, "and men to + guard it well as I journey through the mountains. There are robbers abroad + in the land." + </p> + <p> + "There are robbers abroad in the land," said Pak Chung Chang, sadly. "But + it shall be as you wish, so long as my ancient and + very-much-to-be-respected ancestor's nose abide in its appointed place." + </p> + <p> + "Say nothing to any man of this occurrence," said Yi Chin Ho, "else will + other and more loyal servants than I be sent to strike off your father's + nose." + </p> + <p> + And so Yi Chin Ho departed on his way through the mountains, blithe of + heart and gay of song as he listened to the jingling bells of his + treasure-laden ponies. + </p> + <p> + There is little more to tell. Yi Chin Ho prospered through the years. By + his efforts the jailer attained at length to the directorship of all the + prisons of Cho-sen; the Governor ultimately betook himself to the Sacred + City to be prime minister to the King, while Yi Chin Ho became the King's + boon companion and sat at table with him to the end of a round, fat life. + But Pak Chung Chang fell into a melancholy, and ever after he shook his + head sadly, with tears in his eyes, whenever he regarded the expensive + nose of his ancient and very-much-to-be-respected ancestor. + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Brown Wolf and Other Jack London +Stories, by Jack London + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BROWN WOLF AND OTHER JACK *** + +***** This file should be named 12336-h.htm or 12336-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/3/3/12336/ + +Etext produced by PG Distributed Proofreaders + +HTML file produced by David Widger + +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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +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 + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Each eBook is in a subdirectory of the same number as the eBook's +eBook number, often in several formats including plain vanilla ASCII, +compressed (zipped), HTML and others. + +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks replace the old file and take over +the old filename and etext number. The replaced older file is renamed. +VERSIONS based on separate sources are treated as new eBooks receiving +new filenames and etext numbers. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +EBooks posted prior to November 2003, with eBook numbers BELOW #10000, +are filed in directories based on their release date. If you want to +download any of these eBooks directly, rather than using the regular +search system you may utilize the following addresses and just +download by the etext year. + + https://www.gutenberg.org/etext06 + + (Or /etext 05, 04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99, + 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90) + +EBooks posted since November 2003, with etext numbers OVER #10000, are +filed in a different way. The year of a release date is no longer part +of the directory path. The path is based on the etext number (which is +identical to the filename). The path to the file is made up of single +digits corresponding to all but the last digit in the filename. For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: + https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + + + + + +</pre> + </body> +</html> diff --git a/old/12336.txt b/old/12336.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f20eb1f --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12336.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6985 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Brown Wolf and Other Jack London Stories, 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: Brown Wolf and Other Jack London Stories + Chosen and Edited By Franklin K. Mathiews + +Author: Jack London + +Release Date: May 14, 2004 [EBook #12336] +[Last updated: February 17, 2013] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BROWN WOLF AND OTHER JACK *** + + + + +Produced by PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + +BROWN WOLF + +[Illustration] + + + + +Brown Wolf + +AND + +Other Jack London Stories + + +As chosen by + +Franklin K. Mathiews + +Chief Scout Librarian, Boy Scouts of America + + + + +TABLE OF CONTENTS + +BROWN WOLF + +THAT SPOT + +TRUST + +ALL GOLD CANYON + +THE STORY OF KEESH + +NAM-BOK THE UNVERACIOUS + +YELLOW HANDKERCHIEF + +MAKE WESTING + +THE HEATHEN + +THE HOBO AND THE FAIRY + +"JUST MEAT" + +A NOSE FOR THE KING + + +INTRODUCTION + +Boys delight in men who have had adventures, and when they are +privileged to read of such exploits in thrilling story form, that is the +"seventh heaven" for them. Such a "boys' man" was Jack London, whose +whole life was one of stirring action on land and sea. Gifted as a story +teller, he wrote books almost without end. Some of them, "The Call of +the Wild," "The Sea Wolf" and "White Fang," have already been recognized +as fine books for boys. Others, volumes of short stories, contain many +of like interest, possessing the same qualities that have made the other +and longer stories so acceptable as juveniles. + +Effort has been made by the editor to bring together in one volume a +number of such stories, not for the reason alone that there might be +another Jack London book for boys, but also in order to add to our +juvenile literature a volume likely "to be chewed and digested," as +Bacon says, a book worthy "to be read whole, and with diligence and +attention." For my belief is that boys read altogether too few of such +books. Or perhaps it would be more correct to say, have too few +opportunities to read such books, because so often we fail to see how +quick in their reading their minds are to grasp the more difficult, and +how keen and competent their conscience to draw the right conclusion +when situations are presented wherein men err so grievously. + +It is hoped the stories presented will serve to exercise both the boy's +mind and conscience; that seeing and feeling life and nature as Jack +London saw and felt it--the best and the worst in human nature, with the +Infinite always near and from whom there is no escape--seeing and +feeling such things boys will develop the emotional muscles of the +spirit, have opened up new windows to their imaginations, and withal add +some line or color to their life's ideals. + +FRANKLIN K. MATHIEWS, Chief Scout Librarian, Boy Scouts of America. + +[Illustration] + + + + +BROWN WOLF + + +She had delayed, because of the dew-wet grass, in order to put on her +overshoes, and when she emerged from the house found her waiting husband +absorbed in the wonder of a bursting almond-bud. She sent a questing +glance across the tall grass and in and out among the orchard trees. + +"Where's Wolf?" she asked. + +"He was here a moment ago." Walt Irvine drew himself away with a jerk +from the metaphysics and poetry of the organic miracle of blossom, and +surveyed the landscape. "He was running a rabbit the last I saw of him." + +"Wolf! Wolf! Here, Wolf!" she called, as they left the clearing and took +the trail that led down through the waxen-belled manzanita jungle to +the county road. + +Irvine thrust between his lips the little finger of each hand and lent +to her efforts a shrill whistling. + +She covered her ears hastily and made a wry grimace. + +"My! for a poet, delicately attuned and all the rest of it, you can make +unlovely noises. My eardrums are pierced. You outwhistle----" + +"Orpheus." + +"I was about to say a street-arab," she concluded severely. + +"Poesy does not prevent one from being practical--at least it doesn't +prevent _me_. Mine is no futility of genius that can't sell gems to the +magazines." + +He assumed a mock extravagance, and went on: + +"I am no attic singer, no ballroom warbler. And why? Because I am +practical. Mine is no squalor of song that cannot transmute itself, with +proper exchange value, into a flower-crowned cottage, a sweet +mountain-meadow, a grove of redwoods, an orchard of thirty-seven trees, +one long row of blackberries and two short rows of strawberries, to say +nothing of a quarter of a mile of gurgling brook." + +"Oh, that all your song-transmutations were as successful!" she laughed. + +"Name one that wasn't." + +"Those two beautiful sonnets that you transmuted into the cow that was +accounted the worst milker in the township." + +"She was beautiful----" he began. + +"But she didn't give milk," Madge interrupted. + +"But she _was_ beautiful, now, wasn't she?" he insisted. + +"And here's where beauty and utility fall out," was her reply. "And +there's the Wolf!" + +From the thicket-covered hillside came a crashing of underbrush, and +then, forty feet above them, on the edge of the sheer wall of rock, +appeared a wolf's head and shoulders. His braced forepaws dislodged a +pebble, and with sharp-pricked ears and peering eyes he watched the fall +of the pebble till it struck at their feet. Then he transferred his gaze +and with open mouth laughed down at them. + +"You Wolf, you!" and "You blessed Wolf!" the man and woman called out to +him. The ears flattened back and down at the sound, and the head seemed +to snuggle under the caress of an invisible hand. + +They watched him scramble backward into the thicket, then proceeded on +their way. Several minutes later, rounding a turn in the trail where the +descent was less precipitous, he joined them in the midst of a miniature +avalanche of pebbles and loose soil. He was not demonstrative. A pat and +a rub around the ears from the man, and a more prolonged caressing from +the woman, and he was away down the trail in front of them, gliding +effortlessly over the ground in true wolf fashion. + +In build and coat and brush he was a huge timber-wolf; but the lie was +given to his wolf-hood by his color and marking. There the dog +unmistakably advertised itself. No wolf was ever colored like him. He +was brown, deep brown, red-brown, an orgy of browns. Back and shoulders +were a warm brown that paled on the sides and underneath to a yellow +that was dingy because of the brown that lingered in it. The white of +the throat and paws and the spots over the eyes was dirty because of the +persistent and ineradicable brown, while the eyes themselves were twin +topazes, golden and brown. + +The man and woman loved the dog very much; perhaps this was because it +had been such a task to win his love. It had been no easy matter when he +first drifted in mysteriously out of nowhere to their little mountain +cottage. Footsore and famished, he had killed a rabbit under their very +noses and under their very windows, and then crawled away and slept by +the spring at the foot of the blackberry bushes. When Walt Irvine went +down to inspect the intruder, he was snarled at for his pains, and Madge +likewise was snarled at when she went down to present, as a +peace-offering, a large pan of bread and milk. + +A most unsociable dog he proved to be, resenting all their advances, +refusing to let them lay hands on him, menacing them with bared fangs +and bristling hair. Nevertheless he remained, sleeping and resting by +the spring, and eating the food they gave him after they set it down at +a safe distance and retreated. His wretched physical condition explained +why he lingered; and when he had recuperated, after several days' +sojourn, he disappeared. + +And this would have been the end of him, so far as Irvine and his wife +were concerned, had not Irvine at that particular time been called away +into the northern part of the state. Biding along on the train, near to +the line between California and Oregon, he chanced to look out of the +window and saw his unsociable guest sliding along the wagon road, brown +and wolfish, tired yet tireless, dust-covered and soiled with two +hundred miles of travel. + +Now Irvine was a man of impulse, a poet. He got off the train at the +next station, bought a piece of meat at a butcher shop, and captured the +vagrant on the outskirts of the town. The return trip was made in the +baggage car, and so Wolf came a second time to the mountain cottage. +Here he was tied up for a week and made love to by the man and woman. +But it was very circumspect love-making. Remote and alien as a traveller +from another planet, he snarled down their soft-spoken love-words. He +never barked. In all the time they had him he was never known to bark. + +To win him became a problem. Irvine liked problems. He had a metal plate +made, on which was stamped: "Return to Walt Irvine, Glen Ellen, Sonoma +County, California." This was riveted to a collar and strapped about the +dog's neck. Then he was turned loose, and promptly He disappeared. A +day later came a telegram from Mendocino County. In twenty hours he had +made over a hundred miles to the north, and was still going when +captured. + +He came back by Wells Fargo Express, was tied up three days, and was +loosed on the fourth and lost. This time he gained southern Oregon +before he was caught and returned. Always, as soon as he received his +liberty, he fled away, and always he fled north. He was possessed of an +obsession that drove him north. The homing instinct, Irvine called it, +after he had expended the selling price of a sonnet in getting the +animal back from northern Oregon. + +Another time the brown wanderer succeeded in traversing half the length +of California, all of Oregon, and most of Washington, before he was +picked up and returned "Collect." A remarkable thing was the speed with +which he traveled. Fed up and rested, as soon as he was loosed he +devoted all his energy to getting over the ground. On the first day's +run he was known to cover as high as a hundred and fifty miles, and +after that he would average a hundred miles a day until caught. He +always arrived back lean and hungry and savage, and always departed +fresh and vigorous, cleaving his way northward in response to some +prompting of his being that no one could understand. + +But at last, after a futile year of flight, he accepted the inevitable +and elected to remain at the cottage where first he had killed the +rabbit and slept by the spring. Even after that, a long time elapsed +before the man and woman succeeded in patting him. It was a great +victory, for they alone were allowed to put hands on him. He was +fastidiously exclusive, and no guest at the cottage ever succeeded in +making up to him. A low growl greeted such approach; if any one had the +hardihood to come nearer, the lips lifted, the naked fangs appeared, and +the growl became a snarl--a snarl so terrible and malignant that it awed +the stoutest of them, as it likewise awed the farmers' dogs that knew +ordinary dog snarling, but had never seen wolf snarling before. + +He was without antecedents. His history began with Walt and Madge. He +had come up from the south, but never a clew did they get of the owner +from whom he had evidently fled. Mrs. Johnson, their nearest neighbor +and the one who supplied them with milk, proclaimed him a Klondike dog. +Her brother was burrowing for frozen pay-streaks in that far country, +and so she constituted herself an authority on the subject. + +But they did not dispute her. There were the tips of Wolf's ears, +obviously so severely frozen at some time that they would never quite +heal again. Besides, he looked like the photographs of the Alaskan dogs +they saw published in magazines and newspapers. They often speculated +over his past, and tried to conjure up (from what they had read and +heard) what his northland life had been. That the northland still drew +him, they knew; for at night they sometimes heard him crying softly; and +when the north wind blew and the bite of frost was in the air, a great +restlessness would come upon him and he would lift a mournful lament +which they knew to be the long wolf-howl. Yet he never barked. No +provocation was great enough to draw from him that canine cry. + +Long discussion they had, during the time of winning him, as to whose +dog he was. Each claimed him, and each proclaimed loudly any expression +of affection made by him. But the man had the better of it at first, +chiefly because he was a man. It was patent that Wolf had had no +experience with women. He did not understand women. Madge's skirts were +something he never quite accepted. The swish of them was enough to set +him a-bristle with suspicion, and on a windy day she could not approach +him at all. + +On the other hand, it was Madge who fed him; also it was she who ruled +the kitchen, and it was by her favor, and her favor alone, that he was +permitted to come within that sacred precinct. It was because of these +things that she bade fair to overcome the handicap of her garments. Then +it was that Walt put forth special effort, making it a practice to have +Wolf lie at his feet while he wrote, and, between petting and talking, +losing much time from his work. Walt won in the end, and his victory was +most probably due to the fact that he was a man, though Madge averred +that they would have had another quarter of a mile of gurgling brook, +and at least two west winds sighing through their redwoods, had Walt +properly devoted his energies to song-transmutation and left Wolf alone +to exercise a natural taste and an unbiased judgment. + +"It's about time I heard from those triolets," Walt said, after a +silence of five minutes, during which they had swung steadily down the +trail. "There'll be a check at the post office, I know, and we'll +transmute it into beautiful buckwheat flour, a gallon of maple syrup, +and a new pair of overshoes for you." + +"And into beautiful milk from Mrs. Johnson's beautiful cow," Madge +added. "To-morrow's the first of the month, you know." + +Walt scowled unconsciously; then his face brightened, and he clapped his +hand to his breast pocket. + +"Never mind. I have here a nice, beautiful, new cow, the best milker in +California." + +"When did you write it?" she demanded eagerly. Then, reproachfully, "And +you never showed it to me." + +"I saved it to read to you on the way to the post office, in a spot +remarkably like this one," he answered, indicating, with a wave of his +hand, a dry log on which to sit. + +A tiny stream flowed out of a dense fern-brake, slipped down a +mossy-lipped stone, and ran across the path at their feet. From the +valley arose the mellow song of meadow larks, while about them, in and +out, through sunshine and shadow, fluttered great yellow butterflies. + +Up from below came another sound that broke in upon Walt reading softly +from his manuscript. It was a crunching of heavy feet, punctuated now +and again by the clattering of a displaced stone. As Walt finished and +looked to his wife for approval, a man came into view around the turn of +the trail. He was bareheaded and sweaty. With a handkerchief in one hand +he mopped his face, while in the other hand he carried a new hat and a +wilted starched collar which he had removed from his neck. He was a +well-built man, and his muscles seemed on the point of bursting out of +the painfully new and ready-made black clothes he wore. + +"Warm day," Walt greeted him. Walt believed in country democracy, and +never missed an opportunity to practice it. + +The man paused and nodded. + +"I guess I ain't used much to the warm," he vouchsafed half +apologetically. "I'm more accustomed to zero weather." + +"You don't find any of that in this country," Walt laughed. + +"Should say not," the man answered. "An' I ain't here a-lookin' for it +neither. I'm tryin' to find my sister. Mebbe you know where she lives. +Her name's Johnson, Mrs. William Johnson." + +"You're not her Klondike brother!" Madge cried, her eyes bright with +interest, "about whom we've heard so much?" + +"Yes'm, that's me," he answered modestly. "My name's Miller, Skiff +Miller. I just thought I'd s'prise her." + +"You are on the right track then. Only you've come by the footpath." +Madge stood up to direct him, pointing up the canyon a quarter of a +mile. "You see that blasted redwood! Take the little trail turning off +to the right. It's the short cut to her house. You can't miss it." + +"Yes'm, thank you, ma'am," he said. + +He made tentative efforts to go, but seemed awkwardly rooted to the +spot. He was gazing at her with an open admiration of which he was quite +unconscious, and which was drowning, along with him, in the rising sea +of embarrassment in which he floundered. + +"We'd like to hear you tell about the Klondike," Madge said. "Mayn't we +come over some day while you are at your sister's! Or, better yet, +won't you come over and have dinner with us?" + +"Yes'm, thank you, ma'am," he mumbled mechanically. Then he caught +himself up and added: "I ain't stoppin' long. I got to be pullin' north +again. I go out on to-night's train. You see, I've got a mail contract +with the government." + +When Madge had said that it was too bad, he made another futile effort +to go. But he could not take his eyes from her face. He forgot his +embarrassment in his admiration, and it was her turn to flush and feel +uncomfortable. + +It was at this juncture, when Walt had just decided it was time for him +to be saying something to relieve the strain, that Wolf, who had been +away nosing through the brush, trotted wolf-like into view. + +Skiff Miller's abstraction disappeared. The pretty woman before him +passed out of his field of vision. He had eyes only for the dog, and a +great wonder came into his face. + +"Well, I'll be hanged!" he enunciated slowly and solemnly. + +He sat down ponderingly on the log, leaving Madge standing. At the sound +of his voice, Wolf's ears had flattened down, then his mouth had opened +in a laugh. He trotted slowly up to the stranger and first smelled his +hands, then licked them with his tongue. + +Skiff Miller patted the dog's head, and slowly and solemnly repeated, +"Well, I'll be hanged!" + +"Excuse me, ma'am," he said the next moment, "I was just s'prised some, +that was all." + +"We're surprised, too," she answered lightly. "We never saw Wolf make up +to a stranger before." + +"Is that what you call him--Wolf?" the man asked. + +Madge nodded. "But I can't understand his friendliness toward +you--unless it's because you're from the Klondike. He's a Klondike dog, +you know." + +"Yes'm," Miller said absently. He lifted one of Wolf's forelegs and +examined the footpads, pressing them and denting them with his thumb. +"Kind of soft," he remarked. "He ain't been on trail for a long time." + +"I say," Walt broke in, "it is remarkable the way he lets you handle +him." + +Skiff Miller arose, no longer awkward with admiration of Madge, and in +a sharp, businesslike manner asked, "How long have you had him?" + +But just then the dog, squirming and rubbing against the newcomer's +legs, opened his mouth and barked. It was an explosive bark, brief and +joyous, but a bark. + +"That's a new one on me," Skiff Miller remarked. + +Walt and Madge stared at each other. The miracle had happened. Wolf had +barked. + +"It's the first time he ever barked," Madge said. + +"First time I ever heard him, too," Miller volunteered. + +Madge smiled at him. The man was evidently a humorist. + +"Of course," she said, "since you have only seen him for five minutes." + +Skiff Miller looked at her sharply, seeking in her face the guile her +words had led him to suspect. + +"I thought you understood," he said slowly. "I thought you'd tumbled to +it from his makin' up to me. He's my dog. His name ain't Wolf. It's +Brown." + +"Oh, Walt!" was Madge's instinctive cry to her husband. + +Walt was on the defensive at once. + +"How do you know he's your dog?" he demanded. + +"Because he is," was the reply. + +"Mere assertion," Walt said sharply. + +In his slow and pondering way, Skiff Miller looked at him, then asked, +with a nod of his head toward Madge: + +"How d'you know she's your wife? You just say, 'Because she is,' and +I'll say it's mere assertion. The dog's mine. I bred 'm an' raised 'm, +an' I guess I ought to know. Look here. I'll prove it to you." + +Skiff Miller turned to the dog. "Brown!" His voice rang out sharply, and +at the sound the dog's ears flattened down as to a caress. "Gee!" The +dog made a swinging turn to the right. "Now mush-on!" And the dog ceased +his swing abruptly and started straight ahead, halting obediently at +command. + +"I can do it with whistles," Skiff Miller said proudly. "He was my lead +dog." + +"But you are not going to take him away with you?" Madge asked +tremulously. + +The man nodded. + +"Back into that awful Klondike world of suffering?" + +He nodded and added: "Oh, it ain't so bad as all that. Look at me. +Pretty healthy specimen, ain't I!" + +"But the dogs! The terrible hardship, the heart-breaking toil, the +starvation, the frost! Oh, I've read about it and I know." + +"I nearly ate him once, over on Little Fish River," Miller volunteered +grimly. "If I hadn't got a moose that day was all that saved 'm." + +"I'd have died first!" Madge cried. + +"Things is different down here," Miller explained. "You don't have to +eat dogs. You think different just about the time you're all in. You've +never been all in, so you don't know anything about it." + +"That's the very point," she argued warmly. "Dogs are not eaten in +California. Why not leave him here? He is happy. He'll never want for +food--you know that. He'll never suffer from cold and hardship. Here all +is softness and gentleness. Neither the human nor nature is savage. He +will never know a whip-lash again. And as for the weather--why, it +never snows here." + +"But it's all-fired hot in summer, beggin' your pardon," Skiff Miller +laughed. + +"But you do not answer," Madge continued passionately. "What have you to +offer him in that northland life?" + +"Grub, when I've got it, and that's most of the time," came the answer. + +"And the rest of the time?" + +"No grub." + +"And the work?" + +"Yes, plenty of work," Miller blurted out impatiently. "Work without +end, an' famine, an' frost, an' all the rest of the miseries--that's +what he'll get when he comes with me. But he likes it. He is used to it. +He knows that life. He was born to it an' brought up to it. An' you +don't know anything about it. You don't know what you're talking about. +That's where the dog belongs, and that's where he'll be happiest." + +"The dog doesn't go," Walt announced in a determined voice. "So there is +no need of further discussion." + +"What's that?" Skiff Miller demanded, big brows lowering and an +obstinate flush of blood reddening his forehead. + +"I said the dog doesn't go, and that settles it. I don't believe he's +your dog. You may have seen him sometime. You may even sometime have +driven him for his owner. But his obeying the ordinary driving commands +of the Alaskan trail is no demonstration that he is yours. Any dog in +Alaska would obey you as he obeyed. Besides, he is undoubtedly a +valuable dog, as dogs go in Alaska, and that is sufficient explanation +of your desire to get possession of him. Anyway, you've got to prove +property." + +Skiff Miller, cool and collected, the obstinate flush a trifle deeper on +his forehead, his huge muscles bulging under the black cloth of his +coat, carefully looked the poet up and down as though measuring the +strength of his slenderness. + +The Klondiker's face took on a contemptuous expression as he said +finally: "I reckon there's nothin' in sight to prevent me takin' the dog +right here an' now." + +Walt's face reddened, and the striking-muscles of his arms and shoulders +seemed to stiffen and grow tense. His wife fluttered apprehensively +into the breach. + +"Maybe Mr. Miller is right," she said. "I am afraid that he is. Wolf +does seem to know him, and certainly he answers to the name of 'Brown.' +He made friends with him instantly, and you know that's something he +never did with anybody before. Besides, look at the way he barked. He +was just bursting with joy. Joy over what? Without doubt at finding Mr. +Miller." + +Walt's striking-muscles relaxed, and his shoulders seemed to droop with +hopelessness. + +"I guess you're right, Madge," he said. "Wolf isn't Wolf, but Brown, and +he must belong to Mr. Miller." + +"Perhaps Mr. Miller will sell him," she suggested. "We can buy him." + +Skiff Miller shook his head, no longer belligerent, but kindly, quick to +be generous in response to generousness. + +"I had five dogs," he said, casting about for the easiest way to temper +his refusal. "He was the leader. They was the crack team of Alaska. +Nothin' could touch 'em. In 1898 I refused five thousand dollars for the +bunch. Dogs was high, then, anyway; but that wasn't what made the fancy +price. It was the team itself. Brown was the best in the team. That +winter I refused twelve hundred for 'm. I didn't sell 'm then, an' I +ain't a-sellin' 'm now. Besides, I think a mighty lot of that dog. I've +been lookin' for 'm for three years. It made me fair sick when I found +he'd been stole--not the value of him, but the--well, I liked 'm so, +that's all. I couldn't believe my eyes when I seen 'm just now. I +thought I was dreamin'. It was too good to be true. Why, I was his +nurse. I put 'm to bed, snug every night. His mother died, and I brought +'m up on condensed milk at two dollars a can when I couldn't afford it +in my own coffee. He never knew any mother but me. He used to suck my +finger regular, the darn little pup--that finger right there!" + +And Skiff Miller, too overwrought for speech, held up a forefinger for +them to see. + +"That very finger," he managed to articulate, as though it somehow +clinched the proof of ownership and the bond of affection. + +He was still gazing at his extended finger when Madge began to speak. + +"But the dog," she said. "You haven't considered the dog." + +Skiff Miller looked puzzled. + +"Have you thought about him?" she asked. + +"Don't know what you're drivin' at," was the response. + +"Maybe the dog has some choice in the matter," Madge went on. "Maybe he +has his likes and desires. You have not considered him. You give him no +choice. It has never entered your mind that possibly he might prefer +California to Alaska. You consider only what you like. You do with him +as you would with a sack of potatoes or a bale of hay." + +This was a new way of looking at it, and Miller was visibly impressed as +he debated it in his mind. Madge took advantage of his indecision. + +"If you really love him, what would be happiness to him would be your +happiness also," she urged. + +Skiff Miller continued to debate with himself, and Madge stole a glance +of exultation to her husband, who looked back warm approval. + +"What do you think?" the Klondiker suddenly demanded. + +It was her turn to be puzzled. "What do you mean?" she asked. + +"D'ye think he'd sooner stay in California!" + +She nodded her head with positiveness. "I am sure of it." + +Skiff Miller again debated with himself, though this time aloud, at the +same time running his gaze in a judicial way over the mooted animal. + +"He was a good worker. He's done a heap of work for me. He never loafed +on me, an' he was a joe-dandy at hammerin' a raw team into shape. He's +got a head on him. He can do everything but talk. He knows what you say +to him. Look at 'm now. He knows we're talkin' about him." + +The dog was lying at Skiff Miller's feet, head close down on paws, ears +erect and listening, and eyes that were quick and eager to follow the +sound of speech as it fell from the lips of first one and then the +other. + +"An' there's a lot of work in 'm yet. He's good for years to come. An' I +do like him." + +Once or twice after that Skiff Miller opened his mouth and closed it +again without speaking. Finally he said: + +"I'll tell you what I'll do. Your remarks, ma'am, has some weight in +them. The dog's worked hard, and maybe he's earned a soft berth an' has +got a right to choose. Anyway, we'll leave it up to him. Whatever he +says, goes. You people stay right here settin' down. I'll say good-by +and walk off casual-like. If he wants to stay, he can stay. If he wants +to come with me, let 'm come. I won't call 'm to come an' don't you call +'m to come back." + +He looked with sudden suspicion at Madge, and added, "Only you must play +fair. No persuadin' after my back is turned." + +"We'll play fair," Madge began, but Skiff Miller broke in on her +assurances. + +"I know the ways of women," he announced. "Their hearts is soft. When +their hearts is touched they're likely to stack the cards, look at the +bottom of the deck, an' lie--beggin' your pardon, ma'am. I'm only +discoursin' about women in general." + +"I don't know how to thank you," Madge quavered. + +"I don't see as you've got any call to thank me," he replied. "Brown +ain't decided yet. Now you won't mind if I go away slow! It's no more'n +fair, seein' I'll be out of sight inside a hundred yards." + +Madge agreed, and added, "And I promise you faithfully that we won't do +anything to influence him." + +"Well, then, I might as well he gettin' along," Skiff Miller said in the +ordinary tones of one departing. + +At this change in his voice, Wolf lifted his head quickly, and still +more quickly got to his feet when the man and woman shook hands. He +sprang up on his hind legs, resting his fore paws on her hip and at the +same time licking Skiff Miller's hand. When the latter shook hands with +Walt, Wolf repeated his act, resting his weight on Walt and licking both +men's hands. + +"It ain't no picnic, I can tell you that," were the Klondiker's last +words, as he turned and went slowly up the trail. + +For the distance of twenty feet Wolf watched him go, himself all +eagerness and expectancy, as though waiting for the man to turn and +retrace his steps. Then, with a quick low whine, Wolf sprang after him, +overtook him, caught his hand between his teeth with reluctant +tenderness, and strove gently to make him pause. + +Failing in this, Wolf raced back to where Walt Irvine sat, catching his +coat sleeve in his teeth and trying vainly to drag him after the +retreating man. + +Wolf's perturbation began to wax. He desired ubiquity. He wanted to be +in two places at the same time, with the old master and the new, and +steadily the distance between them was increasing. He sprang about +excitedly, making short nervous leaps and twists, now toward one, now +toward the other, in painful indecision, not knowing his own mind, +desiring both and unable to choose, uttering quick sharp whines and +beginning to pant. + +He sat down abruptly on his haunches, thrusting his nose upward, the +mouth opening and closing with jerking movements, each time opening +wider. These jerking movements were in unison with the recurrent spasms +that attacked the throat, each spasm severer and more intense than the +preceding one. And in accord with jerks and spasms the larynx began to +vibrate, at first silently, accompanied by the rush of air expelled from +the lungs, then sounding a low, deep note, the lowest in the register of +the human ear. All this was the nervous and muscular preliminary to +howling. + +But just as the howl was on the verge of bursting from the full throat, +the wide-opened mouth was closed, the paroxysms ceased, and he looked +long and steadily at the retreating man. Suddenly Wolf turned his head, +and over his shoulder just as steadily regarded Walt. The appeal was +unanswered. Not a word nor a sign did the dog receive, no suggestion and +no clew as to what his conduct should be. + +A glance ahead to where the old master was nearing the curve of the +trail excited him again. He sprang to his feet with a whine, and then, +struck by a new idea, turned his attention to Madge. Hitherto he had +ignored her, but now, both masters failing him, she alone was left. He +went over to her and snuggled his head in her lap, nudging her arm with +his nose--an old trick of his when begging for favors. He backed away +from her and began writhing and twisting playfully, curvetting and +prancing, half rearing and striking his forepaws to the earth, +struggling with all his body, from the wheedling eyes and flattening +ears to the wagging tail, to express the thought that was in him and +that was denied him utterance. + +This, too, he soon abandoned. He was depressed by the coldness of these +humans who had never been cold before. No response could he draw from +them, no help could he get. They did not consider him. They were as +dead. + +He turned and silently gazed after the old master. Skiff Miller was +rounding the curve. In a moment he would be gone from view. Yet he never +turned his head, plodding straight onward, slowly and methodically, as +though possessed of no interest in what was occurring behind his back. + +And in this fashion he went out of view. Wolf waited for him to +reappear. He waited a long minute, silently, quietly, without movement, +as though turned to stone--withal stone quick with eagerness and desire. +He barked once, and waited. Then he turned and trotted back to Walt +Irvine. He sniffed his hand and dropped down heavily at his feet, +watching the trail where it curved emptily from view. + +The tiny stream slipping down the mossy-lipped stone seemed suddenly to +increase the volume of its gurgling noise. Save for the meadow larks, +there was no other sound. The great yellow butterflies drifted silently +through the sunshine and lost themselves in the drowsy shadows. Madge +gazed triumphantly at her husband. + +A few minutes later Wolf got upon his feet. Decision and deliberation +marked his movements. He did not glance at the man and woman. His eyes +were fixed up the trail. He had made up his mind. They knew it. And they +knew, so far as they were concerned, that the ordeal had just begun. + +He broke into a trot, and Madge's lips pursed, forming an avenue for the +caressing sound that it was the will of her to send forth. But the +caressing sound was not made. She was impelled to look at her husband, +and she saw the sternness with which he watched her. The pursed lips +relaxed, and she sighed inaudibly. + +Wolf's trot broke into a run. Wider and wider were the leaps he made. +Not once did he turn his head, his wolf's brush standing out straight +behind him. He cut sharply across the curve of the trail and was gone. + +[Illustration] + + + + +THAT SPOT + + +I don't think much of Stephen Mackaye any more, though I used to swear +by him. I know that in those days I loved him more than my own brother. +If ever I meet Stephen Mackaye again, I shall not be responsible for my +actions. It passes beyond me that a man with whom I shared food and +blanket, and with whom I mushed over the Chilcoot Trail, should turn out +the way he did. I always sized Steve up as a square man, a kindly +comrade, without an iota of anything vindictive or malicious in his +nature. I shall never trust my judgment in men again. Why, I nursed that +man through typhoid fever; we starved together on the headwaters of the +Stewart; and he saved my life on the Little Salmon. And now, after the +years we were together, all I can say of Stephen Mackaye is that he is +the meanest man I ever knew. + +We started for the Klondike in the fall rush of 1897, and we started too +late to get over Chilcoot Pass before the freeze-up. We packed our +outfit on our backs part way over, when the snow began to fly, and then +we had to buy dogs in order to sled it the rest of the way. That was how +we came to get that Spot. Dogs were high, and we paid one hundred and +ten dollars for him. He looked worth it. I say _looked_, because he was +one of the finest appearing dogs I ever saw. He weighed sixty pounds, +and he had all the lines of a good sled animal. We never could make out +his breed. He wasn't husky, nor Malemute, nor Hudson Bay; he looked like +all of them and he didn't look like any of them; and on top of it all he +had some of the white man's dog in him, for on one side, in the thick of +the mixed yellow-brown-red-and-dirty-white that was his prevailing +color, there was a spot of coal-black as big as a water-bucket. That was +why we called him Spot. + +He was a good looker all right. When he was in condition his muscles +stood out in bunches all over him. And he was the strongest looking +brute I ever saw in Alaska, also the most intelligent looking. To run +your eyes over him, you'd think he could outpull three dogs of his own +weight. Maybe he could, but I never saw it. His intelligence didn't run +that way. He could steal and forage to perfection; he had an instinct +that was positively grewsome for divining when work was to be done and +for making a sneak accordingly; and for getting lost and not staying +lost he was nothing short of inspired. But when it came to work, the way +that intelligence dribbled out of him and left him a mere clot of +wobbling, stupid jelly would make your heart bleed. + +There are times when I think it wasn't stupidity. Maybe, like some men I +know, he was too wise to work. I shouldn't wonder if he put it all over +us with that intelligence of his. Maybe he figured it all out and +decided that a licking now and again and no work was a whole lot better +than work all the time and no licking. He was intelligent enough for +such a computation. I tell you, I've sat and looked into that dog's eyes +till the shivers ran up and down my spine and the marrow crawled like +yeast, what of the intelligence I saw shining out. I can't express +myself about that intelligence. It is beyond mere words. I saw it, +that's all. At times it was like gazing into a human soul, to look into +his eyes; and what I saw there frightened me and started all sorts of +ideas in my own mind of reincarnation and all the rest. I tell you I +sensed something big in that brute's eyes; there was a message there, +but I wasn't big enough myself to catch it. Whatever it was (I know I'm +making a fool of myself)--whatever it was, it baffled me. I can't give +an inkling of what I saw in that brute's eyes; it wasn't light, it +wasn't color; it was something that moved, away back, when the eyes +themselves weren't moving. And I guess I didn't see it move, either; I +only sensed that it moved. It was an expression,--that's what it +was,--and I got an impression of it. No; it was different from a mere +expression; it was more than that. I don't know what it was, but it gave +me a feeling of kinship just the same. Oh, no, not sentimental kinship. +It was, rather, a kinship of equality. Those eyes never pleaded like a +deer's eyes. They challenged. No, it wasn't defiance. It was just a calm +assumption of equality. And I don't think it was deliberate. My belief +is that it was unconscious on his part. It was there because it was +there, and it couldn't help shining out. No, I don't mean shine. It +didn't shine; it _moved_. I know I'm talking rot, but if you'd looked +into that animal's eyes the way I have, you'd understand. Steve was +affected the same way I was. Why, I tried to kill that Spot once--he was +no good for anything; and I fell down on it. I led him out into the +brush, and he came along slow and unwilling. He knew what was going on. +I stopped in a likely place, put my foot on the rope, and pulled my big +Colt's. And that dog sat down and looked at me. I tell you he didn't +plead. He just looked. And I saw all kinds of incomprehensible things +moving, yes, _moving,_ in those eyes of his. I didn't really see them +move; I thought I saw them, for, as I said before, I guess I only sensed +them. And I want to tell you right now that it got beyond me. It was +like killing a man, a conscious, brave man who looked calmly into your +gun as much as to say, "Who's afraid?" Then, too, the message seemed so +near that, instead of pulling the trigger quick, I stopped to see if I +could catch the message. There it was, right before me, glimmering all +around in those eyes of his. And then it was too late. I got scared. I +was trembly all over, and my stomach generated a nervous palpitation +that made me seasick. I just sat down and looked at that dog, and he +looked at me, till I thought I was going crazy. Do you want to know what +I did? I threw down the gun and ran back to camp with the fear of God in +my heart. Steve laughed at me. But I notice that Steve led Spot into the +woods, a week later, for the same purpose, and that Steve came back +alone, and a little later Spot drifted back, too. + +At any rate, Spot wouldn't work. We paid a hundred and ten dollars for +him from the bottom of our sack, and he wouldn't work. He wouldn't even +tighten the traces. Steve spoke to him the first time we put him in +harness, and he sort of shivered, that was all. Not an ounce on the +traces. He just stood still and wobbled, like so much jelly. Steve +touched him with the whip. He yelped, but not an ounce. Steve touched +him again, a bit harder, and he howled--the regular long wolf howl. Then +Steve got mad and gave him half a dozen, and I came on the run from the +tent. I told Steve he was brutal with the animal, and we had some +words--the first we'd ever had. He threw the whip down in the snow, and +walked away mad. I picked it up and went to it. That Spot trembled and +wobbled and cowered before ever I swung the lash, and with the first +bite of it he howled like a lost soul. Next he lay down in the snow. I +started the rest of the dogs, and they dragged him along while I threw +the whip into him. He rolled over on his back and bumped along, his four +legs waving in the air, himself howling as though he was going through a +sausage machine. Steve came back and laughed at me, and I apologized for +what I'd said. + +There was no getting any work out of that Spot; and to make up for it, +he was the biggest pig-glutton of a dog I ever saw. On top of that, he +was the cleverest thief. There was no circumventing him. Many a +breakfast we went without our bacon because Spot had been there first. +And it was because of him that we nearly starved to death up the +Stewart. He figured out the way to break into our meat-cache, and what +he didn't eat, the rest of the team did. But he was impartial. He stole +from every body. He was a restless dog always very busy snooping around +or going somewhere. And there was never a camp within five miles that he +didn't raid. The worst of it was that they always came back on us to pay +his board bill, which was just, being the law of the land; but it was +mighty hard on us, especially that first winter on the Chilcoot, when we +were busted, paying for whole hams and sides of bacon that we never ate. +He could fight, too, that Spot. He could do anything but work. He never +pulled a pound, but he was the boss of the whole team. The way he made +those dogs stand around was an education. He bullied them, and there was +always one or more of them fresh-marked with his fangs. But he was more +than a bully. He wasn't afraid of anything that walked on four legs; and +I've seen him march, single-handed, into a strange team, without any +provocation whatever, and put the _kibosh_ on the whole outfit. Did I +say he could eat? I caught him eating the whip once. That's straight. He +started in at the lash, and when I caught him he was down to the handle, +and still going. + +But he was a good looker. At the end of the first week we sold him for +seventy-five dollars to the Mounted Police. They had experienced +dog-drivers, and we knew that by the time he'd covered the six hundred +miles to Dawson he'd be a good sled-dog. I say we _knew_, for we were +just getting acquainted with that Spot. A little later we were not brash +enough to know anything where he was concerned. A week later we woke up +in the morning to the dangdest dog-fight we'd ever heard. It was that +Spot came back and knocking the team into shape. We ate a pretty +depressing breakfast, I can tell you; but cheered up two hours afterward +when we sold him to an official courier, bound in to Dawson with +government despatches. That Spot was only three days in coming back, +and, as usual, celebrated his arrival with a rough-house. + +We spent the winter and spring, after our own outfit was across the +pass, freighting other people's outfits; and we made a fat stake. Also, +we made money out of Spot. If we sold him once, we sold him twenty +times. He always came back, and no one asked for their money. We didn't +want the money. We'd have paid handsomely for any one to take him off +our hands for keeps. We had to get rid of him, and we couldn't give him +away, for that would have been suspicious. But he was such a fine looker +that we never had any difficulty in selling him. "Unbroke," we'd say, +and they'd pay any old price for him. We sold him as low as twenty-five +dollars, and once we got a hundred and fifty for him. That particular +party returned him in person, refused to take his money back, and the +way he abused us was something awful. He said it was cheap at the price +to tell us what he thought of us; and we felt he was so justified that +we never talked back. But to this day I've never quite regained all the +old self-respect that was mine before that man talked to me. + +When the ice cleared out of the lakes and river, we put our outfit in a +Lake Bennett boat and started for Dawson. We had a good team of dogs, +and of course we piled them on top the outfit. That Spot was +along--there was no losing him; and a dozen times, the first day, he +knocked one or another of the dogs overboard in the course of fighting +with them. It was close quarters, and he didn't like being crowded. + +"What that dog needs is space," Steve said the second day. "Let's +maroon him." + +We did, running the boat in at Caribou Crossing for him to jump ashore. +Two of the other dogs, good dogs, followed him; and we lost two whole +days trying to find them. We never saw those two dogs again; but the +quietness and relief we enjoyed made us decide, like the man who refused +his hundred and fifty, that it was cheap at the price. For the first +time in months Steve and I laughed and whistled and sang. We were as +happy as clams. The dark days were over. The nightmare had been lifted. +That Spot was gone. + +Three weeks later, one morning, Steve and I were standing on the +river-bank at Dawson. A small boat was just arriving from Lake Bennett. +I saw Steve give a start, and heard him say something that was not nice +and that was not under his breath. Then I looked; and there, in the bow +of the boat, with ears pricked up, sat Spot. Steve and I sneaked +immediately, like beaten curs, like cowards, like absconders from +justice. It was this last that the lieutenant of police thought when he +saw us sneaking. He surmised that there was law-officers in the boat +who were after us. He didn't wait to find out, but kept us in sight, +and in the M. & M. saloon got us in a corner. We had a merry time +explaining, for we refused to go back to the boat and meet Spot; and +finally he held us under guard of another policeman while he went to the +boat. After we got clear of him, we started for the cabin, and when we +arrived, there was that Spot sitting on the stoop waiting for us. Now +how did he know we lived there? There were forty thousand people in +Dawson that summer, and how did he _savve_ our cabin out of all the +cabins? How did he know we were in Dawson, anyway? I leave it to you. +But don't forget what I have said about his intelligence and that +immortal something I have seen glimmering in his eyes. + +There was no getting rid of him any more. There were too many people in +Dawson who had bought him up on Chilcoot, and the story got around. Half +a dozen times we put him on board steamboats going down the Yukon; but +he merely went ashore at the first landing and trotted back up the bank. +We couldn't sell him, we couldn't kill him (both Steve and I had tried), +and nobody else was able to kill him. He bore a charmed life. I've seen +him go down in a dog-fight on the main street with fifty dogs on top of +him, and when they were separated, he'd appear on all his four legs, +unharmed, while two of the dogs that had been on top of him would be +lying dead. + +I saw him steal a chunk of moose meat from Major Dinwiddie's cache so +heavy that he could just keep one jump ahead of Mrs. Dinwiddie's squaw +cook, who was after him with an axe. As he went up the hill, after the +squaw gave up, Major Dinwiddie himself came out and pumped his +Winchester into the landscape. He emptied his magazine twice, and never +touched that Spot. Then a policeman came along and arrested him for +discharging firearms inside the city limits. Major Dinwiddie paid his +fine, and Steve and I paid him for the moose meat at the rate of a +dollar a pound, bones and all. That was what he paid for it. Meat was +high that year. + +I am only telling what I saw with my own eyes. And now I'll tell you +something also. I saw that Spot fall through a water-hole. The ice was +three and a half feet thick, and the current sucked him under like a +straw. Three hundred yards below was the big water-hole used by the +hospital. Spot crawled out of the hospital water-hole, licked off the +water, bit out the ice that had formed between his toes, trotted up the +bank, and whipped a big Newfoundland belonging to the Gold Commissioner. + +In the fall of 1898, Steve and I poled up the Yukon on the last water, +bound for Stewart River. We took the dogs along, all except Spot. We +figured we'd been feeding him long enough. He'd cost us more time and +trouble and money and grub than we'd got by selling him on the +Chilcoot--especially grub. So Steve and I tied him down in the cabin and +pulled our freight. We camped that night at the mouth of Indian River, +and Steve and I were pretty facetious over having shaken him. Steve was +a funny fellow, and I was just sitting up in the blankets and laughing +when a tornado hit camp. The way that Spot walked into those dogs and +gave them what-for was hair-raising. Now how did he get loose? It's up +to you. I haven't any theory. And how did he get across the Klondike +River? That's another facer. And anyway, how did he know we had gone up +the Yukon? You see, we went by water, and he couldn't smell our tracks. +Steve and I began to get superstitious about that dog. He got on our +nerves, too; and, between you and me, we were just a mite afraid of him. + +The freeze-up came on when we were at the mouth of Henderson Creek, and +we traded him off for two sacks of flour to an outfit that was bound up +White River after copper. Now that whole outfit was lost. Never trace +nor hide nor hair of men, dogs, sleds, or anything was ever found. They +dropped clean out of sight. It became one of the mysteries of the +country. Steve and I plugged away up the Stewart, and six weeks +afterward that Spot crawled into camp. He was a perambulating skeleton, +and could just drag along; but he got there. And what I want to know is +who told him we were up the Stewart? We could have gone a thousand other +places. How did he know? You tell me, and I'll tell you. + +No losing him. At the Mayo he started a row with an Indian dog. The buck +who owned the dog took a swing at Spot with an axe, missed him, and +killed his own dog. Talk about magic and turning bullets aside--I, for +one, consider it a blamed sight harder to turn an axe aside with a big +buck at the other end of it. And I saw him do it with my own eyes. That +buck didn't want to kill his own dog. You've got to show me. + +I told you about Spot breaking into our meat-cache. It was nearly the +death of us. There wasn't any more meat to be killed and meat was all we +had to live on. The moose had gone back several hundred miles and the +Indians with them. There we were. Spring was on and we had to wait for +the river to break. We got pretty thin before we decided to eat the +dogs, and we decided to eat Spot first. Do you know what that dog did? +He sneaked. Now how did he know our minds were made up to eat him? We +sat up nights laying for him, but he never came back, and we ate the +other dogs. We ate the whole team. + +And now for the sequel. You know what it is when a big river breaks up +and a few billion tons of ice go out, jamming and milling and grinding. +Just in the thick of it, when the Stewart went out, rumbling and +roaring, we sighted Spot out in the middle. He'd got caught as he was +trying to cross up above somewhere. Steve and I yelled and shouted and +ran up and down the bank, tossing our hats in the air. Sometimes we'd +stop and hug each other, we were that boisterous, for we saw Spot's +finish. He didn't have a chance in a million. He didn't have any chance +at all. After the ice-run, we got into a canoe and paddled down to the +Yukon, and down the Yukon to Dawson, stopping to feed up for a week at +the cabins at the mouth of Henderson Creek. And as we came in to the +bank at Dawson, there sat that Spot, waiting for us, his ears pricked +up, his tail wagging, his mouth smiling, extending a hearty welcome to +us. Now how did he get out of that ice? How did he know we were coming +to Dawson, to the very hour and minute, to be out there on the bank +waiting for us? + +The more I think of that Spot, the more I am convinced that there are +things in this world that go beyond science. On no scientific grounds +can that Spot be explained. It's psychic phenomena, or mysticism, or +something of that sort, I guess, with a lot of Theosophy thrown in. The +Klondike is a good country. I might have been there yet, and become a +millionaire, if it hadn't been for Spot. He got on my nerves. I stood +him for two years all together, and then I guess my stamina broke. It +was the summer of 1899 when I pulled out. I didn't say anything to +Steve. I just sneaked. But I fixed it up all right. I wrote Steve a +note, and enclosed a package of "rough-on-rats," telling him what to do +with it. I was worn down to skin and bone by that Spot, and I was that +nervous that I'd jump and look around when there wasn't anybody within +hailing distance. But it was astonishing the way I recuperated when I +got quit of him. I got back twenty pounds before I arrived in San +Francisco, and by the time I'd crossed the ferry to Oakland I was my old +self again, so that even my wife looked in vain for any change in me. + +Steve wrote to me once, and his letter seemed irritated. He took it kind +of hard because I'd left him with Spot. Also, he said he'd used the +"rough-on-rats," per directions, and that there was nothing doing. A +year went by. I was back in the office and prospering in all ways--even +getting a bit fat. And then Steve arrived. He didn't look me up. I read +his name in the steamer list, and wondered why. But I didn't wonder +long. I got up one morning and found that Spot chained to the gatepost +and holding up the milkman. Steve went north to Seattle, I learned, that +very morning. I didn't put on any more weight. My wife made me buy him a +collar and tag, and within an hour he showed his gratitude by killing +her pet Persian cat. There is no getting rid of that Spot. He will be +with me until I die, for he'll never die. My appetite is not so good +since he arrived, and my wife says I am looking peaked. Last night that +Spot got into Mr. Harvey's hen-house (Harvey is my next door neighbor) +and killed nineteen of his fancy-bred chickens. I shall have to pay for +them. My neighbors on the other side quarreled with my wife and then +moved out. Spot was the cause of it. And that is why I am disappointed +in Stephen Mackaye. I had no idea he was so mean a man. + +[Illustration] + + + + +TRUST + + +All lines had been cast off, and the _Seattle No. 4_ was pulling slowly +out from the shore. Her decks were piled high with freight and baggage, +and swarmed with a heterogeneous company of Indians, dogs, and +dog-mushers, prospectors, traders, and homeward-bound gold-seekers. A +goodly portion of Dawson was lined up on the bank, saying good-by. As +the gang-plank came in and the steamer nosed into the stream, the clamor +of farewell became deafening. Also, in that eleventh moment, everybody +began to remember final farewell messages and to shout them back and +forth across the widening stretch of water. Louis Bondell, curling his +yellow mustache with one hand and languidly waving the other hand to his +friends on shore, suddenly remembered something and sprang to the rail. + +"Oh, Fred!" he bawled. "Oh, Fred!" + +The "Fred" desired thrust a strapping pair of shoulders through the +forefront of the crowd on the bank and tried to catch Louis Bondell's +message. The latter grew red in the face with vain vociferation. Still +the water widened between steamboat and shore. + +"Hey you, Captain Scott!" he yelled at the pilot-house. "Stop the boat!" + +The gongs clanged, and the big stern wheel reversed, then stopped. All +hands on steamboat and on bank took advantage of this respite to +exchange final, new, and imperative farewells. More futile than ever was +Louis Bondell's effort to make himself heard. The _Seattle No. 4_ lost +way and drifted down-stream, and Captain Scott had to go ahead and +reverse a second time. His head disappeared inside the pilot-house, +coming into view a moment later behind a big megaphone. + +Now Captain Scott had a remarkable voice, and the "Shut up!" he +launched at the crowd on deck and on shore could have been heard at the +top of Moosehide Mountain and as far as Klondike City. This official +remonstrance from the pilot-house spread a film of silence over the +tumult. + +"Now, what do you want to say?" Captain Scott demanded. + +"Tell Fred Churchill--he's on the bank there--tell him to go to +Macdonald. It's in his safe--a small gripsack of mine. Tell him to get +it and bring it out when he comes." + +In the silence Captain Scott bellowed the message ashore through the +megaphone:-- + +"You, Fred Churchill, go to Macdonald--in his safe--small +gripsack--belongs to Louis Bondell--important! Bring it out when you +come! Got it?" + +Churchill waved his hand in token that he had got it. In truth, had +Macdonald, half a mile away, opened his window, he'd have got it, too. +The tumult of farewell rose again, the gongs clanged, and the _Seattle +No. 4_ went ahead, swung out into the stream, turned on her heel, and +headed down the Yukon, Bondell and Churchill waving farewell and mutual +affection to the last. + +That was in midsummer. In the fall of the year, the _W.H. Willis_ +started up the Yukon with two hundred homeward-bound pilgrims on board. +Among them was Churchill. In his stateroom, in the middle of a +clothes-bag, was Louis Bondell's grip. It was a small, stout leather +affair, and its weight of forty pounds always made Churchill nervous +when he wandered too far from it. The man in the adjoining stateroom had +a treasure of gold-dust hidden similarly in a clothes-bag, and the pair +of them ultimately arranged to stand watch and watch. While one went +down to eat, the other kept an eye on the two stateroom doors. When +Churchill wanted to take a hand at whist, the other man mounted guard, +and when the other man wanted to relax his soul, Churchill read +four-months'-old newspapers on a camp stool between the two doors. + +There were signs of an early winter, and the question that was discussed +from dawn till dark, and far into the dark, was whether they would get +out before the freeze-up or be compelled to abandon the steamboat and +tramp out over the ice. There were irritating delays. Twice the engines +broke down and had to be tinkered up, and each time there were snow +flurries to warn them of the imminence of winter. Nine times the _W.H. +Willis_ essayed to ascend the Five-Finger Rapids with her impaired +machinery, and when she succeeded, she was four days behind her very +liberal schedule. The question that then arose was whether or not the +steamboat _Flora_ would wait for her above the Box Canon. The stretch of +water between the head of the Box Canon and the foot of the White Horse +Rapids was unnavigable for steamboats and passengers were transshipped +at that point, walking around the rapids from one steamboat to the +other. There were no telephones in the country, hence no way of +informing the waiting _Flora_ that the _Willis_ was four days late, but +coming. + +When the _W.H. Willis_ pulled into White Horse, it was learned that the +_Flora_ had waited three days over the limit, and had departed only a +few hours before. Also, it was learned that she would tie up at Tagish +Post till nine o'clock, Sunday morning. It was then four o'clock +Saturday afternoon. The pilgrims called a meeting. On board was a large +Peterborough canoe, consigned to the police post at the head of Lake +Bennett. They agreed to be responsible for it and to deliver it. Next, +they called for volunteers. Two men were needed to make a race for the +_Flora_. A score of men volunteered on the instant. Among them was +Churchill, such being his nature that he volunteered before he thought +of Bondell's gripsack. When this thought came to him, he began to hope +that he would not be selected; but a man who had made a name as captain +of a college football eleven, as a president of an athletic club, as a +dog-musher and a stampeder in the Yukon, and, moreover, who possessed +such shoulders as he, had no right to avoid the honor. It was thrust +upon him and upon a gigantic German, Nick Antonsen. + +While a crowd of the pilgrims, the canoe on their shoulders, started on +a trot over the portage, Churchill ran to his stateroom. He turned the +contents of the clothes-bag on the floor and caught up the grip with the +intention of intrusting it to the man next door. Then the thought smote +him that it was not his grip, and that he had no right to let it out of +his own possession. So he dashed ashore with it and ran up the portage, +changing it often from one hand to the other, and wondering if it really +did not weigh more than forty pounds. + +It was half-past four in the afternoon when the two men started. The +current of the Thirty Mile River was so strong that rarely could they +use the paddles. It was out on one bank with a tow-line over the +shoulders stumbling over the rocks, forcing a way through the +underbrush, slipping at times and falling into the water, wading often +up to the knees and waist; and then, when an insurmountable bluff was +encountered, it was into the canoe, out paddles, and a wild and losing +dash across the current to the other bank, in paddles, over the side, +and out tow-line again. It was exhausting work. Antonsen toiled like the +giant he was, uncomplaining, persistent, but driven to his utmost by the +powerful body and indomitable brain of Churchill. They never paused for +rest. It was go, go, and keep on going. A crisp wind blew down the +river, freezing their hands and making it imperative, from time to time, +to beat the blood back into the numb fingers. As night came on, they +were compelled to trust to luck. They fell repeatedly on the untraveled +banks and tore their clothing to shreds in the underbrush they could not +see. Both men were badly scratched and bleeding. A dozen times, in their +wild dashes from bank to bank, they struck snags and were capsized. The +first time this happened, Churchill dived and groped in three feet of +water for the gripsack. He lost half an hour in recovering it, and after +that it was carried securely lashed to the canoe. As long as the canoe +floated it was safe. Antonsen jeered at the grip, and toward morning +began to abuse it; but Churchill vouchsafed no explanations. + +Their delays and mischances were endless. On one swift bend, around +which poured a healthy young rapid, they lost two hours, making a score +of attempts and capsizing twice. At this point, on both banks, were +precipitous bluffs, rising out of deep water, and along which they could +neither tow nor pole, while they could not gain with the paddles against +the current. At each attempt they strained to the utmost with the +paddles, and each time, with hearts nigh to bursting from the effort, +they were played out and swept back. They succeeded finally by an +accident. In the swiftest current, near the end of another failure, a +freak of the current sheered the canoe out of Churchill's control and +flung it against the bluff. Churchill made a blind leap at the bluff and +landed in a crevice. Holding on with one hand, he held the swamped canoe +with the other till Antonsen dragged himself out of the water. Then they +pulled the canoe out and rested. A fresh start at this crucial point +took them by. They landed on the bank above and plunged immediately +ashore and into the brush with the tow-line. + +Daylight found them far below Tagish Post. At nine o 'clock Sunday +morning they could hear the _Flora_ whistling her departure. And when, +at ten o'clock, they dragged themselves in to the Post, they could just +barely see the _Flora's_ smoke far to the southward. It was a pair of +worn-out tatterdemalions that Captain Jones of the Mounted Police +welcomed and fed, and he afterward averred that they possessed two of +the most tremendous appetites he had ever observed. They lay down and +slept in their wet rags by the stove. At the end of two hours Churchill +got up, carried Bondell's grip, which he had used for a pillow, down to +the canoe, kicked Antonsen awake, and started in pursuit of the _Flora_. + +"There's no telling what might happen--machinery break down or +something," was his reply to Captain Jones's expostulations. "I'm going +to catch that steamer and send her back for the boys." + +Tagish Lake was white with a fall gale that blew in their teeth. Big, +swinging seas rushed upon the canoe, compelling one man to bail and +leaving one man to paddle. Headway could not be made. They ran along the +shallow shore and went overboard, one man ahead on the tow-line, the +other shoving on the canoe. They fought the gale up to their waists in +the icy water, often up to their necks, often over their heads and +buried by the big, crested waves. There was no rest, never a moment's +pause from the cheerless, heart-breaking battle. That night, at the head +of Tagish Lake, in the thick of a driving snow-squall, they overhauled +the _Flora._ Antonsen fell on board, lay where he had fallen, and snored. +Churchill looked like a wild man. His clothes barely clung to him. His +face was iced up and swollen from the protracted effort of twenty-four +hours, while his hands were so swollen that he could not close the +fingers. As for his feet, it was an agony to stand upon them. + +The captain of the _Flora_ was loath to go back to White Horse. +Churchill was persistent and imperative; the captain was stubborn. He +pointed out finally that nothing was to be gained by going back, because +the only ocean steamer at Dyea, the _Athenian_, was to sail on Tuesday +morning, and that he could not make the back trip to White Horse and +bring up the stranded pilgrims in time to make the connection. + +"What time does the _Athenian_ sail?" Churchill demanded. + +"Seven o'clock, Tuesday morning." + +"All right," Churchill said, at the same time kicking a tattoo on the +ribs of the snoring Antonsen. "You go back to White Horse. We'll go +ahead and hold the _Athenian_." + +Antonsen, stupid with sleep, not yet clothed in his waking mind, was +bundled into the canoe, and did not realize what had happened till he +was drenched with the icy spray of a big sea, and heard Churchill +snarling at him through the darkness:-- + +"Paddle, can't you! Do you want to be swamped?" + +Daylight found them at Caribou Crossing, the wind dying down, and +Antonsen too far gone to dip a paddle. Churchill grounded the canoe on a +quiet beach, where they slept. He took the precaution of twisting his +arm under the weight of his head. Every few minutes the pain of the pent +circulation aroused him, whereupon he would look at his watch and twist +the other arm under his head. At the end of two hours he fought with +Antonsen to rouse him. Then they started. Lake Bennett, thirty miles in +length, was like a mill-pond; but, halfway across, a gale from the south +smote them and turned the water white. Hour after hour they repeated the +struggle on Tagish, over the side, pulling and shoving on the canoe, up +to their waists and necks, and over their heads, in the icy water; +toward the last the good-natured giant played completely out. Churchill +drove him mercilessly; but when he pitched forward and bade fair to +drown in three feet of water, the other dragged him into the canoe. +After that, Churchill fought on alone, arriving at the police post at +the head of Bennett in the early afternoon. He tried to help Antonsen +out of the canoe, but failed. He listened to the exhausted man's heavy +breathing, and envied him when he thought of what he himself had yet to +undergo. Antonsen could lie there and sleep; but he, behind time, must +go on over mighty Chilcoot and down to the sea. The real struggle lay +before him, and he almost regretted the strength that resided in his +frame because of the torment it could inflict upon that frame. + +Churchill pulled the canoe up on the beach, seized Bondell's grip, and +started on a limping dog-trot for the police post. + +"There's a canoe down there, consigned to you from Dawson," he hurled at +the officer who answered his knock. "And there's a man in it pretty near +dead. Nothing serious; only played out. Take care of him. I've got to +rush. Good-by. Want to catch the _Athenian_." + +A mile portage connected Lake Bennett and Lake Linderman, and his last +words he flung back after him as he resumed the trot. It was a very +painful trot, but he clenched his teeth and kept on, forgetting his pain +most of the time in the fervent heat with which he regarded the +gripsack. It was a severe handicap. He swung it from one hand to the +other, and back again. He tucked it under his arm. He threw one hand +over the opposite shoulder, and the bag bumped and pounded on his back +as he ran along. He could scarcely hold it in his bruised and swollen +fingers, and several times he dropped it. Once, in changing from one +hand to the other, it escaped his clutch and fell in front of him, +tripped him up, and threw him violently to the ground. + +At the far end of the portage he bought an old set of pack-straps for a +dollar, and in them he swung the grip. Also, he chartered a launch to +run him the six miles to the upper end of Lake Linderman, where he +arrived at four in the afternoon. The _Athenian_ was to sail from Dyea +next morning at seven. Dyea was twenty-eight miles away, and between +towered Chilcoot. He sat down to adjust his foot-gear for the long +climb, and woke up. He had dozed the instant he sat down, though he had +not slept thirty seconds. He was afraid his next doze might be longer, +so he finished fixing his foot-gear standing up. Even then he was +overpowered for a fleeting moment. He experienced the flash of +unconsciousness; becoming aware of it, in midair, as his relaxed body +was sinking to the ground and as he caught himself together, he +stiffened his muscles with a spasmodic wrench, and escaped the fall. The +sudden jerk back to consciousness left him sick and trembling. He beat +his head with the heel of his hand, knocking wakefulness into the numb +brain. + +Jack Burns's pack-train was starting back light for Crater Lake, and +Churchill was invited to a mule. Burns wanted to put the gripsack on +another animal, but Churchill held on to it, carrying it on his +saddle-pommel. But he dozed, and the grip persisted in dropping off the +pommel, one side or the other, each time wakening him with a sickening +start. Then, in the early darkness, Churchill's mule brushed him against +a projecting branch that laid his cheek open. To cap it, the mule +blundered off the trail and fell, throwing rider and gripsack out upon +the rocks. After that, Churchill walked, or stumbled, rather, over the +apology for a trail, leading the mule. Stray and awful odors, drifting +from each side the trail, told of the horses that had died in the rush +for gold. But he did not mind. He was too sleepy. By the time Long Lake +was reached, however, he had recovered from his sleepiness; and at Deep +Lake he resigned the gripsack to Burns. But thereafter, by the light of +the dim stars, he kept his eyes on Burns. There were not going to be any +accidents with that bag. + +At Crater Lake the pack-train went into camp, and Churchill, slinging +the grip on his back, started the steep climb for the summit. For the +first time, on that precipitous wall, he realized how tired he was. He +crept and crawled like a crab, burdened by the weight of his limbs. A +distinct and painful effort of will was required each time he lifted a +foot. An hallucination came to him that he was shod with lead, like a +deep-sea diver, and it was all he could do to resist the desire to reach +down and feel the lead. As for Bondell's gripsack, it was inconceivable +that forty pounds could weigh so much. It pressed him down like a +mountain, and he looked back with unbelief to the year before, when he +had climbed that same pass with a hundred and fifty pounds on his back, +If those loads had weighed a hundred and fifty pounds, then Bondell's +grip weighed five hundred. + +The first rise of the divide from Crater Lake was across a small +glacier. Here was a well-defined trail. But above the glacier, which was +also above timber-line, was naught but a chaos of naked rock and +enormous boulders. There was no way of seeing the trail in the darkness, +and he blundered on, paying thrice the ordinary exertion for all that he +accomplished. He won the summit in the thick of howling wind and driving +snow, providentially stumbling upon a small, deserted tent, into which +he crawled. There he found and bolted some ancient fried potatoes and +half a dozen raw eggs. + +When the snow ceased and the wind eased down, he began the almost +impossible descent. There was no trail, and he stumbled and blundered, +often finding himself, at the last moment, on the edge of rocky walls +and steep slopes the depth of which he had no way of judging. Part way +down, the stars clouded over again, and in the consequent obscurity he +slipped and rolled and slid for a hundred feet, landing bruised and +bleeding on the bottom of a large shallow hole. From all about him arose +the stench of dead horses. The hole was handy to the trail, and the +packers had made a practice of tumbling into it their broken and dying +animals. The stench overpowered him, making him deathly sick, and as in +a nightmare he scrambled out. Halfway up, he recollected Bondell's +gripsack. It had fallen into the hole with him; the pack-strap had +evidently broken, and he had forgotten it. Back he went into the +pestilential charnel-pit, where he crawled around on hands and knees and +groped for half an hour. Altogether he encountered and counted seventeen +dead horses (and one horse still alive that he shot with his revolver) +before he found Bondell's grip. Looking back upon a life that had not +been without valor and achievement, he unhesitatingly declared to +himself that this return after the grip was the most heroic act he had +ever performed. So heroic was it that he was twice on the verge of +fainting before he crawled out of the hole. + +By the time he had descended to the Scales, the steep pitch of Chilcoot +was past, and the way became easier. Not that it was an easy way, +however, in the best of places; but it became a really possible trail, +along which he could have made good time if he had not been worn out, if +he had had light with which to pick his steps, and if it had not been +for Bondell's gripsack. To him, in his exhausted condition, it was the +last straw. Having barely strength to carry himself along, the +additional weight of the grip was sufficient to throw him nearly every +time he tripped or stumbled. And when he escaped tripping, branches +reached out in the darkness, hooked the grip between his shoulders, and +held him back. + +His mind was made up that if he missed the _Athenian_ it would be the +fault of the gripsack. In fact, only two things remained in his +consciousness--Bondell's grip and the steamer. He knew only those two +things, and they became identified, in a way, with some stern mission +upon which he had journeyed and toiled for centuries. He walked and +struggled on as in a dream. A part of the dream was his arrival at Sheep +Camp. He stumbled into a saloon, slid his shoulders out of the straps, +and started to deposit the grip at his feet. But it slipped from his +fingers and struck the floor with a heavy thud that was not unnoticed by +two men who were just leaving. Churchill drank a glass of whiskey, told +the barkeeper to call him in ten minutes, and sat down, his feet on the +grip, his head on his knees. + +So badly did his misused body stiffen, that when he was called it +required another ten minutes and a second glass of whiskey to unbend his +joints and limber up the muscles. + +"Hey! not that way!" the barkeeper shouted, and then went after him and +started him through the darkness toward Canyon City. Some little husk of +inner consciousness told Churchill that the direction was right, and, +still as in a dream, he took the canyon trail. He did not know what +warned him, but after what seemed several centuries of travelling, he +sensed danger and drew his revolver. Still in the dream, he saw two men +step out and heard them halt him. His revolver went off four times, and +he saw the flashes and heard the explosions of their revolvers. Also, he +was aware that he had been hit in the thigh. He saw one man go down, +and, as the other came for him, he smashed him a straight blow with the +heavy revolver full in the face. Then he turned and ran. He came from +the dream shortly afterward, to find himself plunging down the trail at +a limping lope. His first thought was for the gripsack. It was still on +his back. He was convinced that what had happened was a dream till he +felt for his revolver and found it gone. Next he became aware of a sharp +stinging of his thigh, and after investigating, he found his hand warm +with blood. It was a superficial wound, but it was incontestable. He +became wider awake, and kept up the lumbering run to Canyon City. + +He found a man, with a team of horses and a wagon, who got out of bed +and harnessed up for twenty dollars. Churchill crawled in on the +wagon-bed and slept, the gripsack still on his back. It was a rough +ride, over water-washed boulders down the Dyea Valley; but he roused +only when the wagon hit the highest places. Any altitude of his body +above the wagon-bed of less than a foot did not faze him. The last mile +was smooth going, and he slept soundly. + +He came to in the gray dawn, the driver shaking him savagely and howling +into his ear that the _Athenian_ was gone. Churchill looked blankly at +the deserted harbor. + +"There's a smoke over at Skaguay," the man said. + +Churchill's eyes were too swollen to see that far, but he said: "It's +she. Get me a boat." + +The driver was obliging, and found a skiff and a man to row it for ten +dollars, payment in advance. Churchill paid, and was helped into the +skiff. It was beyond him to get in by himself. It was six miles to +Skaguay, and he had a blissful thought of sleeping those six miles. But +the man did not know how to row, and Churchill took the oars and toiled +for a few more centuries. He never knew six longer and more excruciating +miles. A snappy little breeze blew up the inlet and held him back. He +had a gone feeling at the pit of the stomach, and suffered from +faintness and numbness. At his command, the man took the bailer and +threw salt water into his face. + +The _Athenian's_ anchor was up-and-down when they came alongside, and +Churchill was at the end of his last remnant of strength. + +"Stop her! Stop her!" he shouted hoarsely. "Important message! Stop +her!" + +Then he dropped his chin on his chest and slept. "When half a dozen men +started to carry him up the gang-plank, he awoke, reached for the grip, +and clung to it like a drowning man. On deck he became a center of +horror and curiosity. The clothing in which he had left White Horse was +represented by a few rags, and he was as frayed as his clothing. He had +traveled for fifty-five hours at the top notch of endurance. He had +slept six hours in that time, and he was twenty pounds lighter than when +he started. Face and hands and body were scratched and bruised, and he +could scarcely see. He tried to stand up, but failed, sprawling out on +the deck, hanging on to the gripsack, and delivering his message. + +"Now, put me to bed," he finished; "I'll eat when I wake up." + +They did him honor, carrying him down in his rags and dirt and +depositing him and Bondell's grip in the bridal chamber, which was the +biggest and most luxurious stateroom in the ship. Twice he slept the +clock around, and he had bathed and shaved and eaten and was leaning +over the rail smoking a cigar when the two hundred pilgrims from White +Horse came alongside. + +By the time the _Athenian_ arrived in Seattle, Churchill had fully +recuperated, and he went ashore with Bondell's grip in his hand. He +felt proud of that grip. To him it stood for achievement and integrity +and trust. "I've delivered the goods," was the way he expressed these +various high terms to himself. It was early in the evening, and he went +straight to Bondell's home. Louis Bondell was glad to see him, shaking +hands with both hands at the same time and dragging him into the house. + +"Oh, thanks, old man; it was good of you to bring it out," Bondell said +when he received the gripsack. + +He tossed it carelessly upon a couch, and Churchill noted with an +appreciative eye the rebound of its weight from the springs. Bondell was +volleying him with questions. + +"How did you make out? How're the boys! What became of Bill Smithers? Is +Del Bishop still with Pierce? Did he sell my dogs? How did Sulphur +Bottom show up? You're looking fine. What steamer did you come out on?" + +To all of which Churchill gave answer, till half an hour had gone by and +the first lull in the conversation had arrived. + +"Hadn't you better take a look at it?" he suggested, nodding his head at +the gripsack. + +"Oh, it's all right," Bondell answered. "Did Mitchell's dump turn out +as much as he expected?" + +"I think you'd better look at it," Churchill insisted. "When I deliver a +thing, I want to be satisfied that it's all right. There's always the +chance that somebody might have got into it when I was asleep, or +something." + +"It's nothing important, old man," Bondell answered, with a laugh. + +"Nothing important," Churchill echoed in a faint, small voice. Then he +spoke with decision: "Louis, what's in that bag? I want to know." + +Louis looked at him curiously, then left the room and returned with a +bunch of keys. He inserted his hand and drew out a heavy .44 Colt's +revolver. Next came out a few boxes of ammunition for the revolver and +several boxes of Winchester cartridges. + +Churchill took the gripsack and looked into it. Then he turned it upside +down and shook it gently. + +"The gun's all rusted," Bondell said. "Must have been out in the rain." + +"Yes," Churchill answered. "Too bad it got wet. I guess I was a bit +careless." + +He got up and went outside. Ten minutes later Louis Bondell went out +and found him on the steps, sitting down, elbows on knees and chin on +hands, gazing steadfastly out into the darkness. + +[Illustration] + + + + +ALL GOLD CANYON + + +It was the green heart of the canyon, where the walls swerved back from +the rigid plan and relieved their harshness of line by making a little +sheltered nook and filling it to the brim with sweetness and roundness +and softness. Here all things rested. Even the narrow stream ceased its +turbulent down-rush long enough to form a quiet pool. Knee-deep in the +water, with drooping head and half-shut eyes, drowsed a red-coated, +many-antlered buck. + +On one side, beginning at the very lip of the pool, was a tiny meadow, a +cool, resilient surface of green that extended to the base of the +frowning wall. Beyond the pool a gentle slope of earth ran up and up to +meet the opposing wall. Fine grass covered the slope--grass that was +spangled with flowers, with here and there patches of color, orange and +purple and golden. Below, the canyon was shut in. There was no view. +The walls leaned together abruptly and the canyon ended in a chaos of +rocks, moss-covered and hidden by a green screen of vines and creepers +and boughs of trees. Up the canyon rose far hills and peaks, the big +foothills, pine-covered and remote. And far beyond, like clouds upon the +border of the sky, towered minarets of white, where the Sierra's eternal +snows flashed austerely the blazes of the sun. + +There was no dust in the canyon. The leaves and flowers were clean and +virginal. The grass was young velvet. Over the pool three cottonwoods +sent their snowy fluffs fluttering down the quiet air. On the slope the +blossoms of the wine-wooded manzanita filled the air with springtime +odors, while the leaves, wise with experience, were already beginning +their vertical twist against the coming aridity of summer. In the open +spaces on the slope, beyond the farthest shadow-reach of the manzanita, +poised the mariposa lilies, like so many flights of jewelled moths +suddenly arrested and on the verge of trembling into flight again. Here +and there that woods harlequin, the madrone, permitting itself to be +caught in the act of changing its pea-green trunk to madder-red, +breathed its fragrance into the air from great clusters of waxen bells. +Creamy white were these bells, shaped like lilies-of-the-valley, with +the sweetness of perfume that is of the springtime. + +There was not a sigh of wind. The air was drowsy with its weight of +perfume. It was a sweetness that would have been cloying had the air +been heavy and humid. But the air was sharp and thin. It was as +starlight transmuted into atmosphere, shot through and warmed by +sunshine, and flower-drenched with sweetness. + +An occasional butterfly drifted in and out through the patches of light +and shade. And from all about rose the low and sleepy hum of mountain +bees--feasting Sybarites that jostled one another good-naturedly at the +board, nor found time for rough discourtesy. So quietly did the little +stream drip and ripple its way through the canyon that it spoke only in +faint and occasional gurgles. The voice of the stream was as a drowsy +whisper, ever interrupted by dozings and silences, ever lifted again in +the awakenings. + +The motion of all things was a drifting in the heart of the canyon. +Sunshine and butterflies drifted in and out among the trees. The hum of +the bees and the whisper of the stream were a drifting of sound. And the +drifting sound and drifting color seemed to weave together in the making +of a delicate and intangible fabric which was the spirit of the place. +It was a spirit of peace that was not of death, but of smooth-pulsing +life, of quietude that was not silence, of movement that was not action, +of repose that was quick with existence without being violent with +struggle and travail. The spirit of the place was the spirit of the +peace of the living, somnolent with the easement and content of +prosperity, and undisturbed by rumors of far wars. + +The red-coated, many-antlered buck acknowledged the lordship of the +spirit of the place and dozed knee-deep in the cool, shaded pool. There +seemed no flies to vex him and he was languid with rest. Sometimes his +ears moved when the stream awoke and whispered; but they moved lazily, +with foreknowledge that it was merely the stream grown garrulous at +discovery that it had slept. + +But there came a time when the buck's ears lifted and tensed with swift +eagerness for sound. His head was turned down the canyon. His +sensitive, quivering nostrils scented the air. His eyes could not +pierce the green screen through which the stream rippled away, but to +his ears came the voice of a man. It was a steady, monotonous, singsong +voice. Once the buck heard the harsh clash of metal upon rock. At the +sound he snorted with a sudden start that jerked him through the air +from water to meadow, and his feet sank into the young velvet, while he +pricked his ears and again scented the air. Then he stole across the +tiny meadow, pausing once and again to listen, and faded away out of the +canyon like a wraith, soft-footed and without sound. + +The clash of steel-shod soles against the rocks began to be heard, and +the man's voice grew louder. It was raised in a sort of chant and became +distinct with nearness, so that the words could be heard: + + "Tu'n around an' tu'n yo' face + Untoe them sweet hills of grace + (D' pow'rs of sin yo' am scornin'!). + Look about an' look aroun' + Fling yo' sin-pack on d' groun' + (Yo' will meet wid d' Lord in d' mornin'!)." + +'A sound of scrambling accompanied the song, and the spirit of the place +fled away on the heels of the red-coated buck. The green screen was +burst asunder, and a man peered out at the meadow and the pool and the +sloping side-hill. He was a deliberate sort of man. He took in the scene +with one embracing glance, then ran his eyes over the details to verify +the general impression. Then, and not until then, did he open his mouth +in vivid and solemn approval: + +"Smoke of life an' snakes of purgatory! Will you just look at that! Wood +an' water an' grass an' a side-hill! A pocket-hunter's delight an' a +cayuse's paradise! Cool green for tired eyes! Pink pills for pale people +ain't in it. A secret pasture for prospectors and a resting-place for +tired burros. It's just booful!" + +He was a sandy-complexioned man in whose face geniality and humor seemed +the salient characteristics. It was a mobile face, quick-changing to +inward mood and thought. Thinking was in him a visible process. Ideas +chased across his face like wind-flaws across the surface of a lake. His +hair, sparse and unkempt of growth, was as indeterminate and colorless +as his complexion. It would seem that all the color of his frame had +gone into his eyes, for they were startlingly blue. Also, they were +laughing and merry eyes, within them much of the naivete and wonder of +the child; and yet, in an unassertive way, they contained much of calm +self-reliance and strength of purpose founded upon self-experience and +experience of the world. + +From out the screen of vines and creepers he flung ahead of him a +miner's pick and shovel and gold-pan. Then he crawled out himself into +the open. He was clad in faded overalls and black cotton shirt, with +hobnailed brogans on his feet, and on his head a hat whose shapelessness +and stains advertised the rough usage of wind and rain and sun and +camp-smoke. He stood erect, seeing wide-eyed the secrecy of the scene +and sensuously inhaling the warm, sweet breath of the canyon-garden +through nostrils that dilated and quivered with delight. His eyes +narrowed to laughing slits of blue, his face wreathed itself in joy, and +his mouth curled in a smile as he cried aloud: + +"Jumping dandelions and happy hollyhocks, but that smells good to me! +Talk about your attar o' roses an' cologne factories! They ain't in it!" + +He had the habit of soliloquy. His quick-changing facial expressions +might tell every thought and mood, but the tongue, perforce, ran hard +after, repeating, like a second Boswell. + +The man lay down on the lip of the pool and drank long and deep of its +water. "Tastes good to me," he murmured, lifting his head and gazing +across the pool at the side-hill, while he wiped his mouth with the back +of his hand. The side-hill attracted his attention. Still lying on his +stomach, he studied the hill formation long and carefully. It was a +practised eye that traveled up the slope to the crumbling canyon-wall +and back and down again to the edge of the pool. He scrambled to his +feet and favored the side-hill with a second survey. + +"Looks good to me," he concluded, picking up his pick and shovel and +gold-pan. + +He crossed the stream below the pool, stepping agilely from stone to +stone. Where the side-hill touched the water he dug up a shovelful of +dirt and put it into the gold-pan. He squatted down, holding the pan in +his two hands, and partly immersing it in the stream. Then he imparted +to the pan a deft circular motion that sent the water sluicing in and +out through the dirt and gravel. The larger and the lighter particles +worked to the surface, and these, by a skilful dipping movement of the +pan, he spilled out and over the edge. Occasionally, to expedite +matters, he rested the pan and with his fingers raked out the large +pebbles and pieces of rock. + +The contents of the pan diminished rapidly until only fine dirt and the +smallest bits of gravel remained. At this stage he began to work very +deliberately and carefully. It was fine washing, and he washed fine and +finer, with a keen scrutiny and delicate and fastidious touch. At last +the pan seemed empty of everything but water; but with a quick +semi-circular flirt that sent the water flying over the shallow rim into +the stream, he disclosed a layer of black sand on the bottom of the pan. +So thin was this layer that it was like a streak of paint. He examined +it closely. In the midst of it was a tiny golden speck. He dribbled a +little water in over the depressed edge of the pan. With a quick flirt +he sent the water sluicing across the bottom, turning the grains of +black sand over and over. A second tiny golden speck rewarded his +effort. + +The washing had now become very fine--fine beyond all need of ordinary +placer-mining. He worked the black sand, a small portion at a time, up +the shallow rim of the pan. Each small portion he examined sharply, so +that his eyes saw every grain of it before he allowed it to slide over +the edge and away. Jealously, bit by bit, he let the black sand slip +away. A golden speck, no larger than a pin-point, appeared on the rim, +and by his manipulation of the water it returned to the bottom of the +pan. And in such fashion another speck was disclosed, and another. Great +was his care of them. Like a shepherd he herded his flock of golden +specks so that not one should be lost. At last, of the pan of dirt +nothing remained but his golden herd. He counted it, and then, after all +his labor, sent it flying out of the pan with one final swirl of water. + +But his blue eyes were shining with desire as he rose to his feet. +"Seven," he muttered aloud, asserting the sum of the specks for which he +had toiled so hard and which he had so wantonly thrown away. "Seven," he +repeated, with the emphasis of one trying to impress a number on his +memory. + +He stood still a long while, surveying the hillside. In his eyes was a +curiosity, new-aroused and burning. There was an exultance about his +bearing and a keenness like that of a hunting animal catching the fresh +scent of game. + +He moved down the stream a few steps and took a second panful of dirt. + +Again came the careful washing, the jealous herding of the golden +specks, and the wantonness with which he sent them flying into the +stream. + +"Five," he muttered, and repeated, "five." + +He could not forbear another survey of the hill before filling the pan +farther down the stream. His golden herds diminished. "Four, three, two, +two, one," were his memory tabulations as he moved down the stream. When +but one speck of gold rewarded his washing, he stopped and built a fire +of dry twigs. Into this he thrust the gold-pan and burned it till it was +blue-black. He held up the pan and examined it critically. Then he +nodded approbation. Against such a color-background he could defy the +tiniest yellow speck to elude him. + +Still moving down the stream, he panned again. A single speck was his +reward. A third pan contained no gold at all. Not satisfied with this, +he panned three times again, taking his shovels of dirt within a foot of +one another. Each pan proved empty of gold, and the fact, instead of +discouraging him, seemed to give him satisfaction. His elation increased +with each barren washing, until he arose, exclaiming jubilantly: + +"If it ain't the real thing, may God knock off my head with sour +apples!" + +Returning to where he had started operations, he began to pan up the +stream. At first his golden herds increased--increased prodigiously. +"Fourteen, eighteen, twenty-one, twenty-six," ran his memory +tabulations. Just above the pool he struck his richest pan--thirty-five +colors. + +"Almost enough to save," he remarked regretfully as he allowed the water +to sweep them away. + +The sun climbed to the top of the sky. The man worked on. Pan by pan, he +went up the stream, the tally of results steadily decreasing. + +"It's just booful, the way it peters out," he exulted when a shovelful +of dirt contained no more than a single speck of gold. And when no +specks at all were found in several pans, he straightened up and favored +the hillside with a confident glance. + +"Ah, ha! Mr. Pocket!" he cried out, as though to an auditor hidden +somewhere above him beneath the surface of the slope. "Ah, ha! Mr. +Pocket! I'm a-comin', I'm a-comin', an' I'm shorely gwine to get yer! +You heah me, Mr. Pocket? I'm gwine to get yer as shore as punkins ain't +cauliflowers!" + +He turned and flung a measuring glance at the sun poised above him in +the azure of the cloudless sky. Then he went down the canyon, following +the line of shovel-holes he had made in filling the pans. He crossed the +stream below the pool and disappeared through the green screen. There +was little opportunity for the spirit of the place to return with its +quietude and repose, for the man's voice, raised in ragtime song, still +dominated the canyon with possession. + +After a time, with a greater clashing of steel-shod feet on rock, he +returned. The green screen was tremendously agitated. It surged back and +forth in the throes of a struggle. There was a loud grating and clanging +of metal. The man's voice leaped to a higher pitch and was sharp with +imperativeness. A large body plunged and panted. There was a snapping +and ripping and rending, and amid a shower of falling leaves a horse +burst through the screen. On its back was a pack, and from this trailed +broken vines and torn creepers. The animal gazed with astonished eyes at +the scene into which it had been precipitated, then dropped its head to +the grass and began contentedly to graze. A second horse scrambled into +view, slipping once on the mossy rocks and regaining equilibrium when +its hoofs sank into the yielding surface of the meadow. It was +riderless, though on its back was a high-horned Mexican saddle, scarred +and discolored by long usage. + +The man brought up the rear. He threw off pack and saddle, with an eye +to camp location, and gave the animals their freedom to graze. He +unpacked his food and got out frying-pan and coffee-pot. He gathered an +armful of dry wood, and with a few stones made a place for his fire. + +"My!" he said, "but I've got an appetite. I could scoff iron-filings an' +horseshoe nails an' thank you kindly, ma'am, for a second helpin'." + +He straightened up, and, while he reached for matches in the pocket of +his overalls, his eyes traveled across the pool to the side-hill. His +fingers had clutched the match-box, but they relaxed their hold and the +hand came out empty. The man wavered perceptibly. He looked at his +preparations for cooking and he looked at the hill. + +"Guess I'll take another whack at her," he concluded, starting to cross +the stream. + +"They ain't no sense in it, I know," he mumbled apologetically. "But +keepin' grub back an hour ain't go in' to hurt none, I reckon." + +A few feet back from his first line of test-pans he started a second +line. The sun dropped down the western sky, the shadows lengthened, but +the man worked on. He began a third line of test-pans. He was +cross-cutting the hillside, line by line, as he ascended. The center of +each line produced the richest pans, while the ends came where no colors +showed in the pan. And as he ascended the hillside the lines grew +perceptibly shorter. The regularity with which their length diminished +served to indicate that somewhere up the slope the last line would be so +short as to have scarcely length at all, and that beyond could come +only a point. The design was growing into an inverted "V." The +converging sides of this "V" marked the boundaries of the gold-bearing +dirt. + +The apex of the "V" was evidently the man's goal. Often he ran his eye +along the converging sides and on up the hill, trying to divine the +apex, the point where the gold-bearing dirt must cease. Here resided +"Mr. Pocket"--for so the man familiarly addressed the imaginary point +above him on the slope, crying out: + +"Come down out o' that, Mr. Pocket! Be right smart an' agreeable, an' +come down!" + +"All right," he would add later, in a voice resigned to determination. +"All right, Mr. Pocket. It's plain to me I got to come right up an' +snatch you out bald-headed. An' I'll do it! I'll do it!" he would +threaten still later. + +Each pan he carried down to the water to wash, and as he went higher up +the hill the pans grew richer, until he began to save the gold in an +empty baking powder can which he carried carelessly in his hip-pocket. +So engrossed was he in his toil that he did not notice the long twilight +of oncoming night. It was not until he tried vainly to see the gold +colors in the bottom of the pan that he realized the passage of time. +He straightened up abruptly. An expression of whimsical wonderment and +awe overspread his face as he drawled: + +"Gosh darn my buttons! if I didn't plumb forget dinner!" + +He stumbled across the stream in the darkness and lighted his +long-delayed fire. Flapjacks and bacon and warmed-over beans constituted +his supper. Then he smoked a pipe by the smouldering coals, listening to +the night noises and watching the moonlight stream through the canyon. +After that he unrolled his bed, took off his heavy shoes, and pulled the +blankets up to his chin. His face showed white in the moonlight, like +the face of a corpse. But it was a corpse that knew its resurrection, +for the man rose suddenly on one elbow and gazed across at his hillside. + +"Good night, Mr. Pocket," he called sleepily. "Goodnight." + +He slept through the early gray of morning until the direct rays of the +sun smote his closed eyelids, when he awoke with a start and looked +about him until he had established the continuity of his existence and +identified his present self with the days previously lived. + +To dress, he had merely to buckle on his shoes. He glanced at his +fireplace and at his hillside, wavered, but fought down the temptation +and started the fire. + +"Keep yer shirt on, Bill; keep yer shirt on," he admonished himself. +"What's the good of rushin'? No use in gettin' all het up an' sweaty. +Mr. Pocket'll wait for you. He ain't a-runnin' away before you can get +your breakfast. Now, what you want, Bill, is something fresh in yer bill +o' fare. So it's up to you to go an' get it." + +He cut a short pole at the water's edge and drew from one of his pockets +a bit of line and a draggled fly that had once been a royal coachman. + +"Mebbe they'll bite in the early morning," he muttered, as he made his +first cast into the pool. And a moment later he was gleefully crying: +"What'd I tell you, eh? What'd I tell you?" + +He had no reel, nor any inclination to waste time, and by main strength, +and swiftly, he drew out of the water a flashing ten-inch trout. Three +more, caught in rapid succession, furnished his breakfast. When he came +to the stepping-stones on his way to his hillside, he was struck by a +sudden thought, and paused. + +"I'd just better take a hike down-stream a ways," he said. "There's no +tellin' who may be snoopin' around." + +But he crossed over on the stones, and with a "I really oughter take +that hike," the need of the precaution passed out of his mind and he +fell to work. + +At nightfall he straightened up. The small of his back was stiff from +stooping toil, and as he put his hand behind him to soothe the +protesting muscles, he said: + +"Now what d'ye think of that? I clean forgot my dinner again! If I don't +watch out, I'll sure be degeneratin' into a two-meal-a-day crank." + +"Pockets is the hangedest things I ever see for makin' a man +absent-minded," he communed that night, as he crawled into his blankets. +Nor did he forget to call up the hillside, "Good night, Mr. Pocket! Good +night!" + +Rising with the sun, and snatching a hasty breakfast, he was early at +work. A fever seemed to be growing in him, nor did the increasing +richness of the test-pans allay this fever. There was a flush in his +cheek other than that made by the heat of the sun, and he was oblivious +to fatigue and the passage of time. When he filled a pan with dirt, he +ran down the hill to wash it; nor could he forbear running up the hill +again, panting and stumbling profanely, to refill the pan. + +He was now a hundred yards from the water, and the inverted "V" was +assuming definite proportions. The width of the pay-dirt steadily +decreased, and the man extended in his mind's eye the sides of the "V" +to their meeting place far up the hill. This was his goal, the apex of +the "V," and he panned many times to locate it. + +"Just about two yards above that manzanita bush an' a yard to the +right," he finally concluded. + +Then the temptation seized him. "As plain as the nose on your face," he +said, as he abandoned his laborious cross-cutting and climbed to the +indicated apex. He filled a pan and carried it down the hill to wash. It +contained no trace of gold. He dug deep, and he dug shallow, filling +and washing a dozen pans, and was unrewarded even by the tiniest golden +speck. He was enraged at having yielded to the temptation, and berated +himself blasphemously and pridelessly. Then he went down the hill and +took up the cross-cutting. + +"Slow an' certain, Bill; slow an' certain," he crooned. "Short-cuts to +fortune ain't in your line, an' it's about time you know it. Get wise, +Bill; get wise. Slow an' certain's the only hand you can play; so go to +it, an' keep to it, too." + +As the cross-cuts decreased, showing that the sides of the "V" were +converging, the depth of the "V" increased. The gold-trace was dipping +into the hill. It was only at thirty inches beneath the surface that he +could get colors in his pan. The dirt he found at twenty-five inches +from the surface, and at thirty-five inches yielded barren pans. At the +base of the "V," by the water's edge, he had found the gold colors at +the grass roots. The higher he went up the hill, the deeper the gold +dipped. To dig a hole three feet deep in order to get one test-pan was a +task of no mean magnitude; while between the man and the apex intervened +an untold number of such holes to be dug. "An' there's no tellin' how +much deeper it'll pitch," he sighed, in a moment's pause, while his +fingers soothed his aching back. + +Feverish with desire, with aching back and stiffening muscles, with pick +and shovel gouging and mauling the soft brown earth, the man toiled up +the hill. Before him was the smooth slope, spangled with flowers and +made sweet with their breath. Behind him was devastation. It looked like +some terrible eruption breaking out on the smooth skin of the hill. His +slow progress was like that of a slug, befouling beauty with a monstrous +trail. + +Though the dipping gold-trace increased the man's work, he found +consolation in the increasing richness of the pans. Twenty cents, thirty +cents, fifty cents, sixty cents, were the values of the gold found in +the pans, and at nightfall he washed his banner pan, which gave him a +dollar's worth of gold-dust from a shovelful of dirt. + +"I'll just bet it's my luck to have some inquisitive one come buttin' in +here on my pasture," he mumbled sleepily that night as he pulled the +blankets up to his chin. + +Suddenly he sat upright. "Bill!" he called sharply. "Now, listen to me, +Bill; d'ye hear! It's up to you, to-morrow mornin', to mosey round an' +see what you can see. Understand? To-morrow morning, an' don't you +forget it!" + +He yawned and glanced across at his side-hill. "Good night, Mr. Pocket," +he called. + +In the morning he stole a march on the sun, for he had finished +breakfast when its first rays caught him, and he was climbing the wall +of the canyon where it crumbled away and gave footing. From the outlook +at the top he found himself in the midst of loneliness. As far as he +could see, chain after chain of mountains heaved themselves into his +vision. To the east his eyes, leaping the miles between range and range +and between many ranges, brought up at last against the white-peaked +Sierras--the main crest, where the backbone of the Western world reared +itself against the sky. To the north and south he could see more +distinctly the cross-systems that broke through the main trend of the +sea of mountains. To the west the ranges fell away, one behind the +other, diminishing and fading into the gentle foothills that, in turn, +descended into the great valley which he could not see. + +And in all that mighty sweep of earth he saw no sign of man nor of the +handiwork of man--save only the torn bosom of the hillside at his feet. +The man looked long and carefully. Once, far down his own canyon, he +thought he saw in the air a faint hint of smoke. He looked again and +decided that it was the purple haze of the hills made dark by a +convolution of the canyon wall at its back. + +"Hey, you, Mr. Pocket!" he called down into the canyon. "Stand out from +under! I'm a-comin', Mr. Pocket! I'm a-comin'!" + +The heavy brogans on the man's feet made him appear clumsy-footed, but +he swung down from the giddy height as lightly and airily as a mountain +goat. A rock, turning under his foot on the edge of the precipice, did +not disconcert him. He seemed to know the precise time required for the +turn to culminate in disaster, and in the meantime he utilized the false +footing itself for the momentary earth-contact necessary to carry him on +into safety. Where the earth sloped so steeply that it was impossible to +stand for a second upright, the man did not hesitate. His foot pressed +the impossible surface for but a fraction of the fatal second and gave +him the bound that carried him onward. Again, where even the fraction +of a second's footing was out of the question, he would swing his body +past by a moment's hand-grip on a jutting knob of rock, a crevice, or a +precariously rooted shrub. At last, with a wild leap and yell, he +exchanged the face of the wall for an earth-slide and finished the +descent in the midst of several tons of sliding earth and gravel. + +His first pan of the morning washed out over two dollars in coarse gold. +It was from the centre of the "V." To either side the diminution in the +values of the pans was swift. His lines of cross-cutting holes were +growing very short. The converging sides of the inverted "V" were only a +few yards apart. Their meeting-point was only a few yards above him. But +the pay-streak was dipping deeper and deeper into the earth. By early +afternoon he was sinking the test-holes five feet before the pans could +show the gold-trace. + +For that matter, the gold-trace had become something more than a trace; +it was a placer mine in itself, and the man resolved to come back after +he had found the pocket and work over the ground. But the increasing +richness of the pans began to worry him. By late afternoon the worth of +the pans had grown to three and four dollars. The man scratched his head +perplexedly and looked a few feet up the hill at the manzanita bush that +marked approximately the apex of the "V." He nodded his head and said +oracularly: + +"It's one o' two things, Bill: one o' two things. Either Mr. Pocket's +spilled himself all out an' down the hill, or else Mr. Pocket's so rich +you maybe won't be able to carry him all away with you. And that'd be an +awful shame, wouldn't it, now?" He chuckled at contemplation of so +pleasant a dilemma. + +Nightfall found him by the edge of the stream, his eyes wrestling with +the gathering darkness over the washing of a five-dollar pan. + +"Wisht I had an electric light to go on working," he said. + +He found sleep difficult that night. Many times he composed himself and +closed his eyes for slumber to overtake him; but his blood pounded with +too strong desire, and as many times his eyes opened and he murmured +wearily, "Wisht it was sun-up." + +Sleep came to him in the end, but his eyes were open with the first +paling of the stars, and the gray of dawn caught him with breakfast +finished and climbing the hillside in the direction of the secret +abiding-place of Mr. Pocket. + +The first cross-cut the man made, there was space for only three holes, +so narrow had become the pay-streak and so close was he to the +fountainhead of the golden stream he had been following for four days. + +"Be ca'm, Bill; be ca'm," he admonished himself, as he broke ground for +the final hole where the sides of the "V" had at last come together in a +point. + +"I've got the almighty cinch on you, Mr. Pocket, an' you can't lose me," +he said many times as he sank the hole deeper and deeper. + +Four feet, five feet, six feet, he dug his way down into the earth. The +digging grew harder. His pick grated on broken rock. He examined the +rock. "Rotten quartz," was his conclusion as, with the shovel, he +cleared the bottom of the hole of loose dirt. He attacked the crumbling +quartz with the pick, bursting the disintegrating rock asunder with +every stroke. + +He thrust his shovel into the loose mass. His eye caught a gleam of +yellow. He dropped the shovel and squatted suddenly on his heels. As a +farmer rubs the clinging earth from fresh-dug potatoes, so the man, a +piece of rotten quartz held in both hands, rubbed the dirt away. + +"Sufferin' Sardanopolis!" he cried. "Lumps an' chunks of it! Lumps an' +chunks of it!" + +It was only half rock he held in his hand. The other half was virgin +gold. He dropped it into his pan and examined another piece. Little +yellow was to be seen, but with his strong fingers he crumbled the +rotten quartz away till both hands were filled with glowing yellow. He +rubbed the dirt away from fragment after fragment, tossing them into the +gold-pan. It was a treasure-hole. So much had the quartz rotted away +that there was less of it than there was of gold. Now and again he found +a piece to which no rock clung--a piece that was all gold. A chunk, +where the pick had laid open the heart of the gold, glittered like a +handful of yellow jewels, and he cocked his head at it and slowly turned +it around and over to observe the rich play of the light upon it. + +"Talk about yer Too Much Gold diggin's!" the man snorted contemptuously. +"Why, this diggin' 'd make it look like thirty cents. This diggin' is +All Gold. An' right here an' now I name this yere canyon 'All Gold +Canyon,' b' gosh!" + +Still squatting on his heels, he continued examining the fragments and +tossing them into the pan. Suddenly there came to him a premonition of +danger. It seemed a shadow had fallen upon him. But there was no shadow. +His heart had given a great jump up into his throat and was choking him. +Then his blood slowly chilled and he felt the sweat of his shirt cold +against his flesh. + +He did not spring up nor look around. He did not move. He was +considering the nature of the premonition he had received, trying to +locate the source of the mysterious force that had warned him, striving +to sense the imperative presence of the unseen thing that threatened +him. There is an aura of things hostile, made manifest by messengers too +refined for the senses to know; and this aura he felt, but knew not how +he felt it. His was the feeling as when a cloud passes over the sun. It +seemed that between him and life had passed something dark and +smothering and menacing; a gloom, as it were, that swallowed up life and +made for death--his death. + +Every force of his being impelled him to spring up and confront the +unseen danger, but his soul dominated the panic, and he remained +squatting on his heels, in his hands a chunk of gold. He did not dare to +look around, but he knew by now that there was something behind him and +above him. He made believe to be interested in the gold in his hand. He +examined it critically, turned it over and over, and rubbed the dirt +from it. And all the time he knew that something behind him was looking +at the gold over his shoulder. + +Still feigning interest in the chunk of gold in his hand, he listened +intently and he heard the breathing of the thing behind him. His eyes +searched the ground in front of him for a weapon, but they saw only the +uprooted gold, worthless to him now in his extremity. There was his +pick, a handy weapon on occasion; but this was not such an occasion. The +man realized his predicament. He was in a narrow hole that was seven +feet deep. His head did not come to the surface of the ground. He was in +a trap. + +He remained squatting on his heels. He was quite cool and collected; but +his mind, considering every factor, showed him only his helplessness. +He continued rubbing the dirt from the quartz fragments and throwing the +gold into the pan. There was nothing else for him to do. Yet he knew +that he would have to rise up, sooner or later, and face the danger that +breathed at his back. The minutes passed, and with the passage of each +minute he knew that by so much he was nearer the time when he must stand +up, or else--and his wet shirt went cold against his flesh again at the +thought--or else he might receive death as he stooped there over his +treasure. + +Still he squatted on his heels, rubbing dirt from gold and debating in +just what manner he should rise up. He might rise up with a rush and +claw his way out of the hole to meet whatever threatened on the even +footing above ground. Or he might rise up slowly and carelessly, and +feign casually to discover the thing that breathed at his back. His +instinct and every fighting fibre of his body favored the mad, clawing +rush to the surface. His intellect, and the craft thereof, favored the +slow and cautious meeting with the thing that menaced and which he could +not see. And while he debated, a loud, crashing noise burst on his ear. +At the same instant he received a stunning blow on the left side of the +back, and from the point of impact felt a rush of flame through his +flesh. He sprang up in the air, but halfway to his feet collapsed. His +body crumpled in like a leaf withered in sudden heat, and he came down, +his chest across his pan of gold, his face in the dirt and rock, his +legs tangled and twisted because of the restricted space at the bottom +of the hole. His legs twitched convulsively several times. His body was +shaken as with a mighty ague. There was a slow expansion of the lungs, +accompanied by a deep sigh. Then the air was slowly, very slowly, +exhaled, and his body as slowly flattened itself down into inertness. + +Above, revolver in hand, a man was peering down over the edge of the +hole. He peered for a long time at the prone and motionless body beneath +him. After a while the stranger sat down on the edge of the hole so that +he could see into it, and rested the revolver on his knee. Reaching his +hand into a pocket, he drew out a wisp of brown paper. Into this he +dropped a few crumbs of tobacco. The combination became a cigarette, +brown and squat, with the ends turned in. Not once did he take his eyes +from the body at the bottom of the hole. He lighted the cigarette and +drew its smoke into his lungs with a caressing intake of the breath. He +smoked slowly. Once the cigarette went out and he relighted it. And all +the while he studied the body beneath him. + +In the end he tossed the cigarette stub away and rose to his feet. He +moved to the edge of the hole. Spanning it, a hand resting on each edge, +and with the revolver still in the right hand, he muscled his body down +into the hole. While his feet were yet a yard from the bottom he +released his hands and dropped down. + +At the instant his feet struck bottom he saw the pocket-miner's arm leap +out, and his own legs knew a swift, jerking grip that overthrew him. In +the nature of the jump his revolver hand was above his head. Swiftly as +the grip had flashed about his legs, just as swiftly he brought the +revolver down. He was still in the air, his fall in process of +completion, when he pulled the trigger. The explosion was deafening in +the confined space. The smoke filled the hole so that he could see +nothing. He struck the bottom on his back, and like a cat's the +pocket-miner's body was on top of him. Even as the miner's body passed +on top, the stranger crooked in his right arm to fire; and even in that +instant the miner, with a quick thrust of elbow, struck his wrist. The +muzzle was thrown up and the bullet thudded into the dirt of the side of +the hole. + +The next instant the stranger felt the miner's hand grip his wrist. The +struggle was now for the revolver. Each man strove to turn it against +the other's body. The smoke in the hole was clearing. The stranger, +lying on his back, was beginning to see dimly. But suddenly he was +blinded by a handful of dirt deliberately flung into his eyes by his +antagonist. In that moment of shock his grip on the revolver was broken. +In the next moment he felt a smashing darkness descend upon his brain, +and in the midst of the darkness even the darkness ceased. + +But the pocket-miner fired again and again, until the revolver was +empty. Then he tossed it from him and, breathing heavily, sat down on +the dead man's legs. + +The miner was sobbing and struggling for breath. "Measly skunk!" he +panted; "a-campin' on my trail an' lettin' me do the work, an' then +shootin' me in the back!" + +He was half crying from anger and exhaustion. He peered at the face of +the dead man. It was sprinkled with loose dirt and gravel, and it was +difficult to distinguish the features. + +"Never laid eyes on him before," the miner concluded his scrutiny. "Just +a common an' ordinary thief, hang him! An' he shot me in the back! He +shot me in the back!" + +He opened his shirt and felt himself, front and back, on his left side. + +"Went clean through, and no harm done!" he cried jubilantly. "I'll bet +he aimed all right all right; but he drew the gun over when he pulled +the trigger--the cur! But I fixed 'm! Oh, I fixed 'm!" + +His fingers were investigating the bullet-hole in his side, and a shade +of regret passed over his face. "It's goin' to be stiffer'n hell," he +said. "An' it's up to me to get mended an' get out o'here." + +He crawled out of the hole and went down the hill to his camp. Half an +hour later he returned, leading his pack-horse. His open shirt +disclosed the rude bandages with which he had dressed his wound. He was +slow and awkward with his left-hand movements, but that did not prevent +his using the arm. + +The bight of the pack-rope under the dead man's shoulders enabled him to +heave the body out of the hole. Then he set to work gathering up his +gold. He worked steadily for several hours, pausing often to rest his +stiffening shoulder and to exclaim: + +"He shot me in the back, the measly skunk! He shot me in the back!" + +When his treasure was quite cleaned up and wrapped securely into a +number of blanket-covered parcels, he made an estimate of its value. + +"Four hundred pounds, or I'm a Hottentot," he concluded. "Say two +hundred in quartz an' dirt--that leaves two hundred pounds of gold. +Bill! Wake up! Two hundred pounds of gold! Forty thousand dollars! An' +it's yourn--all yourn!" + +He scratched his head delightedly and his fingers blundered into an +unfamiliar groove. They quested along it for several inches. It was a +crease through his scalp where the second bullet had ploughed. + +He walked angrily over to the dead man. + +"You would, would you!" he bullied. "You would, eh? Well, I fixed you +good an' plenty, an' I'll give you decent burial, too. That's more'n +you'd have done for me." + +He dragged the body to the edge of the hole and toppled it in. It struck +the bottom with a dull crash, on its side, the face twisted up to the +light. The miner peered down at it. + +"An' you shot me in the back!" he said accusingly. + +With pick and shovel he filled the hole. Then he loaded the gold on his +horse. It was too great a load for the animal, and when he had gained +his camp he transferred part of it to his saddle-horse. Even so, he was +compelled to abandon a portion of his outfit--pick and shovel and +gold-pan, extra food and cooking utensils, and divers odds and ends. + +The sun was at the zenith when the man forced the horses at the screen +of vines and creepers. To climb the huge boulders the animals were +compelled to uprear and struggle blindly through the tangled mass of +vegetation. Once the saddle-horse fell heavily and the man removed the +pack to get the animal on its feet. After it started on its way again +the man thrust his head out from among the leaves and peered up at the +hillside. + +"The measly skunk!" he said, and disappeared. + +There was a ripping and tearing of vines and boughs. The trees surged +back and forth, marking the passage of the animals through the midst of +them. There was a clashing of steel-shod hoofs on stone, and now and +again a sharp cry of command. Then the voice of the man was raised in +song:-- + + "Tu'n around an' tu'n yo' face + Untoe them sweet hills of grace + (D' pow'rs of sin yo' am scornin'!). + Look about an' look aroun' + Fling yo' sin-pack on d' groun' + (Yo'-will meet wid d' Lord in d' mornin'!)." + +The song grew faint and fainter, and through the silence crept back the +spirit of the place. The stream once more drowsed and whispered; the hum +of the mountain bees rose sleepily. Down through the perfume-weighted +air fluttered the snowy fluffs of the cottonwoods. The butterflies +drifted in and out among the trees, and over all blazed the quiet +sunshine. Only remained the hoof-marks in the meadow and the torn +hillside to mark the boisterous trail of the life that had broken the +peace of the place and passed on. + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE STORY OF KEESH + + +Keesh lived long ago on the rim of the polar sea, was head man of his +village through many and prosperous years, and died full of honors with +his name on the lips of men. So long ago did he live that only the old +men remember his name, his name and the tale, which they got from the +old men before them, and which the old men to come will tell to their +children and their children's children down to the end of time. And the +winter darkness, when the north gales make their long sweep across the +ice-pack, and the air is filled with flying white, and no man may +venture forth, is the chosen time for the telling of how Keesh, from the +poorest _igloo_ in the village, rose to power and place over them all. + +He was a bright boy, so the tale runs, healthy and strong, and he had +seen thirteen suns, in their way of reckoning time. For each winter the +sun leaves the land in darkness, and the next year a new sun returns so +that they may be warm again and look upon one another's faces. The +father of Keesh had been a very brave man, but he had met his death in a +time of famine, when he sought to save the lives of his people by taking +the life of a great polar bear. In his eagerness he came to close +grapples with the bear, and his bones were crushed; but the bear had +much meat on him and the people were saved. Keesh was his only son, and +after that Keesh lived alone with his mother. But the people are prone +to forget, and they forgot the deed of his father; and he being but a +boy, and his mother only a woman, they, too, were swiftly forgotten, and +ere long came to live in the meanest of all the _igloos_. + +It was at a council, one night, in the big _igloo_ of Klosh-Kwan, the +chief, that Keesh showed the blood that ran in his veins and the manhood +that stiffened his back. With the dignity of an elder, he rose to his +feet, and waited for silence amid the babble of voices. + +"It is true that meat be apportioned me and mine," he said. "But it is +ofttimes old and tough, this meat, and, moreover, it has an unusual +quantity of bones." + +The hunters, grizzled and gray, and lusty and young, were aghast. The +like had never been known before. A child, that talked like a grown man, +and said harsh things to their very faces! + +But steadily and with seriousness, Keesh went on. "For that I know my +father, Bok, was a great hunter, I speak these words. It is said that +Bok brought home more meat than any of the two best hunters, that with +his own hands he attended to the division of it, that with his own eyes +he saw to it that the least old woman and the least old man received +fair share." + +"Na! Na!" the men cried. "Put the child out!" "Send him off to bed!" "He +is no man that he should talk to men and gray-beards!" + +He waited calmly till the uproar died down. + +"Thou hast a wife, Ugh-Gluk," he said, "and for her dost thou speak. And +thou, too, Massuk, a mother also, and for them dost thou speak. My +mother has no one, save me; wherefore I speak. As I say, though Bok be +dead because he hunted over-keenly, it is just that I, who am his son, +and that Ikeega, who is my mother and was his wife, should have meat in +plenty so long as there be meat in plenty in the tribe. I, Keesh, the +son of Bok, have spoken." + +He sat down, his ears keenly alert to the flood of protest and +indignation his words had created. + +"That a boy should speak in council!" old Ugh-Gluk was mumbling. + +"Shall the babes in arms tell us men the things we shall do?" Massuk +demanded in a loud voice. "Am I a man that I should be made a mock by +every child that cries for meat?" + +The anger boiled a white heat. They ordered him to bed, threatened that +he should have no meat at all, and promised him sore beatings for his +presumption. Keesh's eyes began to flash, and the blood to pound darkly +under his skin. In the midst of the abuse he sprang to his feet. + +"Hear me, ye men!" he cried. "Never shall I speak in the council again, +never again till the men come to me and say, 'It is well, Keesh, that +thou shouldst speak, it is well and it is our wish.' Take this now, ye +men, for my last word. Bok, my father, was a great hunter. I too, his +son, shall go and hunt the meat that I eat. And be it known, now, that +the division of that which I kill shall be fair. And no widow nor weak +one shall cry in the night because there is no meat, when the strong men +are groaning in great pain for that they have eaten overmuch. And in the +days to come there shall be shame upon the strong men who have eaten +overmuch. I, Keesh, have said it!" + +Jeers and scornful laughter followed him out of the _igloo_, but his jaw +was set and he went his way, looking neither to right nor left. + +The next day he went forth along the shoreline where the ice and the +land met together. Those who saw him go noted that he carried his bow, +with a goodly supply of bone-barbed arrows, and that across his shoulder +was his father's big hunting-spear. And there was laughter, and much +talk, at the event. It was an unprecedented occurrence. Never did boys +of his tender age go forth to hunt, much less to hunt alone. Also were +there shaking of heads and prophetic mutterings, and the women looked +pityingly at Ikeega, and her face was grave and sad. + +"He will be back ere long," they said cheeringly. + +"Let him go; it will teach him a lesson," the hunters said. "And he will +come back shortly, and he will be meek and soft of speech in the days to +follow." + +But a day passed, and a second, and on the third a wild gale blew, and +there was no Keesh. Ikeega tore her hair and put soot of the seal-oil on +her face in token of her grief; and the women assailed the men with +bitter words in that they had mistreated the boy and sent him to his +death; and the men made no answer, preparing to go in search of the body +when the storm abated. + +Early next morning, however, Keesh strode into the village. But he came +not shamefacedly. Across his shoulders he bore a burden of fresh-killed +meat. And there was importance in his step and arrogance in his speech. + +"Go, ye men, with the dogs and sledges, and take my trail for the better +part of a day's travel," he said. "There is much meat on the ice--a +she-bear and two half-grown cubs." + +Ikeega was overcome with joy, but he received her demonstrations in +manlike fashion, saying: "Come, Ikeega, let us eat. And after that I +shall sleep, for I am weary." + +And he passed into their _igloo_ and ate profoundly, and after that +slept for twenty running hours. + +There was much doubt at first, much doubt and discussion. The killing of +a polar bear is very dangerous, but thrice dangerous is it, and three +times thrice, to kill a mother bear with her cubs. The men could not +bring themselves to believe that the boy Keesh, single-handed, had +accomplished so great a marvel. But the women spoke of the fresh-killed +meat he had brought on his back, and this was an overwhelming argument +against their unbelief. So they finally departed, grumbling greatly that +in all probability, if the thing were so, he had neglected to cut up the +carcasses. Now in the north it is very necessary that this should be +done as soon as a kill is made. If not, the meat freezes so solidly as +to turn the edge of the sharpest knife, and a three-hundred-pound bear, +frozen stiff, is no easy thing to put upon a sled and haul over the +rough ice. But arrived at the spot, they found not only the kill which +they had doubted, but that Keesh had quartered the beasts in true hunter +fashion, and removed the entrails. + +Thus began the mystery of Keesh, a mystery that deepened and deepened +with the passing of the days. His very next trip he killed a young bear, +nearly full-grown, and on the trip following, a large male bear and his +mate. He was ordinarily gone from three to four days, though it was +nothing unusual for him to stay away a week at a time on the ice-field. +Always he declined company on these expeditions, and the people +marveled. "How does he do it?" they demanded of one another. "Never does +he take a dog with him, and dogs are of such great help, too." + +"Why dost thou hunt only bear?" Klosh-Kwan once ventured to ask. + +And Keesh made fitting answer. "It is well known that there is more meat +on the bear," he said. + +But there was also talk of witchcraft in the village. "He hunts with +evil spirits," some of the people contended, "wherefore his hunting is +rewarded. How else can it be, save that he hunts with evil spirits?" + +"Mayhap they be not evil, but good, these spirits," others said. "It is +known that his father was a mighty hunter. May not his father hunt with +him so that he may attain excellence and patience and understanding? Who +knows?" + +None the less, his success continued, and the less skilful hunters were +often kept busy hauling in his meat. And in the division of it he was +just. As his father had done before him, he saw to it that the least old +woman and the last old man received a fair portion, keeping no more for +himself than his needs required. And because of this, and of his merit +as a hunter, he was looked upon with respect, and even awe; and there +was talk of making him chief after old Klosh-Kwan. Because of the things +he had done, they looked for him to appear again in the council, but he +never came, and they were ashamed to ask. + +"I am minded to build me an _igloo_," he said one day to Klosh-Kwan and +a number of the hunters. "It shall be a large _igloo_, wherein Ikeega +and I can dwell in comfort." + +"Ay," they nodded gravely. + +"But I have no time. My business is hunting, and it takes all my time. +So it is but just that the men and women of the village who eat my meat +should build me my _igloo_." + +And the _igloo_ was built accordingly, on a generous scale which +exceeded even the dwelling of Klosh-Kwan. Keesh and his mother moved +into it, and it was the first prosperity she had enjoyed since the death +of Bok. Nor was material prosperity alone hers, for, because of her +wonderful son and the position he had given her, she came to be looked +upon as the first woman in all the village; and the women were given to +visiting her, to asking her advice, and to quoting her wisdom when +arguments arose among themselves or with the men. + +But it was the mystery of Keesh's marvelous hunting that took chief +place in all their minds. And one day Ugh-Gluk taxed him with witchcraft +to his face. + +"It is charged," Ugh-Gluk said ominously, "that thou dealest with evil +spirits, wherefore thy hunting is rewarded." + +"Is not the meat good?" Keesh made answer. "Has one in the village yet +to fall sick from the eating of it! How dost thou know that witchcraft +be concerned? Or dost thou guess, in the dark, merely because of the +envy that consumes thee?" + +And Ugh-Gluk withdrew discomfited, the women laughing at him as he +walked away. But in the council one night, after long deliberation, it +was determined to put spies on his track when he went forth to hunt, so +that his methods might be learned. So, on his next trip, Bim and Bawn, +two young men, and of hunters the craftiest, followed after him, taking +care not to be seen. After five days they returned, their eyes bulging +and their tongues a-tremble to tell what they had seen. The council was +hastily called in Klosh-Kwan's dwelling, and Bim took up the tale. + +"Brothers! As commanded, we journeyed on the trail of Keesh, and +cunningly we journeyed, so that he might not know. And midway of the +first day he picked up with a great he-bear. It was a very great bear." + +"None greater," Bawn corroborated, and went on himself. "Yet was the +bear not inclined to fight, for he turned away and made off slowly over +the ice. This we saw from the rocks of the shore, and the bear came +toward us, and after him came Keesh, very much unafraid. And he shouted +harsh words after the bear, and waved his arms about, and made much +noise. Then did the bear grow angry, and rise up on his hind legs, and +growl. But Keesh walked right up to the bear." + +"Ay," Bim continued the story. "Right up to the bear Keesh walked. And +the bear took after him, and Keesh ran away. But as he ran he dropped a +little round ball on the ice. And the bear stopped and smelled of it, +and then swallowed it up. And Keesh continued to run away and drop +little round balls, and the bear continued to swallow them up." + +Exclamations and cries of doubt were being made, and Ugh-Gluk expressed +open unbelief. + +"With our own eyes we saw it," Bim affirmed. + +And Bawn--"Ay, with our own eyes. And this continued until the bear +stood suddenly upright and cried aloud in pain, and thrashed his +forepaws madly about. And Keesh continued to make off over the ice to a +safe distance. But the bear gave him no notice, being occupied with the +misfortune the little round balls had wrought within him." + +"Ay, within him," Bim interrupted. "For he did claw at himself, and +leap about over the ice like a playful puppy, save from the way he +growled and squealed it was plain it was not play but pain. Never did I +see such a sight!" + +"Nay, never was such a sight seen," Bawn took up the strain. "And +furthermore, it was such a large bear." + +"Witchcraft," Ugh-Gluk suggested. + +"I know not," Bawn replied. "I tell only of what my eyes beheld. And +after a while the bear grew weak and tired, for he was very heavy and he +had jumped about with exceeding violence, and he went off along the +shore-ice, shaking his head slowly from side to side and sitting down +ever and again to squeal and cry. And Keesh followed after the bear, and +we followed after Keesh, and for that day and three days more we +followed. The bear grew weak, and never ceased crying from his pain." + +"It was a charm!" Ugh-Gluk exclaimed. "Surely it was a charm!" + +"It may well be." + +And Bim relieved Bawn. "The bear wandered, now this way and now that, +doubling back and forth and crossing his trail in circles, so that at +the end he was near where Keesh had first come upon him. By this time he +was quite sick, the bear, and could crawl no farther, so Keesh came up +close and speared him to death." + +"And then?" Klosh-Kwan demanded. + +"Then we left Keesh skinning the bear, and came running that the news of +the killing might be told." + +And in the afternoon of that day the women hauled in the meat of the +bear while the men sat in council assembled. When Keesh arrived a +messenger was sent to him, bidding him come to the council. But he sent +reply, saying that he was hungry and tired; also that his _igloo_ was +large and comfortable and could hold many men. + +And curiosity was so strong on the men that the whole council, +Klosh-Kwan to the fore, rose up and went to the _igloo_ of Keesh. He was +eating, but he received them with respect and seated them according to +their rank. Ikeega was proud and embarrassed by turns, but Keesh was +quite composed. + +Klosh-Kwan recited the information brought by Bim and Bawn, and at its +close said in a stern voice: "So explanation is wanted, O Keesh, of thy +manner of hunting. Is there witchcraft in it?" + +Keesh looked up and smiled. "Nay, O Klosh-Kwan. It is not for a boy to +know aught of witches, and of witches I know nothing. I have but devised +a means whereby I may kill the ice-bear with ease, that is all. It be +headcraft, not witchcraft." + +"And may any man?" + +"Any man." + +There was a long silence. The men looked in one another's faces, and +Keesh went on eating. + +"And ... and ... and wilt thou tell us, O Keesh?" Klosh-Kwan finally +asked in a tremulous voice. + +"Yea, I will tell thee." Keesh finished sucking a marrow-bone and rose +to his feet. "It is quite simple. Behold!" + +He picked up a thin strip of whalebone and showed it to them. The ends +were sharp as needle-points. The strip he coiled carefully, till it +disappeared in his hand. Then, suddenly releasing it, it sprang straight +again. He picked up a piece of blubber. + +"So," he said, "one takes a small chunk of blubber, thus, and thus makes +it hollow. Then into the hollow goes the whalebone, so, tightly coiled, +and another piece of blubber is fitted over the whalebone. After that it +is put outside where it freezes into a little round ball. The bear +swallows the little round ball, the blubber melts, the whalebone with +its sharp ends stands out straight, the bear gets sick, and when the +bear is very sick, why, you kill him with a spear. It is quite simple." + +And Ugh-Gluk said "Oh!" and Klosh-Kwan said "Ah!" And each said +something after his own manner, and all understood. + +And this is the story of Keesh, who lived long ago on the rim of the +polar sea. Because he exercised headcraft and not witchcraft, he rose +from the meanest _igloo_ to be head man of his village, and through all +the years that he lived, it is related, his tribe was prosperous, and +neither widow nor weak one cried aloud in the night because there was no +meat. + +[Illustration] + + + + +NAM-BOK THE UNVERACIOUS + + +"A Bidarka, is it not so! Look! a bidarka, and one man who drives +clumsily with a paddle!" + +Old Bask-Wah-Wan rose to her knees, trembling with weakness and +eagerness, and gazed out over the sea. + +"Nam-Bok was ever clumsy at the paddle," she maundered reminiscently, +shading the sun from her eyes and staring across the silver-spilled +water. "Nam-Bok was ever clumsy. I remember...." + +But the women and children laughed loudly, and there was a gentle +mockery in their laughter, and her voice dwindled till her lips moved +without sound. + +Koogah lifted his grizzled head from his bone-carving and followed the +path of her eyes. Except when wide yawns took it off its course, a +bidarka was heading in for the beach. Its occupant was paddling with +more strength than dexterity, and made his approach along the zigzag +line of most resistance. Koogah's head dropped to his work again, and on +the ivory tusk between his knees he scratched the dorsal fin of a fish +the like of which never swam in the sea. + +"It is doubtless the man from the next village," he said finally, "come +to consult with me about the marking of things on bone. And the man is a +clumsy man. He will never know how." + +"It is Nam-Bok," old Bask-Wah-Wan repeated. "Should I not know my son!" +she demanded shrilly. "I say, and I say again, it is Nam-Bok." + +"And so thou hast said these many summers," one of the women chided +softly. "Ever when the ice passed out of the sea hast thou sat and +watched through the long day, saying at each chance canoe, 'This is +Nam-Bok.' Nam-Bok is dead, O Bask-Wah-Wan, and the dead do not come +back. It cannot be that the dead come back." + +"Nam-Bok!" the old woman cried, so loud and clear that the whole +village was startled and looked at her. + +She struggled to her feet and tottered down the sand. She stumbled over +a baby lying in the sun, and the mother hushed its crying and hurled +harsh words after the old woman, who took no notice. The children ran +down the beach in advance of her, and as the man in the bidarka drew +closer, nearly capsizing with one of his ill-directed strokes, the women +followed. Koogah dropped his walrus tusk and went also, leaning heavily +upon his staff, and after him loitered the men in twos and threes. + +The bidarka turned broadside and the ripple of surf threatened to swamp +it, only a naked boy ran into the water and pulled the bow high up on +the sand. The man stood up and sent a questing glance along the line of +villagers. A rainbow sweater, dirty and the worse for wear, clung +loosely to his broad shoulders, and a red cotton handkerchief was +knotted in sailor fashion about his throat. A fisherman's tam-o'-shanter +on his close-clipped head, and dungaree trousers and heavy brogans +completed his outfit. + +But he was none the less a striking personage to these simple +fisherfolk of the great Yukon Delta, who, all their lives, had stared +out on Bering Sea and in that time seen but two white men,--the census +enumerator and a lost Jesuit priest. They were a poor people, with +neither gold in the ground nor valuable furs in hand, so the whites had +passed them afar. Also, the Yukon, through the thousands of years, had +shoaled that portion of the sea with the detritus of Alaska till vessels +grounded out of sight of land. So the sodden coast, with its long inside +reaches and huge mud-land archipelagoes, was avoided by the ships of +men, and the fisherfolk knew not that such things were. + +Koogah, the Bone-Scratcher, retreated backward in sudden haste, tripping +over his staff and falling to the ground. "Nam-Bok!" he cried, as he +scrambled wildly for footing. "Nam-Bok, who was blown off to sea, come +back!" + +The men and women shrank away, and the children scuttled off between +their legs. Only Opee-Kwan was brave, as befitted the head man of the +village. He strode forward and gazed long and earnestly at the newcomer. + +"It is Nam-Bok," he said at last, and at the conviction in his voice +the women wailed apprehensively and drew farther away. + +The lips of the stranger moved indecisively, and his brown throat +writhed and wrestled with unspoken words. + +"La, la, it is Nam-Bok," Bask-Wah-Wan croaked, peering up into his face. +"Ever did I say Nam-Bok would come back." + +"Ay, it is Nam-Bok come back." This time it was Nam-Bok himself who +spoke, putting a leg over the side of the bidarka and standing with one +foot afloat and one ashore. Again his throat writhed and wrestled as he +grappled after forgotten words. And when the words came forth they were +strange of sound and a spluttering of the lips accompanied the +gutturals. "Greetings, O brothers," he said, "brothers of old time +before I went away with the off-shore wind." + +He stepped out with both feet on the sand, and Opee-Kwan waved him back. + +"Thou art dead, Nam-Bok," he said. + +Nam-Bok laughed. "I am fat." + +"Dead men are not fat," Opee-Kwan confessed. "Thou hast fared well, but +it is strange. No man may mate with the off-shore wind and come back on +the heels of the years." + +"I have come back," Nam-Bok answered simply. + +"Mayhap thou art a shadow, then, a passing shadow of the Nam-Bok that +was. Shadows come back." + +"I am hungry. Shadows do not eat." + +But Opee-Kwan doubted, and brushed his hand across his brow in sore +puzzlement. Nam-Bok was likewise puzzled, and as he looked up and down +the line found no welcome in the eyes of the fisherfolk. The men and +women whispered together. The children stole timidly back among their +elders, and bristling dogs fawned up to him and sniffed suspiciously. + +"I bore thee, Nam-Bok, and I gave thee suck when thou wast little," +Bask-Wah-Wan whimpered, drawing closer; "and shadow though thou be, or +no shadow, I will give thee to eat now." + +Nam-Bok made to come to her, but a growl of fear and menace warned him +back. He said something angrily in a strange tongue, and added, "No +shadow am I, but a man." + +"Who may know concerning the things of mystery?" Opee-Kwan demanded, +half of himself and half of his tribespeople. "We are, and in a breath +we are not. If the man may become shadow, may not the shadow become man? +Nam-Bok was, but is not. This we know, but we do not know if this be +Nam-Bok or the shadow of Nam-Bok." + +Nam-Bok cleared his throat and made answer. "In the old time long ago, +thy father's father, Opee-Kwan, went away and came back on the heels of +the years. Nor was a place by the fire denied him. It is said ..." He +paused significantly, and they hung on his utterance. "It is said," he +repeated, driving his point home with deliberation, "that Sipsip, his +_klooch_, bore him two sons after he came back." + +"But he had no doings with the off-shore wind," Opee-Kwan retorted. "He +went away into the heart of the land, and it is in the nature of things +that a man may go on and on into the land." + +"And likewise the sea. But that is neither here nor there. It is said +... that thy father's father told strange tales of the things he saw." + +"Ay, strange tales he told." + +"I, too, have strange tales to tell," Nam-Bok stated insidiously. And, +as they wavered, "And presents likewise." + +He pulled from the bidarka a shawl, marvelous of texture and color, and +flung it about his mother's shoulders. The women voiced a collective +sigh of admiration, and old Bask-Wah-Wan ruffled the gay material and +patted it and crooned in childish joy. + +"He has tales to tell," Koogah muttered. "And presents," a woman +seconded. + +And Opee-Kwan knew that his people were eager, and further, he was aware +himself of an itching curiosity concerning those untold tales. "The +fishing has been good," he said judiciously, "and we have oil in plenty. +So come, Nam-Bok, let us feast." + +Two of the men hoisted the bidarka on their shoulders and carried it up +to the fire. Nam-Bok walked by the side of Opee-Kwan, and the villagers +followed after, save those of the women who lingered a moment to lay +caressing fingers on the shawl. + +There was little talk while the feast went on, though many and curious +were the glances stolen at the son of Bask-Wah-Wan. This embarrassed +him--not because he was modest of spirit, however, but for the fact +that the stench of the seal-oil had robbed him of his appetite, and that +he keenly desired to conceal his feelings on the subject. + +"Eat; thou art hungry," Opee-Kwan commanded, and Nam-Bok shut both his +eyes and shoved his fist into the big pot of putrid fish. + +"La la, be not ashamed. The seal were many this year, and strong men are +ever hungry." And Bask-Wah-Wan sopped a particularly offensive chunk of +salmon into the oil and passed it fondly and dripping to her son. + +In despair, when premonitory symptoms warned him that his stomach was +not so strong as of old, he filled his pipe and struck up a smoke. The +people fed on noisily and watched. Few of them could boast of intimate +acquaintance with the precious weed, though now and again small +quantities and abominable qualities were obtained in trade from the +Eskimos to the northward. Koogah, sitting next to him, indicated that he +was not averse to taking a draw, and between two mouthfuls, with the oil +thick on his lips, sucked away at the amber stem. And thereupon Nam-Bok +held his stomach with a shaky hand and declined the proffered return. +Koogah could keep the pipe, he said, for he had intended so to honor him +from the first. And the people licked their fingers and approved of his +liberality. + +Opee-Kwan rose to his feet. "And now, O Nam-Bok, the feast is ended, and +we would listen concerning the strange things you have seen." + +The fisherfolk applauded with their hands, and gathering about them +their work, prepared to listen. The men were busy fashioning spears and +carving on ivory, while the women scraped the fat from the hides of the +hair seal and made them pliable or sewed muclucs with threads of sinew. +Nam-Bok's eyes roved over the scene, but there was not the charm about +it that his recollection had warranted him to expect. During the years +of his wandering he had looked forward to just this scene, and now that +it had come he was disappointed. It was a bare and meagre life, he +deemed, and not to be compared to the one to which he had become used. +Still, he would open their eyes a bit, and his own eyes sparkled at the +thought. + +"Brothers," he began, with the smug complacency of a man about to relate +the big things he has done, "it was late summer of many summers back, +with much such weather as this promises to be, when I went away. You all +remember the day, when the gulls flew low, and the wind blew strong from +the land, and I could not hold my bidarka against it. I tied the +covering of the bidarka about me so that no water could get in, and all +of the night I fought with the storm. And in the morning there was no +land,--only the sea,--and the off-shore wind held me close in its arms +and bore me along. Three such nights whitened into dawn and showed me no +land, and the off-shore wind would not let me go. + +"And when the fourth day came, I was as a madman. I could not dip my +paddle for want of food; and my head went round and round, what of the +thirst that was upon me. But the sea was no longer angry, and the soft +south wind was blowing, and as I looked about me I saw a sight that made +me think I was indeed mad." + +Nam-Bok paused to pick away a sliver of salmon lodged between his teeth, +and the men and women, with idle hands and heads craned forward, waited. + +"It was a canoe, a big canoe. If all the canoes I have ever seen were +made into one canoe, it would not be so large." + +There were exclamations of doubt, and Koogah, whose years were many, +shook his head. + +"If each bidarka were as a grain of sand," Nam-Bok defiantly continued, +"and if there were as many bidarkas as there be grains of sand in this +beach, still would they not make so big a canoe as this I saw on the +morning of the fourth day. It was a very big canoe, and it was called a +_schooner_. I saw this thing of wonder, this great schooner, coming +after me, and on it I saw men----" + +"Hold, O Nam-Bok!" Opee-Kwan broke in. "What manner of men were +they?--big men?" + +"Nay, mere men like you and me." + +"Did the big canoe come fast?" + +"Ay." + +"The sides were tall, the men short." Opee-Kwan stated the premises with +conviction. "And did these men dip with long paddles?" + +Nam-Bok grinned. "There were no paddles," he said. + +Mouths remained open, and a long silence dropped down. Ope-Kwan +borrowed Koogah's pipe for a couple of contemplative sucks. One of the +younger women giggled nervously and drew upon herself angry eyes. + +"There were no paddles?" Opee-Kwan asked softly, returning the pipe. + +"The south wind was behind," Nam-Bok explained. + +"But the wind drift is slow." + +"The schooner had wings--thus." He sketched a diagram of masts and sails +in the sand, and the men crowded around and studied it. The wind was +blowing briskly, and for more graphic elucidation he seized the corners +of his mother's shawl and spread them out till it bellied like a sail. +Bask Wah-Wan scolded and struggled, but was blown down the breach for a +score of feet and left breathless and stranded in a heap of driftwood. +The men uttered sage grunts of comprehension, but Koogah suddenly tossed +back his hoary head. + +"Ho! Ho!" he laughed. "A foolish thing, this big canoe! A most foolish +thing! The plaything of the wind! Wheresoever the wind goes, it goes +too. No man who journeys therein may name the landing beach, for always +he goes with the wind, and the wind goes everywhere, but no man knows +where." + +"It is so," Opee-Kwan supplemented gravely. "With the wind the going is +easy, but against the wind a man striveth hard; and for that they had no +paddles these men on the big canoe did not strive at all." + +"Small need to strive," Nam-Bok cried angrily. "The schooner went +likewise against the wind." + +"And what said you made the sch--sch--schooner go?" Koogah asked, +tripping craftily over the strange word. + +"The wind," was the impatient response. + +"Then the wind made the sch--sch--schooner go against the wind." Old +Koogah dropped an open leer to Opee-Kwan, and, the laughter growing +around him, continued: "The wind blows from the south and blows the +schooner south. The wind blows against the wind. The wind blows one way +and the other at the same time. It is very simple. We understand, +Nam-Bok. We clearly understand." + +"Thou art a fool!" + +"Truth falls from thy lips," Koogah answered meekly. "I was over-long +in understanding, and the thing was simple." + +But Nam-Bok's face was dark, and he said rapid words which they had +never heard before. Bone-scratching and skin-scraping were resumed, but +he shut his lips tightly on the tongue that could not be believed. + +"This sch--sch--schooner," Koogah imperturbably asked; "it was made of a +big tree?" + +"It was made of many trees," Nam-Bok snapped shortly. "It was very big." + +He lapsed into sullen silence again, and Opee-Kwan nudged Koogah, who +shook his head with slow amazement and murmured, "It is very strange." + +Nam-Bok took the bait. "That is nothing," he said airily; "you should +see the _steamer._ As the grain of sand is to the bidarka, as the +bidarka is to the schooner, so the schooner is to the steamer. Further, +the steamer is made of iron. It is all iron." + +"Nay, nay, Nam-Bok," cried the head man; "how can that be? Always iron +goes to the bottom. For behold, I received an iron knife in trade from +the head man of the next village, and yesterday the iron knife slipped +from my fingers and went down, down, into the sea. To all things there +be law. Never was there one thing outside the law. This we know. And, +moreover, we know that things of a kind have the one law, and that all +iron has the one law. So unsay thy words, Nam-Bok, that we may yet honor +thee." + +"It is so," Nam-Bok persisted. "The steamer is all iron and does not +sink." + +"Nay, nay; this cannot be." + +"With my own eyes I saw it." + +"It is not in the nature of things." + +"But tell me, Nam-Bok," Koogah interrupted, for fear the tale would go +no farther, "tell me the manner of these men in finding their way across +the sea when there is no land by which to steer." + +"The sun points out the path." + +"But how?" + +"At midday the head man of the schooner takes a thing through which his +eye looks at the sun, and then he makes the sun climb down out of the +sky to the edge of the earth." + +"Now this be evil medicine!" cried Opee-Kwan, aghast at the sacrilege. +The men held up their hands in horror, and the women moaned. "This be +evil medicine. It is not good to misdirect the great sun which drives +away the night and gives us the seal, the salmon, and warm weather." + +"What if it be evil medicine?" Nam-Bok demanded truculently. "I, too, +have looked through the thing at the sun and made the sun climb down out +of the sky." + +Those who were nearest drew away from him hurriedly, and a woman covered +the face of a child at her breast so that his eye might not fall upon +it. + +"But on the morning of the fourth day, O Nam-Bok," Koogah suggested; "on +the morning of the fourth day when the sch--sch--schooner came after +thee?" + +"I had little strength left in me and could not run away. So I was taken +on board and water was poured down my throat and good food given me. +Twice, my brothers, you have seen a white man. These men were all white +and as many as have I fingers and toes. And when I saw they were full of +kindness, I took heart, and I resolved to bring away with me report of +all that I saw. And they taught me the work they did, and gave me good +food and a place to sleep. + +"And day after day we went over the sea, and each day the head man drew +the sun down out of the sky and made it tell where we were. And when the +waves were kind, we hunted the fur seal and I marvelled much, for always +did they fling the meat and the fat away and save only the skin." + +Opee-Kwan's mouth was twitching violently, and he was about to make +denunciation of such waste when Koogah kicked him to be still. + +"After a weary time, when the sun was gone and the bite of the frost +come into the air, the head man pointed the nose of the schooner south. +South and east we traveled for days upon days, with never the land in +sight, and we were near to the village from which hailed the men----" + +"How did they know they were near?" Opee-Kwan, unable to contain himself +longer, demanded. "There was no land to see." + +Nam-Bok glowered on him wrathfully. "Did I not say the head man brought +the sun down out of the sky?" + +Koogah interposed, and Nam-Bok went on. "As I say, when we were near to +that village a great storm blew up, and in the night we were helpless +and knew not where we were----" + +"Thou hast just said the head man knew----" + +"Oh, peace, Opee-Kwan. Thou art a fool and cannot understand. As I say, +we were helpless in the night, when I heard, above the roar of the +storm, the sound of the sea on the beach. And next we struck with a +mighty crash and I was in the water, swimming. It was a rock-bound +coast, with one patch of beach in many miles, and the law was that I +should dig my hands into the sand and draw myself clear of the surf. The +other men must have pounded against the rocks, for none of them came +ashore but the head man, and him I knew only by the ring on his finger. + +"When day came, there being nothing of the schooner, I turned my face to +the land and journeyed into it that I might get food and look upon the +faces of the people. And when I came to a house I was taken in and given +to eat, for I had learned their speech, and the white men are ever +kindly. And it was a house bigger than all the houses built by us and +our fathers before us." + +"It was a mighty house," Koogah said, masking his unbelief with wonder. + +"And many trees went into the making of such a house," Opee-Kwan added, +taking the cue. + +"That is nothing." Nam-Bok shrugged his shoulders in belittling fashion. +"As our houses are to that house, so that house was to the houses I was +yet to see." + +"And they are not big men?" + +"Nay; mere men like you and me," Nam-Bok answered. "I had cut a stick +that I might walk in comfort, and remembering that I was to bring report +to you, my brothers, I cut a notch in the stick for each person who +lived in that house. And I stayed there many days, and worked, for which +they gave me _money_--a thing of which you know nothing, but which is +very good. + +"And one day I departed from that place to go farther into the land. And +as I walked I met many people, and I cut smaller notches in the stick, +that there might be room for all. Then I came upon a strange thing. On +the ground before me was a bar of iron, as big in thickness as my arm, +and a long step away was another bar of iron----" + +"Then wert thou a rich man," Opee-Kwan asserted; "for iron be worth more +than anything else in the world. It would have made many knives." + +"Nay, it was not mine." + +"It was a find, and a find be lawful." + +"Not so; the white men had placed it there. And further, these bars were +so long that no man could carry them away--so long that as far as I +could see there was no end to them." + +"Nam-Bok, that is very much iron," Opee-Kwan cautioned. + +"Ay, it was hard to believe with my own eyes upon it; but I could not +gainsay my eyes. And as I looked I heard ..." He turned abruptly upon +the head man. "Opee-Kwan, thou hast heard the sea-lion bellow in his +anger. Make it plain in thy mind of as many sea-lions as there be waves +to the sea, and make it plain that all these sea-lions be made into one +sea-lion, and as that one sea-lion would bellow so bellowed the thing I +heard." + +The fisherfolk cried aloud in astonishment, and Opee-Kwan's jaw lowered +and remained lowered. + +"And in the distance I saw a monster like unto a thousand whales. It was +one-eyed, and vomited smoke, and it snorted with exceeding loudness. I +was afraid and ran with shaking legs along the path between the bars. +But it came with speed of the wind, this monster, and I leaped the iron +bars with its breath hot on my face ..." + +Opee-Kwan gained control of his jaw again. "And--and then, O Nam-Bok?" + +"Then it came by on the bars, and harmed me not; and when my legs could +hold me up again it was gone from sight. And it is a very common thing +in that country. Even the women and children are not afraid. Men make +them to do work, these monsters." + +"As we make our dogs do work?" Koogah asked, with sceptic twinkle in his +eye. + +"Ay, as we make our dogs do work." + +"And how do they breed these--these things?" Opee-Kwan questioned. + +"They breed not at all. Men fashion them cunningly of iron, and feed +them with stone, and give them water to drink. The stone becomes fire, +and the water becomes steam, and the steam of the water is the breath of +their nostrils, and--" + +"There, there, O Nam-Bok," Opee-Kwan interrupted. "Tell us of other +wonders. We grow tired of this which we may not understand." + +"You do not understand?" Nam-Bok asked despairingly. + +"Nay, we do not understand," the men and women wailed back. "We cannot +understand." + +Nam-Bok thought of a combined harvester, and of the machines wherein +visions of living men were to be seen, and of the machines from which +came the voices of men, and he knew his people could never understand. + +"Dare I say I rode this iron monster through the land?" he asked +bitterly. + +Opee-Kwan threw up his hands, palms outward, in open incredulity. "Say +on; say anything. We listen." + +"Then did I ride the iron monster, for which I gave money--" + +"Thou saidst it was fed with stone." + +"And likewise, thou fool, I said money was a thing of which you know +nothing. As I say, I rode the monster through the land, and through +many villages, until I came to a big village on a salt arm of the sea. +And the houses shoved their roofs among the stars in the sky, and the +clouds drifted by them, and everywhere was much smoke. And the roar of +that village was like the roar of the sea in storm, and the people were +so many that I flung away my stick and no longer remembered the notches +upon it." + +"Hadst thou made small notches," Koogah reproved, "thou mightst have +brought report." + +Nam-Bok whirled upon him in anger. "Had I made small notches! Listen, +Koogah, thou scratcher of bone! If I had made small notches neither the +stick, nor twenty sticks, could have borne them--nay, not all the +driftwood of all the beaches between this village and the next. And if +all of you, the women and children as well, were twenty times as many, +and if you had twenty hands each, and in each hand a stick and a knife, +still the notches could not be cut for the people I saw, so many were +they and so fast did they come and go." + +"There cannot be so many people in all the world," Opee-Kwan objected, +for he was stunned and his mind could not grasp such magnitude of +numbers. + +"What dost thou know of all the world and how large it is?" Nam-Bok +demanded. + +"But there cannot be so many people in one place." + +"Who art thou to say what can be and what cannot be?" + +"It stands to reason there cannot be so many people in one place. Their +canoes would clutter the sea till there was no room. And they could +empty the sea each day of its fish, and they would not all be fed." + +"So it would seem," Nam-Bok made final answer; "yet it was so. With my +own eyes I saw, and flung my stick away." He yawned heavily and rose to +his feet. "I have paddled far. The day has been long, and I am tired. +Now I will sleep, and to-morrow we will have further talk upon the +things I have seen." + +Bask-Wah-Wan, hobbling fearfully in advance, proud indeed, yet awed by +her wonderful son, led him to her _igloo_ and stowed him away among the +greasy, ill-smelling furs. But the men lingered by the fire, and a +council was held wherein was there much whispering and low-voiced +discussion. + +An hour passed, and a second, and Nam-Bok slept, and the talk went on. +The evening sun dipped toward the northwest, and at eleven at night was +nearly due north. Then it was that the head man and the bone-scratcher +separated themselves from the council and aroused Nam-Bok. He blinked up +into their faces and turned on his side to sleep again. Opee-Kwan +gripped him by the arm and kindly but firmly shook his senses back into +him. + +"Come, Nam-Bok, arise!" he commanded. "It be time." + +"Another feast!" Nam-Bok cried. "Nay, I am not hungry. Go on with the +eating and let me sleep." + +"Time to be gone!" Koogah thundered. + +But Opee-Kwan spoke more softly. "Thou wast bidarka-mate with me when we +were boys," he said. "Together we first chased the seal and drew the +salmon from the traps. And thou didst drag me back to life, Nam-Bok, +when the sea closed over me and I was sucked down to the black rocks. +Together we hungered and bore the chill of the frost, and together we +crawled beneath the one fur and lay close to each other. And because of +these things, and the kindness in which I stood to thee, it grieves me +sore that thou shouldst return such a remarkable liar. We cannot +understand, and our heads be dizzy with the things thou hast spoken. It +is not good, and there has been much talk in the council. Wherefore we +send thee away, that our heads may remain clear and strong and be not +troubled by the unaccountable things." + +"These things thou speakest of be shadows," Koogah took up the strain. +"From the shadow-world thou hast brought them, and to the shadow-world +thou must return them. Thy bidarka be ready, and the tribespeople wait. +They may not sleep until thou art gone." + +Nam-Bok was perplexed, but hearkened to the voice of the head man. + +"If thou art Nam-Bok," Opee-Kwan was saying, "thou art a fearful and +most wonderful liar; if thou art the shadow of Nam-Bok, then thou +speakest of shadows, concerning which it is not good that living men +have knowledge. This great village thou hast spoken of we deem the +village of shadows. Therein flutter the souls of the dead; for the dead +be many and the living few. The dead do not come back. Never have the +dead come back--save thou with thy wonder-tales. It is not meet that the +dead come back, and should we permit it, great trouble may be our +portion." + +Nam-Bok knew his people well and was aware that the voice of the council +was supreme. So he allowed himself to be led down to the water's edge, +where he was put aboard his bidarka and a paddle thrust into his hand. A +stray wildfowl honked somewhere to seaward, and the surf broke limply +and hollowly on the sand. A dim twilight brooded over land and water, +and in the north the sun smouldered, vague and troubled, and draped +about with blood-red mists. The gulls were flying low. The off-shore +wind blew keen and chill, and the black-massed clouds behind it gave +promise of bitter weather. + +"Out of the sea thou earnest," Opee-Kwan chanted oracularly, "and back +into the sea thou goest. Thus is balance achieved and all things brought +to law." + +Bask-Wah-Wan limped to the froth-mark and cried, "I bless thee, +Nam-Bok, for that thou remembered me." + +But Koogah, shoving Nam-Bok clear or the beach, tore the shawl from her +shoulders and flung it into the bidarka. + +"It is cold in the long nights," she wailed; "and the frost is prone to +nip old bones." + +"The thing is a shadow," the bone-scratcher answered, "and shadows +cannot keep thee warm." + +Nam-Bok stood up that his voice might carry. "O Bask-Wah-Wan, mother +that bore me!" he called. "Listen to the words of Nam-Bok, thy son. +There be room in his bidarka for two, and he would that thou earnest +with him. For his journey is to where there are fish and oil in plenty. +There the frost comes not, and life is easy, and the things of iron do +the work of men. Wilt thou come, O Bask-Wah-Wan?" + +She debated a moment, while the bidarka drifted swiftly from her, then +raised her voice to a quavering treble. "I am old, Nam-Bok, and soon I +shall pass down among the shadows. But I have no wish to go before my +time. I am old, Nam-Bok, and I am afraid." + +A shaft of light shot across the dim-lit sea and wrapped boat and man +in a splendor of red and gold. Then a hush fell upon the fisherfolk, and +only was heard the moan of the off-shore wind and the cries of the gulls +flying low in the air. + +[Illustration] + + + + +YELLOW HANDKERCHIEF + + +"I'm not wanting to dictate to you, lad," Charley said, "but I'm very +much against your making a last raid. You've gone safely through rough +times with rough men, and it would be a shame to have something happen +to you at the very end." + +"But how can I get out of making a last raid?" I demanded, with the +cocksureness of youth. "There always has to be a last, you know, to +anything." + +Charley crossed his legs, leaned back, and considered the problem. "Very +true. But why not call the capture of Demetrios Contos the last? You're +back from it safe and sound and hearty, for all your good wetting, +and--and----" His voice broke and he could not speak for a moment. "And +I could never forgive myself if anything happened to you now." + +I laughed at Charley's fears while I gave in to the claims of his +affection, and agreed to consider the last raid already performed. We +had been together for two years, and now I was leaving the fish patrol +in order to go back and finish my education. I had earned and saved +money to put me through three years at the high school, and though the +beginning of the term was several months away, I intended doing a lot of +studying for the entrance examinations. + +My belongings were packed snugly in a sea-chest, and I was all ready to +buy my ticket and ride down on the train to Oakland, when Neil +Partington arrived in Benicia. The _Reindeer_ was needed immediately for +work far down on the Lower Bay, and Neil said he intended to run +straight for Oakland. As that was his home and as I was to live with his +family while going to school, he saw no reason, he said, why I should +not put my chest aboard and come along. + +So the chest went aboard, and in the middle of the afternoon we hoisted +the _Reindeer's_ big mainsail and cast off. It was tantalizing fall +weather. The sea-breeze, which had blown steadily all summer, was gone, +and in its place were capricious winds and murky skies which made the +time of arriving anywhere extremely problematical. We started on the +first of the ebb, and as we slipped down the Carquinez Straits, I looked +my last for some time upon Benicia and the bight at Turner's Shipyard, +where we had besieged the _Lancashire Queen,_ and had captured Big Alec, +the King of the Greeks. And at the mouth of the Straits I looked with +not a little interest upon the spot where a few days before I should +have drowned but for the good that was in the nature of Demetrios +Contos. + +A great wall of fog advanced across San Pablo Bay to meet us, and in a +few minutes the _Reindeer_ was running blindly through the damp +obscurity. Charley, who was steering, seemed to have an instinct for +that kind of work. How he did it, he himself confessed that he did not +know; but he had a way of calculating winds, currents, distance, time, +drift, and sailing speed that was truly marvellous. + +"It looks as though it were lifting," Neil Partington said, a couple of +hours after we had entered the fog. "Where do you say we are, Charley?" + +Charley looked at his watch. "Six o'clock, and three hours more of +ebb," he remarked casually. + +"But where do you say we are!" Neil insisted. + +Charley pondered a moment, and then answered, "The tide has edged us +over a bit out of our course, but if the fog lifts right now, as it is +going to lift, you'll find we're not more than a thousand miles off +McNear's Landing." + +"You might be a little more definite by a few miles, anyway," Neil +grumbled, showing by his tone that he disagreed. + +"All right, then," Charley said, conclusively, "not less than a quarter +of a mile, nor more than a half." + +The wind freshened with a couple of little puffs, and the fog thinned +perceptibly. + +"McNear's is right off there," Charley said, pointing directly into the +fog on our weather beam. + +The three of us were peering intently in that direction, when the +_Reindeer_ struck with a dull crash and came to a standstill. We ran +forward, and found her bowsprit entangled in the tanned rigging of a +short, chunky mast. She had collided, head on, with a Chinese junk +lying at anchor. + +At the moment we arrived forward, five Chinese, like so many bees, came +swarming out of the little 'tween-decks cabin, the sleep still in their +eyes. + +Leading them came a big, muscular man, conspicuous for his pock-marked +face and the yellow silk handkerchief swathed about his head. It was +Yellow Handkerchief, the Chinaman whom we had arrested for illegal +shrimp-fishing the year before, and who, at that time, had nearly sunk +the _Reindeer_, as he had nearly sunk it now by violating the rules of +navigation. + +"What d'ye mean, you yellow-faced heathen, lying here in a fairway +without a horn a-going?" Charley cried hotly. + +"Mean?" Neil calmly answered. "Just take a look--that's what he means." + +Our eyes followed the direction indicated by Neil's finger, and we saw +the open amidships of the junk, half filled, as we found on closer +examination, with fresh-caught shrimps. Mingled with the shrimps were +myriads of small fish, from a quarter of an inch upward in size. Yellow +Handkerchief had lifted the trap-net at high-water slack, and, taking +advantage of the concealment offered by the fog, had boldly been lying +by, waiting to lift the net again at low-water slack. + +"Well," Neil hummed and hawed, "in all my varied and extensive +experience as a fish patrolman, I must say this is the easiest capture I +ever made. What'll we do with them, Charley?" + +"Tow the junk into San Rafael, of course," came the answer. Charley +turned to me. "You stand by the junk, lad, and I'll pass you a towing +line. If the wind doesn't fail us, we'll make the creek before the tide +gets too low, sleep at San Rafael, and arrive in Oakland to-morrow by +midday." + +So saying, Charley and Neil returned to the _Reindeer_ and got under +way, the junk towing astern. I went aft and took charge of the prize, +steering by means of an antiquated tiller and a rudder with large, +diamond-shaped holes, through which the water rushed back and forth. + +By now the last of the fog had vanished, and Charley's estimate of our +position was confirmed by the sight of McNear's Landing a short +half-mile away, following: along the west shore, we rounded Point Pedro +in plain view of the Chinese shrimp villages, and a great to-do was +raised when they saw one of their junks towing behind the familiar fish +patrol sloop. + +The wind, coming off the land, was rather puffy and uncertain, and it +would have been more to our advantage had it been stronger. San Rafael +Creek, up which we had to go to reach the town and turn over our +prisoners to the authorities, ran through wide-stretching marshes, and +was difficult to navigate on a falling tide, while at low tide it was +impossible to navigate at all. So, with the tide already half-ebbed, it +was necessary for us to make time. This the heavy junk prevented, +lumbering along behind and holding the _Reindeer_ back by just so much +dead weight. + +"Tell those coolies to get up that sail," Charley finally called to me. +"We don't want to hang up on the mud flats for the rest of the night." + +I repeated the order to Yellow Handkerchief, who mumbled it huskily to +his men. He was suffering from a bad cold, which doubled him up in +convulsive coughing spells and made his eyes heavy and bloodshot. This +made him more evil-looking than ever, and when he glared viciously at +me I remembered with a shiver the close shave I had had with him at the +time of his previous arrest. + +His crew sullenly tailed on to the halyards, and the strange, outlandish +sail, lateen in rig and dyed a warm brown, rose in the air. We were +sailing on the wind, and when Yellow Handkerchief flattened down the +sheet the junk forged ahead and the tow-line went slack. Fast as the +_Reindeer_ could sail, the junk outsailed her; and to avoid running her +down I hauled a little closer on the wind. But the junk likewise +outpointed, and in a couple of minutes I was abreast of the _Reindeer_ +and to windward. The tow-line had now tautened, at right angles to the +two boats, and the predicament was laughable. + +"Cast off!" I shouted. + +Charley hesitated. + +"It's all right," I added. "Nothing can happen. We'll make the creek on +this tack, and you'll be right behind me all the way up to San Rafael." + +At this Charley cast off, and Yellow Handkerchief sent one of his men +forward to haul in the line. In the gathering darkness I could just +make out the mouth of San Rafael Creek, and by the time we entered it I +could barely see its banks. The _Reindeer_ was fully five minutes +astern, and we continued to leave her astern as we beat up the narrow, +winding channel. With Charley behind us, it seemed I had little to fear +from my five prisoners; but the darkness prevented my keeping a sharp +eye on them, so I transferred my revolver from my trousers pocket to the +side pocket of my coat, where I could more quickly put my hand on it. + +Yellow Handkerchief was the one I feared, and that he knew it and made +use of it, subsequent events will show. He was sitting a few feet away +from me, on what then happened to be the weather side of the junk. I +could scarcely see the outlines of his form, but I soon became convinced +that he was slowly, very slowly, edging closer to me. I watched him +carefully. Steering with my left hand, I slipped my right into my pocket +and got hold of the revolver. + +I saw him shift along for a couple of inches, and I was just about to +order him back--the words were trembling on the tip of my tongue--when +I was struck with great force by a heavy figure that had leaped through +the air upon me from the lee side. It was one of the crew. He pinioned +my right arm so that I could not withdraw my hand from my pocket, and at +the same time clapped his other hand over my mouth. Of course, I could +have struggled away from him and freed my hand or gotten my mouth clear +so that I might cry an alarm, but in a trice Yellow Handkerchief was on +top of me. + +I struggled around to no purpose in the bottom of the junk, while my +legs and arms were tied and my mouth securely bound in what I afterward +found to be a cotton shirt. Then I was left lying in the bottom. Yellow +Handkerchief took the tiller, issuing his orders in whispers; and from +our position at the time, and from the alteration of the sail, which I +could dimly make out above me as a blot against the stars, I knew the +junk was being headed into the mouth of a small slough which emptied at +that point into San Rafael Creek. + +In a couple of minutes we ran softly alongside the bank, and the sail +was silently lowered. The Chinese kept very quiet. Yellow Handkerchief +sat down in the bottom alongside of me, and I could feel him straining +to repress his raspy, hacking cough. Possibly seven or eight minutes +later I heard Charley's voice as the _Reindeer_ went past the mouth of +the slough. + +"I can't tell you how relieved I am," I could plainly hear him saying to +Neil, "that the lad has finished with the fish patrol without accident." + +Here Neil said something which I could not catch, and then Charley's +voice went on: + +"The youngster takes naturally to the water, and if when he finishes +high school he takes a course in navigation and goes deep sea, I see no +reason why he shouldn't rise to be master of the finest and biggest ship +afloat." + +It was all very flattering to me, but lying there, bound and gagged by +my own prisoners, with the voices growing faint and fainter as the +_Reindeer_ slipped on through the darkness toward San Rafael, I must say +I was not in quite the proper situation to enjoy my smiling future. With +the _Reindeer_ went my last hope. What was to happen next I could not +imagine, for the Chinese were a different race from mine and from what +I knew I was confident that fair play was no part of their make-up. + +After waiting a few minutes longer, the crew hoisted the lateen sail, +and Yellow Handkerchief steered down toward the mouth of San Rafael +Creek. The tide was getting lower, and he had difficulty in escaping the +mud-banks. I was hoping he would run aground, but he succeeded in making +the bay without accident. + +As we passed out of the creek a noisy discussion arose, which I knew +related to me. Yellow Handkerchief was vehement, but the other four as +vehemently opposed him. It was very evident that he advocated doing away +with me and that they were afraid of the consequences. I was familiar +enough with the Chinese character to know that fear alone restrained +them. But what plan they offered in place of Yellow Handkerchief's +murderous one, I could not make out. + +My feelings, as my fate hung in the balance, may be guessed. The +discussion developed into a quarrel, in the midst of which Yellow +Handkerchief unshipped the heavy tiller and sprang toward me. But his +four companions threw themselves between, and a clumsy struggle took +place for possession of the tiller. In the end Yellow Handkerchief was +overcome, and sullenly returned to the steering, while they soundly +berated him for his rashness. + +Not long after, the sail was run down and the junk slowly urged forward +by means of the sweeps. I felt it ground gently on the soft mud. Three +of the Chinese--they all wore long sea-boots--got over the side, and the +other two passed me across the rail. With Yellow Handkerchief at my legs +and his two companions at my shoulders, they began to flounder along +through the mud. After some time their feet struck firmer footing, and I +knew they were carrying me up some beach. The location of this beach was +not doubtful in my mind. It could be none other than one of the Marin +Islands, a group of rocky islets which lay off the Marin County shore. + +When they reached the firm sand that marked high tide, I was dropped, +and none too gently. Yellow Handkerchief kicked me spitefully in the +ribs, and then the trio floundered back through the mud to the junk. A +moment later I heard the sail go up and slat in the wind as they drew +in the sheet. Then silence fell, and I was left to my own devices for +getting free. + +I remembered having seen tricksters writhe and squirm out of ropes with +which they were bound, but though I writhed and squirmed like a good +fellow, the knots remained as hard as ever, and there was no appreciable +slack. In the course of my squirming, however, I rolled over upon a heap +of clam-shells--the remains, evidently, of some yachting party's +clam-bake. This gave me an idea. My hands were tied behind my back; and, +clutching a shell in them, I rolled over and over, up the beach, till I +came to the rocks I knew to be there. + +Rolling around and searching, I finally discovered a narrow crevice, +into which I shoved the shell. The edge of it was sharp, and across the +sharp edge I proceeded to saw the rope that bound my wrists. The edge of +the shell was also brittle, and I broke it by bearing too heavily upon +it. Then I rolled back to the heap and returned with as many shells as I +could carry in both hands. I broke many shells, cut my hands a number of +times, and got cramps in my legs from my strained position and my +exertions. + +While I was suffering from the cramps, and resting, I heard a familiar +halloo drift across the water. It was Charley, searching for me. The gag +in my mouth prevented me from replying, and I could only lie there, +helplessly fuming, while he rowed past the island and his voice slowly +lost itself in the distance. + +I returned to the sawing process, and at the end of half an hour +succeeded in severing the rope. The rest was easy. My hands once free, +it was a matter of minutes to loosen my legs and to take the gag out of +my mouth. I ran around the island to make sure it _was_ an island and +not by any chance a portion of the mainland. An island it certainly was, +one of the Marin group, fringed with a sandy beach and surrounded by a +sea of mud. Nothing remained but to wait till daylight and to keep warm; +for it was a cold, raw night for California, with just enough wind to +pierce the skin and cause one to shiver. + +To keep up the circulation, I ran around the island a dozen times or so, +and clambered across its rocky backbone as many times more--all of which +was of greater service to me, as I afterward discovered, than merely to +warm me up. In the midst of this exercise I wondered if I had lost +anything out of my pockets while rolling over and over in the sand. A +search showed the absence of my revolver and pocket-knife. The first +Yellow Handkerchief had taken; but the knife had been lost in the sand. + +I was hunting for it when the sound of rowlocks came to my ears. At +first, of course, I thought of Charley; but on second thought I knew +Charley would be calling out as he rowed along. A sudden premonition of +danger seized me. The Marin Islands are lonely places; chance visitors +in the dead of night are hardly to be expected. What if it were Yellow +Handkerchief? The sound made by the rowlocks grew more distinct. I +crouched in the sand and listened intently. The boat, which I judged a +small skiff from the quick stroke of the oars, was landing in the mud +about fifty yards up the beach. I heard a raspy, hacking cough, and my +heart stood still. It was Yellow Handkerchief. Not to be robbed of his +revenge by his more cautious companions, he had stolen away from the +village and come back alone. + +I did some swift thinking. I was unarmed and helpless on a tiny islet, +and a yellow barbarian, whom I had reason to fear, was coming after me. +Any place was safer than the island, and I turned instinctively to the +water, or rather to the mud. As he began to flounder ashore through the +mud, I started to flounder out into it, going over the same course which +the Chinese had taken in landing me and in returning to the junk. + +Yellow Handkerchief, believing me to be lying tightly bound, exercised +no care, but came ashore noisily. This helped me, for, under the shield +of his noise and making no more myself than necessary, I managed to +cover fifty feet by the time he had made the beach. Here I lay down in +the mud. It was cold and clammy, and made me shiver, but I did not care +to stand up and run the risk of being discovered by his sharp eyes. + +He walked down the beach straight to where he had left me lying, and I +had a fleeting feeling of regret at not being able to see his surprise +when he did not find me. But it was a very fleeting regret, for my teeth +were chattering with the cold. + +What his movements were after that I had largely to deduce from the +facts of the situation, for I could scarcely see him in the dim +starlight. But I was sure that the first thing he did was to make the +circuit of the beach to learn if landings had been made by other boats. +This he would have known at once by the tracks through the mud. + +Convinced that no boat had removed me from the island, he next started +to find out what had become of me. Beginning at the pile of clam-shells, +he lighted matches to trace my tracks in the sand. At such times I could +see his villainous face plainly, and, when the sulphur from the matches +irritated his lungs, between the raspy cough that followed and the +clammy mud in which I was lying, I confess I shivered harder than ever. + +The multiplicity of my footprints puzzled him. Then the idea that I +might be out in the mud must have struck him, for he waded out a few +yards in my direction, and, stooping, with his eyes searched the dim +surface long and carefully. He could not have been more than fifteen +feet from me, and had he lighted a match he would surely have discovered +me. + +He returned to the beach and clambered about over the rocky backbone, +again hunting for me with lighted matches. The closeness of the shave +impelled me to further flight. Not daring to wade upright, on account of +the noise made by floundering and by the suck of the mud, I remained +lying down in the mud and propelled myself over its surface by means of +my hands. Still keeping the trail made by the Chinese in going from and +to the junk, I held on until I reached the water. Into this I waded to a +depth of three feet, and then I turned off to the side on a line +parallel with the beach. + +The thought came to me of going toward Yellow Handkerchief's skiff and +escaping in it, but at that very moment he returned to the beach, and, +as though fearing the very thing I had in mind, he slushed out through +the mud to assure himself that the skiff was safe. This turned me in the +opposite direction. Half swimming, half wading, with my head just out of +water and avoiding splashing, I succeeded in putting about a hundred +feet between myself and the spot where the Chinese had begun to wade +ashore from the junk. I drew myself out on the mud and remained lying +flat. + +Again Yellow Handkerchief returned to the beach and made a search of +the island, and again he returned to the heap of clam-shells. I knew +what was running in his mind as well as he did himself. No one could +leave or land without making tracks in the mud. The only tracks to be +seen were those leading from his skiff and from where the junk had been. +I was not on the island. I must have left it by one or the other of +those two tracks. He had just been over the one to his skiff, and was +certain I had not left that way. Therefore I could have left the island +only by going over the tracks of the junk landing. This he proceeded to +verify by wading out over them himself, lighting matches as he came +along. + +When he arrived at the point where I had first lain, I knew, by the +matches he burned and the time he took, that he had discovered the marks +left by my body. These he followed straight to the water and into it, +but in three feet of water he could no longer see them. On the other +hand, as the tide was still falling, he could easily make out the +impression made by the junk's bow, and could have likewise made out the +impression of any other boat if it had landed at that particular spot. +But there was no such mark; and I knew that he was absolutely convinced +that I was hiding somewhere in the mud. + +But to hunt on a dark night for a boy in a sea of mud would be like +hunting for a needle in a haystack, and he did not attempt it. Instead +he went back to the beach and prowled around for some time. I was hoping +he would give me up and go, for by this time I was suffering severely +from the cold. At last he waded out to his skiff and rowed away. What if +this departure of Yellow Handkerchief's were a sham? What if he had done +it merely to entice me ashore? + +The more I thought of it the more certain I became that he had made a +little too much noise with his oars as he rowed away. So I remained, +lying in the mud and shivering. I shivered till the muscles of the small +of my back ached and pained me as badly as the cold, and I had need of +all my self-control to force myself to remain in my miserable situation. + +It was well that I did, however, for, possibly an hour later, I thought +I could make out something moving on the beach. I watched intently, but +my ears were rewarded first, by a raspy cough I knew only too well. +Yellow Handkerchief had sneaked back, landed on the other side of the +island, and crept around to surprise me if I had returned. + +After that, though hours passed without sign of him, I was afraid to +return to the island at all. On the other hand, I was almost equally +afraid that I should die of the exposure I was undergoing. I had never +dreamed one could suffer so. I grew so cold and numb, finally, that I +ceased to shiver. But my muscles and bones began to ache in a way that +was agony. The tide had long since begun to rise and, foot by foot, it +drove me in toward the beach. High water came at three o'clock, and at +three o'clock I drew myself up on the beach, more dead than alive, and +too helpless to have offered any resistance had Yellow Handkerchief +swooped down upon me. + +But no Yellow Handkerchief appeared. He had given me up and gone back to +Point Pedro. Nevertheless, I was in a deplorable, not to say a +dangerous, condition. I could not stand upon my feet, much less walk. My +clammy, muddy garments clung to me like sheets of ice. I thought I +should never get them off. So numb and lifeless were my fingers, and so +weak was I that it seemed to take an hour to get off my shoes. I had not +the strength to break the porpoise-hide laces, and the knots defied me. +I repeatedly beat my hands upon the rocks to get some sort of life into +them. Sometimes I felt sure I was going to die. + +But in the end,--after several centuries, it seemed to me,--I got off +the last of my clothes. The water was now close at hand, and I crawled +painfully into it and washed the mud from my naked body. Still, I could +not get on my feet and walk and I was afraid to lie still. Nothing +remained but to crawl weakly, like a snail, and at the cost of constant +pain, up and down the sand. I kept this up as long as possible, but as +the east paled with the coming of dawn I began to succumb. The sky grew +rosy-red, and the golden rim of the sun, showing above the horizon, +found me lying helpless and motionless among the clam-shells. + +As in a dream, I saw the familiar mainsail of the _Reindeer_ as she +slipped out of San Rafael Creek on a light puff of morning air. This +dream was very much broken. There are intervals I can never recollect on +looking back over it. Three things, however, I distinctly remember: the +first sight of the _Reindeer's_ mainsail; her lying at anchor a few +hundred feet away and a small boat leaving her side; and the cabin stove +roaring red-hot, myself swathed all over with blankets, except on the +chest and shoulders, which Charley was pounding and mauling +unmercifully, and my mouth and throat burning with the coffee which Neil +Partington was pouring down a trifle too hot. + +But burn or no burn, I tell you it felt good. By the time we arrived in +Oakland I was as limber and strong as ever,--though Charley and Neil +Partington were afraid I was going to have pneumonia, and Mrs. +Partington, for my first six months of school, kept an anxious eye upon +me to discover the first symptoms of consumption. + +Time flies. It seems but yesterday that I was a lad of sixteen on the +fish patrol. Yet I know that I arrived this very morning from China, +with a quick passage to my credit, and master of the barkentine +_Harvester_. And I know that to-morrow morning I shall run over to +Oakland to see Neil Partington and his wife and family, and later on up +to Benicia to see Charley Le Grant and talk over old times. No; I shall +not go to Benicia, now that I think about it. I expect to be a highly +interested party to a wedding, shortly to take place. Her name is Alice +Partington, and, since Charley has promised to be best man, he will have +to come down to Oakland instead. + +[Illustration] + + + + +MAKE WESTING + +_Whatever you do, make westing! make westing!_ +--Sailing directions for Cape Horn. + + +For seven weeks the _Mary Rogers_ had been between 50 deg. south in the +Atlantic and 50 deg. south in the Pacific, which meant that for seven weeks +she had been struggling to round Cape Horn. For seven weeks she had been +either in dirt, or close to dirt, save once, and then, following upon +six days of excessive dirt, which she had ridden out under the shelter +of the redoubtable Terra Del Fuego coast, she had almost gone ashore +during a heavy swell in the dead calm that had suddenly fallen. For +seven weeks she had wrestled with the Cape Horn gray-beards, and in +return been buffeted and smashed by them. She was a wooden ship, and her +ceaseless straining had opened her seams, so that twice a day the watch +took its turn at the pumps. + +The _Mary Rogers_ was strained, the crew was strained, and big Dan +Cullen, master, was likewise strained. Perhaps he was strained most of +all, for upon him rested the responsibility of that titanic struggle. He +slept most of the time in his clothes, though he rarely slept. He +haunted the deck at night, a great, burly, robust ghost, black with the +sunburn of thirty years of sea and hairy as an orang-utan. He, in turn, +was haunted by one thought of action, a sailing direction for the Horn: +_Whatever you do, make westing! make westing!_ It was an obsession. He +thought of nothing else, except, at times, to blaspheme God for sending +such bitter weather. + +_Make westing!_ He hugged the Horn, and a dozen times lay hove to with +the iron Cape bearing east-by-north, or north-north-east, a score of +miles away. And each time the eternal west wind smote him back and he +made easting. He fought gale after gale, south to 64 deg., inside the +antarctic drift-ice, and pledged his immortal soul to the Powers of +Darkness for a bit of westing, for a slant to take him around. And he +made easting. In despair, he had tried to make the passage through the +Straits of Le Maire. Halfway through, the wind hauled to the north 'ard +of northwest, the glass dropped to 28.88, and he turned and ran before a +gale of cyclonic fury, missing, by a hair's breadth, piling up the _Mary +Rogers_ on the black-toothed rocks. Twice he had made west to the Diego +Ramirez Rocks, one of the times saved between two snow-squalls by +sighting the gravestones of ships a quarter of a mile dead ahead. + +Blow! Captain Dan Cullen instanced all his thirty years at sea to prove +that never had it blown so before. The _Mary Rogers_ was hove to at the +time he gave the evidence, and, to clinch it, inside half an hour the +_Mary Rogers_ was hove down to the hatches. Her new main-topsail and +brand new spencer were blown away like tissue paper; and five sails, +furled and fast under double gaskets, were blown loose and stripped from +the yards. And before morning the _Mary Rogers_ was hove down twice +again, and holes were knocked in her bulwarks to ease her decks from +the weight of ocean that pressed her down. + +On an average of once a week Captain Dan Cullen caught glimpses of the +sun. Once, for ten minutes, the sun shone at midday, and ten minutes +afterward a new gale was piping up, both watches were shortening sail, +and all was buried in the obscurity of a driving snow-squall. For a +fortnight, once, Captain Dan Cullen was without a meridian or a +chronometer sight. Rarely did he know his position within half a degree, +except when in sight of land; for sun and stars remained hidden behind +the sky, and it was so gloomy that even at the best the horizons were +poor for accurate observations. A gray gloom shrouded the world. The +clouds were gray; the great driving seas were leaden gray gloom shrouded +the world. The clouds were gray; the great driving seas were leadening; +even the occasional albatrosses were gray, while the snow-flurries were +not white, but gray, under the sombre pall of the heavens. + +Life on board the _Mary Rogers_ was gray,--gray and gloomy. The faces of +the sailors were blue-gray; they were afflicted with sea-cuts and +sea-boils, and suffered exquisitely. They were shadows of men. For +seven weeks, in the forecastle or on deck, they had not known what it +was to be dry. They had forgotten what it was to sleep out a watch, and +all watches it was, "All hands on deck!" They caught snatches of +agonized sleep, and they slept in their oilskins ready for the +everlasting call. So weak and worn were they that it took both watches +to do the work of one. That was why both watches were on deck so much of +the time. And no shadow of a man could shirk duty. Nothing less than a +broken leg could enable a man to knock off work; and there were two +such, who had been mauled and pulped by the seas that broke aboard. + +One other man who was the shadow of a man was George Dorety. He was the +only passenger on board, a friend of the firm, and he had elected to +make the voyage for his health. But seven weeks of Cape Horn had not +bettered his health. He gasped and panted in his bunk through the long, +heaving nights; and when on deck he was so bundled up for warmth that he +resembled a peripatetic old-clothes shop. At midday, eating at the cabin +table in a gloom so deep that the swinging sea-lamps burned always, he +looked as blue-gray as the sickest, saddest man for'ard. Nor did gazing +across the table at Captain Dan Cullen have any cheering effect upon +him. Captain Cullen chewed and scowled and kept silent. The scowls were +for God, and with every chew he reiterated the sole thought of his +existence, which was _make westing._ He was a big, hairy brute, and the +sight of him was not stimulating to the other's appetite. He looked upon +George Dorety as a Jonah, and told him so, once each meal, savagely +transferring the scowl from God to the passenger and back again. + +Nor did the mate prove a first aid to a languid appetite. Joshua Higgins +by name, a seaman by profession and pull, but a pot-wolloper by +capacity, he was a loose-jointed, sniffling creature, heartless and +selfish and cowardly, without a soul, in fear of his life of Dan Cullen, +and a bully over the sailors, who knew that behind the mate was Captain +Cullen, the lawgiver and compeller, the driver and the destroyer, the +incarnation of a dozen bucko mates. In that wild weather at the southern +end of the earth, Joshua Higgins ceased washing. His grimy face usually +robbed George Dorety of what little appetite he managed to accumulate. +Ordinarily this lavatorial dereliction would have caught Captain +Cullen's eye and vocabulary, but in the present his mind was filled with +making westing, to the exclusion of all other things not contributory +thereto. Whether the mate's face was clean or dirty had no bearing upon +westing. Later on, when 50 deg. south in the Pacific had been reached, +Joshua Higgins would wash his face very abruptly. In the meantime, at +the cabin table, where gray twilight alternated with lamplight while the +lamps were being filled, George Dorety sat between the two men, one a +tiger and the other a hyena, and wondered why God had made them. The +second mate, Matthew Turner, was a true sailor and a man, but George +Dorety did not have the solace of his company, for he ate by himself, +solitary, when they had finished. + +On Saturday morning, July 24, George Dorety awoke to a feeling of life +and headlong movement. On deck he found the _Mary Rogers_ running off +before a howling southeaster. Nothing was set but the lower topsails and +the foresail. It was all she could stand, yet she was making fourteen +knots, as Mr. Turner shouted in Dorety's ear when he came on deck. And +it was all westing. She was going around the Horn at last ... if the +wind held. Mr. Turner looked happy. The end of the struggle was in +sight. But Captain Cullen did not look happy. He scowled at Dorety in +passing. Captain Cullen did not want God to know that he was pleased +with that wind. He had a conception of a malicious God, and believed in +his secret soul that if God knew it was a desirable wind, God would +promptly efface it and send a snorter from the west. So he walked softly +before God, smothering his joy down under scowls and muttered curses, +and, so, fooling God, for God was the only thing in the universe of +which Dan Cullen was afraid. + +All Saturday and Saturday night the _Mary Rogers_ raced her westing. +Persistently she logged her fourteen knots, so that by Sunday morning +she had covered three hundred and fifty miles. If the wind held, she +would make around. If it failed, and the snorter came from anywhere +between southwest and north, back the _Mary Rogers_ would be hurled and +be no better off than she had been seven weeks before. And on Sunday +morning the wind _was_ failing. The big sea was going down and running +smooth. Both watches were on deck setting sail after sail as fast as the +ship could stand it. And now Captain Cullen went around brazenly before +God, smoking a big cigar, smiling jubilantly, as if the failing wind +delighted him, while down underneath he was raging against God for +taking the life out of the blessed wind. _Make westing_! So he would, if +God would only leave him alone. Secretly, he pledged himself anew to the +Powers of Darkness, if they would let him make westing. He pledged +himself so easily because he did not believe in the Powers of Darkness. +He really believed only in God, though he did not know it. And in his +inverted theology God was really the Prince of Darkness. Captain Cullen +was a devil-worshipper, but he called the devil by another name, that +was all. + +At midday, after calling eight bells, Captain Cullen ordered the royals +on. The men went aloft faster than they had gone in weeks. Not alone +were they nimble because of the westing, but a benignant sun was shining +down and limbering their stiff bodies. George Dorety stood aft, near +Captain Cullen, less bundled in clothes than usual, soaking in the +grateful warmth as he watched the scene. Swiftly and abruptly the +incident occurred. There was a cry from the foreroyal-yard of "Man +overboard!" Somebody threw a life buoy over the side, and at the same +instant the second mate's voice came aft, ringing and peremptory:-- + +"Hard down your helm!" + +The man at the wheel never moved a spoke. He knew better, for Captain +Dan Cullen was standing alongside of him. He wanted to move a spoke, to +move all the spokes, to grind the wheel down, hard down, for his comrade +drowning in the sea. He glanced at Captain Dan Cullen, and Captain Dan +Cullen gave no sign. + +"Down! Hard down!" the second mate roared, as he sprang aft. + +But he ceased springing and commanding, and stood still, when he saw Dan +Cullen by the wheel. And big Dan Cullen puffed at his cigar and said +nothing. Astern, and going astern fast, could be seen the sailor. He had +caught the life buoy and was clinging to it. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. +The men aloft clung to the royal yards and watched with terror stricken +faces. And the _Mary Rogers_ raced on, making her westing. A long, +silent minute passed. + +"Who was it!" Captain Cullen demanded. + +"Mops, sir," eagerly answered the sailor at the wheel. + +Mops topped a wave astern and disappeared temporarily in the trough. It +was a large wave, but it was no graybeard. A small boat could live +easily in such a sea, and in such a sea the _Mary Rogers_ could easily +come to. But she could not come to and make westing at the same time. + +For the first time in all his years, George Dorety was seeing a real +drama of life and death--a sordid little drama in which the scales +balanced an unknown sailor named Mops against a few miles of longitude. +At first he had watched the man astern, but now he watched big Dan +Cullen, hairy and black, vested with power of life and death, smoking a +cigar. + +Captain Dan Cullen smoked another long, silent minute. Then he removed +the cigar from his mouth. He glanced aloft at the spars of the _Mary +Rogers_, and overside at the sea. + +"Sheet home the royals!" he cried. + +Fifteen minutes later they sat at table, in the cabin, with food served +before them. On one side of George Dorety sat Dan Cullen, the tiger, on +the other side, Joshua Higgins, the hyena. Nobody spoke. On deck the men +were sheeting home the skysails. George Dorety could hear their cries, +while a persistent vision haunted him of a man called Mops, alive and +well, clinging to a life buoy miles astern in that lonely ocean. He +glanced at Captain Cullen, and experienced a feeling of nausea, for the +man was eating his food with relish, almost bolting it. + +"Captain Cullen," Dorety said, "you are in command of this ship, and it +is not proper for me to comment now upon what you do. But I wish to say +one thing. There is a hereafter, and yours will be a hot one." + +Captain Cullen did not even scowl. In his voice was regret as he +said:--"It was blowing a living gale. It was impossible to save the +man." + +"He fell from the royal-yard," Dorety cried hotly. "You were setting the +royals at the time. Fifteen minutes afterward you were setting the +skysails." + +"It was a living gale, wasn't it, Mr. Higgins?" Captain Cullen said, +turning to the mate. + +"If you'd brought her to, it'd have taken the sticks out of her," was +the mate's answer. "You did the proper thing, Captain Cullen. The man +hadn't a ghost of a show." + +George Dorety made no answer, and to the meal's end no one spoke. After +that, Dorety had his meals served in his stateroom. Captain Cullen +scowled at him no longer, though no speech was exchanged between them, +while the _Mary Rogers_ sped north toward warmer latitudes. At the end +of the week, Dan Cullen cornered Dorety on deck. + +"What are you going to do when we get to Frisco?" he demanded bluntly. + +"I am going to swear out a warrant for your arrest," Dorety answered +quietly. "I am going to charge you with murder, and I am going to see +you hanged for it." + +"You're almighty sure of yourself," Captain Cullen sneered, turning on +his heel. + +A second week passed, and one morning found George Dorety standing in +the coach-house companionway at the for'ard end of the long poop, taking +his first gaze around the deck. The _Mary Rogers_ was reaching +full-and-by, in a stiff breeze. Every sail was set and drawing, +including the staysails. Captain Cullen strolled for'ard along the poop. +He strolled carelessly, glancing at the passenger out of the corner of +his eye. Dorety was looking the other way, standing with head and +shoulders outside the companionway, and only the back of his head was to +be seen. Captain Cullen, with swift eye, embraced the mainstaysail-block +and the head and estimated the distance. He glanced about him. Nobody +was looking. Aft, Joshua Higgins, pacing up and down, had just turned +his back and was going the other way. Captain Cullen bent over suddenly +and cast the staysail-sheet off from its pin. The heavy block hurtled +through the air, smashing Dorety's head like an egg-shell and hurtling +on and back and forth as the staysail whipped and slatted in the wind. +Joshua Higgins turned around to see what had carried away, and met the +full blast of the vilest portion of Captain Cullen's profanity. + +"I made the sheet fast myself," whimpered the mate in the first lull, +"with an extra turn to make sure. I remember it distinctly." + +"Made fast?" the captain snarled back, for the benefit of the watch as +it struggled to capture the flying sail before it tore to ribbons. "You +couldn't make your grandmother fast, you useless scullion. If you made +that sheet fast with an extra turn, why didn't it stay fast? That's what +I want to know. Why didn't it stay fast?" + +The mate whined inarticulately. + +"Oh, shut up!" was the final word of Captain Cullen. + +Half an hour later he was as surprised as any when the body of George +Dorety was found inside the companionway on the floor. In the afternoon, +alone in his room, he doctored up the log. + +"_Ordinary seaman, Karl Brun," he wrote, "lost overboard from +foreroyal-yard in a gale of wind. Was running at the time, and for the +safety of the ship did not dare come up to the wind. Nor could a boat +have lived in the sea that was running_." + +On another page, he wrote:-- + +"_Had often warned Mr. Dorety about the danger he ran because of his +carelessness on deck. I told him, once, that some day he would get his +head knocked off by a block. A carelessly fastened mainstaysail sheet +was the cause of the accident, which was deeply to be regretted because +Mr. Dorety was a favorite with all of us_." + +Captain Dan Cullen read over his literary effort with admiration, +blotted the page, and closed the log. He lighted a cigar and stared +before him. He felt the _Mary Rogers_ lift, and heel, and surge along, +and knew that she was making nine knots. A smile of satisfaction slowly +dawned on his black and hairy face. Well, anyway, he had made his +westing and fooled God. + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE HEATHEN + + +I met him first in a hurricane; and though we had gone through the +hurricane on the same schooner, it was not until the schooner had gone +to pieces under us that I first laid eyes on him. Without doubt I had +seen him with the rest of the kanaka crew on board, but I had not +consciously been aware of his existence, for the _Petite Jeanne_ was +rather overcrowded. In addition to her eight or ten kanaka seamen, her +white captain, mate, and supercargo, and her six cabin passengers, she +sailed from Rangiroa with something like eighty-five deck +passengers--Paumotans and Tahitians, men, women, and children each with +a trade box, to say nothing of sleeping-mats, blankets, and +clothes-bundles. + +The pearling season in the Paumotus was over, and all hands were +returning to Tahiti. The six of us cabin passengers were pearl-buyers. +Two were Americans, one was Ah Choon (the whitest Chinese I have ever +known), one was a German, one was a Polish Jew, and I completed the half +dozen. + +It had been a prosperous season. Not one of us had cause for complaint, +nor one of the eighty-five deck passengers either. All had done well, +and all were looking forward to a rest-off and a good time in Papeete. + +Of course, the _Petite Jeanne_ was overloaded. She was only seventy +tons, and she had no right to carry a tithe of the mob she had on board. +Beneath her hatches she was crammed and jammed with pearl-shell and +copra. Even the trade room was packed full of shell. It was a miracle +that the sailors could work her. There was no moving about the decks. +They simply climbed back and forth along the rails. + +In the night-time they walked upon the sleepers, who carpeted the deck, +I'll swear, two deep. Oh! and there were pigs and chickens on deck, and +sacks of yams, while every conceivable place was festooned with strings +of drinking cocoanuts and bunches of bananas. On both sides, between the +fore and main shrouds, guys had been stretched, just low enough for the +foreboom to swing clear; and from each of these guys at least fifty +bunches of bananas were suspended. + +It promised to be a messy passage, even if we did make it in the two or +three days that would have been required if the southeast trades had +been blowing fresh. But they weren't blowing fresh. After the first five +hours the trade died away in a dozen or so gasping fans. The calm +continued all that night and the next day--one of those glaring, glassy +calms, when the very thought of opening one's eyes to look at it is +sufficient to cause a headache. + +The second day a man died--an Easter Islander, one of the best divers +that season in the lagoon. Smallpox--that is what it was; though how +smallpox could come on board, when there had been no known cases ashore +when we left Rangiroa, is beyond me. There it was, though--smallpox, a +man dead, and three others down on their backs. + +There was nothing to be done. We could not segregate the sick, nor could +we care for them. We were packed like sardines. There was nothing to do +but rot or die--that is, there was nothing to do after the night that +followed the first death. On that night, the mate, the supercargo, the +Polish Jew, and four native divers sneaked away in the large whale-boat. +They were never heard of again. In the morning the captain promptly +scuttled the remaining boats, and there we were. + +That day there were two deaths; the following day three; then it jumped +to eight. It was curious to see how we took it. The natives, for +instance, fell into a condition of dumb, stolid fear. The +captain--Oudouse, his name was, a Frenchman--became very nervous and +voluble. He actually got the twitches. He was a large, fleshy man, +weighing at least two hundred pounds, and he quickly became a faithful +representation of a quivering jelly-mountain of fat. + +The German, the two Americans, and myself bought up all the Scotch +whiskey, and proceeded to stay drunk. The theory was beautiful--namely, +if we kept ourselves soaked in alcohol, every smallpox germ that came +into contact with us would immediately be scorched to a cinder. And the +theory worked, though I must confess that neither Captain Oudouse nor Ah +Choon were attacked by the disease either. The Frenchman did not drink +at all, while Ah Choon restricted himself to one drink daily. + +It was a pretty time. The sun, going into northern declination, was +straight overhead. There was no wind, except for frequent squalls, which +blew fiercely for from five minutes to half an hour, and wound up by +deluging us with rain. After each squall, the awful sun would come out, +drawing clouds of steam from the soaked decks. + +The steam was not nice. It was the vapor of death, freighted with +millions and millions of germs. We always took another drink when we saw +it going up from the dead and dying, and usually we took two or three +more drinks, mixing them exceptionally stiff. Also, we made it a rule to +take an additional several each time they hove the dead over to the +sharks that swarmed about us. + +We had a week of it, and then the whiskey gave out. It is just as well, +or I shouldn't be alive now. It took a sober man to pull through what +followed, as you will see when I mention the little fact that only two +men did pull through. The other man was the heathen--at least, that was +what I heard Captain Oudouse call him at the moment I first became +aware of the heathen's existence. But to come back. + +It was at the end of the week, with the whiskey gone, and the +pearl-buyers sober, that I happened to glance at the barometer that hung +in the cabin companionway. Its normal register in the Paumotus was +29.90, and it was quite customary to see it vacillate between 29.85 and +30.00, or even 30.05; but to see it as I saw it, down to 29.62, was +sufficient to sober the most drunken pearl-buyer that ever incinerated +smallpox microbes in Scotch whiskey. + +I called Captain Oudouse's attention to it, only to be informed that he +had watched it going down for several hours. There was little to do, but +that little he did very well, considering the circumstances. He took off +the light sails, shortened right down to storm canvas, spread +life-lines, and waited for the wind. His mistake lay in what he did +after the wind came. He hove to on the port tack, which was the right +thing to do south of the Equator, if--and there was the rub--_if_ one +were _not_ in the direct path of the hurricane. + +We were in the direct path. I could see that by the steady increase of +the wind and the equally steady fall of the barometer. I wanted him to +turn and run with the wind on the port quarter until the barometer +ceased falling, and then to heave to. We argued till he was reduced to +hysteria, but budge he would not. The worst of it was that I could not +get the rest of the pearl-buyers to back me up. Who was I, anyway, to +know more about the sea and its ways than a properly qualified captain? +was what was in their minds, I knew. + +Of course the sea rose with the wind frightfully; and I shall never +forget the first three seas the _Petite Jeanne_ shipped. She had fallen +off, as vessels do at times when hove to, and the first sea made a clean +breach. The life-lines were only for the strong and well, and little +good were they even for them when the women and children, the bananas +and cocoanuts, the pigs and trade boxes, the sick and the dying, were +swept along in a solid, screeching, groaning mass. + +The second sea filled the _Petite Jeanne's_ decks flush with the rails; +and, as her stern sank down and her bow tossed skyward, all the +miserable dunnage of life and luggage poured aft. It was a human +torrent. They came head-first, feet-first, sidewise, rolling over and +over, twisting, squirming, writhing, and crumpling up. Now and again one +caught a grip on a stanchion or a rope; but the weight of the bodies +behind tore such grips loose. + +One man I noticed fetch up, head on and square on, with the +starboard-bitt. His head cracked like an egg. I saw what was coming, +sprang on top of the cabin, and from there into the mainsail itself. Ah +Choon and one of the Americans tried to follow me, but I was one jump +ahead of them. The American was swept away and over the stern like a +piece of chaff. Ah Choon caught a spoke of the wheel, and swung in +behind it. But a strapping Raratonga vahine (woman)--she must have +weighed two hundred and fifty--brought up against him, and got an arm +around his neck. He clutched the kanaka steersman with his other hand; +and just at that moment the schooner flung down to starboard. + +The rush of bodies and sea that was coming along the port runway between +the cabin and the rail turned abruptly and poured to starboard. Away +they went--vahine, Ah Choon, and steersman: and I swear I saw Ah Choon +grin at me with philosophic resignation as he cleared the rail and went +under. + +The third sea--the biggest of the three--did not do so much damage. By +the time it arrived nearly everybody was in the rigging. On deck perhaps +a dozen gasping, half-drowned, and half-stunned wretches were rolling +about or attempting to crawl into safety. They went by the board, as did +the wreckage of the two remaining boats. The other pearl-buyers and +myself, between seas, managed to get about fifteen women and children +into the cabin, and battened down. Little good it did the poor creatures +in the end. + +Wind? Out of all my experience I could not have believed it possible for +the wind to blow as it did. There is no describing it. How can one +describe a nightmare? It was the same way with that wind. It tore the +clothes off our bodies. I say _tore them off_, and I mean it. I am not +asking you to believe it. I am merely telling something that I saw and +felt. There are times when I do not believe it myself. I went through +it, and that is enough. One could not face that wind and live. It was a +monstrous thing, and the most monstrous thing about it was that it +increased and continued to increase. + +Imagine countless millions and billions of tons of sand. Imagine this +sand tearing along at ninety, a hundred, a hundred and twenty, or any +other number of miles per hour. Imagine, further, this sand to be +invisible, impalpable, yet to retain all the weight and density of sand. +Do all this, and you may get a vague inkling of what that wind was like. + +Perhaps sand is not the right comparison. Consider it mud, invisible, +impalpable, but heavy as mud. Nay, it goes beyond that. Consider every +molecule of air to be a mud-bank in itself. Then try to imagine the +multitudinous impact of mud-banks. No; it is beyond me. Language may be +adequate to express the ordinary conditions of life, but it cannot +possibly express any of the conditions of so enormous a blast of wind. +It would have been better had I stuck by my original intention of not +attempting a description. + +I will say this much: The sea, which had risen at first, was beaten down +by that wind. More: it seemed as if the whole ocean had been sucked up +in the maw of the hurricane, and hurled on through that portion of +space which previously had been occupied by the air. + +Of course, our canvas had gone long before. But Captain Oudouse had on +the _Petite Jeanne_ something I had never before seen on a South Sea +schooner--a sea-anchor. It was a conical canvas bag, the mouth of which +was kept open by a huge hoop of iron. The sea-anchor was bridled +something like a kite, so that it bit into the water as a kite bites +into the air, but with a difference. The sea-anchor remained just under +the surface of the ocean in a perpendicular position. A long line, in +turn, connected it with the schooner. As a result, the _Petite Jeanne_ +rode bow on to the wind and to what sea there was. + +The situation really would have been favorable had we not been in the +path of the storm. True, the wind itself tore our canvas out of the +gaskets, jerked out our topmasts, and made a raffle of our running-gear, +but still we would have come through nicely had we not been square in +front of the advancing storm-centre. That was what fixed us. I was in a +state of stunned, numbed, paralyzed collapse from enduring the impact +of the wind, and I think I was just about ready to give up and die when +the centre smote us. The blow we received was an absolute lull. There +was not a breath of air. The effect on one was sickening. + +Remember that for hours we had been at terrific muscular tension, +withstanding the awful pressure of that wind. And then, suddenly, the +pressure was removed. I know that I felt as though I was about to +expand, to fly apart in all directions. It seemed as if every atom +composing my body was repelling every other atom and was on the verge of +rushing off irresistibly into space. But that lasted only for a moment. +Destruction was upon us. + +In the absence of the wind and pressure the sea rose. It jumped, it +leaped, it soared straight toward the clouds. Remember, from every point +of the compass that inconceivable wind was blowing in toward the centre +of calm. The result was that the seas sprang up from every point of the +compass. There was no wind to check them. They popped up like corks +released from the bottom of a pail of water. There was no system to +them, no stability. They were hollow, maniacal seas. They were eighty +feet high at the least. They were not seas at all. They resembled no sea +a man had ever seen. + +They were splashes, monstrous splashes--that is all. Splashes that were +eighty feet high. Eighty! They were more than eighty. They went over our +mastheads. They were spouts, explosions. They were drunken. They fell +anywhere, anyhow. They jostled one another; they collided. They rushed +together and collapsed upon one another, or fell apart like a thousand +waterfalls all at once. It was no ocean any man had ever dreamed of, +that hurricane centre. It was confusion thrice confounded. It was +anarchy. It was a hell-pit of sea-water gone mad. + +The _Petite Jeanne_? I don't know. The heathen told me afterward that he +did not know. She was literally torn apart, ripped wide open, beaten +into a pulp, smashed into kindling wood, annihilated. When I came to I +was in the water, swimming automatically, though I was about two-thirds +drowned. How I got there I had no recollection. I remembered seeing the +_Petite Jeanne_ fly to pieces at what must have been the instant that my +own consciousness was buffetted out of me. But there I was, with +nothing to do but make the best of it, and in that best there was little +promise. The wind was blowing again, the sea was much smaller and more +regular, and I knew that I had passed through the centre. Fortunately, +there were no sharks about. The hurricane had dissipated the ravenous +horde that had surrounded the death ship and fed off the dead. + +It was about midday when the _Petite Jeanne_ went to pieces, and it must +have been two hours afterward when I picked up with one of her +hatch-covers. Thick rain was driving at the time; and it was the merest +chance that flung me and the hatch-cover together. A short length of +line was trailing from the rope handle; and I knew that I was good for a +day, at least, if the sharks did not return. Three hours later, possibly +a little longer, sticking close to the cover, and, with closed eyes, +concentrating my whole soul upon the task of breathing in enough air to +keep me going and at the same time of avoiding breathing in enough water +to drown me, it seemed to me that I heard voices. The rain had ceased, +and wind and sea were easing marvellously. Not twenty feet away from me +on another hatch-cover, were Captain Oudouse and the heathen. They were +fighting over the possession of the cover--at least, the Frenchman was. + +"_Paien noir_!" I heard him scream, and at the same time I saw him kick +the kanaka. + +Now, Captain Oudouse had lost all his clothes, except his shoes, and +they were heavy brogans. It was a cruel blow, for it caught the heathen +on the mouth and the point of the chin, half stunning him. I looked for +him to retaliate, but he contented himself with swimming about forlornly +a safe ten feet away. Whenever a fling of the sea threw him closer, the +Frenchman, hanging on with his hands, kicked out at him with both feet. +Also, at the moment of delivering each kick, he called the kanaka a +black heathen. + +"For two centimes I'd come over there and drown you, you white beast!" I +yelled. + +The only reason I did not go was that I felt too tired. The very thought +of the effort to swim over was nauseating. So I called to the kanaka to +come to me, and proceeded to share the hatch-cover with him. Otoo, he +told me his name was (pronounced o-to-o); also, he told me that he was +a native of Bora Bora, the most westerly of the Society Group. As I +learned afterward, he had got the hatch-cover first, and, after some +time, encountering Captain Oudouse, had offered to share it with him, +and had been kicked off for his pains. + +And that was how Otoo and I first came together. He was no fighter. He +was all sweetness and gentleness, a love-creature, though he stood +nearly six feet tall and was muscled like a gladiator. He was no +fighter, but he was also no coward. He had the heart of a lion; and in +the years that followed I have seen him run risks that I would never +dream of taking. What I mean is that while he was no fighter, and while +he always avoided precipitating a row, he never ran away from trouble +when it started. And it was "'Ware shoal!" when once Otoo went into +action. I shall never forget what he did to Bill King. It occurred in +German Samoa. Bill King was hailed the champion heavyweight of the +American Navy. He was a big brute of a man, a veritable gorilla, one of +those hard-hitting, rough-housing chaps, and clever with his fists as +well. He picked the quarrel, and he kicked Otoo twice and struck him +once before Otoo felt it to be necessary to fight. I don't think it +lasted four minutes, at the end of which time Bill King was the unhappy +possessor of four broken ribs, a broken forearm, and a dislocated +shoulder-blade. Otoo knew nothing of scientific boxing. He was merely a +manhandler; and Bill King was something like three months in recovering +from the bit of manhandling he received that afternoon on Apia beach. + +But I am running ahead of my yarn. We shared the hatch-cover between us. +We took turn and turn about, one lying flat on the cover and resting, +while the other, submerged to the neck, merely held on with his hands. +For two days and nights, spell and spell, on the cover and in the water, +we drifted over the ocean. Toward the last I was delirious most of the +time; and there were times, too, when I heard Otoo babbling and raving +in his native tongue. Our continuous immersion prevented us from dying +of thirst, though the sea-water and the sunshine gave us the prettiest +imaginable combination of salt pickle and sunburn. + +In the end, Otoo saved my life; for I came to lying on the beach twenty +feet from the water, sheltered from the sun by a couple of cocoanut +leaves. No one but Otoo could have dragged me there and stuck up the +leaves for shade. He was lying beside me. I went off again; and the next +time I came round, it was cool and starry night, and Otoo was pressing a +drinking cocoanut to my lips. + +We were the sole survivors of the _Petite Jeanne._ Captain Oudouse must +have succumbed to exhaustion, for several days later his hatch-cover +drifted ashore without him. Otoo and I lived with the natives of the +atoll for a week, when we were rescued by a French cruiser and taken to +Tahiti. In the meantime, however, we had performed the ceremony of +exchanging names. In the South Seas such a ceremony binds two men closer +together than blood-brothership. The initiative had been mine; and Otoo +was rapturously delighted when I suggested it. + +"It is well," he said, in Tahitian. "For we have been mates together for +two days on the lips of Death." + +"But Death stuttered." I smiled. + +"It was a brave deed you did, master," he replied, "and Death was not +vile enough to speak." + +"Why do you 'master' me?" I demanded, with a show of hurt feelings. "We +have exchanged names. To you I am Otoo. To me you are Charley. And +between you and me, forever and forever, you shall be Charley, and I +shall be Otoo. It is the way of the custom. And when we die, if it does +happen that we live again somewhere beyond the stars and the sky, still +shall you be Charley to me, and I Otoo to you." + +"Yes, master," he answered, his eyes luminous and soft with joy. + +"There you go!" I cried indignantly. + +"What does it matter what my lips utter?" he argued. "They are only my +lips. But I shall think Otoo always. Whenever I think of myself, I shall +think of you. Whenever men call me by name, I shall think of you. And +beyond the sky and beyond the stars, always and forever, you shall be +Otoo to me. Is it well, master?" + +I hid my smile, and answered that it was well. + +We parted at Papeete. I remained ashore to recuperate; and he went on +in a cutter to his own island, Bora Bora. Six weeks later he was back. I +was surprised, for he had told me of his wife, and said that he was +returning to her, and would give over sailing on far voyages. + +"Where do you go, master?" he asked after our first greetings. + +I shrugged my shoulders. It was a hard question. + +"All the world," was my answer--"all the world, all the sea, and all the +islands that are in the sea." + +"I will go with you," he said simply. "My wife is dead." + +I never had a brother; but from what I have seen of other men's +brothers, I doubt if any man ever had a brother that was to him what +Otoo was to me. He was brother and father and mother as well. And this I +know: I lived a straighter and better man because of Otoo. I cared +little for other men, but I had to live straight in Otoo's eyes. Because +of him I dared not tarnish myself. He made me his ideal, compounding me, +I fear, chiefly out of his own love and worship; and there were times +when I stood close to the steep pitch of Hades, and would have taken +the plunge had not the thought of Otoo restrained me. His pride in me +entered into me, until it became one of the major rules in my personal +code to do nothing that would diminish that pride of his. + +Naturally, I did not learn right away what his feelings were toward me. +He never criticised, never censured; and slowly the exalted place I held +in his eyes dawned upon me, and slowly I grew to comprehend the hurt I +could inflict upon him by being anything less than my best. + +For seventeen years we were together; for seventeen years he was at my +shoulder, watching while I slept, nursing me through fever and +wounds--ay, and receiving wounds in fighting for me. He signed on the +same ships with me; and together we ranged the Pacific from Hawaii to +Sydney Head, and from Torres Straits to the Galapagos. We blackbirded +from the New Hebrides and the Line Islands over to the westward clear +through the Louisades, New Britain, New Ireland, and New Hanover. We +were wrecked three times--in the Gilberts, in the Santa Cruz group, and +in the Fijis. And we traded and salved wherever a dollar promised in +the way of pearl and pearl-shell, copra, beche-de-mer, hawkbill +turtle-shell, and stranded wrecks. + +It began in Papeete, immediately after his announcement that he was +going with me over all the sea, and the islands in the midst thereof. +There was a club in those days in Papeete, where the pearlers, traders, +captains, and riffraff of South Sea adventurers foregathered. The play +ran high, and the drink ran high; and I am very much afraid that I kept +later hours than were becoming or proper. No matter what the hour was +when I left the club, there was Otoo waiting to see me safely home. + +At first I smiled; next I chided him. Then I told him flatly that I +stood in need of no wet-nursing. After that I did not see him when I +came out of the club. Quite by accident, a week or so later, I +discovered that he still saw me home, lurking across the street among +the shadows of the mango-trees. What could I do? I know what I did do. + +Insensibly I began to keep better hours. On wet and stormy nights, in +the thick of the folly and the fun, the thought would persist in coming +to me of Otoo keeping his dreary vigil under the dripping mangoes. +Truly, he had made a better man of me. Yet he was not strait-laced. And +he knew nothing of common Christian morality. All the people on Bora +Bora were Christians; but he was a heathen, the only unbeliever on the +island, a gross materialist, who believed that when he died he was dead. +He believed merely in fair play and square dealing. Petty meanness, in +his code, was almost as serious as wanton homicide; and I do believe +that he respected a murderer more than a man given to small practices. + +Otoo had my welfare always at heart. He thought ahead for me, weighed my +plans, and took a greater interest in them than I did myself. At first, +when I was unaware of this interest of his in my affairs, he had to +divine my intentions, as, for instance, at Papeete, when I contemplated +going partners with a knavish fellow-countryman on a guano venture. I +did not know he was a knave. Nor did any white man in Papeete. Neither +did Otoo know, but he saw how thick we were getting, and found out for +me, and without my asking him. Native sailors from the ends of the seas +knock about on the beach in Tahiti; and Otoo, suspicious merely, went +among them till he had gathered sufficient data to justify his +suspicions. Oh, it was a nice history, that of Randolph Waters. I +couldn't believe it when Otoo first narrated it; but when I sheeted it +home to Waters he gave in without a murmur, and got away on the first +steamer to Aukland. + +At first, I am free to confess, I couldn't help resenting Otoo's poking +his nose into my business. But I knew that he was wholly unselfish; and +soon I had to acknowledge his wisdom and discretion. He had his eyes +open always to my main chance, and he was both keen-sighted and +far-sighted. In time he became my counsellor, until he knew more of my +business than I did myself. He really had my interest at heart more than +I did. Mine was the magnificent carelessness of youth, for I preferred +romance to dollars, and adventure to a comfortable billet with all night +in. So it was well that I had some one to look out for me. I know that +if it had not been for Otoo, I should not be here to-day. + +Of numerous instances, let me give one. I had had some experience in +blackbirding before I went pearling in the Paumotus. Otoo and I were in +Samoa--we really were on the beach and hard aground--when my chance came +to go as recruiter on a blackbird brig. Otoo signed on before the mast; +and for the next half-dozen years, in as many ships, we knocked about +the wildest portions of Melanesia. Otoo saw to it that he always pulled +stroke-oar in my boat. Our custom in recruiting labor was to land the +recruiter on the beach. The covering boat always lay on its oars several +hundred feet off shore, while the recruiter's boat, also lying on its +oars, kept afloat on the edge of the beach. When I landed with my +trade-goods, leaving my steering sweep apeak, Otoo left his stroke +position and came into the stern-sheets, where a Winchester lay ready to +hand under a flap of canvas. The boat's crew was also armed, the Sniders +concealed under canvas flaps that ran the length of the gunwales. While +I was busy arguing and persuading the woolly-headed cannibals to come +and labor on the Queensland plantations Otoo kept watch. And often and +often his low voice warned me of suspicious actions and impending +treachery. Sometimes it was the quick shot from his rifle, knocking a +savage over, that was the first warning I received. And in my rush to +the boat his hand was always there to jerk me flying aboard. Once, I +remember, on _Santa Anna_, the boat grounded just as the trouble began. +The covering boat was dashing to our assistance, but the several score +of savages would have wiped us out before it arrived. Otoo took a flying +leap ashore, dug both hands into the trade-goods, and scattered tobacco, +beads, tomahawks, knives, and calicoes in all directions. + +This was too much for the woolly-heads. While they scrambled for the +treasures, the boat was shoved clear, and we were aboard and forty feet +away. And I got thirty recruits off that very beach in the next four +hours. + +The particular instance I have in mind was on Malaita, the most savage +island in the easterly Solomons. The natives had been remarkably +friendly; and how were we to know that the whole village had been taking +up a collection for over two years with which to buy a white man's head? +The beggars are all head-hunters, and they especially esteem a white +man's head. The fellow who captured the head would receive the whole +collection. As I say, they appeared very friendly; and on this day I +was fully a hundred yards down the beach from the boat. Otoo had +cautioned me; and, as usual when I did not heed him, I came to grief. + +The first I knew, a cloud of spears sailed out of the mangrove swamp at +me. At least a dozen were sticking into me. I started to run, but +tripped over one that was fast in my calf, and went down. The +woolly-heads made a run for me, each with a long-handled, fantail +tomahawk with which to hack off my head. They were so eager for the +prize that they got in one another's way. In the confusion, I avoided +several hacks by throwing myself right and left on the sand. + +Then Otoo arrived--Otoo the manhandler. In some way he had got hold of a +heavy war club, and at close quarters it was a far more efficient weapon +than a rifle. He was right in the thick of them, so that they could not +spear him, while their tomahawks seemed worse than useless. He was +fighting for me, and he was in a true Berserker rage. The way he handled +that club was amazing. Their skulls squashed like overripe oranges. It +was not until he had driven them back, picked me up in his arms, and +started to run, that he received his first wounds. He arrived in the +boat with four spear thrusts, got his Winchester, and with it got a man +for every shot. Then we pulled aboard the schooner and doctored up. + +Seventeen years we were together. He made me. I should to-day be a +supercargo, a recruiter, or a memory, if it had not been for him. + +"You spend your money, and you go out and get more," he said one day. +"It is easy to get money now. But when you get old, your money will be +spent, and you will not be able to go out and get more. I know, master. +I have studied the way of white men. On the beaches are many old men who +were young once, and who could get money just like you. Now they are +old, and they have nothing, and they wait about for the young men like +you to come ashore and buy drinks for them. + +"The black boy is a slave on the plantations. He gets twenty dollars a +year. He works hard. The overseer does not work hard. He rides a horse +and watches the black boy work. He gets twelve hundred dollars a year. I +am a sailor on the schooner. I get fifteen dollars a month. That is +because I am a good sailor. I work hard. The captain has a double +awning, and drinks beer out of long bottles. I have never seen him haul +a rope or pull an oar. He gets one hundred and fifty dollars a month. I +am a sailor. He is a navigator. Master, I think it would be very good +for you to know navigation." + +Otoo spurred me on to it. He sailed with me as second mate on my first +schooner, and he was far prouder of my command than I was myself. Later +on it was: + +"The captain is well paid, master; but the ship is in his keeping, and +he is never free from the burden. It is the owner who is better +paid--the owner who sits ashore with many servants and turns his money +over." + +"True, but a schooner costs five thousand dollars--an old schooner at +that," I objected. "I should be an old man before I saved five thousand +dollars." + +"There be short ways for white men to make money," he went on, pointing +ashore at the cocoanut-fringed beach. + +We were in the Solomons at the time, picking up a cargo of ivory-nuts +along the east coast of Guadalcanar. + +"Between this river mouth and the next it is two miles," he said. "The +flat land runs far back. It is worth nothing now. Next year--who +knows?--or the year after, men will pay much money for that land. The +anchorage is good. Big steamers can lie close up. You can buy the land +four miles deep from the old chief for ten thousand sticks of tobacco, +ten bottles of square-face, and a Snider, which will cost you, maybe, +one hundred dollars. Then you place the deed with the commissioner; and +the next year, or the year after, you sell and become the owner of a +ship." + +I followed his lead, and his words came true, though in three years, +instead of two. Next came the grasslands deal on Guadalcanar--twenty +thousand acres, on a governmental nine hundred and ninety-nine years' +lease at a nominal sum. I owned the lease for precisely ninety days, +when I sold it to a company for half a fortune. Always it was Otoo who +looked ahead and saw the opportunity. He was responsible for the salving +of the _Doncaster_--bought in at auction for a hundred pounds, and +clearing three thousand after every expense was paid. He led me into the +Savaii plantation and the cocoa venture on Upolu. + +We did not go seafaring so much as in the old days. I was too well off. +I married, and my standard of living rose; but Otoo remained the same +old-time Otoo, moving about the house or trailing through the office, +his wooden pipe in his mouth, a shilling undershirt on his back, and a +four-shilling lava-lava about his loins. I could not get him to spend +money. There was no way of repaying him except with love, and God knows +he got that in full measure from all of us. The children worshipped him; +and if he had been spoilable, my wife would surely have been his +undoing. + +The children! He really was the one who showed them the way of their +feet in the world practical. He began by teaching them to walk. He sat +up with them when they were sick. One by one, when they were scarcely +toddlers, he took them down to the lagoon, and made them into +amphibians. He taught them more than I ever knew of the habits of fish +and the ways of catching them. In the bush it was the same thing. At +seven, Tom knew more woodcraft than I ever dreamed existed. At six, Mary +went over the Sliding Rock without a quiver, and I have seen strong men +balk at that feat. And when Frank had just turned six he could bring up +shillings from the bottom in three fathoms. + +"My people in Bora Bora do not like heathen--they are all Christians; +and I do not like Bora Bora Christians," he said one day, when I, with +the idea of getting him to spend some of the money that was rightfully +his, had been trying to persuade him to make a visit to his own island +in one of our schooners--a special voyage which I had hoped to make a +record breaker in the matter of prodigal expense. + +I say one of _our_ schooners, though legally at the time they belonged +to me. I struggled long with him to enter into partnership. + +"We have been partners from the day the _Petite Jeanne_ went down," he +said at last. "But if your heart so wishes, then shall we become +partners by the law. I have no work to do, yet are my expenses large. I +drink and eat and smoke in plenty--it costs much, I know. I do not pay +for the playing of billiards, for I play on your table; but still the +money goes. Fishing on the reef is only a rich man's pleasure. It is +shocking, the cost of hooks and cotton line. Yes; it is necessary that +we be partners by the law. I need the money. I shall get it from the +head clerk in the office." + +So the papers were made out and recorded. A year later I was compelled +to complain. + +"Charley," said I, "you are a wicked old fraud, a miserly skinflint, a +miserable land-crab. Behold, your share for the year in all our +partnership has been thousands of dollars. The head clerk has given me +this paper. It says that in the year you have drawn just eighty-seven +dollars and twenty cents." + +"Is there any owing me?" he asked anxiously. + +"I tell you thousands and thousands," I answered. + +His face brightened, as with an immense relief. + +"It is well," he said. "See that the head clerk keeps good account of +it. When I want it, I shall want it, and there must not be a cent +missing. + +"If there is," he added fiercely, after a pause, "it must come out of +the clerk's wages." + +And all the time, as I afterward learned, his will, drawn up by +Carruthers, and making me sole beneficiary, lay in the American consul's +safe. + +But the end came, as the end must come to all human associations. It +occurred in the Solomons, where our wildest work had been done in the +wild young days, and where we were once more--principally on a holiday, +incidentally to look after our holdings on Florida Island and to look +over the pearling possibilities of the Mboli Pass. We were lying at +Savo, having run in to trade for curios. + +Now, Savo is alive with sharks. The custom of the woolly-heads of +burying their dead in the sea did not tend to discourage the sharks from +making the adjacent waters a hang-out. It was my luck to be coming +aboard in a tiny, overloaded, native canoe, when the thing capsized. +There were four woolly-heads and myself in it, or, rather, hanging to +it. The schooner was a hundred yards away. I was just hailing for a boat +when one of the woolly-heads began to scream. Holding on to the end of +the canoe, both he and that portion of the canoe were dragged under +several times. Then he loosed his clutch and disappeared. A shark had +got him. + +The three remaining savages tried to climb out of the water upon the +bottom of the canoe. I yelled and struck at the nearest with my fist, +but it was no use. They were in a blind funk. The canoe could barely +have supported one of them. Under the three it upended and rolled +sidewise, throwing them back into the water. + +I abandoned the canoe and started to swim toward the schooner, expecting +to be picked up by the boat before I got there. One of the savages +elected to come with me, and we swam along silently, side by side, now +and again putting our faces into the water and peering about for sharks. +The screams of the man who stayed by the canoe informed us that he was +taken. I was peering into the water when I saw a big shark pass directly +beneath me. He was fully sixteen feet in length. I saw the whole thing. +He got the woolly-head by the middle, and away he went, the poor devil, +head, shoulders, and arms out of water all the time, screeching in a +heartrending way. He was carried along in this fashion for several +hundred feet, when he was dragged beneath the surface. + +I swam doggedly on, hoping that that was the last unattached shark. But +there was another. Whether it was the one that had attacked the natives +earlier, or whether it was one that had made a good meal elsewhere, I do +not know. At any rate, he was not in such haste as the others. I could +not swim so rapidly now, for a large part of my effort was devoted to +keeping track of him. I was watching him when he made his first attack. +By good luck I got both hands on his nose, and, though his momentum +nearly shoved me under, I managed to keep him off. He veered clear, and +began circling about again. A second time I escaped him by the same +maneuver. The third rush was a miss on both sides. He sheered at the +moment my hands should have landed on his nose, but his sandpaper hide +(I had on a sleeveless undershirt) scraped the skin off one arm from +elbow to shoulder. + +By this time I was played out, and gave up hope. The schooner was still +two hundred feet away. My face was in the water, and I was watching him +maneuver for another attempt, when I saw a brown body pass between us. +It was Otoo. + +"Swim for the schooner, master!" he said. And he spoke gayly, as though +the affair was a mere lark. "I know sharks. The shark is my brother." + +I obeyed, swimming slowly on, while Otoo swam about me, keeping always +between me and the shark, foiling his rushes and encouraging me. + +"The davit tackle carried away, and they are rigging the falls," he +explained, a minute or so later, and then went under to head off another +attack. + +By the time the schooner was thirty feet away I was about done for. I +could scarcely move. They were heaving lines at us from on board, but +they continually fell short. The shark, finding that it was receiving no +hurt, had become bolder. Several times it nearly got me, but each time +Otoo was there just the moment before it was too late. Of course, Otoo +could have saved himself any time. But he stuck by me. + +"Good-bye, Charley! I'm finished!" I just managed to gasp. + +I knew that the end had come, and that the next moment I should throw +up my hands and go down. + +But Otoo laughed in my face, saying: + +"I will show you a new trick. I will make that shark feel sick!" + +He dropped in behind me, where the shark was preparing to come at me. + +"A little more to the left!" he next called out. "There is a line there +on the water. To the left, master--to the left!" + +I changed my course and struck out blindly. I was by that time barely +conscious. As my hand closed on the line I heard an exclamation from on +board. I turned and looked. There was no sign of Otoo. The next instant +he broke surface. Both hands were off at the wrist, the stumps spouting +blood. + +"Otoo!" he called softly. And I could see in his gaze the love that +thrilled in his voice. + +Then, and then only, at the very last of all our years, he called me by +that name. + +"Good-by, Otoo!" he called. + +Then he was dragged under, and I was hauled aboard, where I fainted in +the captain's arms. + +And so passed Otoo, who saved me and made me a man, and who saved me in +the end. We met in the maw of a hurricane, and parted in the maw of a +shark, with seventeen intervening years of comradeship, the like of +which I dare to assert has never befallen two men, the one brown and the +other white. If Jehovah be from His high place watching every sparrow +fall, not least in His kingdom shall be Otoo, the one heathen of Bora +Bora. + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE HOBO AND THE FAIRY + + +He lay on his back. So heavy was his sleep that the stamp of hoofs and +cries of the drivers from the bridge that crossed the creek did not +rouse him. Wagon after wagon, loaded high with grapes, passed the bridge +on the way up the valley to the winery, and the coming of each wagon was +like the explosion of sound and commotion in the lazy quiet of the +afternoon. + +But the man was undisturbed. His head had slipped from the folded +newspaper, and the straggling, unkempt hair was matted with the foxtails +and burrs of the dry grass on which it lay. He was not a pretty sight. +His mouth was open, disclosing a gap in the upper row where several +teeth at some time had been knocked out. He breathed stertorously, at +times grunting and moaning with the pain of his sleep. Also, he was very +restless, tossing his arms about, making jerky, half-convulsive +movements, and at times rolling his head from side to side in the burrs. +This restlessness seemed occasioned partly by some internal discomfort, +and partly by the sun that streamed down on his face and by the flies +that buzzed and lighted and crawled upon the nose and cheeks and +eyelids. There was no other place for them to crawl, for the rest of the +face was covered with matted beard, slightly grizzled, but greatly +dirt-stained and weather-discolored. + +The cheek-bones were blotched with the blood congested by the debauch +that was evidently being slept off. This, too, accounted for the +persistence with which the flies clustered around the mouth, lured by +the alcohol-laden exhalations. He was a powerfully built man, +thick-necked, broad-shouldered, with sinewy wrists and toil-distorted +hands. Yet the distortion was not due to recent toil, nor were the +callouses other than ancient that showed under the dirt of the one palm +upturned. From time to time this hand clenched tightly and +spasmodically into a fist, large, heavy-boned and wicked-looking. + +The man lay in the dry grass of a tiny glade that ran down to the +tree-fringed bank of the stream. On either side of the glade was a +fence, of the old stake-and-rider type, though little of it was to be +seen, so thickly was it overgrown by wild blackberry bushes, scrubby +oaks and young madrono trees. In the rear, a gate through a low paling +fence led to a snug, squat bungalow, built in the California Spanish +style and seeming to have been compounded directly from the landscape of +which it was so justly a part. Neat and trim and modestly sweet was the +bungalow, redolent of comfort and repose, telling with quiet certitude +of some one that knew, and that had sought and found. + +Through the gate and into the glade came as dainty a little maiden as +ever stepped out of an illustration made especially to show how dainty +little maidens may be. Eight years she might have been, and, possibly, a +trifle more, or less. Her little waist and little black-stockinged +calves showed how delicately fragile she was; but the fragility was of +mould only. There was no hint of anemia in the clear, healthy +complexion nor in the quick, tripping step. She was a little, delicious +blond, with hair spun of gossamer gold and wide blue eyes that were but +slightly veiled by the long lashes. Her expression was of sweetness and +happiness; it belonged by right to any face that sheltered in the +bungalow. + +She carried a child's parasol, which she was careful not to tear against +the scrubby branches and bramble bushes as she sought for wild poppies +along the edge of the fence. They were late poppies, a third generation, +which had been unable to resist the call of the warm October sun. + +Having gathered along one fence, she turned to cross to the opposite +fence. Midway in the glade she came upon the tramp. Her startle was +merely a startle. There was no fear in it. She stood and looked long and +curiously at the forbidding spectacle, and was about to turn back when +the sleeper moved restlessly and rolled his hand among the burrs. She +noted the sun on his face, and the buzzing flies; her face grew +solicitous, and for a moment she debated with herself. Then she tiptoed +to his side, interposed the parasol between him and the sun, and +brushed away the flies. After a time, for greater ease, she sat down +beside him. + +An hour passed, during which she occasionally shifted the parasol from +one tired hand to the other. At first the sleeper had been restless, +but, shielded from the flies and the sun, his breathing became gentler +and his movements ceased. Several times, however, he really frightened +her. The first was the worst, coming abruptly and without warning. +"Christ! How deep! How deep!" the man murmured from some profound of +dream. The parasol was agitated; but the little girl controlled herself +and continued her self-appointed ministrations. + +Another time it was a gritting of teeth, as of some intolerable agony. +So terribly did the teeth crunch and grind together that it seemed they +must crush into fragments. A little later he suddenly stiffened out. The +hands clenched and the face set with the savage resolution of the dream. +The eyelids trembled from the shock of the fantasy, seemed about to +open, but did not. Instead, the lips muttered: + +"No; no! And once more no. I won't peach." The lips paused, then went +on. "You might as well tie me up, warden, and cut me to pieces. That's +all you can get outa me--blood. That's all any of you-uns has ever got +outa me in this hole." + +After this outburst the man slept gently on, while the little girl still +held the parasol aloft and looked down with a great wonder at the +frowsy, unkempt creature, trying to reconcile it with the little part of +life that she knew. To her ears came the cries of men, the stamp of +hoofs on the bridge, and the creak and groan of wagons heavy laden. It +was a breathless California Indian summer day. Light fleeces of cloud +drifted in the azure sky, but to the west heavy cloud banks threatened +with rain. A bee droned lazily by. From farther thickets came the calls +of quail, and from the fields the songs of meadow larks. And oblivious +to it all slept Ross Shanklin--Ross Shanklin, the tramp and outcast, +ex-convict 4379, the bitter and unbreakable one who had defied all +keepers and survived all brutalities. + +Texas-born, of the old pioneer stock that was always tough and stubborn, +he had been unfortunate. At seventeen years of age he had been +apprehended for horse stealing. Also, he had been convicted of stealing +seven horses which he had not stolen, and he had been sentenced to +fourteen years' imprisonment. This was severe under any circumstances, +but with him it had been especially severe, because there had been no +prior convictions against him. The sentiment of the people who believed +him guilty had been that two years was adequate punishment for the +youth, but the county attorney, paid according to the convictions he +secured, had made seven charges against him and earned seven fees. Which +goes to show that the county attorney valued twelve years of Ross +Shanklin's life at less than a few dollars. + +Young Ross Shanklin had toiled terribly in jail; he had escaped, more +than once; and he had been caught and sent back to toil in other and +various jails. He had been triced up and lashed till he fainted had been +revived and lashed again. He had been in the dungeon ninety days at a +time. He had experienced the torment of the straightjacket. He knew what +the humming bird was. He had been farmed out as a chattel by the state +to the contractors. He had been trailed through swamps by bloodhounds. +Twice he had been shot. For six years on end he had cut a cord and a +half of wood each day in a convict lumber camp. Sick or well, he had cut +that cord and a half or paid for it under a whip-lash knotted and +pickled. + +And Ross Shanklin had not sweetened under the treatment. He had sneered, +and raved, and defied. He had seen convicts, after the guards had +manhandled them, crippled in body for life, or left to maunder in mind +to the end of their days. He had seen convicts, even his own cell mate, +goaded to murder by their keepers, go to the gallows reviling God. He +had been in a break in which eleven of his kind were shot down. He had +been through a mutiny, where, in the prison yard, with gatling guns +trained upon them, three hundred convicts had been disciplined with pick +handles wielded by brawny guards. + +He had known every infamy of human cruelty, and through it all he had +never been broken. He had resented and fought to the last, until, +embittered and bestial, the day came when he was discharged. Five +dollars were given him in payment for the years of his labor and the +flower of his manhood. And he had worked little in the years that +followed. Work he hated and despised. He tramped, begged and stole, +lied or threatened as the case might warrant, and drank to besottedness +whenever he got the chance. + +The little girl was looking at him when he awoke. Like a wild animal, +all of him was awake the instant he opened his eyes. The first he saw +was the parasol, strangely obtruded between him and the sky. He did not +start nor move, though his whole body seemed slightly to tense. His eyes +followed down the parasol handle to the tight-clutched little fingers, +and along the arm to the child's face. Straight and unblinking he looked +into her eyes, and she, returning the look, was chilled and frightened +by his glittering eyes, cold and harsh, withal bloodshot, and with no +hint in them of the warm humanness she had been accustomed to see and +feel in human eyes. They were the true prison eyes--the eyes of a man +who had learned to talk little, who had forgotten almost how to talk. + +"Hello," he said finally, making no effort to change his position. "What +game are you up to!" + +His voice was gruff and husky, and at first it had been harsh; but it +had softened queerly in a feeble attempt at forgotten kindliness. + +"How do you do?" she said. "I'm not playing. The sun was on your face, +and mamma says one oughtn't to sleep in the sun." + +The sweet clearness of her child's voice was pleasant to him, and he +wondered why he had never noticed it in children's voices before. He sat +up slowly and stared at her. He felt that he ought to say something, but +speech with him was a reluctant thing. + +"I hope you slept well," she said gravely. + +"I sure did," he answered, never taking his eyes from her, amazed at the +fairness and delicacy of her. "How long was you holdin' that contraption +up over me?" + +"O-oh," she debated with herself, "a long, long time. I thought you +would never wake up." + +"And I thought you was a fairy when I first seen you." + +He felt elated at his contribution to the conversation. + +"No, not a fairy," she smiled. + +He thrilled in a strange, numb way at the immaculate whiteness of her +small even teeth. + +"I was just the good Samaritan," she added. + +"I reckon I never heard of that party." + +He was cudgelling his brains to keep the conversation going. Never +having been at close quarters with a child since he was man-grown, he +found it difficult. + +"What a funny man not to know about the good Samaritan. Don't you +remember? A certain man went down to Jericho----" + +"I reckon I've been there," he interrupted. + +"I knew you were a traveler!" she cried, clapping her hands. "Maybe you +saw the exact spot." + +"What spot?" + +"Why, where he fell among thieves and was left half dead. And then the +good Samaritan went to him, and bound up his wounds, and poured in oil +and wine--was that olive oil, do you think?" + +He shook his head slowly. + +"I reckon you got me there. Olive oil is something the dagoes cooks +with. I never heard of it for busted heads." + +She considered his statement for a moment. + +"Well," she announced, "we use olive oil in _our_ cooking, so we must be +dagoes. I never knew what they were before. I thought it was slang." + +"And the Samaritan dumped oil on his head," the tramp muttered +reminiscently. "Seems to me I recollect a sky pilot sayin' something +about that old gent. D'ye know, I've been looking for him off 'n on all +my life, and never scared up hide nor hair of him. They ain't no more +Samaritans." + +"Wasn't I one!" she asked quickly. + +He looked at her steadily, with a great curiosity and wonder. Her ear, +by a movement exposed to the sun, was transparent. It seemed he could +almost see through it. He was amazed at the delicacy of her coloring, at +the blue of her eyes, at the dazzle of the sun-touched golden hair. And +he was astounded by her fragility. It came to him that she was easily +broken. His eye went quickly from his huge, gnarled paw to her tiny hand +in which it seemed to him he could almost see the blood circulate. He +knew the power in his muscles, and he knew the tricks and turns by which +men use their bodies to ill-treat men. In fact, he knew little else, and +his mind for the time ran in its customary channel. It was his way of +measuring the beautiful strangeness of her. He calculated a grip, and +not a strong one, that could grind her little fingers to pulp. He +thought of fist blows he had given to men's heads, and received on his +own head, and felt that the least of them could shatter hers like an +egg-shell. He scanned her little shoulders and slim waist, and knew in +all certitude that with his two hands he could rend her to pieces. + +"Wasn't I one?" she insisted again. + +He came back to himself with a shock--or away from himself, as the case +happened. He was loath that the conversation should cease. + +"What?" he answered. "Oh, yes; you bet you was a Samaritan, even if you +didn't have no olive oil." He remembered what his mind had been dwelling +on, and asked, "But ain't you afraid?" + +"Of ... of me?" he added lamely. + +She laughed merrily. + +"Mamma says never to be afraid of anything. She says that if you're +good, and you think good of other people, they'll be good, too." + +"And you was thinkin' good of me when you kept the sun off," he +marveled. + +"But it's hard to think good of bees and nasty crawly things," she +confessed. + +"But there's men that is nasty and crawly things," he argued. + +"Mamma says no. She says there's good in everyone. + +"I bet you she locks the house up tight at night just the same," he +proclaimed triumphantly. + +"But she doesn't. Mamma isn't afraid of anything. That's why she lets me +play out here alone when I want. Why, we had a robber once. Mamma got +right up and found him. And what do you think! He was only a poor hungry +man. And she got him plenty to eat from the pantry, and afterward she +got him work to do." + +Ross Shanklin was stunned. The vista shown him of human nature was +unthinkable. It had been his lot to live in a world of suspicion and +hatred, of evil-believing and evil-doing. It had been his experience, +slouching along village streets at nightfall, to see little children, +screaming with fear, run from him to their mothers. He had even seen +grown women shrink aside from him as he passed along the sidewalk. + +He was aroused by the girl clapping her hands as she cried out: + +"I know what you are! You're an open air crank. That's why you were +sleeping here in the grass." + +He felt a grim desire to laugh, but repressed it. + +"And that's what tramps are--open air cranks," she continued. "I often +wondered. Mamma believes in the open air. I sleep on the porch at night. +So does she. This is our land. You must have climbed the fence. Mamma +lets me when I put on my climbers--they're bloomers, you know. But you +ought to be told something. A person doesn't know when they snore +because they're asleep. But you do worse than that. You grit your teeth. +That's bad. Whenever you are going to sleep you must think to yourself, +'I won't grit my teeth, I won't grit my teeth,' over and over, just like +that, and by and by you'll get out of the habit. + +"All bad things are habits. And so are all good things. And it depends +on us what kind our habits are going to be. I used to pucker my +eyebrows--wrinkle them all up, but mamma said I must overcome that +habit. She said that when my eyebrows were wrinkled it was an +advertisement that my brain was wrinkled inside, and that it wasn't good +to have wrinkles in the brain. And then she smoothed my eyebrows with +her hand and said I must always think _smooth_--_smooth_ inside, and +_smooth_ outside. And do you know, it was easy. I haven't wrinkled my +brows for ever so long. I've heard about filling teeth by thinking. But +I don't believe that. Neither does mamma." + +She paused rather out of breath. Nor did he speak. Her flow of talk had +been too much for him. Also, sleeping drunkenly, with open mouth, had +made him very thirsty. But, rather than lose one precious moment, he +endured the torment of his scorching throat and mouth. He licked his dry +lips and struggled for speech. + +"What is your name?" he managed at last. + +"Joan." + +She looked her own question at him, and it was not necessary to voice +it. + +"Mine is Ross Shanklin," he volunteered, for the first time in forgotten +years giving his real name. + +"I suppose you've traveled a lot." + +"I sure have, but not as much as I might have wanted to." + +"Papa always wanted to travel, but he was too busy at the office. He +never could get much time. He went to Europe once with mamma. That was +before I was born. It takes money to travel." + +Ross Shanklin did not know whether to agree with this statement or not. + +"But it doesn't cost tramps much for expenses," she took the thought +away from him. "Is that why you tramp?" + +He nodded and licked his lips. + +"Mamma says it's too bad that men must tramp to look for work. But +there's lots of work now in the country. All the farmers in the valley +are trying to get men. Have you been working?" + +He shook his head, angry with himself that he should feel shame at the +confession when his savage reasoning told him he was right in despising +work. But this was followed by another thought. This beautiful little +creature was some man's child. She was one of the rewards of work. + +"I wish I had a little girl like you," he blurted out, stirred by a +sudden consciousness of passion for paternity. "I'd work my hands off. I +... I'd do anything." + +She considered his case with fitting gravity. + +"Then you aren't married?" + +"Nobody would have me." + +"Yes, they would, if ..." + +She did not turn up her nose, but she favored his dirt and rags with a +look of disapprobation he could not mistake. + +"Go on," he half-shouted. "Shoot it into me. If I was washed--if I wore +good clothes--if I was respectable--if I had a job and worked +regular--if I wasn't what I am." + +To each statement she nodded. + +"Well, I ain't that kind," he rushed on. "I'm no good. I'm a tramp. I +don't want to work, that's what. And I like dirt." + +Her face was eloquent with reproach as she said, "Then you were only +making believe when you wished you had a little girl like me?" + +This left him speechless, for he knew, in all the depths of his +new-found passion, that that was just what he did want. + +With ready tact, noting his discomfort, she sought to change the +subject. + +"What do you think of God?" she asked. "I ain't never met him. What do +you think about him?" + +His reply was evidently angry, and she was frank in her disapproval. + +"You are very strange," she said. "You get angry so easily. I never saw +anybody before that got angry about God, or work, or being clean." + +"He never done anything for me," he muttered resentfully. He cast back +in quick review of the long years of toil in the convict camps and +mines. "And work never done anything for me neither." + +An embarrassing silence fell. + +He looked at her, numb and hungry with the stir of the father-love, +sorry for his ill temper, puzzling his brain for something to say. She +was looking off and away at the clouds, and he devoured her with his +eyes. He reached out stealthily and rested one grimy hand on the very +edge of her little dress. It seemed to him that she was the most +wonderful thing in the world. The quail still called from the coverts, +and the harvest sounds seemed abruptly to become very loud. A great +loneliness oppressed him. + +"I'm ... I'm no good," he murmured huskily and repentantly. + +But, beyond a glance from her blue eyes, she took no notice. The silence +was more embarrassing than ever. He felt that he could give the world +just to touch with his lips that hem of her dress where his hand rested. +But he was afraid of frightening her. He fought to find something to +say, licking his parched lips and vainly attempting to articulate +something, anything. + +"This ain't Sonoma Valley," he declared finally. "This is fairy land, +and you're a fairy. Mebbe I'm asleep and dreaming. I don't know. You and +me don't know how to talk together, because, you see, you're a fairy and +don't know nothing but good things, and I'm a man from the bad, wicked +world." + +Having achieved this much, he was left gasping for ideas like a stranded +fish. + +"And you're going to tell me about the bad, wicked world," she cried, +clapping her hands. "I'm just dying to know." + +He looked at her, startled, remembering the wreckage of womanhood he +had encountered on the sunken ways of life. She was no fairy. She was +flesh and blood, and the possibilities of wreckage were in her as they +had been in him even when he lay at his mother's breast. And there was +in her eagerness to know. + +"Nope," he said lightly, "this man from the bad, wicked world ain't +going to tell you nothing of the kind. He's going to tell you of the +good things in that world. He's going to tell you how he loved hosses +when he was a shaver, and about the first hoss he straddled, and the +first hoss he owned. Hosses ain't like men. They're better. They're +clean--clean all the way through and back again. And, little fairy, I +want to tell you one thing--there sure ain't nothing in the world like +when you're settin' a tired hoss at the end of a long day, and when you +just speak, and that tired animal lifts under you willing and hustles +along. Hosses! They're my long suit. I sure dote on hosses. Yep. I used +to be a cowboy once." + +She clapped her hands in the way that tore so delightfully to his heart, +and her eyes were dancing, as she exclaimed: + +"A Texas cowboy! I always wanted to see one! I heard papa say once that +cowboys are bow-legged. Are you?" + +"I sure was a Texas cowboy," he answered. "But it was a long time ago. +And I'm sure bow-legged. You see, you can't ride much when you're young +and soft without getting the legs bent some. Why, I was only a +three-year-old when I begun. He was a three-year-old, too, fresh-broken. +I led him up alongside the fence, dumb to the top rail, and dropped on. +He was a pinto, and a real devil at bucking, but I could do anything +with him. I reckon he knowed I was only a little shaver. Some hosses +knows lots more 'n' you think." + +For half an hour Ross Shanklin rambled on with his horse reminiscences, +never unconscious for a moment of the supreme joy that was his through +the touch of his hand on the hem of her dress. The sun dropped slowly +into the cloud bank, the quail called more insistently, and empty wagon +after empty wagon rumbled back across the bridge. Then came a woman's +voice. + +"Joan! Joan!" it called. "Where are you, dear?" + +The little girl answered, and Ross Shanklin saw a woman, clad in a +soft, clinging gown, come through the gate from the bungalow. She was a +slender, graceful woman, and to his charmed eyes she seemed rather to +float along than walk like ordinary flesh and blood. + +"What have you been doing all afternoon?" the woman asked, as she came +up. + +"Talking, mamma," the little girl replied. "I've had a very interesting +time." + +Ross Shanklin scrambled to his feet and stood watchfully and awkwardly. +The little girl took the mother's hand, and she, in turn, looked at him +frankly and pleasantly, with a recognition of his humanness that was a +new thing to him. In his mind ran the thought: _the woman who ain't +afraid_. Not a hint was there of the timidity he was accustomed to +seeing in women's eyes. And he was quite aware, and never more so, of +his bleary-eyed, forbidding appearance. + +"How do you do?" she greeted him sweetly and naturally. + +"How do you do, ma'am," he responded, unpleasantly conscious of the +huskiness and rawness of his voice. + +"And did you have an interesting time, too!" she smiled. + +"Yes, ma'am. I sure did. I was just telling your little girl about +hosses." + +"He was a cowboy, once, mamma," she cried. + +The mother smiled her acknowledgment to him, and looked fondly down at +the little girl. The thought that came into Ross Shanklin's mind was the +awfulness of the crime if any one should harm either of the wonderful +pair. This was followed by the wish that some terrible danger should +threaten, so that he could fight, as he well knew how, with all his +strength and life, to defend them. + +"You'll have to come along, dear," the mother said. "It's growing late." +She looked at Ross Shanklin hesitantly. "Would you care to have +something to eat?" + +"No, ma'am, thanking you kindly just the same. I ... I ain't hungry." + +"Then say good-bye, Joan," she counselled. + +"Good-bye." The little girl held out her hand, and her eyes lighted +roguishly. "Good-bye, Mr. Man from the bad, wicked world." + +To him, the touch of her hand as he pressed it in his was the capstone +of the whole adventure. + +"Good-bye, little fairy," he mumbled. "I reckon I got to be pullin' +along." + +But he did not pull along. He stood staring after his vision until it +vanished through the gate. The day seemed suddenly empty. He looked +about him irresolutely, then climbed the fence, crossed the bridge, and +slouched along the road. He was in a dream. He did not note his feet nor +the way they led him. At times he stumbled in the dust-filled ruts. + +A mile farther on, he aroused at the crossroads. Before him stood the +saloon. He came to a stop and stared at it, licking his lips. He sank +his hand into his pants pocket and fumbled a solitary dime. "God!" he +muttered. "God!" Then, with dragging, reluctant feet, went on along the +road. + +He came to a big farm. He knew it must be big, because of the bigness of +the house and the size and number of the barns and outbuildings. On the +porch, in shirt sleeves, smoking a cigar, keen-eyed and middle-aged, was +the farmer. + +"What's the chance for a job!" Ross Shanklin asked. + +The keen eyes scarcely glanced at him. + +"A dollar a day and grub," was the answer. + +Ross Shanklin swallowed and braced himself. + +"I'll pick grapes all right, or anything. But what's the chance for a +steady job? You've got a big ranch here. I know hosses. I was born on +one. I can drive team, ride, plough, break, do anything that anybody +ever done with hosses." + +The other looked him over with an appraising, incredulous eye. + +"You don't look it," was the judgment. + +"I know I don't. Give me a chance. That's all. I'll prove it." + +The farmer considered, casting an anxious glance at the cloud bank into +which the sun had sunk. + +"I'm short a teamster, and I'll give you the chance to make good. Go and +get supper with the hands." + +Ross Shanklin's voice was very husky, and he spoke with an effort. + +"All right. I'll make good. Where can I get a drink of water and wash +up?" + +[Illustration] + + + + +"JUST MEAT" + + +He strolled to the corner and glanced up and down the intersecting +street, but saw nothing save the oases of light shed by the street lamps +at the successive crossings. Then he strolled back the way he had come. +He was a shadow of a man sliding noiselessly and without undue movement +through the semi darkness. Also he was very alert, like a wild animal in +the jungle, keenly perceptive and receptive. The movement of another in +the darkness about him would need to have been more shadowy than he to +have escaped him. + +In addition to the running advertisement of the state of affairs carried +to him by his senses, he had a subtler perception, a _feel_, of the +atmosphere around him. He knew that the house in front of which he +paused for a moment, contained children. Yet by no willed effort of +perception did he have this knowledge. For that matter, he was not even +aware that he knew, so occult was the impression. Yet, did a moment +arise in which action, in relation to that house, were imperative, he +would have acted on the assumption that it contained children. He was +not aware of all that he knew about the neighborhood. + +In the same way, he knew not how, he knew that no danger threatened in +the footfalls that came up the cross street. Before he saw the walker, +he knew him for a belated pedestrian hurrying home. The walker came into +view at the crossing and disappeared on up the street. The man that +watched, noted a light that flared up in the window of a house on the +corner, and as it died down he knew it for an expiring match. This was +conscious identification of familiar phenomena, and through his mind +flitted the thought, "Wanted to know what time." In another house one +room was lighted. The light burned dimly and steadily, and he had the +feel that it was a sick room. + +He was especially interested in a house across the street in the middle +of the block. To this house he paid most attention. No matter what way +he looked, nor what way he walked, his looks and his steps always +returned to it. Except for an open window above the porch, there was +nothing unusual about the house. Nothing came in nor out. Nothing +happened. There were no lighted windows, nor had lights appeared and +disappeared in any of the windows. Yet it was the central point of his +consideration. He rallied to it each time after a divination of the +state of the neighborhood. + +Despite his feel of things, he was not confident. He was supremely +conscious of the precariousness of his situation. Though unperturbed by +the footfalls of the chance pedestrian, he was as keyed up and sensitive +and ready to be startled as any timorous deer. He was aware of the +possibility of other intelligences prowling about in the +darkness--intelligences similar to his own in movement, perception, and +divination. + +Far down the street he caught a glimpse of something that moved. And he +knew it was no late home-goer, but menace and danger. He whistled twice +to the house across the street, then faded away shadow-like to the +corner and around the corner. Here he paused and looked about him +carefully. Reassured, he peered back around the corner and studied the +object that moved and that was coming nearer. He had divined aright. It +was a policeman. + +The man went down the cross street to the next corner, from the shelter +of which he watched the corner he had just left. He saw the policeman +pass by, going straight on up the street. He paralleled the policeman's +course, and from the next corner again watched him go by; then he +returned the way he had come. He whistled once to the house across the +street, and after a time whistled once again. There was reassurance in +the whistle, just as there had been warning in the previous double +whistle. + +He saw a dark bulk outline itself on the roof of the porch and slowly +descend a pillar. Then it came down the steps, passed through the small +iron gate, and went down the sidewalk, taking on the form of a man. He +that watched kept on his own side the street and moved on abreast to the +corner, where he crossed over and joined the other. He was quite small +alongside the man he accosted. + +"How'd you make out, Matt?" he asked. + +The other grunted indistinctly, and walked on in silence a few steps. + +"I reckon I landed the goods," he said. + +Jim chuckled in the darkness, and waited for further information. The +blocks passed by; under their feet, and he grew impatient. + +"Well, how about them goods?" he asked. "What kind of a haul did you +make, anyway?" + +"I was too busy to figger it out, but it's fat. I can tell you that +much, Jim, it's fat. I don't dast to think how fat it is. Wait till we +get to the room." + +Jim looked at him keenly under the street lamp of the next crossing, and +saw that his face was a trifle grim and that he carried his left arm +peculiarly. + +"What's the matter with your arm?" he demanded. + +"The little cuss bit me. Hope I don't get hydrophoby. Folks gets +hydrophoby from man-bite sometimes, don't they?" + +"Gave you a fight, eh!" Jim asked encouragingly. + +The other grunted. + +"You're certainly hard to get information from," Jim burst out +irritably. "Tell us about it. You ain't goin' to lose money just +a-tellin' a guy." + +"I guess I choked him some," came the answer. Then, by way of +explanation, "He woke up on me." + +"You did it neat. I never heard a sound." + +"Jim," the other said with seriousness, "it's a hangin' matter. I fixed +'m. I had to. He woke up on me. You an' me's got to do some layin' low +for a spell." + +Jim gave a low whistle of comprehension. + +"Did you hear me whistle!" he asked suddenly. + +"Sure. I was all done. I was just comin' out." + +"It was a bull. But he wasn't on a little bit. Went right by an' kept +a-paddin' the hoof outa sight. Then I came back an' gave you the +whistle. What made you take so long after that?" + +"I was waitin' to make sure," Matt explained. + +"I was mighty glad when I heard you whistle again. It's hard work +waitin'. I just sat there an' thought an' thought ... oh, all kinds of +things. It's remarkable what a fellow'll think about. And then there +was a darn cat that kept movin' around the house an' botherin' me with +its noises." + +"An' it's fat!" Jim exclaimed irrelevantly and with joy. + +"I'm sure tellin' you, Jim, it's fat. I'm plum' anxious for another look +at 'em." + +Unconsciously the two men quickened their pace. Yet they did not relax +from their caution. Twice they changed their course in order to avoid +policemen, and they made very sure that they were not observed when they +dived into the dark hallway of a cheap rooming house down town. + +Not until they had gained their own room on the top floor, did they +scratch a match. While Jim lighted a lamp, Matt locked the door and +threw the bolts into place. As he turned, he noticed that his partner +was waiting expectantly. Matt smiled to himself at the other's +eagerness. + +"Them search-lights is all right," he said, drawing forth a small pocket +electric lamp and examining it. "But we got to get a new battery. It's +runnin' pretty weak. I thought once or twice it'd leave me in the dark. +Funny arrangements in that house. I near got lost. His room was on the +left, an' that fooled me some." + +"I told you it was on the left," Jim interrupted. + +"You told me it was on the right," Matt went on. "I guess I know what +you told me, an' there's the map you drew." + +Fumbling in his vest pocket, he drew out a folded slip of paper. As he +unfolded it, Jim bent over and looked. + +"I did make a mistake," he confessed. + +"You sure did. It got me guessin' some for a while." + +"But it don't matter now," Jim cried. "Let's see what you got." + +"It does matter," Matt retorted. "It matters a lot ... to me. I've got +to run all the risk. I put my head in the trap while you stay on the +street. You got to get on to yourself an' be more careful. All right, +I'll show you." + +He dipped loosely into his trousers pocket and brought out a handful of +small diamonds. He spilled them out in a blazing stream on the greasy +table. Jim let out a great oath. + +"That's nothing," Matt said with triumphant complacence. "I ain't begun +yet." + +From one pocket after another he continued bringing forth the spoil. +There were many diamonds wrapped in chamois skin that were larger than +those in the first handful. From one pocket he brought out a handful of +very small cut gems. + +"Sun dust," he remarked, as he spilled them on the table in a space by +themselves. + +Jim examined them. + +"Just the same, they retail for a couple of dollars each," he said. "Is +that all?" + +"Ain't it enough?" the other demanded in an aggrieved tone. + +"Sure it is," Jim answered with unqualified approval. "Better'n I +expected. I wouldn't take a cent less than ten thousan' for the bunch." + +"Ten thousan'," Matt sneered. "They're worth twic't that, an' I don't +know anything about joolery, either. Look at that big boy!" + +He picked it out from the sparkling heap and held it near to the lamp +with the air of an expert, weighing and judging. + +"Worth a thousan' all by its lonely," was Jim's quicker judgment. + +"A thousan' your grandmother," was Matt's scornful rejoinder. "You +couldn't buy it for three." + +"Wake me up! I'm dreamin'!" The sparkle of the gems was in Jim's eyes, +and he began sorting out the larger diamonds and examining them. "We're +rich men, Matt--we'll be regular swells." + +"It'll take years to get rid of 'em," was Matt's more practical thought. + +"But think how we'll live! Nothin' to do but spend the money an' go on +gettin' rid of 'em." + +Matt's eyes were beginning to sparkle, though sombrely, as his +phlegmatic nature woke up. + +"I told you I didn't dast think how fat it was," he murmured in a low +voice. + +"What a killin'! What a killin'!" was the other's more ecstatic +utterance. + +"I almost forgot," Matt said, thrusting his hand into his inside coat +pocket. + +A string of large pearls emerged from wrappings of tissue paper and +chamois skin. Jim scarcely glanced at them. + +"They're worth money," he said, and returned to the diamonds. + +A silence fell on the two men. Jim played with the gems, running them +through his fingers, sorting them into piles, and spreading them out +flat and wide. He was a slender, weazened man, nervous, irritable, +high-strung, and anaemic--a typical child of the gutter, with +unbeautiful twisted features, small eyes, with face and mouth +perpetually and feverishly hungry, brutish in a catlike way, stamped to +the core with degeneracy. + +Matt did not finger the diamonds. He sat with chin on hands and elbows +on table, blinking heavily at the blazing array. He was in every way a +contrast to the other. No city had bred him. He was heavy muscled and +hairy, gorilla-like in strength and aspect. For him there was no unseen +world. His eyes were full and wide apart, and there seemed in them a +certain bold brotherliness. They inspired confidence. But a closer +inspection would have shown that his eyes were just a trifle too full, +just a shade too wide apart. He exceeded, spilled over the limits of +normality, and his features told lies about the man beneath. + +"The bunch is worth fifty thousan'," Jim remarked suddenly. + +"A hundred thousan'," Matt said. + +The silence returned and endured a long time, to be broken again by Jim. + +"What in blazes was he doin' with 'em all at the house?--that's what I +want to know. I'd a-thought he'd kept 'em in the safe down at the +store." + +Matt had just been considering the vision of the throttled man as he had +last looked upon him in the dim light of the electric lantern; but he +did not start at the mention of him. + +"There's no tellin'," he answered. "He might a-been getting ready to +chuck his pardner. He might a-pulled out in the mornin' for parts +unknown, if we hadn't happened along. I guess there's just as many +thieves among honest men as there is among thieves. You read about such +things in the papers, Jim. Pardners is always knifin' each other." + +A queer, nervous look came in the other's eyes. Matt did not betray that +he noted it, though he said:-- + +"What was you thinkin' about, Jim!" + +Jim was a trifle awkward for the moment. + +"Nothin'," he answered. "Only I was thinkin' just how funny it was--all +them jools at his house. What made you ask?" + +"Nothin'. I was just wonderin', that was all." + +The silence settled down, broken by an occasional low and nervous giggle +on the part of Jim. He was overcome by the spread of gems. It was not +that he felt their beauty. He was unaware that they were beautiful in +themselves. But in them his swift imagination visioned the joys of life +they would buy, and all the desires and appetites of his diseased mind +and sickly flesh were tickled by the promise they extended. He builded +wondrous, orgy-haunted castles out of their brilliant fires, and was +appalled at what he builded. Then it was that he giggled. It was all too +impossible to be real. And yet there they blazed on the table before +him, fanning the flame of the lust of him, and he giggled again. + +"I guess we might as well count 'em," Matt said suddenly, tearing +himself away from his own visions. "You watch me an' see that it's +square, because you an' me has got to be on the square, Jim. +Understand?" + +Jim did not like this, and betrayed it in his eyes, while Matt did not +like what he saw in his partner's eyes. + +"Understand!" Matt repeated, almost menacingly. + +"Ain't we always been square?" the other replied, on the defensive, what +of the treachery already whispering in him. + +"It don't cost nothin', bein' square in hard times," Matt retorted. +"It's bein' square in prosperity that counts. When we ain't got nothin', +we can't help bein' square. We're prosperous now, an' we've got to be +business men--honest business men. Understand?" + +"That's the talk for me," Jim approved, but deep down in the meagre soul +of him,--and in spite of him,--wanton and lawless thoughts were stirring +like chained beasts. + +Matt stepped to the food shelf behind the two-burner kerosene cooking +stove. He emptied the tea from a paper bag, and from a second bag +emptied some red peppers. Returning to the table with the bags, he put +into them the two sizes of small diamonds. Then he counted the large +gems and wrapped them in their tissue paper and chamois skin. + +"Hundred an' forty-seven good-sized ones," was his inventory; "twenty +real big ones; two big boys and one whopper; an' a couple of fistfuls of +teeny ones an' dust." + +He looked at Jim. + +"Correct," was the response. + +He wrote the count out on a slip of memorandum paper, and made a copy of +it, giving one slip to his partner and retaining the other. + +"Just for reference," he said. + +Again he had recourse to the food shelf, where he emptied the sugar from +a large paper bag. Into this he thrust the diamonds, large and small, +wrapped it up in a bandana handkerchief, and stowed it away under his +pillow. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed and took off his shoes. + +"An' you think they're worth a hundred thousan'?" Jim asked, pausing and +looking up from the unlacing of his shoe. + +"Sure," was the answer. "I seen a dancer down in Arizona once, with some +big sparklers on her. They wasn't real. She said if they was she +wouldn't be dancin'. Said they'd be worth all of fifty thousan', an' +she didn't have a dozen of 'em all told." + +"Who'd work for a livin'?" Jim triumphantly demanded. "Pick an' shovel +work!" he sneered. "Work like a dog all my life, an' save all my wages, +an' I wouldn't have half as much as we got to-night." + +"Dish washin's about your measure, an' you couldn't get more'n twenty a +month an' board. Your figgers is 'way off, but your point is well taken. +Let them that likes it, work. I rode range for thirty a month when I was +young an' foolish. Well, I'm older, an' I ain't ridin' range." + +He got into bed on one side. Jim put out the light and followed him in +on the other side. + +"How's your arm feel?" Jim queried amiably. + +Such concern was unusual, and Matt noted it, and replied:-- + +"I guess there's no danger of hydrophoby. What made you ask?" + +Jim felt in himself a guilty stir, and under his breath he cursed the +other's way of asking disagreeable questions; but aloud he answered: +"Nothin', only you seemed scared of it at first. What are you goin' to +do with your share, Matt?" + +"Buy a cattle ranch in Arizona an' set down an' pay other men to ride +range for me. There's some several I'd like to see askin' a job from me, +blast them! An' now you shut your face, Jim. It'll be some time before I +buy that ranch. Just now I'm goin' to sleep." + +But Jim lay long awake, nervous and twitching, rolling about restlessly +and rolling himself wide awake every time he dozed. The diamonds still +blazed under his eyelids, and the fire of them hurt. Matt, in spite of +his heavy nature, slept lightly, like a wild animal alert in its sleep; +and Jim noticed, every time he moved, that his partner's body moved +sufficiently to show that it had received the impression and that it was +trembling on the verge of awakening. For that matter, Jim did not know +whether or not, frequently, the other was awake. Once, quietly, +betokening complete consciousness, Matt said to him: "Aw, go to sleep, +Jim. Don't worry about them jools. They'll keep." And Jim had thought +that at that particular moment Matt had been surely asleep. + +In the late morning Matt was awake with Jim's first movement, and +thereafter he awoke and dozed with him until midday, when they got up +together and began dressing. + +"I'm goin' out to get a paper an' some bread," Matt said. "You boil the +coffee." + +As Jim listened, unconsciously his gaze left Matt's face and roved to +the pillow, beneath which was the bundle wrapped in the bandana +handkerchief. On the instant Matt's face became like a wild beast's. + +"Look here, Jim," he snarled. "You've got to play square. If you do me +dirt, I'll fix you. Understand? I'd eat you, Jim. You know that. I'd +bite right into your throat an' eat you like that much beefsteak." + +His sunburned skin was black with the surge of blood in it, and his +tobacco-stained teeth were exposed by the snarling lips. Jim shivered +and involuntarily cowered. There was death in the man he looked at. Only +the night before that black-faced man had killed another with his hands, +and it had not hurt his sleep. And in his own heart Jim was aware of a +sneaking guilt, of a train of thought that merited all that was +threatened. + +Matt passed out, leaving him still shivering. Then a hatred twisted his +own face, and he softly hurled savage threats at the door. He remembered +the jewels, and hastened to the bed, feeling under the pillow for the +bandana bundle. He crushed it with his fingers to make certain that it +still contained the diamonds. Assured that Matt had not carried them +away, he looked toward the kerosene stove with a guilty start. Then he +hurriedly lighted it, filled the coffee pot at the sink, and put it over +the flame. + +The coffee was boiling when Matt returned, and while the latter cut the +bread and put a slice of butter on the table, Jim poured out the coffee. +It was not until he sat down and had taken a few sips of the coffee, +that Matt pulled out the morning paper from his pocket. + +"We was way off," he said. "I told you I didn't dast figger out how fat +it was. Look at that." + +He pointed to the head lines on the first page. "SWIFT NEMESIS ON +BUJANNOFF'S TRACK," they read. "MURDERED IN HIS SLEEP AFTER ROBBING HIS +PARTNER." + +"There you have it!" Matt cried. "He robbed his partner--robbed him +like a dirty thief." + +"Half a million of jewels missin'," Jim read aloud. He put the paper +down and stared at Matt. + +"That's what I told you," the latter said. "What in thunder do we know +about jools? Half a million!--an' the best I could figger it was a +hundred thousan'. Go on an' read the rest of it." + +They read on silently, their heads side by side, the untouched coffee +growing cold; and ever and anon one or the other burst forth with some +salient printed fact. + +"I'd like to seen Metzner's face when he opened the safe at the store +this mornin'," Jim gloated. + +"He hit the high places right away for Bujannoff's house," Matt +explained. "Go on an' read." + +"Was to have sailed last night at ten on the _Sajoda_ for the South +Seas--steamship delayed by extra freight----" + +"That's why we caught 'm in bed," Matt interrupted. "It was just +luck--like pickin' a fifty-to-one winner." + +"_Sajoda_ sailed at six this mornin'----" + +"He didn't catch her," Matt said. "I saw his alarm clock was set at +five. That'd given 'm plenty of time ... only I come along an' put the +_kibosh_ on his time. Go on." + +"Adolph Metzner in despair--the famous Haythorne pearl +necklace--magnificently assorted pearls--valued by experts at from fifty +to seventy thousan' dollars." + +Jim broke off to say solemnly, "Those oyster-eggs worth all that money!" + +He licked his lips and added, "They was beauties an' no mistake." + +"Big Brazilian gem," he read on. "Eighty thousan' dollars--many valuable +gems of the first water--several thousan' small diamonds well worth +forty thousan'." + +"What you don't know about jools is worth knowin'," Matt smiled good +humoredly. + +"Theory of the sleuths," Jim read. "Thieves must have known--cleverly +kept watch on Bujannoff's actions--must have learned his plan and +trailed him to his house with the fruits of his robbery--" + +"Clever--" Matt broke out. "That's the way reputations is made ... in +the noos-papers. How'd we know he was robbin' his pardner?" + +"Anyway, we've got the goods," Jim grinned. "Let's look at 'em again." + +He assured himself that the door was locked and bolted, while Matt +brought out the bundle in the bandana and opened it on the table. + +"Ain't they beauties, though!" Jim exclaimed at sight of the pearls; and +for a time he had eyes only for them. "Accordin' to the experts, worth +from fifty to seventy thousan' dollars." + +"An' women like them things," Matt commented. "An' they'll do everything +to get 'em--sell themselves, commit murder, anything." + +"Just like you an' me." + +"Not on your life," Matt retorted. "I'll commit murder for 'em, but not +for their own sakes, but for the sake of what they'll get me. That's the +difference. Women want the jools for themselves, an' I want the jools +for the women an' such things they'll get me." + +"Lucky that men an' women don't want the same things," Jim remarked. + +"That's what makes commerce," Matt agreed; "people wantin' different +things." + +In the middle of the afternoon Jim went out to buy food. While he was +gone, Matt cleared the table of the jewels, wrapping them up as before +and putting them under the pillow. Then he lighted the kerosene stove +and started to boil water for the coffee. A few minutes later, Jim +returned. + +"Most surprising," he remarked. "Streets, an' stores, an' people just +like they always was. Nothin' changed. An' me walkin' along through it +all a millionnaire. Nobody looked at me an' guessed it" + +Matt grunted unsympathetically. He had little comprehension of the +lighter whims and fancies of his partner's imagination. + +"Did you get a porterhouse?" he demanded. + +"Sure, an' an inch thick. It's a peach. Look at it." + +He unwrapped the steak and held it up for the other's inspection. Then +he made the coffee and set the table, while Matt fried the steak. + +"Don't put on too much of them red peppers," Jim warned. "I ain't used +to your Mexican cookin'. You always season too hot." + +Matt grunted a laugh and went on with his cooking. Jim poured out the +coffee, but first, into the nicked china cup, he emptied a powder he had +carried in his vest pocket wrapped in a rice-paper. He had turned his +back for the moment on his partner, but he did not dare to glance around +at him. Matt placed a newspaper on the table, and on the newspaper set +the hot frying pan. He cut the steak in half, and served Jim and +himself. + +"Eat her while she's hot," he counselled, and with knife and fork set +the example. + +"She's a dandy," was Jim's judgment, after his first mouthful. "But I +tell you one thing straight. I'm never goin' to visit you on that +Arizona ranch, so you needn't ask me." + +"What's the matter now?" Matt asked. + +"The Mexican cookin' on your ranch'd be too much for me. If I've got +blue blazes a-comin' in the next life, I'm not goin' to torment my +insides in this one!" + +He smiled, expelled his breath forcibly to cool his burning mouth, drank +some coffee, and went on eating the steak. + +"What do you think about the next life anyway, Matt?" he asked a little +later, while secretly he wondered why the other had not yet touched his +coffee. + +"Ain't no next life," Matt answered, pausing from the steak to take his +first sip of coffee. "Nor heaven nor hell, nor nothin'. You get all +that's comin' right here in this life." + +"An' afterward?" Jim queried out of his morbid curiosity, for he knew +that he looked upon a man that was soon to die. "An' afterward?" he +repeated. + +"Did you ever see a man two weeks dead?" the other asked. + +Jim shook his head. + +"Well, I have. He was like this beefsteak you an' me is eatin'. It was +once steer cavortin' over the landscape. But now it's just meat. That's +all, just meat. An' that's what you an' me an' all people come +to--meat." + +Matt gulped down the whole cup of coffee, and refilled the cup. + +"Are you scared to die?" he asked. + +Jim shook his head. "What's the use? I don't die anyway. I pass on an' +live again--" + +"To go stealin', an' lyin', an' snivellin' through another life, an' go +on that way forever an' ever an' ever?" Matt sneered. + +"Maybe I'll improve," Jim suggested hopefully. "Maybe stealin' won't be +necessary in the life to come." + +He ceased abruptly, and stared straight before him, a frightened +expression on his face. + +"What's the matter!" Matt demanded. + +"Nothin'. I was just wonderin'"--Jim returned to himself with an +effort--"about this dyin', that was all." + +But he could not shake off the fright that had startled him. It was as +if an unseen thing of gloom had passed him by, casting upon him the +intangible shadow of its presence. He was aware of a feeling of +foreboding. Something ominous was about to happen. Calamity hovered in +the air. He gazed fixedly across the table at the other man. He could +not understand. Was it that he had blundered and poisoned himself? No, +Matt had the nicked cup, and he had certainly put the poison in the +nicked cup. + +It was all his own imagination, was his next thought. It had played him +tricks before. Fool! Of course it was. Of course something was about to +happen, but it was about to happen to Matt. Had not Matt drunk the +whole cup of coffee? + +Jim brightened up and finished his steak, sopping bread in the gravy +when the meat was gone. + +"When I was a kid--" he began, but broke off abruptly. + +Again the unseen thing of gloom had fluttered, and his being was vibrant +with premonition of impending misfortune. He felt a disruptive influence +at work in the flesh of him, and in all his muscles there was a seeming +that they were about to begin to twitch. He sat back suddenly, and as +suddenly leaned forward with his elbows on the table. A tremor ran dimly +through the muscles of his body. It was like the first rustling of +leaves before the oncoming of wind. He clenched his teeth. It came +again, a spasmodic tensing of his muscles. He knew panic at the revolt +within his being. His muscles no longer recognized his mastery over +them. Again they spasmodically tensed, despite the will of him, for he +had willed that they should not tense. This was revolution within +himself, this was anarchy; and the terror of impotence rushed up in him +as his flesh gripped and seemed to seize him in a clutch, chills running +up and down his back and sweat starting on his brow. He glanced about +the room, and all the details of it smote him with a strange sense of +familiarity. It was as though he had just returned from a long journey. +He looked across the table at his partner. Matt was watching him and +smiling. An expression of horror spread over Jim's face. + +"Matt!" he screamed. "You ain't doped me?" + +Matt smiled and continued to watch him. In the paroxysm that followed, +Jim did not become unconscious. His muscles tensed and twitched and +knotted, hurting him and crushing him in their savage grip. And in the +midst of it all, it came to him that Matt was acting queerly. He was +traveling the same road. The smile had gone from his face, and there was +on it an intense expression, as if he were listening to some inner tale +of himself and trying to divine the message. Matt got up and walked +across the room and back again, then sat down. + +"You did this, Jim," he said quietly. + +"But I didn't think you'd try to fix _me_," Jim answered reproachfully. + +"Oh, I fixed you all right," Matt said, with teeth close together and +shivering body. "What did you give me?" + +"Strychnine." + +"Same as I gave you," Matt volunteered. "It's some mess, ain't it!" + +"You're lyin', Matt," Jim pleaded. "You ain't doped me, have you?" + +"I sure did, Jim; an' I didn't overdose you, neither. I cooked it in as +neat as you please in your half the porterhouse.--Hold on! Where're you +goin'?" + +Jim had made a dash for the door, and was throwing back the bolts. Matt +sprang in between and shoved him away. + +"Drug store," Jim panted. "Drug store." + +"No you don't. You'll stay right here. There ain't goin' to be any +runnin' out an' makin' a poison play on the street--not with all them +jools reposin' under the pillow. Savve? Even if you didn't die, you'd be +in the hands of the police with a lot of explanations comin'. Emetics is +the stuff for poison. I'm just as bad bit as you, an' I'm goin' to take +a emetic. That's all they'd give you at a drug store, anyway." + +He thrust Jim back into the middle of the room and shot the bolts into +place. As he went across the floor to the food shelf, he passed one hand +over his brow and flung off the beaded sweat. It spattered audibly on +the floor. Jim watched agonizedly as Matt got the mustard can and a cup +and ran for the sink. He stirred a cupful of mustard and water and drank +it down. Jim had followed him and was reaching with trembling hands for +the empty cup. Again Matt shoved him away. As he mixed a second cupful, +he demanded: + +"D'you think one cup'll do for me? You can wait till I'm done." + +Jim started to totter toward the door, but Matt checked him. + +"If you monkey with that door, I'll twist your neck. Savve? You can take +yours when I'm done. An' if it saves you, I'll twist your neck, anyway. +You ain't got no chance, nohow. I told you many times what you'd get if +you did me dirt." + +"But you did me dirt, too," Jim articulated with an effort. + +Matt was drinking the second cupful, and did not answer. The sweat had +got into Jim's eyes, and he could scarcely see his way to the table, +where he got a cup for himself. But Matt was mixing a third cupful, and, +as before, thrust him away. + +"I told you to wait till I was done," Matt growled. "Get outa my way." + +And Jim supported his twitching body by holding on to the sink, the +while he yearned toward the yellowish concoction that stood for life. It +was by sheer will that he stood and clung to the sink. His flesh strove +to double him up and bring him to the floor. Matt drank the third +cupful, and with difficulty managed to get to a chair and sit down. His +first paroxysm was passing. The spasms that afflicted him were dying +away. This good effect he ascribed to the mustard and water. He was +safe, at any rate. He wiped the sweat from his face, and, in the +interval of calm, found room for curiosity. He looked at his partner. + +A spasm had shaken the mustard can out of Jim's hands, and the contents +were spilled upon the floor. He stooped to scoop some of the mustard +into the cup, and the succeeding spasm doubled him up on the floor. Matt +smiled. + +"Stay with it," he encouraged. "It's the stuff all right. It's fixed me +up." + +Jim heard him and turned toward him with a stricken face, twisted with +suffering and pleading. Spasm now followed spasm till he was in +convulsions, rolling on the floor and yellowing his face and hair in the +mustard. + +Matt laughed hoarsely at the sight, but the laugh broke midway. A tremor +had run through his body. A new paroxysm was beginning. He arose and +staggered across to the sink, where, with probing forefinger, he vainly +strove to assist the action of the emetic. In the end, he clung to the +sink as Jim had clung, filled with the horror of going down to the +floor. + +The other's paroxysm had passed, and he sat up, weak and fainting, too +weak to rise, his forehead dripping, his lips flecked with a foam made +yellow by the mustard in which he had rolled. He rubbed his eyes with +his knuckles, and groans that were like whines came from his throat. + +"What are you snifflin' about!" Matt demanded out of his agony. "All you +got to do is die. An' when you die you're dead." + +"I ... ain't ... snifflin' ... it's ... the ... mustard ... stingin' +... my ... eyes," Jim panted with desperate slowness. + +It was his last successful attempt at speech. Thereafter he babbled +incoherently, pawing the air with shaking arms till a fresh convulsion +stretched him on the floor. + +Matt struggled back to the chair, and, doubled up on it, with his arms +clasped about his knees, he fought with his disintegrating flesh. He +came out of the convulsion cool and weak. He looked to see how it went +with the other, and saw him lying motionless. + +He tried to soliloquize, to be facetious, to have his last grim laugh at +life, but his lips made only incoherent sounds. The thought came to him +that the emetic had failed, and that nothing remained but the drug +store. He looked toward the door and drew himself to his feet. There he +saved himself from falling by clutching the chair. Another paroxysm had +begun. And in the midst of the paroxysm, with his body and all the parts +of it flying apart and writhing and twisting back again into knots, he +clung to the chair and shoved it before him across the floor. The last +shreds of his will were leaving him when he gained the door. He turned +the key and shot back one bolt. He fumbled for the second bolt, but +failed. Then he leaned his weight against the door and slid down gently +to the floor. + +[Illustration:] + + + + +A NOSE FOR THE KING + + +In the morning calm of Korea, when its peace and tranquility truly +merited its ancient name, "Cho-sen," there lived a politician by name Yi +Chin Ho. He was a man of parts, and--who shall say?--perhaps in no wise +worse than politicians the world over. But, unlike his brethren in other +lands, Yi Chin Ho was in jail. Not that he had inadvertently diverted to +himself public moneys, but that he had inadvertently diverted too much. +Excess is to be deplored in all things, even in grafting, and Yi Chin +Ho's excess had brought him to most deplorable straits. + +Ten thousand strings of cash he owed the government, and he lay in +prison under sentence of death. There was one advantage to the +situation--he had plenty of time in which to think. And he thought well. +Then called he the jailer to him. + +"Most worthy man, you see before you one most wretched," he began. "Yet +all will be well with me if you will but let me go free for one short +hour this night. And all will be well with you, for I shall see to your +advancement through the years, and you shall come at length to the +directorship of all the prisons of Cho-sen." + +"How now?" demanded the jailer. "What foolishness is this? One short +hour, and you but waiting for your head to be chopped off! And I, with +an aged and much-to-be-respected mother, not to say anything of a wife +and several children of tender years! Out upon you for the scoundrel +that you are!" + +"From the Sacred City to the ends of all the Eight Coasts there is no +place for me to hide," Yi Chin Ho made reply. "I am a man of wisdom, but +of what worth my wisdom here in prison? Were I free, well I know I could +seek out and obtain the money wherewith to repay the government. I know +of a nose that will save me from all my difficulties." + +"A nose!" cried the jailer. + +"A nose," said Yi Chin Ho. "A remarkable nose, if I may say so, a most +remarkable nose." + +The jailer threw up his hands despairingly. "Ah, what a wag you are, +what a wag," he laughed. "To think that that very admirable wit of yours +must go the way of the chopping-block!" + +And so saying, he turned and went away. But in the end, being a man soft +of head and heart, when the night was well along he permitted Yi Chin Ho +to go. + +Straight he went to the Governor, catching him alone and arousing him +from his sleep. + +"Yi Chin Ho, or I'm no Governor!" cried the Governor. "What do you here +who should be in prison waiting on the chopping-block!" + +"I pray your excellency to listen to me," said Yi Chin Ho, squatting on +his hams by the bedside and lighting his pipe from the fire-box. "A dead +man is without value. It is true, I am as a dead man, without value to +the government, to your excellency, or to myself. But if, so to say, +your excellency were to give me my freedom--" + +"Impossible!" cried the Governor. "Besides, you are condemned to death." + +"Your excellency well knows that if I can repay the ten thousand strings +of cash, the government will pardon me," Yi Chin Ho went on. "So, as I +say, if your excellency were to give me my freedom for a few days, being +a man of understanding, I should then repay the government and be in +position to be of service to your excellency. I should be in position to +be of very great service to your excellency." + +"Have you a plan whereby you hope to obtain this money?" asked the +Governor. + +"I have," said Yi Chin Ho. + +"Then come with it to me to-morrow night; I would now sleep," said the +Governor, taking up his snore where it had been interrupted. + +On the following night, having again obtained leave of absence from the +jailer, Yi Chin Ho presented himself at the Governor's bedside. + +"Is it you, Yi Chin Ho?" asked the Governor. "And have you the plan?" + +"It is I, your excellency," answered Yi Chin Ho, "and the plan is here." + +"Speak," commanded the Governor. + +"The plan is here," repeated Yi Chin Ho, "here in my hand." + +The Governor sat up and opened his eyes, Yi Chin Ho proffered in his +hand a sheet of paper. The Governor held it to the light. + +"Nothing but a nose," said he. + +"A bit pinched, so, and so, your excellency," said Yi Chin Ho. + +"Yes, a bit pinched here and there, as you say," said the Governor. + +"Withal it is an exceeding corpulent nose, thus, and so, all in one +place, at the end," proceeded Yi Chin Ho. "Your excellency would seek +far and wide and many a day for that nose and find it not." + +"An unusual nose," admitted the Governor. + +"There is a wart upon it," said Yi Chin Ho. + +"A most unusual nose," said the Governor. "Never have I seen the like. +But what do you with this nose, Yi Chin Ho!" + +"I seek it whereby to repay the money to the government," said Yi Chin +Ho. "I seek it to be of service to your excellency, and I seek it to +save my own worthless head. Further, I seek your excellency's seal upon +this picture of the nose." + +And the Governor laughed and affixed the seal of state, and Yi Chin Ho +departed. For a month and a day he traveled the King's Road which leads +to the shore of the Eastern Sea; and there, one night, at the gate of +the largest mansion of a wealthy city he knocked loudly for admittance. + +"None other than the master of the house will I see," said he fiercely +to the frightened servants. "I travel upon the King's business." + +Straightway was he led to an inner room, where the master of the house +was roused from his sleep and brought blinking before him. + +"You are Pak Chung Chang, head man of this city," said Yi Chin Ho in +tones that were all-accusing. "I am upon the King's business." + +Pak Chung Chang trembled. Well he knew the King's business was ever a +terrible business. His knees smote together, and he near fell to the +floor. + +"The hour is late," he quavered. "Were it not well to----" + +"The King's business never waits!" thundered Yi Chin Ho. "Come apart +with me, and swiftly. I have an affair of moment to discuss with you. + +"It is the King's affair," he added with even greater fierceness; so +that Pak Chung Chang's silver pipe dropped from his nerveless fingers +and clattered on the floor. + +"Know then," said Yi Chin Ho, when they had gone apart, "that the King +is troubled with an affliction, a very terrible affliction. In that he +failed to cure, the Court physician has had nothing else than his head +chopped off. From all the Eight Provinces have the physicians come to +wait upon the King. Wise consultation have they held, and they have +decided that for a remedy for the King's affliction nothing else is +required than a nose, a certain kind of nose, a very peculiar certain +kind of nose. + +"Then by none other was I summoned than his excellency the prime +minister himself. He put a paper into my hand. Upon this paper was the +very peculiar kind of nose drawn by the physicians of the Eight +Provinces, with the seal of state upon it. + +"'Go,' said his excellency the prime minister. 'Seek out this nose, for +the King's affliction is sore. And wheresoever you find this nose upon +the face of a man, strike it off forthright and bring it in all haste to +the Court, for the King must be cured. Go, and come not back until your +search is rewarded.' + +"And so I departed upon my quest," said Yi Chin Ho. "I have sought out +the remotest corners of the kingdom; I have traveled the Eight +Highways, searched the Eight Provinces, and sailed the seas of the Eight +Coasts. And here I am." + +With a great flourish he drew a paper from his girdle, unrolled it with +many snappings and cracklings, and thrust it before the face of Pak +Chung Chang. Upon the paper was the picture of the nose. + +Pak Chung Chang stared upon it with bulging eyes. + +"Never have I beheld such a nose," he began. + +"There is a wart upon it," said Yi Chin Ho. + +"Never have I beheld----" Pak Chung Chang began again. + +"Bring your father before me," Yi Chin Ho interrupted sternly. + +"My ancient and very-much-to-be-respected ancestor sleeps," said Pak +Chung Chang. + +"Why dissemble?" demanded Yi Chin Ho. "You know it is your father's +nose. Bring him before me that I may strike it off and be gone. Hurry, +lest I make bad report of you." + +"Mercy!" cried Pak Chung Chang, falling on his knees. "It is impossible! +It is impossible! You cannot strike off my father's nose. He cannot go +down without his nose to the grave. He will become a laughter and a +byword, and all my days and nights will be filled with woe. O reflect! +Report that you have seen no such nose in your travels. You, too, have a +father." + +Pak Chung Chang clasped Yi Chin Ho's knees and fell to weeping on his +sandals. + +"My heart softens strangely at your tears," said Yi Chin Ho. "I, too, +know filial piety and regard. But--" He hesitated, then added, as though +thinking aloud, "It is as much as my head is worth." + +"How much is your head worth?" asked Pak Chung Chang in a thin, small +voice. + +"A not remarkable head," said Yi Chin Ho. "An absurdly unremarkable +head! but, such is my great foolishness, I value it at nothing less than +one hundred thousand strings of cash." + +"So be it," said Pak Chung Chang, rising to his feet. + +"I shall need horses to carry the treasure," said Yi Chin Ho, "and men +to guard it well as I journey through the mountains. There are robbers +abroad in the land." + +"There are robbers abroad in the land," said Pak Chung Chang, sadly. +"But it shall be as you wish, so long as my ancient and +very-much-to-be-respected ancestor's nose abide in its appointed +place." + +"Say nothing to any man of this occurrence," said Yi Chin Ho, "else will +other and more loyal servants than I be sent to strike off your father's +nose." + +And so Yi Chin Ho departed on his way through the mountains, blithe of +heart and gay of song as he listened to the jingling bells of his +treasure-laden ponies. + +There is little more to tell. Yi Chin Ho prospered through the years. By +his efforts the jailer attained at length to the directorship of all the +prisons of Cho-sen; the Governor ultimately betook himself to the Sacred +City to be prime minister to the King, while Yi Chin Ho became the +King's boon companion and sat at table with him to the end of a round, +fat life. But Pak Chung Chang fell into a melancholy, and ever after he +shook his head sadly, with tears in his eyes, whenever he regarded the +expensive nose of his ancient and very-much-to-be-respected ancestor. + + + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Brown Wolf and Other Jack London +Stories, by Jack London + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BROWN WOLF AND OTHER JACK *** + +***** This file should be named 12336.txt or 12336.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/3/3/12336/ + +Produced by PG Distributed Proofreaders + +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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +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 + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Each eBook is in a subdirectory of the same number as the eBook's +eBook number, often in several formats including plain vanilla ASCII, +compressed (zipped), HTML and others. + +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks replace the old file and take over +the old filename and etext number. The replaced older file is renamed. +VERSIONS based on separate sources are treated as new eBooks receiving +new filenames and etext numbers. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +EBooks posted prior to November 2003, with eBook numbers BELOW #10000, +are filed in directories based on their release date. If you want to +download any of these eBooks directly, rather than using the regular +search system you may utilize the following addresses and just +download by the etext year. + + https://www.gutenberg.org/etext06 + + (Or /etext 05, 04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99, + 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90) + +EBooks posted since November 2003, with etext numbers OVER #10000, are +filed in a different way. The year of a release date is no longer part +of the directory path. The path is based on the etext number (which is +identical to the filename). The path to the file is made up of single +digits corresponding to all but the last digit in the filename. For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: + https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + + diff --git a/old/12336.zip b/old/12336.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..814f447 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12336.zip |