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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/14654-0.txt b/14654-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..aa21cbc --- /dev/null +++ b/14654-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10364 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14654 *** + +A DAUGHTER OF THE SNOWS + +by + +JACK LONDON + +Author of _The Son of The Wolf_, _The Call of the Wild_, +_The People of the Abyss_, etc. + +With Illustrations by Frederick C. Yohn + +Grosset & Dunlap +Publishers--New York + +1902 + + + + + + + +CHAPTER I + +"All ready, Miss Welse, though I'm sorry we can't spare one of the +steamer's boats." + +Frona Welse arose with alacrity and came to the first officer's side. + +"We're so busy," he explained, "and gold-rushers are such perishable +freight, at least--" + +"I understand," she interrupted, "and I, too, am behaving as though I +were perishable. And I am sorry for the trouble I am giving you, +but--but--" She turned quickly and pointed to the shore. "Do you +see that big log-house? Between the clump of pines and the river? I +was born there." + +"Guess I'd be in a hurry myself," he muttered, sympathetically, as he +piloted her along the crowded deck. + +Everybody was in everybody else's way; nor was there one who failed to +proclaim it at the top of his lungs. A thousand gold-seekers were +clamoring for the immediate landing of their outfits. Each hatchway +gaped wide open, and from the lower depths the shrieking donkey-engines +were hurrying the misassorted outfits skyward. On either side of the +steamer, rows of scows received the flying cargo, and on each of these +scows a sweating mob of men charged the descending slings and heaved +bales and boxes about in frantic search. Men waved shipping receipts +and shouted over the steamer-rails to them. Sometimes two and three +identified the same article, and war arose. The "two-circle" and the +"circle-and-dot" brands caused endless jangling, while every whipsaw +discovered a dozen claimants. + +"The purser insists that he is going mad," the first officer said, as +he helped Frona Welse down the gangway to the landing stage, "and the +freight clerks have turned the cargo over to the passengers and quit +work. But we're not so unlucky as the Star of Bethlehem," he reassured +her, pointing to a steamship at anchor a quarter of a mile away. "Half +of her passengers have pack-horses for Skaguay and White Pass, and the +other half are bound over the Chilcoot. So they've mutinied and +everything's at a standstill." + +"Hey, you!" he cried, beckoning to a Whitehall which hovered discreetly +on the outer rim of the floating confusion. + +A tiny launch, pulling heroically at a huge tow-barge, attempted to +pass between; but the boatman shot nervily across her bow, and just as +he was clear, unfortunately, caught a crab. This slewed the boat +around and brought it to a stop. + +"Watch out!" the first officer shouted. + +A pair of seventy-foot canoes, loaded with outfits, gold-rushers, and +Indians, and under full sail, drove down from the counter direction. +One of them veered sharply towards the landing stage, but the other +pinched the Whitehall against the barge. The boatman had unshipped his +oars in time, but his small craft groaned under the pressure and +threatened to collapse. Whereat he came to his feet, and in short, +nervous phrases consigned all canoe-men and launch-captains to eternal +perdition. A man on the barge leaned over from above and baptized him +with crisp and crackling oaths, while the whites and Indians in the +canoe laughed derisively. + +"Aw, g'wan!" one of them shouted. "Why don't yeh learn to row?" + +The boatman's fist landed on the point of his critic's jaw and dropped +him stunned upon the heaped merchandise. Not content with this summary +act he proceeded to follow his fist into the other craft. The miner +nearest him tugged vigorously at a revolver which had jammed in its +shiny leather holster, while his brother argonauts, laughing, waited +the outcome. But the canoe was under way again, and the Indian +helmsman drove the point of his paddle into the boatman's chest and +hurled him backward into the bottom of the Whitehall. + +When the flood of oaths and blasphemy was at full tide, and violent +assault and quick death seemed most imminent, the first officer had +stolen a glance at the girl by his side. He had expected to find a +shocked and frightened maiden countenance, and was not at all prepared +for the flushed and deeply interested face which met his eyes. + +"I am sorry," he began. + +But she broke in, as though annoyed by the interruption, "No, no; not +at all. I am enjoying it every bit. Though I am glad that man's +revolver stuck. If it had not--" + +"We might have been delayed in getting ashore." The first officer +laughed, and therein displayed his tact. + +"That man is a robber," he went on, indicating the boatman, who had now +shoved his oars into the water and was pulling alongside. "He agreed +to charge only twenty dollars for putting you ashore. Said he'd have +made it twenty-five had it been a man. He's a pirate, mark me, and he +will surely hang some day. Twenty dollars for a half-hour's work! +Think of it!" + +"Easy, sport! Easy!" cautioned the fellow in question, at the same +time making an awkward landing and dropping one of his oars over-side. +"You've no call to be flingin' names about," he added, defiantly, +wringing out his shirt-sleeve, wet from rescue of the oar. + +"You've got good ears, my man," began the first officer. + +"And a quick fist," the other snapped in. + +"And a ready tongue." + +"Need it in my business. No gettin' 'long without it among you +sea-sharks. Pirate, am I? And you with a thousand passengers packed +like sardines! Charge 'em double first-class passage, feed 'em +steerage grub, and bunk 'em worse 'n pigs! Pirate, eh! Me?" + +A red-faced man thrust his head over the rail above and began to bellow +lustily. + +"I want my stock landed! Come up here, Mr. Thurston! Now! Right +away! Fifty cayuses of | mine eating their heads off in this dirty +kennel of yours, and it'll be a sick time you'll have if you don't +hustle them ashore as fast as God'll let you! I'm losing a thousand +dollars a day, and I won't stand it! Do you hear? I won't stand it! +You've robbed me right and left from the time you cleared dock in +Seattle, and by the hinges of hell I won't stand it any more! I'll +break this company as sure as my name's Thad Ferguson! D'ye hear my +spiel? I'm Thad Ferguson, and you can't come and see me any too quick +for your health! D'ye hear?" + +"Pirate; eh?" the boatman soliloquized. "Who? Me?" + +Mr. Thurston waved his hand appeasingly at the red-faced man, and +turned to the girl. "I'd like to go ashore with you, and as far as the +store, but you see how busy we are. Good-by, and a lucky trip to you. +I'll tell off a couple of men at once and break out your baggage. Have +it up at the store to-morrow morning, sharp." + +She took his hand lightly and stepped aboard. Her weight gave the +leaky boat a sudden lurch, and the water hurtled across the bottom +boards to her shoe-tops: but she took it coolly enough, settling +herself in the stern-sheets and tucking her feet under her. + +"Hold on!" the officer cried. "This will never do, Miss Welse. Come +on back, and I'll get one of our boats over as soon as I can." + +"I'll see you in--in heaven first," retorted the boatman, shoving off. +"Let go!" he threatened. + +Mr. Thurston gripped tight hold of the gunwale, and as reward for his +chivalry had his knuckles rapped sharply by the oar-blade. Then he +forgot himself, and Miss Welse also, and swore, and swore fervently. + +"I dare say our farewell might have been more dignified," she called +back to him, her laughter rippling across the water. + +"Jove!" he muttered, doffing his cap gallantly. "There is a _woman_!" +And a sudden hunger seized him, and a yearning to see himself mirrored +always in the gray eyes of Frona Welse. He was not analytical; he did +not know why; but he knew that with her he could travel to the end of +the earth. He felt a distaste for his profession, and a temptation to +throw it all over and strike out for the Klondike whither she was +going; then he glanced up the beetling side of the ship, saw the red +face of Thad Ferguson, and forgot the dream he had for an instant +dreamed. + + +Splash! A handful of water from his strenuous oar struck her full in +the face. "Hope you don't mind it, miss," he apologized. "I'm doin' +the best I know how, which ain't much." + +"So it seems," she answered, good-naturedly. + +"Not that I love the sea," bitterly; "but I've got to turn a few honest +dollars somehow, and this seemed the likeliest way. I oughter 'a ben +in Klondike by now, if I'd had any luck at all. Tell you how it was. +I lost my outfit on Windy Arm, half-way in, after packin' it clean +across the Pass--" + +Zip! Splash! She shook the water from her eyes, squirming the while +as some of it ran down her warm back. + +"You'll do," he encouraged her. "You're the right stuff for this +country. Goin' all the way in?" + +She nodded cheerfully. + +"Then you'll do. But as I was sayin', after I lost my outfit I hit +back for the coast, bein' broke, to hustle up another one. That's why +I'm chargin' high-pressure rates. And I hope you don't feel sore at +what I made you pay. I'm no worse than the rest, miss, sure. I had to +dig up a hundred for this old tub, which ain't worth ten down in the +States. Same kind of prices everywhere. Over on the Skaguay Trail +horseshoe nails is just as good as a quarter any day. A man goes up to +the bar and calls for a whiskey. Whiskey's half a dollar. Well, he +drinks his whiskey, plunks down two horseshoe nails, and it's O.K. No +kick comin' on horseshoe nails. They use 'em to make change." + +"You must be a brave man to venture into the country again after such +an experience. Won't you tell me your name? We may meet on the +Inside." + +"Who? Me? Oh, I'm Del Bishop, pocket-miner; and if ever we run across +each other, remember I'd give you the last shirt--I mean, remember my +last bit of grub is yours." + +"Thank you," she answered with a sweet smile; for she was a woman who +loved the things which rose straight from the heart. + +He stopped rowing long enough to fish about in the water around his +feet for an old cornbeef can. + +"You'd better do some bailin'," he ordered, tossing her the can. +"She's leakin' worse since that squeeze." + +Frona smiled mentally, tucked up her skirts, and bent to the work. At +every dip, like great billows heaving along the sky-line, the +glacier-fretted mountains rose and fell. Sometimes she rested her back +and watched the teeming beach towards which they were heading, and +again, the land-locked arm of the sea in which a score or so of great +steamships lay at anchor. From each of these, to the shore and back +again, flowed a steady stream of scows, launches, canoes, and all sorts +of smaller craft. Man, the mighty toiler, reacting upon a hostile +environment, she thought, going back in memory to the masters whose +wisdom she had shared in lecture-room and midnight study. She was a +ripened child of the age, and fairly understood the physical world and +the workings thereof. And she had a love for the world, and a deep +respect. + +For some time Del Bishop had only punctuated the silence with splashes +from his oars; but a thought struck him. + +"You haven't told me your name," he suggested, with complacent delicacy. + +"My name is Welse," she answered. "Frona Welse." + +A great awe manifested itself in his face, and grew to a greater and +greater awe. "You--are--Frona--Welse?" he enunciated slowly. "Jacob +Welse ain't your old man, is he?" + +"Yes; I am Jacob Welse's daughter, at your service." + +He puckered his lips in a long low whistle of understanding and stopped +rowing. "Just you climb back into the stern and take your feet out of +that water," he commanded. "And gimme holt that can." + +"Am I not bailing satisfactorily?" she demanded, indignantly. + +"Yep. You're doin' all right; but, but, you are--are--" + +"Just what I was before you knew who I was. Now you go on +rowing,--that's your share of the work; and I'll take care of mine." + +"Oh, you'll do!" he murmured ecstatically, bending afresh to the oars. +"And Jacob Welse is your old man? I oughter 'a known it, sure!" + +When they reached the sand-spit, crowded with heterogeneous piles of +merchandise and buzzing with men, she stopped long enough to shake +hands with her ferryman. And though such a proceeding on the part of +his feminine patrons was certainly unusual, Del Bishop squared it +easily with the fact that she was Jacob Welse's daughter. + +"Remember, my last bit of grub is yours," he reassured her, still +holding her hand. + +"And your last shirt, too; don't forget." + +"Well, you're a--a--a crackerjack!" he exploded with a final squeeze. +"Sure!" + +Her short skirt did not block the free movement of her limbs, and she +discovered with pleasurable surprise that the quick tripping step of +the city pavement had departed from her, and that she was swinging off +in the long easy stride which is born of the trail and which comes only +after much travail and endeavor. More than one gold-rusher, shooting +keen glances at her ankles and gray-gaitered calves, affirmed Del +Bishop's judgment. And more than one glanced up at her face, and +glanced again; for her gaze was frank, with the frankness of +comradeship; and in her eyes there was always a smiling light, just +trembling on the verge of dawn; and did the onlooker smile, her eyes +smiled also. And the smiling light was protean-mooded,--merry, +sympathetic, joyous, quizzical,--the complement of whatsoever kindled +it. And sometimes the light spread over all her face, till the smile +prefigured by it was realized. But it was always in frank and open +comradeship. + +And there was much to cause her to smile as she hurried through the +crowd, across the sand-spit, and over the flat towards the log-building +she had pointed out to Mr. Thurston. Time had rolled back, and +locomotion and transportation were once again in the most primitive +stages. Men who had never carried more than parcels in all their lives +had now become bearers of burdens. They no longer walked upright under +the sun, but stooped the body forward and bowed the head to the earth. +Every back had become a pack-saddle, and the strap-galls were beginning +to form. They staggered beneath the unwonted effort, and legs became +drunken with weariness and titubated in divers directions till the +sunlight darkened and bearer and burden fell by the way. Other men, +exulting secretly, piled their goods on two-wheeled go-carts and pulled +out blithely enough, only to stall at the first spot where the great +round boulders invaded the trail. Whereat they generalized anew upon +the principles of Alaskan travel, discarded the go-cart, or trundled it +back to the beach and sold it at fabulous price to the last man landed. +Tenderfeet, with ten pounds of Colt's revolvers, cartridges, and +hunting-knives belted about them, wandered valiantly up the trail, and +crept back softly, shedding revolvers, cartridges, and knives in +despairing showers. And so, in gasping and bitter sweat, these sons of +Adam suffered for Adam's sin. + +Frona felt vaguely disturbed by this great throbbing rush of gold-mad +men, and the old scene with its clustering associations seemed blotted +out by these toiling aliens. Even the old landmarks appeared strangely +unfamiliar. It was the same, yet not the same. Here, on the grassy +flat, where she had played as a child and shrunk back at the sound of +her voice echoing from glacier to glacier, ten thousand men tramped +ceaselessly up and down, grinding the tender herbage into the soil and +mocking the stony silence. And just up the trail were ten thousand men +who had passed by, and over the Chilcoot were ten thousand more. And +behind, all down the island-studded Alaskan coast, even to the Horn, +were yet ten thousand more, harnessers of wind and steam, hasteners +from the ends of the earth. The Dyea River as of old roared +turbulently down to the sea; but its ancient banks were gored by the +feet of many men, and these men labored in surging rows at the dripping +tow-lines, and the deep-laden boats followed them as they fought their +upward way. And the will of man strove with the will of the water, and +the men laughed at the old Dyea River and gored its banks deeper for +the men who were to follow. + +The doorway of the store, through which she had once run out and in, +and where she had looked with awe at the unusual sight of a stray +trapper or fur-trader, was now packed with a clamorous throng of men. +Where of old one letter waiting a claimant was a thing of wonder, she +now saw, by peering through the window, the mail heaped up from floor +to ceiling. And it was for this mail the men were clamoring so +insistently. Before the store, by the scales, was another crowd. An +Indian threw his pack upon the scales, the white owner jotted down the +weight in a note-book, and another pack was thrown on. Each pack was +in the straps, ready for the packer's back and the precarious journey +over the Chilcoot. Frona edged in closer. She was interested in +freights. She remembered in her day when the solitary prospector or +trader had his outfit packed over for six cents,--one hundred and +twenty dollars a ton. + +The tenderfoot who was weighing up consulted his guide-book. "Eight +cents," he said to the Indian. Whereupon the Indians laughed +scornfully and chorused, "Forty cents!" A pained expression came into +his face, and he looked about him anxiously. The sympathetic light in +Frona's eyes caught him, and he regarded her with intent blankness. In +reality he was busy reducing a three-ton outfit to terms of cash at +forty dollars per hundred-weight. "Twenty-four hundred dollars for +thirty miles!" he cried. "What can I do?" + +Frona shrugged her shoulders. "You'd better pay them the forty cents," +she advised, "else they will take off their straps." + +The man thanked her, but instead of taking heed went on with his +haggling. One of the Indians stepped up and proceeded to unfasten his +pack-straps. The tenderfoot wavered, but just as he was about to give +in, the packers jumped the price on him to forty-five cents. He smiled +after a sickly fashion, and nodded his head in token of surrender. But +another Indian joined the group and began whispering excitedly. A +cheer went up, and before the man could realize it they had jerked off +their straps and departed, spreading the news as they went that freight +to Lake Linderman was fifty cents. + +Of a sudden, the crowd before the store was perceptibly agitated. Its +members whispered excitedly one to another, and all their eyes were +focussed upon three men approaching from up the trail. The trio were +ordinary-looking creatures, ill-clad and even ragged. In a more stable +community their apprehension by the village constable and arrest for +vagrancy would have been immediate. "French Louis," the tenderfeet +whispered and passed the word along. "Owns three Eldorado claims in a +block," the man next to Frona confided to her. "Worth ten millions at +the very least." French Louis, striding a little in advance of his +companions, did not look it. He had parted company with his hat +somewhere along the route, and a frayed silk kerchief was wrapped +carelessly about his head. And for all his ten millions, he carried +his own travelling pack on his broad shoulders. "And that one, the one +with the beard, that's Swiftwater Bill, another of the Eldorado kings." + +"How do you know?" Frona asked, doubtingly. + +"Know!" the man exclaimed. "Know! Why his picture has been in all the +papers for the last six weeks. See!" He unfolded a newspaper. "And a +pretty good likeness, too. I've looked at it so much I'd know his mug +among a thousand." + +"Then who is the third one?" she queried, tacitly accepting him as a +fount of authority. + +Her informant lifted himself on his toes to see better. "I don't +know," he confessed sorrowfully, then tapped the shoulder of the man +next to him. "Who is the lean, smooth-faced one? The one with the +blue shirt and the patch on his knee?" + +Just then Frona uttered a glad little cry and darted forward. "Matt!" +she cried. "Matt McCarthy!" + +The man with the patch shook her hand heartily, though he did not know +her and distrust was plain in his eyes. + +"Oh, you don't remember me!" she chattered. "And don't you dare say +you do! If there weren't so many looking, I'd hug you, you old bear! + +"And so Big Bear went home to the Little Bears," she recited, solemnly. +"And the Little Bears were very hungry. And Big Bear said, 'Guess what +I have got, my children.' And one Little Bear guessed berries, and one +Little Bear guessed salmon, and t'other Little Bear guessed porcupine. +Then Big Bear laughed 'Whoof! Whoof!' and said, '_A Nice Big Fat +Man_!'" + +As he listened, recollection avowed itself in his face, and, when she +had finished, his eyes wrinkled up and he laughed a peculiar, laughable +silent laugh. + +"Sure, an' it's well I know ye," he explained; "but for the life iv me +I can't put me finger on ye." + +She pointed into the store and watched him anxiously. + +"Now I have ye!" He drew back and looked her up and down, and his +expression changed to disappointment. "It cuddent be. I mistook ye. +Ye cud niver a-lived in that shanty," thrusting a thumb in the +direction of the store. + +Frona nodded her head vigorously. + +"Thin it's yer ownself afther all? The little motherless darlin', with +the goold hair I combed the knots out iv many's the time? The little +witch that run barefoot an' barelegged over all the place?" + +"Yes, yes," she corroborated, gleefully. + +"The little divil that stole the dog-team an' wint over the Pass in the +dead o' winter for to see where the world come to an ind on the ither +side, just because old Matt McCarthy was afther tellin' her fairy +stories?" + +"O Matt, dear old Matt! Remember the time I went swimming with the +Siwash girls from the Indian camp?" + +"An' I dragged ye out by the hair o' yer head?" + +"And lost one of your new rubber boots?" + +"Ah, an' sure an' I do. And a most shockin' an' immodest affair it +was! An' the boots was worth tin dollars over yer father's counter." + +"And then you went away, over the Pass, to the Inside, and we never +heard a word of you. Everybody thought you dead." + +"Well I recollect the day. An' ye cried in me arms an' wuddent kiss +yer old Matt good-by. But ye did in the ind," he exclaimed, +triumphantly, "whin ye saw I was goin' to lave ye for sure. What a wee +thing ye were!" + +"I was only eight." + +"An' 'tis twelve year agone. Twelve year I've spint on the Inside, +with niver a trip out. Ye must be twinty now?" + +"And almost as big as you," Frona affirmed. + +"A likely woman ye've grown into, tall, an' shapely, an' all that." He +looked her over critically. "But ye cud 'a' stood a bit more flesh, +I'm thinkin'." + +"No, no," she denied. "Not at twenty, Matt, not at twenty. Feel my +arm, you'll see." She doubled that member till the biceps knotted. + +"'Tis muscle," he admitted, passing his hand admiringly over the +swelling bunch; "just as though ye'd been workin' hard for yer livin'." + +"Oh, I can swing clubs, and box, and fence," she cried, successively +striking the typical postures; "and swim, and make high dives, chin a +bar twenty times, and--and walk on my hands. There!" + +"Is that what ye've been doin'? I thought ye wint away for +book-larnin'," he commented, dryly. + +"But they have new ways of teaching, now, Matt, and they don't turn you +out with your head crammed--" + +"An' yer legs that spindly they can't carry it all! Well, an' I +forgive ye yer muscle." + +"But how about yourself, Matt?" Frona asked. "How has the world been +to you these twelve years?" + +"Behold!" He spread his legs apart, threw his head back, and his chest +out. "Ye now behold Mister Matthew McCarthy, a king iv the noble +Eldorado Dynasty by the strength iv his own right arm. Me possessions +is limitless. I have more dust in wan minute than iver I saw in all me +life before. Me intintion for makin' this trip to the States is to +look up me ancestors. I have a firm belafe that they wance existed. +Ye may find nuggets in the Klondike, but niver good whiskey. 'Tis +likewise me intintion to have wan drink iv the rate stuff before I die. +Afther that 'tis me sworn resolve to return to the superveeshion iv me +Klondike properties. Indade, and I'm an Eldorado king; an' if ye'll be +wantin' the lind iv a tidy bit, it's meself that'll loan it ye." + +"The same old, old Matt, who never grows old," Frona laughed. + +"An' it's yerself is the thrue Welse, for all yer prize-fighter's +muscles an' yer philosopher's brains. But let's wander inside on the +heels of Louis an' Swiftwater. Andy's still tindin' store, I'm told, +an' we'll see if I still linger in the pages iv his mimory." + +"And I, also." Frona seized him by the hand. It was a bad habit she +had of seizing the hands of those she loved. "It's ten years since I +went away." + +The Irishman forged his way through the crowd like a pile-driver, and +Frona followed easily in the lee of his bulk. The tenderfeet watched +them reverently, for to them they were as Northland divinities. The +buzz of conversation rose again. + +"Who's the girl?" somebody asked. And just as Frona passed inside the +door she caught the opening of the answer: "Jacob Welse's daughter. +Never heard of Jacob Welse? Where have you been keeping yourself?" + + + + +CHAPTER II + +She came out of the wood of glistening birch, and with the first fires +of the sun blazoning her unbound hair raced lightly across the +dew-dripping meadow. The earth was fat with excessive moisture and +soft to her feet, while the dank vegetation slapped against her knees +and cast off flashing sprays of liquid diamonds. The flush of the +morning was in her cheek, and its fire in her eyes, and she was aglow +with youth and love. For she had nursed at the breast of nature,--in +forfeit of a mother,--and she loved the old trees and the creeping +green things with a passionate love; and the dim murmur of growing life +was a gladness to her ears, and the damp earth-smells were sweet to her +nostrils. + +Where the upper-reach of the meadow vanished in a dark and narrow +forest aisle, amid clean-stemmed dandelions and color-bursting +buttercups, she came upon a bunch of great Alaskan violets. Throwing +herself at full length, she buried her face in the fragrant coolness, +and with her hands drew the purple heads in circling splendor about her +own. And she was not ashamed. She had wandered away amid the +complexities and smirch and withering heats of the great world, and she +had returned, simple, and clean, and wholesome. And she was glad of +it, as she lay there, slipping back to the old days, when the universe +began and ended at the sky-line, and when she journeyed over the Pass +to behold the Abyss. + +It was a primitive life, that of her childhood, with few conventions, +but such as there were, stern ones. And they might be epitomized, as +she had read somewhere in her later years, as "the faith of food and +blanket." This faith had her father kept, she thought, remembering +that his name sounded well on the lips of men. And this was the faith +she had learned,--the faith she had carried with her across the Abyss +and into the world, where men had wandered away from the old truths and +made themselves selfish dogmas and casuistries of the subtlest kinds; +the faith she had brought back with her, still fresh, and young, and +joyous. And it was all so simple, she had contended; why should not +their faith be as her faith--_the faith of food and blanket_? The +faith of trail and hunting camp? The faith with which strong clean men +faced the quick danger and sudden death by field and flood? Why not? +The faith of Jacob Welse? Of Matt McCarthy? Of the Indian boys she +had played with? Of the Indian girls she had led to Amazonian war? Of +the very wolf-dogs straining in the harnesses and running with her +across the snow? It was healthy, it was real, it was good, she +thought, and she was glad. + +The rich notes of a robin saluted her from the birch wood, and opened +her ears to the day. A partridge boomed afar in the forest, and a +tree-squirrel launched unerringly into space above her head, and went +on, from limb to limb and tree to tree, scolding graciously the while. +From the hidden river rose the shouts of the toiling adventurers, +already parted from sleep and fighting their way towards the Pole. + +Frona arose, shook back her hair, and took instinctively the old path +between the trees to the camp of Chief George and the Dyea tribesmen. +She came upon a boy, breech-clouted and bare, like a copper god. He +was gathering wood, and looked at her keenly over his bronze shoulder. +She bade him good-morning, blithely, in the Dyea tongue; but he shook +his head, and laughed insultingly, and paused in his work to hurl +shameful words after her. She did not understand, for this was not the +old way, and when she passed a great and glowering Sitkan buck she kept +her tongue between her teeth. At the fringe of the forest, the camp +confronted her. And she was startled. It was not the old camp of a +score or more of lodges clustering and huddling together in the open as +though for company, but a mighty camp. It began at the very forest, +and flowed in and out among the scattered tree-clumps on the flat, and +spilled over and down to the river bank where the long canoes were +lined up ten and twelve deep. It was a gathering of the tribes, like +unto none in all the past, and a thousand miles of coast made up the +tally. They were all strange Indians, with wives and chattels and +dogs. She rubbed shoulders with Juneau and Wrangel men, and was +jostled by wild-eyed Sticks from over the Passes, fierce Chilcats, and +Queen Charlotte Islanders. And the looks they cast upon her were black +and frowning, save--and far worse--where the merrier souls leered +patronizingly into her face and chuckled unmentionable things. + +She was not frightened by this insolence, but angered; for it hurt her, +and embittered the pleasurable home-coming. Yet she quickly grasped +the significance of it: the old patriarchal status of her father's time +had passed away, and civilization, in a scorching blast, had swept down +upon this people in a day. Glancing under the raised flaps of a tent, +she saw haggard-faced bucks squatting in a circle on the floor. By the +door a heap of broken bottles advertised the vigils of the night. A +white man, low of visage and shrewd, was dealing cards about, and gold +and silver coins leaped into heaping bets upon the blanket board. A +few steps farther on she heard the cluttering whirl of a wheel of +fortune, and saw the Indians, men and women, chancing eagerly their +sweat-earned wages for the gaudy prizes of the game. And from tepee +and lodge rose the cracked and crazy strains of cheap music-boxes. + +An old squaw, peeling a willow pole in the sunshine of an open doorway, +raised her head and uttered a shrill cry. + +"Hee-Hee! Tenas Hee-Hee!" she muttered as well and as excitedly as her +toothless gums would permit. + +Frona thrilled at the cry. Tenas Hee-Hee! Little Laughter! Her name +of the long gone Indian past! She turned and went over to the old +woman. + +"And hast thou so soon forgotten, Tenas Hee-Hee?" she mumbled. "And +thine eyes so young and sharp! Not so soon does Neepoosa forget." + +"It is thou, Neepoosa?" Frona cried, her tongue halting from the disuse +of years. + +"Ay, it is Neepoosa," the old woman replied, drawing her inside the +tent, and despatching a boy, hot-footed, on some errand. They sat down +together on the floor, and she patted Frona's hand lovingly, peering, +meanwhile, blear-eyed and misty, into her face. "Ay, it is Neepoosa, +grown old quickly after the manner of our women. Neepoosa, who dandled +thee in her arms when thou wast a child. Neepoosa, who gave thee thy +name, Tenas Hee-Hee. Who fought for thee with Death when thou wast +ailing; and gathered growing things from the woods and grasses of the +earth and made of them tea, and gave thee to drink. But I mark little +change, for I knew thee at once. It was thy very shadow on the ground +that made me lift my head. A little change, mayhap. Tall thou art, +and like a slender willow in thy grace, and the sun has kissed thy +cheeks more lightly of the years; but there is the old hair, flying +wild and of the color of the brown seaweed floating on the tide, and +the mouth, quick to laugh and loth to cry. And the eyes are as clear +and true as in the days when Neepoosa chid thee for wrong-doing, and +thou wouldst not put false words upon thy tongue. Ai! Ai! Not as +thou art the other women who come now into the land!" + +"And why is a white woman without honor among you?" Frona demanded. +"Your men say evil things to me in the camp, and as I came through the +woods, even the boys. Not in the old days, when I played with them, +was this shame so." + +"Ai! Ai!" Neepoosa made answer. "It is so. But do not blame them. +Pour not thine anger upon their heads. For it is true it is the fault +of thy women who come into the land these days. They can point to no +man and say, 'That is my man.' And it is not good that women should he +thus. And they look upon all men, bold-eyed and shameless, and their +tongues are unclean, and their hearts bad. Wherefore are thy women +without honor among us. As for the boys, they are but boys. And the +men; how should they know?" + +The tent-flaps were poked aside and an old man came in. He grunted to +Frona and sat down. Only a certain eager alertness showed the delight +he took in her presence. + +"So Tenas Hee-Hee has come back in these bad days," he vouchsafed in a +shrill, quavering voice. + +"And why bad days, Muskim?" Frona asked. "Do not the women wear +brighter colors? Are not the bellies fuller with flour and bacon and +white man's grub? Do not the young men contrive great wealth what of +their pack-straps and paddles? And art thou not remembered with the +ancient offerings of meat and fish and blanket? Why bad days, Muskim?" + +"True," he replied in his fine, priestly way, a reminiscent flash of +the old fire lighting his eyes. "It is very true. The women wear +brighter colors. But they have found favor, in the eyes of thy white +men, and they look no more upon the young men of their own blood. +Wherefore the tribe does not increase, nor do the little children +longer clutter the way of our feet. It is so. The bellies are fuller +with the white man's grub; but also are they fuller with the white +man's bad whiskey. Nor could it be otherwise that the young men +contrive great wealth; but they sit by night over the cards, and it +passes from them, and they speak harsh words one to another, and in +anger blows are struck, and there is bad blood between them. As for +old Muskim, there are few offerings of meat and fish and blanket. For +the young women have turned aside from the old paths, nor do the young +men longer honor the old totems and the old gods. So these are bad +days, Tenas Hee-Hee, and they behold old Muskim go down in sorrow to +the grave." + +"Ai! Ai! It is so!" wailed Neepoosa. + +"Because of the madness of thy people have my people become mad," +Muskim continued. "They come over the salt sea like the waves of the +sea, thy people, and they go--ah! who knoweth where?" + +"Ai! Who knoweth where?" Neepoosa lamented, rocking slowly back and +forth. + +"Ever they go towards the frost and cold; and ever do they come, more +people, wave upon wave!" + +"Ai! Ai! Into the frost and cold! It is a long way, and dark and +cold!" She shivered, then laid a sudden hand on Frona's arm. "And +thou goest?" + +Frona nodded. + +"And Tenas Hee-Hee goest! Ai! Ai! Ai!" + +The tent-flap lifted, and Matt McCarthy peered in. "It's yerself, +Frona, is it? With breakfast waitin' this half-hour on ye, an' old +Andy fumin' an' frettin' like the old woman he is. Good-mornin' to ye, +Neepoosa," he addressed Frona's companions, "an' to ye, Muskim, though, +belike ye've little mimory iv me face." + +The old couple grunted salutation and remained stolidly silent. + +"But hurry with ye, girl," turning back to Frona. "Me steamer starts +by mid-day, an' it's little I'll see iv ye at the best. An' likewise +there's Andy an' the breakfast pipin' hot, both iv them." + + + + +CHAPTER III + +Frona waved her hand to Andy and swung out on the trail. Fastened +tightly to her back were her camera and a small travelling satchel. In +addition, she carried for alpenstock the willow pole of Neepoosa. Her +dress was of the mountaineering sort, short-skirted and scant, allowing +the greatest play with the least material, and withal gray of color and +modest. + +Her outfit, on the backs of a dozen Indians and in charge of Del +Bishop, had got under way hours before. The previous day, on her +return with Matt McCarthy from the Siwash camp, she had found Del +Bishop at the store waiting her. His business was quickly transacted, +for the proposition he made was terse and to the point. She was going +into the country. He was intending to go in. She would need somebody. +If she had not picked any one yet, why he was just the man. He had +forgotten to tell her the day he took her ashore that he had been in +the country years before and knew all about it. True, he hated the +water, and it was mainly a water journey; but he was not afraid of it. +He was afraid of nothing. Further, he would fight for her at the drop +of the hat. As for pay, when they got to Dawson, a good word from her +to Jacob Welse, and a year's outfit would be his. No, no; no +grub-stake about it, no strings on him! He would pay for the outfit +later on when his sack was dusted. What did she think about it, +anyway? And Frona did think about it, for ere she had finished +breakfast he was out hustling the packers together. + +She found herself making better speed than the majority of her fellows, +who were heavily laden and had to rest their packs every few hundred +yards. Yet she found herself hard put to keep the pace of a bunch of +Scandinavians ahead of her. They were huge strapping blond-haired +giants, each striding along with a hundred pounds on his back, and all +harnessed to a go-cart which carried fully six hundred more. Their +faces were as laughing suns, and the joy of life was in them. The toil +seemed child's play and slipped from them lightly. They joked with one +another, and with the passers-by, in a meaningless tongue, and their +great chests rumbled with cavern-echoing laughs. Men stood aside for +them, and looked after them enviously; for they took the rises of the +trail on the run, and rattled down the counter slopes, and ground the +iron-rimmed wheels harshly over the rocks. Plunging through a dark +stretch of woods, they came out upon the river at the ford. A drowned +man lay on his back on the sand-bar, staring upward, unblinking, at the +sun. A man, in irritated tones, was questioning over and over, +"Where's his pardner? Ain't he got a pardner?" Two more men had +thrown off their packs and were coolly taking an inventory of the dead +man's possessions. One called aloud the various articles, while the +other checked them off on a piece of dirty wrapping-paper. Letters and +receipts, wet and pulpy, strewed the sand. A few gold coins were +heaped carelessly on a white handkerchief. Other men, crossing back +and forth in canoes and skiffs, took no notice. + +The Scandinavians glanced at the sight, and their faces sobered for a +moment. "Where's his pardner? Ain't he got a pardner?" the irritated +man demanded of them. They shook their heads. They did not understand +English. They stepped into the water and splashed onward. Some one +called warningly from the opposite bank, whereat they stood still and +conferred together. Then they started on again. The two men taking +the inventory turned to watch. The current rose nigh to their hips, +but it was swift and they staggered, while now and again the cart +slipped sideways with the stream. The worst was over, and Frona found +herself holding her breath. The water had sunk to the knees of the two +foremost men, when a strap snapped on one nearest the cart. His pack +swung suddenly to the side, overbalancing him. At the same instant the +man next to him slipped, and each jerked the other under. The next two +were whipped off their feet, while the cart, turning over, swept from +the bottom of the ford into the deep water. The two men who had almost +emerged threw themselves backward on the pull-ropes. The effort was +heroic, but giants though they were, the task was too great and they +were dragged, inch by inch, downward and under. + +Their packs held them to the bottom, save him whose strap had broken. +This one struck out, not to the shore, but down the stream, striving to +keep up with his comrades. A couple of hundred feet below, the rapid +dashed over a toothed-reef of rocks, and here, a minute later, they +appeared. The cart, still loaded, showed first, smashing a wheel and +turning over and over into the next plunge. The men followed in a +miserable tangle. They were beaten against the submerged rocks and +swept on, all but one. Frona, in a canoe (a dozen canoes were already +in pursuit), saw him grip the rock with bleeding fingers. She saw his +white face and the agony of the effort; but his hold relaxed and he was +jerked away, just as his free comrade, swimming mightily, was reaching +for him. Hidden from sight, they took the next plunge, showing for a +second, still struggling, at the shallow foot of the rapid. + +A canoe picked up the swimming man, but the rest disappeared in a long +stretch of swift, deep water. For a quarter of an hour the canoes +plied fruitlessly about, then found the dead men gently grounded in an +eddy. A tow-rope was requisitioned from an up-coming boat, and a pair +of horses from a pack-train on the bank, and the ghastly jetsam hauled +ashore. Frona looked at the five young giants lying in the mud, +broken-boned, limp, uncaring. They were still harnessed to the cart, +and the poor worthless packs still clung to their backs, The sixth sat +in the midst, dry-eyed and stunned. A dozen feet away the steady flood +of life flowed by and Frona melted into it and went on. + + +The dark spruce-shrouded mountains drew close together in the Dyea +Canyon, and the feet of men churned the wet sunless earth into mire and +bog-hole. And when they had done this they sought new paths, till +there were many paths. And on such a path Frona came upon a man spread +carelessly in the mud. He lay on his side, legs apart and one arm +buried beneath him, pinned down by a bulky pack. His cheek was +pillowed restfully in the ooze, and on his face there was an expression +of content. He brightened when he saw her, and his eyes twinkled +cheerily. + +"'Bout time you hove along," he greeted her. "Been waitin' an hour on +you as it is." + +"That's it," as Frona bent over him. "Just unbuckle that strap. The +pesky thing! 'Twas just out o' my reach all the time." + +"Are you hurt?" she asked. + +He slipped out of his straps, shook himself, and felt the twisted arm. +"Nope. Sound as a dollar, thank you. And no kick to register, +either." He reached over and wiped his muddy hands on a low-bowed +spruce. "Just my luck; but I got a good rest, so what's the good of +makin' a beef about it? You see, I tripped on that little root there, +and slip! slump! slam! and slush!--there I was, down and out, and the +buckle just out o' reach. And there I lay for a blasted hour, +everybody hitting the lower path." + +"But why didn't you call out to them?" + +"And make 'em climb up the hill to me? Them all tuckered out with +their own work? Not on your life! Wasn't serious enough. If any +other man 'd make me climb up just because he'd slipped down, I'd take +him out o' the mud all right, all right, and punch and punch him back +into the mud again. Besides, I knew somebody was bound to come along +my way after a while." + +"Oh, you'll do!" she cried, appropriating Del Bishop's phrase. "You'll +do for this country!" + +"Yep," he called back, shouldering his pack and starting off at a +lively clip. "And, anyway, I got a good rest." + +The trail dipped through a precipitous morass to the river's brink. A +slender pine-tree spanned the screaming foam and bent midway to touch +the water. The surge beat upon the taper trunk and gave it a +rhythmical swaying motion, while the feet of the packers had worn +smooth its wave-washed surface. Eighty feet it stretched in ticklish +insecurity. Frona stepped upon it, felt it move beneath her, heard the +bellowing of the water, saw the mad rush--and shrank back. She slipped +the knot of her shoe-laces and pretended great care in the tying +thereof as a bunch of Indians came out of the woods above and down +through the mud. Three or four bucks led the way, followed by many +squaws, all bending in the head-straps to the heavy packs. Behind came +the children burdened according to their years, and in the rear half a +dozen dogs, tongues lagging out and dragging forward painfully under +their several loads. + +The men glanced at her sideways, and one of them said something in an +undertone. Frona could not hear, but the snicker which went down the +line brought the flush of shame to her brow and told her more forcibly +than could the words. Her face was hot, for she sat disgraced in her +own sight; but she gave no sign. The leader stood aside, and one by +one, and never more than one at a time, they made the perilous passage. +At the bend in the middle their weight forced the tree under, and they +felt for their footing, up to the ankles in the cold, driving torrent. +Even the little children made it without hesitancy, and then the dogs +whining and reluctant but urged on by the man. When the last had +crossed over, he turned to Frona. + +"Um horse trail," he said, pointing up the mountain side. "Much better +you take um horse trail. More far; much better." + +But she shook her head and waited till he reached the farther bank; for +she felt the call, not only upon her own pride, but upon the pride of +her race; and it was a greater demand than her demand, just as the race +was greater than she. So she put foot upon the log, and, with the eyes +of the alien people upon her, walked down into the foam-white swirl. + + +She came upon a man weeping by the side of the trail. His pack, +clumsily strapped, sprawled on the ground. He had taken off a shoe, +and one naked foot showed swollen and blistered. + +"What is the matter?" she asked, halting before him. + +He looked up at her, then down into the depths where the Dyea River cut +the gloomy darkness with its living silver. The tears still welled in +his eyes, and he sniffled. + +"What is the matter?" she repeated. "Can I be of any help?" + +"No," he replied. "How can you help? My feet are raw, and my back is +nearly broken, and I am all tired out. Can you help any of these +things?" + +"Well," judiciously, "I am sure it might be worse. Think of the men +who have just landed on the beach. It will take them ten days or two +weeks to back-trip their outfits as far as you have already got yours." + +"But my partners have left me and gone on," he moaned, a sneaking +appeal for pity in his voice. "And I am all alone, and I don't feel +able to move another step. And then think of my wife and babies. I +left them down in the States. Oh, if they could only see me now! I +can't go back to them, and I can't go on. It's too much for me. I +can't stand it, this working like a horse. I was not made to work like +a horse. I'll die, I know I will, if I do. Oh, what shall I do? What +shall I do?" + +"Why did your comrades leave you?" + +"Because I was not so strong as they; because I could not pack as much +or as long. And they laughed at me and left me." + +"Have you ever roughed it?" Frona asked. + +"No." + +"You look well put up and strong. Weigh probably one hundred and +sixty-five?" + +"One hundred-and seventy," he corrected. + +"You don't look as though you had ever been troubled with sickness. +Never an invalid?" + +"N-no." + +"And your comrades? They are miners?" + +"Never mining in their lives. They worked in the same establishment +with me. That's what makes it so hard, don't you see! We'd known one +another for years! And to go off and leave me just because I couldn't +keep up!" + +"My friend," and Frona knew she was speaking for the race, "you are +strong as they. You can work just as hard as they; pack as much. But +you are weak of heart. This is no place for the weak of heart. You +cannot work like a horse because you will not. Therefore the country +has no use for you. The north wants strong men,--strong of soul, not +body. The body does not count. So go back to the States. We do not +want you here. If you come you will die, and what then of| your wife +and babies? So sell out your outfit and go back. You will be home in +three weeks. Good-by." + + +She passed through Sheep Camp. Somewhere above, a mighty glacier, +under the pent pressure of a subterranean reservoir, had burst asunder +and hurled a hundred thousand tons of ice and water down the rocky +gorge. The trail was yet slippery with the slime of the flood, and men +were rummaging disconsolately in the rubbish of overthrown tents and +caches. But here and there they worked with nervous haste, and the +stark corpses by the trail-side attested dumbly to their labor. A few +hundred yards beyond, the work of the rush went on uninterrupted. Men +rested their packs on jutting stones, swapped escapes whilst they +regained their breath, then stumbled on to their toil again. + + +The mid-day sun beat down upon the stone "Scales." The forest had +given up the struggle, and the dizzying heat recoiled from the +unclothed rock. On either hand rose the ice-marred ribs of earth, +naked and strenuous in their nakedness. Above towered storm-beaten +Chilcoot. Up its gaunt and ragged front crawled a slender string of +men. But it was an endless string. It came out of the last fringe of +dwarfed shrub below, drew a black line across a dazzling stretch of +ice, and filed past Frona where she ate her lunch by the way. And it +went on, up the pitch of the steep, growing fainter and smaller, till +it squirmed and twisted like a column of ants and vanished over the +crest of the pass. + +Even as she looked, Chilcoot was wrapped in rolling mist and whirling +cloud, and a storm of sleet and wind roared down upon the toiling +pigmies. The light was swept out of the day, and a deep gloom +prevailed; but Frona knew that somewhere up there, clinging and +climbing and immortally striving, the long line of ants still twisted +towards the sky. And she thrilled at the thought, strong with man's +ancient love of mastery, and stepped into the line which came out of +the storm behind and disappeared into the storm before. + +She blew through the gap of the pass in a whirlwind of vapor, with hand +and foot clambered down the volcanic ruin of Chilcoot's mighty father, +and stood on the bleak edge of the lake which filled the pit of the +crater. The lake was angry and white-capped, and though a hundred +caches were waiting ferriage, no boats were plying back and forth. A +rickety skeleton of sticks, in a shell of greased canvas, lay upon the +rocks. Frona sought out the owner, a bright-faced young fellow, with +sharp black eyes and a salient jaw. Yes, he was the ferryman, but he +had quit work for the day. Water too rough for freighting. He charged +twenty-five dollars for passengers, but he was not taking passengers +to-day. Had he not said it was too rough? That was why. + +"But you will take me, surely?" she asked. + +He shook his head and gazed out over the lake. "At the far end it's +rougher than you see it here. Even the big wooden boats won't tackle +it. The last that tried, with a gang of packers aboard, was blown over +on the west shore. We could see them plainly. And as there's no trail +around from there, they'll have to camp it out till the blow is over." + +"But they're better off than I am. My camp outfit is at Happy Camp, +and I can't very well stay here," Frona smiled winsomely, but there was +no appeal in the smile; no feminine helplessness throwing itself on the +strength and chivalry of the male. "Do reconsider and take me across." + +"No." + +"I'll give you fifty." + +"No, I say." + +"But I'm not afraid, you know." + +The young fellow's eyes flashed angrily. He turned upon her suddenly, +but on second thought did not utter the words forming on his lips. She +realized the unintentional slur she had cast, and was about to explain. +But on second thought she, too, remained silent; for she read him, and +knew that it was perhaps the only way for her to gain her point. They +stood there, bodies inclined to the storm in the manner of seamen on +sloped decks, unyieldingly looking into each other's eyes. His hair +was plastered in wet ringlets on his forehead, while hers, in longer +wisps, beat furiously about her face. + +"Come on, then!" He flung the boat into the water with an angry jerk, +and tossed the oars aboard. "Climb in! I'll take you, but not for +your fifty dollars. You pay the regulation price, and that's all." + +A gust of the gale caught the light shell and swept it broadside for a +score of feet. The spray drove inboard in a continuous stinging +shower, and Frona at once fell to work with the bailing-can. + +"I hope we're blown ashore," he shouted, stooping forward to the oars. +"It would be embarrassing--for you." He looked up savagely into her +face. + +"No," she modified; "but it would be very miserable for both of us,--a +night without tent, blankets, or fire. Besides, we're not going to +blow ashore." + + +She stepped out on the slippery rocks and helped him heave up the +canvas craft and tilt the water out. On either side uprose bare wet +walls of rock. A heavy sleet was falling steadily, through which a few +streaming caches showed in the gathering darkness. + +"You'd better hurry up," he advised, thanking her for the assistance +and relaunching the boat. "Two miles of stiff trail from here to Happy +Camp. No wood until you get there, so you'd best hustle along. +Good-by." + +Frona reached out and took his hand, and said, "You are a brave man." + +"Oh, I don't know." He returned the grip with usury and looked his +admiration. + + +A dozen tents held grimly to their pegs on the extreme edge of the +timber line at Happy Camp. Frona, weary with the day, went from tent +to tent. Her wet skirts clung heavily to her tired limbs, while the +wind buffeted her brutally about. Once, through a canvas wall, she +heard a man apostrophizing gorgeously, and felt sure that it was Del +Bishop. But a peep into the interior told a different tale; so she +wandered fruitlessly on till she reached the last tent in the camp. +She untied the flap and looked in. A spluttering candle showed the one +occupant, a man, down on his knees and blowing lustily into the +fire-box of a smoky Yukon stove. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +She cast off the lower flap-fastenings and entered. The man still blew +into the stove, unaware of his company. Frona coughed, and he raised a +pair of smoke-reddened eyes to hers. + +"Certainly," he said, casually enough. "Fasten the flaps and make +yourself comfortable." And thereat returned to his borean task. + +"Hospitable, to say the least," she commented to herself, obeying his +command and coming up to the stove. + +A heap of dwarfed spruce, gnarled and wet and cut to proper +stove-length, lay to one side. Frona knew it well, creeping and +crawling and twisting itself among the rocks of the shallow alluvial +deposit, unlike its arboreal prototype, rarely lifting its head more +than a foot from the earth. She looked into the oven, found it empty, +and filled it with the wet wood. The man arose to his feet, coughing +from the smoke which had been driven into his lungs, and nodding +approval. + +When he had recovered his breath, "Sit down and dry your skirts. I'll +get supper." + +He put a coffee-pot on the front lid of the stove, emptied the bucket +into it, and went out of the tent after more water. As his back +disappeared, Frona dived for her satchel, and when he returned a moment +later he found her with a dry skirt on and wringing the wet one out. +While he fished about in the grub-box for dishes and eating utensils, +she stretched a spare bit of rope between the tent-poles and hung the +skirt on it to dry. The dishes were dirty, and, as he bent over and +washed them, she turned her back and deftly changed her stockings. Her +childhood had taught her the value of well-cared feet for the trail. +She put her wet shoes on a pile of wood at the back of the stove, +substituting for them a pair of soft and dainty house-moccasins of +Indian make. The fire had now grown strong, and she was content to let +her under-garments dry on her body. + +During all this time neither had spoken a word. Not only had the man +remained silent, but he went about his work in so preoccupied a way +that it seemed to Frona that he turned a deaf ear to the words of +explanation she would have liked to utter. His whole bearing conveyed +the impression that it was the most ordinary thing under the sun for a +young woman to come in out of the storm and night and partake of his +hospitality. In one way, she liked this; but in so far as she did not +comprehend it, she was troubled. She had a perception of a something +being taken for granted which she did not understand. Once or twice +she moistened her lips to speak, but he appeared so oblivious of her +presence that she withheld. + +After opening a can of corned beef with the axe, he fried half a dozen +thick slices of bacon, set the frying-pan back, and boiled the coffee. +From the grub-box he resurrected the half of a cold heavy flapjack. He +looked at it dubiously, and shot a quick glance at her. Then he threw +the sodden thing out of doors and dumped the contents of a sea-biscuit +bag upon a camp cloth. The sea-biscuit had been crumbled into chips +and fragments and generously soaked by the rain till it had become a +mushy, pulpy mass of dirty white. + +"It's all I have in the way of bread," he muttered; "but sit down and +we will make the best of it." + +"One moment--" And before he could protest, Frona had poured the +sea-biscuit into the frying-pan on top of the grease and bacon. To +this she added a couple of cups of water and stirred briskly over the +fire. When it had sobbed and sighed with the heat for some few +minutes, she sliced up the corned beef and mixed it in with the rest. +And by the time she had seasoned it heavily with salt and black pepper, +a savory steam was rising from the concoction. + +"Must say it's pretty good stuff," he said, balancing his plate on his +knee and sampling the mess avidiously. "What do you happen to call it?" + +"Slumgullion," she responded curtly, and thereafter the meal went on in +silence. + +Frona helped him to the coffee, studying him intently the while. And +not only was it not an unpleasant face, she decided, but it was strong. +Strong, she amended, potentially rather than actually. A student, she +added, for she had seen many students' eyes and knew the lasting +impress of the midnight oil long continued; and his eyes bore the +impress. Brown eyes, she concluded, and handsome as the male's should +be handsome; but she noted with surprise, when she refilled his plate +with slumgullion, that they were not at all brown in the ordinary +sense, but hazel-brown. In the daylight, she felt certain, and in +times of best health, they would seem gray, and almost blue-gray. She +knew it well; her one girl chum and dearest friend had had such an eye. + +His hair was chestnut-brown, glinting in the candle-light to gold, and +the hint of waviness in it explained the perceptible droop to his tawny +moustache. For the rest, his face was clean-shaven and cut on a good +masculine pattern. At first she found fault with the more than slight +cheek-hollows under the cheek-bones, but when she measured his +well-knit, slenderly muscular figure, with its deep chest and heavy +shoulders, she discovered that she preferred the hollows; at least they +did not imply lack of nutrition. The body gave the lie to that; while +they themselves denied the vice of over-feeding. Height, five feet, +nine, she summed up from out of her gymnasium experience; and age +anywhere between twenty-five and thirty, though nearer the former most +likely. + +"Haven't many blankets," he said abruptly, pausing to drain his cup and +set it over on the grub-box. "I don't expect my Indians back from Lake +Linderman till morning, and the beggars have packed over everything +except a few sacks of flour and the bare camp outfit. However, I've a +couple of heavy ulsters which will serve just as well." + +He turned his back, as though he did not expect a reply, and untied a +rubber-covered roll of blankets. Then he drew the two ulsters from a +clothes-bag and threw them down on the bedding. + +"Vaudeville artist, I suppose?" + +He asked the question seemingly without interest, as though to keep the +conversation going, and, in fact, as if he knew the stereotyped answer +beforehand. But to Frona the question was like a blow in the face. +She remembered Neepoosa's philippic against the white women who were +coming into the land, and realized the falseness of her position and +the way in which he looked upon her. + +But he went on before she could speak. "Last night I had two +vaudeville queens, and three the night before. Only there was more +bedding then. It's unfortunate, isn't it, the aptitude they display in +getting lost from their outfits? Yet somehow I have failed to find any +lost outfits so far. And they are all queens, it seems. No +under-studies or minor turns about them,--no, no. And I presume you +are a queen, too?" + +The too-ready blood sprayed her cheek, and this made her angrier than +did he; for whereas she was sure of the steady grip she had on herself, +her flushed face betokened a confusion which did not really possess her. + +"No," she answered, coolly; "I am not a vaudeville artist." + +He tossed several sacks of flour to one side of the stove, without +replying, and made of them the foundation of a bed; and with the +remaining sacks he duplicated the operation on the opposite side of the +stove. + +"But you are some kind of an artist, then," he insisted when he had +finished, with an open contempt on the "artist." + +"Unfortunately, I am not any kind of an artist at all." + +He dropped the blanket he was folding and straightened his back. +Hitherto he had no more than glanced at her; but now he scrutinized her +carefully, every inch of her, from head to heel and back again, the cut +of her garments and the very way she did her hair. And he took his +time about it. + +"Oh! I beg pardon," was his verdict, followed by another stare. "Then +you are a very foolish woman dreaming of fortune and shutting your eyes +to the dangers of the pilgrimage. It is only meet that two kinds of +women come into this country. Those who by virtue of wifehood and +daughterhood are respectable, and those who are not respectable. +Vaudeville stars and artists, they call themselves for the sake of +decency; and out of courtesy we countenance it. Yes, yes, I know. But +remember, the women who come over the trail must be one or the other. +There is no middle course, and those who attempt it are bound to fail. +So you are a very, very foolish girl, and you had better turn back +while there is yet a chance. If you will view it in the light of a +loan from a stranger, I will advance your passage back to the States, +and start an Indian over the trail with you to-morrow for Dyea." + +Once or twice Frona had attempted to interrupt him, but he had waved +her imperatively to silence with his hand. + +"I thank you," she began; but he broke in,-- + +"Oh, not at all, not at all." + +"I thank you," she repeated; but it happens that--a--that you are +mistaken. I have just come over the trail from Dyea and expect to meet +my outfit already in camp here at Happy Camp. They started hours ahead +of me, and I can't understand how I passed them--yes I do, too! A boat +was blown over to the west shore of Crater Lake this afternoon, and +they must have been in it. That is where I missed them and came on. +As for my turning back, I appreciate your motive for suggesting it, but +my father is in Dawson, and I have not seen him for three years. Also, +I have come through from Dyea this day, and am tired, and I would like +to get some rest. So, if you still extend your hospitality, I'll go to +bed." + +"Impossible!" He kicked the blankets to one side, sat down on the +flour sacks, and directed a blank look upon her. + +"Are--are there any women in the other tents?" she asked, hesitatingly. +"I did not see any, but I may have overlooked." + +"A man and his wife were, but they pulled stakes this morning. No; +there are no other women except--except two or three in a tent, +which--er--which will not do for you." + +"Do you think I am afraid of their hospitality?" she demanded, hotly. +"As you said, they are women." + +"But I said it would not do," he answered, absently, staring at the +straining canvas and listening to the roar of the storm. "A man would +die in the open on a night like this. + +"And the other tents are crowded to the walls," he mused. "I happen to +know. They have stored all their caches inside because of the water, +and they haven't room to turn around. Besides, a dozen other strangers +are storm-bound with them. Two or three asked to spread their beds in +here to-night if they couldn't pinch room elsewhere. Evidently they +have; but that does not argue that there is any surplus space left. +And anyway--" + +He broke off helplessly. The inevitableness of the situation was +growing. + +"Can I make Deep Lake to-night?" Frona asked, forgetting herself to +sympathize with him, then becoming conscious of what she was doing and +bursting into laughter. + +"But you couldn't ford the river in the dark." He frowned at her +levity. "And there are no camps between." + +"Are you afraid?" she asked with just the shadow of a sneer. + +"Not for myself." + +"Well, then, I think I'll go to bed." + +"I might sit up and keep the fire going," he suggested after a pause. + +"Fiddlesticks!" she cried. "As though your foolish little code were +saved in the least! We are not in civilization. This is the trail to +the Pole. Go to bed." + +He elevated his shoulders in token of surrender. "Agreed. What shall +I do then?" + +"Help me make my bed, of course. Sacks laid crosswise! Thank you, +sir, but I have bones and muscles that rebel. Here-- Pull them +around this way." + +Under her direction he laid the sacks lengthwise in a double row. This +left an uncomfortable hollow with lumpy sack-corners down the middle; +but she smote them flat with the side of the axe, and in the same +manner lessened the slope to the walls of the hollow. Then she made a +triple longitudinal fold in a blanket and spread it along the bottom of +the long depression. + +"Hum!" he soliloquized. "Now I see why I sleep so badly. Here goes!" +And he speedily flung his own sacks into shape. + +"It is plain you are unused to the trail," she informed him, spreading +the topmost blanket and sitting down. + +"Perhaps so," he made answer. "But what do you know about this trail +life?" he growled a little later. + +"Enough to conform," she rejoined equivocally, pulling out the dried +wood from the oven and replacing it with wet. + +"Listen to it! How it storms!" he exclaimed. "It's growing worse, if +worse be possible." + +The tent reeled under the blows of the wind, the canvas booming +hollowly at every shock, while the sleet and rain rattled overhead like +skirmish-fire grown into a battle. In the lulls they could hear the +water streaming off at the side-walls with the noise of small +cataracts. He reached up curiously and touched the wet roof. A burst +of water followed instantly at the point of contact and coursed down +upon the grub-box. + +"You mustn't do that!" Frona cried, springing to her feet. She put her +finger on the spot, and, pressing tightly against the canvas, ran it +down to the side-wall. The leak at once stopped. "You mustn't do it, +you know," she reproved. + +"Jove!" was his reply. "And you came through from Dyea to-day! Aren't +you stiff?" + +"Quite a bit," she confessed, candidly, "and sleepy." + +"Good-night," she called to him several minutes later, stretching her +body luxuriously in the warm blankets. And a quarter of an hour after +that, "Oh, I say! Are you awake?" + +"Yes," his voice came muffled across the stove. "What is it?" + +"Have you the shavings cut?" + +"Shavings?" he queried, sleepily. "What shavings?" + +"For the fire in the morning, of course. So get up and cut them." + +He obeyed without a word; but ere he was done she had ceased to hear +him. + +The ubiquitous bacon was abroad on the air when she opened her eyes. +Day had broken, and with it the storm. The wet sun was shining +cheerily over the drenched landscape and in at the wide-spread flaps. +Already work had begun, and groups of men were filing past under their +packs. Frona turned over on her side. Breakfast was cooked. Her host +had just put the bacon and fried potatoes in the oven, and was engaged +in propping the door ajar with two sticks of firewood. + +"Good-morning," she greeted. + +"And good-morning to you," he responded, rising to his feet and picking +up the water-bucket. "I don't hope that you slept well, for I know you +did." + +Frona laughed. + +"I'm going out after some water," he vouchsafed. "And when I return I +shall expect you ready for breakfast." + +After breakfast, basking herself in the sun, Frona descried a familiar +bunch of men rounding the tail of the glacier in the direction of +Crater Lake. She clapped her hands. + +"There comes my outfit, and Del Bishop as shame-faced as can be, I'm +sure, at his failure to connect." Turning to the man, and at the same +time slinging camera and satchel over her shoulder, "So I must say +good-by, not forgetting to thank you for your kindness." + +"Oh, not at all, not at all. Pray don't mention it. I'd do the same +for any--" + +"Vaudeville artist!" + +He looked his reproach, but went on. "I don't know your name, nor do I +wish to know it." + +"Well, I shall not be so harsh, for I do know your name, MISTER VANCE +CORLISS! I saw it on the shipping tags, of course," she explained. +"And I want you to come and see me when you get to Dawson. My name is +Frona Welse. Good-by." + +"Your father is not Jacob Welse?" he called after her as she ran +lightly down towards the trail. + +She turned her head and nodded. + +But Del Bishop was not shamefaced, nor even worried. "Trust a Welse to +land on their feet on a soft spot," he had consoled himself as he +dropped off to sleep the night before. But he was angry--"madder 'n +hops," in his own vernacular. + +"Good-mornin'," he saluted. "And it's plain by your face you had a +comfortable night of it, and no thanks to me." + +"You weren't worried, were you?" she asked. + +"Worried? About a Welse? Who? Me? Not on your life. I was too busy +tellin' Crater Lake what I thought of it. I don't like the water. I +told you so. And it's always playin' me scurvy--not that I'm afraid of +it, though." + +"Hey, you Pete!" turning to the Indians. "Hit 'er up! Got to make +Linderman by noon!" + +"Frona Welse?" Vance Corliss was repeating to himself. + +The whole thing seemed a dream, and he reassured himself by turning and +looking after her retreating form. Del Bishop and the Indians were +already out of sight behind a wall of rock. Frona was just rounding +the base. The sun was full upon her, and she stood out radiantly +against the black shadow of the wall beyond. She waved her alpenstock, +and as he doffed his cap, rounded the brink and disappeared. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +The position occupied by Jacob Welse was certainly an anomalous one. +He was a giant trader in a country without commerce, a ripened product +of the nineteenth century flourishing in a society as primitive as that +of the Mediterranean vandals. A captain of industry and a splendid +monopolist, he dominated the most independent aggregate of men ever +drawn together from the ends of the earth. An economic missionary, a +commercial St. Paul, he preached the doctrines of expediency and force. +Believing in the natural rights of man, a child himself of democracy, +he bent all men to his absolutism. Government of Jacob Welse, for +Jacob Welse and the people, by Jacob Welse, was his unwritten gospel. +Single-handed he had carved out his dominion till he gripped the domain +of a dozen Roman provinces. At his ukase the population ebbed and +flowed over a hundred thousand miles of territory, and cities sprang up +or disappeared at his bidding. + +Yet he was a common man. The air of the world first smote his lungs on +the open prairie by the River Platte, the blue sky over head, and +beneath, the green grass of the earth pressing against his tender +nakedness. On the horses his eyes first opened, still saddled and +gazing in mild wonder on the miracle; for his trapper father had but +turned aside from the trail that the wife might have quiet and the +birth be accomplished. An hour or so and the two, which were now +three, were in the saddle and overhauling their trapper comrades. The +party had not been delayed; no time lost. In the morning his mother +cooked the breakfast over the camp-fire, and capped it with a +fifty-mile ride into the next sun-down. + +The trapper father had come of the sturdy Welsh stock which trickled +into early Ohio out of the jostling East, and the mother was a nomadic +daughter of the Irish emigrant settlers of Ontario. From both sides +came the Wanderlust of the blood, the fever to be moving, to be pushing +on to the edge of things. In the first year of his life, ere he had +learned the way of his legs, Jacob Welse had wandered a-horse through a +thousand miles of wilderness, and wintered in a hunting-lodge on the +head-waters of the Red River of the North. His first foot-gear was +moccasins, his first taffy the tallow from a moose. His first +generalizations were that the world was composed of great wastes and +white vastnesses, and populated with Indians and white hunters like his +father. A town was a cluster of deer-skin lodges; a trading-post a +seat of civilization; and a factor God Almighty Himself. Rivers and +lakes existed chiefly for man's use in travelling. Viewed in this +light, the mountains puzzled him; but he placed them away in his +classification of the Inexplicable and did not worry. Men died, +sometimes. But their meat was not good to eat, and their hides +worthless,--perhaps because they did not grow fur. Pelts were +valuable, and with a few bales a man might purchase the earth. Animals +were made for men to catch and skin. He did not know what men were +made for, unless, perhaps, for the factor. + +As he grew older he modified these concepts, but the process was a +continual source of naive apprehension and wonderment. It was not +until he became a man and had wandered through half the cities of the +States that this expression of childish wonder passed out of his eyes +and left them wholly keen and alert. At his boy's first contact with +the cities, while he revised his synthesis of things, he also +generalized afresh. People who lived in cities were effeminate. They +did not carry the points of the compass in their heads, and they got +lost easily. That was why they elected to stay in the cities. Because +they might catch cold and because they were afraid of the dark, they +slept under shelter and locked their doors at night. The women were +soft and pretty, but they could not lift a snowshoe far in a day's +journey. Everybody talked too much. That was why they lied and were +unable to work greatly with their hands. Finally, there was a new +human force called "bluff." A man who made a bluff must be dead sure +of it, or else be prepared to back it up. Bluff was a very good +thing--when exercised with discretion. + +Later, though living his life mainly in the woods and mountains, he +came to know that the cities were not all bad; that a man might live in +a city and still be a man. Accustomed to do battle with natural +forces, he was attracted by the commercial battle with social forces. +The masters of marts and exchanges dazzled but did not blind him, and +he studied them, and strove to grasp the secrets of their strength. +And further, in token that some good did come out of Nazareth, in the +full tide of manhood he took to himself a city-bred woman. But he +still yearned for the edge of things, and the leaven in his blood +worked till they went away, and above the Dyea Beach, on the rim of the +forest, built the big log trading-post. And here, in the mellow of +time, he got a proper focus on things and unified the phenomena of +society precisely as he had already unified the phenomena of nature. +There was naught in one which could not be expressed in terms of the +other. The same principles underlaid both; the same truths were +manifest of both. Competition was the secret of creation. Battle was +the law and the way of progress. The world was made for the strong, +and only the strong inherited it, and through it all there ran an +eternal equity. To be honest was to be strong. To sin was to weaken. +To bluff an honest man was to be dishonest. To bluff a bluffer was to +smite with the steel of justice. The primitive strength was in the +arm; the modern strength in the brain. Though it had shifted ground, +the struggle was the same old struggle. As of old time, men still +fought for the mastery of the earth and the delights thereof. But the +sword had given way to the ledger; the mail-clad baron to the +soft-garbed industrial lord, and the centre of imperial political power +to the seat of commercial exchanges. The modern will had destroyed the +ancient brute. The stubborn earth yielded only to force. Brain was +greater than body. The man with the brain could best conquer things +primitive. + +He did not have much education as education goes. To the three R's his +mother taught him by camp-fire and candle-light, he had added a +somewhat miscellaneous book-knowledge; but he was not burdened with +what he had gathered. Yet he read the facts of life understandingly, +and the sobriety which comes of the soil was his, and the clear +earth-vision. + +And so it came about that Jacob Welse crossed over the Chilcoot in an +early day, and disappeared into the vast unknown. A year later he +emerged at the Russian missions clustered about the mouth of the Yukon +on Bering Sea. He had journeyed down a river three thousand miles +long, he had seen things, and dreamed a great dream. But he held his +tongue and went to work, and one day the defiant whistle of a crazy +stern-wheel tub saluted the midnight sun on the dank river-stretch by +Fort o' Yukon. It was a magnificent adventure. How he achieved it +only Jacob Welse can tell; but with the impossible to begin with, plus +the impossible, he added steamer to steamer and heaped enterprise upon +enterprise. Along many a thousand miles of river and tributary he +built trading-posts and warehouses. He forced the white man's axe into +the hands of the aborigines, and in every village and between the +villages rose the cords of four-foot firewood for his boilers. On an +island in Bering Sea, where the river and the ocean meet, he +established a great distributing station, and on the North Pacific he +put big ocean steamships; while in his offices in Seattle and San +Francisco it took clerks by the score to keep the order and system of +his business. + +Men drifted into the land. Hitherto famine had driven them out, but +Jacob Welse was there now, and his grub-stores; so they wintered in the +frost and groped in the frozen muck for gold. He encouraged them, +grub-staked them, carried them on the books of the company. His +steamers dragged them up the Koyokuk in the old days of Arctic City. +Wherever pay was struck he built a warehouse and a store. The town +followed. He explored; he speculated; he developed. Tireless, +indomitable, with the steel-glitter in his dark eyes, he was everywhere +at once, doing all things. In the opening up of a new river he was in +the van; and at the tail-end also, hurrying forward the grub. On the +Outside he fought trade-combinations; made alliances with the +corporations of the earth, and forced discriminating tariffs from the +great carriers. On the Inside he sold flour, and blankets, and +tobacco; built saw-mills, staked townsites, and sought properties in +copper, iron, and coal; and that the miners should be well-equipped, +ransacked the lands of the Arctic even as far as Siberia for +native-made snow-shoes, muclucs, and parkas. + +He bore the country on his shoulders; saw to its needs; did its work. +Every ounce of its dust passed through his hands; every post-card and +letter of credit. He did its banking and exchange; carried and +distributed its mails. He frowned upon competition; frightened out +predatory capital; bluffed militant syndicates, and when they would +not, backed his bluff and broke them. And for all, yet found time and +place to remember his motherless girl, and to love her, and to fit her +for the position he had made. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +"So I think, captain, you will agree that we must exaggerate the +seriousness of the situation." Jacob Welse helped his visitor into his +fur great-coat and went on. "Not that it is not serious, but that it +may not become more serious. Both you and I have handled famines +before. We must frighten them, and frighten them now, before it is too +late. Take five thousand men out of Dawson and there will be grub to +last. Let those five thousand carry their tale of famine to Dyea and +Skaguay, and they will prevent five thousand more coming in over the +ice." + +"Quite right! And you may count on the hearty co-operation of the +police, Mr. Welse." The speaker, a strong-faced, grizzled man, +heavy-set and of military bearing, pulled up his collar and rested his +hand on the door-knob. "I see already, thanks to you, the newcomers +are beginning to sell their outfits and buy dogs. Lord! won't there be +a stampede out over the ice as soon as the river closes down! And each +that sells a thousand pounds of grub and goes lessens the proposition +by one empty stomach and fills another that remains. When does the +Laura start?" + +"This morning, with three hundred grubless men aboard. Would that they +were three thousand!" + +Amen to that! And by the way, when does your daughter arrive?" + +"'Most any day, now." Jacob Welse's eyes warmed. "And I want you to +dinner when she does, and bring along a bunch of your young bucks from +the Barracks. I don't know all their names, but just the same extend +the invitation as though from me personally. I haven't cultivated the +social side much,--no time, but see to it that the girl enjoys herself. +Fresh from the States and London, and she's liable to feel lonesome. +You understand." + +Jacob Welse closed the door, tilted his chair back, and cocked his feet +on the guard-rail of the stove. For one half-minute a girlish vision +wavered in the shimmering air above the stove, then merged into a woman +of fair Saxon type. + +The door opened. "Mr. Welse, Mr. Foster sent me to find out if he is +to go on filling signed warehouse orders?" + +"Certainly, Mr. Smith. But tell him to scale them down by half. If a +man holds an order for a thousand pounds, give him five hundred." + +He lighted a cigar and tilted back again in his chair. + +"Captain McGregor wants to see you, sir." + +"Send him in." + +Captain McGregor strode in and remained standing before his employer. +The rough hand of the New World had been laid upon the Scotsman from +his boyhood; but sterling honesty was written in every line of his +bitter-seamed face, while a prognathous jaw proclaimed to the onlooker +that honesty was the best policy,--for the onlooker at any rate, should +he wish to do business with the owner of the jaw. This warning was +backed up by the nose, side-twisted and broken, and by a long scar +which ran up the forehead and disappeared in the gray-grizzled hair. + +"We throw off the lines in an hour, sir; so I've come for the last +word." + +"Good." Jacob Welse whirled his chair about. "Captain McGregor." + +"Ay." + +"I had other work cut out for you this winter; but I have changed my +mind and chosen you to go down with the Laura. Can you guess why?" + +Captain McGregor swayed his weight from one leg to the other, and a +shrewd chuckle of a smile wrinkled the corners of his eyes. "Going to +be trouble," he grunted. + +"And I couldn't have picked a better man. Mr. Bally will give you +detailed instructions as you go aboard. But let me say this: If we +can't scare enough men out of the country, there'll be need for every +pound of grub at Fort Yukon. Understand?" + +"Ay." + +"So no extravagance. You are taking three hundred men down with you. +The chances are that twice as many more will go down as soon as the +river freezes. You'll have a thousand to feed through the winter. Put +them on rations,--working rations,--and see that they work. Cordwood, +six dollars per cord, and piled on the bank where steamers can make a +landing. No work, no rations. Understand?" + +"Ay." + +"A thousand men can get ugly, if they are idle. They can get ugly +anyway. Watch out they don't rush the caches. If they do,--do your +duty." + +The other nodded grimly. His hands gripped unconsciously, while the +scar on his forehead took on a livid hue. + +"There are five steamers in the ice. Make them safe against the spring +break-up. But first transfer all their cargoes to one big cache. You +can defend it better, and make the cache impregnable. Send a messenger +down to Fort Burr, asking Mr. Carter for three of his men. He doesn't +need them. Nothing much is doing at Circle City. Stop in on the way +down and take half of Mr. Burdwell's men. You'll need them. There'll +be gun-fighters in plenty to deal with. Be stiff. Keep things in +check from the start. Remember, the man who shoots first comes off +with the whole hide. And keep a constant eye on the grub." + +"And on the forty-five-nineties," Captain McGregor rumbled back as he +passed out the door. + +"John Melton--Mr. Melton, sir. Can he see you?" + +"See here, Welse, what's this mean?" John Melton followed wrathfully +on the heels of the clerk, and he almost walked over him as he +flourished a paper before the head of the company. "Read that! What's +it stand for?" + +Jacob Welse glanced over it and looked up coolly. "One thousand pounds +of grub." + +"That's what I say, but that fellow you've got in the warehouse says +no,--five hundred's all it's good for." + +"He spoke the truth." + +"But--" + +"It stands for one thousand pounds, but in the warehouse it is only +good for five hundred." + +"That your signature?" thrusting the receipt again into the other's +line of vision. + +"Yes." + +"Then what are you going to do about it?" + +"Give you five hundred. What are you going to do about it?" + +"Refuse to take it." + +"Very good. There is no further discussion." + +"Yes there is. I propose to have no further dealings with you. I'm +rich enough to freight my own stuff in over the Passes, and I will next +year. Our business stops right now and for all time." + +"I cannot object to that. You have three hundred thousand dollars in +dust deposited with me. Go to Mr. Atsheler and draw it at once." + +The man fumed impotently up and down. "Can't I get that other five +hundred? Great God, man! I've paid for it! You don't intend me to +starve?" + +"Look here, Melton." Jacob Welse paused to knock the ash from his +cigar. "At this very moment what are you working for? What are you +trying to get?" + +"A thousand pounds of grub." + +"For your own stomach?" + +The Bonanzo king nodded his head. + +"Just so." The lines showed more sharply on Jacob Welse's forehead. +"You are working for your own stomach. I am working for the stomachs +of twenty thousand." + +"But you filled Tim McReady's thousand pounds yesterday all right." + +"The scale-down did not go into effect until to-day." + +"But why am I the one to get it in the neck hard?" + +"Why didn't you come yesterday, and Tim McReady to-day?" + +Melton's face went blank, and Jacob Welse answered his own question +with shrugging shoulders. + +"That's the way it stands, Melton. No favoritism. If you hold me +responsible for Tim McReady, I shall hold you responsible for not +coming yesterday. Better we both throw it upon Providence. You went +through the Forty Mile Famine. You are a white man. A Bonanzo +property, or a block of Bonanzo properties, does not entitle you to a +pound more than the oldest penniless 'sour-dough' or the newest baby +born. Trust me. As long as I have a pound of grub you shall not +starve. Stiffen up. Shake hands. Get a smile on your face and make +the best of it." + +Still savage of spirit, though rapidly toning down, the king shook +hands and flung out of the room. Before the door could close on his +heels, a loose-jointed Yankee shambled in, thrust a moccasined foot to +the side and hooked a chair under him, and sat down. + +"Say," he opened up, confidentially, "people's gittin' scairt over the +grub proposition, I guess some." + +"Hello, Dave. That you?" + +"S'pose so. But ez I was saying there'll be a lively stampede fer the +Outside soon as the river freezes." + +"Think so?" + +"Unh huh." + +"Then I'm glad to hear it. It's what the country needs. Going to join +them?" + +"Not in a thousand years." Dave Harney threw his head back with smug +complacency. "Freighted my truck up to the mine yesterday. Wa'n't a +bit too soon about it, either. But say . . . Suthin' happened to the +sugar. Had it all on the last sled, an' jest where the trail turns off +the Klondike into Bonanzo, what does that sled do but break through the +ice! I never seen the beat of it--the last sled of all, an' all the +sugar! So I jest thought I'd drop in to-day an' git a hundred pounds +or so. White or brown, I ain't pertickler." + +Jacob Welse shook his head and smiled, but Harney hitched his chair +closer. + +"The clerk of yourn said he didn't know, an' ez there wa'n't no call to +pester him, I said I'd jest drop round an' see you. I don't care what +it's wuth. Make it a hundred even; that'll do me handy. + +"Say," he went on easily, noting the decidedly negative poise of the +other's head. "I've got a tolerable sweet tooth, I have. Recollect +the taffy I made over on Preacher Creek that time? I declare! how time +does fly! That was all of six years ago if it's a day. More'n that, +surely. Seven, by the Jimcracky! But ez I was sayin', I'd ruther do +without my plug of 'Star' than sugar. An' about that sugar? Got my +dogs outside. Better go round to the warehouse an' git it, eh? Pretty +good idea." + +But he saw the "No" shaping on Jacob Welse's lips, and hurried on +before it could be uttered. + +"Now, I don't want to hog it. Wouldn't do that fer the world. So if +yer short, I can put up with seventy-five--" (he studied the other's +face), "an' I might do with fifty. I 'preciate your position, an' I +ain't low-down critter enough to pester--" + +"What's the good of spilling words, Dave? We haven't a pound of sugar +to spare--" + +"Ez I was sayin', I ain't no hog; an' seein' 's it's you, Welse, I'll +make to scrimp along on twenty-five--" + +"Not an ounce!" + +"Not the least leetle mite? Well, well, don't git het up. We'll jest +fergit I ast you fer any, an' I'll drop round some likelier time. So +long. Say!" He threw his jaw to one side and seemed to stiffen the +muscles of his ear as he listened intently. "That's the Laura's +whistle. She's startin' soon. Goin' to see her off? Come along." + +Jacob Welse pulled on his bearskin coat and mittens, and they passed +through the outer offices into the main store. So large was it, that +the tenscore purchasers before the counters made no apparent crowd. +Many were serious-faced, and more than one looked darkly at the head of +the company as he passed. The clerks were selling everything except +grub, and it was grub that was in demand. "Holding it for a rise. +Famine prices," a red-whiskered miner sneered. Jacob Welse heard it, +but took no notice. He expected to hear it many times and more +unpleasantly ere the scare was over. + +On the sidewalk he stopped to glance over the public bulletins posted +against the side of the building. Dogs lost, found, and for sale +occupied some space, but the rest was devoted to notices of sales of +outfits. The timid were already growing frightened. Outfits of five +hundred pounds were offering at a dollar a pound, without flour; +others, with flour, at a dollar and a half. Jacob Welse saw Melton +talking with an anxious-faced newcomer, and the satisfaction displayed +by the Bonanzo king told that he had succeeded in filling his winter's +cache. + +"Why don't you smell out the sugar, Dave?" Jacob Welse asked, pointing +to the bulletins. + +Dave Harney looked his reproach. "Mebbe you think I ain't ben +smellin'. I've clean wore my dogs out chasin' round from Klondike City +to the Hospital. Can't git yer fingers on it fer love or money." + +They walked down the block-long sidewalk, past the warehouse doors and +the long teams of waiting huskies curled up in wolfish comfort in the +snow. It was for this snow, the first permanent one of the fall, that +the miners up-creek had waited to begin their freighting. + +"Curious, ain't it?" Dave hazarded suggestively, as they crossed the +main street to the river bank. "Mighty curious--me ownin' two +five-hundred-foot Eldorado claims an' a fraction, wuth five millions if +I'm wuth a cent, an' no sweetenin' fer my coffee or mush! Why, +gosh-dang-it! this country kin go to blazes! I'll sell out! I'll quit +it cold! I'll--I'll--go back to the States!" + +"Oh, no, you won't," Jacob Welse answered. "I've heard you talk +before. You put in a year up Stuart River on straight meat, if I +haven't forgotten. And you ate salmon-belly and dogs up the Tanana, to +say nothing of going through two famines; and you haven't turned your +back on the country yet. And you never will. And you'll die here as +sure as that's the Laura's spring being hauled aboard. And I look +forward confidently to the day when I shall ship you out in a +lead-lined box and burden the San Francisco end with the trouble of +winding up your estate. You are a fixture, and you know it." + +As he talked he constantly acknowledged greetings from the passers-by. +Those who knew him were mainly old-timers and he knew them all by name, +though there was scarcely a newcomer to whom his face was not familiar. + +"I'll jest bet I'll be in Paris in 1900," the Eldorado king protested +feebly. + +But Jacob Welse did not hear. There was a jangling of gongs as +McGregor saluted him from the pilot-house and the Laura slipped out +from the bank. The men on the shore filled the air with good-luck +farewells and last advice, but the three hundred grubless ones, turning +their backs on the golden dream, were moody and dispirited, and made +small response. The Laura backed out through a channel cut in the +shore-ice, swung about in the current, and with a final blast put on +full steam ahead. + +The crowd thinned away and went about its business, leaving Jacob Welse +the centre of a group of a dozen or so. The talk was of the famine, +but it was the talk of men. Even Dave Harney forgot to curse the +country for its sugar shortage, and waxed facetious over the +newcomers,--_chechaquos_, he called them, having recourse to the Siwash +tongue. In the midst of his remarks his quick eye lighted on a black +speck floating down with the mush-ice of the river. "Jest look at +that!" he cried. "A Peterborough canoe runnin' the ice!" + +Twisting and turning, now paddling, now shoving clear of the floating +cakes, the two men in the canoe worked in to the rim-ice, along the +edge of which they drifted, waiting for an opening. Opposite the +channel cut out by the steamer, they drove their paddles deep and +darted into the calm dead water. The waiting group received them with +open arms, helping them up the bank and carrying their shell after them. + +In its bottom were two leather mail-pouches, a couple of blankets, +coffee-pot and frying-pan, and a scant grub-sack. As for the men, so +frosted were they, and so numb with the cold, that they could hardly +stand. Dave Harney proposed whiskey, and was for haling them away at +once; but one delayed long enough to shake stiff hands with Jacob Welse. + +"She's coming," he announced. "Passed her boat an hour back. It ought +to be round the bend any minute. I've got despatches for you, but I'll +see you later. Got to get something into me first." Turning to go +with Harney, he stopped suddenly and pointed up stream. "There she is +now. Just coming out past the bluff." + +"Run along, boys, an' git yer whiskey," Harney admonished him and his +mate. "Tell 'm it's on me, double dose, an' jest excuse me not +drinkin' with you, fer I'm goin' to stay." + +The Klondike was throwing a thick flow of ice, partly mush and partly +solid, and swept the boat out towards the middle of the Yukon. They +could see the struggle plainly from the bank,--four men standing up and +poling a way through the jarring cakes. A Yukon stove aboard was +sending up a trailing pillar of blue smoke, and, as the boat drew +closer, they could see a woman in the stern working the long +steering-sweep. At sight of this there was a snap and sparkle in Jacob +Welse's eyes. It was the first omen, and it was good, he thought. She +was still a Welse; a struggler and a fighter. The years of her culture +had not weakened her. Though tasting of the fruits of the first remove +from the soil, she was not afraid of the soil; she could return to it +gleefully and naturally. + +So he mused till the boat drove in, ice-rimed and battered, against the +edge of the rim-ice. The one white man aboard sprang: out, painter in +hand, to slow it down and work into the channel. But the rim-ice was +formed of the night, and the front of it shelved off with him into the +current. The nose of the boat sheered out under the pressure of a +heavy cake, so that he came up at the stern. The woman's arm flashed +over the side to his collar, and at the same instant, sharp and +authoritative, her voice rang out to the Indian oarsmen to back water. +Still holding the man's head above water, she threw her body against +the sweep and guided the boat stern-foremost into the opening. A few +more strokes and it grounded at the foot of the bank. She passed the +collar of the chattering man to Dave Harney, who dragged him out and +started him off on the trail of the mail-carriers. + +Frona stood up, her cheeks glowing from the quick work. Jacob Welse +hesitated. Though he stood within reach of the gunwale, a gulf of +three years was between. The womanhood of twenty, added unto the girl +of seventeen, made a sum more prodigious than he had imagined. He did +not know whether to bear-hug the radiant young creature or to take her +hand and help her ashore. But there was no apparent hitch, for she +leaped beside him and was into his arms. Those above looked away to a +man till the two came up the bank hand in hand. + +"Gentlemen, my daughter." There was a great pride in his face. + +Frona embraced them all with a comrade smile, and each man felt that +for an instant her eyes had looked straight into his. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +That Vance Corliss wanted to see more of the girl he had divided +blankets with, goes with the saying. He had not been wise enough to +lug a camera into the country, but none the less, by a yet subtler +process, a sun-picture had been recorded somewhere on his cerebral +tissues. In the flash of an instant it had been done. A wave message +of light and color, a molecular agitation and integration, a certain +minute though definite corrugation in a brain recess,--and there it +was, a picture complete! The blazing sunlight on the beetling black; a +slender gray form, radiant, starting forward to the vision from the +marge where light and darkness met; a fresh young morning smile +wreathed in a flame of burning gold. + +It was a picture he looked at often, and the more he looked the greater +was his desire, to see Frona Welse again. This event he anticipated +with a thrill, with the exultancy over change which is common of all +life. She was something new, a fresh type, a woman unrelated to all +women he had met. Out of the fascinating unknown a pair of hazel eyes +smiled into his, and a hand, soft of touch and strong of grip, beckoned +him. And there was an allurement about it which was as the allurement +of sin. + +Not that Vance Corliss was anybody's fool, nor that his had been an +anchorite's existence; but that his upbringing, rather, had given his +life a certain puritanical bent. Awakening intelligence and broader +knowledge had weakened the early influence of an austere mother, but +had not wholly eradicated it. It was there, deep down, very shadowy, +but still a part of him. He could not get away from it. It distorted, +ever so slightly, his concepts of things. It gave a squint to his +perceptions, and very often, when the sex feminine was concerned, +determined his classifications. He prided himself on his largeness +when he granted that there were three kinds of women. His mother had +only admitted two. But he had outgrown her. It was incontestable that +there were three kinds,--the good, the bad, and the partly good and +partly bad. That the last usually went bad, he believed firmly. In +its very nature such a condition could not be permanent. It was the +intermediary stage, marking the passage from high to low, from best to +worst. + +All of which might have been true, even as he saw it; but with +definitions for premises, conclusions cannot fail to be dogmatic. What +was good and bad? There it was. That was where his mother whispered +with dead lips to him. Nor alone his mother, but divers conventional +generations, even back to the sturdy ancestor who first uplifted from +the soil and looked down. For Vance Corliss was many times removed +from the red earth, and, though he did not know it, there was a clamor +within him for a return lest he perish. + +Not that he pigeon-holed Frona according to his inherited definitions. +He refused to classify her at all. He did not dare. He preferred to +pass judgment later, when he had gathered more data. And there was the +allurement, the gathering of the data; the great critical point where +purity reaches dreamy hands towards pitch and refuses to call it +pitch--till defiled. No; Vance Corliss was not a cad. And since +purity is merely a relative term, he was not pure. That there was no +pitch under his nails was not because he had manicured diligently, but +because it had not been his luck to run across any pitch. He was not +good because he chose to be, because evil was repellant; but because he +had not had opportunity to become evil. But from this, on the other +hand, it is not to be argued that he would have gone bad had he had a +chance. + +He was a product of the sheltered life. All his days had been lived in +a sanitary dwelling; the plumbing was excellent. The air he had +breathed had been mostly ozone artificially manufactured. He had been +sun-bathed in balmy weather, and brought in out of the wet when it +rained. And when he reached the age of choice he had been too fully +occupied to deviate from the straight path, along which his mother had +taught him to creep and toddle, and along which he now proceeded to +walk upright, without thought of what lay on either side. + +Vitality cannot be used over again. If it be expended on one thing, +there is none left for the other thing. And so with Vance Corliss. +Scholarly lucubrations and healthy exercises during his college days +had consumed all the energy his normal digestion extracted from a +wholesome omnivorous diet. When he did discover a bit of surplus +energy, he worked it off in the society of his mother and of the +conventional minds and prim teas she surrounded herself with. Result: +A very nice young man, of whom no maid's mother need ever be in +trepidation; a very strong young man, whose substance had not been +wasted in riotous living; a very learned young man, with a Freiberg +mining engineer's diploma and a B.A. sheepskin from Yale; and, lastly, +a very self-centred, self-possessed young man. + +Now his greatest virtue lay in this: he had not become hardened in the +mould baked by his several forbears and into which he had been pressed +by his mother's hands. Some atavism had been at work in the making of +him, and he had reverted to that ancestor who sturdily uplifted. But +so far this portion of his heritage had lain dormant. He had simply +remained adjusted to a stable environment. There had been no call upon +the adaptability which was his. But whensoever the call came, being so +constituted, it was manifest that he should adapt, should adjust +himself to the unwonted pressure of new conditions. The maxim of the +rolling stone may be all true; but notwithstanding, in the scheme of +life, the inability to become fixed is an excellence par excellence. +Though he did not know it, this inability was Vance Corliss's most +splendid possession. + +But to return. He looked forward with great sober glee to meeting +Frona Welse, and in the meanwhile consulted often the sun-picture he +carried of her. Though he went over the Pass and down the lakes and +river with a push of money behind him (London syndicates are never +niggardly in such matters). Frona beat him into Dawson by a fortnight. +While on his part money in the end overcame obstacles, on hers the name +of Welse was a talisman greater than treasure. After his arrival, a +couple of weeks were consumed in buying a cabin, presenting his letters +of introduction, and settling down. But all things come in the fulness +of time, and so, one night after the river closed, he pointed his +moccasins in the direction of Jacob Welse's house. Mrs. Schoville, the +Gold Commissioner's wife, gave him the honor of her company. + + +Corliss wanted to rub his eyes. Steam-heating apparatus in the +Klondike! But the next instant he had passed out of the hall through +the heavy portieres and stood inside the drawing-room. And it was a +drawing-room. His moose-hide moccasins sank luxuriantly into the deep +carpet, and his eyes were caught by a Turner sunrise on the opposite +wall. And there were other paintings and things in bronze. Two Dutch +fireplaces were roaring full with huge back-logs of spruce. There was +a piano; and somebody was singing. Frona sprang from the stool and +came forward, greeting him with both hands. He had thought his +sun-picture perfect, but this fire-picture, this young creature with +the flush and warmth of ringing life, quite eclipsed it. It was a +whirling moment, as he held her two hands in his, one of those moments +when an incomprehensible orgasm quickens the blood and dizzies the +brain. Though the first syllables came to him faintly, Mrs. +Schoville's voice brought him back to himself. + +"Oh!" she cried. "You know him!" + +And Frona answered, "Yes, we met on the Dyea Trail; and those who meet +on the Dyea Trail can never forget." + +"How romantic!" + +The Gold Commissioner's wife clapped her hands. Though fat and forty, +and phlegmatic of temperament, between exclamations and hand-clappings +her waking existence was mostly explosive. Her husband secretly +averred that did God Himself deign to meet her face to face, she would +smite together her chubby hands and cry out, "How romantic!" + +"How did it happen?" she continued. "He didn't rescue you over a +cliff, or that sort of thing, did he? Do say that he did! And you +never said a word about it, Mr. Corliss. Do tell me. I'm just dying +to know!" + +"Oh, nothing like that," he hastened to answer. "Nothing much. I, +that is we--" + +He felt a sinking as Frona interrupted. There was no telling what this +remarkable girl might say. + +"He gave me of his hospitality, that was all," she said. "And I can +vouch for his fried potatoes; while for his coffee, it is +excellent--when one is very hungry." + +"Ingrate!" he managed to articulate, and thereby to gain a smile, ere +he was introduced to a cleanly built lieutenant of the Mounted Police, +who stood by the fireplace discussing the grub proposition with a +dapper little man very much out of place in a white shirt and stiff +collar. + +Thanks to the particular niche in society into which he happened to be +born, Corliss drifted about easily from group to group, and was much +envied therefore by Del Bishop, who sat stiffly in the first chair he +had dropped into, and who was waiting patiently for the first person to +take leave that he might know how to compass the manoeuvre. In his +mind's eye he had figured most of it out, knew just how many steps +required to carry him to the door, was certain he would have to say +good-by to Frona, but did not know whether or not he was supposed to +shake hands all around. He had just dropped in to see Frona and say +"Howdee," as he expressed it, and had unwittingly found himself in +company. + +Corliss, having terminated a buzz with a Miss Mortimer on the decadence +of the French symbolists, encountered Del Bishop. But the pocket-miner +remembered him at once from the one glimpse he had caught of Corliss +standing by his tent-door in Happy Camp. Was almighty obliged to him +for his night's hospitality to Miss Frona, seein' as he'd ben +side-tracked down the line; that any kindness to her was a kindness to +him; and that he'd remember it, by God, as long as he had a corner of a +blanket to pull over him. Hoped it hadn't put him out. Miss Frona'd +said that bedding was scarce, but it wasn't a cold night (more blowy +than crisp), so he reckoned there couldn't 'a' ben much shiverin'. All +of which struck Corliss as perilous, and he broke away at the first +opportunity, leaving the pocket-miner yearning for the door. + +But Dave Harney, who had not come by mistake, avoided gluing himself to +the first chair. Being an Eldorado king, he had felt it incumbent to +assume the position in society to which his numerous millions entitled +him; and though unused all his days to social amenities other than the +out-hanging latch-string and the general pot, he had succeeded to his +own satisfaction as a knight of the carpet. Quick to take a cue, he +circulated with an aplomb which his striking garments and long +shambling gait only heightened, and talked choppy and disconnected +fragments with whomsoever he ran up against. The Miss Mortimer, who +spoke Parisian French, took him aback with her symbolists; but he +evened matters up with a goodly measure of the bastard lingo of the +Canadian _voyageurs_, and left her gasping and meditating over a +proposition to sell him twenty-five pounds of sugar, white or brown. +But she was not unduly favored, for with everybody he adroitly turned +the conversation to grub, and then led up to the eternal proposition. +"Sugar or bust," he would conclude gayly each time and wander on to the +next. + +But he put the capstone on his social success by asking Frona to sing +the touching ditty, "I Left My Happy Home for You." This was something +beyond her, though she had him hum over the opening bars so that she +could furnish the accompaniment. His voice was more strenuous than +sweet, and Del Bishop, discovering himself at last, joined in raucously +on the choruses. This made him feel so much better that he +disconnected himself from the chair, and when he finally got home he +kicked up his sleepy tent-mate to tell him about the high time he'd had +over at the Welse's. Mrs. Schoville tittered and thought it all so +unique, and she thought it so unique several times more when the +lieutenant of Mounted Police and a couple of compatriots roared "Rule +Britannia" and "God Save the Queen," and the Americans responded with +"My Country, 'Tis of Thee" and "John Brown." Then big Alec Beaubien, +the Circle City king, demanded the "Marseillaise," and the company +broke up chanting "Die Wacht am Rhein" to the frosty night. + +"Don't come on these nights," Frona whispered to Corliss at parting. +"We haven't spoken three words, and I know we shall be good friends. +Did Dave Harney succeed in getting any sugar out of you?" + +They mingled their laughter, and Corliss went home under the aurora +borealis, striving to reduce his impressions to some kind of order. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +"And why should I not be proud of my race?" + +Frona's cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkling. They had both been +harking back to childhood, and she had been telling Corliss of her +mother, whom she faintly remembered. Fair and flaxen-haired, typically +Saxon, was the likeness she had drawn, filled out largely with +knowledge gained from her father and from old Andy of the Dyea Post. +The discussion had then turned upon the race in general, and Frona had +said things in the heat of enthusiasm which affected the more +conservative mind of Corliss as dangerous and not solidly based on +fact. He deemed himself too large for race egotism and insular +prejudice, and had seen fit to laugh at her immature convictions. + +"It's a common characteristic of all peoples," he proceeded, "to +consider themselves superior races,--a naive, natural egoism, very +healthy and very good, but none the less manifestly untrue. The Jews +conceived themselves to be God's chosen people, and they still so +conceive themselves--" + +"And because of it they have left a deep mark down the page of +history," she interrupted. + +"But time has not proved the stability of their conceptions. And you +must also view the other side. A superior people must look upon all +others as inferior peoples. This comes home to you. To be a Roman +were greater than to be a king, and when the Romans rubbed against your +savage ancestors in the German forests, they elevated their brows and +said, 'An inferior people, barbarians.'" + +"But we are here, now. We are, and the Romans are not. The test is +time. So far we have stood the test; the signs are favorable that we +shall continue to stand it. We are the best fitted!" + +"Egotism." + +"But wait. Put it to the test." + +As she spoke her hand flew out impulsively to his. At the touch his +heart pulsed upward, there was a rush Of blood and a tightening across +the temples. Ridiculous, but delightful, he thought. At this rate he +could argue with her the night through. + +"The test," she repeated, withdrawing her hand without embarrassment. +"We are a race of doers and fighters, of globe-encirclers and +zone-conquerors. We toil and struggle, and stand by the toil and +struggle no matter how hopeless it may be. While we are persistent and +resistant, we are so made that we fit ourselves to the most diverse +conditions. Will the Indian, the Negro, or the Mongol ever conquer the +Teuton? Surely not! The Indian has persistence without variability; +if he does not modify he dies, if he does try to modify he dies anyway. +The Negro has adaptability, but he is servile and must be led. As for +the Chinese, they are permanent. All that the other races are not, the +Anglo-Saxon, or Teuton if you please, is. All that the other races +have not, the Teuton has. What race is to rise up and overwhelm us?" + +"Ah, you forget the Slav," Corliss suggested slyly. + +"The Slav!" Her face fell. "True, the Slav! The only stripling in +this world of young men and gray-beards! But he is still in the +future, and in the future the decision rests. In the mean time we +prepare. If may be we shall have such a start that we shall prevent +him growing. You know, because he was better skilled in chemistry, +knew how to manufacture gunpowder, that the Spaniard destroyed the +Aztec. May not we, who are possessing ourselves of the world and its +resources, and gathering to ourselves all its knowledge, may not we nip +the Slav ere he grows a thatch to his lip?" + +Vance Corliss shook his head non-committally, and laughed. + +"Oh! I know I become absurd and grow over-warm!" she exclaimed. "But +after all, one reason that we are the salt of the earth is because we +have the courage to say so." + +"And I am sure your warmth spreads," he responded. "See, I'm beginning +to glow myself. We are not God's, but Nature's chosen people, we +Angles, and Saxons, and Normans, and Vikings, and the earth is our +heritage. Let us arise and go forth!" + +"Now you are laughing at me, and, besides, we have already gone forth. +Why have you fared into the north, if not to lay hands on the race +legacy?" + + +She turned her head at the sound of approaching footsteps, and cried +for greeting, "I appeal to you, Captain Alexander! I summon you to +bear witness!" + +The captain of police smiled in his sternly mirthful fashion as he +shook hands with Frona and Corliss. "Bear witness?" he questioned. +"Ah, yes! + + "'Bear witness, O my comrades, what a hard-bit gang were we,-- + The servants of the sweep-head, but the masters of the sea!'" + +He quoted the verse with a savage solemnity exulting through his deep +voice. This, and the appositeness of it, quite carried Frona away, and +she had both his hands in hers on the instant. Corliss was aware of an +inward wince at the action. It was uncomfortable. He did not like to +see her so promiscuous with those warm, strong hands of hers. Did she +so favor all men who delighted her by word or deed? He did not mind +her fingers closing round his, but somehow it seemed wanton when shared +with the next comer. By the time he had thought thus far, Frona had +explained the topic under discussion, and Captain Alexander was +testifying. + +"I don't know much about your Slav and other kin, except that they are +good workers and strong; but I do know that the white man is the +greatest and best breed in the world. Take the Indian, for instance. +The white man comes along and beats him at all his games, outworks him, +out-roughs him, out-fishes him, out-hunts him. As far back as their +myths go, the Alaskan Indians have packed on their backs. But the +gold-rushers, as soon as they had learned the tricks of the trade, +packed greater loads and packed them farther than did the Indians. +Why, last May, the Queen's birthday, we had sports on the river. In +the one, two, three, four, and five men canoe races we beat the Indians +right and left. Yet they had been born to the paddle, and most of us +had never seen a canoe until man-grown." + +"But why is it?" Corliss queried. + +"I do not know why. I only know that it is. I simply bear witness. I +do know that we do what they cannot do, and what they can do, we do +better." + +Frona nodded her head triumphantly at Corliss. "Come, acknowledge your +defeat, so that we may go in to dinner. Defeat for the time being, at +least. The concrete facts of paddles and pack-straps quite overcome +your dogmatics. Ah, I thought so. More time? All the time in the +world. But let us go in. We'll see what my father thinks of it,--and +Mr. Kellar. A symposium on Anglo-Saxon supremacy!" + + +Frost and enervation are mutually repellant. The Northland gives a +keenness and zest to the blood which cannot be obtained in warmer +climes. Naturally so, then, the friendship which sprang up between +Corliss and Frona was anything but languid. They met often under her +father's roof-tree, and went many places together. Each found a +pleasurable attraction in the other, and a satisfaction which the +things they were not in accord with could not mar. Frona liked the man +because he was a man. In her wildest flights she could never imagine +linking herself with any man, no matter how exalted spiritually, who +was not a man physically. It was a delight to her and a joy to look +upon the strong males of her kind, with bodies comely in the sight of +God and muscles swelling with the promise of deeds and work. Man, to +her, was preeminently a fighter. She believed in natural selection and +in sexual selection, and was certain that if man had thereby become +possessed of faculties and functions, they were for him to use and +could but tend to his good. And likewise with instincts. If she felt +drawn to any person or thing, it was good for her to be so drawn, good +for herself. If she felt impelled to joy in a well-built frame and +well-shaped muscle, why should she restrain? Why should she not love +the body, and without shame? The history of the race, and of all +races, sealed her choice with approval. Down all time, the weak and +effeminate males had vanished from the world-stage. Only the strong +could inherit the earth. She had been born of the strong, and she +chose to cast her lot with the strong. + +Yet of all creatures, she was the last to be deaf and blind to the +things of the spirit. But the things of the spirit she demanded should +be likewise strong. No halting, no stuttered utterance, tremulous +waiting, minor wailing! The mind and the soul must be as quick and +definite and certain as the body. Nor was the spirit made alone for +immortal dreaming. Like the flesh, it must strive and toil. It must +be workaday as well as idle day. She could understand a weakling +singing sweetly and even greatly, and in so far she could love him for +his sweetness and greatness; but her love would have fuller measure +were he strong of body as well. She believed she was just. She gave +the flesh its due and the spirit its due; but she had, over and above, +her own choice, her own individual ideal. She liked to see the two go +hand in hand. Prophecy and dyspepsia did not affect her as a +felicitous admixture. A splendid savage and a weak-kneed poet! She +could admire the one for his brawn and the other for his song; but she +would prefer that they had been made one in the beginning. + +As to Vance Corliss. First, and most necessary of all, there was that +physiological affinity between them that made the touch of his hand a +pleasure to her. Though souls may rush together, if body cannot endure +body, happiness is reared on sand and the structure will be ever +unstable and tottery. Next, Corliss had the physical potency of the +hero without the grossness of the brute. His muscular development was +more qualitative than quantitative, and it is the qualitative +development which gives rise to beauty of form. A giant need not be +proportioned in the mould; nor a thew be symmetrical to be massive. + +And finally,--none the less necessary but still finally,--Vance Corliss +was neither spiritually dead nor decadent. He affected her as fresh +and wholesome and strong, as reared above the soil but not scorning the +soil. Of course, none of this she reasoned out otherwise than by +subconscious processes. Her conclusions were feelings, not thoughts. + +Though they quarrelled and disagreed on innumerable things, deep down, +underlying all, there was a permanent unity. She liked him for a +certain stern soberness that was his, and for his saving grace of +humor. Seriousness and banter were not incompatible. She liked him +for his gallantry, made to work with and not for display. She liked +the spirit of his offer at Happy Camp, when he proposed giving her an +Indian guide and passage-money back to the United States. He could +_do_ as well as talk. She liked him for his outlook, for his innate +liberality, which she felt to be there, somehow, no matter that often +he was narrow of expression. She liked him for his mind. Though +somewhat academic, somewhat tainted with latter-day scholasticism, it +was still a mind which permitted him to be classed with the +"Intellectuals." He was capable of divorcing sentiment and emotion +from reason. Granted that he included all the factors, he could not go +wrong. And here was where she found chief fault with him,--his +narrowness which precluded all the factors; his narrowness which gave +the lie to the breadth she knew was really his. But she was aware that +it was not an irremediable defect, and that the new life he was leading +was very apt to rectify it. He was filled with culture; what he needed +was a few more of life's facts. + +And she liked him for himself, which is quite different from liking the +parts which went to compose him. For it is no miracle for two things, +added together, to produce not only the sum of themselves, but a third +thing which is not to be found in either of them. So with him. She +liked him for himself, for that something which refused to stand out as +a part, or a sum of parts; for that something which is the corner-stone +of Faith and which has ever baffled Philosophy and Science. And +further, to like, with Frona Welse, did not mean to love. + +First, and above all, Vance Corliss was drawn to Frona Welse because of +the clamor within him for a return to the soil. In him the elements +were so mixed that it was impossible for women many times removed to +find favor in his eyes. Such he had met constantly, but not one had +ever drawn from him a superfluous heart-beat. Though there had been in +him a growing instinctive knowledge of lack of unity,--the lack of +unity which must precede, always, the love of man and woman,--not one +of the daughters of Eve he had met had flashed irresistibly in to fill +the void. Elective affinity, sexual affinity, or whatsoever the +intangible essence known as love is, had never been manifest. When he +met Frona it had at once sprung, full-fledged, into existence. But he +quite misunderstood it, took it for a mere attraction towards the new +and unaccustomed. + +Many men, possessed of birth and breeding, have yielded to this clamor +for return. And giving the apparent lie to their own sanity and moral +stability, many such men have married peasant girls or barmaids, And +those to whom evil apportioned itself have been prone to distrust the +impulse they obeyed, forgetting that nature makes or mars the +individual for the sake, always, of the type. For in every such case +of return, the impulse was sound,--only that time and space interfered, +and propinquity determined whether the object of choice should be +bar-maid or peasant girl. + + +Happily for Vance Corliss, time and space were propitious, and in Frona +he found the culture he could not do without, and the clean sharp tang +of the earth he needed. In so far as her education and culture went, +she was an astonishment. He had met the scientifically smattered young +woman before, but Frona had something more than smattering. Further, +she gave new life to old facts, and her interpretations of common +things were coherent and vigorous and new. Though his acquired +conservatism was alarmed and cried danger, he could not remain cold to +the charm of her philosophizing, while her scholarly attainments were +fully redeemed by her enthusiasm. Though he could not agree with much +that she passionately held, he yet recognized that the passion of +sincerity and enthusiasm was good. + +But her chief fault, in his eyes, was her unconventionality. Woman was +something so inexpressibly sacred to him, that he could not bear to see +any good woman venturing where the footing was precarious. Whatever +good woman thus ventured, overstepping the metes and bounds of sex and +status, he deemed did so of wantonness. And wantonness of such order +was akin to--well, he could not say it when thinking of Frona, though +she hurt him often by her unwise acts. However, he only felt such +hurts when away from her. When with her, looking into her eyes which +always looked back, or at greeting and parting pressing her hand which +always pressed honestly, it seemed certain that there was in her +nothing but goodness and truth. + +And then he liked her in many different ways for many different things. +For her impulses, and for her passions which were always elevated. And +already, from breathing the Northland air, he had come to like her for +that comradeship which at first had shocked him. There were other +acquired likings, her lack of prudishness, for instance, which he awoke +one day to find that he had previously confounded with lack of modesty. +And it was only the day before that day that he drifted, before he +thought, into a discussion with her of "Camille." She had seen +Bernhardt, and dwelt lovingly on the recollection. He went home +afterwards, a dull pain gnawing at his heart, striving to reconcile +Frona with the ideal impressed upon him by his mother that innocence +was another term for ignorance. Notwithstanding, by the following day +he had worked it out and loosened another finger of the maternal grip. + +He liked the flame of her hair in the sunshine, the glint of its gold +by the firelight, and the waywardness of it and the glory. He liked +her neat-shod feet and the gray-gaitered calves,--alas, now hidden in +long-skirted Dawson. He liked her for the strength of her slenderness; +and to walk with her, swinging her step and stride to his, or to merely +watch her come across a room or down the street, was a delight. Life +and the joy of life romped through her blood, abstemiously filling out +and rounding off each shapely muscle and soft curve. And he liked it +all. Especially he liked the swell of her forearm, which rose firm and +strong and tantalizing and sought shelter all too quickly under the +loose-flowing sleeve. + +The co-ordination of physical with spiritual beauty is very strong in +normal men, and so it was with Vance Corliss. That he liked the one +was no reason that he failed to appreciate the other. He liked Frona +for both, and for herself as well. And to like, with him, though he +did not know it, was to love. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +Vance Corliss proceeded at a fair rate to adapt himself to the +Northland life, and he found that many adjustments came easy. While +his own tongue was alien to the brimstone of the Lord, he became quite +used to strong language on the part of other men, even in the most +genial conversation. Carthey, a little Texan who went to work for him +for a while, opened or closed every second sentence, on an average, +with the mild expletive, "By damn!" It was also his invariable way of +expressing surprise, disappointment, consternation, or all the rest of +the tribe of sudden emotions. By pitch and stress and intonation, the +protean oath was made to perform every function of ordinary speech. At +first it was a constant source of irritation and disgust to Corliss, +but erelong he grew not only to tolerate it, but to like it, and to +wait for it eagerly. Once, Carthey's wheel-dog lost an ear in a hasty +contention with a dog of the Hudson Bay, and when the young fellow bent +over the animal and discovered the loss, the blended endearment and +pathos of the "by damn" which fell from his lips was a relation to +Corliss. All was not evil out of Nazareth, he concluded sagely, and, +like Jacob Welse of old, revised his philosophy of life accordingly. + +Again, there were two sides to the social life of Dawson. Up at the +Barracks, at the Welse's, and a few other places, all men of standing +were welcomed and made comfortable by the womenkind of like standing. +There were teas, and dinners, and dances, and socials for charity, and +the usual run of things; all of which, however, failed to wholly +satisfy the men. Down in the town there was a totally different though +equally popular other side. As the country was too young for +club-life, the masculine portion of the community expressed its +masculinity by herding together in the saloons,--the ministers and +missionaries being the only exceptions to this mode of expression. +Business appointments and deals were made and consummated in the +saloons, enterprises projected, shop talked, the latest news discussed, +and a general good fellowship maintained. There all life rubbed +shoulders, and kings and dog-drivers, old-timers and chechaquos, met on +a common level. And it so happened, probably because saw-mills and +house-space were scarce, that the saloons accommodated the gambling +tables and the polished dance-house floors. And here, because he needs +must bend to custom, Corliss's adaptation went on rapidly. And as +Carthey, who appreciated him, soliloquized, "The best of it is he likes +it damn well, by damn!" + +But any adjustment must have its painful periods, and while Corliss's +general change went on smoothly, in the particular case of Frona it was +different. She had a code of her own, quite unlike that of the +community, and perhaps believed woman might do things at which even the +saloon-inhabiting males would be shocked. And because of this, she and +Corliss had their first disagreeable disagreement. + +Frona loved to run with the dogs through the biting frost, cheeks +tingling, blood bounding, body thrust forward, and limbs rising and +falling ceaselessly to the pace. And one November day, with the first +cold snap on and the spirit thermometer frigidly marking sixty-five +below, she got out the sled, harnessed her team of huskies, and flew +down the river trail. As soon as she cleared the town she was off and +running. And in such manner, running and riding by turns, she swept +through the Indian village below the bluff's, made an eight-mile circle +up Moosehide Creek and back, crossed the river on the ice, and several +hours later came flying up the west bank of the Yukon opposite the +town. She was aiming to tap and return by the trail for the wood-sleds +which crossed thereabout, but a mile away from it she ran into the soft +snow and brought the winded dogs to a walk. + +Along the rim of the river and under the frown of the overhanging +cliffs, she directed the path she was breaking. Here and there she +made detours to avoid the out-jutting talus, and at other times +followed the ice in against the precipitous walls and hugged them +closely around the abrupt bends. And so, at the head of her huskies, +she came suddenly upon a woman sitting in the snow and gazing across +the river at smoke-canopied Dawson. She had been crying, and this was +sufficient to prevent Frona's scrutiny from wandering farther. A tear, +turned to a globule of ice, rested on her cheek, and her eyes were dim +and moist; there was an-expression of hopeless, fathomless woe. + +"Oh!" Frona cried, stopping the dogs and coming up to her. "You are +hurt? Can I help you?" she queried, though the stranger shook her +head. "But you mustn't sit there. It is nearly seventy below, and +you'll freeze in a few minutes. Your cheeks are bitten already." She +rubbed the afflicted parts vigorously with a mitten of snow, and then +looked down on the warm returning glow. + +"I beg pardon." The woman rose somewhat stiffly to her feet. "And I +thank you, but I am perfectly warm, you see" (settling the fur cape +more closely about her with a snuggling movement), "and I had just sat +down for the moment." + +Frona noted that she was very beautiful, and her woman's eye roved over +and took in the splendid furs, the make of the gown, and the bead-work +of the moccasins which peeped from beneath. And in view of all this, +and of the fact that the face was unfamiliar, she felt an instinctive +desire to shrink back. + +"And I haven't hurt myself," the woman went on. "Just a mood, that was +all, looking out over the dreary endless white." + +"Yes," Frona replied, mastering herself; "I can understand. There must +be much of sadness in such a landscape, only it never comes that way to +me. The sombreness and the sternness of it appeal to me, but not the +sadness." + +"And that is because the lines of our lives have been laid in different +places," the other ventured, reflectively. "It is not what the +landscape is, but what we are. If we were not, the landscape would +remain, but without human significance. That is what we invest it with. + + "'Truth is within ourselves; it takes no rise + From outward things, whate'er you may believe.'" + +Frona's eyes brightened, and she went on to complete the passage: + + "'There is an inmost centre in us all, + Where truth abides in fulness; and around.' + +"And--and--how does it go? I have forgotten." + + "'Wall upon wall, the gross flesh hems it in--'" + +The woman ceased abruptly, her voice trilling off into silvery laughter +with a certain bitter reckless ring to it which made Frona inwardly +shiver. She moved as though to go back to her dogs, but the woman's +hand went out in a familiar gesture,--twin to Frona's own,--which went +at once to Frona's heart. + +"Stay a moment," she said, with an undertone of pleading in the words, +"and talk with me. It is long since I have met a woman"--she paused +while her tongue wandered for the word--"who could quote 'Paracelsus.' +You are,--I know you, you see,--you are Jacob Welse's daughter, Frona +Welse, I believe." + +Frona nodded her identity, hesitated, and looked at the woman with +secret intentness. She was conscious of a great and pardonable +curiosity, of a frank out-reaching for fuller knowledge. This +creature, so like, so different; old as the oldest race, and young as +the last rose-tinted babe; flung far as the farthermost fires of men, +and eternal as humanity itself--where were they unlike, this woman and +she? Her five senses told her not; by every law of life they were no; +only, only by the fast-drawn lines of social caste and social wisdom +were they not the same. So she thought, even as for one searching +moment she studied the other's face. And in the situation she found an +uplifting awfulness, such as comes when the veil is thrust aside and +one gazes on the mysteriousness of Deity. She remembered: "Her feet +take hold of hell; her house is the way to the grave, going down to the +chamber of death," and in the same instant strong upon her was the +vision of the familiar gesture with which the woman's hand had gone out +in mute appeal, and she looked aside, out over the dreary endless +white, and for her, too, the day became filled with sadness. + +She gave an involuntary, half-nervous shiver, though she said, +naturally enough, "Come, let us walk on and get the blood moving again. +I had no idea it was so cold till I stood still." She turned to the +dogs: "Mush-on! King! You Sandy! Mush!" And back again to the +woman, "I am quite chilled, and as for you, you must be--" + +"Quite warm, of course. You have been running and your clothes are wet +against you, while I have kept up the needful circulation and no more. +I saw you when you leaped off the sled below the hospital and vanished +down the river like a Diana of the snows. How I envied you! You must +enjoy it." + +"Oh, I do," Frona answered, simply. "I was raised with the dogs." + +"It savors of the Greek." + +Frona did not reply, and they walked on in silence. Yet Frona wished, +though she dared not dare, that she could give her tongue free rein, +and from out of the other's bitter knowledge, for her own soul's sake +and sanity, draw the pregnant human generalizations which she must +possess. And over her welled a wave of pity and distress; and she felt +a discomfort, for she knew not what to say or how to voice her heart. +And when the other's speech broke forth, she hailed it with a great +relief. + +"Tell me," the woman demanded, half-eagerly, half-masterly, "tell me +about yourself. You are new to the Inside. Where were you before you +came in? Tell me." + +So the difficulty was solved, in a way, and Frona talked on about +herself, with a successfully feigned girlhood innocence, as though she +did not appreciate the other or understand her ill-concealed yearning +for that which she might not have, but which was Frona's. + +"There is the trail you are trying to connect with." They had rounded +the last of the cliffs, and Frona's companion pointed ahead to where +the walls receded and wrinkled to a gorge, out of which the sleds drew +the firewood across the river to town. "I shall leave you there," she +concluded. + +"But are you not going back to Dawson?" Frona queried. "It is growing +late, and you had better not linger." + +"No . . . I . . ." + +Her painful hesitancy brought Frona to a realization of her own +thoughtlessness. But she had made the step, and she knew she could not +retrace it. + +"We will go back together," she said, bravely. And in candid +all-knowledge of the other, "I do not mind." + +Then it was that the blood surged into the woman's cold face, and her +hand went out to the girl in the old, old way. + +"No, no, I beg of you," she stammered. "I beg of you . . . I . . . I +prefer to continue my walk a little farther. See! Some one is coming +now!" + +By this time they had reached the wood-trail, and Frona's face was +flaming as the other's had flamed. A light sled, dogs a-lope and +swinging down out of the gorge, was just upon them. A man was running +with the team, and he waved his hand to the two women. + +"Vance!" Frona exclaimed, as he threw his lead-dogs in the snow and +brought the sled to a halt. "What are you doing over here? Is the +syndicate bent upon cornering the firewood also?" + +"No. We're not so bad as that." His face was full of smiling +happiness at the meeting as he shook hands with her. "But Carthey is +leaving me,--going prospecting somewhere around the North Pole, I +believe,--and I came across to look up Del Bishop, if he'll serve." + +He turned his head to glance expectantly at her companion, and she saw +the smile go out of his face and anger come in. Frona was helplessly +aware that she had no grip over the situation, and, though a rebellion +at the cruelty and injustice of it was smouldering somewhere deep down, +she could only watch the swift culmination of the little tragedy. The +woman met his gaze with a half-shrinking, as from an impending blow, +and with a softness of expression which entreated pity. But he +regarded her long and coldly, then deliberately turned his back. As he +did this, Frona noted her face go tired and gray, and the hardness and +recklessness of her laughter were there painted in harsh tones, and a +bitter devil rose up and lurked in her eyes. It was evident that the +same bitter devil rushed hotly to her tongue. But it chanced just then +that she glanced at Frona, and all expression was brushed from her face +save the infinite tiredness. She smiled wistfully at the girl, and +without a word turned and went down the trail. + +And without a word Frona sprang upon her sled and was off. The way was +wide, and Corliss swung in his dogs abreast of hers. The smouldering +rebellion flared up, and she seemed to gather to herself some of the +woman's recklessness. + +"You brute!" + +The words left her mouth, sharp, clear-cut, breaking the silence like +the lash of a whip. The unexpectedness of it, and the savagery, took +Corliss aback. He did not know what to do or say. + +"Oh, you coward! You coward!" + +"Frona! Listen to me--" + +But she cut him off. "No. Do not speak. You can have nothing to say. +You have behaved abominably. I am disappointed in you. It is +horrible! horrible!" + +"Yes, it was horrible,--horrible that she should walk with you, have +speech with you, be seen with you." + +"'Not until the sun excludes you, do I exclude you,'" she flung back at +him. + +"But there is a fitness of things--" + +"Fitness!" She turned upon him and loosed her wrath. "If she is unfit, +are you fit? May you cast the first stone with that smugly +sanctimonious air of yours?" + +"You shall not talk to me in this fashion. I'll not have it." + +He clutched at her sled, and even in the midst of her anger she noticed +it with a little thrill of pleasure. + +"Shall not? You coward!" + +He reached out as though to lay hands upon her, and she raised her +coiled whip to strike. But to his credit he never flinched; his white +face calmly waited to receive the blow. Then she deflected the stroke, +and the long lash hissed out and fell among the dogs. Swinging the +whip briskly, she rose to her knees on the sled and called frantically +to the animals. Hers was the better team, and she shot rapidly away +from Corliss. She wished to get away, not so much from him as from +herself, and she encouraged the huskies into wilder and wilder speed. +She took the steep river-bank in full career and dashed like a +whirlwind through the town and home. Never in her life had she been in +such a condition; never had she experienced such terrible anger. And +not only was she already ashamed, but she was frightened and afraid of +herself. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +The next morning Corliss was knocked out of a late bed by Bash, one of +Jacob Welse's Indians. He was the bearer of a brief little note from +Frona, which contained a request for the mining engineer to come and +see her at his first opportunity. That was all that was said, and he +pondered over it deeply. What did she wish to say to him? She was +still such an unknown quantity,--and never so much as now in the light +of the day before,--that he could not guess. Did she desire to give +him his dismissal on a definite, well-understood basis? To take +advantage of her sex and further humiliate him? To tell him what she +thought of him in coolly considered, cold-measured terms? Or was she +penitently striving to make amends for the unmerited harshness she had +dealt him? There was neither contrition nor anger in the note, no +clew, nothing save a formally worded desire to see him. + +So it was in a rather unsettled and curious frame of mind that he +walked in upon her as the last hour of the morning drew to a close. He +was neither on his dignity nor off, his attitude being strictly +non-committal against the moment she should disclose hers. But without +beating about the bush, in that way of hers which he had come already +to admire, she at once showed her colors and came frankly forward to +him. The first glimpse of her face told him, the first feel of her +hand, before she had said a word, told him that all was well. + +"I am glad you have come," she began. "I could not be at peace with +myself until I had seen you and told you how sorry I am for yesterday, +and how deeply ashamed I--" + +"There, there. It's not so bad as all that." They were still +standing, and he took a step nearer to her. "I assure you I can +appreciate your side of it; and though, looking at it theoretically, it +was the highest conduct, demanding the fullest meed of praise, still, +in all frankness, there is much to--to--" + +"Yes." + +"Much to deplore in it from the social stand-point. And unhappily, we +cannot leave the social stand-point out of our reckoning. But so far +as I may speak for myself, you have done nothing to feel sorry for or +be ashamed of." + +"It is kind of you," she cried, graciously. "Only it is not true, and +you know it is not true. You know that you acted for the best; you +know that I hurt you, insulted you; you know that I behaved like a +fish-wife, and you do know that I disgusted you--" + +"No, no!" He raised his hand as though to ward from her the blows she +dealt herself. + +"But yes, yes. And I have all reason in the world to be ashamed. I +can only say this in defence: the woman had affected me deeply--so +deeply that I was close to weeping. Then you came on the scene,--you +know what you did,--and the sorrow for her bred an indignation against +you, and--well, I worked myself into a nervous condition such as I had +never experienced in my life. It was hysteria, I suppose. Anyway, I +was not myself." + +"We were neither of us ourselves." + +"Now you are untrue. I did wrong, but you were yourself, as much so +then as now. But do be seated. Here we stand as though you were ready +to run away at first sign of another outbreak." + +"Surely you are not so terrible!" he laughed, adroitly pulling his +chair into position so that the light fell upon her face. + +"Rather, you are not such a coward. I must have been terrible +yesterday. I--I almost struck you. And you were certainly brave when +the whip hung over you. Why, you did not even attempt to raise a hand +and shield yourself." + +"I notice the dogs your whip falls among come nevertheless to lick your +hand and to be petted." + +"Ergo?" she queried, audaciously. + +"Ergo, it all depends," he equivocated. + +"And, notwithstanding, I am forgiven?" + +"As I hope to be forgiven." + +"Then I am glad--only, you have done nothing to be forgiven for. You +acted according to your light, and I to mine, though it must be +acknowledged that mine casts the broader flare. Ah! I have it," +clapping her hands in delight, "I was not angry with you yesterday; nor +did I behave rudely to you, or even threaten you. It was utterly +impersonal, the whole of it. You simply stood for society, for the +type which aroused my indignation and anger; and, as its +representative, you bore the brunt of it. Don't you see?" + +"I see, and cleverly put; only, while you escape the charge of +maltreating me yesterday; you throw yourself open to it to-day. You +make me out all that is narrow-minded and mean and despicable, which is +very unjust. Only a few minutes past I said that your way of looking +at it, theoretically considered, was irreproachable. But not so when +we include society." + +"But you misunderstand me, Vance. Listen." Her hand went out to his, +and he was content to listen. "I have always upheld that what is is +well. I grant the wisdom of the prevailing social judgment in this +matter. Though I deplore it, I grant it; for the human is so made. +But I grant it socially only. I, as an individual, choose to regard +such things differently. And as between individuals so minded, why +should it not be so regarded? Don't you see? Now I find you guilty. +As between you and me, yesterday, on the river, you did not so regard +it. You behaved as narrow-mindedly as would have the society you +represent." + +"Then you would preach two doctrines?" he retaliated. "One for the +elect and one for the herd? You would be a democrat in theory and an +aristocrat in practice? In fact, the whole stand you are making is +nothing more or less than Jesuitical." + +"I suppose with the next breath you will be contending that all men are +born free and equal, with a bundle of natural rights thrown in? You +are going to have Del Bishop work for you; by what equal free-born +right will he work for you, or you suffer him to work?" + +"No," he denied. "I should have to modify somewhat the questions of +equality and rights." + +"And if you modify, you are lost!" she exulted. "For you can only +modify in the direction of my position, which is neither so Jesuitical +nor so harsh as you have defined it. But don't let us get lost in +dialectics. I want to see what I can see, so tell me about this woman." + +"Not a very tasteful topic," Corliss objected. + +"But I seek knowledge." + +"Nor can it be wholesome knowledge." + +Frona tapped her foot impatiently, and studied him. + +"She is beautiful, very beautiful," she suggested. "Do you not think +so?" + +"As beautiful as hell." + +"But still beautiful," she insisted. + +"Yes, if you will have it so. And she is as cruel, and hard, and +hopeless as she is beautiful." + +"Yet I came upon her, alone, by the trail, her face softened, and tears +in her eyes. And I believe, with a woman's ken, that I saw a side of +her to which you are blind. And so strongly did I see it, that when +you appeared my mind was blank to all save the solitary wail, _Oh, the +pity of it_! _The pity of it_! And she is a woman, even as I, and I +doubt not that we are very much alike. Why, she even quoted +Browning--" + +"And last week," he cut her short, "in a single sitting, she gambled +away thirty thousand of Jack Dorsey's dust,--Dorsey, with two mortgages +already on his dump! They found him in the snow next morning, with one +chamber empty in his revolver." + +Frona made no reply, but, walking over to the candle, deliberately +thrust her finger into the flame. Then she held it up to Corliss that +he might see the outraged skin, red and angry. + +"And so I point the parable. The fire is very good, but I misuse it, +and I am punished." + +"You forget," he objected. "The fire works in blind obedience to +natural law. Lucile is a free agent. That which she has chosen to do, +that she has done." + +"Nay, it is you who forget, for just as surely Dorsey was a free agent. +But you said Lucile. Is that her name? I wish I knew her better." + +Corliss winced. "Don't! You hurt me when you say such things." + +"And why, pray?" + +"Because--because--" + +"Yes?" + +"Because I honor woman highly. Frona, you have always made a stand for +frankness, and I can now advantage by it. It hurts me because of the +honor in which I hold you, because I cannot bear to see taint approach +you. Why, when I saw you and that woman together on the trail, I--you +cannot understand what I suffered." + +"Taint?" There was a tightening about her lips which he did not +notice, and a just perceptible lustre of victory lighted her eyes. + +"Yes, taint,--contamination," he reiterated. "There are some things +which it were not well for a good woman to understand. One cannot +dabble with mud and remain spotless." + +"That opens the field wide." She clasped and unclasped her hands +gleefully. "You have said that her name was Lucile; you display a +knowledge of her; you have given me facts about her; you doubtless +retain many which you dare not give; in short, if one cannot dabble and +remain spotless, how about you?" + +"But I am--" + +"A man, of course. Very good. Because you are a man, you may court +contamination. Because I am a woman, I may not. Contamination +contaminates, does it not? Then you, what do you here with me? Out +upon you!" + +Corliss threw up his hands laughingly. "I give in. You are too much +for me with your formal logic. I can only fall back on the higher +logic, which you will not recognize." + +"Which is--" + +"Strength. What man wills for woman, that will he have." + +"I take you, then, on your own ground," she rushed on. "What of +Lucile? What man has willed that he has had. So you, and all men, +have willed since the beginning of time. So poor Dorsey willed. You +cannot answer, so let me speak something that occurs to me concerning +that higher logic you call strength. I have met it before. I +recognized it in you, yesterday, on the sleds." + +"In me?" + +"In you, when you reached out and clutched at me. You could not down +the primitive passion, and, for that matter, you did not know it was +uppermost. But the expression on your face, I imagine, was very like +that of a woman-stealing cave-man. Another instant, and I am sure you +would have laid violent hands upon me." + +"Then I ask your pardon. I did not dream--" + +"There you go, spoiling it all! I--I quite liked you for it. Don't +you remember, I, too, was a cave-woman, brandishing the whip over your +head? + +"But I am not done with you yet, Sir Doubleface, even if you have +dropped out of the battle." Her eyes were sparkling mischievously, and +the wee laughter-creases were forming on her cheek. "I purpose to +unmask you." + +"As clay in the hands of the potter," he responded, meekly. + +"Then you must remember several things. At first, when I was very +humble and apologetic, you made it easier for me by saying that you +could only condemn my conduct on the ground of being socially unwise. +Remember?" + +Corliss nodded. + +"Then, just after you branded me as Jesuitical, I turned the +conversation to Lucile, saying that I wished to see what I could see." + +Again he nodded. + +"And just as I expected, I saw. For in only a few minutes you began to +talk about taint, and contamination, and dabbling in mud,--and all in +relation to me. There are your two propositions, sir. You may only +stand on one, and I feel sure that you stand on the last one. Yes, I +am right. You do. And you were insincere, confess, when you found my +conduct unwise only from the social point of view. I like sincerity." + +"Yes," he began, "I was unwittingly insincere. But I did not know it +until further analysis, with your help, put me straight. Say what you +will, Frona, my conception of woman is such that she should not court +defilement." + +"But cannot we be as gods, knowing good and evil?" + +"But we are not gods," he shook his head, sadly. + +"Only the men are?" + +"That is new-womanish talk," he frowned. "Equal rights, the ballot, +and all that." + +"Oh! Don't!" she protested. "You won't understand me; you can't. I +am no woman's rights' creature; and I stand, not for the new woman, but +for the new womanhood. Because I am sincere; because I desire to be +natural, and honest, and true; and because I am consistent with myself, +you choose to misunderstand it all and to lay wrong strictures upon me. +I do try to be consistent, and I think I fairly succeed; but you can +see neither rhyme nor reason in my consistency. Perhaps it is because +you are unused to consistent, natural women; because, more likely, you +are only familiar with the hot-house breeds,--pretty, helpless, +well-rounded, stall-fatted little things, blissfully innocent and +criminally ignorant. They are not natural or strong; nor can they +mother the natural and strong." + +She stopped abruptly. They heard somebody enter the hall, and a heavy, +soft-moccasined tread approaching. + +"We are friends," she added hurriedly, and Corliss answered with his +eyes. + +"Ain't intrudin', am I?" Dave Harney grinned broad insinuation and +looked about ponderously before coming up to shake hands. + +"Not at all," Corliss answered. "We've bored each other till we were +pining for some one to come along. If you hadn't, we would soon have +been quarrelling, wouldn't we, Miss Welse?" + +"I don't think he states the situation fairly," she smiled back. "In +fact, we had already begun to quarrel." + +"You do look a mite flustered," Harney criticised, dropping his +loose-jointed frame all over the pillows of the lounging couch. + +"How's the famine?" Corliss asked. "Any public relief started yet?" + +"Won't need any public relief. Miss Frona's old man was too forehanded +fer 'em. Scairt the daylights out of the critters, I do b'lieve. +Three thousand went out over the ice hittin' the high places, an' half +ez many again went down to the caches, and the market's loosened some +considerable. Jest what Welse figgered on, everybody speculated on a +rise and held all the grub they could lay hand to. That helped scare +the shorts, and away they stampeded fer Salt Water, the whole caboodle, +a-takin' all the dogs with 'em. Say!" he sat up solemnly, "corner +dogs! They'll rise suthin' unheard on in the spring when freightin' +gits brisk. I've corralled a hundred a'ready, an' I figger to clear a +hundred dollars clean on every hide of 'em." + +"Think so?" + +"Think so! I guess yes. Between we three, confidential, I'm startin' +a couple of lads down into the Lower Country next week to buy up five +hundred of the best huskies they kin spot. Think so! I've limbered my +jints too long in the land to git caught nappin'." + +Frona burst out laughing. "But you got pinched on the sugar, Dave." + +"Oh, I dunno," he responded, complacently. "Which reminds me. I've +got a noospaper, an' only four weeks' old, the _Seattle +Post-Intelligencer_." + +"Has the United States and Spain--" + +"Not so fast, not so fast!" The long Yankee waved his arms for +silence, cutting off Frona's question which was following fast on that +of Corliss. + +"But have you read it?" they both demanded. + +"Unh huh, every line, advertisements an' all." + +"Then do tell me," Frona began. "Has--" + +"Now you keep quiet, Miss Frona, till I tell you about it reg'lar. +That noospaper cost me fifty dollars--caught the man comin' in round +the bend above Klondike City, an' bought it on the spot. The dummy +could a-got a hundred fer it, easy, if he'd held on till he made +town--" + +"But what does it say? Has--" + +"Ez I was sayin', that noospaper cost me fifty dollars. It's the only +one that come in. Everybody's jest dyin' to hear the noos. So I +invited a select number of 'em to come here to yer parlors to-night, +Miss Frona, ez the only likely place, an' they kin read it out loud, by +shifts, ez long ez they want or till they're tired--that is, if you'll +let 'em have the use of the place." + +"Why, of course, they are welcome. And you are very kind to--" + +He waved her praise away. "Jest ez I kalkilated. Now it so happens, +ez you said, that I was pinched on sugar. So every mother's son and +daughter that gits a squint at that paper to-night got to pony up five +cups of sugar. Savve? Five cups,--big cups, white, or brown, or +cube,--an' I'll take their IOU's, an' send a boy round to their shacks +the day followin' to collect." + +Frona's face went blank at the telling, then the laughter came back +into it. "Won't it be jolly? I'll do it if it raises a scandal. +To-night, Dave? Sure to-night?" + +"Sure. An' you git a complimentary, you know, fer the loan of yer +parlor." + +"But papa must pay his five cups. You must insist upon it, Dave." + +Dave's eyes twinkled appreciatively. "I'll git it back on him, you +bet!" + +"And I'll make him come," she promised, "at the tail of Dave Harney's +chariot." + +"Sugar cart," Dave suggested. "An' to-morrow night I'll take the paper +down to the Opery House. Won't be fresh, then, so they kin git in +cheap; a cup'll be about the right thing, I reckon." He sat up and +cracked his huge knuckles boastfully. "I ain't ben a-burnin' daylight +sence navigation closed; an' if they set up all night they won't be up +early enough in the mornin' to git ahead of Dave Harney--even on a +sugar proposition." + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +Over in the corner Vance Corliss leaned against the piano, deep in +conversation with Colonel Trethaway. The latter, keen and sharp and +wiry, for all his white hair and sixty-odd years, was as young in +appearance as a man of thirty. A veteran mining engineer, with a +record which put him at the head of his profession, he represented as +large American interests as Corliss did British. Not only had a +cordial friendship sprung up between them, but in a business way they +had already been of large assistance to each other. And it was well +that they should stand together,--a pair who held in grip and could +direct at will the potent capital which two nations had contributed to +the development of the land under the Pole. + +The crowded room was thick with tobacco smoke. A hundred men or so, +garbed in furs and warm-colored wools, lined the walls and looked on. +But the mumble of their general conversation destroyed the spectacular +feature of the scene and gave to it the geniality of common +comradeship. For all its _bizarre_ appearance, it was very like the +living-room of the home when the members of the household come together +after the work of the day. Kerosene lamps and tallow candles glimmered +feebly in the murky atmosphere, while large stoves roared their red-hot +and white-hot cheer. + +On the floor a score of couples pulsed rhythmically to the swinging +waltz-time music. Starched shirts and frock coats were not. The men +wore their wolf- and beaver-skin caps, with the gay-tasselled ear-flaps +flying free, while on their feet were the moose-skin moccasins and +walrus-hide muclucs of the north. Here and there a woman was in +moccasins, though the majority danced in frail ball-room slippers of +silk and satin. At one end of the hall a great open doorway gave +glimpse of another large room where the crowd was even denser. From +this room, in the lulls in the music, came the pop of corks and the +clink of glasses, and as an undertone the steady click and clatter of +chips and roulette balls. + +The small door at the rear opened, and a woman, befurred and muffled, +came in on a wave of frost. The cold rushed in with her to the warmth, +taking form in a misty cloud which hung close to the floor, hiding the +feet of the dancers, and writhing and twisting until vanquished by the +heat. + +"A veritable frost queen, my Lucile," Colonel Trethaway addressed her. + +She tossed her head and laughed, and, as she removed her capes and +street-moccasins, chatted with him gayly. But of Corliss, though he +stood within a yard of her, she took no notice. Half a dozen dancing +men were waiting patiently at a little distance till she should have +done with the colonel. The piano and violin played the opening bars of +a schottische, and she turned to go; but a sudden impulse made Corliss +step up to her. It was wholly unpremeditated; he had not dreamed of +doing it. + +"I am very sorry," he said. + +Her eyes flashed angrily as she turned upon him. + +"I mean it," he repeated, holding out his hand. "I am very sorry. I +was a brute and a coward. Will you forgive me?" + +She hesitated, and, with the wisdom bought of experience, searched him +for the ulterior motive. Then, her face softened, and she took his +hand. A warm mist dimmed her eyes. + +"Thank you," she said. + +But the waiting men had grown impatient, and she was whirled away in +the arms of a handsome young fellow, conspicuous in a cap of yellow +Siberian wolf-skin. Corliss came back to his companion, feeling +unaccountably good and marvelling at what he had done. + +"It's a damned shame." The colonel's eye still followed Lucile, and +Vance understood. "Corliss, I've lived my threescore, and lived them +well, and do you know, woman is a greater mystery than ever. Look at +them, look at them all!" He embraced the whole scene with his eyes. +"Butterflies, bits of light and song and laughter, dancing, dancing +down the last tail-reach of hell. Not only Lucile, but the rest of +them. Look at May, there, with the brow of a Madonna and the tongue of +a gutter-devil. And Myrtle--for all the world one of Gainsborough's +old English beauties stepped down from the canvas to riot out the +century in Dawson's dance-halls. And Laura, there, wouldn't she make a +mother? Can't you see the child in the curve of her arm against her +breast! They're the best of the boiling, I know,--a new country always +gathers the best,--but there's something wrong, Corliss, something +wrong. The heats of life have passed with me, and my vision is truer, +surer. It seems a new Christ must arise and preach a new +salvation--economic or sociologic--in these latter days, it matters +not, so long as it is preached. The world has need of it." + +The room was wont to be swept by sudden tides, and notably between the +dances, when the revellers ebbed through the great doorway to where +corks popped and glasses tinkled. Colonel Trethaway and Corliss +followed out on the next ebb to the bar, where fifty men and women were +lined up. They found themselves next to Lucile and the fellow in the +yellow wolf-skin cap. He was undeniably handsome, and his looks were +enhanced by a warm overplus of blood in the cheeks and a certain mellow +fire in the eyes. He was not technically drunk, for he had himself in +perfect physical control; but his was the soul-exhilaration which comes +of the juice of the grape. His voice was raised the least bit and +joyous, and his tongue made quick and witty--just in the unstable +condition when vices and virtues are prone to extravagant expression. + +As he raised his glass, the man next to him accidentally jostled his +arm. He shook the wine from his sleeve and spoke his mind. It was not +a nice word, but one customarily calculated to rouse the fighting +blood. And the other man's blood roused, for his fist landed under the +wolf-skin cap with force sufficient to drive its owner back against +Corliss. The insulted man followed up his attack swiftly. The women +slipped away, leaving a free field for the men, some of whom were for +crowding in, and some for giving room and fair play. + +The wolf-skin cap did not put up a fight or try to meet the wrath he +had invoked, but, with his hands shielding his face, strove to retreat. +The crowd called upon him to stand up and fight. He nerved himself to +the attempt, but weakened as the man closed in on him, and dodged away. + +"Let him alone. He deserves it," the colonel called to Vance as he +showed signs of interfering. "He won't fight. If he did, I think I +could almost forgive him." + +"But I can't see him pummelled," Vance objected. "If he would only +stand up, it wouldn't seem so brutal." + +The blood was streaming from his nose and from a slight cut over one +eye, when Corliss sprang between. He attempted to hold the two men +apart, but pressing too hard against the truculent individual, +overbalanced him and threw him to the floor. Every man has friends in +a bar-room fight, and before Vance knew what was taking place he was +staggered by a blow from a chum of the man he had downed. Del Bishop, +who had edged in, let drive promptly at the man who had attacked his +employer, and the fight became general. The crowd took sides on the +moment and went at it. + +Colonel Trethaway forgot that the heats of life had passed, and +swinging a three-legged stool, danced nimbly into the fray. A couple +of mounted police, on liberty, joined him, and with half a dozen others +safeguarded the man with the wolf-skin cap. + +Fierce though it was, and noisy, it was purely a local disturbance. At +the far end of the bar the barkeepers still dispensed drinks, and in +the next room the music was on and the dancers afoot. The gamblers +continued their play, and at only the near tables did they evince any +interest in the affair. + +"Knock'm down an' drag'm out!" Del Bishop grinned, as he fought for a +brief space shoulder to shoulder with Corliss. + +Corliss grinned back, met the rush of a stalwart dog-driver with a +clinch, and came down on top of him among the stamping feet. He was +drawn close, and felt the fellow's teeth sinking into his ear. Like a +flash, he surveyed his whole future and saw himself going one-eared +through life, and in the same dash, as though inspired, his thumbs flew +to the man's eyes and pressed heavily on the balls. Men fell over him +and trampled upon him, but it all seemed very dim and far away. He +only knew, as he pressed with his thumbs, that the man's teeth wavered +reluctantly. He added a little pressure (a little more, and the man +would have been eyeless), and the teeth slackened and slipped their +grip. + +After that, as he crawled out of the fringe of the melee and came to +his feet by the side of the bar, all distaste for fighting left him. +He had found that he was very much like other men after all, and the +imminent loss of part of his anatomy had scraped off twenty years of +culture. Gambling without stakes is an insipid amusement, and Corliss +discovered, likewise, that the warm blood which rises from hygienic +gymnasium work is something quite different from that which pounds +hotly along when thew matches thew and flesh impacts on flesh and the +stake is life and limb. As he dragged himself to his feet by means of +the bar-rail, he saw a man in a squirrel-skin parka lift a beer-mug to +hurl at Trethaway, a couple of paces off. And the fingers, which were +more used to test-tubes and water colors, doubled into a hard fist +which smote the mug-thrower cleanly on the point of the jaw. The man +merely dropped the glass and himself on the floor. Vance was dazed for +the moment, then he realized that he had knocked the man +unconscious,--the first in his life,--and a pang of delight thrilled +through him. + +Colonel Trethaway thanked him with a look, and shouted, "Get on the +outside! Work to the door, Corliss! Work to the door!" + +Quite a struggle took place before the storm-doors could be thrown +open; but the colonel, still attached to the three-legged stool, +effectually dissipated the opposition, and the Opera House disgorged +its turbulent contents into the street. This accomplished, hostilities +ceased, after the manner of such fights, and the crowd scattered. The +two policemen went back to keep order, accompanied by the rest of the +allies, while Corliss and the colonel, followed by the Wolf-Skin Cap +and Del Bishop, proceeded up the street. + +"Blood and sweat! Blood and sweat!" Colonel Trethaway exulted. "Talk +about putting the vim into one! Why, I'm twenty years younger if I'm a +day! Corliss, your hand. I congratulate you, I do, I heartily do. +Candidly, I didn't think it was in you. You're a surprise, sir, a +surprise!" + +"And a surprise to myself," Corliss answered. The reaction had set in, +and he was feeling sick and faint. "And you, also, are a surprise. +The way you handled that stool--" + +"Yes, now! I flatter myself I did fairly well with it. Did you +see--well, look at that!" He held up the weapon in question, still +tightly clutched, and joined in the laugh against himself. + +"Whom have I to thank, gentlemen?" + +They had come to a pause at the corner, and the man they had rescued +was holding out his hand. + +"My name is St. Vincent," he went on, "and--" + +"What name?" Del Bishop queried with sudden interest. + +"St. Vincent, Gregory St. Vincent--" + +Bishop's fist shot out, and Gregory St. Vincent pitched heavily into +the snow. The colonel instinctively raised the stool, then helped +Corliss to hold the pocket-miner back. + +"Are you crazy, man?" Vance demanded. + +"The skunk! I wish I'd hit 'm harder!" was the response. Then, "Oh, +that's all right. Let go o' me. I won't hit 'm again. Let go o' me, +I'm goin' home. Good-night." + +As they helped St. Vincent to his feet, Vance could have sworn he heard +the colonel giggling. And he confessed to it later, as he explained, +"It was so curious and unexpected." But he made amends by taking it +upon himself to see St. Vincent home. + +"But why did you hit him?" Corliss asked, unavailingly, for the fourth +time after he had got into his cabin. + +"The mean, crawlin' skunk!" the pocket-miner gritted in his blankets. +"What'd you stop me for, anyway? I wish I'd hit 'm twice as hard!" + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +"Mr. Harney, pleased to meet you. Dave, I believe, Dave Harney?" Dave +Harney nodded, and Gregory St. Vincent turned to Frona. "You see, Miss +Welse, the world is none so large. Mr. Harney and I are not strangers +after all." + +The Eldorado king studied the other's face until a glimmering +intelligence came to him. "Hold on!" he cried, as St. Vincent started +to speak, "I got my finger on you. You were smooth-faced then. Let's +see,--'86, fall of '87, summer of '88,--yep, that's when. Summer of +'88 I come floatin' a raft out of Stewart River, loaded down with +quarters of moose an' strainin' to make the Lower Country 'fore they +went bad. Yep, an' down the Yukon you come, in a Linderman boat. An' +I was holdin' strong, ez it was Wednesday, an' my pardner ez it was +Friday, an' you put us straight--Sunday, I b'lieve it was. Yep, +Sunday. I declare! Nine years ago! And we swapped moose-steaks fer +flour an' bakin' soda, an'--an'--an' sugar! By the Jimcracky! I'm +glad to see you!" + +He shoved out his hand and they shook again. + +"Come an' see me," he invited, as he moved away. "I've a right tidy +little shack up on the hill, and another on Eldorado. Latch-string's +always out. Come an' see me, an' stay ez long ez you've a mind to. +Sorry to quit you cold, but I got to traipse down to the Opery House +and collect my taxes,--sugar. Miss Frona'll tell you." + +"You are a surprise, Mr. St. Vincent." Frona switched back to the +point of interest, after briefly relating Harney's saccharine +difficulties. "The country must indeed have been a wilderness nine +years ago, and to think that you went through it at that early day! Do +tell me about it." + +Gregory St. Vincent shrugged his shoulders, "There is very little to +tell. It was an ugly failure, filled with many things that are not +nice, and containing nothing of which to be proud." + +"But do tell me, I enjoy such things. They seem closer and truer to +life than the ordinary every-day happenings. A failure, as you call +it, implies something attempted. What did you attempt?" + +He noted her frank interest with satisfaction. "Well, if you will, I +can tell you in few words all there is to tell. I took the mad idea +into my head of breaking a new path around the world, and in the +interest of science and journalism, particularly journalism, I proposed +going through Alaska, crossing the Bering Straits on the ice, and +journeying to Europe by way of Northern Siberia. It was a splendid +undertaking, most of it being virgin ground, only I failed. I crossed +the Straits in good order, but came to grief in Eastern Siberia--all +because of Tamerlane is the excuse I have grown accustomed to making." + +"A Ulysses!" Mrs. Schoville clapped her hands and joined them. "A +modern Ulysses! How romantic!" + +"But not an Othello," Frona replied. "His tongue is a sluggard. He +leaves one at the most interesting point with an enigmatical reference +to a man of a bygone age. You take an unfair advantage of us, Mr. St. +Vincent, and we shall be unhappy until you show how Tamerlane brought +your journey to an untimely end." + +He laughed, and with an effort put aside his reluctance to speak of his +travels. "When Tamerlane swept with fire and sword over Eastern Asia, +states were disrupted, cities overthrown, and tribes scattered like +star-dust. In fact, a vast people was hurled broadcast over the land. +Fleeing before the mad lust of the conquerors, these refugees swung far +into Siberia, circling to the north and east and fringing the rim of +the polar basin with a spray of Mongol tribes--am I not tiring you?" + +"No, no!" Mrs. Schoville exclaimed. "It is fascinating! Your method +of narration is so vivid! It reminds me of--of--" + +"Of Macaulay," St. Vincent laughed, good-naturedly. "You know I am a +journalist, and he has strongly influenced my style. But I promise you +I shall tone down. However, to return, had it not been for these +Mongol tribes, I should not have been halted in my travels. Instead of +being forced to marry a greasy princess, and to become proficient in +interclannish warfare and reindeer-stealing, I should have travelled +easily and peaceably to St. Petersburg." + +"Oh, these heroes! Are they not exasperating, Frona? But what about +the reindeer-stealing and the greasy princesses?" + +The Gold Commissioner's wife beamed upon him, and glancing for +permission to Frona, he went on. + +"The coast people were Esquimo stock, merry-natured and happy, and +inoffensive. They called themselves the Oukilion, or the Sea Men. I +bought dogs and food from them, and they treated me splendidly. But +they were subject to the Chow Chuen, or interior people, who were known +as the Deer Men. The Chow Chuen were a savage, indomitable breed, with +all the fierceness of the untamed Mongol, plus double his viciousness. +As soon as I left the coast they fell upon me, confiscated my goods, +and made me a slave." + +"But were there no Russians?" Mrs. Schoville asked. + +"Russians? Among the Chow Chuen?" He laughed his amusement. +"Geographically, they are within the White Tsar's domain; but +politically, no. I doubt if they ever heard of him. Remember, the +interior of North-Eastern Siberia is hidden in the polar gloom, a terra +incognita, where few men have gone and none has returned." + +"But you--" + +"I chance to be the exception. Why I was spared, I do not know. It +just so happened. At first I was vilely treated, beaten by the women +and children, clothed in vermin-infested mangy furs, and fed on refuse. +They were utterly heartless. How I managed to survive is beyond me; +but I know that often and often, at first, I meditated suicide. The +only thing that saved me during that period from taking my own life was +the fact that I quickly became too stupefied and bestial, what of my +suffering and degradation. Half-frozen, half-starved, undergoing +untold misery and hardship, beaten many and many a time into +insensibility, I became the sheerest animal. + +"On looking back much of it seems a dream. There are gaps which my +memory cannot fill. I have vague recollections of being lashed to a +sled and dragged from camp to camp and tribe to tribe. Carted about +for exhibition purposes, I suppose, much as we do lions and elephants +and wild men. How far I so journeyed up and down that bleak region I +cannot guess, though it must have been several thousand miles. I do +know that when consciousness returned to me and I really became myself +again, I was fully a thousand miles to the west of the point where I +was captured. + +"It was springtime, and from out of a forgotten past it seemed I +suddenly opened my eyes. A reindeer thong was about my waist and made +fast to the tail-end of a sled. This thong I clutched with both hands, +like an organ-grinder's monkey; for the flesh of my body was raw and in +great sores from where the thong had cut in. + +"A low cunning came to me, and I made myself agreeable and servile. +That night I danced and sang, and did my best to amuse them, for I was +resolved to incur no more of the maltreatment which had plunged me into +darkness. Now the Deer Men traded with the Sea Men, and the Sea Men +with the whites, especially the whalers. So later I discovered a deck +of cards in the possession of one of the women, and I proceeded to +mystify the Chow Chuen with a few commonplace tricks. Likewise, with +fitting solemnity, I perpetrated upon them the little I knew of parlor +legerdemain. Result: I was appreciated at once, and was better fed and +better clothed. + +"To make a long story short, I gradually became a man of importance. +First the old people and the women came to me for advice, and later the +chiefs. My slight but rough and ready knowledge of medicine and +surgery stood me in good stead, and I became indispensable. From a +slave, I worked myself to a seat among the head men, and in war and +peace, so soon as I had learned their ways, was an unchallenged +authority. Reindeer was their medium of exchange, their unit of value +as it were, and we were almost constantly engaged in cattle forays +among the adjacent clans, or in protecting our own herds from their +inroads. I improved upon their methods, taught them better strategy +and tactics, and put a snap and go into their operations which no +neighbor tribe could withstand. + +"But still, though I became a power, I was no nearer my freedom. It +was laughable, for I had over-reached myself and made myself too +valuable. They cherished me with exceeding kindness, but they were +jealously careful. I could go and come and command without restraint, +but when the trading parties went down to the coast I was not permitted +to accompany them. That was the one restriction placed upon my +movements. + +"Also, it is very tottery in the high places, and when I began altering +their political structures I came to grief again. In the process of +binding together twenty or more of the neighboring tribes in order to +settle rival claims, I was given the over-lordship of the federation. +But Old Pi-Une was the greatest of the under-chiefs,--a king in a +way,--and in relinquishing his claim to the supreme leadership he +refused to forego all the honors. The least that could be done to +appease him was for me to marry his daughter Ilswunga. Nay, he +demanded it. I offered to abandon the federation, but he would not +hear of it. And--" + +"And?" Mrs. Schoville murmured ecstatically. + +"And I married Ilswunga, which is the Chow Chuen name for Wild Deer. +Poor Ilswunga! Like Swinburne's Iseult of Brittany, and I Tristram! +The last I saw of her she was playing solitaire in the Mission of +Irkutsky and stubbornly refusing to take a bath." + +"Oh, mercy! It's ten o'clock!" Mrs. Schoville suddenly cried, her +husband having at last caught her eye from across the room. "I'm so +sorry I can't hear the rest, Mr. St. Vincent, how you escaped and all +that. But you must come and see me. I am just dying to hear!" + +"And I took you for a tenderfoot, a _chechaquo_," Frona said meekly, as +St. Vincent tied his ear-flaps and turned up his collar preparatory to +leaving. + +"I dislike posing," he answered, matching her meekness. "It smacks of +insincerity; it really is untrue. And it is so easy to slip into it. +Look at the old-timers,--'sour-doughs' as they proudly call themselves. +Just because they have been in the country a few years, they let +themselves grow wild and woolly and glorify in it. They may not know +it, but it is a pose. In so far as they cultivate salient +peculiarities, they cultivate falseness to themselves and live lies." + +"I hardly think you are wholly just," Frona said, in defence of her +chosen heroes. "I do like what you say about the matter in general, +and I detest posing, but the majority of the old-timers would be +peculiar in any country, under any circumstances. That peculiarity is +their own; it is their mode of expression. And it is, I am sure, just +what makes them go into new countries. The normal man, of course, +stays at home." + +"Oh, I quite agree with you, Miss Welse," he temporized easily. "I did +not intend it so sweepingly. I meant to brand that sprinkling among +them who are _poseurs_. In the main, as you say, they are honest, and +sincere, and natural." + +"Then we have no quarrel. But Mr. St. Vincent, before you go, would +you care to come to-morrow evening? We are getting up theatricals for +Christmas. I know you can help us greatly, and I think it will not be +altogether unenjoyable to you. All the younger people are +interested,--the officials, officers of police, mining engineers, +gentlemen rovers, and so forth, to say nothing of the nice women. You +are bound to like them." + +"I am sure I shall," as he took her hand. "Tomorrow, did you say?" + +"To-morrow evening. Good-night." + +A brave man, she told herself as she went bade from the door, and a +splendid type of the race. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +Gregory St. Vincent swiftly became an important factor in the social +life of Dawson. As a representative of the Amalgamated Press +Association, he had brought with him the best credentials a powerful +influence could obtain, and over and beyond, he was well qualified +socially by his letters of introduction. It developed in a quiet way +that he was a wanderer and explorer of no small parts, and that he had +seen life and strife pretty well all over the earth's crust. And +withal, he was so mild and modest about it, that nobody, not even among +the men, was irritated by his achievements. Incidentally, he ran +across numerous old acquaintances. Jacob Welse he had met at St. +Michael's in the fall of '88, just prior to his crossing Bering Straits +on the ice. A month or so later, Father Barnum (who had come up from +the Lower River to take charge of the hospital) had met him a couple of +hundred miles on his way north of St. Michael's. Captain Alexander, of +the Police, had rubbed shoulders with him in the British Legation at +Peking. And Bettles, another old-timer of standing, had met him at +Fort o' Yukon nine years before. + +So Dawson, ever prone to look askance at the casual comer, received him +with open arms. Especially was he a favorite with the women. As a +promoter of pleasures and an organizer of amusements he took the lead, +and it quickly came to pass that no function was complete without him. +Not only did he come to help in the theatricals, but insensibly, and as +a matter of course, he took charge. Frona, as her friends charged, was +suffering from a stroke of Ibsen, so they hit upon the "Doll's House," +and she was cast for Nora. Corliss, who was responsible, by the way, +for the theatricals, having first suggested them, was to take Torvald's +part; but his interest seemed to have died out, or at any rate he +begged off on the plea of business rush. So St. Vincent, without +friction, took Torvald's lines. Corliss did manage to attend one +rehearsal. It might have been that he had come tired from forty miles +with the dogs, and it might have been that Torvald was obliged to put +his arm about Nora at divers times and to toy playfully with her ear; +but, one way or the other, Corliss never attended again. + +Busy he certainly was, and when not away on trail he was closeted +almost continually with Jacob Welse and Colonel Trethaway. That it was +a deal of magnitude was evidenced by the fact that Welse's mining +interests involved alone mounted to several millions. Corliss was +primarily a worker and doer, and on discovering that his thorough +theoretical knowledge lacked practical experience, he felt put upon his +mettle and worked the harder. He even marvelled at the silliness of +the men who had burdened him with such responsibilities, simply because +of his pull, and he told Trethaway as much. But the colonel, while +recognizing his shortcomings, liked him for his candor, and admired him +for his effort and for the quickness with which he came to grasp things +actual. + +Del Bishop, who had refused to play any hand but his own, had gone to +work for Corliss because by so doing he was enabled to play his own +hand better. He was practically unfettered, while the opportunities to +further himself were greatly increased. Equipped with the best of +outfits and a magnificent dog-team, his task was mainly to run the +various creeks and keep his eyes and ears open. A pocket-miner, first, +last, and always, he was privately on the constant lookout for pockets, +which occupation did not interfere in the least with the duty he owed +his employer. And as the days went by he stored his mind with +miscellaneous data concerning the nature of the various placer deposits +and the lay of the land, against the summer when the thawed surface and +the running water would permit him to follow a trace from creek-bed to +side-slope and source. + +Corliss was a good employer, paid well, and considered it his right to +work men as he worked himself. Those who took service with him either +strengthened their own manhood and remained, or quit and said harsh +things about him. Jacob Welse noted this trait with appreciation, and +he sounded the mining engineer's praises continually. Frona heard and +was gratified, for she liked the things her father liked; and she was +more gratified because the man was Corliss. But in his rush of +business she saw less of him than formerly, while St. Vincent came to +occupy a greater and growing portion of her time. His healthful, +optimistic spirit pleased her, while he corresponded well to her +idealized natural man and favorite racial type. Her first doubt--that +if what he said was true--had passed away. All the evidence had gone +counter. Men who at first questioned the truth of his wonderful +adventures gave in after hearing him talk. Those to any extent +conversant with the parts of the world he made mention of, could not +but acknowledge that he knew what he talked about. Young Soley, +representing Bannock's News Syndicate, and Holmes of the Fairweather, +recollected his return to the world in '91, and the sensation created +thereby. And Sid Winslow, Pacific Coast journalist, had made his +acquaintance at the Wanderers' Club shortly after he landed from the +United States revenue cutter which had brought him down from the north. +Further, as Frona well saw, he bore the ear-marks of his experiences; +they showed their handiwork in his whole outlook on life. Then the +primitive was strong in him, and his was a passionate race pride which +fully matched hers. In the absence of Corliss they were much together, +went out frequently with the dogs, and grew to know each other +thoroughly. + +All of which was not pleasant to Corliss, especially when the brief +intervals he could devote to her were usually intruded upon by the +correspondent. Naturally, Corliss was not drawn to him, and other men, +who knew or had heard of the Opera House occurrence, only accepted him +after a tentative fashion. Trethaway had the indiscretion, once or +twice, to speak slightingly of him, but so fiercely was he defended by +his admirers that the colonel developed the good taste to thenceforward +keep his tongue between his teeth. Once, Corliss, listening to an +extravagant panegyric bursting from the lips of Mrs. Schoville, +permitted himself the luxury of an incredulous smile; but the quick +wave of color in Frona's face, and the gathering of the brows, warned +him. + +At another time he was unwise enough and angry enough to refer to the +Opera House broil. He was carried away, and what he might have said of +that night's happening would have redounded neither to St. Vincent's +credit nor to his own, had not Frona innocently put a seal upon his +lips ere he had properly begun. + +"Yes," she said. "Mr. St. Vincent told me about it. He met you for +the first time that night, I believe. You all fought royally on his +side,--you and Colonel Trethaway. He spoke his admiration unreservedly +and, to tell the truth, with enthusiasm." + +Corliss made a gesture of depreciation. + +"No! no! From what he said you must have behaved splendidly. And I +was most pleased to hear. It must be great to give the brute the rein +now and again, and healthy, too. Great for us who have wandered from +the natural and softened to sickly ripeness. Just to shake off +artificiality and rage up and down! and yet, the inmost mentor, serene +and passionless, viewing all and saying: 'This is my other self. +Behold! I, who am now powerless, am the power behind and ruleth still! +This other self, mine ancient, violent, elder self, rages blindly as +the beast, but 'tis I, sitting apart, who discern the merit of the +cause and bid him rage or bid him cease!' Oh, to be a man!" + +Corliss could not help a humoring smile, which put Frona upon defence +at once. + +"Tell me, Vance, how did it feel? Have I not described it rightly? +Were the symptoms yours? Did you not hold aloof and watch yourself +play the brute?" + +He remembered the momentary daze which came when he stunned the man +with his fist, and nodded. + +"And pride?" she demanded, inexorably. "Or shame?" + +"A--a little of both, and more of the first than the second," he +confessed. "At the time I suppose I was madly exultant; then +afterwards came the shame, and I tossed awake half the night." + +"And finally?" + +"Pride, I guess. I couldn't help it, couldn't down it. I awoke in the +morning feeling as though I had won my spurs. In a subconscious way I +was inordinately proud of myself, and time and again, mentally, I +caught myself throwing chests. Then came the shame again, and I tried +to reason back my self-respect. And last of all, pride. The fight was +fair and open. It was none of my seeking. I was forced into it by the +best of motives. I am not sorry, and I would repeat it if necessary." + +"And rightly so." Frona's eyes were sparkling. "And how did Mr. St. +Vincent acquit himself?" + +"He? . . . . Oh, I suppose all right, creditably. I was too busy +watching my other self to take notice." + +"But he saw you." + +"Most likely so. I acknowledge my negligence. I should have done +better, the chances are, had I thought it would have been of interest +to you--pardon me. Just my bungling wit. The truth is, I was too much +of a greenhorn to hold my own and spare glances on my neighbors." + +So Corliss went away, glad that he had not spoken, and keenly +appreciating St. Vincent's craft whereby he had so adroitly forestalled +adverse comment by telling the story in his own modest, self-effacing +way. + + +Two men and a woman! The most potent trinity of factors in the +creating of human pathos and tragedy! As ever in the history of man, +since the first father dropped down from his arboreal home and walked +upright, so at Dawson. Necessarily, there were minor factors, not +least among which was Del Bishop, who, in his aggressive way, stepped +in and accelerated things. This came about in a trail-camp on the way +to Miller Creek, where Corliss was bent on gathering in a large number +of low-grade claims which could only be worked profitably on a large +scale. + +"I'll not be wastin' candles when I make a strike, savve!" the +pocket-miner remarked savagely to the coffee, which he was settling +with a chunk of ice. "Not on your life, I guess rather not!" + +"Kerosene?" Corliss queried, running a piece of bacon-rind round the +frying-pan and pouring in the batter. + +"Kerosene, hell! You won't see my trail for smoke when I get a gait on +for God's country, my wad in my poke and the sunshine in my eyes. Say! +How'd a good juicy tenderloin strike you just now, green onions, fried +potatoes, and fixin's on the side? S'help me, that's the first +proposition I'll hump myself up against. Then a general whoop-la! for +a week--Seattle or 'Frisco, I don't care a rap which, and then--" + +"Out of money and after a job." + +"Not on your family tree!" Bishop roared. "Cache my sack before I go +on the tear, sure pop, and then, afterwards, Southern California. +Many's the day I've had my eye on a peach of a fruit farm down +there--forty thousand'll buy it. No more workin' for grub-stakes and +the like. Figured it out long; ago,--hired men to work the ranch, a +manager to run it, and me ownin' the game and livin' off the +percentage. A stable with always a couple of bronchos handy; handy to +slap the packs and saddles on and be off and away whenever the fever +for chasin' pockets came over me. Great pocket country down there, to +the east and along the desert." + +"And no house on the ranch?" + +"Cert! With sweet peas growin' up the sides, and in back a patch for +vegetables--string-beans and spinach and radishes, cucumbers and +'sparagrass, turnips, carrots, cabbage, and such. And a woman inside +to draw me back when I get to runnin' loco after the pockets. Say, you +know all about minin'. Did you ever go snoozin' round after pockets? +No? Then just steer clear. They're worse than whiskey, horses, or +cards. Women, when they come afterwards, ain't in it. Whenever you +get a hankerin' after pockets, go right off and get married. It's the +only thing'll save you; and even then, mebbe, it won't. I ought 'a' +done it years ago. I might 'a' made something of myself if I had. +Jerusalem! the jobs I've jumped and the good things chucked in my time, +just because of pockets! Say, Corliss, you want to get married, you +do, and right off. I'm tellin' you straight. Take warnin' from me and +don't stay single any longer than God'll let you, sure!" + +Corliss laughed. + +"Sure, I mean it. I'm older'n you, and know what I'm talkin'. Now +there's a bit of a thing down in Dawson I'd like to see you get your +hands on. You was made for each other, both of you." + +Corliss was past the stage when he would have treated Bishop's meddling +as an impertinence. The trail, which turns men into the same blankets +and makes them brothers, was the great leveller of distinctions, as he +had come to learn. So he flopped a flapjack and held his tongue. + +"Why don't you waltz in and win?" Del demanded, insistently. "Don't +you cotton to her? I know you do, or you wouldn't come back to cabin, +after bein' with her, a-walkin'-like on air. Better waltz in while you +got a chance. Why, there was Emmy, a tidy bit of flesh as women go, +and we took to each other on the jump. But I kept a-chasin' pockets +and chasin' pockets, and delayin'. And then a big black lumberman, a +Kanuck, began sidlin' up to her, and I made up my mind to speak--only I +went off after one more pocket, just one more, and when I got back she +was Mrs. Somebody Else. + +"So take warnin'. There's that writer-guy, that skunk I poked outside +the Opera House. He's walkin' right in and gettin' thick; and here's +you, just like me, a-racin' round all creation and lettin' matrimony +slide. Mark my words, Corliss! Some fine frost you'll come slippin' +into camp and find 'em housekeepin'. Sure! With nothin' left for you +in life but pocketing!" + +The picture was so unpleasant that Corliss turned surly and ordered him +to shut up. + +"Who? Me?" Del asked so aggrievedly that Corliss laughed. + +"What would you do, then?" he asked. + +"Me? In all kindness I'll tell you. As soon as you get back you go +and see her. Make dates with her ahead till you got to put 'em on +paper to remember 'em all. Get a cinch on her spare time ahead so as +to shut the other fellow out. Don't get down in the dirt to +her,--she's not that kind,--but don't be too high and mighty, neither. +Just so-so--savve? And then, some time when you see she's feelin' +good, and smilin' at you in that way of hers, why up and call her hand. +Of course I can't say what the showdown'll be. That's for you to find +out. But don't hold off too long about it. Better married early than +never. And if that writer-guy shoves in, poke him in the +breadbasket--hard! That'll settle him plenty. Better still, take him +off to one side and talk to him. Tell'm you're a bad man, and that you +staked that claim before he was dry behind the ears, and that if he +comes nosin' around tryin' to file on it you'll beat his head off." + +Bishop got up, stretched, and went outside to feed the dogs. "Don't +forget to beat his head off," he called back. "And if you're squeamish +about it, just call on me. I won't keep 'm waitin' long." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +"Ah, the salt water, Miss Welse, the strong salt water and the big waves +and the heavy boats for smooth or rough--that I know. But the fresh +water, and the little canoes, egg-shells, fairy bubbles; a big breath, a +sigh, a heart-pulse too much, and pouf! over you go; not so, that I do +not know." Baron Courbertin smiled self-commiseratingly and went on. +"But it is delightful, magnificent. I have watched and envied. Some day +I shall learn." + +"It is not so difficult," St. Vincent interposed. "Is it, Miss Welse? +Just a sure and delicate poise of mind and body--" + +"Like the tight-rope dancer?" + +"Oh, you are incorrigible," Frona laughed. "I feel certain that you know +as much about canoes as we." + +"And you know?--a woman?" Cosmopolitan as the Frenchman was, the +independence and ability for doing of the Yankee women were a perpetual +wonder to him. "How?" + +"When I was a very little girl, at Dyea, among the Indians. But next +spring, after the river breaks, we'll give you your first lessons, Mr. +St. Vincent and I. So you see, you will return to civilization with +accomplishments. And you will surely love it." + +"Under such charming tutorship," he murmured, gallantly. "But you, Mr. +St. Vincent, do you think I shall be so successful that I may come to +love it? Do you love it?--you, who stand always in the background, +sparing of speech, inscrutable, as though able but unwilling to speak +from out the eternal wisdom of a vast experience." The baron turned +quickly to Frona. "We are old friends, did I not tell you? So I may, +what you Americans call, _josh_ with him. Is it not so, Mr. St. +Vincent?" + +Gregory nodded, and Frona said, "I am sure you met at the ends of the +earth somewhere." + +"Yokohama," St. Vincent cut in shortly; "eleven years ago, in +cherry-blossom time. But Baron Courbertin does me an injustice, which +stings, unhappily, because it is not true. I am afraid, when I get +started, that I talk too much about myself." + +"A martyr to your friends," Frona conciliated. "And such a teller of +good tales that your friends cannot forbear imposing upon you." + +"Then tell us a canoe story," the baron begged. "A good one! A--what +you Yankees call--a _hair-raiser_!" + +They drew up to Mrs. Schoville's fat wood-burning stove, and St. Vincent +told of the great whirlpool in the Box Canyon, of the terrible corkscrew +in the mane of the White Horse Rapids, and of his cowardly comrade, who, +walking around, had left him to go through alone--nine years before when +the Yukon was virgin. + +Half an hour later Mrs. Schoville bustled in, with Corliss in her wake. + +"That hill! The last of my breath!" she gasped, pulling off her mittens. +"Never saw such luck!" she declared none the less vehemently the next +moment. + +"This play will never come off! I never shall be Mrs. Linden! How can +I? Krogstad's gone on a stampede to Indian River, and no one knows when +he'll be back! Krogstad" (to Corliss) "is Mr. Maybrick, you know. And +Mrs. Alexander has the neuralgia and can't stir out. So there's no +rehearsal to-day, that's flat!" She attitudinized dramatically: "'_Yes, +in my first terror! But a day has passed, and in that day I have seen +incredible things in this house! Helmer must know everything! There +must be an end to this unhappy secret! O Krogstad, you need me, and I--I +need you_,' and you are over on the Indian River making sour-dough bread, +and I shall never see you more!" + +They clapped their applause. + +"My only reward for venturing out and keeping you all waiting was my +meeting with this ridiculous fellow." She shoved Corliss forward. "Oh! +you have not met! Baron Courbertin, Mr. Corliss. If you strike it rich, +baron, I advise you to sell to Mr. Corliss. He has the money-bags of +Croesus, and will buy anything so long as the title is good. And if you +don't strike, sell anyway. He's a professional philanthropist, you know. + +"But would you believe it!" (addressing the general group) "this +ridiculous fellow kindly offered to see me up the hill and gossip along +the way--gossip! though he refused point-blank to come in and watch the +rehearsal. But when he found there wasn't to be any, he changed about +like a weather-vane. So here he is, claiming to have been away to Miller +Creek; but between ourselves there is no telling what dark deeds--" + +"Dark deeds! Look!" Frona broke in, pointing to the tip of an amber +mouth-piece which projected from Vance's outside breast-pocket. "A pipe! +My congratulations." + +She held out her hand and he shook good-humoredly. + +"All Del's fault," he laughed. "When I go before the great white throne, +it is he who shall stand forth and be responsible for that particular +sin." + +"An improvement, nevertheless," she argued. "All that is wanting is a +good round swear-word now and again." + +"Oh, I assure you I am not unlearned," he retorted. "No man can drive +dogs else. I can swear from hell to breakfast, by damn, and back again, +if you will permit me, to the last link of perdition. By the bones of +Pharaoh and the blood of Judas, for instance, are fairly efficacious with +a string of huskies; but the best of my dog-driving nomenclature, more's +the pity, women cannot stand. I promise you, however, in spite of hell +and high water--" + +"Oh! Oh!" Mrs. Schoville screamed, thrusting her fingers into her ears. + +"Madame," Baron Courbertin spoke up gravely, "it is a fact, a lamentable +fact, that the dogs of the north are responsible for more men's souls +than all other causes put together. Is it not so? I leave it to the +gentlemen." + +Both Corliss and St. Vincent solemnly agreed, and proceeded to detonate +the lady by swapping heart-rending and apposite dog tales. + +St. Vincent and the baron remained behind to take lunch with the Gold +Commissioner's wife, leaving Frona and Corliss to go down the hill +together. Silently consenting, as though to prolong the descent, they +swerved to the right, cutting transversely the myriad foot-paths and sled +roads which led down into the town. It was a mid-December day, clear and +cold; and the hesitant high-noon sun, having laboriously dragged its pale +orb up from behind the southern land-rim, balked at the great climb to +the zenith, and began its shamefaced slide back beneath the earth. Its +oblique rays refracted from the floating frost particles till the air was +filled with glittering jewel-dust--resplendent, blazing, flashing light +and fire, but cold as outer space. + +They passed down through the scintillant, magical sheen, their moccasins +rhythmically crunching the snow and their breaths wreathing mysteriously +from their lips in sprayed opalescence. Neither spoke, nor cared to +speak, so wonderful was it all. At their feet, under the great vault of +heaven, a speck in the midst of the white vastness, huddled the golden +city--puny and sordid, feebly protesting against immensity, man's +challenge to the infinite! + +Calls of men and cries of encouragement came sharply to them from close +at hand, and they halted. There was an eager yelping, a scratching of +feet, and a string of ice-rimed wolf-dogs, with hot-lolling tongues and +dripping jaws, pulled up the slope and turned into the path ahead of +them. On the sled, a long and narrow box of rough-sawed spruce told the +nature of the freight. Two dog-drivers, a woman walking blindly, and a +black-robed priest, made up the funeral cortege. A few paces farther on +the dogs were again put against the steep, and with whine and shout and +clatter the unheeding clay was hauled on and upward to its ice-hewn +hillside chamber. + +"A zone-conqueror," Frona broke voice. + +Corliss found his thought following hers, and answered, "These battlers +of frost and fighters of hunger! I can understand how the dominant races +have come down out of the north to empire. Strong to venture, strong to +endure, with infinite faith and infinite patience, is it to be wondered +at?" + +Frona glanced at him in eloquent silence. + +"'_We smote with our swords_,'" he chanted; "'_to me it was a joy like +having my bright bride by me on the couch.' 'I have marched with my +bloody sword, and the raven has followed me. Furiously we fought; the +fire passed over the dwellings of men; we slept in the blood of those who +kept the gates_.'" + +"But do you feel it, Vance?" she cried, her hand flashing out and resting +on his arm. + +"I begin to feel, I think. The north has taught me, is teaching me. The +old thing's come back with new significance. Yet I do not know. It +seems a tremendous egotism, a magnificent dream." + +"But you are not a negro or a Mongol, nor are you descended from the +negro or Mongol." + +"Yes," he considered, "I am my father's son, and the line goes back to +the sea-kings who never slept under the smoky rafters of a roof or +drained the ale-horn by inhabited hearth. There must be a reason for the +dead-status of the black, a reason for the Teuton spreading over the +earth as no other race has ever spread. There must be something in race +heredity, else I would not leap at the summons." + +"A great race, Vance. Half of the earth its heritage, and all of the +sea! And in threescore generations it has achieved it all--think of it! +threescore generations!--and to-day it reaches out wider-armed than ever. +The smiter and the destroyer among nations! the builder and the +law-giver! Oh, Vance, my love is passionate, but God will forgive, for +it is good. A great race, greatly conceived; and if to perish, greatly +to perish! Don't you remember: + +"'_Trembles Yggdrasil's ash yet standing; groans that ancient tree, and +the Jotun Loki is loosed. The shadows groan on the ways of Hel, until +the fire of Surt has consumed the tree. Hrym steers from the east, the +waters rise, the mundane snake is coiled in jotun-rage. The worm heats +the water, and the eagle screams; the pale of beak tears carcases; the +ship Naglfar is loosed. Surt from the south comes with flickering flame; +shines from his sword the Val-god's sun_.'" + +Swaying there like a furred Valkyrie above the final carnage of men and +gods, she touched his imagination, and the blood surged exultingly along +unknown channels, thrilling and uplifting. + +"'_The stony hills are dashed together, the giantesses totter; men tread +the path of Hel, and heaven is cloven. The sun darkens, earth in ocean +sinks, fall from heaven the bright stars, fire's breath assails the +all-nourishing tree, towering fire plays against heaven itself_.'" + +Outlined against the blazing air, her brows and lashes white with frost, +the jewel-dust striking and washing against hair and face, and the +south-sun lighting her with a great redness, the man saw her as the +genius of the race. The traditions of the blood laid hold of him, and he +felt strangely at one with the white-skinned, yellow-haired giants of the +younger world. And as he looked upon her the mighty past rose before +him, and the caverns of his being resounded with the shock and tumult of +forgotten battles. With bellowing of storm-winds and crash of smoking +North Sea waves, he saw the sharp-beaked fighting galleys, and the +sea-flung Northmen, great-muscled, deep-chested, sprung from the +elements, men of sword and sweep, marauders and scourgers of the warm +south-lands! The din of twenty centuries of battle was roaring in his +ear, and the clamor for return to type strong upon him. He seized her +hands passionately. + +"Be the bright bride by me, Frona! Be the bright bride by me on the +couch!" + +She started and looked down at him, questioningly. Then the import of it +reached her and she involuntarily drew back. The sun shot a last failing +flicker across the earth and vanished. The fire went out of the air, and +the day darkened. Far above, the hearse-dogs howled mournfully. + +"No," he interrupted, as words formed on her lips. "Do not speak. I +know my answer, your answer . . . now . . . I was a fool . . . Come, +let us go down." + +It was not until they had left the mountain behind them, crossed the +flat, and come out on the river by the saw-mill, that the bustle and +skurry of human life made it seem possible for them to speak. Corliss +had walked with his eyes moodily bent to the ground; and Frona, with head +erect and looking everywhere, stealing an occasional glance to his face. +Where the road rose over the log run-way of the mill the footing was +slippery, and catching at her to save her from falling, their eyes met. + +"I--I am grieved," she hesitated. And then, in unconscious self-defence, +"It was so . . . I had not expected it--just then." + +"Else you would have prevented?" he asked, bitterly. + +"Yes. I think I should have. I did not wish to give you pain--" + +"Then you expected it, some time?" + +"And feared it. But I had hoped . . . I . . . Vance, I did not come +into the Klondike to get married. I liked you at the beginning, and I +have liked you more and more,--never so much as to-day,--but--" + +"But you had never looked upon me in the light of a possible +husband--that is what you are trying to say." + +As he spoke, he looked at her side-wise, and sharply; and when her eyes +met his with the same old frankness, the thought of losing her maddened +him. + +"But I have," she answered at once. "I have looked upon you in that +light, but somehow it was not convincing. Why, I do not know. There was +so much I found to like in you, so much--" + +He tried to stop her with a dissenting gesture, but she went on. + +"So much to admire. There was all the warmth of friendship, and closer +friendship,--a growing _camaraderie_, in fact; but nothing more. Though +I did not wish more, I should have welcomed it had it come." + +"As one welcomes the unwelcome guest." + +"Why won't you help me, Vance, instead of making it harder? It is hard +on you, surely, but do you imagine that I am enjoying it? I feel because +of your pain, and, further, I know when I refuse a dear friend for a +lover the dear friend goes from me. I do not part with friends lightly." + +"I see; doubly bankrupt; friend and lover both. But they are easily +replaced. I fancy I was half lost before I spoke. Had I remained +silent, it would have been the same anyway. Time softens; new +associations, new thoughts and faces; men with marvellous adventures--" + +She stopped him abruptly. + +"It is useless, Vance, no matter what you may say. I shall not quarrel +with you. I can understand how you feel--" + +"If I am quarrelsome, then I had better leave you." He halted suddenly, +and she stood beside him. "Here comes Dave Harney. He will see you +home. It's only a step." + +"You are doing neither yourself nor me kindness." She spoke with final +firmness. "I decline to consider this the end. We are too close to it +to understand it fairly. You must come and see me when we are both +calmer. I refuse to be treated in this fashion. It is childish of you." +She shot a hasty glance at the approaching Eldorado king. "I do not +think I deserve it at your hands. I refuse to lose you as a friend. And +I insist that you come and see me, that things remain on the old footing." + +He shook his head. + +"Hello!" Dave Harney touched his cap and slowed down loose-jointedly. +"Sorry you didn't take my tip? Dogs gone up a dollar a pound since +yesterday, and still a-whoopin'. Good-afternoon, Miss Frona, and Mr. +Corliss. Goin' my way?" + +"Miss Welse is." Corliss touched the visor of his cap and half-turned on +his heel. + +"Where're you off to?" Dave demanded. + +"Got an appointment," he lied. + +"Remember," Frona called to him, "you must come and see me." + +"Too busy, I'm afraid, just now. Good-by. So long, Dave." + +"Jemimy!" Dave remarked, staring after him; "but he's a hustler. Always +busy--with big things, too. Wonder why he didn't go in for dogs?" + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +But Corliss did go back to see her, and before the day was out. A +little bitter self-communion had not taken long to show him his +childishness. The sting of loss was hard enough, but the thought, now +they could be nothing to each other, that her last impressions of him +should be bad, hurt almost as much, and in a way, even more. And +further, putting all to the side, he was really ashamed. He had +thought that he could have taken such a disappointment more manfully, +especially since in advance he had not been at all sure of his footing. + +So he called upon her, walked with her up to the Barracks, and on the +way, with her help, managed to soften the awkwardness which the morning +had left between them. He talked reasonably and meekly, which she +countenanced, and would have apologized roundly had she not prevented +him. + +"Not the slightest bit of blame attaches to you," she said. "Had I +been in your place, I should probably have done the same and behaved +much more outrageously. For you were outrageous, you know." + +"But had you been in my place, and I in yours," he answered, with a +weak attempt at humor, "there would have been no need." + +She smiled, glad that he was feeling less strongly about it. + +"But, unhappily, our social wisdom does not permit such a reversal," he +added, more with a desire to be saying something. + +"Ah!" she laughed. "There's where my Jesuitism comes in. I can rise +above our social wisdom." + +"You don't mean to say,--that--?" + +"There, shocked as usual! No, I could not be so crude as to speak +outright, but I might _finesse_, as you whist-players say. Accomplish +the same end, only with greater delicacy. After all, a distinction +without a difference." + +"Could you?" he asked. + +"I know I could,--if the occasion demanded. I am not one to let what I +might deem life-happiness slip from me without a struggle. That" +(judicially) "occurs only in books and among sentimentalists. As my +father always says, I belong to the strugglers and fighters. That +which appeared to me great and sacred, that would I battle for, though +I brought heaven tumbling about my ears." + +"You have made me very happy, Vance," she said at parting by the +Barracks gates. "And things shall go along in the same old way. And +mind, not a bit less of you than formerly; but, rather, much more." + + +But Corliss, after several perfunctory visits, forgot the way which led +to Jacob Welse's home, and applied himself savagely to his work. He +even had the hypocrisy, at times, to felicitate himself upon his +escape, and to draw bleak fireside pictures of the dismal future which +would have been had he and Frona incompatibly mated. But this was only +at times. As a rule, the thought of her made him hungry, in a way akin +to physical hunger; and the one thing he found to overcome it was hard +work and plenty of it. But even then, what of trail and creek, and +camp and survey, he could only get away from her in his waking hours. +In his sleep he was ignobly conquered, and Del Bishop, who was with him +much, studied his restlessness and gave a ready ear to his mumbled +words. + +The pocket-miner put two and two together, and made a correct induction +from the different little things which came under his notice. But this +did not require any great astuteness. The simple fact that he no +longer called on Frona was sufficient evidence of an unprospering suit. +But Del went a step farther, and drew the corollary that St. Vincent +was the cause of it all. Several times he had seen the correspondent +with Frona, going one place and another, and was duly incensed thereat. + +"I'll fix 'm yet!" he muttered in camp one evening, over on Gold Bottom. + +"Whom?" Corliss queried. + +"Who? That newspaper man, that's who!" + +"What for?" + +"Aw--general principles. Why'n't you let me paste 'm that night at the +Opera House?" + +Corliss laughed at the recollection. "Why did you strike him, Del?" + +"General principles," Del snapped back and shut up. + +But Del Bishop, for all his punitive spirit, did not neglect the main +chance, and on the return trip, when they came to the forks of Eldorado +and Bonanza, he called a halt. + +"Say, Corliss," he began at once, "d'you know what a hunch is?" His +employer nodded his comprehension. "Well, I've got one. I ain't never +asked favors of you before, but this once I want you to lay over here +till to-morrow. Seems to me my fruit ranch is 'most in sight. I can +damn near smell the oranges a-ripenin'." + +"Certainly," Corliss agreed. "But better still, I'll run on down to +Dawson, and you can come in when you've finished hunching." + +"Say!" Del objected. "I said it was a hunch; and I want to ring you in +on it, savve? You're all right, and you've learned a hell of a lot out +of books. You're a regular high-roller when it comes to the +laboratory, and all that; but it takes yours truly to get down and read +the face of nature without spectacles. Now I've got a theory--" + +Corliss threw up his hands in affected dismay, and the pocket-miner +began to grow angry. + +"That's right! Laugh! But it's built right up on your own pet theory +of erosion and changed riverbeds. And I didn't pocket among the +Mexicans two years for nothin'. Where d'you s'pose this Eldorado gold +came from?--rough, and no signs of washin'? Eh? There's where you +need your spectacles. Books have made you short-sighted. But never +mind how. 'Tisn't exactly pockets, neither, but I know what I'm +spelling about. I ain't been keepin' tab on traces for my health. I +can tell you mining sharps more about the lay of Eldorado Creek in one +minute than you could figure out in a month of Sundays. But never +mind, no offence. You lay over with me till to-morrow, and you can buy +a ranch 'longside of mine, sure." "Well, all right. I can rest up and +look over my notes while you're hunting your ancient river-bed." + +"Didn't I tell you it was a hunch?" Del reproachfully demanded. + +"And haven't I agreed to stop over? What more do you want?" + +"To give you a fruit ranch, that's what! Just to go with me and nose +round a bit, that's all." + +"I do not want any of your impossible fruit ranches. I'm tired and +worried; can't you leave me alone? I think I am more than fair when I +humor you to the extent of stopping over. You may waste your time +nosing around, but I shall stay in camp. Understand?" + +"Burn my body, but you're grateful! By the Jumpin' Methuselah, I'll +quit my job in two minutes if you don't fire me. Me a-layin' 'wake +nights and workin' up my theory, and calculatin' on lettin' you in, and +you a-snorin' and Frona-this and Frona-that--" + +"That'll do! Stop it!" + +"The hell it will! If I didn't know more about gold-mining than you do +about courtin'--" + +Corliss sprang at him, but Del dodged to one side and put up his fists. +Then he ducked a wild right and left swing and side-stepped his way +into firmer footing on the hard trail. + +"Hold on a moment," he cried, as Corliss made to come at him again. +"Just a second. If I lick you, will you come up the hillside with me?" + +"Yes." + +"And if I don't, you can fire me. That's fair. Come on." + +Vance had no show whatever, as Del well knew, who played with him, +feinting, attacking, retreating, dazzling, and disappearing every now +and again out of his field of vision in a most exasperating way. As +Vance speedily discovered, he possessed very little correlation between +mind and body, and the next thing he discovered was that he was lying +in the snow and slowly coming back to his senses. + +"How--how did you do it?" he stammered to the pocket-miner, who had his +head on his knee and was rubbing his forehead with snow. + +"Oh, you'll do!" Del laughed, helping him limply to his feet. "You're +the right stuff. I'll show you some time. You've got lots to learn +yet what you won't find in books. But not now. We've got to wade in +and make camp, then you're comin' up the hill with me." + +"Hee! hee!" he chuckled later, as they fitted the pipe of the Yukon +stove. "Slow sighted and short. Couldn't follow me, eh? But I'll +show you some time, oh, I'll show you all right, all right!" + +"Grab an axe an' come on," he commanded when the camp was completed. + +He led the way up Eldorado, borrowed a pick, shovel, and pan at a +cabin, and headed up among the benches near the mouth of French Creek. +Vance, though feeling somewhat sore, was laughing at himself by this +time and enjoying the situation. He exaggerated the humility with +which he walked at the heel of his conqueror, while the extravagant +servility which marked his obedience to his hired man made that +individual grin. + +"You'll do. You've got the makin's in you!" Del threw down the tools +and scanned the run of the snow-surface carefully. "Here, take the +axe, shinny up the hill, and lug me down some _skookum_ dry wood." + +By the time Corliss returned with the last load of wood, the +pocket-miner had cleared away the snow and moss in divers spots, and +formed, in general design, a rude cross. + +"Cuttin' her both ways," he explained. "Mebbe I'll hit her here, or +over there, or up above; but if there's anything in the hunch, this is +the place. Bedrock dips in above, and it's deep there and most likely +richer, but too much work. This is the rim of the bench. Can't be +more'n a couple of feet down. All we want is indications; afterwards +we can tap in from the side." + +As he talked, he started fires here and there on the uncovered spaces. +"But look here, Corliss, I want you to mind this ain't pocketin'. This +is just plain ordinary 'prentice work; but pocketin'"--he straightened +up his back and spoke reverently--"but pocketin' is the deepest science +and the finest art. Delicate to a hair's-breadth, hand and eye true +and steady as steel. When you've got to burn your pan blue-black twice +a day, and out of a shovelful of gravel wash down to the one wee speck +of flour gold,--why, that's washin', that's what it is. Tell you what, +I'd sooner follow a pocket than eat." + +"And you would sooner fight than do either." Bishop stopped to +consider. He weighed himself with care equal to that of retaining the +one wee speck of flour gold. "No, I wouldn't, neither. I'd take +pocketin' in mine every time. It's as bad as dope; Corliss, sure. If +it once gets a-hold of you, you're a goner. You'll never shake it. +Look at me! And talk about pipe-dreams; they can't burn a candle +'longside of it." + +He walked over and kicked one of the fires apart. Then he lifted the +pick, and the steel point drove in and stopped with a metallic clang, +as though brought up by solid cement. + +"Ain't thawed two inches," he muttered, stooping down and groping with +his fingers in the wet muck. The blades of last year's grass had been +burned away, but he managed to gather up and tear away a handful of the +roots. + +"Hell!" + +"What's the matter?" Corliss asked. + +"Hell!" he repeated in a passionless way, knocking the dirt-covered +roots against the pan. + +Corliss went over and stooped to closer inspection. "Hold on!" he +cried, picking up two or three grimy bits of dirt and rubbing them with +his fingers. A bright yellow flashed forth. + +"Hell!" the pocket-miner reiterated tonelessly. "First rattle out the +box. Begins at the grass roots and goes all the way down." + +Head turned to the side and up, eyes closed, nostrils distended and +quivering, he rose suddenly to his feet and sniffed the air. Corliss +looked up wonderingly. + +"Huh!" the pocket-miner grunted. Then he drew a deep breath. "Can't +you smell them oranges?" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +The stampede to French Hill was on by the beginning of Christmas week. +Corliss and Bishop had been in no hurry to record for they looked the +ground over carefully before blazing their stakes, and let a few close +friends into the secret,--Harney, Welse, Trethaway, a Dutch _chechaquo_ +who had forfeited both feet to the frost, a couple of the mounted +police, an old pal with whom Del had prospected through the Black Hills +Country, the washerwoman at the Forks, and last, and notably, Lucile. +Corliss was responsible for her getting in on the lay, and he drove and +marked her stakes himself, though it fell to the colonel to deliver the +invitation to her to come and be rich. + +In accordance with the custom of the country, those thus benefited +offered to sign over half-interests to the two discoverers. Corliss +would not tolerate the proposition. Del was similarly minded, though +swayed by no ethical reasons. He had enough as it stood. "Got my +fruit ranch paid for, double the size I was calculatin' on," he +explained; "and if I had any more, I wouldn't know what to do with it, +sure." + +After the strike, Corliss took it upon himself as a matter of course to +look about for another man; but when he brought a keen-eyed Californian +into camp, Del was duly wroth. + +"Not on your life," he stormed. + +"But you are rich now," Vance answered, "and have no need to work." + +"Rich, hell!" the pocket-miner rejoined. "Accordin' to covenant, you +can't fire me; and I'm goin' to hold the job down as long as my sweet +will'll let me. Savve?" + +On Friday morning, early, all interested parties appeared before the +Gold Commissioner to record their claims. The news went abroad +immediately. In five minutes the first stampeders were hitting the +trail. At the end of half an hour the town was afoot. To prevent +mistakes on their property,--jumping, moving of stakes, and mutilation +of notices,--Vance and Del, after promptly recording, started to +return. But with the government seal attached to their holdings, they +took it leisurely, the stampeders sliding past them in a steady stream. +Midway, Del chanced to look behind. St. Vincent was in sight, footing +it at a lively pace, the regulation stampeding pack on his shoulders. +The trail made a sharp bend at that place, and with the exception of +the three of them no one was in sight. + +"Don't speak to me. Don't recognize me," Del cautioned sharply, as he +spoke, buttoning his nose-strap across his face, which served to quite +hide his identity. "There's a water-hole over there. Get down on your +belly and make a blind at gettin' a drink. Then go on by your lonely +to the claims; I've business of my own to handle. And for the love of +your bother don't say a word to me or to the skunk. Don't let 'm see +your face." + +Corliss obeyed wonderingly, stepping aside from the beaten path, lying +down in the snow, and dipping into the water-hole with an empty +condensed milk-can. Bishop bent on one knee and stooped as though +fastening his moccasin. Just as St. Vincent came up with him he +finished tying the knot, and started forward with the feverish haste of +a man trying to make up for lost time. + +"I say, hold on, my man," the correspondent called out to him. + +Bishop shot a hurried glance at him and pressed on. St. Vincent broke +into a run till they were side by side again. + +"Is this the way--" + +"To the benches of French Hill?" Del snapped him short. "Betcher your +life. That's the way I'm headin'. So long." + +He ploughed forward at a tremendous rate, and the correspondent, +half-running, swung in behind with the evident intention of taking the +pace. Corliss, still in the dark, lifted his head and watched them go; +but when he saw the pocket-miner swerve abruptly to the right and take +the trail up Adams Creek, the light dawned upon him and he laughed +softly to himself. + +Late that night Del arrived in camp on Eldorado exhausted but jubilant. + +"Didn't do a thing to him," he cried before he was half inside the +tent-flaps. "Gimme a bite to eat" (grabbing at the teapot and running +a hot flood down his throat),--"cookin'-fat, slush, old moccasins, +candle-ends, anything!" + +Then he collapsed upon the blankets and fell to rubbing his stiff +leg-muscles while Corliss fried bacon and dished up the beans. + +"What about 'm?" he exulted between mouthfuls. "Well, you can stack +your chips that he didn't get in on the French Hill benches. _How far +is it, my man_?" (in the well-mimicked, patronizing tones of St. +Vincent). "_How far is it_?" with the patronage left out. "_How far +to French Hill_?" weakly. "_How far do you think it is_?" very weakly, +with a tremolo which hinted of repressed tears. "_How far_--" + +The pocket-miner burst into roars of laughter, which were choked by a +misdirected flood of tea, and which left him coughing and speechless. + +"Where'd I leave 'm?" when he had recovered. "Over on the divide to +Indian River, winded, plum-beaten, done for. Just about able to crawl +into the nearest camp, and that's about all. I've covered fifty stiff +miles myself, so here's for bed. Good-night. Don't call me in the +mornin'." + +He turned into the blankets all-standing, and as he dozed off Vance +could hear him muttering, "_How far is it, my man_? _I say, how far is +it_?" + + +Regarding Lucile, Corliss was disappointed. "I confess I cannot +understand her," he said to Colonel Trethaway. "I thought her bench +claim would make her independent of the Opera House." + +"You can't get a dump out in a day," the colonel interposed. + +"But you can mortgage the dirt in the ground when it prospects as hers +does. Yet I took that into consideration, and offered to advance her a +few thousand, non-interest bearing, and she declined. Said she didn't +need it,--in fact, was really grateful; thanked me, and said that any +time I was short to come and see her." + +Trethaway smiled and played with his watch-chain. "What would you? +Life, even here, certainly means more to you and me than a bit of grub, +a piece of blanket, and a Yukon stove. She is as gregarious as the +rest of us, and probably a little more so. Suppose you cut her off +from the Opera House,--what then? May she go up to the Barracks and +consort with the captain's lady, make social calls on Mrs. Schoville, +or chum with Frona? Don't you see? Will you escort her, in daylight, +down the public street?" + +"Will you?" Vance demanded. + +"Ay," the colonel replied, unhesitatingly, "and with pleasure." + +"And so will I; but--" He paused and gazed gloomily into the fire. +"But see how she is going on with St. Vincent. As thick as thieves +they are, and always together." + +"Puzzles me," Trethaway admitted. "I can grasp St. Vincent's side of +it. Many irons in the fire, and Lucile owns a bench claim on the +second tier of French Hill. Mark me, Corliss, we can tell infallibly +the day that Frona consents to go to his bed and board,--if she ever +does consent." + +"And that will be?" + +"The day St. Vincent breaks with Lucile." + +Corliss pondered, and the colonel went on. + +"But I can't grasp Lucile's side of it. What she can see in St. +Vincent--" + +"Her taste is no worse than--than that of the rest of the women," Vance +broke in hotly. "I am sure that--" + +"Frona could not display poor taste, eh?" Corliss turned on his heel +and walked out, and left Colonel Trethaway smiling grimly. + +Vance Corliss never knew how many people, directly and indirectly, had +his cause at heart that Christmas week. Two men strove in particular, +one for him and one for the sake of Frona. Pete Whipple, an old-timer +in the land, possessed an Eldorado claim directly beneath French Hill, +also a woman of the country for a wife,--a swarthy _breed_, not over +pretty, whose Indian mother had mated with a Russian fur-trader some +thirty years before at Kutlik on the Great Delta. Bishop went down one +Sunday morning to yarn away an hour or so with Whipple, but found the +wife alone in the cabin. She talked a bastard English gibberish which +was an anguish to hear, so the pocket-miner resolved to smoke a pipe +and depart without rudeness. But he got her tongue wagging, and to +such an extent that he stopped and smoked many pipes, and whenever she +lagged, urged her on again. He grunted and chuckled and swore in +undertones while he listened, punctuating her narrative regularly with +_hells_! which adequately expressed the many shades of interest he felt. + +In the midst of it, the woman fished an ancient leather-bound volume, +all scarred and marred, from the bottom of a dilapidated chest, and +thereafter it lay on the table between them. Though it remained +unopened, she constantly referred to it by look and gesture, and each +time she did so a greedy light blazed in Bishop's eyes. At the end, +when she could say no more and had repeated herself from two to half a +dozen times, he pulled out his sack. Mrs. Whipple set up the gold +scales and placed the weights, which he counterbalanced with a hundred +dollars' worth of dust. Then he departed up the hill to the tent, +hugging the purchase closely, and broke in on Corliss, who sat in the +blankets mending moccasins. + +"I'll fix 'm yet," Del remarked casually, at the same time patting the +book and throwing it down on the bed. + +Corliss looked up inquiringly and opened it. The paper was yellow with +age and rotten from the weather-wear of trail, while the text was +printed in Russian. "I didn't know you were a Russian scholar, Del," +he quizzed. "But I can't read a line of it." + +"Neither can I, more's the pity; nor does Whipple's woman savve the +lingo. I got it from her. But her old man--he was full Russian, you +know--he used to read it aloud to her. But she knows what she knows +and what her old man knew, and so do I." + +"And what do the three of you know?" + +"Oh, that's tellin'," Bishop answered, coyly. "But you wait and watch +my smoke, and when you see it risin', you'll know, too." + + +Matt McCarthy came in over the ice Christmas week, summed up the +situation so far as Frona and St. Vincent were concerned, and did not +like it. Dave Harney furnished him with full information, to which he +added that obtained from Lucile, with whom he was on good terms. +Perhaps it was because he received the full benefit of the sum of their +prejudice; but no matter how, he at any rate answered roll-call with +those who looked upon the correspondent with disfavor. It was +impossible for them to tell why they did not approve of the man, but +somehow St. Vincent was never much of a success with men. This, in +turn, might have been due to the fact that he shone so resplendently +with women as to cast his fellows in eclipse; for otherwise, in his +intercourse with men, he was all that a man could wish. There was +nothing domineering or over-riding about him, while he manifested a +good fellowship at least equal to their own. + +Yet, having withheld his judgment after listening to Lucile and Harney, +Matt McCarthy speedily reached a verdict upon spending an hour with St. +Vincent at Jacob Welse's,--and this in face of the fact that what +Lucile had said had been invalidated by Matt's learning of her intimacy +with the man in question. Strong of friendship, quick of heart and +hand, Matt did not let the grass grow under his feet. "'Tis I'll be +takin' a social fling meself, as befits a mimber iv the noble Eldorado +Dynasty," he explained, and went up the hill to a whist party in Dave +Harney's cabin. To himself he added, "An' belike, if Satan takes his +eye off his own, I'll put it to that young cub iv his." + +But more than once during the evening he discovered himself challenging +his own judgment. Probe as he would with his innocent wit, Matt found +himself baffled. St. Vincent certainly rang true. Simple, +light-hearted, unaffected, joking and being joked in all good-nature, +thoroughly democratic. Matt failed to catch the faintest echo of +insincerity. + +"May the dogs walk on me grave," he communed with himself while +studying a hand which suffered from a plethora of trumps. "Is it the +years are tellin', puttin' the frost in me veins and chillin' the +blood? A likely lad, an' is it for me to misjudge because his is +a-takin' way with the ladies? Just because the swate creatures smile +on the lad an' flutter warm at the sight iv him? Bright eyes and brave +men! 'Tis the way they have iv lovin' valor. They're shuddered an' +shocked at the cruel an' bloody dades iv war, yet who so quick do they +lose their hearts to as the brave butcher-bye iv a sodger? Why not? +The lad's done brave things, and the girls give him the warm soft +smile. Small reason, that, for me to be callin' him the devil's own +cub. Out upon ye, Matt McCarthy, for a crusty old sour-dough, with +vitals frozen an' summer gone from yer heart! 'Tis an ossification +ye've become! But bide a wee, Matt, bide a wee," he supplemented. +"Wait till ye've felt the fale iv his flesh." + + +The opportunity came shortly, when St. Vincent, with Frona opposite, +swept in the full thirteen tricks. + +"A rampse!" Matt cried. "Vincent, me lad, a rampse! Yer hand on it, +me brave!" + +It was a stout grip, neither warm nor clammy, but Matt shook his head +dubiously. "What's the good iv botherin'?" he muttered to himself as +he shuffled the cards for the next deal. "Ye old fool! Find out first +how Frona darlin' stands, an' if it's pat she is, thin 'tis time for +doin'." + +"Oh, McCarthy's all hunky," Dave Harney assured them later on, coming +to the rescue of St. Vincent, who was getting the rough side of the +Irishman's wit. The evening was over and the company was putting on +its wraps and mittens. "Didn't tell you 'bout his visit to the +cathedral, did he, when he was on the Outside? Well, it was suthin' +like this, ez he was explainin' it to me. He went to the cathedral +durin' service, an' took in the priests and choir-boys in their +surplices,--_parkas_, he called 'em,--an' watched the burnin' of the +holy incense. 'An' do ye know, Dave, he sez to me, 'they got in an' +made a smudge, and there wa'n't a darned mosquito in sight.'" + +"True, ivery word iv it." Matt unblushingly fathered Harney's yarn. +"An' did ye niver hear tell iv the time Dave an' me got drunk on +condensed milk?" + +"Oh! Horrors!" cried Mrs. Schoville. "But how? Do tell us." + +"'Twas durin' the time iv the candle famine at Forty Mile. Cold snap +on, an' Dave slides into me shack to pass the time o' day, and glues +his eyes on me case iv condensed milk. 'How'd ye like a sip iv Moran's +good whiskey?' he sez, eyin' the case iv milk the while. I confiss me +mouth went wet at the naked thought iv it. 'But what's the use iv +likin'?' sez I, with me sack bulgin' with emptiness.' 'Candles worth +tin dollars the dozen,' sez he, 'a dollar apiece. Will ye give six +cans iv milk for a bottle iv the old stuff?' 'How'll ye do it?' sez I. +'Trust me,' sez he. 'Give me the cans. 'Tis cold out iv doors, an' +I've a pair iv candle-moulds.' + +"An' it's the sacred truth I'm tellin' ye all, an' if ye run across +Bill Moran he'll back me word; for what does Dave Harney do but lug off +me six cans, freeze the milk into his candle-moulds, an' trade them in +to bill Moran for a bottle iv tanglefoot!" + +As soon as he could be heard through the laughter, Harney raised his +voice. "It's true, as McCarthy tells, but he's only told you the half. +Can't you guess the rest, Matt?" + +Matt shook his head. + +"Bein' short on milk myself, an' not over much sugar, I doctored three +of your cans with water, which went to make the candles. An' by the +bye, I had milk in my coffee for a month to come." + +"It's on me, Dave," McCarthy admitted. "'Tis only that yer me host, or +I'd be shockin' the ladies with yer nortorious disgraces. But I'll +lave ye live this time, Dave. Come, spade the partin' guests; we must +be movin'." + +"No ye don't, ye young laddy-buck," he interposed, as St. Vincent +started to take Frona down the hill, "'Tis her foster-daddy sees her +home this night." + +McCarthy laughed in his silent way and offered his arm to Frona, while +St. Vincent joined in the laugh against himself, dropped back, and +joined Miss Mortimer and Baron Courbertin. + +"What's this I'm hearin' about you an' Vincent?" Matt bluntly asked as +soon as they had drawn apart from the others. + +He looked at her with his keen gray eyes, but she returned the look +quite as keenly. + +"How should I know what you have been hearing?" she countered. + +"Whin the talk goes round iv a maid an' a man, the one pretty an' the +other not unhandsome, both young an' neither married, does it 'token +aught but the one thing?" + +"Yes?" + +"An' the one thing the greatest thing in all the world." + +"Well?" Frona was the least bit angry, and did not feel inclined to +help him. + +"Marriage, iv course," he blurted out. "'Tis said it looks that way +with the pair of ye." + +"But is it said that it _is_ that way?" + +"Isn't the looks iv it enough ?" he demanded. + +"No; and you are old enough to know better. Mr. St. Vincent and I--we +enjoy each other as friends, that is all. But suppose it is as you +say, what of it?" + +"Well," McCarthy deliberated, "there's other talk goes round, 'Tis +said Vincent is over-thick with a jade down in the town--Lucile, they +speak iv her." + +"All of which signifies?" + +She waited, and McCarthy watched her dumbly. + +"I know Lucile, and I like her," Frona continued, filling the gap of +his silence, and ostentatiously manoeuvring to help him on. "Do you +know her? Don't you like her?" + +Matt started to speak, cleared his throat, and halted. At last, in +desperation, he blurted out, "For two cents, Frona, I'd lay ye acrost +me knee." + +She laughed. "You don't dare. I'm not running barelegged at Dyea." + +"Now don't be tasin'," he blarneyed. + +"I'm not teasing. Don't you like her?--Lucile?" + +"An' what iv it?" he challenged, brazenly. + +"Just what I asked,--what of it?" + +"Thin I'll tell ye in plain words from a man old enough to be yer +father. 'Tis undacent, damnably undacent, for a man to kape company +with a good young girl--" + +"Thank you," she laughed, dropping a courtesy. Then she added, half in +bitterness, "There have been others who--" + +"Name me the man!" he cried hotly. + +"There, there, go on. You were saying?" + +"That it's a crying shame for a man to kape company with--with you, an' +at the same time be chake by jowl with a woman iv her stamp." + +"And why?" + +"To come drippin' from the muck to dirty yer claneness! An' ye can ask +why?" + +"But wait, Matt, wait a moment. Granting your premises--" + +"Little I know iv primises," he growled. "'Tis facts I'm dalin' with." + +Frona bit her lip. "Never mind. Have it as you will; but let me go on +and I will deal with facts, too. When did you last see Lucile?" + +"An' why are ye askin'?" he demanded, suspiciously. + +"Never mind why. The fact." + +"Well, thin, the fore part iv last night, an' much good may it do ye." + +"And danced with her?" + +"A rollickin' Virginia reel, an' not sayin' a word iv a quadrille or +so. Tis at square dances I excel meself." + +Frona walked on in a simulated brown study, no sound going up from the +twain save the complaint of the snow from under their moccasins. + +"Well, thin?" he questioned, uneasily. + +"An' what iv it?" he insisted after another silence. + +"Oh, nothing," she answered. "I was just wondering which was the +muckiest, Mr. St. Vincent or you--or myself, with whom you have both +been cheek by jowl." + +Now, McCarthy was unversed in the virtues of social wisdom, and, though +he felt somehow the error of her position, he could not put it into +definite thought; so he steered wisely, if weakly, out of danger. + +"It's gettin' mad ye are with yer old Matt," he insinuated, "who has +yer own good at heart, an' because iv it makes a fool iv himself." + +"No, I'm not." + +"But ye are." + +"There!" leaning swiftly to him and kissing him. "How could I remember +the Dyea days and be angry?" + +"Ah, Frona darlin', well may ye say it. I'm the dust iv the dirt under +yer feet, an' ye may walk on me--anything save get mad. I cud die for +ye, swing for ye, to make ye happy. I cud kill the man that gave ye +sorrow, were it but a thimbleful, an' go plump into hell with a smile +on me face an' joy in me heart." + +They had halted before her door, and she pressed his arm gratefully. +"I am not angry, Matt. But with the exception of my father you are the +only person I would have permitted to talk to me about this--this +affair in the way you have. And though I like you, Matt, love you +better than ever, I shall nevertheless be very angry if you mention it +again. You have no right. It is something that concerns me alone. +And it is wrong of you--" + +"To prevint ye walkin' blind into danger?" + +"If you wish to put it that way, yes." + +He growled deep down in his throat. + +"What is it you are saying?" she asked. + +"That ye may shut me mouth, but that ye can't bind me arm." + +"But you mustn't, Matt, dear, you mustn't." + +Again he answered with a subterranean murmur. + +"And I want you to promise me, now, that you will not interfere in my +life that way, by word or deed." + +"I'll not promise." + +"But you must." + +"I'll not. Further, it's gettin' cold on the stoop, an' ye'll be +frostin' yer toes, the pink little toes I fished splinters out iv at +Dyea. So it's in with ye, Frona girl, an' good-night." + +He thrust her inside and departed. When he reached the corner he +stopped suddenly and regarded his shadow on the snow. "Matt McCarthy, +yer a damned fool! Who iver heard iv a Welse not knowin' their own +mind? As though ye'd niver had dalin's with the stiff-necked breed, ye +calamitous son iv misfortune!" + +Then he went his way, still growling deeply, and at every growl the +curious wolf-dog at his heels bristled and bared its fangs. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +"Tired?" + +Jacob Welse put both hands on Frona's shoulders, and his eyes spoke the +love his stiff tongue could not compass. The tree and the excitement +and the pleasure were over with, a score or so of children had gone +home frostily happy across the snow, the last guest had departed, and +Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were blending into one. + +She returned his fondness with glad-eyed interest, and they dropped +into huge comfortable chairs on either side the fireplace, in which the +back-log was falling to ruddy ruin. + +"And this time next year?" He put the question seemingly to the +glowing log, and, as if in ominous foreshadow, it flared brightly and +crumbled away in a burst of sparks. + +"It is marvellous," he went on, dismissing the future in an effort to +shake himself into a wholesomer frame of mind. "It has been one long +continuous miracle, the last few months, since you have been with me. +We have seen very little of each other, you know, since your childhood, +and when I think upon it soberly it is hard to realize that you are +really mine, sprung from me, bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh. As +the tangle-haired wild young creature of Dyea,--a healthy, little, +natural animal and nothing more,--it required no imagination to accept +you as one of the breed of Welse. But as Frona, the woman, as you were +to-night, as you are now as I look at you, as you have been since you +came down the Yukon, it is hard . . . I cannot realize . . . I . . ." +He faltered and threw up his hands helplessly. "I almost wish that I +had given you no education, that I had kept you with me, faring with +me, adventuring with me, achieving with me, and failing with me. I +would have known you, now, as we sit by the fire. As it is, I do not. +To that which I did know there has been added, somehow (what shall I +call it?), a subtlety; complexity,--favorite words of yours,--which is +beyond me. + +"No." He waved the speech abruptly from her lips. She came over and +knelt at his feet, resting her head on his knee and clasping his hand +in firm sympathy. "No, that is not true. Those are not the words. I +cannot find them. I fail to say what I feel. Let me try again. +Underneath all you do carry the stamp of the breed. I knew I risked +the loss of that when I sent you away, but I had faith in the +persistence of the blood and I took the chance; doubted and feared when +you were gone; waited and prayed dumbly, and hoped oftentimes +hopelessly; and then the day dawned, the day of days! When they said +your boat was coming, death rose and walked on the one hand of me, and +on the other life everlasting. _Made or marred; made or marred_,--the +words rang through my brain till they maddened me. Would the Welse +remain the Welse? Would the blood persist? Would the young shoot rise +straight and tall and strong, green with sap and fresh and vigorous? +Or would it droop limp and lifeless, withered by the heats of the world +other than the little simple, natural Dyea world? + +"It was the day of days, and yet it was a lingering, watching, waiting +tragedy. You know I had lived the years lonely, fought the lone fight, +and you, away, the only kin. If it had failed . . . But your boat +shot from the bluffs into the open, and I was half-afraid to look. Men +have never called me coward, but I was nearer the coward then than ever +and all before. Ay, that moment I had faced death easier. And it was +foolish, absurd. How could I know whether it was for good or ill when +you drifted a distant speck on the river? Still, I looked, and the +miracle began, for I did know. You stood at the steering-sweep. You +were a Welse. It seems so little; in truth it meant so much. It was +not to be expected of a mere woman, but of a Welse, yes. And when +Bishop went over the side, and you gripped the situation as +imperatively as the sweep, and your voice rang out, and the Siwashes +bent their backs to your will,--then was it the day of days." + +"I tried always, and remembered," Frona whispered. She crept up softly +till her arm was about his neck and her head against his breast. He +rested one arm lightly on her body, and poured her bright hair again +and again from his hand in glistening waves. + +"As I said, the stamp of the breed was unmarred, but there was yet a +difference. There is a difference. I have watched it, studied it, +tried to make it out. I have sat at table, proud by the side of you, +but dwarfed. When you talked of little things I was large enough to +follow; when of big things, too small. I knew you, had my hand on you, +when _presto_! and you were away, gone--I was lost. He is a fool who +knows not his own ignorance; I was wise enough to know mine. Art, +poetry, music,--what do I know of them? And they were the great +things, are the great things to you, mean more to you than the little +things I may comprehend. And I had hoped, blindly, foolishly, that we +might be one in the spirit as well as the one flesh. It has been +bitter, but I have faced it, and understand. But to see my own red +blood get away from me, elude me, rise above me! It stuns. God! I +have heard you read from your Browning--no, no; do not speak--and +watched the play of your face, the uplift and the passion of it, and +all the while the words droning in upon me, meaningless, musical, +maddening. And Mrs. Schoville sitting there, nursing an expression of +idiotic ecstasy, and understanding no more than I. I could have +strangled her. + +"Why, I have stolen away, at night, with your Browning, and locked +myself in like a thief in fear. The text was senseless, I have beaten +my head with my fist like a wild man, to try and knock some +comprehension into it. For my life had worked itself out along one set +groove, deep and narrow. I was in the rut. I had done those things +which came to my hand and done them well; but the time was past; I +could not turn my hand anew. I, who am strong and dominant, who have +played large with destiny, who could buy body and soul a thousand +painters and versifiers, was baffled by a few paltry cents' worth of +printed paper!" + +He spilled her hair for a moment's silence. + +"To come back. I had attempted the impossible, gambled against the +inevitable. I had sent you from me to get that which I had not, +dreaming that we would still be one. As though two could be added to +two and still remain two. So, to sum up, the breed still holds, but +you have learned an alien tongue. When you speak it I am deaf. And +bitterest of all, I know that the new tongue is the greater. I do not +know why I have said all this, made my confession of weakness--" + +"Oh, father mine, greatest of men!" She raised her head and laughed +into his eyes, the while brushing back the thick iron-gray hair which +thatched the dome of his forehead. "You, who have wrestled more +mightily, done greater things than these painters and versifiers. You +who know so well the law of change. Might not the same plaint fall +from your father's lips were he to sit now beside you and look upon +your work and you?" + +"Yes, yes. I have said that I understand. Do not let us discuss +it . . . a moment's weakness. My father was a great man." + +"And so mine." + +"A struggler to the end of his days. He fought the great lone +fight--" + +"And so mine." + +"And died fighting." + +"And so shall mine. So shall we all, we Welses." + +He shook her playfully, in token of returning spirits. "But I intend +to sell out,--mines, Company, everything,--and study Browning." + +"Still the fight. You can't discount the blood, father." + +"Why were you not a boy?" he demanded, abruptly. "You would have been +a splendid one. As it is, a woman, made to be the delight of some man, +you must pass from me--to-morrow, next day, this time next year, who +knows how soon? Ah? now I know the direction my thought has been +trending. Just as I know you do, so do I recognize the inevitableness +of it and the justness. But the man, Frona, the man?" + +"Don't," she demurred. "Tell me of your father's fight, the last +fight, the great lone fight at Treasure City. Ten to one it was, and +well fought. Tell me." + +"No, Frona. Do you realize that for the first time in our lives we +talk together seriously, as father and daughter,--for the first time? +You have had no mother to advise; no father, for I trusted the blood, +and wisely, and let you go. But there comes a time when the mother's +counsel is needed, and you, you who never knew one?" + +Frona yielded, in instant recognition, and waiting, snuggled more +closely to him. + +"This man, St. Vincent--how is it between you?" + +"I . . . I do not know. How do you mean?" + +"Remember always, Frona, that you have free choice, yours is the last +word. Still, I would like to understand. I could . . . perhaps . . . +I might be able to suggest. But nothing more. Still, a suggestion . . ." + +There was something inexpressibly sacred about it, yet she found +herself tongue-tied. Instead of the one definite thing to say, a +muddle of ideas fluttered in her brain. After all, could he +understand? Was there not a difference which prevented him from +comprehending the motives which, for her, were impelling? For all her +harking back to the primitive and stout defence of its sanity and +truth, did his native philosophy give him the same code which she drew +from her acquired philosophy? Then she stood aside and regarded +herself and the queries she put, and drew apart from them, for they +breathed of treason. + +"There is nothing between us, father," she spoke up resolutely. "Mr. +St. Vincent has said nothing, nothing. We are good friends, we like +each other, we are very good friends. I think that is all." + +"But you like each other; you like him. Is it in the way a woman must +like a man before she can honestly share her life with him, lose +herself in him? Do you feel with Ruth, so that when the time comes you +can say, 'Thy people are my people, and thy God my God'?" + +"N---o. It may be; but I cannot, dare not face it, say it or not say +it, think it or not think it--now. It is the great affirmation. When +it comes it must come, no one may know how or why, in a great white +flash, like a revelation, hiding nothing, revealing everything in +dazzling, blinding truth. At least I so imagine." + +Jacob Welse nodded his head with the slow meditation of one who +understands, yet stops to ponder and weigh again. + +"But why have you asked, father? Why has Mr. St. Vincent been raised? +I have been friends with other men." + +"But I have not felt about other men as I do of St. Vincent. We may be +truthful, you and I, and forgive the pain we give each other. My +opinion counts for no more than another's. Fallibility is the +commonest of curses. Nor can I explain why I feel as I do--I oppose +much in the way you expect to when your great white flash sears your +eyes. But, in a word, I do not like St. Vincent." + +"A very common judgment of him among the men," Frona interposed, driven +irresistibly to the defensive. + +"Such consensus of opinion only makes my position stronger," he +returned, but not disputatively. "Yet I must remember that I look upon +him as men look. His popularity with women must proceed from the fact +that women look differently than men, just as women do differ +physically and spiritually from men. It is deep, too deep for me to +explain. I but follow my nature and try to be just." + +"But have you nothing more definite?" she asked, groping for better +comprehension of his attitude. "Can you not put into some sort of +coherence some one certain thing of the things you feel?" + +"I hardly dare. Intuitions can rarely be expressed in terms of +thought. But let me try. We Welses have never known a coward. And +where cowardice is, nothing can endure. It is like building on sand, +or like a vile disease which rots and rots and we know not when it may +break forth." + +"But it seems to me that Mr. St. Vincent is the last man in the world +with whom cowardice may be associated. I cannot conceive of him in +that light." + +The distress in her face hurt him. "I know nothing against St. +Vincent. There is no evidence to show that he is anything but what he +appears. Still, I cannot help feeling it, in my fallible human way. +Yet there is one thing I have heard, a sordid pot-house brawl in the +Opera House. Mind you, Frona, I say nothing against the brawl or the +place,--men are men, but it is said that he did not act as a man ought +that night." + +"But as you say, father, men are men. We would like to have them other +than they are, for the world surely would be better; but we must take +them as they are. Lucile--" + +"No, no; you misunderstand. I did not refer to her, but to the fight. +He did not . . . he was cowardly." + +"But as you say, it is _said_. He told me about it, not long +afterwards, and I do not think he would have dared had there been +anything--" + +"But I do not make it as a charge," Jacob Welse hastily broke in. +"Merely hearsay, and the prejudice of the men would be sufficient to +account for the tale. And it has no bearing, anyway. I should not +have brought it up, for I have known good men funk in my time--buck +fever, as it were. And now let us dismiss it all from our minds. I +merely wished to suggest, and I suppose I have bungled. But understand +this, Frona," turning her face up to his, "understand above all things +and in spite of them, first, last, and always, that you are my +daughter, and that I believe your life is sacredly yours, not mine, +yours to deal with and to make or mar. Your life is yours to live, and +in so far that I influence it you will not have lived your life, nor +would your life have been yours. Nor would you have been a Welse, for +there was never a Welse yet who suffered dictation. They died first, +or went away to pioneer on the edge of things. + +"Why, if you thought the dance house the proper or natural medium for +self-expression, I might be sad, but to-morrow I would sanction your +going down to the Opera House. It would be unwise to stop you, and, +further, it is not our way. The Welses have ever stood by, in many a +lost cause and forlorn hope, knee to knee and shoulder to shoulder. +Conventions are worthless for such as we. They are for the swine who +without them would wallow deeper. The weak must obey or be crushed; +not so with the strong. The mass is nothing; the individual +everything; and it is the individual, always, that rules the mass and +gives the law. A fig for what the world says! If the Welse should +procreate a bastard line this day, it would be the way of the Welse, +and you would be a daughter of the Welse, and in the face of hell and +heaven, of God himself, we would stand together, we of the one blood, +Frona, you and I." + +"You are larger than I," she whispered, kissing his forehead, and the +caress of her lips seemed to him the soft impact of a leaf falling +through the still autumn air. + +And as the heat of the room ebbed away, he told of her foremother and +of his, and of the sturdy Welse who fought the great lone fight, and +died, fighting, at Treasure City. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +The "Doll's House" was a success. Mrs. Schoville ecstasized over it in +terms so immeasurable, so unqualifiable, that Jacob Welse, standing +near, bent a glittering gaze upon her plump white throat and +unconsciously clutched and closed his hand on an invisible windpipe. +Dave Harney proclaimed its excellence effusively, though he questioned +the soundness of Nora's philosophy and swore by his Puritan gods that +Torvald was the longest-eared Jack in two hemispheres. Even Miss +Mortimer, antagonistic as she was to the whole school, conceded that +the players had redeemed it; while Matt McCarthy announced that he +didn't blame Nora darlin' the least bit, though he told the Gold +Commissioner privately that a song or so and a skirt dance wouldn't +have hurt the performance. + +"Iv course the Nora girl was right," he insisted to Harney, both of +whom were walking on the heels of Frona and St. Vincent. "I'd be +seein'--" + +"Rubber--" + +"Rubber yer gran'mother!" Matt wrathfully exclaimed. + +"Ez I was sayin'," Harney continued, imperturbably, "rubber boots is +goin' to go sky-high 'bout the time of wash-up. Three ounces the pair, +an' you kin put your chips on that for a high card. You kin gather 'em +in now for an ounce a pair and clear two on the deal. A cinch, Matt, a +dead open an' shut." + +"The devil take you an' yer cinches! It's Nora darlin' I have in me +mind the while." + +They bade good-by to Frona and St. Vincent and went off disputing under +the stars in the direction of the Opera House. + +Gregory St. Vincent heaved an audible sigh. "At last." + +"At last what?" Frona asked, incuriously. + +"At last the first opportunity for me to tell you how well you did. +You carried off the final scene wonderfully; so well that it seemed you +were really passing out of my life forever." + +"What a misfortune!" + +"It was terrible." + +"No." + +"But, yes. I took the whole condition upon myself. You were not Nora, +you were Frona; nor I Torvald, but Gregory. When you made your exit, +capped and jacketed and travelling-bag in hand, it seemed I could not +possibly stay and finish my lines. And when the door slammed and you +were gone, the only thing that saved me was the curtain. It brought me +to myself, or else I would have rushed after you in the face of the +audience." + +"It is strange how a simulated part may react upon one," Frona +speculated. + +"Or rather?" St. Vincent suggested. + +Frona made no answer, and they walked on without speech. She was still +under the spell of the evening, and the exaltation which had come to +her as Nora had not yet departed. Besides, she read between the lines +of St. Vincent's conversation, and was oppressed by the timidity which +comes over woman when she faces man on the verge of the greater +intimacy. + +It was a clear, cold night, not over-cold,--not more than forty +below,--and the land was bathed in a soft, diffused flood of light +which found its source not in the stars, nor yet in the moon, which was +somewhere over on the other side of the world. From the south-east to +the northwest a pale-greenish glow fringed the rim of the heavens, and +it was from this the dim radiance was exhaled. + +Suddenly, like the ray of a search-light, a band of white light +ploughed overhead. Night turned to ghostly day on the instant, then +blacker night descended. But to the southeast a noiseless commotion +was apparent. The glowing greenish gauze was in a ferment, bubbling, +uprearing, downfalling, and tentatively thrusting huge bodiless hands +into the upper ether. Once more a cyclopean rocket twisted its fiery +way across the sky, from horizon to zenith, and on, and on, in +tremendous flight, to horizon again. But the span could not hold, and +in its wake the black night brooded. And yet again, broader, stronger, +deeper, lavishly spilling streamers to right and left, it flaunted the +midmost zenith with its gorgeous flare, and passed on and down to the +further edge of the world. Heaven was bridged at last, and the bridge +endured! + +At this flaming triumph the silence of earth was broken, and ten +thousand wolf-dogs, in long-drawn unisoned howls, sobbed their dismay +and grief. Frona shivered, and St. Vincent passed his arm about her +waist. The woman in her was aware of the touch of man, and of a slight +tingling thrill of vague delight; but she made no resistance. And as +the wolf-dogs mourned at her feet and the aurora wantoned overhead, she +felt herself drawn against him closely. + +"Need I tell my story?" he whispered. + +She drooped her head in tired content on his shoulder, and together +they watched the burning vault wherein the stars dimmed and vanished. +Ebbing, flowing, pulsing to some tremendous rhythm, the prism colors +hurled themselves in luminous deluge across the firmament. Then the +canopy of heaven became a mighty loom, wherein imperial purple and deep +sea-green blended, wove, and interwove, with blazing woof and flashing +warp, till the most delicate of tulles, fluorescent and bewildering, +was daintily and airily shaken in the face of the astonished night. + +Without warning the span was sundered by an arrogant arm of black. The +arch dissolved in blushing confusion. Chasms of blackness yawned, +grew, and rushed together. Broken masses of strayed color and fading +fire stole timidly towards the sky-line. Then the dome of night +towered imponderable, immense, and the stars came back one by one, and +the wolf-dogs mourned anew. + +"I can offer you so little, dear," the man said with a slightly +perceptible bitterness. "The precarious fortunes of a gypsy wanderer." + +And the woman, placing his hand and pressing it against her heart, +said, as a great woman had said before her, "A tent and a crust of +bread with you, Richard." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +How-ha was only an Indian woman, bred of a long line of fish-eating, +meat-rending carnivores, and her ethics were as crude and simple as +her blood. But long contact with the whites had given her an insight +into their way of looking at things, and though she grunted +contemptuously in her secret soul, she none the less understood their +way perfectly. Ten years previous she had cooked for Jacob Welse, +and served him in one fashion or another ever since; and when on a +dreary January morning she opened the front door in response to the +deep-tongued knocker, even her stolid presence was shaken as she +recognized the visitor. Not that the average man or woman would have +so recognized. But How-ha's faculties of observing and remembering +details had been developed in a hard school where death dealt his +blow to the lax and life saluted the vigilant. + +How-ha looked up and down the woman who stood before her. Through +the heavy veil she could barely distinguish the flash of the eyes, +while the hood of the _parka_ effectually concealed the hair, and the +_parka_ proper the particular outlines of the body. But How-ha +paused and looked again. There was something familiar in the vague +general outline. She quested back to the shrouded head again, and +knew the unmistakable poise. Then How-ha's eyes went blear as she +traversed the simple windings of her own brain, inspecting the bare +shelves taciturnly stored with the impressions of a meagre life. No +disorder; no confused mingling of records; no devious and +interminable impress of complex emotions, tangled theories, and +bewildering abstractions--nothing but simple facts, neatly classified +and conveniently collated. Unerringly from the stores of the past +she picked and chose and put together in the instant present, till +obscurity dropped from the woman before her, and she knew her, word +and deed and look and history. + +"Much better you go 'way quickety-quick," How-ha informed her. + +"Miss Welse. I wish to see her." + +The strange woman spoke in firm, even tones which betokened the will +behind, but which failed to move How-ha. + +"Much better you go," she repeated, stolidly. + +"Here, take this to Frona Welse, and--ah! would you!" (thrusting her +knee between the door and jamb) "and leave the door open." + +How-ha scowled, but took the note; for she could not shake off the +grip of the ten years of servitude to the superior race. + + + May I see you? + + LUCILE. + + +So the note ran. Frona glanced up expectantly at the Indian woman. + +"Um kick toes outside," How-ha explained. "Me tell um go 'way +quickety-quick? Eh? You t'ink yes? Um no good. Um--" + +"No. Take her,"--Frona was thinking quickly,--"no; bring her up +here." + +"Much better--" + +"Go!" + +How-ha grunted, and yielded up the obedience she could not withhold; +though, as she went down the stairs to the door, in a tenebrous, +glimmering way she wondered that the accident of white skin or swart +made master or servant as the case might be. + +In the one sweep of vision, Lucile took in Frona smiling with +extended hand in the foreground, the dainty dressing-table, the +simple finery, the thousand girlish evidences; and with the sweet +wholesomeness of it pervading her nostrils, her own girlhood rose up +and smote her. Then she turned a bleak eye and cold ear on outward +things. + +"I am glad you came," Frona was saying. "I have _so_ wanted to see +you again, and--but do get that heavy _parka_ off, please. How thick +it is, and what splendid fur and workmanship!" + +"Yes, from Siberia." A present from St. Vincent, Lucile felt like +adding, but said instead, "The Siberians have not yet learned to +scamp their work, you know." + +She sank down into the low-seated rocker with a native grace which +could not escape the beauty-loving eye of the girl, and with +proud-poised head and silent tongue listened to Frona as the minutes +ticked away, and observed with impersonal amusement Frona's painful +toil at making conversation. + +"What has she come for?" Frona asked herself, as she talked on furs +and weather and indifferent things. + +"If you do not say something, Lucile, I shall get nervous, soon," she +ventured at last in desperation. "Has anything happened?" + +Lucile went over to the mirror and picked up, from among the trinkets +beneath, a tiny open-work miniature of Frona. "This is you? How old +were you?" + +"Sixteen." + +"A sylph, but a cold northern one." + +"The blood warms late with us," Frona reproved; "but is--" + +"None the less warm for that," Lucile laughed. "And how old are you +now?" + +"Twenty." + +"Twenty," Lucile repeated, slowly. "Twenty," and resumed her seat. +"You are twenty. And I am twenty-four." + +"So little difference as that!" + +"But our blood warms early." Lucile voiced her reproach across the +unfathomable gulf which four years could not plumb. + +Frona could hardly hide her vexation. Lucile went over and looked at +the miniature again and returned. + +"What do you think of love?" she asked abruptly, her face softening +unheralded into a smile. + +"Love?" the girl quavered. + +"Yes, love. What do you know about it? What do you think of it?" + +A flood of definitions, glowing and rosy, sped to her tongue, but +Frona swept them aside and answered, "Love is immolation." + +"Very good--sacrifice. And, now, does it pay?" + +"Yes, it pays. Of course it pays. Who can doubt it?" + +Lucile's eyes twinkled amusedly. + +"Why do you smile?" Frona asked. + +"Look at me, Frona." Lucile stood up and her face blazed. "I am +twenty-four. Not altogether a fright; not altogether a dunce. I +have a heart. I have good red blood and warm. And I have loved. I +do not remember the pay. I know only that I have paid." + +"And in the paying were paid," Frona took up warmly. "The price was +the reward. If love be fallible, yet you have loved; you have done, +you have served. What more would you?" + +"The whelpage love," Lucile sneered. + +"Oh! You are unfair." + +"I do you justice," Lucile insisted firmly. "You would tell me that +you know; that you have gone unveiled and seen clear-eyed; that +without placing more than lips to the brim you have divined the taste +of the dregs, and that the taste is good. Bah! The whelpage love! +And, oh, Frona, I know; you are full womanly and broad, and lend no +ear to little things, but"--she tapped a slender finger to +forehead--"it is all here. It is a heady brew, and you have smelled +the fumes overmuch. But drain the dregs, turn down the glass, and +say that it is good. No, God forbid!" she cried, passionately. +"There are good loves. You should find no masquerade, but one fair +and shining." + +Frona was up to her old trick,--their common one,--and her hand slid +down Lucile's arm till hand clasped in hand. "You say things which I +feel are wrong, yet may not answer. I can, but how dare I? I dare +not put mere thoughts against your facts. I, who have lived so +little, cannot in theory give the lie to you who have lived so +much--" + +"'For he who lives more lives than one, more lives than one must +die.'" + +From out of her pain, Lucile spoke the words of her pain, and Frona, +throwing arms about her, sobbed on her breast in understanding. As +for Lucile, the slight nervous ingathering of the brows above her +eyes smoothed out, and she pressed the kiss of motherhood, lightly +and secretly, on the other's hair. For a space,--then the brows +ingathered, the lips drew firm, and she put Frona from her. + +"You are going to marry Gregory St. Vincent?" + +Frona was startled. It was only a fortnight old, and not a word had +been breathed. "How do you know?" + +"You have answered." Lucile watched Frona's open face and the bold +running advertisement, and felt as the skilled fencer who fronts a +tyro, weak of wrist, each opening naked to his hand. "How do I +know?" She laughed harshly. "When a man leaves one's arms suddenly, +lips wet with last kisses and mouth areek with last lies!" + +"And--?" + +"Forgets the way back to those arms." + +"So?" The blood of the Welse pounded up, and like a hot sun dried +the mists from her eyes and left them flashing. "Then that is why +you came. I could have guessed it had I given second thought to +Dawson's gossip." + +"It is not too late." Lucile's lip curled. "And it is your way." + +"And I am mindful. What is it? Do you intend telling me what he has +done, what he has been to you. Let me say that it is useless. He is +a man, as you and I are women." + +"No," Lucile lied, swallowing her astonishment. + +"I had not thought that any action of his would affect you. I knew +you were too great for that. But--have you considered me?" + +Frona caught her breath for a moment. Then she straightened out her +arms to hold the man in challenge to the arms of Lucile. + +"Your father over again," Lucile exclaimed. "Oh, you impossible +Welses!" + +"But he is not worthy of you, Frona Welse," she continued; "of me, +yes. He is not a nice man, a great man, nor a good. His love cannot +match with yours. Bah! He does not possess love; passion, of one +sort and another, is the best he may lay claim to. That you do not +want. It is all, at the best, he can give you. And you, pray what +may you give him? Yourself? A prodigious waste! But your father's +yellow--" + +"Don't go on, or I shall refuse to listen. It is wrong of you." So +Frona made her cease, and then, with bold inconsistency, "And what +may the woman Lucile give him?" + +"Some few wild moments," was the prompt response; "a burning burst of +happiness, and the regrets of hell--which latter he deserves, as do +I. So the balance is maintained, and all is well." + +"But--but--" + +"For there is a devil in him," she held on, "a most alluring devil, +which delights me, on my soul it does, and which, pray God, Frona, +you may never know. For you have no devil; mine matches his and +mates. I am free to confess that the whole thing is only an +attraction. There is nothing permanent about him, nor about me. And +there's the beauty, the balance is preserved." + +Frona lay back in her chair and lazily regarded her visitor, Lucile +waited for her to speak. It was very quiet. + +"Well?" Lucile at last demanded, in a low, curious tone, at the same +time rising to slip into her parka. + +"Nothing. I was only waiting." + +"I am done." + +"Then let me say that I do not understand you," Frona summed up, +coldly. "I cannot somehow just catch your motive. There is a flat +ring to what you have said. However, of this I am sure: for some +unaccountable reason you have been untrue to yourself to-day. Do not +ask me, for, as I said before, I do not know where or how; yet I am +none the less convinced. This I do know, you are not the Lucile I +met by the wood trail across the river. That was the true Lucile, +little though I saw of her. The woman who is here to-day is a +strange woman. I do not know her. Sometimes it has seemed she was +Lucile, but rarely. This woman has lied, lied to me, and lied to me +about herself. As to what she said of the man, at the worst that is +merely an opinion. It may be she has lied about him likewise. The +chance is large that she has. What do you think about it?" + +"That you are a very clever girl, Frona. That you speak sometimes +more truly than you know, and that at others you are blinder than you +dream." + +"There is something I could love in you, but you have hidden it away +so that I cannot find it." + +Lucile's lips trembled on the verge of speech. But she settled her +parka about her and turned to go. + +Frona saw her to the door herself, and How-ha pondered over the white +who made the law and was greater than the law. + +When the door had closed, Lucile spat into the street. "Faugh! St. +Vincent! I have defiled my mouth with your name!" And she spat +again. + + +"Come in." + +At the summons Matt McCarthy pulled the latch-string, pushed the door +open, and closed it carefully behind him. + +"Oh, it is you!" St. Vincent regarded his visitor with dark +abstraction, then, recollecting himself, held out his hand. "Why, +hello, Matt, old man. My mind was a thousand miles away when you +entered. Take a stool and make yourself comfortable. There's the +tobacco by your hand. Take a try at it and give us your verdict." + +"An' well may his mind be a thousand miles away," Matt assured +himself; for in the dark he had passed a woman on the trail who +looked suspiciously like Lucile. But aloud, "Sure, an' it's +day-dramin' ye mane. An' small wondher." + +"How's that?" the correspondent asked, cheerily. + +"By the same token that I met Lucile down the trail a piece, an' the +heels iv her moccasins pointing to yer shack. It's a bitter tongue +the jade slings on occasion," Matt chuckled. + +"That's the worst of it." St. Vincent met him frankly. "A man looks +sidewise at them for a passing moment, and they demand that the +moment be eternal." + +Off with the old love's a stiff proposition, eh?" + +"I should say so. And you understand. It's easy to see, Matt, +you've had some experience in your time." + +"In me time? I'll have ye know I'm not too old to still enjoy a bit +iv a fling." + +"Certainly, certainly. One can read it in your eyes. The warm heart +and the roving eye, Matt!" He slapped his visitor on the shoulder +with a hearty laugh. + +"An' I've none the best iv ye, Vincent. 'Tis a wicked lad ye are, +with a takin' way with the ladies--as plain as the nose on yer face. +Manny's the idle kiss ye've given, an' manny's the heart ye've broke. +But, Vincent, bye, did ye iver know the rale thing?" + +"How do you mean?" + +"The rale thing, the rale thing--that is--well, have ye been iver a +father?" + +St. Vincent shook his head. + +"And niver have I. But have ye felt the love iv a father, thin?" + +"I hardly know. I don't think so." + +"Well, I have. An' it's the rale thing, I'll tell ye. If iver a man +suckled a child, I did, or the next door to it. A girl child at +that, an' she's woman grown, now, an' if the thing is possible, I +love her more than her own blood-father. Bad luck, exciptin' her, +there was niver but one woman I loved, an' that woman had mated +beforetime. Not a soul did I brathe a word to, trust me, nor even +herself. But she died. God's love be with her." + +His chin went down upon his chest and he quested back to a +flaxen-haired Saxon woman, strayed like a bit of sunshine into the +log store by the Dyea River. He looked up suddenly, and caught St. +Vincent's stare bent blankly to the floor as he mused on other things. + +"A truce to foolishness, Vincent." + +The correspondent returned to himself with an effort and found the +Irishman's small blue eyes boring into him. + +"Are ye a brave man, Vincent?" + +For a second's space they searched each other's souls. And in that +space Matt could have sworn he saw the faintest possible flicker or +flutter in the man's eyes. + +He brought his fist down on the table with a triumphant crash. "By +God, yer not!" + +The correspondent pulled the tobacco jug over to him and rolled a +cigarette. He rolled it carefully, the delicate rice paper crisping +in his hand without a tremor; but all the while a red tide mounting +up from beneath the collar of his shirt, deepening in the hollows of +the cheeks and thinning against the cheekbones above, creeping, +spreading, till all his face was aflame. + +"'Tis good. An' likely it saves me fingers a dirty job. Vincent, +man, the girl child which is woman grown slapes in Dawson this night. +God help us, you an' me, but we'll niver hit again the pillow as +clane an' pure as she! Vincent, a word to the wise: ye'll niver lay +holy hand or otherwise upon her." + +The devil, which Lucile had proclaimed, began to quicken,--a fuming, +fretting, irrational devil. + +"I do not like ye. I kape me raysons to meself. It is sufficient. +But take this to heart, an' take it well: should ye be mad enough to +make her yer wife, iv that damned day ye'll niver see the inding, nor +lay eye upon the bridal bed. Why, man, I cud bate ye to death with +me two fists if need be. But it's to be hoped I'll do a nater job. +Rest aisy. I promise ye." + +"You Irish pig!" + +So the devil burst forth, and all unaware, for McCarthy found himself +eye-high with the muzzle of a Colt's revolver. + +"Is it loaded?" he asked. "I belave ye. But why are ye lingerin'? +Lift the hammer, will ye?" + +The correspondent's trigger-finger moved and there was a warning +click. + +"Now pull it. Pull it, I say. As though ye cud, with that flutter +to yer eye." + +St. Vincent attempted to turn his head aside. + +"Look at me, man!" McCarthy commanded. "Kape yer eyes on me when ye +do it." + +Unwillingly the sideward movement was arrested, and his eyes returned +and met the Irishman's. + +"Now!" + +St. Vincent ground his teeth and pulled the trigger--at least he +thought he did, as men think they do things in dreams. He willed the +deed, flashed the order forth; but the flutter of his soul stopped it. + +"'Tis paralyzed, is it, that shaky little finger?" Matt grinned into +the face of the tortured man. "Now turn it aside, so, an' drop it, +gently . . . gently . . . gently." His voice crooned away in +soothing diminuendo. + +When the trigger was safely down, St. Vincent let the revolver fall +from his hand, and with a slight audible sigh sank nervelessly upon a +stool. He tried to straighten himself, but instead dropped down upon +the table and buried his face in his palsied hands. Matt drew on his +mittens, looking down upon him pityingly the while, and went out, +closing the door softly behind him. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +Where nature shows the rough hand, the sons of men are apt to respond +with kindred roughness. The amenities of life spring up only in mellow +lands, where the sun is warm and the earth fat. The damp and soggy +climate of Britain drives men to strong drink; the rosy Orient lures to +the dream splendors of the lotus. The big-bodied, white-skinned +northern dweller, rude and ferocious, bellows his anger uncouthly and +drives a gross fist into the face of his foe. The supple +south-sojourner, silken of smile and lazy of gesture, waits, and does +his work from behind, when no man looketh, gracefully and without +offence. Their ends are one; the difference lies in their ways, and +therein the climate, and the cumulative effect thereof, is the +determining factor. Both are sinners, as men born of women have ever +been; but the one does his sin openly, in the clear sight of God; the +other--as though God could not see--veils his iniquity with shimmering +fancies, hiding it like it were some splendid mystery. + +These be the ways of men, each as the sun shines upon him and the wind +blows against him, according to his kind, and the seed of his father, +and the milk of his mother. Each is the resultant of many forces which +go to make a pressure mightier than he, and which moulds him in the +predestined shape. But, with sound legs under him, he may run away, +and meet with a new pressure. He may continue running, each new +pressure prodding him as he goes, until he dies and his final form will +be that predestined of the many pressures. An exchange of +cradle-babes, and the base-born slave may wear the purple imperially, +and the royal infant begs an alms as wheedlingly or cringe to the lash +as abjectly as his meanest subject. A Chesterfield, with an empty +belly, chancing upon good fare, will gorge as faithfully as the swine +in the next sty. And an Epicurus, in the dirt-igloo of the Eskimos, +will wax eloquent over the whale oil and walrus blubber, or die. + +Thus, in the young Northland, frosty and grim and menacing, men +stripped off the sloth of the south and gave battle greatly. And they +stripped likewise much of the veneer of civilization--all of its +follies, most of its foibles, and perhaps a few of its virtues. Maybe +so; but they reserved the great traditions and at least lived frankly, +laughed honestly, and looked one another in the eyes. + +And so it is not well for women, born south of fifty-three and reared +gently, to knock loosely about the Northland, unless they be great of +heart. They may be soft and tender and sensitive, possessed of eyes +which have not lost the lustre and the wonder, and of ears used only to +sweet sounds; but if their philosophy is sane and stable, large enough +to understand and to forgive, they will come to no harm and attain +comprehension. If not, they will see things and hear things which +hurt, and they will suffer greatly, and lose faith in man--which is the +greatest evil that may happen them. Such should be sedulously +cherished, and it were well to depute this to their men-folk, the +nearer of kin the better. In line, it were good policy to seek out a +cabin on the hill overlooking Dawson, or--best of all--across the Yukon +on the western bank. Let them not move abroad unheralded and +unaccompanied; and the hillside back of the cabin may be recommended as +a fit field for stretching muscles and breathing deeply, a place where +their ears may remain undefiled by the harsh words of men who strive to +the utmost. + + +Vance Corliss wiped the last tin dish and filed it away on the shelf, +lighted his pipe, and rolled over on his back on the bunk to +contemplate the moss-chinked roof of his French Hill cabin. This +French Hill cabin stood on the last dip of the hill into Eldorado +Creek, close to the main-travelled trail; and its one window blinked +cheerily of nights at those who journeyed late. + +The door was kicked open, and Del Bishop staggered in with a load of +fire-wood. His breath had so settled on his face in a white rime that +he could not speak. Such a condition was ever a hardship with the man, +so he thrust his face forthwith into the quivering heat above the +stove. In a trice the frost was started and the thawed streamlets +dancing madly on the white-hot surface beneath. Then the ice began to +fall from is beard in chunks, rattling on the lid-tops and simmering +spitefully till spurted upward in clouds of steam. + +"And so you witness an actual phenomenon, illustrative of the three +forms of matter," Vance laughed, mimicking the monotonous tones of the +demonstrator; "solid, liquid, and vapor. In another moment you will +have the gas." + +"Th--th--that's all very well," Bishop spluttered, wrestling with an +obstructing piece of ice until it was wrenched from his upper lip and +slammed stoveward with a bang. + +"How cold do you make it, Del? Fifty?" + +"Fifty?" the pocket-miner demanded with unutterable scorn, wiping his +face. "Quicksilver's been solid for hours, and it's been gittin' +colder an' colder ever since. Fifty? I'll bet my new mittens against +your old moccasins that it ain't a notch below seventy." + +"Think so?" + +"D'ye want to bet?" + +Vance nodded laughingly. + +"Centigrade or Fahrenheit?" Bishop asked, suddenly suspicious. + +"Oh, well, if you want my old moccasins so badly," Vance rejoined, +feigning to be hurt by the other's lack of faith, "why, you can have +them without betting." + +Del snorted and flung himself down on the opposite bunk. "Think yer +funny, don't you?" No answer forthcoming, he deemed the retort +conclusive, rolled over, and fell to studying the moss chinks. + +Fifteen minutes of this diversion sufficed. "Play you a rubber of crib +before bed," he challenged across to the other bunk. + +"I'll go you." Corliss got up, stretched, and moved the kerosene lamp +from the shelf to the table, "Think it will hold out?" he asked, +surveying the oil-level through the cheap glass. + +Bishop threw down the crib-board and cards, and measured the contents +of the lamp with his eye. "Forgot to fill it, didn't I? Too late now. +Do it to-morrow. It'll last the rubber out, sure." + +Corliss took up the cards, but paused in the shuffling. "We've a big +trip before us, Del, about a month from now, the middle of March as +near as I can plan it,--up the Stuart River to McQuestion; up +McQuestion and back again down the Mayo; then across country to Mazy +May, winding up at Henderson Creek--" + +"On the Indian River?" + +"No," Corliss replied, as he dealt the hands; "just below where the +Stuart taps the Yukon. And then back to Dawson before the ice breaks." + +The pocket-miner's eyes sparkled. "Keep us hustlin'; but, say, it's a +trip, isn't it! Hunch?" + +"I've received word from the Parker outfit on the Mayo, and McPherson +isn't asleep on Henderson--you don't know him. They're keeping quiet, +and of course one can't tell, but . . ." + +Bishop nodded his head sagely, while Corliss turned the trump he had +cut. A sure vision of a "twenty-four" hand was dazzling him, when +there was a sound of voices without and the door shook to a heavy knock. + +"Come in!" he bawled. "An' don't make such a row about it! Look at +that"--to Corliss, at the same time facing his hand--"fifteen-eight, +fifteen-sixteen, and eight are twenty-four. Just my luck!" + +Corliss started swiftly to his feet. Bishop jerked his head about. +Two women and a man had staggered clumsily in through the door, and +were standing just inside, momentarily blinded by the light. + +"By all the Prophets! Cornell!" The pocket-miner wrung the man's hand +and led him forward. "You recollect Cornell, Corliss? Jake Cornell, +Thirty-Seven and a Half Eldorado." + +"How could I forget?" the engineer acknowledged warmly, shaking his +hand. "That was a miserable night you put us up last fall, about as +miserable as the moose-steak was good that you gave us for breakfast." + +Jake Cornell, hirsute and cadaverous of aspect, nodded his head with +emphasis and deposited a corpulent demijohn on the table. Again he +nodded his head, and glared wildly about him. The stove caught his eye +and he strode over to it, lifted a lid, and spat out a mouthful of +amber-colored juice. Another stride and he was back. + +"'Course I recollect the night," he rumbled, the ice clattering from +his hairy jaws. "And I'm danged glad to see you, that's a fact." He +seemed suddenly to remember himself, and added a little sheepishly, +"The fact is, we're all danged glad to see you, ain't we, girls?" He +twisted his head about and nodded his companions up. "Blanche, my +dear, Mr. Corliss--hem--it gives me . . . hem . . . it gives me +pleasure to make you acquainted. Cariboo Blanche, sir. Cariboo +Blanche." + +"Pleased to meet you." Cariboo Blanche put out a frank hand and looked +him over keenly. She was a fair-featured, blondish woman, originally +not unpleasing of appearance, but now with lines all deepened and +hardened as on the faces of men who have endured much weather-beat. + +Congratulating himself upon his social proficiency, Jake Cornell +cleared his throat and marshalled the second woman to the front. "Mr. +Corliss, the Virgin; I make you both acquainted. Hem!" in response to +the query in Vance's eyes--"Yes, the Virgin. That's all, just the +Virgin." + +She smiled and bowed, but did not shake hands. "A toff" was her secret +comment upon the engineer; and from her limited experience she had been +led to understand that it was not good form among "toffs" to shake +hands. + +Corliss fumbled his hand, then bowed, and looked at her curiously. She +was a pretty, low-browed creature; darkly pretty, with a well-favored +body, and for all that the type was mean, he could not escape the charm +of her over-brimming vitality. She seemed bursting with it, and every +quick, spontaneous movement appeared to spring from very excess of red +blood and superabundant energy. + +"Pretty healthy proposition, ain't she?" Jake Cornell demanded, +following his host's gaze with approval. + +"None o' your gammon, Jake," the Virgin snapped back, with lip curled +contemptuously for Vance's especial benefit. "I fancy it'd be more in +keeping if you'd look to pore Blanche, there." + +"Fact is, we're plum ding dong played out," Jake said. "An' Blanche +went through the ice just down the trail, and her feet's like to +freezin'." + +Blanche smiled as Corliss piloted her to a stool by the fire, and her +stern mouth gave no indication of the pain she was suffering. He +turned away when the Virgin addressed herself to removing the wet +footgear, while Bishop went rummaging for socks and moccasins. + +"Didn't go in more'n to the ankles," Cornell explained confidentially; +"but that's plenty a night like this." + +Corliss agreed with a nod of the head. + +"Spotted your light, and--hem--and so we come. Don't mind, do you?" + +"Why, certainly not--" + +"No intrudin'?" + +Corliss reassured him by laying hand on his shoulder and cordially +pressing him to a seat. Blanche sighed luxuriously. Her wet stockings +were stretched up and already steaming, and her feet basking in the +capacious warmth of Bishop's Siwash socks. Vance shoved the tobacco +canister across, but Cornell pulled out a handful of cigars and passed +them around. + +"Uncommon bad piece of trail just this side of the turn," he remarked +stentoriously, at the same time flinging an eloquent glance at the +demijohn. "Ice rotten from the springs and no sign till you're into +it." Turning to the woman by the stove, "How're you feeling, Blanche?" + +"Tony," she responded, stretching her body lazily and redisposing her +feet; "though my legs ain't as limber as when we pulled out." + +Looking to his host for consent, Cornell tilted the demijohn over his +arm and partly filled the four tin mugs and an empty jelly glass. + +"Wot's the matter with a toddy?" the Virgin broke in; "or a punch?" + +"Got any lime juice?" she demanded of Corliss. + +"You 'ave? Jolly!" She directed her dark eyes towards Del. "'Ere, +you, cookie! Trot out your mixing-pan and sling the kettle for 'ot +water. Come on! All hands! Jake's treat, and I'll show you 'ow! Any +sugar, Mr. Corliss? And nutmeg? Cinnamon, then? O.K. It'll do. +Lively now, cookie!" + +"Ain't she a peach?" Cornell confided to Vance, watching her with +mellow eyes as she stirred the steaming brew. + +But the Virgin directed her attentions to the engineer. "Don't mind +'im, sir," she advised. "'E's more'n arf-gorn a'ready, a-'itting the +jug every blessed stop." + +"Now, my dear--" Jake protested. + +"Don't you my-dear me," she sniffed. "I don't like you." + +"Why?" + +"Cos . . ." She ladled the punch carefully into the mugs and +meditated. "Cos you chew tobacco. Cos you're whiskery. Wot I take to +is smooth-faced young chaps." + +"Don't take any stock in her nonsense," the Fraction King warned, "She +just does it a-purpose to get me mad." + +"Now then!" she commanded, sharply. "Step up to your licker! 'Ere's +'ow!" + +"What'll it be?" cried Blanche from the stove. + +The elevated mugs wavered and halted. + +"The Queen, Gawd bless 'er!" the Virgin toasted promptly. + +"And Bill!" Del Bishop interrupted. + +Again the mugs wavered. + +"Bill 'oo?" the Virgin asked, suspiciously. + +"McKinley." + +She favored him with a smile. "Thank you, cookie, you're a trump. +Now! 'Ere's a go, gents! Take it standing. The Queen, Gawd bless +'er, and Bill McKinley!" + +"Bottoms up!" thundered Jake Cornell, and the mugs smote the table with +clanging rims. + +Vance Corliss discovered himself amused and interested. According to +Frona, he mused ironically,--this was learning life, was adding to his +sum of human generalizations. The phrase was hers, and he rolled it +over a couple of times. Then, again, her engagement with St. Vincent +crept into his thought, and he charmed the Virgin by asking her to +sing. But she was coy, and only after Bishop had rendered the several +score stanzas of "Flying Cloud" did she comply. Her voice, in a weakly +way, probably registered an octave and a half; below that point it +underwent strange metamorphoses, while on the upper levels it was +devious and rickety. Nevertheless she sang "Take Back Your Gold" with +touching effect, which brought a fiery moisture into the eyes of the +Fraction King, who listened greedily, for the time being experiencing +unwonted ethical yearnings. + +The applause was generous, followed immediately by Bishop, who toasted +the singer as the "Enchantress of Bow Bells," to the reverberating +"bottoms up!" of Jake Cornell. + + +Two hours later, Frona Welse rapped. It was a sharp, insistent rap, +penetrating the din within and bringing Corliss to the door. + +She gave a glad little cry when she saw who it was. "Oh; it is you, +Vance! I didn't know you lived here." + +He shook hands and blocked the doorway with his body. Behind him the +Virgin was laughing and Jake Cornell roaring: + + "Oh, cable this message along the track; + The Prod's out West, but he's coming back; + Put plenty of veal for one on the rack, + Trolla lala, la la la, la la!" + + +"What is it?" Vance questioned. "Anything up?" + +"I think you might ask me in." There was a hint of reproach in Frona's +voice, and of haste. "I blundered through the ice, and my feet are +freezing." + +"O Gawd!" in the exuberant tones of the Virgin, came whirling over +Vance's shoulder, and the voices of Blanche and Bishop joining in a +laugh against Cornell, and that worthy's vociferous protestations. It +seemed to him that all the blood of his body had rushed into his face. +"But you can't come in, Frona. Don't you hear them?" + +"But I must," she insisted. "My feet are freezing." + +With a gesture of resignation he stepped aside and closed the door +after her. Coming suddenly in from the darkness, she hesitated a +moment, but in that moment recovered her sight and took in the scene. +The air was thick with tobacco smoke, and the odor of it, in the close +room, was sickening to one fresh from the pure outside. On the table a +column of steam was ascending from the big mixing-pan. The Virgin, +fleeing before Cornell, was defending herself with a long mustard +spoon. Evading him and watching her chance, she continually daubed his +nose and cheeks with the yellow smear. Blanche had twisted about from +the stove to see the fun, and Del Bishop, with a mug at rest half-way +to his lips, was applauding the successive strokes. The faces of all +were flushed. + +Vance leaned nervelessly against the door. The whole situation seemed +so unthinkably impossible. An insane desire to laugh came over him, +which resolved itself into a coughing fit. But Frona, realizing her +own pressing need by the growing absence of sensation in her feet, +stepped forward. + +"Hello, Del!" she called. + +The mirth froze on his face at the familiar sound and he slowly and +unwilling turned his head to meet her. She had slipped the hood of her +parka back, and her face, outlined against the dark fur, rosy with the +cold and bright, was like a shaft of the sun shot into the murk of a +boozing-ken. They all knew her, for who did not know Jacob Welse's +daughter? The Virgin dropped the mustard-spoon with a startled shriek, +while Cornell, passing a dazed hand across his yellow markings and +consummating the general smear, collapsed on the nearest stool. +Cariboo Blanche alone retained her self-possession, and laughed softly. + +Bishop managed to articulate "Hello!" but was unable to stave off the +silence which settled down. + +Frona waited a second, and then said, "Good-evening, all." + +"This way." Vance had recovered himself, and seated her by the stove +opposite Blanche. "Better get your things off quickly, and be careful +of the heat. I'll see what I can find for you." + +"Some cold water, please," she asked. "It will take the frost out. +Del will get it." + +"I hope it is not serious?" + +"No." She shook her head and smiled up to him, at the same time +working away at her ice-coated moccasins. "There hasn't been time for +more than surface-freezing. At the worst the skin will peel off." + +An unearthly silence brooded in the cabin, broken only by Bishop +filling a basin from the water-bucket, and by Corliss seeking out his +smallest and daintiest house-moccasins and his warmest socks. + +Frona, rubbing her feet vigorously, paused and looked up. "Don't let +me chill the festivities just because I'm cold," she laughed. "Please +go on." + +Jake Cornell straightened up and cleared his throat inanely, and the +Virgin looked over-dignified; but Blanche came over and took the towel +out of Frona's hands. + +"I wet my feet in the same place," she said, kneeling down and bringing +a glow to the frosted feet. + +"I suppose you can manage some sort of a fit with them. Here!" Vance +tossed over the house-moccasins and woollen wrappings, which the two +women, with low laughs and confidential undertones, proceeded to +utilize. + +"But what in the world were you doing on trail, alone, at this time of +night?" Vance asked. In his heart he was marvelling at the coolness +and pluck with which she was carrying off the situation. + +"I know beforehand that you will censure me," she replied, helping +Blanche arrange the wet gear over the fire. "I was at Mrs. Stanton's; +but first, you must know, Miss Mortimer and I are staying at the +Pently's for a week. Now, to start fresh again. I intended to leave +Mrs. Stanton's before dark; but her baby got into the kerosene, her +husband had gone down to Dawson, and--well, we weren't sure of the baby +up to half an hour ago. She wouldn't hear of me returning alone; but +there was nothing to fear; only I had not expected soft ice in such a +snap." + +"How'd you fix the kid?" Del asked, intent on keeping the talk going +now that it had started. + +"Chewing tobacco." And when the laughter had subsided, she went on: +"There wasn't any mustard, and it was the best I could think of. +Besides, Matt McCarthy saved my life with it once, down at Dyea when I +had the croup. But you were singing when I came in," she suggested. +"Do go on." + +Jake Cornell hawed prodigiously. "And I got done." + +"Then you, Del. Sing 'Flying Cloud' as you used to coming down the +river." + +"Oh, 'e 'as!" said the Virgin. + +"Then you sing. I am sure you do." + +She smiled into the Virgin's eyes, and that lady delivered herself of a +coster ballad with more art than she was aware. The chill of Frona's +advent was quickly dissipated, and song and toast and merriment went +round again. Nor was Frona above touching lips to the jelly glass in +fellowship; and she contributed her quota by singing "Annie Laurie" and +"Ben Bolt." Also, but privily, she watched the drink saturating the +besotted souls of Cornell and the Virgin. It was an experience, and +she was glad of it, though sorry in a way for Corliss, who played the +host lamely. + +But he had little need of pity. "Any other woman--" he said to +himself a score of times, looking at Frona and trying to picture +numerous women he had known by his mother's teapot, knocking at the +door and coming in as Frona had done. Then, again, it was only +yesterday that it would have hurt him, Blanche's rubbing her feet; but +now he gloried in Frona's permitting it, and his heart went out in a +more kindly way to Blanche. Perhaps it was the elevation of the +liquor, but he seemed to discover new virtues in her rugged face. + +Frona had put on her dried moccasins and risen to her feet, and was +listening patiently to Jake Cornell, who hiccoughed a last incoherent +toast. + +"To the--hic--man," he rumbled, cavernously, "the man--hic--that +made--that made--" + +"The blessed country," volunteered the Virgin. + +"True, my dear--hic. To the man that made the blessed country. +To--hic--to Jacob Welse!" + +"And a rider!" Blanche cried. "To Jacob Welse's daughter!" + +"Ay! Standing! And bottoms up!" + +"Oh! she's a jolly good fellow," Del led off, the drink ruddying his +cheek. + +"I'd like to shake hands with you, just once," Blanche said in a low +voice, while the rest were chorusing. + +Frona slipped her mitten, which she had already put on, and the +pressure was firm between them. + +"No," she said to Corliss, who had put on his cap and was tying the +ear-flaps; "Blanche tells me the Pently's are only half a mile from +here. The trail is straight. I'll not hear of any one accompanying me. + +"No!" This time she spoke so authoritatively that he tossed his cap +into the bunk. "Good-night, all!" she called, sweeping the roisterers +with a smile. + +But Corliss saw her to the door and stepped outside. She glanced up to +him. Her hood was pulled only partly up, and her face shone alluringly +under the starlight. + +"I--Frona . . . I wish--" + +"Don't be alarmed," she whispered. "I'll not tell on you, Vance." + +He saw the mocking glint in her eyes, but tried to go on. "I wish to +explain just how--" + +"No need. I understand. But at the same time I must confess I do not +particularly admire your taste--" + +"Frona!" The evident pain in his voice reached her. + +"Oh, you big foolish!" she laughed. "Don't I know? Didn't Blanche +tell me she wet her feet?" + +Corliss bowed his head. "Truly, Frona, you are the most consistent +woman I ever met. Furthermore," with a straightening of his form and a +dominant assertion in his voice, "this is not the last." + +She tried to stop him, but he continued. "I feel, I know that things +will turn out differently. To fling your own words back at you, all +the factors have not been taken into consideration. As for St. Vincent +. . . I'll have you yet. For that matter, now could not be too soon!" + +He flashed out hungry arms to her, but she read quicker than he moved, +and, laughing, eluded him and ran lightly down the trail. + +"Come back, Frona! Come back!" he called, "I am sorry." + +"No, you're not," came the answer. "And I'd be sorry if you were. +Good-night." + +He watched her merge into the shadows, then entered the cabin. He had +utterly forgotten the scene within, and at the first glance it startled +him. Cariboo Blanche was crying softly to herself. Her eyes were +luminous and moist, and, as he looked, a lone tear stole down her +cheek. Bishop's face had gone serious. The Virgin had sprawled head +and shoulders on the table, amid overturned mugs and dripping lees, and +Cornell was tittubating over her, hiccoughing, and repeating vacuously, +"You're all right, my dear. You're all right." + +But the Virgin was inconsolable. "O Gawd! Wen I think on wot is, an' +was . . . an' no fault of mine. No fault of mine, I tell you!" she +shrieked with quick fierceness. "'Ow was I born, I ask? Wot was my +old man? A drunk, a chronic. An' my old woman? Talk of Whitechapel! +'Oo guv a cent for me, or 'ow I was dragged up? 'Oo cared a rap, I +say? 'Oo cared a rap?" + +A sudden revulsion came over Corliss. "Hold your tongue!" he ordered. + +The Virgin raised her head, her loosened hair streaming about her like +a Fury's. "Wot is she?" she sneered. "Sweet'eart?" + +Corliss whirled upon her savagely, face white and voice shaking with +passion. + +The Virgin cowered down and instinctively threw up her hands to protect +her face. "Don't 'it me, sir!" she whined. "Don't 'it me!" + +He was frightened at himself, and waited till he could gather control. +"Now," he said, calmly, "get into your things and go. All of you. +Clear out. Vamose." + +"You're no man, you ain't," the Virgin snarled, discovering that +physical assault was not imminent. + +But Corliss herded her particularly to the door, and gave no heed. + +"A-turning ladies out!" she sniffed, with a stumble over the threshold; + +"No offence," Jake Cornell muttered, pacifically; "no offence." + +"Good-night. Sorry," Corliss said to Blanche, with the shadow of a +forgiving smile, as she passed out. + + +"You're a toff! That's wot you are, a bloomin' toff!" the Virgin +howled back as he shut the door. + +He looked blankly at Del Bishop and surveyed the sodden confusion on +the table. Then he walked over and threw himself down on his bunk. +Bishop leaned an elbow on the table and pulled at his wheezy pipe. The +lamp smoked, flickered, and went out; but still he remained, filling +his pipe again and again and striking endless matches. + +"Del! Are you awake?" Corliss called at last. + +Del grunted. + +"I was a cur to turn them out into the snow. I am ashamed." + +"Sure," was the affirmation. + +A long silence followed. Del knocked the ashes out and raised up. + +"'Sleep?" he called. + +There was no reply, and he walked to the bunk softly and pulled the +blankets over the engineer. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +"Yes; what does it all mean?" Corliss stretched lazily, and cocked up +his feet on the table. He was not especially interested, but Colonel +Trethaway persisted in talking seriously. + +"That's it! The very thing--the old and ever young demand which man +slaps into the face of the universe." The colonel searched among the +scraps in his note-book. "See," holding up a soiled slip of typed +paper, "I copied this out years ago. Listen. 'What a monstrous +spectre is this man, this disease of the agglutinated dust, lifting +alternate feet or lying drugged with slumber; killing, feeding, +growing, bringing forth small copies of himself; grown up with hair +like grass, fitted with eyes that glitter in his face; a thing to set +children screaming. Poor soul, here for so little, cast among so many +hardships, filled with desires so incommensurate and so inconsistent; +savagely surrounded, savagely descended, irremediably condemned to prey +upon his fellow-lives. Infinitely childish, often admirably valiant, +often touchingly kind; sitting down to debate of right or wrong and the +attributes of the deity; rising up to battle for an egg or die for an +idea!' + +"And all to what end?" he demanded, hotly, throwing down the paper, +"this disease of the agglutinated dust?" + +Corliss yawned in reply. He had been on trail all day and was yearning +for between-blankets. + +"Here am I, Colonel Trethaway, modestly along in years, fairly well +preserved, a place in the community, a comfortable bank account, no +need to ever exert myself again, yet enduring life bleakly and working +ridiculously with a zest worthy of a man half my years. And to what +end? I can only eat so much, smoke so much, sleep so much, and this +tail-dump of earth men call Alaska is the worst of all possible places +in the matter of grub, tobacco, and blankets." + +"But it is the living strenuously which holds you," Corliss interjected. + +"Frona's philosophy," the colonel sneered. + +"And my philosophy, and yours." + +"And of the agglutinated dust--" + +"Which is quickened with a passion you do not take into account,--the +passion of duty, of race, of God!" + +"And the compensation?" Trethaway demanded. + +"Each breath you draw. The Mayfly lives an hour." + +"I don't see it." + +"Blood and sweat! Blood and sweat! You cried that after the rough and +tumble in the Opera House, and every word of it was receipt in full." + +"Frona's philosophy." + +"And yours and mine." + +The colonel threw up his shoulders, and after a pause confessed. "You +see, try as I will, I can't make a pessimist out of myself. We are all +compensated, and I more fully than most men. What end? I asked, and +the answer forthcame: Since the ultimate end is beyond us, then the +immediate. More compensation, here and now!" + +"Quite hedonistic." + +"And rational. I shall look to it at once. I can buy grub and +blankets for a score; I can eat and sleep for only one; ergo, why not +for two?" + +Corliss took his feet down and sat up. "In other words?" + +"I shall get married, and--give the community a shock. Communities +like shocks. That's one of their compensations for being +agglutinative." + +"I can't think of but one woman," Corliss essayed tentatively, putting +out his hand. + +Trethaway shook it slowly. "It is she." + +Corliss let go, and misgiving shot into his face. "But St. Vincent?" + +"Is your problem, not mine." + +"Then Lucile--?" + +"Certainly not. She played a quixotic little game of her own and +botched it beautifully." + +"I--I do not understand." Corliss brushed his brows in a dazed sort of +way. + +Trethaway parted his lips in a superior smile. "It is not necessary +that you should. The question is, Will you stand up with me?" + +"Surely. But what a confoundedly long way around you took. It is not +your usual method." + +"Nor was it with her," the colonel declared, twisting his moustache +proudly. + + +A captain of the North-West Mounted Police, by virtue of his +magisterial office, may perform marriages in time of stress as well as +execute exemplary justice. So Captain Alexander received a call from +Colonel Trethaway, and after he left jotted down an engagement for the +next morning. Then the impending groom went to see Frona. Lucile did +not make the request, he hastened to explain, but--well, the fact was +she did not know any women, and, furthermore, he (the colonel) knew +whom Lucile would like to ask, did she dare. So he did it upon his own +responsibility. And coming as a surprise, he knew it would be a great +joy to her. + +Frona was taken aback by the suddenness of it. Only the other day, it +was, that Lucile had made a plea to her for St. Vincent, and now it was +Colonel Trethaway! True, there had been a false quantity somewhere, +but now it seemed doubly false. Could it be, after all, that Lucile +was mercenary? These thoughts crowded upon her swiftly, with the +colonel anxiously watching her face the while. She knew she must +answer quickly, yet was distracted by an involuntary admiration for his +bravery. So she followed, perforce, the lead of her heart, and +consented. + +Yet the whole thing was rather strained when the four of them came +together, next day, in Captain Alexander's private office. There was a +gloomy chill about it. Lucile seemed ready to cry, and showed a +repressed perturbation quite unexpected of her; while, try as she +would, Frona could not call upon her usual sympathy to drive away the +coldness which obtruded intangibly between them. This, in turn, had a +consequent effect on Vance, and gave a certain distance to his manner +which forced him out of touch even with the colonel. + +Colonel Trethaway seemed to have thrown twenty years off his erect +shoulders, and the discrepancy in the match which Frona had felt +vanished as she looked at him. "He has lived the years well," she +thought, and prompted mysteriously, almost with vague apprehension she +turned her eyes to Corliss. But if the groom had thrown off twenty +years, Vance was not a whit behind. Since their last meeting he had +sacrificed his brown moustache to the frost, and his smooth face, +smitten with health and vigor, looked uncommonly boyish; and yet, +withal, the naked upper lip advertised a stiffness and resolution +hitherto concealed. Furthermore, his features portrayed a growth, and +his eyes, which had been softly firm, were now firm with the added +harshness or hardness which is bred of coping with things and coping +quickly,--the stamp of executiveness which is pressed upon men who do, +and upon all men who do, whether they drive dogs, buck the sea, or +dictate the policies of empires. + +When the simple ceremony was over, Frona kissed Lucile; but Lucile felt +that there was a subtle something wanting, and her eyes filled with +unshed tears. Trethaway, who had felt the aloofness from the start, +caught an opportunity with Frona while Captain Alexander and Corliss +were being pleasant to Mrs. Trethaway. + +"What's the matter, Frona?" the colonel demanded, bluntly. "I hope you +did not come under protest. I am sorry, not for you, because lack of +frankness deserves nothing, but for Lucile. It is not fair to her." + +"There has been a lack of frankness throughout." Her voice trembled. +"I tried my best,--I thought I could do better,--but I cannot feign +what I do not feel. I am sorry, but I . . . I am disappointed. No, I +cannot explain, and to you least of all." + +"Let's be above-board, Frona. St. Vincent's concerned?" + +She nodded. + +"And I can put my hand right on the spot. First place," he looked to +the side and saw Lucile stealing an anxious glance to him,--"first +place, only the other day she gave you a song about St. Vincent. +Second place, and therefore, you think her heart's not in this present +proposition; that she doesn't care a rap for me; in short, that she's +marrying me for reinstatement and spoils. Isn't that it?" + +"And isn't it enough? Oh, I am disappointed, Colonel Trethaway, +grievously, in her, in you, in myself." + +"Don't be a fool! I like you too well to see you make yourself one. +The play's been too quick, that is all. Your eye lost it. Listen. +We've kept it quiet, but she's in with the elect on French Hill. Her +claim's prospected the richest of the outfit. Present indication half +a million at least. In her own name, no strings attached. Couldn't +she take that and go anywhere in the world and reinstate herself? And +for that matter, you might presume that I am marrying her for spoils. +Frona, she cares for me, and in your ear, she's too good for me. My +hope is that the future will make up. But never mind that--haven't got +the time now. + +"You consider her affection sudden, eh? Let me tell you we've been +growing into each other from the time I came into the country, and with +our eyes open. St. Vincent? Pshaw! I knew it all the time. She got +it into her head that the whole of him wasn't worth a little finger of +you, and she tried to break things up. You'll never know how she +worked with him. I told her she didn't know the Welse, and she said +so, too, after. So there it is; take it or leave it." + +"But what do you think about St. Vincent?" + +"What I think is neither here nor there; but I'll tell you honestly +that I back her judgment. But that's not the point. What are you +going to do about it? about her? now?" + +She did not answer, but went back to the waiting group. Lucile saw her +coming and watched her face. + +"He's been telling you--?" + +"That I am a fool," Frona answered. "And I think I am." And with a +smile, "I take it on faith that I am, anyway. I--I can't reason it out +just now, but. . ." + +Captain Alexander discovered a prenuptial joke just about then, and led +the way over to the stove to crack it upon the colonel, and Vance went +along to see fair play. + +"It's the first time," Lucile was saying, "and it means more to me, so +much more, than to . . . most women. I am afraid. It is a terrible +thing for me to do. But I do love him, I do!" And when the joke had +been duly digested and they came back, she was sobbing, "Dear, dear +Frona." + +It was just the moment, better than he could have chosen; and capped +and mittened, without knocking, Jacob Welse came in. + +"The uninvited guest," was his greeting. "Is it all over? So?" And +he swallowed Lucile up in his huge bearskin. "Colonel, your hand, and +your pardon for my intruding, and your regrets for not giving me the +word. Come, out with them! Hello, Corliss! Captain Alexander, a good +day." + +"What have I done?" Frona wailed, received the bear-hug, and managed to +press his hand till it almost hurt. + +"Had to back the game," he whispered; and this time his hand did hurt. + +"Now, colonel, I don't know what your plans are, and I don't care. +Call them off. I've got a little spread down to the house, and the +only honest case of champagne this side of Circle. Of course, you're +coming, Corliss, and--" His eye roved past Captain Alexander with +hardly a pause. + +"Of course," came the answer like a flash, though the Chief Magistrate +of the Northwest had had time to canvass the possible results of such +unofficial action. "Got a hack?" + +Jacob Welse laughed and held up a moccasined foot. "Walking +be--chucked!" The captain started impulsively towards the door. "I'll +have the sleds up before you're ready. Three of them, and bells +galore!" + +So Trethaway's forecast was correct, and Dawson vindicated its +agglutinativeness by rubbing its eyes when three sleds, with three +scarlet-tuniced policemen swinging the whips, tore down its main +street; and it rubbed its eyes again when it saw the occupants thereof. + + +"We shall live quietly," Lucile told Frona. "The Klondike is not all +the world, and the best is yet to come." + +But Jacob Welse said otherwise. "We've got to make this thing go," he +said to Captain Alexander, and Captain Alexander said that he was +unaccustomed to backing out. + +Mrs. Schoville emitted preliminary thunders, marshalled the other +women, and became chronically seismic and unsafe. + +Lucile went nowhere save to Frona's. But Jacob Welse, who rarely went +anywhere, was often to be found by Colonel Trethaway's fireside, and +not only was he to be found there, but he usually brought somebody +along. "Anything on hand this evening?" he was wont to say on casual +meeting. "No? Then come along with me." Sometimes he said it with +lamb-like innocence, sometimes with a challenge brooding under his +bushy brows, and rarely did he fail to get his man. These men had +wives, and thus were the germs of dissolution sown in the ranks of the +opposition. + +Then, again, at Colonel Trethaway's there was something to be found +besides weak tea and small talk; and the correspondents, engineers, and +gentlemen rovers kept the trail well packed in that direction, though +it was the Kings, to a man, who first broke the way. So the Trethaway +cabin became the centre of things, and, backed commercially, +financially, and officially, it could not fail to succeed socially. + +The only bad effect of all this was to make the lives of Mrs. Schoville +and divers others of her sex more monotonous, and to cause them to lose +faith in certain hoary and inconsequent maxims. Furthermore, Captain +Alexander, as highest official, was a power in the land, and Jacob +Welse was the Company, and there was a superstition extant concerning +the unwisdom of being on indifferent terms with the Company. And the +time was not long till probably a bare half-dozen remained in outer +cold, and they were considered a warped lot, anyway. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +Quite an exodus took place in Dawson in the spring. Men, because they +had made stakes, and other men, because they had made none, bought up +the available dogs and rushed out for Dyea over the last ice. +Incidentally, it was discovered that Dave Harney possessed most of +these dogs. + +"Going out?" Jacob Welse asked him on a day when the meridian sun for +the first time felt faintly warm to the naked skin. + +"Well, I calkilate not. I'm clearin' three dollars a pair on the +moccasins I cornered, to say nothing but saw wood on the boots. Say, +Welse, not that my nose is out of joint, but you jest cinched me +everlastin' on sugar, didn't you?" + +Jacob Welse smiled. + +"And by the Jimcracky I'm squared! Got any rubber boots?" + +"No; went out of stock early in the winter." Dave snickered slowly. +"And I'm the pertickler party that hocus-pocused 'em." + +"Not you. I gave special orders to the clerks. They weren't sold in +lots." + +"No more they wa'n't. One man to the pair and one pair to the man, and +a couple of hundred of them; but it was my dust they chucked into the +scales an nobody else's. Drink? Don't mind. Easy! Put up your sack. +Call it rebate, for I kin afford it. . . Goin' out? Not this year, I +guess. Wash-up's comin'." + +A strike on Henderson the middle of April, which promised to be +sensational, drew St. Vincent to Stewart River. And a little later, +Jacob Welse, interested on Gallagher Gulch and with an eye riveted on +the copper mines of White River, went up into the same district, and +with him went Frona, for it was more vacation than business. In the +mean time, Corliss and Bishop, who had been on trail for a month or +more running over the Mayo and McQuestion Country, rounded up on the +left fork of Henderson, where a block of claims waited to be surveyed. + +But by May, spring was so far advanced that travel on the creeks became +perilous, and on the last of the thawing ice the miners travelled down +to the bunch of islands below the mouth of the Stewart, where they went +into temporary quarters or crowded the hospitality of those who +possessed cabins. Corliss and Bishop located on Split-up Island (so +called through the habit parties from the Outside had of dividing there +and going several ways), where Tommy McPherson was comfortably +situated. A couple of days later, Jacob Welse and Frona arrived from a +hazardous trip out of White River, and pitched tent on the high ground +at the upper end of Split-up. A few _chechaquos_, the first of the +spring rush, strung in exhausted and went into camp against the +breaking of the river. Also, there were still men going out who, +barred by the rotten ice, came ashore to build poling-boats and await +the break-up or to negotiate with the residents for canoes. Notably +among these was the Baron Courbertin. + +"Ah! Excruciating! Magnificent! Is it not?" + +So Frona first ran across him on the following day. "What?" she asked, +giving him her hand. + +"You! You!" doffing his cap. "It is a delight!" + +"I am sure--" she began. + +"No! No!" He shook his curly mop warmly. "It is not you. See!" He +turned to a Peterborough, for which McPherson had just mulcted him of +thrice its value. "The canoe! Is it not--not--what you Yankees +call--a bute?" + +"Oh, the canoe," she repeated, with a falling inflection of chagrin. + +"No! No! Pardon!" He stamped angrily upon the ground. "It is not +so. It is not you. It is not the canoe. It is--ah! I have it now! +It is your promise. One day, do you not remember, at Madame +Schoville's, we talked of the canoe, and of my ignorance, which was +sad, and you promised, you said--" + +"I would give you your first lesson?" + +"And is it not delightful? Listen! Do you not hear? The +rippling--ah! the rippling!--deep down at the heart of things! Soon +will the water run free. Here is the canoe! Here we meet! The first +lesson! Delightful! Delightful!" + +The next island below Split-up was known as Roubeau's Island, and was +separated from the former by a narrow back-channel. Here, when the +bottom had about dropped out of the trail, and with the dogs swimming +as often as not, arrived St. Vincent--the last man to travel the winter +trail. He went into the cabin of John Borg, a taciturn, gloomy +individual, prone to segregate himself from his kind. It was the +mischance of St. Vincent's life that of all cabins he chose Borg's for +an abiding-place against the break-up. + +"All right," the man said, when questioned by him. "Throw your +blankets into the corner. Bella'll clear the litter out of the spare +bunk." + +Not till evening did he speak again, and then, "You're big enough to do +your own cooking. When the woman's done with the stove you can fire +away." + +The woman, or Bella, was a comely Indian girl, young, and the prettiest +St. Vincent had run across. Instead of the customary greased +swarthiness of the race, her skin was clear and of a light-bronze tone, +and her features less harsh, more felicitously curved, than those +common to the blood. + +After supper, Borg, both elbows on table and huge misshapen hands +supporting chin and jaws, sat puffing stinking Siwash tobacco and +staring straight before him. It would have seemed ruminative, the +stare, had his eyes been softer or had he blinked; as it was, his face +was set and trance-like. + +"Have you been in the country long?" St. Vincent asked, endeavoring to +make conversation. + +Borg turned his sullen-black eyes upon him, and seemed to look into him +and through him and beyond him, and, still regarding him, to have +forgotten all about him. It was as though he pondered some great and +weighty matter--probably his sins, the correspondent mused nervously, +rolling himself a cigarette. When the yellow cube had dissipated +itself in curling fragrance, and he was deliberating about rolling a +second, Borg suddenly spoke. + +"Fifteen years," he said, and returned to his tremendous cogitation. + +Thereat, and for half an hour thereafter, St. Vincent, fascinated, +studied his inscrutable countenance. To begin with, it was a massive +head, abnormal and top-heavy, and its only excuse for being was the +huge bull-throat which supported it. It had been cast in a mould of +elemental generousness, and everything about it partook of the +asymmetrical crudeness of the elemental. The hair, rank of growth, +thick and unkempt, matted itself here and there into curious splotches +of gray; and again, grinning at age, twisted itself into curling locks +of lustreless black--locks of unusual thickness, like crooked fingers, +heavy and solid. The shaggy whiskers, almost bare in places, and in +others massing into bunchgrass-like clumps, were plentifully splashed +with gray. They rioted monstrously over his face and fell raggedly to +his chest, but failed to hide the great hollowed cheeks or the twisted +mouth. The latter was thin-lipped and cruel, but cruel only in a +passionless sort of way. But the forehead was the anomaly,--the +anomaly required to complete the irregularity of the face. For it was +a perfect forehead, full and broad, and rising superbly strong to its +high dome. It was as the seat and bulwark of some vast intelligence; +omniscience might have brooded there. + +Bella, washing the dishes and placing them away on the shelf behind +Borg's back, dropped a heavy tin cup. The cabin was very still, and +the sharp rattle came without warning. On the instant, with a brute +roar, the chair was overturned and Borg was on his feet, eyes blazing +and face convulsed. Bella gave an inarticulate, animal-like cry of +fear and cowered at his feet. St. Vincent felt his hair bristling, and +an uncanny chill, like a jet of cold air, played up and down his spine. +Then Borg righted the chair and sank back into his old position, chin +on hands and brooding ponderously. Not a word was spoken, and Bella +went on unconcernedly with the dishes, while St. Vincent rolled, a +shaky cigarette and wondered if it had been a dream. + +Jacob Welse laughed when the correspondent told him. "Just his way," +he said; "for his ways are like his looks,--unusual. He's an +unsociable beast. Been in the country more years than he can number +acquaintances. Truth to say, I don't think he has a friend in all +Alaska, not even among the Indians, and he's chummed thick with them +off and on. 'Johnny Sorehead,' they call him, but it might as well be +'Johnny Break-um-head,' for he's got a quick temper and a rough hand. +Temper! Some little misunderstanding popped up between him and the +agent at Arctic City. He was in the right, too,--agent's mistake,--but +he tabooed the Company on the spot and lived on straight meat for a +year. Then I happened to run across him at Tanana Station, and after +due explanations he consented to buy from us again." + +"Got the girl from up the head-waters of the White," Bill Brown told +St. Vincent. "Welse thinks he's pioneering in that direction, but Borg +could give him cards and spades on it and then win out. He's been over +the ground years ago. Yes, strange sort of a chap. Wouldn't hanker to +be bunk-mates with him." + +But St. Vincent did not mind the eccentricities of the man, for he +spent most of his time on Split-up Island with Frona and the Baron. +One day, however, and innocently, he ran foul of him. Two Swedes, +hunting tree-squirrels from the other end of Roubeau Island, had +stopped to ask for matches and to yarn a while in the warm sunshine of +the clearing. St. Vincent and Borg were accommodating them, the latter +for the most part in meditative monosyllables. Just to the rear, by +the cabin-door, Bella was washing clothes. The tub was a cumbersome +home-made affair, and half-full of water, was more than a fair match +for an ordinary woman. The correspondent noticed her struggling with +it, and stepped back quickly to her aid. + +With the tub between them, they proceeded to carry it to one side in +order to dump it where the ground drained from the cabin. St. Vincent +slipped in the thawing snow and the soapy water splashed up. Then +Bella slipped, and then they both slipped. Bella giggled and laughed, +and St. Vincent laughed back. The spring was in the air and in their +blood, and it was very good to be alive. Only a wintry heart could +deny a smile on such a day. Bella slipped again, tried to recover, +slipped with the other foot, and sat down abruptly. Laughing +gleefully, both of them, the correspondent caught her hands to pull her +to her feet. With a bound and a bellow, Borg was upon them. Their +hands were torn apart and St. Vincent thrust heavily backward. He +staggered for a couple of yards and almost fell. Then the scene of the +cabin was repeated. Bella cowered and grovelled in the muck, and her +lord towered wrathfully over her. + +"Look you," he said in stifled gutturals, turning to St. Vincent. "You +sleep in my cabin and you cook. That is enough. Let my woman alone." + +Things went on after that as though nothing had happened; St. Vincent +gave Bella a wide berth and seemed to have forgotten her existence. +But the Swedes went back to their end of the island, laughing at the +trivial happening which was destined to be significant. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +Spring, smiting with soft, warm hands, had come like a miracle, and now +lingered for a dreamy spell before bursting into full-blown summer. +The snow had left the bottoms and valleys and nestled only on the north +slopes of the ice-scarred ridges. The glacial drip was already in +evidence, and every creek in roaring spate. Each day the sun rose +earlier and stayed later. It was now chill day by three o'clock and +mellow twilight at nine. Soon a golden circle would be drawn around +the sky, and deep midnight become bright as high noon. The willows and +aspens had long since budded, and were now decking themselves in +liveries of fresh young green, and the sap was rising in the pines. + +Mother nature had heaved her waking sigh and gone about her brief +business. Crickets sang of nights in the stilly cabins, and in the +sunshine mosquitoes crept from out hollow logs and snug crevices among +the rocks,--big, noisy, harmless fellows, that had procreated the year +gone, lain frozen through the winter, and were now rejuvenated to buzz +through swift senility to second death. All sorts of creeping, +crawling, fluttering life came forth from the warming earth and +hastened to mature, reproduce, and cease. Just a breath of balmy air, +and then the long cold frost again--ah! they knew it well and lost no +time. Sand martins were driving their ancient tunnels into the soft +clay banks, and robins singing on the spruce-garbed islands. Overhead +the woodpecker knocked insistently, and in the forest depths the +partridge boom-boomed and strutted in virile glory. + +But in all this nervous haste the Yukon took no part. For many a +thousand miles it lay cold, unsmiling, dead. Wild fowl, driving up +from the south in wind-jamming wedges, halted, looked vainly for open +water, and quested dauntlessly on into the north. From bank to bank +stretched the savage ice. Here and there the water burst through and +flooded over, but in the chill nights froze solidly as ever. Tradition +has it that of old time the Yukon lay unbroken through three long +summers, and on the face of it there be traditions less easy of belief. + +So summer waited for open water, and the tardy Yukon took to stretching +of days and cracking its stiff joints. Now an air-hole ate into the +ice, and ate and ate; or a fissure formed, and grew, and failed to +freeze again. Then the ice ripped from the shore and uprose bodily a +yard. But still the river was loth to loose its grip. It was a slow +travail, and man, used to nursing nature with pigmy skill, able to +burst waterspouts and harness waterfalls, could avail nothing against +the billions of frigid tons which refused to run down the hill to +Bering Sea. + +On Split-up Island all were ready for the break-up. Waterways have +ever been first highways, and the Yukon was the sole highway in all the +land. So those bound up-river pitched their poling-boats and shod +their poles with iron, and those bound down caulked their scows and +barges and shaped spare sweeps with axe and drawing-knife. Jacob Welse +loafed and joyed in the utter cessation from work, and Frona joyed with +him in that it was good. But Baron Courbertin was in a fever at the +delay. His hot blood grew riotous after the long hibernation, and the +warm sunshine dazzled him with warmer fancies. + +"Oh! Oh! It will never break! Never!" And he stood gazing at the +surly ice and raining politely phrased anathema upon it. "It is a +conspiracy, poor La Bijou, a conspiracy!" He caressed La Bijou like it +were a horse, for so he had christened the glistening Peterborough +canoe. + +Frona and St. Vincent laughed and preached him the gospel of patience, +which he proceeded to tuck away into the deepest abysses of perdition +till interrupted by Jacob Welse. + +"Look, Courbertin! Over there, south of the bluff. Do you make out +anything? Moving?" + +"Yes; a dog." + +"It moves too slowly for a dog. Frona, get the glasses." + +Courbertin and St. Vincent sprang after them, but the latter knew their +abiding-place and returned triumphant. Jacob Welse put the binoculars +to his eyes and gazed steadily across the river. It was a sheer mile +from the island to the farther bank, and the sunglare on the ice was a +sore task to the vision. + +"It is a man." He passed the glasses to the Baron and strained +absently with his naked eyes. "And something is up." + +"He creeps!" the baron exclaimed. "The man creeps, he crawls, on hand +and knee! Look! See!" He thrust the glasses tremblingly into Frona's +hands. + +Looking across the void of shimmering white, it was difficult to +discern a dark object of such size when dimly outlined against an +equally dark background of brush and earth. But Frona could make the +man out with fair distinctness; and as she grew accustomed to the +strain she could distinguish each movement, and especially so when he +came to a wind-thrown pine. Sue watched painfully. Twice, after +tortuous effort, squirming and twisting, he failed in breasting the big +trunk, and on the third attempt, after infinite exertion, he cleared it +only to topple helplessly forward and fall on his face in the tangled +undergrowth. + +"It is a man." She turned the glasses over to St. Vincent. "And he is +crawling feebly. He fell just then this side of the log." + +"Does he move?" Jacob Welse asked, and, on a shake of St. Vincent's +head, brought his rifle from the tent. + +He fired six shots skyward in rapid succession. "He moves!" The +correspondent followed him closely. "He is crawling to the bank. Ah! +. . . No; one moment . . . Yes! He lies on the ground and raises his +hat, or something, on a stick. He is waving it." (Jacob Welse fired +six more shots.) "He waves again. Now he has dropped it and lies +quite still." + +All three looked inquiringly to Jacob Welse. + +He shrugged his shoulders. "How should I know? A white man or an +Indian; starvation most likely, or else he is injured." + +"But he may be dying," Frona pleaded, as though her father, who had +done most things, could do all things. + +"We can do nothing." + +"Ah! Terrible! terrible!" The baron wrung his hands. "Before our +very eyes, and we can do nothing! No!" he exclaimed, with swift +resolution, "it shall not be! I will cross the ice!" + +He would have started precipitately down the bank had not Jacob Welse +caught his arm. + +"Not such a rush, baron. Keep your head." + +"But--" + +"But nothing. Does the man want food, or medicine, or what? Wait a +moment. We will try it together." + +"Count me in," St. Vincent volunteered promptly, and Frona's eyes +sparkled. + +While she made up a bundle of food in the tent, the men provided and +rigged themselves with sixty or seventy feet of light rope. Jacob +Welse and St. Vincent made themselves fast to it at either end, and the +baron in the middle. He claimed the food as his portion, and strapped +it to his broad shoulders. Frona watched their progress from the bank. +The first hundred yards were easy going, but she noticed at once the +change when they had passed the limit of the fairly solid shore-ice. +Her father led sturdily, feeling ahead and to the side with his staff +and changing direction continually. + +St. Vincent, at the rear of the extended line, was the first to go +through, but he fell with the pole thrust deftly across the opening and +resting on the ice. His head did not go under, though the current +sucked powerfully, and the two men dragged him out after a sharp pull. +Frona saw them consult together for a minute, with much pointing and +gesticulating on the part of the baron, and then St. Vincent detach +himself and turn shoreward. + +"Br-r-r-r," he shivered, coming up the bank to her. "It's impossible." + +"But why didn't they come in?" she asked, a slight note of displeasure +manifest in her voice. + +"Said they were going to make one more try, first. That Courbertin is +hot-headed, you know." + +"And my father just as bull-headed," she smiled. "But hadn't you +better change? There are spare things in the tent." + +"Oh, no." He threw himself down beside her. "It's warm in the sun." + +For an hour they watched the two men, who had become mere specks of +black in the distance; for they had managed to gain the middle of the +river and at the same time had worked nearly a mile up-stream. Frona +followed them closely with the glasses, though often they were lost to +sight behind the ice-ridges. + +"It was unfair of them," she heard St. Vincent complain, "to say they +were only going to have one more try. Otherwise I should not have +turned back. Yet they can't make it--absolutely impossible." + +"Yes . . . No . . . Yes! They're turning back," she announced. "But +listen! What is that?" + +A hoarse rumble, like distant thunder, rose from the midst of the ice. +She sprang to her feet. "Gregory, the river can't be breaking!" + +"No, no; surely not. See, it is gone." The noise which had come from +above had died away downstream. + +"But there! There!" + +Another rumble, hoarser and more ominous than before, lifted itself and +hushed the robins and the squirrels. When abreast of them, it sounded +like a railroad train on a distant trestle. A third rumble, which +approached a roar and was of greater duration, began from above and +passed by. + +"Oh, why don't they hurry!" + +The two specks had stopped, evidently in conversation. She ran the +glasses hastily up and down the river. Though another roar had risen, +she could make out no commotion. The ice lay still and motionless. +The robins resumed their singing, and the squirrels were chattering +with spiteful glee. + +"Don't fear, Frona." St. Vincent put his arm about her protectingly. +"If there is any danger, they know it better than we, and they are +taking their time." + +"I never saw a big river break up," she confessed, and resigned herself +to the waiting. + +The roars rose and fell sporadically, but there were no other signs of +disruption, and gradually the two men, with frequent duckings, worked +inshore. The water was streaming from them and they were shivering +severely as they came up the bank. + +"At last!" Frona had both her father's hands in hers. "I thought you +would never come back." + +"There, there. Run and get dinner," Jacob Welse laughed. "There was +no danger." + +"But what was it?" + +"Stewart River's broken and sending its ice down under the Yukon ice. +We could hear the grinding plainly out there." + +"Ah! And it was terrible! terrible!" cried the baron. "And that poor, +poor man, we cannot save him!" + +"Yes, we can. We'll have a try with the dogs after dinner. Hurry, +Frona." + +But the dogs were a failure. Jacob Welse picked out the leaders as the +more intelligent, and with grub-packs on them drove them out from the +bank. They could not grasp what was demanded of them. Whenever they +tried to return they were driven back with sticks and clods and +imprecations. This only bewildered them, and they retreated out of +range, whence they raised their wet, cold paws and whined pitifully to +the shore. + +"If they could only make it once, they would understand, and then it +would go like clock-work. Ah! Would you? Go on! Chook, Miriam! +Chook! The thing is to get the first one across." + +Jacob Welse finally succeeded in getting Miriam, lead-dog to Frona's +team, to take the trail left by him and the baron. The dog went on +bravely, scrambling over, floundering through, and sometimes swimming; +but when she had gained the farthest point reached by them, she sat +down helplessly. Later on, she cut back to the shore at a tangent, +landing on the deserted island above; and an hour afterwards trotted +into camp minus the grub-pack. Then the two dogs, hovering just out of +range, compromised matters by devouring each other's burdens; after +which the attempt was given over and they were called in. + +During the afternoon the noise increased in frequency, and by nightfall +was continuous, but by morning it had ceased utterly. The river had +risen eight feet, and in many places was running over its crust. Much +crackling and splitting were going on, and fissures leaping into life +and multiplying in all directions. + +"The under-tow ice has jammed below among the islands," Jacob Welse +explained. "That's what caused the rise. Then, again, it has jammed +at the mouth of the Stewart and is backing up. When that breaks +through, it will go down underneath and stick on the lower jam." + +"And then? and then?" The baron exulted. + +"La Bijou will swim again." + +As the light grew stronger, they searched for the man across the river. +He had not moved, but in response to their rifle-shots waved feebly. + +"Nothing for it till the river breaks, baron, and then a dash with La +Bijou. St. Vincent, you had better bring your blankets up and sleep +here to-night. We'll need three paddles, and I think we can get +McPherson." + +"No need," the correspondent hastened to reply. "The back-channel is +like adamant, and I'll be up by daybreak." + +"But I? Why not?" Baron Courbertin demanded. Frona laughed. +"Remember, we haven't given you your first lessons yet." + +"And there'll hardly be time to-morrow," Jacob Welse added. "When she +goes, she goes with a rush. St. Vincent, McPherson, and I will have to +make the crew, I'm afraid. Sorry, baron. Stay with us another year +and you'll be fit." + +But Baron Courbertin was inconsolable, and sulked for a full half-hour. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +"Awake! You dreamers, wake!" + +Frona was out of her sleeping-furs at Del Bishop's first call; but ere +she had slipped a skirt on and bare feet into moccasins, her father, +beyond the blanket-curtain, had thrown back the flaps of the tent and +stumbled out. + +The river was up. In the chill gray light she could see the ice +rubbing softly against the very crest of the bank; it even topped it in +places, and the huge cakes worked inshore many feet. A hundred yards +out the white field merged into the dim dawn and the gray sky. Subdued +splits and splutters whispered from out the obscureness, and a gentle +grinding could be heard. + +"When will it go?" she asked of Del. + +"Not a bit too lively for us. See there!" He pointed with his toe to +the water lapping out from under the ice and creeping greedily towards +them. "A foot rise every ten minutes." + +"Danger?" he scoffed. "Not on your life. It's got to go. Them +islands"--waving his hand indefinitely down river--"can't hold up under +more pressure. If they don't let go the ice, the ice'll scour them +clean out of the bed of the Yukon. Sure! But I've got to be chasin' +back. Lower ground down our way. Fifteen inches on the cabin floor, +and McPherson and Corliss hustlin' perishables into the bunks." + +"Tell McPherson to be ready for a call," Jacob Welse shouted after him. +And then to Frona, "Now's the time for St. Vincent to cross the +back-channel." + +The baron, shivering barefooted, pulled out his watch. "Ten minutes to +three," he chattered. + +"Hadn't you better go back and get your moccasins?" Frona asked. +"There will be time." + +"And miss the magnificence? Hark!" + +From nowhere in particular a brisk crackling arose, then died away. +The ice was in motion. Slowly, very slowly, it proceeded down stream. +There was no commotion, no ear-splitting thunder, no splendid display +of force; simply a silent flood of white, an orderly procession of +tight-packed ice--packed so closely that not a drop of water was in +evidence. It was there, somewhere, down underneath; but it had to be +taken on faith. There was a dull hum or muffled grating, but so low in +pitch that the ear strained to catch it. + +"Ah! Where is the magnificence? It is a fake!" + +The baron shook his fists angrily at the river, and Jacob Welse's thick +brows seemed to draw down in order to hide the grim smile in his eyes. + +"Ha! ha! I laugh! I snap my fingers! See! I defy!" + +As the challenge left his lips. Baron Courbertin stepped upon a cake +which rubbed lightly past at his feet. So unexpected was it, that when +Jacob Welse reached after him he was gone. + +The ice was picking up in momentum, and the hum growing louder and more +threatening. Balancing gracefully, like a circus-rider, the Frenchman +whirled away along the rim of the bank. Fifty precarious feet he rode, +his mount becoming more unstable every instant, and he leaped neatly to +the shore. He came back laughing, and received for his pains two or +three of the choicest phrases Jacob Welse could select from the +essentially masculine portion of his vocabulary. + +"And for why?" Courbertin demanded, stung to the quick. + +"For why?" Jacob Welse mimicked wrathfully, pointing into the sleek +stream sliding by. + +A great cake had driven its nose into the bed of the river thirty feet +below and was struggling to up-end. All the frigid flood behind +crinkled and bent back like so much paper. Then the stalled cake +turned completely over and thrust its muddy nose skyward. But the +squeeze caught it, while cake mounted cake at its back, and its fifty +feet of muck and gouge were hurled into the air. It crashed upon the +moving mass beneath, and flying fragments landed at the feet of those +that watched. Caught broadside in a chaos of pressures, it crumbled +into scattered pieces and disappeared. + +"God!" The baron spoke the word reverently and with awe. + +Frona caught his hand on the one side and her father's on the other. +The ice was now leaping past in feverish haste. Somewhere below a +heavy cake butted into the bank, and the ground swayed under their +feet. Another followed it, nearer the surface, and as they sprang +back, upreared mightily, and, with a ton or so of soil on its broad +back, bowled insolently onward. And yet another, reaching inshore like +a huge hand, ripped three careless pines out by the roots and bore them +away. + +Day had broken, and the driving white gorged the Yukon from shore to +shore. What of the pressure of pent water behind, the speed of the +flood had become dizzying. Down all its length the bank was being +gashed and gouged, and the island was jarring and shaking to its +foundations. + +"Oh, great! Great!" Frona sprang up and down between the men. "Where +is your fake, baron?" + +"Ah!" He shook his head. "Ah! I was wrong. I am miserable. But the +magnificence! Look!" + +He pointed down to the bunch of islands which obstructed the bend. +There the mile-wide stream divided and subdivided again,--which was +well for water, but not so well for packed ice. The islands drove +their wedged heads into the frozen flood and tossed the cakes high into +the air. But cake pressed upon cake and shelved out of the water, out +and up, sliding and grinding and climbing, and still more cakes from +behind, till hillocks and mountains of ice upreared and crashed among +the trees. + +"A likely place for a jam," Jacob Welse said. "Get the glasses, +Frona." He gazed through them long and steadily. "It's growing, +spreading out. A cake at the right time and the right place . . ." + +"But the river is falling!" Frona cried. + +The ice had dropped six feet below the top of the bank, and the Baron +Courbertin marked it with a stick. + +"Our man's still there, but he doesn't move." + +It was clear day, and the sun was breaking forth in the north-east. +They took turn about with the glasses in gazing across the river. + +"Look! Is it not marvellous?" Courbertin pointed to the mark he had +made. The water had dropped another foot. "Ah! Too bad! too bad! +The jam; there will be none!" + +Jacob Welse regarded him gravely. + +"Ah! There will be?" he asked, picking up hope. + +Frona looked inquiringly at her father. + +"Jams are not always nice," he said, with a short laugh. "It all +depends where they take place and where you happen to be." + +"But the river! Look! It falls; I can see it before my eyes." + +"It is not too late." He swept the island-studded bend and saw the +ice-mountains larger and reaching out one to the other. "Go into the +tent, Courbertin, and put on the pair of moccasins you'll find by the +stove. Go on. You won't miss anything. And you, Frona, start the +fire and get the coffee under way." + +Half an hour after, though the river had fallen twenty feet, they found +the ice still pounding along. + +"Now the fun begins. Here, take a squint, you hot-headed Gaul. The +left-hand channel, man. Now she takes it!" + +Courbertin saw the left-hand channel close, and then a great white +barrier heave up and travel from island to island. The ice before them +slowed down and came to rest. Then followed the instant rise of the +river. Up it came in a swift rush, as though nothing short of the sky +could stop it. As when they were first awakened, the cakes rubbed and +slid inshore over the crest of the bank, the muddy water creeping in +advance and marking the way. + +"Mon Dieu! But this is not nice!" + +"But magnificent, baron," Frona teased. "In the meanwhile you are +getting your feet wet." + +He retreated out of the water, and in time, for a small avalanche of +cakes rattled down upon the place he had just left. The rising water +had forced the ice up till it stood breast-high above the island like a +wall. + +"But it will go down soon when the jam breaks. See, even now it comes +up not so swift. It has broken." + +Frona was watching the barrier. "No, it hasn't," she denied. + +"But the water no longer rises like a race-horse." + +"Nor does it stop rising." + +He was puzzled for the nonce. Then his face brightened. "Ah! I have +it! Above, somewhere, there is another jam. Most excellent, is it +not?" + +She caught his excited hand in hers and detained him. "But, listen. +Suppose the upper jam breaks and the lower jam holds?" + +He looked at her steadily till he grasped the full import. His face +flushed, and with a quick intake of the breath he straightened up and +threw back his head. He made a sweeping gesture as though to include +the island. "Then you, and I, the tent, the boats, cabins, trees, +everything, and La Bijou! Pouf! and all are gone, to the devil!" + +Frona shook her head. "It is too bad." + +"Bad? Pardon. Magnificent!" + +"No, no, baron; not that. But that you are not an Anglo-Saxon. The +race could well be proud of you." + +"And you, Frona, would you not glorify the French!" + +"At it again, eh? Throwing bouquets at yourselves." Del Bishop +grinned at them, and made to depart as quickly as he had come. "But +twist yourselves. Some sick men in a cabin down here. Got to get 'em +out. You're needed. And don't be all day about it," he shouted over +his shoulder as he disappeared among the trees. + +The river was still rising, though more slowly, and as soon as they +left the high ground they were splashing along ankle-deep in the water. +Winding in and out among the trees, they came upon a boat which had +been hauled out the previous fall. And three _chechaquos_, who had +managed to get into the country thus far over the ice, had piled +themselves into it, also their tent, sleds, and dogs. But the boat was +perilously near the ice-gorge, which growled and wrestled and +over-topped it a bare dozen feet away. + +"Come! Get out of this, you fools!" Jacob Welse shouted as he went +past. + +Del Bishop had told them to "get the hell out of there" when he ran by, +and they could not understand. One of them turned up an unheeding, +terrified face. Another lay prone and listless across the thwarts as +though bereft of strength; while the third, with the face of a clerk, +rocked back and forth and moaned monotonously, "My God! My God!" + +The baron stopped long enough to shake him. "Damn!" he cried. "Your +legs, man!--not God, but your legs! Ah! ah!--hump yourself! Yes, +hump! Get a move on! Twist! Get back from the bank! The woods, the +trees, anywhere!" + +He tried to drag him out, but the man struck at him savagely and held +back. + +"How one collects the vernacular," he confided proudly to Frona as they +hurried on. "Twist! It is a strong word, and suitable." + +"You should travel with Del," she laughed. "He'd increase your stock +in no time." + +"You don't say so." + +"Yes, but I do." + +"Ah! Your idioms. I shall never learn." And he shook his head +despairingly with both his hands. + +They came out in a clearing, where a cabin stood close to the river. +On its flat earth-roof two sick men, swathed in blankets, were lying, +while Bishop, Corliss, and Jacob Welse were splashing about inside the +cabin after the clothes-bags and general outfit. The mean depth of the +flood was a couple of feet, but the floor of the cabin had been dug out +for purposes of warmth, and there the water was to the waist. + +"Keep the tobacco dry," one of the sick men said feebly from the roof. + +"Tobacco, hell!" his companion advised. "Look out for the flour. And +the sugar," he added, as an afterthought. + +"That's 'cause Bill he don't smoke, miss," the first man explained. +"But keep an eye on it, won't you?" he pleaded. + +"Here. Now shut up." Del tossed the canister beside him, and the man +clutched it as though it were a sack of nuggets. + +"Can I be of any use?" she asked, looking up at them. + +"Nope. Scurvy. Nothing'll do 'em any good but God's country and raw +potatoes." The pocket-miner regarded her for a moment. "What are you +doing here, anyway? Go on back to high ground." + +But with a groan and a crash, the ice-wall bulged in. A fifty-ton cake +ended over, splashing them with muddy water, and settled down before +the door. A smaller cake drove against the out-jutting corner-logs and +the cabin reeled. Courbertin and Jacob Welse were inside. + +"After you," Frona heard the baron, and then her father's short amused +laugh; and the gallant Frenchman came out last, squeezing his way +between the cake and the logs. + +"Say, Bill, if that there lower jam holds, we're goners;" the man with +the canister called to his partner. + +"Ay, that it will," came the answer. "Below Nulato I saw Bixbie Island +swept clean as my old mother's kitchen floor." + +The men came hastily together about Frona. + +"This won't do. We've got to carry them over to your shack, Corliss." +As he spoke, Jacob Welse clambered nimbly up the cabin and gazed down +at the big barrier. "Where's McPherson?" he asked. + +"Petrified astride the ridge-pole this last hour." + +Jacob Welse waved his arm. "It's breaking! There she goes!" + +"No kitchen floor this time. Bill, with my respects to your old +woman," called he of the tobacco. + +"Ay," answered the imperturbable Bill. + +The whole river seemed to pick itself up and start down the stream. +With the increasing motion the ice-wall broke in a hundred places, and +from up and down the shore came the rending and crashing of uprooted +trees. + +Corliss and Bishop laid hold of Bill and started off to McPherson's, +and Jacob Welse and the baron were just sliding his mate over the +eaves, when a huge block of ice rammed in and smote the cabin squarely. +Frona saw it, and cried a warning, but the tiered logs were overthrown +like a house of cards. She saw Courbertin and the sick man hurled +clear of the wreckage, and her father go down with it. She sprang to +the spot, but he did not rise. She pulled at him to get his mouth +above water, but at full stretch his head, barely showed. Then she let +go and felt about with her hands till she found his right arm jammed +between the logs. These she could not move, but she thrust between +them one of the roof-poles which had underlaid the dirt and moss. It +was a rude handspike and hardly equal to the work, for when she threw +her weight upon the free end it bent and crackled. Heedful of the +warning, she came in a couple of feet and swung upon it tentatively and +carefully till something gave and Jacob Welse shoved his muddy face +into the air. + +He drew half a dozen great breaths, and burst out, "But that tastes +good!" And then, throwing a quick glance about him, Frona, Del Bishop +is a most veracious man." + +"Why?" she asked, perplexedly. + +"Because he said you'd do, you know." + +He kissed her, and they both spat the mud from their lips, laughing. +Courbertin floundered round a corner of the wreckage. + +"Never was there such a man!" he cried, gleefully. "He is mad, crazy! +There is no appeasement. His skull is cracked by the fall, and his +tobacco is gone. It is chiefly the tobacco which is lamentable." + +But his skull was not cracked, for it was merely a slit of the scalp of +five inches or so. + +"You'll have to wait till the others come back. I can't carry." Jacob +Welse pointed to his right arm, which hung dead. "Only wrenched," he +explained. "No bones broken." + +The baron struck an extravagant attitude and pointed down at Frona's +foot. "Ah! the water, it is gone, and there, a jewel of the flood, a +pearl of price!" + +Her well-worn moccasins had gone rotten from the soaking, and a little +white toe peeped out at the world of slime. + +"Then I am indeed wealthy, baron; for I have nine others." + +"And who shall deny? who shall deny?" he cried, fervently. + +"What a ridiculous, foolish, lovable fellow it is!" + +"I kiss your hand." And he knelt gallantly in the muck. + +She jerked her hand away, and, burying it with its mate in his curly +mop, shook his head back and forth. "What shall I do with him, father?" + +Jacob Welse shrugged his shoulders and laughed; and she turned +Courbertin's face up and kissed him on the lips. And Jacob Welse knew +that his was the larger share in that manifest joy. + + +The river, fallen to its winter level, was pounding its ice-glut +steadily along. But in falling it had rimmed the shore with a +twenty-foot wall of stranded floes. The great blocks were spilled +inland among the thrown and standing trees and the slime-coated flowers +and grasses like the titanic vomit of some Northland monster. The sun +was not idle, and the steaming thaw washed the mud and foulness from +the bergs till they blazed like heaped diamonds in the brightness, or +shimmered opalescent-blue. Yet they were reared hazardously one on +another, and ever and anon flashing towers and rainbow minarets +crumbled thunderously into the flood. By one of the gaps so made lay +La Bijou, and about it, saving _chechaquos_ and sick men, were grouped +the denizens of Split-up. + +"Na, na, lad; twa men'll be a plenty." Tommy McPherson sought about +him with his eyes for corroboration. "Gin ye gat three i' the canoe +'twill be ower comfortable." + +"It must be a dash or nothing," Corliss spoke up. "We need three men, +Tommy, and you know it." + +"Na, na; twa's a plenty, I'm tellin' ye." + +"But I'm afraid we'll have to do with two." + +The Scotch-Canadian evinced his satisfaction openly. "Mair'd be a +bother; an' I doot not ye'll mak' it all richt, lad." + +"And you'll make one of those two, Tommy," Corliss went on, inexorably. + +"Na; there's ithers a plenty wi'oot coontin' me." + +"No, there's not. Courbertin doesn't know the first thing. St. +Vincent evidently cannot cross the slough. Mr. Welse's arm puts him +out of it. So it's only you and I, Tommy." + +"I'll not be inqueesitive, but yon son of Anak's a likely mon. He maun +pit oop a guid stroke." While the Scot did not lose much love for the +truculent pocket-miner, he was well aware of his grit, and seized the +chance to save himself by shoving the other into the breach. + +Del Bishop stepped into the centre of the little circle, paused, and +looked every man in the eyes before he spoke. + +"Is there a man here'll say I'm a coward?" he demanded without preface. +Again he looked each one in the eyes. "Or is there a man who'll even +hint that I ever did a curlike act?" And yet again he searched the +circle. "Well and good. I hate the water, but I've never been afraid +of it. I don't know how to swim, yet I've been over the side more +times than it's good to remember. I can't pull an oar without batting +my back on the bottom of the boat. As for steering--well, authorities +say there's thirty-two points to the compass, but there's at least +thirty more when I get started. And as sure as God made little apples, +I don't know my elbow from my knee about a paddle. I've capsized damn +near every canoe I ever set foot in. I've gone right through the +bottom of two. I've turned turtle in the Canyon and been pulled out +below the White Horse. I can only keep stroke with one man, and that +man's yours truly. But, gentlemen, if the call comes, I'll take my +place in La Bijou and take her to hell if she don't turn over on the +way." + +Baron Courbertin threw his arms about him, crying, "As sure as God made +little apples, thou art a man!" + +Tommy's face was white, and he sought refuge in speech from the silence +which settled down. "I'll deny I lift a guid paddle, nor that my wind +is fair; but gin ye gang a tithe the way the next jam'll be on us. For +my pairt I conseeder it ay rash. Bide a wee till the river's clear, +say I." + +"It's no go, Tommy," Jacob Welse admonished. "You can't cash excuses +here." + +"But, mon! It doesna need discreemeenation--" + +"That'll do!" from Corliss. "You're coming." + +"I'll naething o' the sort. I'll--" + +"Shut up!" Del had come into the world with lungs of leather and +larynx of brass, and when he thus jerked out the stops the Scotsman +quailed and shrank down. + +"Oyez! Oyez!" In contrast to Del's siren tones, Frona's were purest +silver as they rippled down-island through the trees. "Oyez! Oyez! +Open water! Open water! And wait a minute. I'll be with you." + +Three miles up-stream, where the Yukon curved grandly in from the west, +a bit of water appeared. It seemed too marvellous for belief, after +the granite winter; but McPherson, untouched of imagination, began a +crafty retreat. + +"Bide a wee, bide a wee," he protested, when collared by the +pocket-miner. "A've forgot my pipe." + +"Then you'll bide with us, Tommy," Del sneered. "And I'd let you have +a draw of mine if your own wasn't sticking out of your pocket." + +"'Twas the baccy I'd in mind." + +"Then dig into this." He shoved his pouch into McPherson's shaking +hands. "You'd better shed your coat. Here! I'll help you. And +private, Tommy, if you don't act the man, I won't do a thing to you. +Sure." + +Corliss had stripped his heavy flannel shirt for freedom; and it was +plain, when Frona joined them, that she also had been shedding. Jacket +and skirt were gone, and her underskirt of dark cloth ceased midway +below the knee. + +"You'll do," Del commended. + +Jacob Welse looked at her anxiously, and went over to where she was +testing the grips of the several paddles. "You're not--?" he began. + +She nodded. + +"You're a guid girl," McPherson broke in. "Now, a've a wumman to home, +to say naething o' three bairns--" + +"All ready!" Corliss lifted the bow of La Bijou and looked back. + +The turbid water lashed by on the heels of the ice-run. Courbertin +took the stern in the steep descent, and Del marshalled Tommy's +reluctant rear. A flat floe, dipping into the water at a slight +incline, served as the embarking-stage. + +"Into the bow with you, Tommy!" + +The Scotsman groaned, felt Bishop breathe heavily at his back, and +obeyed; Frona meeting his weight by slipping into the stern. + +"I can steer," she assured Corliss, who for the first time was aware +that she was coming. + +He glanced up to Jacob Welse, as though for consent, and received it. + +"Hit 'er up! Hit 'er up!" Del urged impatiently. "You're burnin' +daylight!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +La Bijou was a perfect expression of all that was dainty and delicate +in the boat-builder's soul. Light as an egg-shell, and as fragile, her +three-eighths-inch skin offered no protection from a driving chunk of +ice as small as a man's head. Nor, though the water was open, did she +find a clear way, for the river was full of scattered floes which had +crumbled down from the rim-ice. And here, at once, through skilful +handling, Corliss took to himself confidence in Frona. + +It was a great picture: the river rushing blackly between its +crystalline walls; beyond, the green woods stretching upward to touch +the cloud-flecked summer sky; and over all, like a furnace blast, the +hot sun beating down. A great picture, but somehow Corliss's mind +turned to his mother and her perennial tea, the soft carpets, the prim +New England maid-servants, the canaries singing in the wide windows, +and he wondered if she could understand. And when he thought of the +woman behind him, and felt the dip and lift, dip and lift, of her +paddle, his mother's women came back to him, one by one, and passed in +long review,--pale, glimmering ghosts, he thought, caricatures of the +stock which had replenished the earth, and which would continue to +replenish the earth. + +La Bijou skirted a pivoting floe, darted into a nipping channel, and +shot out into the open with the walls grinding together behind. Tommy +groaned. + +"Well done!" Corliss encouraged. + +"The fule wumman!" came the backward snarl. "Why couldna she bide a +bit?" + +Frona caught his words and flung a laugh defiantly. Vance darted a +glance over his shoulder to her, and her smile was witchery. Her cap, +perched precariously, was sliding off, while her flying hair, aglint in +the sunshine, framed her face as he had seen it framed on the Dyea +Trail. + +"How I should like to sing, if it weren't for saving one's breath. Say +the 'Song of the Sword,' or the 'Anchor Chanty.'" + +"Or the 'First Chanty,'" Corliss answered. "'Mine was the woman, +darkling I found her,'" he hummed, significantly. + +She flashed her paddle into the water on the opposite side in order to +go wide of a jagged cake, and seemed not to hear. "I could go on this +way forever." + +"And I," Corliss affirmed, warmly. + +But she refused to take notice, saying, instead, "Vance, do you know +I'm glad we're friends?" + +"No fault of mine we're not more." + +"You're losing your stroke, sir," she reprimanded; and he bent silently +to the work. + +La Bijou was driving against the current at an angle of forty-five +degrees, and her resultant course was a line at right angles to the +river. Thus, she would tap the western bank directly opposite the +starting-point, where she could work up-stream in the slacker flood. +But a mile of indented shore, and then a hundred yards of bluffs rising +precipitously from out a stiff current would still lie between them and +the man to be rescued. + +"Now let us ease up," Corliss advised, as they slipped into an eddy and +drifted with the back-tide under the great wall of rim-ice. + +"Who would think it mid-May?" She glanced up at the carelessly poised +cakes. "Does it seem real to you, Vance?" + +He shook his head. + +"Nor to me. I know that I, Frona, in the flesh, am here, in a +Peterborough, paddling for dear life with two men; year of our Lord +eighteen hundred and ninety-eight, Alaska, Yukon River; this is water, +that is ice; my arms are tired, my heart up a few beats, and I am +sweating,--and yet it seems all a dream. Just think! A year ago I was +in Paris!" She drew a deep breath and looked out over the water to the +further shore, where Jacob Welse's tent, like a snowy handkerchief, +sprawled against the deep green of the forest. "I do not believe there +is such a place," she added. "There is no Paris." + +"And I was in London a twelvemonth past," Corliss meditated. "But I +have undergone a new incarnation. London? There is no London now. It +is impossible. How could there be so many people in the world? This +is the world, and we know of fact that there are very few people in it, +else there could not be so much ice and sea and sky. Tommy, here, I +know, thinks fondly of a place he calls Toronto. He mistakes. It +exists only in his mind,--a memory of a former life he knew. Of +course, he does not think so. That is but natural; for he is no +philosopher, nor does he bother--" + +"Wheest, will ye!" Tommy fiercely whispered. "Your gabble'll bring it +doon aboot oor heads." + +Life is brief in the Northland, and fulfilment ever clutters the heels +of prophecy. A premonitory tremor sighed down the air, and the rainbow +wall swayed above them. The three paddles gripped the water with +common accord. La Bijou leaped out from under. Broadside after +broadside flared and crashed, and a thousand frigid tons thundered down +behind them. The displaced water surged outward in a foamy, upstanding +circle, and La Bijou, striving wildly to rise, ducked through the stiff +overhang of the crest and wallowed, half-full, in the trough. + +"Dinna I tell ye, ye gabbling fules!" + +"Sit still, and bail!" Corliss checked him sharply. "Or you'll not +have the comfort of telling us anything." + +He shook his head at Frona, and she winked back; then they both +chuckled, much like children over an escapade which looks disastrous +but turns out well. + +Creeping timidly under the shadow of the impending avalanches, La Bijou +slipped noiselessly up the last eddy. A corner of the bluff rose +savagely from the river--a monstrous mass of naked rock, scarred and +battered of the centuries; hating the river that gnawed it ever; hating +the rain that graved its grim face with unsightly seams; hating the sun +that refused to mate with it, whereof green life might come forth and +hide its hideousness. The whole force of the river hurled in against +it, waged furious war along its battlements, and caromed off into +mid-stream again. Down all its length the stiff waves stood in serried +rows, and its crevices and water-worn caverns were a-bellow with unseen +strife. + +"Now! Bend to it! Your best!" + +It was the last order Corliss could give, for in the din they were +about to enter a man's voice were like a cricket's chirp amid the +growling of an earthquake. La Bijou sprang forward, cleared the eddy +with a bound, and plunged into the thick. _Dip and lift, dip and +lift_, the paddles worked with rhythmic strength. The water rippled +and tore, and pulled all ways at once; and the fragile shell, unable to +go all ways at once, shook and quivered with the shock of resistance. +It veered nervously to the right and left, but Frona held it with a +hand of steel. A yard away a fissure in the rock grinned at them. La +Bijou leaped and shot ahead, and the water, slipping away underneath, +kept her always in one place. Now they surged out from the fissure, +now in; ahead for half a yard, then back again; and the fissure mocked +their toil. + +Five minutes, each of which sounded a separate eternity, and the +fissure was past. Ten minutes, and it was a hundred feet astern. _Dip +and lift, dip and lift_, till sky and earth and river were blotted out, +and consciousness dwindled to a thin line,--a streak of foam, fringed +on the one hand with sneering rock, on the other with snarling water. +That thin line summed up all. Somewhere below was the beginning of +things; somewhere above, beyond the roar and traffic, was the end of +things; and for that end they strove. + +And still Frona held the egg-shell with a hand of steel. What they +gained they held, and fought for more, inch by inch, _dip and lift_; +and all would have been well but for the flutter of Tommy's soul. A +cake of ice, sucked beneath by the current, rose under his paddle with +a flurry of foam, turned over its toothed edge, and was dragged back +into the depths. And in that sight he saw himself, hair streaming +upward and drowned hands clutching emptiness, going feet first, down +and down. He stared, wide-eyed, at the portent, and his poised paddle +refused to strike. On the instant the fissure grinned in their faces, +and the next they were below the bluffs, drifting gently in the eddy. + +Frona lay, head thrown back, sobbing at the sun; amidships Corliss +sprawled panting; and forward, choking and gasping and nerveless, the +Scotsman drooped his head upon his knees. La Bijou rubbed softly +against the rim-ice and came to rest. The rainbow-wall hung above like +a fairy pile; the sun, flung backward from innumerable facets, clothed +it in jewelled splendor. Silvery streams tinkled down its crystal +slopes; and in its clear depths seemed to unfold, veil on veil, the +secrets of life and death and mortal striving,--vistas of +pale-shimmering azure opening like dream-visions, and promising, down +there in the great cool heart, infinite rest, infinite cessation and +rest. + +The topmost tower, delicately massive, a score of feet above them, +swayed to and fro, gently, like the ripple of wheat in light summer +airs. But Corliss gazed at it unheeding. Just to lie there, on the +marge of the mystery, just to lie there and drink the air in great +gulps, and do nothing!--he asked no more. A dervish, whirling on heel +till all things blur, may grasp the essence of the universe and prove +the Godhead indivisible; and so a man, plying a paddle, and plying and +plying, may shake off his limitations and rise above time and space. +And so Corliss. + +But gradually his blood ceased its mad pounding, and the air was no +longer nectar-sweet, and a sense of things real and pressing came back +to him. + +"We've got to get out of this," he said. His voice sounded like a +man's whose throat has been scorched by many and long potations. It +frightened him, but he limply lifted a shaking paddle and shoved off. + +"Yes; let us start, by all means," Frona said in a dim voice, which +seemed to come to him from a far distance. + +Tommy lifted his head and gazed about. "A doot we'll juist hae to gie +it oop." + +"Bend to it!" + +"Ye'll no try it anither?" + +"Bend to it!" Corliss repeated. + +"Till your heart bursts, Tommy," Frona added. + +Once again they fought up the thin line, and all the world vanished, +save the streak of foam, and the snarling water, and the grinning +fissure. But they passed it, inch by inch, and the broad bend welcomed +them from above, and only a rocky buttress of implacable hate, around +whose base howled the tides of an equal hate, stood between. Then La +Bijou leaped and throbbed and shook again, and the current slid out +from under, and they remained ever in one place. _Dip and lift, dip +and lift_, through an infinity of time and torture and travail, till +even the line dimmed and faded and the struggle lost its meaning. +Their souls became merged in the rhythm of the toil. Ever lifting, +ever falling, they seemed to have become great pendulums of time. And +before and behind glimmered the eternities, and between the eternities, +ever lifting, ever falling, they pulsed in vast rhythmical movement. +They were no longer humans, but rhythms. They surged in till their +paddles touched the bitter rock, but they did not know; surged out, +where chance piloted them unscathed through the lashing ice, but they +did not see. Nor did they feel the shock of the smitten waves, nor the +driving spray that cooled their faces. . . + +La Bijou veered out into the stream, and their paddles, flashing +mechanically in the sunshine, held her to the return angle across the +river. As time and matter came back to them, and Split-up Island +dawned upon their eyes like the foreshore of a new world, they settled +down to the long easy stroke wherein breath and strength may be +recovered. + +"A third attempt would have been useless," Corliss said, in a dry, +cracked whisper. + +And Frona answered, "Yes; our hearts would have surely broken." + +Life, and the pleasant camp-fire, and the quiet rest in the noonday +shade, came back to Tommy as the shore drew near, and more than all, +blessed Toronto, its houses that never moved, and its jostling streets. +Each time his head sank forward and he reached out and clutched the +water with his paddle, the streets enlarged, as though gazing through a +telescope and adjusting to a nearer focus. And each time the paddle +drove clear and his head was raised, the island bounded forward. His +head sank, and the streets were of the size of life; it raised, and +Jacob Welse and the two men stood on the bank three lengths away. + +"Dinna I tell ye!" he shouted to them, triumphantly. + +But Frona jerked the canoe parallel with the bank, and he found himself +gazing at the long up-stream stretch. He arrested a stroke midway, and +his paddle clattered in the bottom. + +"Pick it up!" Corliss's voice was sharp and relentless. + +"I'll do naething o' the kind." He turned a rebellious face on his +tormentor, and ground his teeth in anger and disappointment. + +The canoe was drifting down with the current, and Frona merely held it +in place. Corliss crawled forward on his knees. + +"I don't want to hurt you, Tommy," he said in a low, tense voice, "so +. . . well, just pick it up, that's a good fellow." + +"I'll no." + +"Then I shall kill you," Corliss went on, in the same calm, passionless +way, at the same time drawing his hunting-knife from its sheath. + +"And if I dinna?" the Scotsman queried stoutly, though cowering away. + +Corliss pressed gently with the knife. The point of the steel entered +Tommy's back just where the heart should be, passed slowly through the +shirt, and bit into the skin. Nor did it stop there; neither did it +quicken, but just as slowly held on its way. He shrank back, quivering. + +"There! there! man! Pit it oop!" he shrieked. "I maun gie in!" + +Frona's face was quite pale, but her eyes were hard, brilliantly hard, +and she nodded approval. + +"We're going to try this side, and shoot across from above," she called +to her father. "What? I can't hear. Tommy? Oh, his heart's weak. +Nothing serious." She saluted with her paddle. "We'll be back in no +time, father mine. In no time." + +Stewart River was wide open, and they ascended it a quarter of a mile +before they shot its mouth and continued up the Yukon. But when they +were well abreast of the man on the opposite bank a new obstacle faced +them. A mile above, a wreck of an island clung desperately to the +river bed. Its tail dwindled to a sand-spit which bisected the river +as far down as the impassable bluffs. Further, a few hundred thousand +tons of ice had grounded upon the spit and upreared a glittering ridge. + +"We'll have to portage," Corliss said, as Frona turned the canoe from +the bank. + +La Bijou darted across the narrower channel to the sand-spit and +slipped up a little ice ravine, where the walls were less precipitous. +They landed on an out-jutting cake, which, without support, overhung +the water for sheer thirty feet. How far its other end could be buried +in the mass was matter for conjecture. They climbed to the summit, +dragging the canoe after them, and looked out over the dazzle. Floe +was piled on floe in titanic confusion. Huge blocks topped and +overtopped one another, only to serve as pedestals for great white +masses, which blazed and scintillated in the sun like monstrous jewels. + +"A bonny place for a bit walk," Tommy sneered, "wi' the next jam fair +to come ony time." He sat down resolutely. "No, thank ye kindly, I'll +no try it." + +Frona and Corliss clambered on, the canoe between them. + +"The Persians lashed their slaves into battle," she remarked, looking +back. "I never understood before. Hadn't you better go back after +him?" + +Corliss kicked him up, whimpering, and forced him to go on in advance. +The canoe was an affair of little weight, but its bulk, on the steep +rises and sharp turns, taxed their strength. The sun burned down upon +them. Its white glare hurt their eyes, the sweat oozed out from every +pore, and they panted for breath. + +"Oh, Vance, do you know . . ." + +"What?" He swept the perspiration from his forehead and flung it from +him with a quick flirt of the hand. + +"I wish I had eaten more breakfast." + +He grunted sympathetically. They had reached the midmost ridge and +could see the open river, and beyond, quite clearly, the man and his +signal of distress. Below, pastoral in its green quiet, lay Split-up +Island. They looked up to the broad bend of the Yukon, smiling lazily, +as though it were not capable at any moment of spewing forth a flood of +death. At their feet the ice sloped down into a miniature gorge, +across which the sun cast a broad shadow. + +"Go on, Tommy," Frona bade. "We're half-way over, and there's water +down there." + +"It's water ye'd be thinkin' on, is it?" he snarled, "and you a-leadin' +a buddie to his death!" + +"I fear you have done some great sin, Tommy," she said, with a +reproving shake of the head, "or else you would not be so afraid of +death." She sighed and picked up her end of the canoe. "Well, I +suppose it is natural. You do not know how to die--" + +"No more do I want to die," he broke in fiercely. + +"But there come times for all men to die,--times when to die is the +only thing to do. Perhaps this is such a time." + +Tommy slid carefully over a glistening ledge and dropped his height to +a broad foothold. "It's a' vera guid," he grinned up; "but dinna ye +think a've suffeecient discreemeenation to judge for mysel'? Why +should I no sing my ain sang?" + +"Because you do not know how. The strong have ever pitched the key for +such as you. It is they that have taught your kind when and how to +die, and led you to die, and lashed you to die." + +"Ye pit it fair," he rejoined. "And ye do it weel. It doesna behoove +me to complain, sic a michty fine job ye're makin' on it." + +"You are doing well," Corliss chuckled, as Tommy dropped out of sight +and landed into the bed of the gorge. "The cantankerous brute! he'd +argue on the trail to Judgment." + +"Where did you learn to paddle?" she asked. + +"College--exercise," he answered, shortly. "But isn't that fine? +Look!" + +The melting ice had formed a pool in the bottom of the gorge. Frona +stretched out full length, and dipped her hot mouth in its coolness. +And lying as she did, the soles of her dilapidated moccasins, or rather +the soles of her feet (for moccasins and stockings had gone in shreds), +were turned upward. They were very white, and from contact with the +ice were bruised and cut. Here and there the blood oozed out, and from +one of the toes it streamed steadily. + +"So wee, and pretty, and salt-like," Tommy gibed. "One wouldna think +they could lead a strong man to hell." + +"By the way you grumble, they're leading you fast enough," Corliss +answered angrily. + +"Forty mile an hour," Tommy retorted, as he walked away, gloating over +having the last word. + +"One moment. You've two shirts. Lend me one." + +The Scotsman's face lighted inquisitively, till he comprehended. Then +he shook his head and started on again. + +Frona scrambled to her feet. "What's the matter?" + +"Nothing. Sit down." + +"But what is the matter?" + +Corliss put his hands on her shoulders and pressed her back. "Your +feet. You can't go on in such shape. They're in ribbons. See!" He +brushed the sole of one of them and held up a blood-dripping palm. +"Why didn't you tell me?" + +"Oh, they didn't bother--much." + +"Give me one of your skirts," he demanded. + +"I . . ." She faltered. "I only have one." + +He looked about him. Tommy had disappeared among the ice-floes. + +"We must be getting on," Frona said, attempting to rise. + +But he held her back. "Not another step till I fix you. Here goes, so +shut your eyes." + +She obeyed, and when she opened them he was naked to the waist, and his +undershirt, torn in strips, was being bound about her feet. + +"You were in the rear, and I did not know--" + +"Don't apologize, pray," she interrupted. "I could have spoken." + +"I'm not; I'm reproaching you. Now, the other one. Put it up!" + +The nearness to her bred a madness, and he touched his lips lightly to +the same white little toe that had won the Baron Courbertin a kiss. + +Though she did not draw back, her face flushed, and she thrilled as she +had thrilled once before in her life. "You take advantage of your own +goodness," she rebuked him. + +"Then I will doubly advantage myself." + +"Please don't," she begged. + +"And why not? It is a custom of the sea to broach the spirits as the +ship prepares to sink. And since this is a sort of a forlorn hope, you +know, why not?" + +"But . . ." + +"But what, Miss Prim?" + +"Oh! Of all things, you know I do not deserve that! If there were +nobody else to be considered, why, under the circumstances . . ." + +He drew the last knot tight and dropped her foot. "Damn St. Vincent, +anyway! Come on!" + +"So would I, were I you," she laughed, taking up her end of the canoe. +"But how you have changed, Vance. You are not the same man I met on +the Dyea Trail. You hadn't learned to swear, then, among other things." + +"No, I'm not the same; for which I thank God and you. Only I think I +am honester than you. I always live up to my philosophy." + +"Now confess that's unfair. You ask too much under the +circumstances--" + +"Only a little toe." + +"Or else, I suppose, you just care for me in a kind, big-brotherly way. +In which case, if you really wish it, you may--" + +"Do keep quiet," he broke in, roughly, "or I'll be making a gorgeous +fool of myself." + +"Kiss all my toes," she finished. + +He grunted, but did not deign a reply. The work quickly took their +breath, and they went on in silence till they descended the last steep +to where McPherson waited by the open river. + +"Del hates St. Vincent," she said boldly. "Why?" + +"Yes, it seems that way." He glanced back at her curiously. "And +wherever he goes, Del lugs an old Russian book, which he can't read but +which he nevertheless regards, in some sort of way, as St. Vincent's +Nemesis. And do you know, Frona, he has such faith in it that I can't +help catching a little myself. I don't know whether you'll come to me, +or whether I'll go to you, but--" + +She dropped her end of the canoe and broke out in laughter. He was +annoyed, and a hurt spread of blood ruddied his face. + +"If I have--" he began. + +"Stupid!" she laughed. "Don't be silly! And above all don't be +dignified. It doesn't exactly become you at the present moment,--your +hair all tangled, a murderous knife in your belt, and naked to the +waist like a pirate stripped for battle. Be fierce, frown, swear, +anything, but please don't be dignified. I do wish I had my camera. +In after years I could say: 'This, my friends, is Corliss, the great +Arctic explorer, just as he looked at the conclusion of his +world-famous trip _Through Darkest Alaska_.'" + +He pointed an ominous finger at her and said sternly, "Where is your +skirt?" + +She involuntarily looked down. But its tatterdemalion presence +relieved her, and her face jerked up scarlet. + +"You should be ashamed!" + +"Please, please do not be dignified," he laughed. "Very true, it +doesn't exactly become you at the present moment. Now, if I had my +camera--" + +"Do be quiet and go on," she said. "Tommy is waiting. I hope the sun +takes the skin all off your back," she panted vindictively, as they +slid the canoe down the last shelf and dropped it into the water. + +Ten minutes later they climbed the ice-wall, and on and up the bank, +which was partly a hillside, to where the signal of distress still +fluttered. Beneath it, on the ground, lay stretched the man. He lay +very quietly, and the fear that they were too late was upon them, when +he moved his head slightly and moaned. His rough clothes were in rags, +and the black, bruised flesh of his feet showed through the remnants of +his moccasins. His body was thin and gaunt, without flesh-pads or +muscles, while the bones seemed ready to break through the +tight-stretched skin. As Corliss felt his pulse, his eyes fluttered +open and stared glassily. Frona shuddered. + +"Man, it's fair gruesome," McPherson muttered, running his hand up a +shrunken arm. + +"You go on to the canoe, Frona," Corliss said. "Tommy and I will carry +him down." + +But her lips set firmly. Though the descent was made easier by her +aid, the man was well shaken by the time they laid him in the bottom of +the canoe,--so well shaken that some last shreds of consciousness were +aroused. He opened his eyes and whispered hoarsely, "Jacob Welse . . . +despatches . . . from the Outside." He plucked feebly at his open +shirt, and across his emaciated chest they saw the leather strap, to +which, doubtless, the despatch-pouch was slung. + +At either end of the canoe there was room to spare, but amidships +Corliss was forced to paddle with the man between his knees. La Bijou +swung out blithely from the bank. It was down-stream at last, and +there was little need for exertion. + +Vance's arms and shoulders and back, a bright scarlet, caught Frona's +attention. "My hopes are realized," she exulted, reaching out and +softly stroking a burning arm. "We shall have to put cold cream on it +when we get back." + +"Go ahead," he encouraged. "That feels awfully good." + +She splashed his hot back with a handful of the ice-cold water from +over-side. He caught his breath with a gasp, and shivered. Tommy +turned about to look at them. + +"It's a guid deed we'll 'a doon this day," he remarked, pleasantly. +"To gie a hand in distress is guid i' the sight of God." + +"Who's afeared ?" Frona laughed. + +"Weel," he deliberated, "I was a bit fashed, no doot, but--" + +His utterance ceased, and he seemed suddenly to petrify. His eyes +fixed themselves in a terrible stare over Frona's shoulder. And then, +slowly and dreamily, with the solemnity fitting an invocation of Deity, +murmured, "Guid Gawd Almichty!" + +They whirled their heads about. A wall of ice was sweeping round the +bend, and even as they looked the right-hand flank, unable to compass +the curve, struck the further shore and flung up a ridge of heaving +mountains. + +"Guid Gawd! Guid Gawd! Like rats i' the trap!" Tommy jabbed his +paddle futilely in the water. + +"Get the stroke!" Corliss hissed in his ear, and La Bijou sprang away. + +Frona steered straight across the current, at almost right angles, for +Split-up; but when the sandspit, over which they had portaged, crashed +at the impact of a million tons, Corliss glanced at her anxiously. She +smiled and shook her head, at the same time slacking off the course. + +"We can't make it," she whispered, looking back at the ice a couple of +hundred feet away. "Our only chance is to run before it and work in +slowly." + +She cherished every inward inch jealously, holding the canoe up as +sharply as she dared and at the same time maintaining a constant +distance ahead of the ice-rim. + +"I canna stand the pace," Tommy whimpered once; but the silence of +Corliss and Frona seemed ominous, and he kept his paddle going. + +At the very fore of the ice was a floe five or six feet thick and a +couple of acres in extent. Reaching out in advance of the pack, it +clove through the water till on either side there formed a bore like +that of a quick flood-tide in an inland passage. Tommy caught sight of +it, and would have collapsed had not Corliss prodded him, between +strokes, with the point of his paddle. + +"We can keep ahead," Frona panted; "but we must get time to make the +landing?" + +"When the chance comes, drive her in, bow on," Corliss counselled; "and +when she strikes, jump and run for it." + +"Climb, rather. I'm glad my skirt is short." + +Repulsed by the bluffs of the left bank, the ice was forced towards the +right. The big floe, in advance, drove in upon the precise point of +Split-up Island. + +"If you look back, I'll brain you with the paddle," Corliss threatened. + +"Ay," Tommy groaned. + +But Corliss looked back, and so did Frona. The great berg struck the +land with an earthquake shock. For fifty feet the soft island was +demolished. A score of pines swayed frantically and went down, and +where they went down rose up a mountain of ice, which rose, and fell, +and rose again. Below, and but a few feet away, Del Bishop ran out to +the bank, and above the roar they could hear faintly his "Hit 'er up! +Hit 'er up!" Then the ice-rim wrinkled up and he sprang back to escape +it. + +"The first opening," Corliss gasped. + +Frona's lips spread apart; she tried to speak but failed, then nodded +her head that she had heard. They swung along in rapid rhythm under +the rainbow-wall, looking for a place where it might be quickly +cleared. And down all the length of Split-up Island they raced vainly, +the shore crashing behind them as they fled. + +As they darted across the mouth of the back-channel to Roubeau Island +they found themselves heading directly for an opening in the rim-ice. +La Bijou drove into it full tilt, and went half her length out of water +on a shelving cake. The three leaped together, but while the two of +them gripped the canoe to run it up, Tommy, in the lead, strove only to +save himself. And he would have succeeded had he not slipped and +fallen midway in the climb. He half arose, slipped, and fell again. +Corliss, hauling on the bow of the canoe, trampled over him. He +reached up and clutched the gunwale. They did not have the strength, +and this clog brought them at once to a standstill. Corliss looked +back and yelled for him to leave go, but he only turned upward a +piteous face, like that of a drowning man, and clutched more tightly. +Behind them the ice was thundering. The first flurry of coming +destruction was upon them. They endeavored desperately to drag up the +canoe, but the added burden was too much, and they fell on their knees. +The sick man sat up suddenly and laughed wildly. "Blood of my soul!" +he ejaculated, and laughed again. + +Roubeau Island swayed to the first shock, and the ice was rocking under +their feet. Frona seized a paddle and smashed the Scotsman's knuckles; +and the instant he loosed his grip, Corliss carried the canoe up in a +mad rush, Frona clinging on and helping from behind. The rainbow-wall +curled up like a scroll, and in the convolutions of the scroll, like a +bee in the many folds of a magnificent orchid, Tommy disappeared. + +They fell, breathless, on the earth. But a monstrous cake shoved up +from the jam and balanced above them. Frona tried to struggle to her +feet, but sank on her knees; and it remained for Corliss to snatch her +and the canoe out from underneath. Again they fell, this time under +the trees, the sun sifting down upon them through the green pine +needles, the robins singing overhead, and a colony of crickets chirping +in the warmth. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +Frona woke, slowly, as though from a long dream. She was lying where +she had fallen, across Corliss's legs, while he, on his back, faced the +hot sun without concern. She crawled up to him. He was breathing +regularly, with closed eyes, which opened to meet hers. He smiled, and +she sank down again. Then he rolled over on his side, and they looked +at each other. + +"Vance." + +"Yes." + +She reached out her hand; his closed upon it, and their eyelids +fluttered and drooped down. The river still rumbled en, somewhere in +the infinite distance, but it came to them like the murmur of a world +forgotten. A soft languor encompassed them. The golden sunshine +dripped down upon them through the living green, and all the life of +the warm earth seemed singing. And quiet was very good. Fifteen long +minutes they drowsed, and woke again. + +Frona sat up. "I--I was afraid," she said. + +"Not you." + +"Afraid that I might be afraid," she amended, fumbling with her hair. + +"Leave it down. The day merits it." + +She complied, with a toss of the head which circled it with a nimbus of +rippling yellow. + +"Tommy's gone," Corliss mused, the race with the ice coming slowly back. + +"Yes," she answered. "I rapped him on the knuckles. It was terrible. +But the chance is we've a better man in the canoe, and we must care for +him at once. Hello! Look there!" Through the trees, not a score of +feet away, she saw the wall of a large cabin. "Nobody in sight. It +must be deserted, or else they're visiting, whoever they are. You look +to our man, Vance,--I'm more presentable,--and I'll go and see." + +She skirted the cabin, which was a large one for the Yukon country, and +came around to where it fronted on the river. The door stood open, +and, as she paused to knock, the whole interior flashed upon her in an +astounding picture,--a cumulative picture, or series of pictures, as it +were. For first she was aware of a crowd of men, and of some great +common purpose upon which all were seriously bent. At her knock they +instinctively divided, so that a lane opened up, flanked by their +pressed bodies, to the far end of the room. And there, in the long +bunks on either side, sat two grave rows of men. And midway between, +against the wall, was a table. This table seemed the centre of +interest. Fresh from the sun-dazzle, the light within was dim and +murky, but she managed to make out a bearded American sitting by the +table and hammering it with a heavy caulking-mallet. And on the +opposite side sat St. Vincent. She had time to note his worn and +haggard face, before a man of Scandinavian appearance slouched up to +the table. + +The man with the mallet raised his right hand and said glibly, "You do +most solemnly swear that what you are about to give before the +court--" He abruptly stopped and glowered at the man before him. +"Take off your hat!" he roared, and a snicker went up from the crowd as +the man obeyed. + +Then he of the mallet began again. "You do most solemnly swear that +what you are about to give before the court shall be the truth, the +whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?" + +The Scandinavian nodded and dropped his hand. + +"One moment, gentlemen." Frona advanced up the lane, which closed +behind her. + +St. Vincent sprang to his feet and stretched out his arms to her. +"Frona," he cried, "oh, Frona, I am innocent!" + +It struck her like a blow, the unexpectedness of it, and for the +instant, in the sickly light, she was conscious only of the ring of +white faces, each face set with eyes that burned. Innocent of what? +she thought, and as she looked at St. Vincent, arms still extended, she +was aware, in a vague, troubled way, of something distasteful. +Innocent of what? He might have had more reserve. He might have +waited till he was charged. She did not know that he was charged with +anything. + +"Friend of the prisoner," the man with the mallet said authoritatively. +"Bring a stool for'ard, some of you." + +"One moment . . ." She staggered against the table and rested a hand +on it. "I do not understand. This is all new . . ." But her eyes +happened to come to rest on her feet, wrapped in dirty rags, and she +knew that she was clad in a short and tattered skirt, that her arm +peeped forth through a rent in her sleeve, and that her hair was down +and flying. Her cheek and neck on one side seemed coated with some +curious substance. She brushed it with her hand, and caked mud rattled +to the floor. + +"That will do," the man said, not unkindly. "Sit down. We're in the +same box. We do not understand. But take my word for it, we're here +to find out. So sit down." + +She raised her hand. "One moment--" + +"Sit down!" he thundered. "The court cannot be disturbed." + +A hum went up from the crowd, words of dissent, and the man pounded the +table for silence. But Frona resolutely kept her feet. + +When the noise had subsided, she addressed the man in the chair. "Mr. +Chairman: I take it that this is a miners' meeting." (The man nodded.) +"Then, having an equal voice in the managing of this community's +affairs, I demand to be heard. It is important that I should be heard." + +"But you are out of order. Miss--er--" + +"Welse!" half a dozen voices prompted. + +"Miss Welse," he went on, an added respect marking his demeanor, "it +grieves me to inform you that you are out of order. You had best sit +down." + +"I will not," she answered. "I rise to a question of privilege, and if +I am not heard, I shall appeal to the meeting." + +She swept the crowd with her eyes, and cries went up that she be given +a fair show. The chairman yielded and motioned her to go on. + +"Mr. Chairman and men: I do not know the business you have at present +before you, but I do know that I have more important business to place +before you. Just outside this cabin is a man probably dying from +starvation. We have brought him from across the river. We should not +have bothered you, but we were unable to make our own island. This man +I speak of needs immediate attention." + +"A couple of you nearest the door go out and look after him," the +chairman ordered. "And you, Doc Holiday, go along and see what you can +do." + +"Ask for a recess," St. Vincent whispered. + +Frona nodded her head. "And, Mr. Chairman, I make a motion for a +recess until the man is cared for." + +Cries of "No recess!" and "Go on with the business!" greeted the +putting of it, and the motion was lost. + +"Now, Gregory," with a smile and salutation as she took the stool +beside him, "what is it?" + +He gripped her hand tightly. "Don't believe them, Frona. They are +trying to"--with a gulping swallow--"to kill me." + +"Why? Do be calm. Tell me." + +"Why, last night," he began hurriedly, but broke off to listen to the +Scandinavian previously sworn, who was speaking with ponderous slowness. + +"I wake wide open quick," he was saying. "I coom to the door. I there +hear one shot more." + +He was interrupted by a warm-complexioned man, clad in faded mackinaws. +"What did you think?" he asked. + +"Eh?" the witness queried, his face dark and troubled with perplexity. + +"When you came to the door, what was your first thought?" + +"A-w-w," the man sighed, his face clearing and infinite comprehension +sounding in his voice. "I have no moccasins. I t'ink pretty damn +cold." His satisfied expression changed to naive surprise when an +outburst of laughter greeted his statement, but he went on stolidly. +"One more shot I hear, and I run down the trail." + +Then Corliss pressed in through the crowd to Frona, and she lost what +the man was saying. + +"What's up?" the engineer was asking. "Anything serious? Can I be of +any use?" + +"Yes, yes." She caught his hand gratefully. "Get over the +back-channel somehow and tell my father to come. Tell him that Gregory +St. Vincent is in trouble; that he is charged with-- What are you +charged with, Gregory?" she asked, turning to him. + +"Murder." + +"Murder?" from Corliss. + +"Yes, yes. Say that he is charged with murder; that I am here; and +that I need him. And tell him to bring me some clothes. And, +Vance,"--with a pressure of the hand and swift upward look,--"don't +take any . . . any big chances, but do try to make it." + +"Oh, I'll make it all right." He tossed his head confidently and +proceeded to elbow his way towards the door. + +"Who is helping you in your defence?" she asked St. Vincent. + +He shook his head. "No. They wanted to appoint some one,--a renegade +lawyer from the States, Bill Brown,--but I declined him. He's taken +the other side, now. It's lynch law, you know, and their minds are +made up. They're bound to get me." + +"I wish there were time to hear your side." + +"But, Frona, I am innocent. I--" + +"S-sh!" She laid her hand on his arm to hush him, and turned her +attention to the witness. + +"So the noospaper feller, he fight like anything; but Pierre and me, we +pull him into the shack. He cry and stand in one place--" + +"Who cried?" interrupted the prosecuting lawyer. + +"Him. That feller there." The Scandinavian pointed directly at St. +Vincent. "And I make a light. The slush-lamp I find spilt over most +everything, but I have a candle in my pocket. It is good practice to +carry a candle in the pocket," he affirmed gravely. "And Borg he lay +on the floor dead. And the squaw say he did it, and then she die, too." + +"Said who did it?" + +Again his accusing finger singled out St. Vincent. "Him. That feller +there." + +"Did she?" Frona whispered. + +"Yes," St. Vincent whispered back, "she did. But I cannot imagine what +prompted her. She must have been out of her head." + +The warm-faced man in the faded mackinaws then put the witness through +a searching examination, which Frona followed closely, but which +elicited little new. + +"You have the right to cross-examine the witness," the chairman +informed St. Vincent. "Any questions you want to ask?" + +The correspondent shook his head. + +"Go on," Frona urged. + +"What's the use?" he asked, hopelessly. "I'm fore-doomed. The verdict +was reached before the trial began." + +"One moment, please." Frona's sharp command arrested the retiring +witness. "You do not know of your own knowledge who committed this +murder?" + +The Scandinavian gazed at her with a bovine expression on his leaden +features, as though waiting for her question to percolate to his +understanding. + +"You did not see who did it?" she asked again. + +"Aw, yes. That feller there," accusative finger to the fore. "She say +he did." + +There was a general smile at this. + +"But you did not see it?" + +"I hear some shooting." + +"But you did not see who did the shooting?" + +"Aw, no; but she said--" + +"That will do, thank you," she said sweetly, and the man retired. + +The prosecution consulted its notes. "Pierre La Flitche!" was called +out. + +A slender, swart-skinned man, lithe of figure and graceful, stepped +forward to the open space before the table. He was darkly handsome, +with a quick, eloquent eye which roved frankly everywhere. It rested +for a moment on Frona, open and honest in its admiration, and she +smiled and half-nodded, for she liked him at first glance, and it +seemed as though they had met of old time. He smiled pleasantly back, +the smooth upper lip curling brightly and showing beautiful teeth, +immaculately white. + +In answer to the stereotyped preliminaries he stated that his name was +that of his father's, a descendant of the _coureurs du bois_. His +mother--with a shrug of the shoulders and flash of teeth--was a +_breed_. He was born somewhere in the Barrens, on a hunting trip, he +did not know where. Ah, _oui_, men called him an old-timer. He had +come into the country in the days of Jack McQuestion, across the +Rockies from the Great Slave. + +On being told to go ahead with what he knew of the matter in hand, he +deliberated a moment, as though casting about for the best departure. + +"In the spring it is good to sleep with the open door," he began, his +words sounding clear and flute-like and marked by haunting memories of +the accents his forbears put into the tongue. "And so I sleep last +night. But I sleep like the cat. The fall of the leaf, the breath of +the wind, and my ears whisper to me, whisper, whisper, all the night +long. So, the first shot," with a quick snap of the fingers, "and I am +awake, just like that, and I am at the door." + +St. Vincent leaned forward to Frona. "It was not the first shot." + +She nodded, with her eyes still bent on La Flitche, who gallantly +waited. + +"Then two more shot," he went on, "quick, together, boom-boom, just +like that. 'Borg's shack,' I say to myself, and run down the trail. I +think Borg kill Bella, which was bad. Bella very fine girl," he +confided with one of his irresistible smiles. "I like Bella. So I +run. And John he run from his cabin like a fat cow, with great noise. +'What the matter?' he say; and I say, 'I don't know.' And then +something come, wheugh! out of the dark, just like that, and knock John +down, and knock me down. We grab everywhere all at once. It is a man. +He is in undress. He fight. He cry, 'Oh! Oh! Oh!' just like that. +We hold him tight, and bime-by pretty quick, he stop. Then we get up, +and I say, 'Come along back.'" + +"Who was the man?" + +La Flitche turned partly, and rested his eyes on St. Vincent. + +"Go on." + +"So? The man he will not go back; but John and I say yes, and he go." + +"Did he say anything?" + +"I ask him what the matter; but he cry, he . . . he sob, _huh-tsch_, +_huh-tsch_, just like that." + +"Did you see anything peculiar about him?" + +La Flitche's brows drew up interrogatively. + +^Anything uncommon, out of the ordinary?" + +"Ah, _oui_; blood on the hands." Disregarding the murmur in the room, +he went on, his facile play of feature and gesture giving dramatic +value to the recital. "John make a light, and Bella groan, like the +hair-seal when you shoot him in the body, just like that when you shoot +him in the body under the flipper. And Borg lay over in the corner. I +look. He no breathe 'tall. + +"Then Bella open her eyes, and I look in her eyes, and I know she know +me, La Flitche. 'Who did it, Bella?' I ask. And she roll her head on +the floor and whisper, so low, so slow, 'Him dead?' I know she mean +Borg, and I say yes. Then she lift up on one elbow, and look about +quick, in big hurry, and when she see Vincent she look no more, only +she look at Vincent all the time. Then she point at him, just like +that." Suiting the action to the word, La Flitche turned and thrust a +wavering finger at the prisoner. "And she say, 'Him, him, him.' And I +say, 'Bella, who did it?' And she say, 'Him, him, him. St. Vincha, +him do it.' And then"--La Flitche's head felt limply forward on his +chest, and came back naturally erect, as he finished, with a flash of +teeth, "Dead." + +The warm-faced man, Bill Brown, put the quarter-breed through the +customary direct examination, which served to strengthen his testimony +and to bring out the fact that a terrible struggle must have taken +place in the killing of Borg. The heavy table was smashed, the stool +and the bunk-board splintered, and the stove over-thrown. "Never did I +see anything like it," La Flitche concluded his description of the +wreck. "No, never." + +Brown turned him over to Frona with a bow, which a smile of hers paid +for in full. She did not deem it unwise to cultivate cordiality with +the lawyer. What she was working for was time--time for her father to +come, time to be closeted with St. Vincent and learn all the details of +what really had occurred. So she put questions, questions, +interminable questions, to La Flitche. Twice only did anything of +moment crop up. + +"You spoke of the first shot, Mr. La Flitche. Now, the walls of a log +cabin are quite thick. Had your door been closed, do you think you +could have heard that first shot?" + +He shook his head, though his dark eyes told her he divined the point +she was endeavoring to establish. + +"And had the door of Borg's cabin been closed, would you have heard?" + +Again he shook his head. + +"Then, Mr. La Flitche, when you say the first shot, you do not mean +necessarily the first shot fired, but rather the first shot you heard +fired?" + +He nodded, and though she had scored her point she could not see that +it had any material bearing after all. + +Again she worked up craftily to another and stronger climax, though she +felt all the time that La Flitche fathomed her. + +"You say it was very dark, Mr. La Flitche?" + +"Ah, oui; quite dark." + +"How dark? How did you know it was John you met?" + +"John make much noise when he run. I know that kind of noise." + +"Could you see him so as to know that it was he?" + +"Ah, no." + +"Then, Mr. La Flitche," she demanded, triumphantly, "will you please +state how you knew there was blood on the hands of Mr. St. Vincent?" + +His lip lifted in a dazzling smile, and he paused a moment. "How? I +feel it warm on his hands. And my nose--ah, the smoke of the hunter +camp long way off, the hole where the rabbit hide, the track of the +moose which has gone before, does not my nose tell me?" He flung his +head back, and with tense face, eyes closed, nostrils quivering and +dilated, he simulated the quiescence of all the senses save one and the +concentration of his whole being upon that one. Then his eyes +fluttered partly open and he regarded her dreamily. "I smell the blood +on his hands, the warm blood, the hot blood on his hands." + +"And by gad he can do it!" some man exclaimed. + +And so convinced was Frona that she glanced involuntarily at St. +Vincent's hands, and saw there the rusty-brown stains on the cuffs of +his flannel shirt. + +As La Flitche left the stand, Bill Brown came over to her and shook +hands. "No more than proper I should know the lawyer for the defence," +he said, good-naturedly, running over his notes for the next witness. + +"But don't you think it is rather unfair to me?" she asked, brightly. +"I have not had time to prepare my case. I know nothing about it +except what I have gleaned from your two witnesses. Don't you think, +Mr. Brown," her voice rippling along in persuasive little notes, "don't +you think it would be advisable to adjourn the meeting until to-morrow?" + +"Hum," he deliberated, looking at his watch. + +"Wouldn't be a bad idea. It's five o'clock, anyway, and the men ought +to be cooking their suppers." + +She thanked him, as some women can, without speech; yet, as he looked +down into her face and eyes, he experienced a subtler and greater +satisfaction than if she had spoken. + +He stepped to his old position and addressed the room. "On +consultation of the defence and the prosecution, and upon consideration +of the lateness of the hour and the impossibility of finishing the +trial within a reasonable limit, I--hum--I take the liberty of moving +an adjournment until eight o'clock to-morrow morning." + +"The ayes have it," the chairman proclaimed, coming down from his place +and proceeding to build the fire, for he was a part-owner of the cabin +and cook for his crowd. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +Frona turned to St. Vincent as the last of the crowd filed out. He +clutched her hands spasmodically, like a drowning man. + +"Do believe me, Frona. Promise me." + +Her face flushed. "You are excited," she said, "or you would not say +such things. Not that I blame you," she relented. "I hardly imagine +the situation can be anything else but exciting." + +"Yes, and well I know it," he answered, bitterly. "I am acting like a +fool, and I can't help it. The strain has been terrible. And as +though the horror of Borg's end were not enough, to be considered the +murderer, and haled up for mob justice! Forgive me, Frona. I am +beside myself. Of course, I know that you will believe me." + +"Then tell me, Gregory." + +"In the first place, the woman, Bella, lied. She must have been crazed +to make that dying statement when I fought as I did for her and Borg. +That is the only explanation--" + +"Begin at the beginning," she interrupted. "Remember, I know nothing." + +He settled himself more comfortably on the stool, and rolled a +cigarette as he took up the history of the previous night. + +"It must have been about one in the morning when I was awakened by the +lighting of the slush-lamp. I thought it was Borg; wondered what he +was prowling about for, and was on the verge of dropping off to sleep, +when, though I do not know what prompted me, I opened my eyes. Two +strange men were in the cabin. Both wore masks and fur caps with the +flaps pulled down, so that I could see nothing of their faces save the +glistening of the eyes through the eye-slits. + +"I had no first thought, unless it was that danger threatened. I lay +quietly for a second and deliberated. Borg had borrowed my pistol, and +I was actually unarmed. My rifle was by the door. I decided to make a +rush for it. But no sooner had I struck the floor than one of the men +turned on me, at the same time firing his revolver. That was the first +shot, and the one La Flitche did not hear. It was in the struggle +afterwards that the door was burst open, which enabled him to hear the +last three. + +"Well; I was so close to the man, and my leap out of the bunk was so +unexpected, that he missed me. The next moment we grappled and rolled +on the floor. Of course, Borg was aroused, and the second man turned +his attention to him and Bella. It was this second man who did the +killing, for my man, naturally, had his hands full. You heard the +testimony. From the way the cabin was wrecked, you can picture the +struggle. We rolled and tossed about and fought till stools, table, +shelves--everything was smashed. + +"Oh, Frona, it was terrible! Borg fighting for life, Bella helping +him, though wounded and groaning, and I unable to aid. But finally, in +a very short while, I began to conquer the man with whom I was +struggling. I had got him down on his back, pinioned his arms with my +knees, and was slowly throttling him, when the other man finished his +work and turned on me also. What could I do? Two to one, and winded! +So I was thrown into the corner, and they made their escape. I confess +that I must have been badly rattled by that time, for as soon as I +caught my breath I took out after them, and without a weapon. Then I +collided with La Flitche and John, and--and you know the rest. Only," +he knit his brows in puzzlement, "only, I cannot understand why Bella +should accuse me." + +He looked at her appealingly, and, though she pressed his hand +sympathetically, she remained silent, weighing pro and con what she had +heard. + +She shook her head slowly. "It's a bad case, and the thing is to +convince them--" + +"But, my God, Frona, I am innocent! I have not been a saint, perhaps, +but my hands are clean from blood." + +"But remember, Gregory," she said, gently, "I am not to judge you. +Unhappily, it rests with the men of this miners' meeting, and the +problem is: how are they to be convinced of your innocence? The two +main points are against you,--Bella's dying words and the blood on your +sleeve." + +"The place was areek with blood," St. Vincent cried passionately, +springing to his feet. "I tell you it was areek! How could I avoid +floundering in it, fighting as I was for life? Can you not take my +word--" + +"There, there, Gregory. Sit down. You are truly beside yourself. If +your case rested with me, you know you would go free and clean. But +these men,--you know what mob rule is,--how are we to persuade them to +let you go? Don't you see? You have no witnesses. A dying woman's +words are more sacred than a living man's. Can you show cause for the +woman to die with a lie on her lips? Had she any reason to hate you? +Had you done her or her husband an injury?" + +He shook his head. + +"Certainly, to us the thing is inexplicable; but the miners need no +explanation. To them it is obvious. It rests with us to disprove the +obvious. Can we do it?" + +The correspondent sank down despondently, with a collapsing of the +chest and a drooping forward of the shoulders. "Then am I indeed lost." + +"No, it's not so bad as that. You shall not be hanged. Trust me for +that." + +"But what can you do?" he asked, despairingly. "They have usurped the +law, have made themselves the law." + +"In the first place, the river has broken. That means everything. The +Governor and the territorial judges may be expected in at any moment +with a detachment of police at their backs. And they're certain to +stop here. And, furthermore, we may be able to do something ourselves. +The river is open, and if it comes to the worst, escape would be +another way out; and escape is the last thing they would dream of." + +"No, no; impossible. What are you and I against the many?" + +"But there's my father and Baron Courbertin. Four determined people, +acting together, may perform miracles, Gregory, dear. Trust me, it +shall come out well." + +She kissed him and ran her hand through his hair, but the worried look +did not depart. + +Jacob Welse crossed over the back-channel long before dark, and with +him came Del, the baron, and Corliss. While Frona retired to change +her clothes in one of the smaller cabins, which the masculine owners +readily turned over to her, her father saw to the welfare of the +mail-carrier. The despatches were of serious import, so serious that +long after Jacob Welse had read and re-read them his face was dark and +clouded; but he put the anxiety from him when he returned to Frona. +St. Vincent, who was confined in an adjoining cabin, was permitted to +see them. + +"It looks bad," Jacob Welse said, on parting for the night. "But rest +assured, St. Vincent, bad or not, you'll not be stretched up so long as +I've a hand to play in the rumpus. I am certain you did not kill Borg, +and there's my fist on it." + +"A long day," Corliss remarked, as he walked back with Frona to her +cabin. + +"And a longer to-morrow," she answered, wearily. "And I'm so sleepy." + +"You're a brave little woman, and I'm proud of you." It was ten +o'clock, and he looked out through the dim twilight to the ghostly ice +drifting steadily by. "And in this trouble," he went on, "depend upon +me in any way." + +"In any way?" she queried, with a catch in her voice. + +"If I were a hero of the melodrama I'd say; 'To the death!' but as I'm +not; I'll just repeat, in any way." + +"You are good to me, Vance. I can never repay--" + +"Tut! tut! I do not put myself on sale. Love is service, I believe." + +She looked at him for a long time, but while her face betrayed soft +wonder, at heart she was troubled, she knew not why, and the events of +the day, and of all the days since she had known him, came fluttering +through her mind. + +"Do you believe in a white friendship?" she asked at last. "For I do +hope that such a bond may hold us always. A bright, white friendship, +a comradeship, as it were?" And as she asked, she was aware that the +phrase did not quite express what she felt and would desire. And when +he shook his head, she experienced a glad little inexplicable thrill. + +"A comradeship?" he questioned. "When you know I love you?" + +"Yes," she affirmed in a low voice. + +"I am afraid, after all, that your knowledge of man is very limited. +Believe me, we are not made of such clay. A comradeship? A coming in +out of the cold to sit by your fire? Good. But a coming in when +another man sits with you by your fire? No. Comradeship would demand +that I delight in your delights, and yet, do you think for a moment +that I could see you with another man's child in your arms, a child +which might have been mine; with that other man looking out at me +through the child's eyes, laughing at me through its mouth? I say, do +you think I could delight in your delights? No, no; love cannot +shackle itself with white friendships." + +She put her hand on his arm. + +"Do you think I am wrong?" he asked, bewildered by the strange look in +her face. + +She was sobbing quietly. + +"You are tired and overwrought. So there, good-night. You must get to +bed." + +"No, don't go, not yet." And she arrested him. "No, no; I am foolish. +As you say, I am tired. But listen, Vance. There is much to be done. +We must plan to-morrow's work. Come inside. Father and Baron +Courbertin are together, and if the worst comes, we four must do big +things." + +"Spectacular," Jacob Welse commented, when Frona had briefly outlined +the course of action and assigned them their parts. "But its very +unexpectedness ought to carry it through." + +"A _coup d'etat_!" was the Baron's verdict. "Magnificent! Ah! I feel +warm all over at the thought. 'Hands up!' I cry, thus, and very fierce. + +"And if they do not hold up their hands?" he appealed to Jacob Welse. + +"Then shoot. Never bluff when you're behind a gun, Courbertin. It's +held by good authorities to be unhealthy." + +"And you are to take charge of La Bijou, Vance," Frona said. "Father +thinks there will be little ice to-morrow if it doesn't jam to-night. +All you've to do is to have the canoe by the bank just before the door. +Of course, you won't know what is happening until St. Vincent comes +running. Then in with him, and away you go--Dawson! So I'll say +good-night and good-by now, for I may not have the opportunity in the +morning." + +"And keep the left-hand channel till you're past the bend," Jacob Welse +counselled him; "then take the cut-offs to the right and follow the +swiftest water. Now off with you and into your blankets. It's seventy +miles to Dawson, and you'll have to make it at one clip." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +Jacob Welse was given due respect when he arose at the convening of the +miners' meeting and denounced the proceedings. While such meetings had +performed a legitimate function in the past, he contended, when there +was no law in the land, that time was now beyond recall; for law was +now established, and it was just law. The Queen's government had shown +itself fit to cope with the situation, and for them to usurp its powers +was to step backward into the night out of which they had come. +Further, no lighter word than "criminal" could characterize such +conduct. And yet further, he promised them, in set, sober terms, if +anything serious were the outcome, to take an active part in the +prosecution of every one of them. At the conclusion of his speech he +made a motion to hold the prisoner for the territorial court and to +adjourn, but was voted down without discussion. + +"Don't you see," St. Vincent said to Frona, "there is no hope?" + +"But there is. Listen!" And she swiftly outlined the plot of the +night before. + +He followed her in a half-hearted way, too crushed to partake of her +enthusiasm. "It's madness to attempt it," he objected, when she had +done. + +"And it looks very much like hanging not to attempt it," she answered a +little spiritedly. "Surely you will make a fight?" + +"Surely," he replied, hollowly. + +The first witnesses were two Swedes, who told of the wash-tub incident, +when Borg had given way to one of his fits of anger. Trivial as the +incident was, in the light of subsequent events it at once became +serious. It opened the way for the imagination into a vast familiar +field. It was not so much what was said as what was left unsaid. Men +born of women, the rudest of them, knew life well enough to be aware of +its significance,--a vulgar common happening, capable of but one +interpretation. Heads were wagged knowingly in the course of the +testimony, and whispered comments went the rounds. + +Half a dozen witnesses followed in rapid succession, all of whom had +closely examined the scene of the crime and gone over the island +carefully, and all of whom were agreed that there was not the slightest +trace to be found of the two men mentioned by the prisoner in his +preliminary statement. + +To Frona's surprise, Del Bishop went upon the stand. She knew he +disliked St. Vincent, but could not imagine any evidence he could +possess which would bear upon the case. + +Being sworn, and age and nationality ascertained, Bill Brown asked him +his business. + +"Pocket-miner," he challenged back, sweeping the assemblage with an +aggressive glance. + +Now, it happens that a very small class of men follow pocketing, and +that a very large class of men, miners, too, disbelieve utterly in any +such method or obtaining gold. + +"Pocket-miner!" sneered a red-shirted, patriarchal-looking man, a man +who had washed his first pan in the Californian diggings in the early +fifties. + +"Yep," Del affirmed. + +"Now, look here, young feller," his interlocutor continued, "d'ye mean +to tell me you ever struck it in such-fangled way?" + +"Yep." + +"Don't believe it," with a contemptuous shrug. + +Del swallowed fast and raised his head with a jerk. "Mr. Chairman, I +rise to make a statement. I won't interfere with the dignity of the +court, but I just wish to simply and distinctly state that after the +meeting's over I'm going to punch the head of every man that gets gay. +Understand?" + +"You're out of order," the chairman replied, rapping the table with the +caulking-mallet. + +"And your head, too," Del cried, turning upon him. "Damn poor order +you preserve. Pocketing's got nothing to do with this here trial, and +why don't you shut such fool questions out? I'll take care of you +afterwards, you potwolloper!" + +"You will, will you?" The chairman grew red in the face, dropped the +mallet, and sprang to his feet. + +Del stepped forward to meet him, but Bill Brown sprang in between and +held them apart. + +"Order, gentlemen, order," he begged. "This is no time for unseemly +exhibitions. And remember there are ladies present." + +The two men grunted and subsided, and Bill Brown asked, "Mr. Bishop, we +understand that you are well acquainted with the prisoner. Will you +please tell the court what you know of his general character?" + +Del broadened into a smile. "Well, in the first place, he's an +extremely quarrelsome disposition--" + +"Hold! I won't have it!" The prisoner was on his feet, trembling with +anger. "You shall not swear my life away in such fashion! To bring a +madman, whom I have only met once in my life, to testify as to my +character!" + +The pocket-miner turned to him. "So you don't know me, eh, Gregory St. +Vincent?" + +"No," St. Vincent replied, coldly, "I do not know you, my man." + +"Don't you man me!" Del shouted, hotly. + +But St. Vincent ignored him, turning to the crowd. + +"I never saw the fellow but once before, and then for a few brief +moments in Dawson." + +"You'll remember before I'm done," Del sneered; "so hold your hush and +let me say my little say. I come into the country with him way back in +'84." + +St. Vincent regarded him with sudden interest. + +"Yep, Mr. Gregory St. Vincent. I see you begin to recollect. I +sported whiskers and my name was Brown, Joe Brown, in them days." + +He grinned vindictively, and the correspondent seemed to lose all +interest. + +"Is it true, Gregory?" Frona whispered. + +"I begin to recognize," he muttered, slowly. "I don't know . . . no, +folly! The man must have died." + +"You say in '84, Mr. Bishop?" Bill Brown prompted. + +"Yep, in '84. He was a newspaper-man, bound round the world by way of +Alaska and Siberia. I'd run away from a whaler at Sitka,--that squares +it with Brown,--and I engaged with him for forty a month and found. +Well, he quarrelled with me--" + +A snicker, beginning from nowhere in particular, but passing on from +man to man and swelling in volume, greeted this statement. Even Frona +and Del himself were forced to smile, and the only sober face was the +prisoner's. + +"But he quarrelled with Old Andy at Dyea, and with Chief George of the +Chilcoots, and the Factor at Pelly, and so on down the line. He got us +into no end of trouble, and 'specially woman-trouble. He was always +monkeying around--" + +"Mr. Chairman, I object." Frona stood up, her face quite calm and +blood under control. "There is no necessity for bringing in the amours +of Mr. St. Vincent. They have no bearing whatsoever upon the case; +and, further, none of the men of this meeting are clean enough to be +prompted by the right motive in conducting such an inquiry. So I +demand that the prosecution at least confine itself to relevant +testimony." + +Bill Brown came up smugly complacent and smiling. "Mr. Chairman, we +willingly accede to the request made by the defence. Whatever we have +brought out has been relevant and material. Whatever we intend to +bring out shall be relevant and material. Mr. Bishop is our star +witness, and his testimony is to the point. It must be taken into +consideration that we nave no direct evidence as to the murder of John +Borg. We can bring no eye-witnesses into court. Whatever we have is +circumstantial. It is incumbent upon us to show cause. To show cause +it is necessary to go into the character of the accused. This we +intend to do. We intend to show his adulterous and lustful nature, +which has culminated in a dastardly deed and jeopardized his neck. We +intend to show that the truth is not in him; that he is a liar beyond +price; that no word he may speak upon the stand need be accepted by a +jury of his peers. We intend to show all this, and to weave it +together, thread by thread, till we have a rope long enough and strong +enough to hang him with before the day is done. So I respectfully +submit, Mr. Chairman, that the witness be allowed to proceed." + +The chairman decided against Frona, and her appeal to the meeting was +voted down. Bill Brown nodded to Del to resume. + +"As I was saying, he got us into no end of trouble. Now, I've been +mixed up with water all my life,--never can get away from it, it +seems,--and the more I'm mixed the less I know about it. St. Vincent +knew this, too, and him a clever hand at the paddle; yet he left me to +run the Box Canyon alone while he walked around. Result: I was turned +over, lost half the outfit and all the tobacco, and then he put the +blame on me besides. Right after that he got tangled up with the Lake +Le Barge Sticks, and both of us came near croaking." + +"And why was that?" Bill Brown interjected. + +"All along of a pretty squaw that looked too kindly at him. After we +got clear, I lectured him on women in general and squaws in particular, +and he promised to behave. Then we had a hot time with the Little +Salmons. He was cuter this time, and I didn't know for keeps, but I +guessed. He said it was the medicine man who got horstile; but +nothing'll stir up a medicine man quicker'n women, and the facts +pointed that way. When I talked it over with him in a fatherly way he +got wrathy, and I had to take him out on the bank and give him a +threshing. Then he got sulky, and didn't brighten up till we ran into +the mouth of the Reindeer River, where a camp of Siwashes were fishing +salmon. But he had it in for me all the time, only I didn't know +it,--was ready any time to give me the double cross. + +"Now, there's no denying he's got a taking way with women. All he has +to do is to whistle 'em up like dogs. Most remarkable faculty, that. +There was the wickedest, prettiest squaw among the Reindeers. Never +saw her beat, excepting Bella. Well, I guess he whistled her up, for +he delayed in the camp longer than was necessary. Being partial to +women--" + +"That will do, Mr. Bishop," interrupted the chairman, who, from +profitless watching of Frona's immobile face, had turned to her hand, +the nervous twitching and clinching of which revealed what her face had +hidden. "That will do, Mr. Bishop. I think we have had enough of +squaws." + +"Pray do not temper the testimony," Frona chirruped, sweetly. "It +seems very important." + +"Do you know what I am going to say next?" Del demanded hotly of the +chairman. "You don't, eh? Then shut up. I'm running this particular +sideshow." + +Bill Brown sprang in to avert hostilities, but the chairman restrained +himself, and Bishop went on. + +"I'd been done with the whole shooting-match, squaws and all, if you +hadn't broke me off. Well, as I said, he had it in for me, and the +first thing I didn't know, he'd hit me on the head with a rifle-stock, +bundled the squaw into the canoe, and pulled out. You all know what +the Yukon country was in '84. And there I was, without an outfit, left +alone, a thousand miles from anywhere. I got out all right, though +there's no need of telling how, and so did he. You've all heard of his +adventures in Siberia. Well," with an impressive pause, "I happen to +know a thing or two myself." + +He shoved a hand into the big pocket of his mackinaw jacket and pulled +out a dingy leather-bound volume of venerable appearance. + +"I got this from Pete Whipple's old woman,--Whipple of Eldorado. It +concerns her grand-uncle or great-grand-uncle, I don't know which; and +if there's anybody here can read Russian, why, it'll go into the +details of that Siberian trip. But as there's no one here that can--" + +"Courbertin! He can read it!" some one called in the crowd. + +A way was made for the Frenchman forthwith, and he was pushed and +shoved, protestingly, to the front. + +"Savve the lingo?" Del demanded. + +"Yes; but so poorly, so miserable," Courbertin demurred. "It is a long +time. I forget." + +"Go ahead. We won't criticise." + +"No, but--" + +"Go ahead!" the chairman commanded. + +Del thrust the book into his hands, opened at the yellow title-page. +"I've been itching to get my paws on some buck like you for months and +months," he assured him, gleefully. "And now I've got you, you can't +shake me, Charley. So fire away." + +Courbertin began hesitatingly: "'_The Journal of Father Yakontsk, +Comprising an Account in Brief of his Life in the Benedictine Monastery +at Obidorsky, and in Full of his Marvellous Adventures in East Siberia +among the Deer Men_.'" + +The baron looked up for instructions. + +"Tell us when it was printed," Del ordered him. + +"In Warsaw, 1807." + +The pocket-miner turned triumphantly to the room. "Did you hear that? +Just keep track of it. 1807, remember!" + +The baron took up the opening paragraph. "'_It was because of +Tamerlane_,'" he commenced, unconsciously putting his translation into +a construction with which he was already familiar. + +At his first words Frona turned white, and she remained white +throughout the reading. Once she stole a glance at her father, and was +glad that he was looking straight before him, for she did not feel able +to meet his gaze just them. On the other hand, though she knew St. +Vincent was eying her narrowly, she took no notice of him, and all he +could see was a white face devoid of expression. + +"'_When Tamerlane swept with fire and sword over Eastern Asia_,'" +Courbertin read slowly, "'_states were disrupted, cities overthrown, +and tribes scattered like--like star-dust. A vast people was hurled +broadcast over the land. Fleeing before the conquerors_,'--no, +no,--'_before the mad lust of the conquerors, these refugees swung far +into Siberia, circling, circling to the north and east and fringing the +rim of the polar basin with a spray of Mongol tribes_.'" + +"Skip a few pages," Bill Brown advised, "and read here and there. We +haven't got all night." + +Courbertin complied. "'_The coast people are Eskimo stock, merry of +nature and not offensive. They call themselves the Oukilion, or the +Sea Men. From them I bought dogs and food. But they are subject to +the Chow Chuen, who live in the interior and are known as the Deer Men. +The Chow Chuen are a fierce and savage race. When I left the coast +they fell upon me, took from me my goods, and made me a slave_.'" He +ran over a few pages. "'_I worked my way to a seat among the head men, +but I was no nearer my freedom. My wisdom was of too great value to +them for me to depart. . . Old Pi-Une was a great chief, and it was +decreed that I should marry his daughter Ilswunga. Ilswunga was a +filthy creature. She would not bathe, and her ways were not good . . . +I did marry Ilswunga, but she was a wife to me only in name. Then did +she complain to her father, the old Pi-Une, and he was very wroth. And +dissension was sown among the tribes; but in the end I became mightier +than ever, what of my cunning and resource; and Ilswunga made no more +complaint, for I taught her games with cards which she might play by +herself, and other things_.'" + +"Is that enough?" Courbertin asked. + +"Yes, that will do," Bill Brown answered. "But one moment. Please +state again the date of publication." + +"1807, in Warsaw." + +"Hold on, baron," Del Bishop spoke up. "Now that you're on the stand, +I've got a question or so to slap into you." He turned to the +court-room. "Gentlemen, you've all heard somewhat of the prisoner's +experiences in Siberia. You've caught on to the remarkable sameness +between them and those published by Father Yakontsk nearly a hundred +years ago. And you have concluded that there's been some wholesale +cribbing somewhere. I propose to show you that it's more than +cribbing. The prisoner gave me the shake on the Reindeer River in '88. +Fall of '88 he was at St. Michael's on his way to Siberia. '89 and '90 +he was, by his talk, cutting up antics in Siberia. '91 he come back to +the world, working the conquering-hero graft in 'Frisco. Now let's see +if the Frenchman can make us wise. + +"You were in Japan?" he asked. + +Courbertin, who had followed the dates, made a quick calculation, and +could but illy conceal his surprise. He looked appealingly to Frona, +but she did not help him. "Yes," he said, finally. + +"And you met the prisoner there?" + +"Yes." + +"What year was it?" + +There was a general craning forward to catch the answer. + +"1889," and it came unwillingly. + +"Now, how can that be, baron?" Del asked in a wheedling tone. "The +prisoner was in Siberia at that time." + +Courbertin shrugged his shoulders that it was no concern of his, and +came off the stand. An impromptu recess was taken by the court-room +for several minutes, wherein there was much whispering and shaking of +heads. + +"It is all a lie." St. Vincent leaned close to Frona's ear, but she +did not hear. + +"Appearances are against me, but I can explain it all." + +But she did not move a muscle, and he was called to the stand by the +chairman. She turned to her father, and the tears rushed up into her +eyes when he rested his hand on hers. + +"Do you care to pull out?" he asked after a momentary hesitation. + +She shook her head, and St. Vincent began to speak. It was the same +story he had told her, though told now a little more fully, and in +nowise did it conflict with the evidence of La Flitche and John. He +acknowledged the wash-tub incident, caused, he explained, by an act of +simple courtesy on his part and by John Borg's unreasoning anger. He +acknowledged that Bella had been killed by his own pistol, but stated +that the pistol had been borrowed by Borg several days previously and +not returned. Concerning Bella's accusation he could say nothing. He +could not see why she should die with a lie on her lips. He had never +in the slightest way incurred her displeasure, so even revenge could +not be advanced. It was inexplicable. As for the testimony of Bishop, +he did not care to discuss it. It was a tissue of falsehood cunningly +interwoven with truth. It was true the man had gone into Alaska with +him in 1888, but his version of the things which happened there was +maliciously untrue. Regarding the baron, there was a slight mistake in +the dates, that was all. + +In questioning him. Bill Brown brought out one little surprise. From +the prisoner's story, he had made a hard fight against the two +mysterious men. "If," Brown asked, "such were the case, how can you +explain away the fact that you came out of the struggle unmarked? On +examination of the body of John Borg, many bruises and contusions were +noticeable. How is it, if you put up such a stiff fight, that you +escaped being battered?" + +St. Vincent did not know, though he confessed to feeling stiff and sore +all over. And it did not matter, anyway. He had killed neither Borg +nor his wife, that much he did know. + +Frona prefaced her argument to the meeting with a pithy discourse on +the sacredness of human life, the weaknesses and dangers of +circumstantial evidence, and the rights of the accused wherever doubt +arose. Then she plunged into the evidence, stripping off the +superfluous and striving to confine herself to facts. In the first +place, she denied that a motive for the deed had been shown. As it +was, the introduction of such evidence was an insult to their +intelligence, and she had sufficient faith in their manhood and +perspicacity to know that such puerility would not sway them in the +verdict they were to give. + +And, on the other hand, in dealing with the particular points at issue, +she denied that any intimacy had been shown to have existed between +Bella and St. Vincent; and she denied, further, that it had been shown +that any intimacy had been attempted on the part of St. Vincent. +Viewed honestly, the wash-tub incident--the only evidence brought +forward--was a laughable little affair, portraying how the simple +courtesy of a gentleman might be misunderstood by a mad boor of a +husband. She left it to their common sense; they were not fools. + +They had striven to prove the prisoner bad-tempered. She did not need +to prove anything of the sort concerning John Borg. They all knew his +terrible fits of anger; they all knew that his temper was proverbial in +the community; that it had prevented him having friends and had made +him many enemies. Was it not very probable, therefore, that the masked +men were two such enemies? As to what particular motive actuated these +two men, she could not say; but it rested with them, the judges, to +know whether in all Alaska there were or were not two men whom John +Borg could have given cause sufficient for them to take his life. + +Witness had testified that no traces had been found of these two men; +but the witness had not testified that no traces had been found of St. +Vincent, Pierre La Flitche, or John the Swede. And there was no need +for them so to testify. Everybody knew that no foot-marks were left +when St. Vincent ran up the trail, and when he came back with La +Flitche and the other man. Everybody knew the condition of the trail, +that it was a hard-packed groove in the ground, on which a soft +moccasin could leave no impression; and that had the ice not gone down +the river, no traces would have been left by the murderers in passing +from and to the mainland. + +At this juncture La Flitche nodded his head in approbation, and she +went on. + +Capital had been made out of the blood on St. Vincent's hands. If they +chose to examine the moccasins at that moment on the feet of Mr. La +Flitche, they would also find blood. That did not argue that Mr. La +Flitche had been a party to the shedding of the blood. + +Mr. Brown had drawn attention to the fact that the prisoner had not +been bruised or marked in the savage encounter which had taken place. +She thanked him for having done so. John Borg's body showed that it +had been roughly used. He was a larger, stronger, heavier man than St. +Vincent. If, as charged, St. Vincent had committed the murder, and +necessarily, therefore, engaged in a struggle severe enough to bruise +John Borg, how was it that he had come out unharmed? That was a point +worthy of consideration. + +Another one was, why did he run down the trail? It was inconceivable, +if he had committed the murder, that he should, without dressing or +preparation for escape, run towards the other cabins. It was, however, +easily conceivable that he should take up the pursuit of the real +murderers, and in the darkness--exhausted, breathless, and certainly +somewhat excited--run blindly down the trail. + +Her summing up was a strong piece of synthesis; and when she had done, +the meeting applauded her roundly. But she was angry and hurt, for she +knew the demonstration was for her sex rather than for her cause and +the work she had done. + +Bill Brown, somewhat of a shyster, and his ear ever cocked to the +crowd, was not above taking advantage when opportunity offered, and +when it did not offer, to dogmatize artfully. In this his native humor +was a strong factor, and when he had finished with the mysterious +masked men they were as exploded sun-myths,--which phrase he promptly +applied to them. + +They could not have got off the island. The condition of the ice for +the three or four hours preceding the break-up would not have permitted +it. The prisoner had implicated none of the residents of the island, +while every one of them, with the exception of the prisoner, had been +accounted for elsewhere. Possibly the prisoner was excited when he ran +down the trail into the arms of La Flitche and John the Swede. One +should have thought, however, that he had grown used to such things in +Siberia. But that was immaterial; the facts were that he was +undoubtedly in an abnormal state of excitement, that he was +hysterically excited, and that a murderer under such circumstances +would take little account of where he ran. Such things had happened +before. Many a man had butted into his own retribution. + +In the matter of the relations of Borg, Bella, and St. Vincent, he made +a strong appeal to the instinctive prejudices of his listeners, and for +the time being abandoned matter-of-fact reasoning for all-potent +sentimental platitudes. He granted that circumstantial evidence never +proved anything absolutely. It was not necessary it should. Beyond +the shadow of a reasonable doubt was all that was required. That this +had been done, he went on to review the testimony. + +"And, finally," he said, "you can't get around Bella's last words. We +know nothing of our own direct knowledge. We've been feeling around in +the dark, clutching at little things, and trying to figure it all out. +But, gentlemen," he paused to search the faces of his listeners, "Bella +knew the truth. Hers is no circumstantial evidence. With quick, +anguished breath, and life-blood ebbing from her, and eyeballs glazing, +she spoke the truth. With dark night coming on, and the death-rattle +in her throat, she raised herself weakly and pointed a shaking finger +at the accused, thus, and she said, 'Him, him, him. St. Vincha, him do +it.'" + +With Bill Brown's finger still boring into him, St. Vincent struggled +to his feet. His face looked old and gray, and he looked about him +speechlessly. "Funk! Funk!" was whispered back and forth, and not so +softly but what he heard. He moistened his lips repeatedly, and his +tongue fought for articulation. "It is as I have said," he succeeded, +finally. "I did not do it. Before God, I did not do it!" He stared +fixedly at John the Swede, waiting the while on his laggard thought. +"I . . . I did not do it . . . I did not . . . I . . . I did not." + +He seemed to have become lost in some supreme meditation wherein John +the Swede figured largely, and as Frona caught him by the hand and +pulled him gently down, some man cried out, "Secret ballot!" + +But Bill Brown was on his feet at once. "No! I say no! An open +ballot! We are men, and as men are not afraid to put ourselves on +record." + +A chorus of approval greeted him, and the open ballot began. Man after +man, called upon by name, spoke the one word, "Guilty." + +Baron Courbertin came forward and whispered to Frona. She nodded her +head and smiled, and he edged his way back, taking up a position by the +door. He voted "Not guilty" when his turn came, as did Frona and Jacob +Welse. Pierre La Flitche wavered a moment, looking keenly at Frona and +St. Vincent, then spoke up, clear and flute-like, "Guilty." + +As the chairman arose, Jacob Welse casually walked over to the opposite +side of the table and stood with his back to the stove. Courbertin, +who had missed nothing, pulled a pickle-keg out from the wall and +stepped upon it. + +The chairman cleared his throat and rapped for order. "Gentlemen," he +announced, "the prisoner--" + +"Hands up!" Jacob Welse commanded peremptorily, and a fraction of a +second after him came the shrill "Hands up, gentlemen!" of Courbertin. + +Front and rear they commanded the crowd with their revolvers. Every +hand was in the air, the chairman's having gone up still grasping the +mallet. There was no disturbance. Each stood or sat in the same +posture as when the command went forth. Their eyes, playing here and +there among the central figures, always returned to Jacob Welse. + +St. Vincent sat as one dumfounded. Frona thrust a revolver into his +hand, but his limp fingers refused to close on it. + +"Come, Gregory," she entreated. "Quick! Corliss is waiting with the +canoe. Come!" + +She shook him, and he managed to grip the weapon. Then she pulled and +tugged, as when awakening a heavy sleeper, till he was on his feet. +But his face was livid, his eyes like a somnambulist's, and he was +afflicted as with a palsy. Still holding him, she took a step backward +for him to come on. He ventured it with a shaking knee. There was no +sound save the heavy breathing of many men. A man coughed slightly and +cleared his throat. It was disquieting, and all eyes centred upon him +rebukingly. The man became embarrassed, and shifted his weight +uneasily to the other leg. Then the heavy breathing settled down again. + +St. Vincent took another step, but his fingers relaxed and the revolver +fell with a loud noise to the floor. He made no effort to recover it. +Frona stooped hurriedly, but Pierre La Flitche had set his foot upon +it. She looked up and saw his hands above his head and his eyes fixed +absently on Jacob Welse. She pushed at his leg, and the muscles were +tense and hard, giving the lie to the indifference on his face. St. +Vincent looked down helplessly, as though he could not understand. + +But this delay drew the attention of Jacob Welse, and, as he tried to +make out the cause, the chairman found his chance. Without crooking, +his right arm swept out and down, the heavy caulking-mallet leaping +from his hand. It spanned the short distance and smote Jacob Welse +below the ear. His revolver went off as he fell, and John the Swede +grunted and clapped a hand to his thigh. + +Simultaneous with this the baron was overcome. Del Bishop, with hands +still above his head and eyes fixed innocently before him, had simply +kicked the pickle-keg out from under the Frenchman and brought him to +the floor. His bullet, however, sped harmlessly through the roof. La +Flitche seized Frona in his arms. St. Vincent, suddenly awakening, +sprang for the door, but was tripped up by the breed's ready foot. + +The chairman pounded the table with his fist and concluded his broken +sentence, "Gentlemen, the prisoner is found guilty as charged." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +Frona had gone at once to her father's side, but he was already +recovering. Courbertin was brought forward with a scratched face, +sprained wrist, and an insubordinate tongue. To prevent discussion and +to save time, Bill Brown claimed the floor. + +"Mr. Chairman, while we condemn the attempt on the part of Jacob Welse, +Frona Welse, and Baron Courbertin to rescue the prisoner and thwart +justice, we cannot, under the circumstances, but sympathize with them. +There is no need that I should go further into this matter. You all +know, and doubtless, under a like situation, would have done the same. +And so, in order that we may expeditiously finish the business, I make +a motion to disarm the three prisoners and let them go." + +The motion was carried, and the two men searched for weapons. Frona +was saved this by giving her word that she was no longer armed. The +meeting then resolved itself into a hanging committee, and began to +file out of the cabin. + +"Sorry I had to do it," the chairman said, half-apologetically, +half-defiantly. + +Jacob Welse smiled. "You took your chance," he answered, "and I can't +blame you. I only wish I'd got you, though." + +Excited voices arose from across the cabin. "Here, you! Leggo!" "Step +on his fingers, Tim!" "Break that grip!" "Ouch! Ow!" "Pry his mouth +open!" + +Frona saw a knot of struggling men about St. Vincent, and ran over. He +had thrown himself down on the floor and, tooth and nail, was fighting +like a madman. Tim Dugan, a stalwart Celt, had come to close quarters +with him, and St. Vincent's teeth were sunk in the man's arm. + +"Smash 'm, Tim! Smash 'm!" + +"How can I, ye fule? Get a pry on his mouth, will ye?" + +"One moment, please." The men made way for her, drawing back and +leaving St. Vincent and Tim. + +Frona knelt down by him. "Leave go, Gregory. Do leave go." + +He looked up at her, and his eyes did not seem human. He breathed +stertorously, and in his throat were the queer little gasping noises of +one overwrought. + +"It is I, Gregory." She brushed her hand soothingly across his brow. +"Don't you understand? It is I, Frona. Do leave go." + +His whole body slowly relaxed, and a peaceful expression grew upon his +face. His jaw dropped, and the man's arm was withdrawn. + +"Now listen, Gregory. Though you are to die--" + +"But I cannot! I cannot!" he groaned. "You said that I could trust to +you, that all would come well." + +She thought of the chance which had been given, but said nothing. + +"Oh, Frona! Frona!" He sobbed and buried his face in her lap. + +"At least you can be a man. It is all that remains." + +"Come on!" Tim Dugan commanded. "Sorry to bother ye, miss, but we've +got to fetch 'm along. Drag 'm out, you fellys! Catch 'm by the legs, +Blackey, and you, too, Johnson." + +St. Vincent's body stiffened at the words, the rational gleam went out +of his eyes, and his fingers closed spasmodically on Frona's. She +looked entreaty at the men, and they hesitated. + +"Give me a minute with him," she begged, "just a minute." + +"He ain't worth it," Dugan sneered, after they had drawn apart. "Look +at 'm." + +"It's a damned shame," corroborated Blackey, squinting sidewise at +Frona whispering in St. Vincent's ear, the while her hand wandered +caressingly through his hair. + +What she said they did not hear, but she got him on his feet and led +him forward. He walked as a dead man might walk, and when he entered +the open air gazed forth wonderingly upon the muddy sweep of the Yukon. +The crowd had formed by the bank, about a pine tree. A boy, engaged in +running a rope over one of the branches, finished his task and slid +down the trunk to the ground. He looked quickly at the palms of his +hands and blew upon them, and a laugh went up. A couple of wolf-dogs, +on the outskirts, bristled up to each other and bared their fangs. Men +encouraged them. They closed in and rolled over, but were kicked aside +to make room for St. Vincent. + +Corliss came up the bank to Frona. "What's up?" he whispered. "Is it +off?" + +She tried to speak, but swallowed and nodded her head. + +"This way, Gregory." She touched his arm and guided him to the box +beneath the rope. + +Corliss, keeping step with them, looked over the crowd speculatively +and felt into his jacket-pocket. "Can I do anything?" he asked, +gnawing his under lip impatiently. "Whatever you say goes, Frona. I +can stand them off." + +She looked at him, aware of pleasure in the sight. She knew he would +dare it, but she knew also that it would be unfair. St. Vincent had +had his chance, and it was not right that further sacrifice should be +made. "No, Vance. It is too late. Nothing can be done." + +"At least let me try," he persisted. + +"No; it is not our fault that our plan failed, and . . . and . . ." Her +eyes filled. "Please do not ask it of me." + +"Then let me take you away. You cannot remain here." + +"I must," she answered, simply, and turned to St. Vincent, who seemed +dreaming. + +Blackey was tying the hangman's knot in the rope's end, preparatory to +slipping the noose over St. Vincent's head. + +"Kiss me, Gregory," she said, her hand on his arm. + +He started at the touch, and saw all eager eyes centred upon him, and +the yellow noose, just shaped, in the hands of the hangman. He threw +up his arms, as though to ward it off, and cried loudly, "No! no! Let +me confess! Let me tell the truth, then you'll believe me!" + +Bill Brown and the chairman shoved Blackey back, and the crowd gathered +in. Cries and protestations rose from its midst. "No, you don't," a +boy's shrill voice made itself heard. "I'm not going to go. I climbed +the tree and made the rope fast, and I've got a right to stay." +"You're only a kid," replied a man's voice, "and it ain't good for +you." "I don't care, and I'm not a kid. I'm--I'm used to such things. +And, anyway, I climbed the tree. Look at my hands." "Of course he can +stay," other voices took up the trouble. "Leave him alone, Curley." +"You ain't the whole thing." A laugh greeted this, and things quieted +down. + +"Silence!" the chairman called, and then to St. Vincent, "Go ahead, +you, and don't take all day about it." + +"Give us a chance to hear!" the crowd broke out again. "Put 'm on the +box! Put 'm on the box!" + +St. Vincent was helped up, and began with eager volubility. + +"I didn't do it, but I saw it done. There weren't two men--only one. +He did it, and Bella helped him." + +A wave of laughter drowned him out. + +"Not so fast," Bill Brown cautioned him. "Kindly explain how Bella +helped this man kill herself. Begin at the beginning." + +"That night, before he turned in, Borg set his burglar alarm--" + +"Burglar alarm?" + +"That's what I called it,--a tin bread-pan attached to the latch so the +door couldn't open without tumbling it down. He set it every night, as +though he were afraid of what might happen,--the very thing which did +happen, for that matter. On the night of the murder I awoke with the +feeling that some one was moving around. The slush-lamp was burning +low, and I saw Bella at the door. Borg was snoring; I could hear him +plainly. Bella was taking down the bread-pan, and she exercised great +care about it. Then she opened the door, and an Indian came in softly. +He had no mask, and I should know him if ever I see him again, for a +scar ran along the forehead and down over one eye." + +"I suppose you sprang out of bed and gave the alarm?" + +"No, I didn't," St. Vincent answered, with a defiant toss of the head, +as though he might as well get the worst over with. "I just lay there +and waited." + +"What did you think?" + +"That Bella was in collusion with the Indian, and that Borg was to be +murdered. It came to me at once." + +"And you did nothing?" + +"Nothing." His voice sank, and his eyes dropped to Frona, leaning +against the box beneath him and steadying it. She did not seem to be +affected. "Bella came over to me, but I closed my eyes and breathed +regularly. She held the slush-lamp to me, but I played sleep naturally +enough to fool her. Then I heard a snort of sudden awakening and +alarm, and a cry, and I looked out. The Indian was hacking at Borg +with a knife, and Borg was warding off with his arms and trying to +grapple him. When they did grapple, Bella crept up from behind and +threw her arm in a strangle-hold about her husband's neck. She put her +knee into the small of his back, and bent him backward and, with the +Indian helping, threw him to the floor." + +"And what did you do?" + +"I watched." + +"Had you a revolver?" + +"Yes." + +"The one you previously said John Borg had borrowed?" + +"Yes; but I watched." + +"Did John Borg call for help?" + +"Yes." + +"Can you give his words?" + +"He called, 'St. Vincent! Oh, St. Vincent! Oh, my God! Oh, St. +Vincent, help me!'" He shuddered at the recollection, and added, "It +was terrible." + +"I should say so," Brown grunted. "And you?" + +"I watched," was the dogged reply, while a groan went up from the +crowd. "Borg shook clear of them, however, and got on his legs. He +hurled Bella across the cabin with a back-sweep of the arm and turned +upon the Indian. Then they fought. The Indian had dropped the knife, +and the sound of Borg's blows was sickening. I thought he would surely +beat the Indian to death. That was when the furniture was smashed. +They rolled and snarled and struggled like wild beasts. I wondered the +Indian's chest did not cave in under some of Borg's blows. But Bella +got the knife and stabbed her husband repeatedly about the body. The +Indian had clinched with him, and his arms were not free; so he kicked +out at her sideways. He must have broken her legs, for she cried out +and fell down, and though she tried, she never stood up again. Then he +went down, with the Indian under him, across the stove." + +"Did he call any more for help?" + +"He begged me to come to him." + +"And?" + +"I watched. He managed to get clear of the Indian and staggered over +to me. He was streaming blood, and I could see he was very weak. +'Give me your gun,' he said; 'quick, give me it.' He felt around +blindly. Then his mind seemed to clear a bit, and he reached across me +to the holster hanging on the wall and took the pistol. The Indian +came at him with the knife again, but he did not try to defend himself. +Instead, he went on towards Bella, with the Indian still hanging to him +and hacking at him. The Indian seemed to bother and irritate him, and +he shoved him away. He knelt down and turned Bella's face up to the +light; but his own face was covered with blood and he could not see. +So he stopped long enough to brush the blood from his eyes. He +appeared to look in order to make sure. Then he put the revolver to +her breast and fired. + +"The Indian went wild at this, and rushed at him with the knife, at the +same time knocking the pistol out of his hand. It was then the shelf +with the slush-lamp was knocked down. They continued to fight in the +darkness, and there were more shots fired, though I do not know by +whom. I crawled out of the bunk, but they struck against me in their +struggles, and I fell over Bella. That's when the blood got on my +hands. As I ran out the door, more shots were fired. Then I met La +Flitche and John, and . . . and you know the rest. This is the truth I +have told you, I swear it!" + +He looked down at Frona. She was steadying the box, and her face was +composed. He looked out over the crowd and saw unbelief. Many were +laughing. + +"Why did you not tell this story at first?" Bill Brown demanded. + +"Because . . . because . . ." + +"Well?" + +"Because I might have helped." + +There was more laughter at this, and Bill Brown turned away from him. +"Gentlemen, you have heard this pipe dream. It is a wilder fairy story +than his first. At the beginning of the trial we promised to show that +the truth was not in him. That we succeeded, your verdict is ample +testimony. But that he should likewise succeed, and more brilliantly, +we did not expect. That he has, you cannot doubt. What do you think +of him? Lie upon lie he has given us; he has been proven a chronic +liar; are you to believe this last and fearfully impossible lie? +Gentlemen, I can only ask that you reaffirm your judgment. And to +those who may doubt his mendacity,--surely there are but few,--let me +state, that if his story is true; if he broke salt with this man, John +Borg, and lay in his blankets while murder was done; if he did hear, +unmoved, the voice of the man calling to him for help; if he did lie +there and watch that carnival of butchery without his manhood prompting +him,--let me state, gentlemen, I say, let me state that he is none the +less deserveful of hanging. We cannot make a mistake. What shall it +be?" + +"Death!" "String him up!" "Stretch 'm!" were the cries. + +But the crowd suddenly turned its attention to the river, and even +Blackey refrained from his official task. A large raft, worked by a +sweep at either end, was slipping past the tail of Split-up Island, +close to the shore. When it was at their feet, its nose was slewed +into the bank, and while its free end swung into the stream to make the +consequent circle, a snubbing-rope was flung ashore and several turns +taken about the tree under which St. Vincent stood. A cargo of +moose-meat, red and raw, cut into quarters, peeped from beneath a cool +covering of spruce boughs. And because of this, the two men on the +raft looked up to those on the bank with pride in their eyes. + +"Tryin' to make Dawson with it," one of them explained, "and the sun's +all-fired hot." + +"Nope," said his comrade, in reply to a query, "don't care to stop and +trade. It's worth a dollar and a half a pound down below, and we're +hustlin' to get there. But we've got some pieces of a man we want to +leave with you." He turned and pointed to a loose heap of blankets +which slightly disclosed the form of a man beneath. "We gathered him +in this mornin', 'bout thirty mile up the Stewart, I should judge." + +"Stands in need of doctorin'," the other man spoke up, "and the meat's +spoilin', and we ain't got time for nothin'." "Beggar don't have +anythin' to say. Don't savve the burro." "Looks as he might have been +mixin' things with a grizzly or somethin',--all battered and gouged. +Injured internally, from the looks of it. Where'll you have him?" + +Frona, standing by St. Vincent, saw the injured man borne over the +crest of the bank and through the crowd. A bronzed hand drooped down +and a bronzed face showed from out the blankets. The bearers halted +near them while a decision could be reached as to where he should be +carried. Frona felt a sudden fierce grip on her arm. + +"Look! look!" St. Vincent was leaning forward and pointing wildly at +the injured man. "Look! That scar!" + +The Indian opened his eyes and a grin of recognition distorted his face. + +"It is he! It is he!" St. Vincent, trembling with eagerness, turned +upon the crowd. "I call you all to witness! That is the man who +killed John Borg!" + +No laughter greeted this, for there was a terrible earnestness in his +manner. Bill Brown and the chairman tried to make the Indian talk, but +could not. A miner from British Columbia was pressed into service, but +his Chinook made no impression. Then La Flitche was called. The +handsome breed bent over the man and talked in gutturals which only his +mother's heredity made possible. It sounded all one, yet it was +apparent that he was trying many tongues. But no response did he draw, +and he paused disheartened. As though with sudden recollection, he +made another attempt. At once a gleam of intelligence shot across the +Indian's face, and his larynx vibrated to similar sounds. + +"It is the Stick talk of the Upper White," La Flitche stopped long +enough to explain. + +Then, with knit brows and stumbling moments when he sought +dim-remembered words, he plied the man with questions. To the rest it +was like a pantomime,--the meaningless grunts and waving arms and +facial expressions of puzzlement, surprise, and understanding. At +times a passion wrote itself on the face of the Indian, and a sympathy +on the face of La Flitche. Again, by look and gesture, St. Vincent was +referred to, and once a sober, mirthless laugh shaped the mouths of +them. + +"So? It is good," La Flitche said, when the Indian's head dropped +back. "This man make true talk. He come from White River, way up. He +cannot understand. He surprised very much, so many white men. He +never think so many white men in the world. He die soon. His name Gow. + +"Long time ago, three year, this man John Borg go to this man Gow's +country. He hunt, he bring plenty meat to the camp, wherefore White +River Sticks like him. Gow have one squaw, Pisk-ku. Bime-by John Borg +make preparation to go 'way. He go to Gow, and he say, 'Give me your +squaw. We trade. For her I give you many things.' But Gow say no. +Pisk-ku good squaw. No woman sew moccasin like she. She tan +moose-skin the best, and make the softest leather. He like Pisk-ku. +Then John Borg say he don't care; he want Pisk-ku. Then they have a +_skookum_ big fight, and Pisk-ku go 'way with John Borg. She no want +to go 'way, but she go anyway. Borg call her 'Bella,' and give her +plenty good things, but she like Gow all the time." La Flitche pointed +to the scar which ran down the forehead and past the eye of the Indian. +"John Borg he do that." + +"Long time Gow pretty near die. Then he get well, but his head sick. +He don't know nobody. Don't know his father, his mother, or anything. +Just like a little baby. Just like that. Then one day, quick, click! +something snap, and his head get well all at once. He know his father +and mother, he remember Pisk-ku, he remember everything. His father +say John Borg go down river. Then Gow go down river. Spring-time, ice +very bad. He very much afraid, so many white men, and when he come to +this place he travel by night. Nobody see him 'tall, but he see +everybody. He like a cat, see in the dark. Somehow, he come straight +to John Borg's cabin. He do not know how this was, except that the +work he had to do was good work." + +St. Vincent pressed Frona's hand, but she shook her fingers clear and +withdrew a step. + +"He see Pisk-ku feed the dogs, and he have talk with her. That night +he come and she open the door. Then you know that which was done. St. +Vincent do nothing, Borg kill Bella. Gow kill Borg. Borg kill Gow, +for Gow die pretty quick. Borg have strong arm. Gow sick inside, all +smashed up. Gow no care; Pisk-ku dead. + +"After that he go 'cross ice to the land. I tell him all you people +say it cannot be; no man can cross the ice at that time. He laugh, and +say that it is, and what is, must be. Anyway, he have very hard time, +but he get 'cross all right. He very sick inside. Bime-by he cannot +walk; he crawl. Long time he come to Stewart River. Can go no more, +so he lay down to die. Two white men find him and bring him to this +place. He don't care. He die anyway." + +La Flitche finished abruptly, but nobody spoke. Then he added, "I +think Gow damn good man." + +Frona came up to Jacob Welse. "Take me away, father," she said. "I am +so tired." + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +Next morning, Jacob Welse, for all of the Company and his millions in +mines, chopped up the day's supply of firewood, lighted a cigar, and +went down the island in search of Baron Courbertin. Frona finished the +breakfast dishes, hung out the robes to air, and fed the dogs. Then +she took a worn Wordsworth from her clothes-bag, and, out by the bank, +settled herself comfortably in a seat formed by two uprooted pines. +But she did no more than open the book; for her eyes strayed out and +over the Yukon to the eddy below the bluffs, and the bend above, and +the tail of the spit which lay in the midst of the river. The rescue +and the race were still fresh with her, though there were strange +lapses, here and there, of which she remembered little. The struggle +by the fissure was immeasurable; she knew not how long it lasted; and +the race down Split-up to Roubeau Island was a thing of which her +reason convinced her, but of which she recollected nothing. + +The whim seized her, and she followed Corliss through the three days' +events, but she tacitly avoided the figure of another man whom she +would not name. Something terrible was connected therewith, she knew, +which must be faced sooner or later; but she preferred to put that +moment away from her. She was stiff and sore of mind as well as of +body, and will and action were for the time being distasteful. It was +more pleasant, even, to dwell on Tommy, on Tommy of the bitter tongue +and craven heart; and she made a note that the wife and children in +Toronto should not be forgotten when the Northland paid its dividends +to the Welse. + +The crackle of a foot on a dead willow-twig roused her, and her eyes +met St. Vincent's. + +"You have not congratulated me upon my escape," he began, breezily. +"But you must have been dead-tired last night. I know I was. And you +had that hard pull on the river besides." + +He watched her furtively, trying to catch some cue as to her attitude +and mood. + +"You're a heroine, that's what you are, Frona," he began again, with +exuberance. "And not only did you save the mail-man, but by the delay +you wrought in the trial you saved me. If one more witness had gone on +the stand that first day, I should have been duly hanged before Gow put +in an appearance. Fine chap, Gow. Too bad he's going to die." + +"I am glad that I could be of help," she replied, wondering the while +what she could say. + +"And of course I am to be congratulated--" + +"Your trial is hardly a thing for congratulation," she spoke up +quickly, looking him straight in the eyes for the moment. "I am glad +that it came out as it did, but surely you cannot expect me to +congratulate you." + +"O-o-o," with long-drawn inflection. "So that's where it pinches." He +smiled good-humoredly, and moved as though to sit down, but she made no +room for him, and he remained standing. "I can certainly explain. If +there have been women--" + +Frona had been clinching her hand nervously, but at the word burst out +in laughter. + +"Women?" she queried. "Women?" she repeated. "Do not be ridiculous, +Gregory." + +"After the way you stood by me through the trial," he began, +reproachfully, "I thought--" + +"Oh, you do not understand," she said, hopelessly. "You do not +understand. Look at me, Gregory, and see if I can make you understand. +Your presence is painful to me. Your kisses hurt me. The memory of +them still burns my cheek, and my lips feel unclean. And why? Because +of women, which you may explain away? How little do you understand! +But shall I tell you?" + +Voices of men came to her from down the river-bank, and the splashing +of water. She glanced quickly and saw Del Bishop guiding a poling-boat +against the current, and Corliss on the bank, bending to the tow-rope. + +"Shall I tell you why, Gregory St. Vincent?" she said again. "Tell you +why your kisses have cheapened me? Because you broke the faith of food +and blanket. Because you broke salt with a man, and then watched that +man fight unequally for life without lifting your hand. Why, I had +rather you had died in defending him; the memory of you would have been +good. Yes, I had rather you had killed him yourself. At least, it +would have shown there was blood in your body." + +"So this is what you would call love?" he began, scornfully, his +fretting, fuming devil beginning to rouse. "A fair-weather love, +truly. But, Lord, how we men learn!" + +"I had thought you were well lessoned," she retorted; "what of the +other women?" + +"But what do you intend to do?" he demanded, taking no notice. "I am +not an easy man to cross. You cannot throw me over with impunity. I +shall not stand for it, I warn you. You have dared do things in this +country which would blacken you were they known. I have ears. I have +not been asleep. You will find it no child's play to explain away +things which you may declare most innocent." + +She looked at him with a smile which carried pity in its cold mirth, +and it goaded him. + +"I am down, a thing to make a jest upon, a thing to pity, but I promise +you that I can drag you with me. My kisses have cheapened you, eh? +Then how must you have felt at Happy Camp on the Dyea Trail?" + +As though in answer, Corliss swung down upon them with the tow-rope. + +Frona beckoned a greeting to him. "Vance," she said, "the mail-carrier +has brought important news to father, so important that he must go +outside. He starts this afternoon with Baron Courbertin in La Bijou. +Will you take me down to Dawson? I should like to go at once, to-day. + +"He . . . he suggested you," she added shyly, indicating St. Vincent. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14654 *** 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..92d8e8d --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #14654 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/14654) diff --git a/old/14654.txt b/old/14654.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..74ecc6a --- /dev/null +++ b/old/14654.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10753 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Daughter of the Snows, 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: A Daughter of the Snows + +Author: Jack London + +Release Date: January 10, 2005 [eBook #14654] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A DAUGHTER OF THE SNOWS*** + + +E-text prepared by Al Haines + + + +A DAUGHTER OF THE SNOWS + +by + +JACK LONDON + +Author of _The Son of The Wolf_, _The Call of the Wild_, +_The People of the Abyss_, etc. + +With Illustrations by Frederick C. Yohn + +Grosset & Dunlap +Publishers--New York + +1902 + + + + + + + +CHAPTER I + +"All ready, Miss Welse, though I'm sorry we can't spare one of the +steamer's boats." + +Frona Welse arose with alacrity and came to the first officer's side. + +"We're so busy," he explained, "and gold-rushers are such perishable +freight, at least--" + +"I understand," she interrupted, "and I, too, am behaving as though I +were perishable. And I am sorry for the trouble I am giving you, +but--but--" She turned quickly and pointed to the shore. "Do you +see that big log-house? Between the clump of pines and the river? I +was born there." + +"Guess I'd be in a hurry myself," he muttered, sympathetically, as he +piloted her along the crowded deck. + +Everybody was in everybody else's way; nor was there one who failed to +proclaim it at the top of his lungs. A thousand gold-seekers were +clamoring for the immediate landing of their outfits. Each hatchway +gaped wide open, and from the lower depths the shrieking donkey-engines +were hurrying the misassorted outfits skyward. On either side of the +steamer, rows of scows received the flying cargo, and on each of these +scows a sweating mob of men charged the descending slings and heaved +bales and boxes about in frantic search. Men waved shipping receipts +and shouted over the steamer-rails to them. Sometimes two and three +identified the same article, and war arose. The "two-circle" and the +"circle-and-dot" brands caused endless jangling, while every whipsaw +discovered a dozen claimants. + +"The purser insists that he is going mad," the first officer said, as +he helped Frona Welse down the gangway to the landing stage, "and the +freight clerks have turned the cargo over to the passengers and quit +work. But we're not so unlucky as the Star of Bethlehem," he reassured +her, pointing to a steamship at anchor a quarter of a mile away. "Half +of her passengers have pack-horses for Skaguay and White Pass, and the +other half are bound over the Chilcoot. So they've mutinied and +everything's at a standstill." + +"Hey, you!" he cried, beckoning to a Whitehall which hovered discreetly +on the outer rim of the floating confusion. + +A tiny launch, pulling heroically at a huge tow-barge, attempted to +pass between; but the boatman shot nervily across her bow, and just as +he was clear, unfortunately, caught a crab. This slewed the boat +around and brought it to a stop. + +"Watch out!" the first officer shouted. + +A pair of seventy-foot canoes, loaded with outfits, gold-rushers, and +Indians, and under full sail, drove down from the counter direction. +One of them veered sharply towards the landing stage, but the other +pinched the Whitehall against the barge. The boatman had unshipped his +oars in time, but his small craft groaned under the pressure and +threatened to collapse. Whereat he came to his feet, and in short, +nervous phrases consigned all canoe-men and launch-captains to eternal +perdition. A man on the barge leaned over from above and baptized him +with crisp and crackling oaths, while the whites and Indians in the +canoe laughed derisively. + +"Aw, g'wan!" one of them shouted. "Why don't yeh learn to row?" + +The boatman's fist landed on the point of his critic's jaw and dropped +him stunned upon the heaped merchandise. Not content with this summary +act he proceeded to follow his fist into the other craft. The miner +nearest him tugged vigorously at a revolver which had jammed in its +shiny leather holster, while his brother argonauts, laughing, waited +the outcome. But the canoe was under way again, and the Indian +helmsman drove the point of his paddle into the boatman's chest and +hurled him backward into the bottom of the Whitehall. + +When the flood of oaths and blasphemy was at full tide, and violent +assault and quick death seemed most imminent, the first officer had +stolen a glance at the girl by his side. He had expected to find a +shocked and frightened maiden countenance, and was not at all prepared +for the flushed and deeply interested face which met his eyes. + +"I am sorry," he began. + +But she broke in, as though annoyed by the interruption, "No, no; not +at all. I am enjoying it every bit. Though I am glad that man's +revolver stuck. If it had not--" + +"We might have been delayed in getting ashore." The first officer +laughed, and therein displayed his tact. + +"That man is a robber," he went on, indicating the boatman, who had now +shoved his oars into the water and was pulling alongside. "He agreed +to charge only twenty dollars for putting you ashore. Said he'd have +made it twenty-five had it been a man. He's a pirate, mark me, and he +will surely hang some day. Twenty dollars for a half-hour's work! +Think of it!" + +"Easy, sport! Easy!" cautioned the fellow in question, at the same +time making an awkward landing and dropping one of his oars over-side. +"You've no call to be flingin' names about," he added, defiantly, +wringing out his shirt-sleeve, wet from rescue of the oar. + +"You've got good ears, my man," began the first officer. + +"And a quick fist," the other snapped in. + +"And a ready tongue." + +"Need it in my business. No gettin' 'long without it among you +sea-sharks. Pirate, am I? And you with a thousand passengers packed +like sardines! Charge 'em double first-class passage, feed 'em +steerage grub, and bunk 'em worse 'n pigs! Pirate, eh! Me?" + +A red-faced man thrust his head over the rail above and began to bellow +lustily. + +"I want my stock landed! Come up here, Mr. Thurston! Now! Right +away! Fifty cayuses of | mine eating their heads off in this dirty +kennel of yours, and it'll be a sick time you'll have if you don't +hustle them ashore as fast as God'll let you! I'm losing a thousand +dollars a day, and I won't stand it! Do you hear? I won't stand it! +You've robbed me right and left from the time you cleared dock in +Seattle, and by the hinges of hell I won't stand it any more! I'll +break this company as sure as my name's Thad Ferguson! D'ye hear my +spiel? I'm Thad Ferguson, and you can't come and see me any too quick +for your health! D'ye hear?" + +"Pirate; eh?" the boatman soliloquized. "Who? Me?" + +Mr. Thurston waved his hand appeasingly at the red-faced man, and +turned to the girl. "I'd like to go ashore with you, and as far as the +store, but you see how busy we are. Good-by, and a lucky trip to you. +I'll tell off a couple of men at once and break out your baggage. Have +it up at the store to-morrow morning, sharp." + +She took his hand lightly and stepped aboard. Her weight gave the +leaky boat a sudden lurch, and the water hurtled across the bottom +boards to her shoe-tops: but she took it coolly enough, settling +herself in the stern-sheets and tucking her feet under her. + +"Hold on!" the officer cried. "This will never do, Miss Welse. Come +on back, and I'll get one of our boats over as soon as I can." + +"I'll see you in--in heaven first," retorted the boatman, shoving off. +"Let go!" he threatened. + +Mr. Thurston gripped tight hold of the gunwale, and as reward for his +chivalry had his knuckles rapped sharply by the oar-blade. Then he +forgot himself, and Miss Welse also, and swore, and swore fervently. + +"I dare say our farewell might have been more dignified," she called +back to him, her laughter rippling across the water. + +"Jove!" he muttered, doffing his cap gallantly. "There is a _woman_!" +And a sudden hunger seized him, and a yearning to see himself mirrored +always in the gray eyes of Frona Welse. He was not analytical; he did +not know why; but he knew that with her he could travel to the end of +the earth. He felt a distaste for his profession, and a temptation to +throw it all over and strike out for the Klondike whither she was +going; then he glanced up the beetling side of the ship, saw the red +face of Thad Ferguson, and forgot the dream he had for an instant +dreamed. + + +Splash! A handful of water from his strenuous oar struck her full in +the face. "Hope you don't mind it, miss," he apologized. "I'm doin' +the best I know how, which ain't much." + +"So it seems," she answered, good-naturedly. + +"Not that I love the sea," bitterly; "but I've got to turn a few honest +dollars somehow, and this seemed the likeliest way. I oughter 'a ben +in Klondike by now, if I'd had any luck at all. Tell you how it was. +I lost my outfit on Windy Arm, half-way in, after packin' it clean +across the Pass--" + +Zip! Splash! She shook the water from her eyes, squirming the while +as some of it ran down her warm back. + +"You'll do," he encouraged her. "You're the right stuff for this +country. Goin' all the way in?" + +She nodded cheerfully. + +"Then you'll do. But as I was sayin', after I lost my outfit I hit +back for the coast, bein' broke, to hustle up another one. That's why +I'm chargin' high-pressure rates. And I hope you don't feel sore at +what I made you pay. I'm no worse than the rest, miss, sure. I had to +dig up a hundred for this old tub, which ain't worth ten down in the +States. Same kind of prices everywhere. Over on the Skaguay Trail +horseshoe nails is just as good as a quarter any day. A man goes up to +the bar and calls for a whiskey. Whiskey's half a dollar. Well, he +drinks his whiskey, plunks down two horseshoe nails, and it's O.K. No +kick comin' on horseshoe nails. They use 'em to make change." + +"You must be a brave man to venture into the country again after such +an experience. Won't you tell me your name? We may meet on the +Inside." + +"Who? Me? Oh, I'm Del Bishop, pocket-miner; and if ever we run across +each other, remember I'd give you the last shirt--I mean, remember my +last bit of grub is yours." + +"Thank you," she answered with a sweet smile; for she was a woman who +loved the things which rose straight from the heart. + +He stopped rowing long enough to fish about in the water around his +feet for an old cornbeef can. + +"You'd better do some bailin'," he ordered, tossing her the can. +"She's leakin' worse since that squeeze." + +Frona smiled mentally, tucked up her skirts, and bent to the work. At +every dip, like great billows heaving along the sky-line, the +glacier-fretted mountains rose and fell. Sometimes she rested her back +and watched the teeming beach towards which they were heading, and +again, the land-locked arm of the sea in which a score or so of great +steamships lay at anchor. From each of these, to the shore and back +again, flowed a steady stream of scows, launches, canoes, and all sorts +of smaller craft. Man, the mighty toiler, reacting upon a hostile +environment, she thought, going back in memory to the masters whose +wisdom she had shared in lecture-room and midnight study. She was a +ripened child of the age, and fairly understood the physical world and +the workings thereof. And she had a love for the world, and a deep +respect. + +For some time Del Bishop had only punctuated the silence with splashes +from his oars; but a thought struck him. + +"You haven't told me your name," he suggested, with complacent delicacy. + +"My name is Welse," she answered. "Frona Welse." + +A great awe manifested itself in his face, and grew to a greater and +greater awe. "You--are--Frona--Welse?" he enunciated slowly. "Jacob +Welse ain't your old man, is he?" + +"Yes; I am Jacob Welse's daughter, at your service." + +He puckered his lips in a long low whistle of understanding and stopped +rowing. "Just you climb back into the stern and take your feet out of +that water," he commanded. "And gimme holt that can." + +"Am I not bailing satisfactorily?" she demanded, indignantly. + +"Yep. You're doin' all right; but, but, you are--are--" + +"Just what I was before you knew who I was. Now you go on +rowing,--that's your share of the work; and I'll take care of mine." + +"Oh, you'll do!" he murmured ecstatically, bending afresh to the oars. +"And Jacob Welse is your old man? I oughter 'a known it, sure!" + +When they reached the sand-spit, crowded with heterogeneous piles of +merchandise and buzzing with men, she stopped long enough to shake +hands with her ferryman. And though such a proceeding on the part of +his feminine patrons was certainly unusual, Del Bishop squared it +easily with the fact that she was Jacob Welse's daughter. + +"Remember, my last bit of grub is yours," he reassured her, still +holding her hand. + +"And your last shirt, too; don't forget." + +"Well, you're a--a--a crackerjack!" he exploded with a final squeeze. +"Sure!" + +Her short skirt did not block the free movement of her limbs, and she +discovered with pleasurable surprise that the quick tripping step of +the city pavement had departed from her, and that she was swinging off +in the long easy stride which is born of the trail and which comes only +after much travail and endeavor. More than one gold-rusher, shooting +keen glances at her ankles and gray-gaitered calves, affirmed Del +Bishop's judgment. And more than one glanced up at her face, and +glanced again; for her gaze was frank, with the frankness of +comradeship; and in her eyes there was always a smiling light, just +trembling on the verge of dawn; and did the onlooker smile, her eyes +smiled also. And the smiling light was protean-mooded,--merry, +sympathetic, joyous, quizzical,--the complement of whatsoever kindled +it. And sometimes the light spread over all her face, till the smile +prefigured by it was realized. But it was always in frank and open +comradeship. + +And there was much to cause her to smile as she hurried through the +crowd, across the sand-spit, and over the flat towards the log-building +she had pointed out to Mr. Thurston. Time had rolled back, and +locomotion and transportation were once again in the most primitive +stages. Men who had never carried more than parcels in all their lives +had now become bearers of burdens. They no longer walked upright under +the sun, but stooped the body forward and bowed the head to the earth. +Every back had become a pack-saddle, and the strap-galls were beginning +to form. They staggered beneath the unwonted effort, and legs became +drunken with weariness and titubated in divers directions till the +sunlight darkened and bearer and burden fell by the way. Other men, +exulting secretly, piled their goods on two-wheeled go-carts and pulled +out blithely enough, only to stall at the first spot where the great +round boulders invaded the trail. Whereat they generalized anew upon +the principles of Alaskan travel, discarded the go-cart, or trundled it +back to the beach and sold it at fabulous price to the last man landed. +Tenderfeet, with ten pounds of Colt's revolvers, cartridges, and +hunting-knives belted about them, wandered valiantly up the trail, and +crept back softly, shedding revolvers, cartridges, and knives in +despairing showers. And so, in gasping and bitter sweat, these sons of +Adam suffered for Adam's sin. + +Frona felt vaguely disturbed by this great throbbing rush of gold-mad +men, and the old scene with its clustering associations seemed blotted +out by these toiling aliens. Even the old landmarks appeared strangely +unfamiliar. It was the same, yet not the same. Here, on the grassy +flat, where she had played as a child and shrunk back at the sound of +her voice echoing from glacier to glacier, ten thousand men tramped +ceaselessly up and down, grinding the tender herbage into the soil and +mocking the stony silence. And just up the trail were ten thousand men +who had passed by, and over the Chilcoot were ten thousand more. And +behind, all down the island-studded Alaskan coast, even to the Horn, +were yet ten thousand more, harnessers of wind and steam, hasteners +from the ends of the earth. The Dyea River as of old roared +turbulently down to the sea; but its ancient banks were gored by the +feet of many men, and these men labored in surging rows at the dripping +tow-lines, and the deep-laden boats followed them as they fought their +upward way. And the will of man strove with the will of the water, and +the men laughed at the old Dyea River and gored its banks deeper for +the men who were to follow. + +The doorway of the store, through which she had once run out and in, +and where she had looked with awe at the unusual sight of a stray +trapper or fur-trader, was now packed with a clamorous throng of men. +Where of old one letter waiting a claimant was a thing of wonder, she +now saw, by peering through the window, the mail heaped up from floor +to ceiling. And it was for this mail the men were clamoring so +insistently. Before the store, by the scales, was another crowd. An +Indian threw his pack upon the scales, the white owner jotted down the +weight in a note-book, and another pack was thrown on. Each pack was +in the straps, ready for the packer's back and the precarious journey +over the Chilcoot. Frona edged in closer. She was interested in +freights. She remembered in her day when the solitary prospector or +trader had his outfit packed over for six cents,--one hundred and +twenty dollars a ton. + +The tenderfoot who was weighing up consulted his guide-book. "Eight +cents," he said to the Indian. Whereupon the Indians laughed +scornfully and chorused, "Forty cents!" A pained expression came into +his face, and he looked about him anxiously. The sympathetic light in +Frona's eyes caught him, and he regarded her with intent blankness. In +reality he was busy reducing a three-ton outfit to terms of cash at +forty dollars per hundred-weight. "Twenty-four hundred dollars for +thirty miles!" he cried. "What can I do?" + +Frona shrugged her shoulders. "You'd better pay them the forty cents," +she advised, "else they will take off their straps." + +The man thanked her, but instead of taking heed went on with his +haggling. One of the Indians stepped up and proceeded to unfasten his +pack-straps. The tenderfoot wavered, but just as he was about to give +in, the packers jumped the price on him to forty-five cents. He smiled +after a sickly fashion, and nodded his head in token of surrender. But +another Indian joined the group and began whispering excitedly. A +cheer went up, and before the man could realize it they had jerked off +their straps and departed, spreading the news as they went that freight +to Lake Linderman was fifty cents. + +Of a sudden, the crowd before the store was perceptibly agitated. Its +members whispered excitedly one to another, and all their eyes were +focussed upon three men approaching from up the trail. The trio were +ordinary-looking creatures, ill-clad and even ragged. In a more stable +community their apprehension by the village constable and arrest for +vagrancy would have been immediate. "French Louis," the tenderfeet +whispered and passed the word along. "Owns three Eldorado claims in a +block," the man next to Frona confided to her. "Worth ten millions at +the very least." French Louis, striding a little in advance of his +companions, did not look it. He had parted company with his hat +somewhere along the route, and a frayed silk kerchief was wrapped +carelessly about his head. And for all his ten millions, he carried +his own travelling pack on his broad shoulders. "And that one, the one +with the beard, that's Swiftwater Bill, another of the Eldorado kings." + +"How do you know?" Frona asked, doubtingly. + +"Know!" the man exclaimed. "Know! Why his picture has been in all the +papers for the last six weeks. See!" He unfolded a newspaper. "And a +pretty good likeness, too. I've looked at it so much I'd know his mug +among a thousand." + +"Then who is the third one?" she queried, tacitly accepting him as a +fount of authority. + +Her informant lifted himself on his toes to see better. "I don't +know," he confessed sorrowfully, then tapped the shoulder of the man +next to him. "Who is the lean, smooth-faced one? The one with the +blue shirt and the patch on his knee?" + +Just then Frona uttered a glad little cry and darted forward. "Matt!" +she cried. "Matt McCarthy!" + +The man with the patch shook her hand heartily, though he did not know +her and distrust was plain in his eyes. + +"Oh, you don't remember me!" she chattered. "And don't you dare say +you do! If there weren't so many looking, I'd hug you, you old bear! + +"And so Big Bear went home to the Little Bears," she recited, solemnly. +"And the Little Bears were very hungry. And Big Bear said, 'Guess what +I have got, my children.' And one Little Bear guessed berries, and one +Little Bear guessed salmon, and t'other Little Bear guessed porcupine. +Then Big Bear laughed 'Whoof! Whoof!' and said, '_A Nice Big Fat +Man_!'" + +As he listened, recollection avowed itself in his face, and, when she +had finished, his eyes wrinkled up and he laughed a peculiar, laughable +silent laugh. + +"Sure, an' it's well I know ye," he explained; "but for the life iv me +I can't put me finger on ye." + +She pointed into the store and watched him anxiously. + +"Now I have ye!" He drew back and looked her up and down, and his +expression changed to disappointment. "It cuddent be. I mistook ye. +Ye cud niver a-lived in that shanty," thrusting a thumb in the +direction of the store. + +Frona nodded her head vigorously. + +"Thin it's yer ownself afther all? The little motherless darlin', with +the goold hair I combed the knots out iv many's the time? The little +witch that run barefoot an' barelegged over all the place?" + +"Yes, yes," she corroborated, gleefully. + +"The little divil that stole the dog-team an' wint over the Pass in the +dead o' winter for to see where the world come to an ind on the ither +side, just because old Matt McCarthy was afther tellin' her fairy +stories?" + +"O Matt, dear old Matt! Remember the time I went swimming with the +Siwash girls from the Indian camp?" + +"An' I dragged ye out by the hair o' yer head?" + +"And lost one of your new rubber boots?" + +"Ah, an' sure an' I do. And a most shockin' an' immodest affair it +was! An' the boots was worth tin dollars over yer father's counter." + +"And then you went away, over the Pass, to the Inside, and we never +heard a word of you. Everybody thought you dead." + +"Well I recollect the day. An' ye cried in me arms an' wuddent kiss +yer old Matt good-by. But ye did in the ind," he exclaimed, +triumphantly, "whin ye saw I was goin' to lave ye for sure. What a wee +thing ye were!" + +"I was only eight." + +"An' 'tis twelve year agone. Twelve year I've spint on the Inside, +with niver a trip out. Ye must be twinty now?" + +"And almost as big as you," Frona affirmed. + +"A likely woman ye've grown into, tall, an' shapely, an' all that." He +looked her over critically. "But ye cud 'a' stood a bit more flesh, +I'm thinkin'." + +"No, no," she denied. "Not at twenty, Matt, not at twenty. Feel my +arm, you'll see." She doubled that member till the biceps knotted. + +"'Tis muscle," he admitted, passing his hand admiringly over the +swelling bunch; "just as though ye'd been workin' hard for yer livin'." + +"Oh, I can swing clubs, and box, and fence," she cried, successively +striking the typical postures; "and swim, and make high dives, chin a +bar twenty times, and--and walk on my hands. There!" + +"Is that what ye've been doin'? I thought ye wint away for +book-larnin'," he commented, dryly. + +"But they have new ways of teaching, now, Matt, and they don't turn you +out with your head crammed--" + +"An' yer legs that spindly they can't carry it all! Well, an' I +forgive ye yer muscle." + +"But how about yourself, Matt?" Frona asked. "How has the world been +to you these twelve years?" + +"Behold!" He spread his legs apart, threw his head back, and his chest +out. "Ye now behold Mister Matthew McCarthy, a king iv the noble +Eldorado Dynasty by the strength iv his own right arm. Me possessions +is limitless. I have more dust in wan minute than iver I saw in all me +life before. Me intintion for makin' this trip to the States is to +look up me ancestors. I have a firm belafe that they wance existed. +Ye may find nuggets in the Klondike, but niver good whiskey. 'Tis +likewise me intintion to have wan drink iv the rate stuff before I die. +Afther that 'tis me sworn resolve to return to the superveeshion iv me +Klondike properties. Indade, and I'm an Eldorado king; an' if ye'll be +wantin' the lind iv a tidy bit, it's meself that'll loan it ye." + +"The same old, old Matt, who never grows old," Frona laughed. + +"An' it's yerself is the thrue Welse, for all yer prize-fighter's +muscles an' yer philosopher's brains. But let's wander inside on the +heels of Louis an' Swiftwater. Andy's still tindin' store, I'm told, +an' we'll see if I still linger in the pages iv his mimory." + +"And I, also." Frona seized him by the hand. It was a bad habit she +had of seizing the hands of those she loved. "It's ten years since I +went away." + +The Irishman forged his way through the crowd like a pile-driver, and +Frona followed easily in the lee of his bulk. The tenderfeet watched +them reverently, for to them they were as Northland divinities. The +buzz of conversation rose again. + +"Who's the girl?" somebody asked. And just as Frona passed inside the +door she caught the opening of the answer: "Jacob Welse's daughter. +Never heard of Jacob Welse? Where have you been keeping yourself?" + + + + +CHAPTER II + +She came out of the wood of glistening birch, and with the first fires +of the sun blazoning her unbound hair raced lightly across the +dew-dripping meadow. The earth was fat with excessive moisture and +soft to her feet, while the dank vegetation slapped against her knees +and cast off flashing sprays of liquid diamonds. The flush of the +morning was in her cheek, and its fire in her eyes, and she was aglow +with youth and love. For she had nursed at the breast of nature,--in +forfeit of a mother,--and she loved the old trees and the creeping +green things with a passionate love; and the dim murmur of growing life +was a gladness to her ears, and the damp earth-smells were sweet to her +nostrils. + +Where the upper-reach of the meadow vanished in a dark and narrow +forest aisle, amid clean-stemmed dandelions and color-bursting +buttercups, she came upon a bunch of great Alaskan violets. Throwing +herself at full length, she buried her face in the fragrant coolness, +and with her hands drew the purple heads in circling splendor about her +own. And she was not ashamed. She had wandered away amid the +complexities and smirch and withering heats of the great world, and she +had returned, simple, and clean, and wholesome. And she was glad of +it, as she lay there, slipping back to the old days, when the universe +began and ended at the sky-line, and when she journeyed over the Pass +to behold the Abyss. + +It was a primitive life, that of her childhood, with few conventions, +but such as there were, stern ones. And they might be epitomized, as +she had read somewhere in her later years, as "the faith of food and +blanket." This faith had her father kept, she thought, remembering +that his name sounded well on the lips of men. And this was the faith +she had learned,--the faith she had carried with her across the Abyss +and into the world, where men had wandered away from the old truths and +made themselves selfish dogmas and casuistries of the subtlest kinds; +the faith she had brought back with her, still fresh, and young, and +joyous. And it was all so simple, she had contended; why should not +their faith be as her faith--_the faith of food and blanket_? The +faith of trail and hunting camp? The faith with which strong clean men +faced the quick danger and sudden death by field and flood? Why not? +The faith of Jacob Welse? Of Matt McCarthy? Of the Indian boys she +had played with? Of the Indian girls she had led to Amazonian war? Of +the very wolf-dogs straining in the harnesses and running with her +across the snow? It was healthy, it was real, it was good, she +thought, and she was glad. + +The rich notes of a robin saluted her from the birch wood, and opened +her ears to the day. A partridge boomed afar in the forest, and a +tree-squirrel launched unerringly into space above her head, and went +on, from limb to limb and tree to tree, scolding graciously the while. +From the hidden river rose the shouts of the toiling adventurers, +already parted from sleep and fighting their way towards the Pole. + +Frona arose, shook back her hair, and took instinctively the old path +between the trees to the camp of Chief George and the Dyea tribesmen. +She came upon a boy, breech-clouted and bare, like a copper god. He +was gathering wood, and looked at her keenly over his bronze shoulder. +She bade him good-morning, blithely, in the Dyea tongue; but he shook +his head, and laughed insultingly, and paused in his work to hurl +shameful words after her. She did not understand, for this was not the +old way, and when she passed a great and glowering Sitkan buck she kept +her tongue between her teeth. At the fringe of the forest, the camp +confronted her. And she was startled. It was not the old camp of a +score or more of lodges clustering and huddling together in the open as +though for company, but a mighty camp. It began at the very forest, +and flowed in and out among the scattered tree-clumps on the flat, and +spilled over and down to the river bank where the long canoes were +lined up ten and twelve deep. It was a gathering of the tribes, like +unto none in all the past, and a thousand miles of coast made up the +tally. They were all strange Indians, with wives and chattels and +dogs. She rubbed shoulders with Juneau and Wrangel men, and was +jostled by wild-eyed Sticks from over the Passes, fierce Chilcats, and +Queen Charlotte Islanders. And the looks they cast upon her were black +and frowning, save--and far worse--where the merrier souls leered +patronizingly into her face and chuckled unmentionable things. + +She was not frightened by this insolence, but angered; for it hurt her, +and embittered the pleasurable home-coming. Yet she quickly grasped +the significance of it: the old patriarchal status of her father's time +had passed away, and civilization, in a scorching blast, had swept down +upon this people in a day. Glancing under the raised flaps of a tent, +she saw haggard-faced bucks squatting in a circle on the floor. By the +door a heap of broken bottles advertised the vigils of the night. A +white man, low of visage and shrewd, was dealing cards about, and gold +and silver coins leaped into heaping bets upon the blanket board. A +few steps farther on she heard the cluttering whirl of a wheel of +fortune, and saw the Indians, men and women, chancing eagerly their +sweat-earned wages for the gaudy prizes of the game. And from tepee +and lodge rose the cracked and crazy strains of cheap music-boxes. + +An old squaw, peeling a willow pole in the sunshine of an open doorway, +raised her head and uttered a shrill cry. + +"Hee-Hee! Tenas Hee-Hee!" she muttered as well and as excitedly as her +toothless gums would permit. + +Frona thrilled at the cry. Tenas Hee-Hee! Little Laughter! Her name +of the long gone Indian past! She turned and went over to the old +woman. + +"And hast thou so soon forgotten, Tenas Hee-Hee?" she mumbled. "And +thine eyes so young and sharp! Not so soon does Neepoosa forget." + +"It is thou, Neepoosa?" Frona cried, her tongue halting from the disuse +of years. + +"Ay, it is Neepoosa," the old woman replied, drawing her inside the +tent, and despatching a boy, hot-footed, on some errand. They sat down +together on the floor, and she patted Frona's hand lovingly, peering, +meanwhile, blear-eyed and misty, into her face. "Ay, it is Neepoosa, +grown old quickly after the manner of our women. Neepoosa, who dandled +thee in her arms when thou wast a child. Neepoosa, who gave thee thy +name, Tenas Hee-Hee. Who fought for thee with Death when thou wast +ailing; and gathered growing things from the woods and grasses of the +earth and made of them tea, and gave thee to drink. But I mark little +change, for I knew thee at once. It was thy very shadow on the ground +that made me lift my head. A little change, mayhap. Tall thou art, +and like a slender willow in thy grace, and the sun has kissed thy +cheeks more lightly of the years; but there is the old hair, flying +wild and of the color of the brown seaweed floating on the tide, and +the mouth, quick to laugh and loth to cry. And the eyes are as clear +and true as in the days when Neepoosa chid thee for wrong-doing, and +thou wouldst not put false words upon thy tongue. Ai! Ai! Not as +thou art the other women who come now into the land!" + +"And why is a white woman without honor among you?" Frona demanded. +"Your men say evil things to me in the camp, and as I came through the +woods, even the boys. Not in the old days, when I played with them, +was this shame so." + +"Ai! Ai!" Neepoosa made answer. "It is so. But do not blame them. +Pour not thine anger upon their heads. For it is true it is the fault +of thy women who come into the land these days. They can point to no +man and say, 'That is my man.' And it is not good that women should he +thus. And they look upon all men, bold-eyed and shameless, and their +tongues are unclean, and their hearts bad. Wherefore are thy women +without honor among us. As for the boys, they are but boys. And the +men; how should they know?" + +The tent-flaps were poked aside and an old man came in. He grunted to +Frona and sat down. Only a certain eager alertness showed the delight +he took in her presence. + +"So Tenas Hee-Hee has come back in these bad days," he vouchsafed in a +shrill, quavering voice. + +"And why bad days, Muskim?" Frona asked. "Do not the women wear +brighter colors? Are not the bellies fuller with flour and bacon and +white man's grub? Do not the young men contrive great wealth what of +their pack-straps and paddles? And art thou not remembered with the +ancient offerings of meat and fish and blanket? Why bad days, Muskim?" + +"True," he replied in his fine, priestly way, a reminiscent flash of +the old fire lighting his eyes. "It is very true. The women wear +brighter colors. But they have found favor, in the eyes of thy white +men, and they look no more upon the young men of their own blood. +Wherefore the tribe does not increase, nor do the little children +longer clutter the way of our feet. It is so. The bellies are fuller +with the white man's grub; but also are they fuller with the white +man's bad whiskey. Nor could it be otherwise that the young men +contrive great wealth; but they sit by night over the cards, and it +passes from them, and they speak harsh words one to another, and in +anger blows are struck, and there is bad blood between them. As for +old Muskim, there are few offerings of meat and fish and blanket. For +the young women have turned aside from the old paths, nor do the young +men longer honor the old totems and the old gods. So these are bad +days, Tenas Hee-Hee, and they behold old Muskim go down in sorrow to +the grave." + +"Ai! Ai! It is so!" wailed Neepoosa. + +"Because of the madness of thy people have my people become mad," +Muskim continued. "They come over the salt sea like the waves of the +sea, thy people, and they go--ah! who knoweth where?" + +"Ai! Who knoweth where?" Neepoosa lamented, rocking slowly back and +forth. + +"Ever they go towards the frost and cold; and ever do they come, more +people, wave upon wave!" + +"Ai! Ai! Into the frost and cold! It is a long way, and dark and +cold!" She shivered, then laid a sudden hand on Frona's arm. "And +thou goest?" + +Frona nodded. + +"And Tenas Hee-Hee goest! Ai! Ai! Ai!" + +The tent-flap lifted, and Matt McCarthy peered in. "It's yerself, +Frona, is it? With breakfast waitin' this half-hour on ye, an' old +Andy fumin' an' frettin' like the old woman he is. Good-mornin' to ye, +Neepoosa," he addressed Frona's companions, "an' to ye, Muskim, though, +belike ye've little mimory iv me face." + +The old couple grunted salutation and remained stolidly silent. + +"But hurry with ye, girl," turning back to Frona. "Me steamer starts +by mid-day, an' it's little I'll see iv ye at the best. An' likewise +there's Andy an' the breakfast pipin' hot, both iv them." + + + + +CHAPTER III + +Frona waved her hand to Andy and swung out on the trail. Fastened +tightly to her back were her camera and a small travelling satchel. In +addition, she carried for alpenstock the willow pole of Neepoosa. Her +dress was of the mountaineering sort, short-skirted and scant, allowing +the greatest play with the least material, and withal gray of color and +modest. + +Her outfit, on the backs of a dozen Indians and in charge of Del +Bishop, had got under way hours before. The previous day, on her +return with Matt McCarthy from the Siwash camp, she had found Del +Bishop at the store waiting her. His business was quickly transacted, +for the proposition he made was terse and to the point. She was going +into the country. He was intending to go in. She would need somebody. +If she had not picked any one yet, why he was just the man. He had +forgotten to tell her the day he took her ashore that he had been in +the country years before and knew all about it. True, he hated the +water, and it was mainly a water journey; but he was not afraid of it. +He was afraid of nothing. Further, he would fight for her at the drop +of the hat. As for pay, when they got to Dawson, a good word from her +to Jacob Welse, and a year's outfit would be his. No, no; no +grub-stake about it, no strings on him! He would pay for the outfit +later on when his sack was dusted. What did she think about it, +anyway? And Frona did think about it, for ere she had finished +breakfast he was out hustling the packers together. + +She found herself making better speed than the majority of her fellows, +who were heavily laden and had to rest their packs every few hundred +yards. Yet she found herself hard put to keep the pace of a bunch of +Scandinavians ahead of her. They were huge strapping blond-haired +giants, each striding along with a hundred pounds on his back, and all +harnessed to a go-cart which carried fully six hundred more. Their +faces were as laughing suns, and the joy of life was in them. The toil +seemed child's play and slipped from them lightly. They joked with one +another, and with the passers-by, in a meaningless tongue, and their +great chests rumbled with cavern-echoing laughs. Men stood aside for +them, and looked after them enviously; for they took the rises of the +trail on the run, and rattled down the counter slopes, and ground the +iron-rimmed wheels harshly over the rocks. Plunging through a dark +stretch of woods, they came out upon the river at the ford. A drowned +man lay on his back on the sand-bar, staring upward, unblinking, at the +sun. A man, in irritated tones, was questioning over and over, +"Where's his pardner? Ain't he got a pardner?" Two more men had +thrown off their packs and were coolly taking an inventory of the dead +man's possessions. One called aloud the various articles, while the +other checked them off on a piece of dirty wrapping-paper. Letters and +receipts, wet and pulpy, strewed the sand. A few gold coins were +heaped carelessly on a white handkerchief. Other men, crossing back +and forth in canoes and skiffs, took no notice. + +The Scandinavians glanced at the sight, and their faces sobered for a +moment. "Where's his pardner? Ain't he got a pardner?" the irritated +man demanded of them. They shook their heads. They did not understand +English. They stepped into the water and splashed onward. Some one +called warningly from the opposite bank, whereat they stood still and +conferred together. Then they started on again. The two men taking +the inventory turned to watch. The current rose nigh to their hips, +but it was swift and they staggered, while now and again the cart +slipped sideways with the stream. The worst was over, and Frona found +herself holding her breath. The water had sunk to the knees of the two +foremost men, when a strap snapped on one nearest the cart. His pack +swung suddenly to the side, overbalancing him. At the same instant the +man next to him slipped, and each jerked the other under. The next two +were whipped off their feet, while the cart, turning over, swept from +the bottom of the ford into the deep water. The two men who had almost +emerged threw themselves backward on the pull-ropes. The effort was +heroic, but giants though they were, the task was too great and they +were dragged, inch by inch, downward and under. + +Their packs held them to the bottom, save him whose strap had broken. +This one struck out, not to the shore, but down the stream, striving to +keep up with his comrades. A couple of hundred feet below, the rapid +dashed over a toothed-reef of rocks, and here, a minute later, they +appeared. The cart, still loaded, showed first, smashing a wheel and +turning over and over into the next plunge. The men followed in a +miserable tangle. They were beaten against the submerged rocks and +swept on, all but one. Frona, in a canoe (a dozen canoes were already +in pursuit), saw him grip the rock with bleeding fingers. She saw his +white face and the agony of the effort; but his hold relaxed and he was +jerked away, just as his free comrade, swimming mightily, was reaching +for him. Hidden from sight, they took the next plunge, showing for a +second, still struggling, at the shallow foot of the rapid. + +A canoe picked up the swimming man, but the rest disappeared in a long +stretch of swift, deep water. For a quarter of an hour the canoes +plied fruitlessly about, then found the dead men gently grounded in an +eddy. A tow-rope was requisitioned from an up-coming boat, and a pair +of horses from a pack-train on the bank, and the ghastly jetsam hauled +ashore. Frona looked at the five young giants lying in the mud, +broken-boned, limp, uncaring. They were still harnessed to the cart, +and the poor worthless packs still clung to their backs, The sixth sat +in the midst, dry-eyed and stunned. A dozen feet away the steady flood +of life flowed by and Frona melted into it and went on. + + +The dark spruce-shrouded mountains drew close together in the Dyea +Canyon, and the feet of men churned the wet sunless earth into mire and +bog-hole. And when they had done this they sought new paths, till +there were many paths. And on such a path Frona came upon a man spread +carelessly in the mud. He lay on his side, legs apart and one arm +buried beneath him, pinned down by a bulky pack. His cheek was +pillowed restfully in the ooze, and on his face there was an expression +of content. He brightened when he saw her, and his eyes twinkled +cheerily. + +"'Bout time you hove along," he greeted her. "Been waitin' an hour on +you as it is." + +"That's it," as Frona bent over him. "Just unbuckle that strap. The +pesky thing! 'Twas just out o' my reach all the time." + +"Are you hurt?" she asked. + +He slipped out of his straps, shook himself, and felt the twisted arm. +"Nope. Sound as a dollar, thank you. And no kick to register, +either." He reached over and wiped his muddy hands on a low-bowed +spruce. "Just my luck; but I got a good rest, so what's the good of +makin' a beef about it? You see, I tripped on that little root there, +and slip! slump! slam! and slush!--there I was, down and out, and the +buckle just out o' reach. And there I lay for a blasted hour, +everybody hitting the lower path." + +"But why didn't you call out to them?" + +"And make 'em climb up the hill to me? Them all tuckered out with +their own work? Not on your life! Wasn't serious enough. If any +other man 'd make me climb up just because he'd slipped down, I'd take +him out o' the mud all right, all right, and punch and punch him back +into the mud again. Besides, I knew somebody was bound to come along +my way after a while." + +"Oh, you'll do!" she cried, appropriating Del Bishop's phrase. "You'll +do for this country!" + +"Yep," he called back, shouldering his pack and starting off at a +lively clip. "And, anyway, I got a good rest." + +The trail dipped through a precipitous morass to the river's brink. A +slender pine-tree spanned the screaming foam and bent midway to touch +the water. The surge beat upon the taper trunk and gave it a +rhythmical swaying motion, while the feet of the packers had worn +smooth its wave-washed surface. Eighty feet it stretched in ticklish +insecurity. Frona stepped upon it, felt it move beneath her, heard the +bellowing of the water, saw the mad rush--and shrank back. She slipped +the knot of her shoe-laces and pretended great care in the tying +thereof as a bunch of Indians came out of the woods above and down +through the mud. Three or four bucks led the way, followed by many +squaws, all bending in the head-straps to the heavy packs. Behind came +the children burdened according to their years, and in the rear half a +dozen dogs, tongues lagging out and dragging forward painfully under +their several loads. + +The men glanced at her sideways, and one of them said something in an +undertone. Frona could not hear, but the snicker which went down the +line brought the flush of shame to her brow and told her more forcibly +than could the words. Her face was hot, for she sat disgraced in her +own sight; but she gave no sign. The leader stood aside, and one by +one, and never more than one at a time, they made the perilous passage. +At the bend in the middle their weight forced the tree under, and they +felt for their footing, up to the ankles in the cold, driving torrent. +Even the little children made it without hesitancy, and then the dogs +whining and reluctant but urged on by the man. When the last had +crossed over, he turned to Frona. + +"Um horse trail," he said, pointing up the mountain side. "Much better +you take um horse trail. More far; much better." + +But she shook her head and waited till he reached the farther bank; for +she felt the call, not only upon her own pride, but upon the pride of +her race; and it was a greater demand than her demand, just as the race +was greater than she. So she put foot upon the log, and, with the eyes +of the alien people upon her, walked down into the foam-white swirl. + + +She came upon a man weeping by the side of the trail. His pack, +clumsily strapped, sprawled on the ground. He had taken off a shoe, +and one naked foot showed swollen and blistered. + +"What is the matter?" she asked, halting before him. + +He looked up at her, then down into the depths where the Dyea River cut +the gloomy darkness with its living silver. The tears still welled in +his eyes, and he sniffled. + +"What is the matter?" she repeated. "Can I be of any help?" + +"No," he replied. "How can you help? My feet are raw, and my back is +nearly broken, and I am all tired out. Can you help any of these +things?" + +"Well," judiciously, "I am sure it might be worse. Think of the men +who have just landed on the beach. It will take them ten days or two +weeks to back-trip their outfits as far as you have already got yours." + +"But my partners have left me and gone on," he moaned, a sneaking +appeal for pity in his voice. "And I am all alone, and I don't feel +able to move another step. And then think of my wife and babies. I +left them down in the States. Oh, if they could only see me now! I +can't go back to them, and I can't go on. It's too much for me. I +can't stand it, this working like a horse. I was not made to work like +a horse. I'll die, I know I will, if I do. Oh, what shall I do? What +shall I do?" + +"Why did your comrades leave you?" + +"Because I was not so strong as they; because I could not pack as much +or as long. And they laughed at me and left me." + +"Have you ever roughed it?" Frona asked. + +"No." + +"You look well put up and strong. Weigh probably one hundred and +sixty-five?" + +"One hundred-and seventy," he corrected. + +"You don't look as though you had ever been troubled with sickness. +Never an invalid?" + +"N-no." + +"And your comrades? They are miners?" + +"Never mining in their lives. They worked in the same establishment +with me. That's what makes it so hard, don't you see! We'd known one +another for years! And to go off and leave me just because I couldn't +keep up!" + +"My friend," and Frona knew she was speaking for the race, "you are +strong as they. You can work just as hard as they; pack as much. But +you are weak of heart. This is no place for the weak of heart. You +cannot work like a horse because you will not. Therefore the country +has no use for you. The north wants strong men,--strong of soul, not +body. The body does not count. So go back to the States. We do not +want you here. If you come you will die, and what then of| your wife +and babies? So sell out your outfit and go back. You will be home in +three weeks. Good-by." + + +She passed through Sheep Camp. Somewhere above, a mighty glacier, +under the pent pressure of a subterranean reservoir, had burst asunder +and hurled a hundred thousand tons of ice and water down the rocky +gorge. The trail was yet slippery with the slime of the flood, and men +were rummaging disconsolately in the rubbish of overthrown tents and +caches. But here and there they worked with nervous haste, and the +stark corpses by the trail-side attested dumbly to their labor. A few +hundred yards beyond, the work of the rush went on uninterrupted. Men +rested their packs on jutting stones, swapped escapes whilst they +regained their breath, then stumbled on to their toil again. + + +The mid-day sun beat down upon the stone "Scales." The forest had +given up the struggle, and the dizzying heat recoiled from the +unclothed rock. On either hand rose the ice-marred ribs of earth, +naked and strenuous in their nakedness. Above towered storm-beaten +Chilcoot. Up its gaunt and ragged front crawled a slender string of +men. But it was an endless string. It came out of the last fringe of +dwarfed shrub below, drew a black line across a dazzling stretch of +ice, and filed past Frona where she ate her lunch by the way. And it +went on, up the pitch of the steep, growing fainter and smaller, till +it squirmed and twisted like a column of ants and vanished over the +crest of the pass. + +Even as she looked, Chilcoot was wrapped in rolling mist and whirling +cloud, and a storm of sleet and wind roared down upon the toiling +pigmies. The light was swept out of the day, and a deep gloom +prevailed; but Frona knew that somewhere up there, clinging and +climbing and immortally striving, the long line of ants still twisted +towards the sky. And she thrilled at the thought, strong with man's +ancient love of mastery, and stepped into the line which came out of +the storm behind and disappeared into the storm before. + +She blew through the gap of the pass in a whirlwind of vapor, with hand +and foot clambered down the volcanic ruin of Chilcoot's mighty father, +and stood on the bleak edge of the lake which filled the pit of the +crater. The lake was angry and white-capped, and though a hundred +caches were waiting ferriage, no boats were plying back and forth. A +rickety skeleton of sticks, in a shell of greased canvas, lay upon the +rocks. Frona sought out the owner, a bright-faced young fellow, with +sharp black eyes and a salient jaw. Yes, he was the ferryman, but he +had quit work for the day. Water too rough for freighting. He charged +twenty-five dollars for passengers, but he was not taking passengers +to-day. Had he not said it was too rough? That was why. + +"But you will take me, surely?" she asked. + +He shook his head and gazed out over the lake. "At the far end it's +rougher than you see it here. Even the big wooden boats won't tackle +it. The last that tried, with a gang of packers aboard, was blown over +on the west shore. We could see them plainly. And as there's no trail +around from there, they'll have to camp it out till the blow is over." + +"But they're better off than I am. My camp outfit is at Happy Camp, +and I can't very well stay here," Frona smiled winsomely, but there was +no appeal in the smile; no feminine helplessness throwing itself on the +strength and chivalry of the male. "Do reconsider and take me across." + +"No." + +"I'll give you fifty." + +"No, I say." + +"But I'm not afraid, you know." + +The young fellow's eyes flashed angrily. He turned upon her suddenly, +but on second thought did not utter the words forming on his lips. She +realized the unintentional slur she had cast, and was about to explain. +But on second thought she, too, remained silent; for she read him, and +knew that it was perhaps the only way for her to gain her point. They +stood there, bodies inclined to the storm in the manner of seamen on +sloped decks, unyieldingly looking into each other's eyes. His hair +was plastered in wet ringlets on his forehead, while hers, in longer +wisps, beat furiously about her face. + +"Come on, then!" He flung the boat into the water with an angry jerk, +and tossed the oars aboard. "Climb in! I'll take you, but not for +your fifty dollars. You pay the regulation price, and that's all." + +A gust of the gale caught the light shell and swept it broadside for a +score of feet. The spray drove inboard in a continuous stinging +shower, and Frona at once fell to work with the bailing-can. + +"I hope we're blown ashore," he shouted, stooping forward to the oars. +"It would be embarrassing--for you." He looked up savagely into her +face. + +"No," she modified; "but it would be very miserable for both of us,--a +night without tent, blankets, or fire. Besides, we're not going to +blow ashore." + + +She stepped out on the slippery rocks and helped him heave up the +canvas craft and tilt the water out. On either side uprose bare wet +walls of rock. A heavy sleet was falling steadily, through which a few +streaming caches showed in the gathering darkness. + +"You'd better hurry up," he advised, thanking her for the assistance +and relaunching the boat. "Two miles of stiff trail from here to Happy +Camp. No wood until you get there, so you'd best hustle along. +Good-by." + +Frona reached out and took his hand, and said, "You are a brave man." + +"Oh, I don't know." He returned the grip with usury and looked his +admiration. + + +A dozen tents held grimly to their pegs on the extreme edge of the +timber line at Happy Camp. Frona, weary with the day, went from tent +to tent. Her wet skirts clung heavily to her tired limbs, while the +wind buffeted her brutally about. Once, through a canvas wall, she +heard a man apostrophizing gorgeously, and felt sure that it was Del +Bishop. But a peep into the interior told a different tale; so she +wandered fruitlessly on till she reached the last tent in the camp. +She untied the flap and looked in. A spluttering candle showed the one +occupant, a man, down on his knees and blowing lustily into the +fire-box of a smoky Yukon stove. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +She cast off the lower flap-fastenings and entered. The man still blew +into the stove, unaware of his company. Frona coughed, and he raised a +pair of smoke-reddened eyes to hers. + +"Certainly," he said, casually enough. "Fasten the flaps and make +yourself comfortable." And thereat returned to his borean task. + +"Hospitable, to say the least," she commented to herself, obeying his +command and coming up to the stove. + +A heap of dwarfed spruce, gnarled and wet and cut to proper +stove-length, lay to one side. Frona knew it well, creeping and +crawling and twisting itself among the rocks of the shallow alluvial +deposit, unlike its arboreal prototype, rarely lifting its head more +than a foot from the earth. She looked into the oven, found it empty, +and filled it with the wet wood. The man arose to his feet, coughing +from the smoke which had been driven into his lungs, and nodding +approval. + +When he had recovered his breath, "Sit down and dry your skirts. I'll +get supper." + +He put a coffee-pot on the front lid of the stove, emptied the bucket +into it, and went out of the tent after more water. As his back +disappeared, Frona dived for her satchel, and when he returned a moment +later he found her with a dry skirt on and wringing the wet one out. +While he fished about in the grub-box for dishes and eating utensils, +she stretched a spare bit of rope between the tent-poles and hung the +skirt on it to dry. The dishes were dirty, and, as he bent over and +washed them, she turned her back and deftly changed her stockings. Her +childhood had taught her the value of well-cared feet for the trail. +She put her wet shoes on a pile of wood at the back of the stove, +substituting for them a pair of soft and dainty house-moccasins of +Indian make. The fire had now grown strong, and she was content to let +her under-garments dry on her body. + +During all this time neither had spoken a word. Not only had the man +remained silent, but he went about his work in so preoccupied a way +that it seemed to Frona that he turned a deaf ear to the words of +explanation she would have liked to utter. His whole bearing conveyed +the impression that it was the most ordinary thing under the sun for a +young woman to come in out of the storm and night and partake of his +hospitality. In one way, she liked this; but in so far as she did not +comprehend it, she was troubled. She had a perception of a something +being taken for granted which she did not understand. Once or twice +she moistened her lips to speak, but he appeared so oblivious of her +presence that she withheld. + +After opening a can of corned beef with the axe, he fried half a dozen +thick slices of bacon, set the frying-pan back, and boiled the coffee. +From the grub-box he resurrected the half of a cold heavy flapjack. He +looked at it dubiously, and shot a quick glance at her. Then he threw +the sodden thing out of doors and dumped the contents of a sea-biscuit +bag upon a camp cloth. The sea-biscuit had been crumbled into chips +and fragments and generously soaked by the rain till it had become a +mushy, pulpy mass of dirty white. + +"It's all I have in the way of bread," he muttered; "but sit down and +we will make the best of it." + +"One moment--" And before he could protest, Frona had poured the +sea-biscuit into the frying-pan on top of the grease and bacon. To +this she added a couple of cups of water and stirred briskly over the +fire. When it had sobbed and sighed with the heat for some few +minutes, she sliced up the corned beef and mixed it in with the rest. +And by the time she had seasoned it heavily with salt and black pepper, +a savory steam was rising from the concoction. + +"Must say it's pretty good stuff," he said, balancing his plate on his +knee and sampling the mess avidiously. "What do you happen to call it?" + +"Slumgullion," she responded curtly, and thereafter the meal went on in +silence. + +Frona helped him to the coffee, studying him intently the while. And +not only was it not an unpleasant face, she decided, but it was strong. +Strong, she amended, potentially rather than actually. A student, she +added, for she had seen many students' eyes and knew the lasting +impress of the midnight oil long continued; and his eyes bore the +impress. Brown eyes, she concluded, and handsome as the male's should +be handsome; but she noted with surprise, when she refilled his plate +with slumgullion, that they were not at all brown in the ordinary +sense, but hazel-brown. In the daylight, she felt certain, and in +times of best health, they would seem gray, and almost blue-gray. She +knew it well; her one girl chum and dearest friend had had such an eye. + +His hair was chestnut-brown, glinting in the candle-light to gold, and +the hint of waviness in it explained the perceptible droop to his tawny +moustache. For the rest, his face was clean-shaven and cut on a good +masculine pattern. At first she found fault with the more than slight +cheek-hollows under the cheek-bones, but when she measured his +well-knit, slenderly muscular figure, with its deep chest and heavy +shoulders, she discovered that she preferred the hollows; at least they +did not imply lack of nutrition. The body gave the lie to that; while +they themselves denied the vice of over-feeding. Height, five feet, +nine, she summed up from out of her gymnasium experience; and age +anywhere between twenty-five and thirty, though nearer the former most +likely. + +"Haven't many blankets," he said abruptly, pausing to drain his cup and +set it over on the grub-box. "I don't expect my Indians back from Lake +Linderman till morning, and the beggars have packed over everything +except a few sacks of flour and the bare camp outfit. However, I've a +couple of heavy ulsters which will serve just as well." + +He turned his back, as though he did not expect a reply, and untied a +rubber-covered roll of blankets. Then he drew the two ulsters from a +clothes-bag and threw them down on the bedding. + +"Vaudeville artist, I suppose?" + +He asked the question seemingly without interest, as though to keep the +conversation going, and, in fact, as if he knew the stereotyped answer +beforehand. But to Frona the question was like a blow in the face. +She remembered Neepoosa's philippic against the white women who were +coming into the land, and realized the falseness of her position and +the way in which he looked upon her. + +But he went on before she could speak. "Last night I had two +vaudeville queens, and three the night before. Only there was more +bedding then. It's unfortunate, isn't it, the aptitude they display in +getting lost from their outfits? Yet somehow I have failed to find any +lost outfits so far. And they are all queens, it seems. No +under-studies or minor turns about them,--no, no. And I presume you +are a queen, too?" + +The too-ready blood sprayed her cheek, and this made her angrier than +did he; for whereas she was sure of the steady grip she had on herself, +her flushed face betokened a confusion which did not really possess her. + +"No," she answered, coolly; "I am not a vaudeville artist." + +He tossed several sacks of flour to one side of the stove, without +replying, and made of them the foundation of a bed; and with the +remaining sacks he duplicated the operation on the opposite side of the +stove. + +"But you are some kind of an artist, then," he insisted when he had +finished, with an open contempt on the "artist." + +"Unfortunately, I am not any kind of an artist at all." + +He dropped the blanket he was folding and straightened his back. +Hitherto he had no more than glanced at her; but now he scrutinized her +carefully, every inch of her, from head to heel and back again, the cut +of her garments and the very way she did her hair. And he took his +time about it. + +"Oh! I beg pardon," was his verdict, followed by another stare. "Then +you are a very foolish woman dreaming of fortune and shutting your eyes +to the dangers of the pilgrimage. It is only meet that two kinds of +women come into this country. Those who by virtue of wifehood and +daughterhood are respectable, and those who are not respectable. +Vaudeville stars and artists, they call themselves for the sake of +decency; and out of courtesy we countenance it. Yes, yes, I know. But +remember, the women who come over the trail must be one or the other. +There is no middle course, and those who attempt it are bound to fail. +So you are a very, very foolish girl, and you had better turn back +while there is yet a chance. If you will view it in the light of a +loan from a stranger, I will advance your passage back to the States, +and start an Indian over the trail with you to-morrow for Dyea." + +Once or twice Frona had attempted to interrupt him, but he had waved +her imperatively to silence with his hand. + +"I thank you," she began; but he broke in,-- + +"Oh, not at all, not at all." + +"I thank you," she repeated; but it happens that--a--that you are +mistaken. I have just come over the trail from Dyea and expect to meet +my outfit already in camp here at Happy Camp. They started hours ahead +of me, and I can't understand how I passed them--yes I do, too! A boat +was blown over to the west shore of Crater Lake this afternoon, and +they must have been in it. That is where I missed them and came on. +As for my turning back, I appreciate your motive for suggesting it, but +my father is in Dawson, and I have not seen him for three years. Also, +I have come through from Dyea this day, and am tired, and I would like +to get some rest. So, if you still extend your hospitality, I'll go to +bed." + +"Impossible!" He kicked the blankets to one side, sat down on the +flour sacks, and directed a blank look upon her. + +"Are--are there any women in the other tents?" she asked, hesitatingly. +"I did not see any, but I may have overlooked." + +"A man and his wife were, but they pulled stakes this morning. No; +there are no other women except--except two or three in a tent, +which--er--which will not do for you." + +"Do you think I am afraid of their hospitality?" she demanded, hotly. +"As you said, they are women." + +"But I said it would not do," he answered, absently, staring at the +straining canvas and listening to the roar of the storm. "A man would +die in the open on a night like this. + +"And the other tents are crowded to the walls," he mused. "I happen to +know. They have stored all their caches inside because of the water, +and they haven't room to turn around. Besides, a dozen other strangers +are storm-bound with them. Two or three asked to spread their beds in +here to-night if they couldn't pinch room elsewhere. Evidently they +have; but that does not argue that there is any surplus space left. +And anyway--" + +He broke off helplessly. The inevitableness of the situation was +growing. + +"Can I make Deep Lake to-night?" Frona asked, forgetting herself to +sympathize with him, then becoming conscious of what she was doing and +bursting into laughter. + +"But you couldn't ford the river in the dark." He frowned at her +levity. "And there are no camps between." + +"Are you afraid?" she asked with just the shadow of a sneer. + +"Not for myself." + +"Well, then, I think I'll go to bed." + +"I might sit up and keep the fire going," he suggested after a pause. + +"Fiddlesticks!" she cried. "As though your foolish little code were +saved in the least! We are not in civilization. This is the trail to +the Pole. Go to bed." + +He elevated his shoulders in token of surrender. "Agreed. What shall +I do then?" + +"Help me make my bed, of course. Sacks laid crosswise! Thank you, +sir, but I have bones and muscles that rebel. Here-- Pull them +around this way." + +Under her direction he laid the sacks lengthwise in a double row. This +left an uncomfortable hollow with lumpy sack-corners down the middle; +but she smote them flat with the side of the axe, and in the same +manner lessened the slope to the walls of the hollow. Then she made a +triple longitudinal fold in a blanket and spread it along the bottom of +the long depression. + +"Hum!" he soliloquized. "Now I see why I sleep so badly. Here goes!" +And he speedily flung his own sacks into shape. + +"It is plain you are unused to the trail," she informed him, spreading +the topmost blanket and sitting down. + +"Perhaps so," he made answer. "But what do you know about this trail +life?" he growled a little later. + +"Enough to conform," she rejoined equivocally, pulling out the dried +wood from the oven and replacing it with wet. + +"Listen to it! How it storms!" he exclaimed. "It's growing worse, if +worse be possible." + +The tent reeled under the blows of the wind, the canvas booming +hollowly at every shock, while the sleet and rain rattled overhead like +skirmish-fire grown into a battle. In the lulls they could hear the +water streaming off at the side-walls with the noise of small +cataracts. He reached up curiously and touched the wet roof. A burst +of water followed instantly at the point of contact and coursed down +upon the grub-box. + +"You mustn't do that!" Frona cried, springing to her feet. She put her +finger on the spot, and, pressing tightly against the canvas, ran it +down to the side-wall. The leak at once stopped. "You mustn't do it, +you know," she reproved. + +"Jove!" was his reply. "And you came through from Dyea to-day! Aren't +you stiff?" + +"Quite a bit," she confessed, candidly, "and sleepy." + +"Good-night," she called to him several minutes later, stretching her +body luxuriously in the warm blankets. And a quarter of an hour after +that, "Oh, I say! Are you awake?" + +"Yes," his voice came muffled across the stove. "What is it?" + +"Have you the shavings cut?" + +"Shavings?" he queried, sleepily. "What shavings?" + +"For the fire in the morning, of course. So get up and cut them." + +He obeyed without a word; but ere he was done she had ceased to hear +him. + +The ubiquitous bacon was abroad on the air when she opened her eyes. +Day had broken, and with it the storm. The wet sun was shining +cheerily over the drenched landscape and in at the wide-spread flaps. +Already work had begun, and groups of men were filing past under their +packs. Frona turned over on her side. Breakfast was cooked. Her host +had just put the bacon and fried potatoes in the oven, and was engaged +in propping the door ajar with two sticks of firewood. + +"Good-morning," she greeted. + +"And good-morning to you," he responded, rising to his feet and picking +up the water-bucket. "I don't hope that you slept well, for I know you +did." + +Frona laughed. + +"I'm going out after some water," he vouchsafed. "And when I return I +shall expect you ready for breakfast." + +After breakfast, basking herself in the sun, Frona descried a familiar +bunch of men rounding the tail of the glacier in the direction of +Crater Lake. She clapped her hands. + +"There comes my outfit, and Del Bishop as shame-faced as can be, I'm +sure, at his failure to connect." Turning to the man, and at the same +time slinging camera and satchel over her shoulder, "So I must say +good-by, not forgetting to thank you for your kindness." + +"Oh, not at all, not at all. Pray don't mention it. I'd do the same +for any--" + +"Vaudeville artist!" + +He looked his reproach, but went on. "I don't know your name, nor do I +wish to know it." + +"Well, I shall not be so harsh, for I do know your name, MISTER VANCE +CORLISS! I saw it on the shipping tags, of course," she explained. +"And I want you to come and see me when you get to Dawson. My name is +Frona Welse. Good-by." + +"Your father is not Jacob Welse?" he called after her as she ran +lightly down towards the trail. + +She turned her head and nodded. + +But Del Bishop was not shamefaced, nor even worried. "Trust a Welse to +land on their feet on a soft spot," he had consoled himself as he +dropped off to sleep the night before. But he was angry--"madder 'n +hops," in his own vernacular. + +"Good-mornin'," he saluted. "And it's plain by your face you had a +comfortable night of it, and no thanks to me." + +"You weren't worried, were you?" she asked. + +"Worried? About a Welse? Who? Me? Not on your life. I was too busy +tellin' Crater Lake what I thought of it. I don't like the water. I +told you so. And it's always playin' me scurvy--not that I'm afraid of +it, though." + +"Hey, you Pete!" turning to the Indians. "Hit 'er up! Got to make +Linderman by noon!" + +"Frona Welse?" Vance Corliss was repeating to himself. + +The whole thing seemed a dream, and he reassured himself by turning and +looking after her retreating form. Del Bishop and the Indians were +already out of sight behind a wall of rock. Frona was just rounding +the base. The sun was full upon her, and she stood out radiantly +against the black shadow of the wall beyond. She waved her alpenstock, +and as he doffed his cap, rounded the brink and disappeared. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +The position occupied by Jacob Welse was certainly an anomalous one. +He was a giant trader in a country without commerce, a ripened product +of the nineteenth century flourishing in a society as primitive as that +of the Mediterranean vandals. A captain of industry and a splendid +monopolist, he dominated the most independent aggregate of men ever +drawn together from the ends of the earth. An economic missionary, a +commercial St. Paul, he preached the doctrines of expediency and force. +Believing in the natural rights of man, a child himself of democracy, +he bent all men to his absolutism. Government of Jacob Welse, for +Jacob Welse and the people, by Jacob Welse, was his unwritten gospel. +Single-handed he had carved out his dominion till he gripped the domain +of a dozen Roman provinces. At his ukase the population ebbed and +flowed over a hundred thousand miles of territory, and cities sprang up +or disappeared at his bidding. + +Yet he was a common man. The air of the world first smote his lungs on +the open prairie by the River Platte, the blue sky over head, and +beneath, the green grass of the earth pressing against his tender +nakedness. On the horses his eyes first opened, still saddled and +gazing in mild wonder on the miracle; for his trapper father had but +turned aside from the trail that the wife might have quiet and the +birth be accomplished. An hour or so and the two, which were now +three, were in the saddle and overhauling their trapper comrades. The +party had not been delayed; no time lost. In the morning his mother +cooked the breakfast over the camp-fire, and capped it with a +fifty-mile ride into the next sun-down. + +The trapper father had come of the sturdy Welsh stock which trickled +into early Ohio out of the jostling East, and the mother was a nomadic +daughter of the Irish emigrant settlers of Ontario. From both sides +came the Wanderlust of the blood, the fever to be moving, to be pushing +on to the edge of things. In the first year of his life, ere he had +learned the way of his legs, Jacob Welse had wandered a-horse through a +thousand miles of wilderness, and wintered in a hunting-lodge on the +head-waters of the Red River of the North. His first foot-gear was +moccasins, his first taffy the tallow from a moose. His first +generalizations were that the world was composed of great wastes and +white vastnesses, and populated with Indians and white hunters like his +father. A town was a cluster of deer-skin lodges; a trading-post a +seat of civilization; and a factor God Almighty Himself. Rivers and +lakes existed chiefly for man's use in travelling. Viewed in this +light, the mountains puzzled him; but he placed them away in his +classification of the Inexplicable and did not worry. Men died, +sometimes. But their meat was not good to eat, and their hides +worthless,--perhaps because they did not grow fur. Pelts were +valuable, and with a few bales a man might purchase the earth. Animals +were made for men to catch and skin. He did not know what men were +made for, unless, perhaps, for the factor. + +As he grew older he modified these concepts, but the process was a +continual source of naive apprehension and wonderment. It was not +until he became a man and had wandered through half the cities of the +States that this expression of childish wonder passed out of his eyes +and left them wholly keen and alert. At his boy's first contact with +the cities, while he revised his synthesis of things, he also +generalized afresh. People who lived in cities were effeminate. They +did not carry the points of the compass in their heads, and they got +lost easily. That was why they elected to stay in the cities. Because +they might catch cold and because they were afraid of the dark, they +slept under shelter and locked their doors at night. The women were +soft and pretty, but they could not lift a snowshoe far in a day's +journey. Everybody talked too much. That was why they lied and were +unable to work greatly with their hands. Finally, there was a new +human force called "bluff." A man who made a bluff must be dead sure +of it, or else be prepared to back it up. Bluff was a very good +thing--when exercised with discretion. + +Later, though living his life mainly in the woods and mountains, he +came to know that the cities were not all bad; that a man might live in +a city and still be a man. Accustomed to do battle with natural +forces, he was attracted by the commercial battle with social forces. +The masters of marts and exchanges dazzled but did not blind him, and +he studied them, and strove to grasp the secrets of their strength. +And further, in token that some good did come out of Nazareth, in the +full tide of manhood he took to himself a city-bred woman. But he +still yearned for the edge of things, and the leaven in his blood +worked till they went away, and above the Dyea Beach, on the rim of the +forest, built the big log trading-post. And here, in the mellow of +time, he got a proper focus on things and unified the phenomena of +society precisely as he had already unified the phenomena of nature. +There was naught in one which could not be expressed in terms of the +other. The same principles underlaid both; the same truths were +manifest of both. Competition was the secret of creation. Battle was +the law and the way of progress. The world was made for the strong, +and only the strong inherited it, and through it all there ran an +eternal equity. To be honest was to be strong. To sin was to weaken. +To bluff an honest man was to be dishonest. To bluff a bluffer was to +smite with the steel of justice. The primitive strength was in the +arm; the modern strength in the brain. Though it had shifted ground, +the struggle was the same old struggle. As of old time, men still +fought for the mastery of the earth and the delights thereof. But the +sword had given way to the ledger; the mail-clad baron to the +soft-garbed industrial lord, and the centre of imperial political power +to the seat of commercial exchanges. The modern will had destroyed the +ancient brute. The stubborn earth yielded only to force. Brain was +greater than body. The man with the brain could best conquer things +primitive. + +He did not have much education as education goes. To the three R's his +mother taught him by camp-fire and candle-light, he had added a +somewhat miscellaneous book-knowledge; but he was not burdened with +what he had gathered. Yet he read the facts of life understandingly, +and the sobriety which comes of the soil was his, and the clear +earth-vision. + +And so it came about that Jacob Welse crossed over the Chilcoot in an +early day, and disappeared into the vast unknown. A year later he +emerged at the Russian missions clustered about the mouth of the Yukon +on Bering Sea. He had journeyed down a river three thousand miles +long, he had seen things, and dreamed a great dream. But he held his +tongue and went to work, and one day the defiant whistle of a crazy +stern-wheel tub saluted the midnight sun on the dank river-stretch by +Fort o' Yukon. It was a magnificent adventure. How he achieved it +only Jacob Welse can tell; but with the impossible to begin with, plus +the impossible, he added steamer to steamer and heaped enterprise upon +enterprise. Along many a thousand miles of river and tributary he +built trading-posts and warehouses. He forced the white man's axe into +the hands of the aborigines, and in every village and between the +villages rose the cords of four-foot firewood for his boilers. On an +island in Bering Sea, where the river and the ocean meet, he +established a great distributing station, and on the North Pacific he +put big ocean steamships; while in his offices in Seattle and San +Francisco it took clerks by the score to keep the order and system of +his business. + +Men drifted into the land. Hitherto famine had driven them out, but +Jacob Welse was there now, and his grub-stores; so they wintered in the +frost and groped in the frozen muck for gold. He encouraged them, +grub-staked them, carried them on the books of the company. His +steamers dragged them up the Koyokuk in the old days of Arctic City. +Wherever pay was struck he built a warehouse and a store. The town +followed. He explored; he speculated; he developed. Tireless, +indomitable, with the steel-glitter in his dark eyes, he was everywhere +at once, doing all things. In the opening up of a new river he was in +the van; and at the tail-end also, hurrying forward the grub. On the +Outside he fought trade-combinations; made alliances with the +corporations of the earth, and forced discriminating tariffs from the +great carriers. On the Inside he sold flour, and blankets, and +tobacco; built saw-mills, staked townsites, and sought properties in +copper, iron, and coal; and that the miners should be well-equipped, +ransacked the lands of the Arctic even as far as Siberia for +native-made snow-shoes, muclucs, and parkas. + +He bore the country on his shoulders; saw to its needs; did its work. +Every ounce of its dust passed through his hands; every post-card and +letter of credit. He did its banking and exchange; carried and +distributed its mails. He frowned upon competition; frightened out +predatory capital; bluffed militant syndicates, and when they would +not, backed his bluff and broke them. And for all, yet found time and +place to remember his motherless girl, and to love her, and to fit her +for the position he had made. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +"So I think, captain, you will agree that we must exaggerate the +seriousness of the situation." Jacob Welse helped his visitor into his +fur great-coat and went on. "Not that it is not serious, but that it +may not become more serious. Both you and I have handled famines +before. We must frighten them, and frighten them now, before it is too +late. Take five thousand men out of Dawson and there will be grub to +last. Let those five thousand carry their tale of famine to Dyea and +Skaguay, and they will prevent five thousand more coming in over the +ice." + +"Quite right! And you may count on the hearty co-operation of the +police, Mr. Welse." The speaker, a strong-faced, grizzled man, +heavy-set and of military bearing, pulled up his collar and rested his +hand on the door-knob. "I see already, thanks to you, the newcomers +are beginning to sell their outfits and buy dogs. Lord! won't there be +a stampede out over the ice as soon as the river closes down! And each +that sells a thousand pounds of grub and goes lessens the proposition +by one empty stomach and fills another that remains. When does the +Laura start?" + +"This morning, with three hundred grubless men aboard. Would that they +were three thousand!" + +Amen to that! And by the way, when does your daughter arrive?" + +"'Most any day, now." Jacob Welse's eyes warmed. "And I want you to +dinner when she does, and bring along a bunch of your young bucks from +the Barracks. I don't know all their names, but just the same extend +the invitation as though from me personally. I haven't cultivated the +social side much,--no time, but see to it that the girl enjoys herself. +Fresh from the States and London, and she's liable to feel lonesome. +You understand." + +Jacob Welse closed the door, tilted his chair back, and cocked his feet +on the guard-rail of the stove. For one half-minute a girlish vision +wavered in the shimmering air above the stove, then merged into a woman +of fair Saxon type. + +The door opened. "Mr. Welse, Mr. Foster sent me to find out if he is +to go on filling signed warehouse orders?" + +"Certainly, Mr. Smith. But tell him to scale them down by half. If a +man holds an order for a thousand pounds, give him five hundred." + +He lighted a cigar and tilted back again in his chair. + +"Captain McGregor wants to see you, sir." + +"Send him in." + +Captain McGregor strode in and remained standing before his employer. +The rough hand of the New World had been laid upon the Scotsman from +his boyhood; but sterling honesty was written in every line of his +bitter-seamed face, while a prognathous jaw proclaimed to the onlooker +that honesty was the best policy,--for the onlooker at any rate, should +he wish to do business with the owner of the jaw. This warning was +backed up by the nose, side-twisted and broken, and by a long scar +which ran up the forehead and disappeared in the gray-grizzled hair. + +"We throw off the lines in an hour, sir; so I've come for the last +word." + +"Good." Jacob Welse whirled his chair about. "Captain McGregor." + +"Ay." + +"I had other work cut out for you this winter; but I have changed my +mind and chosen you to go down with the Laura. Can you guess why?" + +Captain McGregor swayed his weight from one leg to the other, and a +shrewd chuckle of a smile wrinkled the corners of his eyes. "Going to +be trouble," he grunted. + +"And I couldn't have picked a better man. Mr. Bally will give you +detailed instructions as you go aboard. But let me say this: If we +can't scare enough men out of the country, there'll be need for every +pound of grub at Fort Yukon. Understand?" + +"Ay." + +"So no extravagance. You are taking three hundred men down with you. +The chances are that twice as many more will go down as soon as the +river freezes. You'll have a thousand to feed through the winter. Put +them on rations,--working rations,--and see that they work. Cordwood, +six dollars per cord, and piled on the bank where steamers can make a +landing. No work, no rations. Understand?" + +"Ay." + +"A thousand men can get ugly, if they are idle. They can get ugly +anyway. Watch out they don't rush the caches. If they do,--do your +duty." + +The other nodded grimly. His hands gripped unconsciously, while the +scar on his forehead took on a livid hue. + +"There are five steamers in the ice. Make them safe against the spring +break-up. But first transfer all their cargoes to one big cache. You +can defend it better, and make the cache impregnable. Send a messenger +down to Fort Burr, asking Mr. Carter for three of his men. He doesn't +need them. Nothing much is doing at Circle City. Stop in on the way +down and take half of Mr. Burdwell's men. You'll need them. There'll +be gun-fighters in plenty to deal with. Be stiff. Keep things in +check from the start. Remember, the man who shoots first comes off +with the whole hide. And keep a constant eye on the grub." + +"And on the forty-five-nineties," Captain McGregor rumbled back as he +passed out the door. + +"John Melton--Mr. Melton, sir. Can he see you?" + +"See here, Welse, what's this mean?" John Melton followed wrathfully +on the heels of the clerk, and he almost walked over him as he +flourished a paper before the head of the company. "Read that! What's +it stand for?" + +Jacob Welse glanced over it and looked up coolly. "One thousand pounds +of grub." + +"That's what I say, but that fellow you've got in the warehouse says +no,--five hundred's all it's good for." + +"He spoke the truth." + +"But--" + +"It stands for one thousand pounds, but in the warehouse it is only +good for five hundred." + +"That your signature?" thrusting the receipt again into the other's +line of vision. + +"Yes." + +"Then what are you going to do about it?" + +"Give you five hundred. What are you going to do about it?" + +"Refuse to take it." + +"Very good. There is no further discussion." + +"Yes there is. I propose to have no further dealings with you. I'm +rich enough to freight my own stuff in over the Passes, and I will next +year. Our business stops right now and for all time." + +"I cannot object to that. You have three hundred thousand dollars in +dust deposited with me. Go to Mr. Atsheler and draw it at once." + +The man fumed impotently up and down. "Can't I get that other five +hundred? Great God, man! I've paid for it! You don't intend me to +starve?" + +"Look here, Melton." Jacob Welse paused to knock the ash from his +cigar. "At this very moment what are you working for? What are you +trying to get?" + +"A thousand pounds of grub." + +"For your own stomach?" + +The Bonanzo king nodded his head. + +"Just so." The lines showed more sharply on Jacob Welse's forehead. +"You are working for your own stomach. I am working for the stomachs +of twenty thousand." + +"But you filled Tim McReady's thousand pounds yesterday all right." + +"The scale-down did not go into effect until to-day." + +"But why am I the one to get it in the neck hard?" + +"Why didn't you come yesterday, and Tim McReady to-day?" + +Melton's face went blank, and Jacob Welse answered his own question +with shrugging shoulders. + +"That's the way it stands, Melton. No favoritism. If you hold me +responsible for Tim McReady, I shall hold you responsible for not +coming yesterday. Better we both throw it upon Providence. You went +through the Forty Mile Famine. You are a white man. A Bonanzo +property, or a block of Bonanzo properties, does not entitle you to a +pound more than the oldest penniless 'sour-dough' or the newest baby +born. Trust me. As long as I have a pound of grub you shall not +starve. Stiffen up. Shake hands. Get a smile on your face and make +the best of it." + +Still savage of spirit, though rapidly toning down, the king shook +hands and flung out of the room. Before the door could close on his +heels, a loose-jointed Yankee shambled in, thrust a moccasined foot to +the side and hooked a chair under him, and sat down. + +"Say," he opened up, confidentially, "people's gittin' scairt over the +grub proposition, I guess some." + +"Hello, Dave. That you?" + +"S'pose so. But ez I was saying there'll be a lively stampede fer the +Outside soon as the river freezes." + +"Think so?" + +"Unh huh." + +"Then I'm glad to hear it. It's what the country needs. Going to join +them?" + +"Not in a thousand years." Dave Harney threw his head back with smug +complacency. "Freighted my truck up to the mine yesterday. Wa'n't a +bit too soon about it, either. But say . . . Suthin' happened to the +sugar. Had it all on the last sled, an' jest where the trail turns off +the Klondike into Bonanzo, what does that sled do but break through the +ice! I never seen the beat of it--the last sled of all, an' all the +sugar! So I jest thought I'd drop in to-day an' git a hundred pounds +or so. White or brown, I ain't pertickler." + +Jacob Welse shook his head and smiled, but Harney hitched his chair +closer. + +"The clerk of yourn said he didn't know, an' ez there wa'n't no call to +pester him, I said I'd jest drop round an' see you. I don't care what +it's wuth. Make it a hundred even; that'll do me handy. + +"Say," he went on easily, noting the decidedly negative poise of the +other's head. "I've got a tolerable sweet tooth, I have. Recollect +the taffy I made over on Preacher Creek that time? I declare! how time +does fly! That was all of six years ago if it's a day. More'n that, +surely. Seven, by the Jimcracky! But ez I was sayin', I'd ruther do +without my plug of 'Star' than sugar. An' about that sugar? Got my +dogs outside. Better go round to the warehouse an' git it, eh? Pretty +good idea." + +But he saw the "No" shaping on Jacob Welse's lips, and hurried on +before it could be uttered. + +"Now, I don't want to hog it. Wouldn't do that fer the world. So if +yer short, I can put up with seventy-five--" (he studied the other's +face), "an' I might do with fifty. I 'preciate your position, an' I +ain't low-down critter enough to pester--" + +"What's the good of spilling words, Dave? We haven't a pound of sugar +to spare--" + +"Ez I was sayin', I ain't no hog; an' seein' 's it's you, Welse, I'll +make to scrimp along on twenty-five--" + +"Not an ounce!" + +"Not the least leetle mite? Well, well, don't git het up. We'll jest +fergit I ast you fer any, an' I'll drop round some likelier time. So +long. Say!" He threw his jaw to one side and seemed to stiffen the +muscles of his ear as he listened intently. "That's the Laura's +whistle. She's startin' soon. Goin' to see her off? Come along." + +Jacob Welse pulled on his bearskin coat and mittens, and they passed +through the outer offices into the main store. So large was it, that +the tenscore purchasers before the counters made no apparent crowd. +Many were serious-faced, and more than one looked darkly at the head of +the company as he passed. The clerks were selling everything except +grub, and it was grub that was in demand. "Holding it for a rise. +Famine prices," a red-whiskered miner sneered. Jacob Welse heard it, +but took no notice. He expected to hear it many times and more +unpleasantly ere the scare was over. + +On the sidewalk he stopped to glance over the public bulletins posted +against the side of the building. Dogs lost, found, and for sale +occupied some space, but the rest was devoted to notices of sales of +outfits. The timid were already growing frightened. Outfits of five +hundred pounds were offering at a dollar a pound, without flour; +others, with flour, at a dollar and a half. Jacob Welse saw Melton +talking with an anxious-faced newcomer, and the satisfaction displayed +by the Bonanzo king told that he had succeeded in filling his winter's +cache. + +"Why don't you smell out the sugar, Dave?" Jacob Welse asked, pointing +to the bulletins. + +Dave Harney looked his reproach. "Mebbe you think I ain't ben +smellin'. I've clean wore my dogs out chasin' round from Klondike City +to the Hospital. Can't git yer fingers on it fer love or money." + +They walked down the block-long sidewalk, past the warehouse doors and +the long teams of waiting huskies curled up in wolfish comfort in the +snow. It was for this snow, the first permanent one of the fall, that +the miners up-creek had waited to begin their freighting. + +"Curious, ain't it?" Dave hazarded suggestively, as they crossed the +main street to the river bank. "Mighty curious--me ownin' two +five-hundred-foot Eldorado claims an' a fraction, wuth five millions if +I'm wuth a cent, an' no sweetenin' fer my coffee or mush! Why, +gosh-dang-it! this country kin go to blazes! I'll sell out! I'll quit +it cold! I'll--I'll--go back to the States!" + +"Oh, no, you won't," Jacob Welse answered. "I've heard you talk +before. You put in a year up Stuart River on straight meat, if I +haven't forgotten. And you ate salmon-belly and dogs up the Tanana, to +say nothing of going through two famines; and you haven't turned your +back on the country yet. And you never will. And you'll die here as +sure as that's the Laura's spring being hauled aboard. And I look +forward confidently to the day when I shall ship you out in a +lead-lined box and burden the San Francisco end with the trouble of +winding up your estate. You are a fixture, and you know it." + +As he talked he constantly acknowledged greetings from the passers-by. +Those who knew him were mainly old-timers and he knew them all by name, +though there was scarcely a newcomer to whom his face was not familiar. + +"I'll jest bet I'll be in Paris in 1900," the Eldorado king protested +feebly. + +But Jacob Welse did not hear. There was a jangling of gongs as +McGregor saluted him from the pilot-house and the Laura slipped out +from the bank. The men on the shore filled the air with good-luck +farewells and last advice, but the three hundred grubless ones, turning +their backs on the golden dream, were moody and dispirited, and made +small response. The Laura backed out through a channel cut in the +shore-ice, swung about in the current, and with a final blast put on +full steam ahead. + +The crowd thinned away and went about its business, leaving Jacob Welse +the centre of a group of a dozen or so. The talk was of the famine, +but it was the talk of men. Even Dave Harney forgot to curse the +country for its sugar shortage, and waxed facetious over the +newcomers,--_chechaquos_, he called them, having recourse to the Siwash +tongue. In the midst of his remarks his quick eye lighted on a black +speck floating down with the mush-ice of the river. "Jest look at +that!" he cried. "A Peterborough canoe runnin' the ice!" + +Twisting and turning, now paddling, now shoving clear of the floating +cakes, the two men in the canoe worked in to the rim-ice, along the +edge of which they drifted, waiting for an opening. Opposite the +channel cut out by the steamer, they drove their paddles deep and +darted into the calm dead water. The waiting group received them with +open arms, helping them up the bank and carrying their shell after them. + +In its bottom were two leather mail-pouches, a couple of blankets, +coffee-pot and frying-pan, and a scant grub-sack. As for the men, so +frosted were they, and so numb with the cold, that they could hardly +stand. Dave Harney proposed whiskey, and was for haling them away at +once; but one delayed long enough to shake stiff hands with Jacob Welse. + +"She's coming," he announced. "Passed her boat an hour back. It ought +to be round the bend any minute. I've got despatches for you, but I'll +see you later. Got to get something into me first." Turning to go +with Harney, he stopped suddenly and pointed up stream. "There she is +now. Just coming out past the bluff." + +"Run along, boys, an' git yer whiskey," Harney admonished him and his +mate. "Tell 'm it's on me, double dose, an' jest excuse me not +drinkin' with you, fer I'm goin' to stay." + +The Klondike was throwing a thick flow of ice, partly mush and partly +solid, and swept the boat out towards the middle of the Yukon. They +could see the struggle plainly from the bank,--four men standing up and +poling a way through the jarring cakes. A Yukon stove aboard was +sending up a trailing pillar of blue smoke, and, as the boat drew +closer, they could see a woman in the stern working the long +steering-sweep. At sight of this there was a snap and sparkle in Jacob +Welse's eyes. It was the first omen, and it was good, he thought. She +was still a Welse; a struggler and a fighter. The years of her culture +had not weakened her. Though tasting of the fruits of the first remove +from the soil, she was not afraid of the soil; she could return to it +gleefully and naturally. + +So he mused till the boat drove in, ice-rimed and battered, against the +edge of the rim-ice. The one white man aboard sprang: out, painter in +hand, to slow it down and work into the channel. But the rim-ice was +formed of the night, and the front of it shelved off with him into the +current. The nose of the boat sheered out under the pressure of a +heavy cake, so that he came up at the stern. The woman's arm flashed +over the side to his collar, and at the same instant, sharp and +authoritative, her voice rang out to the Indian oarsmen to back water. +Still holding the man's head above water, she threw her body against +the sweep and guided the boat stern-foremost into the opening. A few +more strokes and it grounded at the foot of the bank. She passed the +collar of the chattering man to Dave Harney, who dragged him out and +started him off on the trail of the mail-carriers. + +Frona stood up, her cheeks glowing from the quick work. Jacob Welse +hesitated. Though he stood within reach of the gunwale, a gulf of +three years was between. The womanhood of twenty, added unto the girl +of seventeen, made a sum more prodigious than he had imagined. He did +not know whether to bear-hug the radiant young creature or to take her +hand and help her ashore. But there was no apparent hitch, for she +leaped beside him and was into his arms. Those above looked away to a +man till the two came up the bank hand in hand. + +"Gentlemen, my daughter." There was a great pride in his face. + +Frona embraced them all with a comrade smile, and each man felt that +for an instant her eyes had looked straight into his. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +That Vance Corliss wanted to see more of the girl he had divided +blankets with, goes with the saying. He had not been wise enough to +lug a camera into the country, but none the less, by a yet subtler +process, a sun-picture had been recorded somewhere on his cerebral +tissues. In the flash of an instant it had been done. A wave message +of light and color, a molecular agitation and integration, a certain +minute though definite corrugation in a brain recess,--and there it +was, a picture complete! The blazing sunlight on the beetling black; a +slender gray form, radiant, starting forward to the vision from the +marge where light and darkness met; a fresh young morning smile +wreathed in a flame of burning gold. + +It was a picture he looked at often, and the more he looked the greater +was his desire, to see Frona Welse again. This event he anticipated +with a thrill, with the exultancy over change which is common of all +life. She was something new, a fresh type, a woman unrelated to all +women he had met. Out of the fascinating unknown a pair of hazel eyes +smiled into his, and a hand, soft of touch and strong of grip, beckoned +him. And there was an allurement about it which was as the allurement +of sin. + +Not that Vance Corliss was anybody's fool, nor that his had been an +anchorite's existence; but that his upbringing, rather, had given his +life a certain puritanical bent. Awakening intelligence and broader +knowledge had weakened the early influence of an austere mother, but +had not wholly eradicated it. It was there, deep down, very shadowy, +but still a part of him. He could not get away from it. It distorted, +ever so slightly, his concepts of things. It gave a squint to his +perceptions, and very often, when the sex feminine was concerned, +determined his classifications. He prided himself on his largeness +when he granted that there were three kinds of women. His mother had +only admitted two. But he had outgrown her. It was incontestable that +there were three kinds,--the good, the bad, and the partly good and +partly bad. That the last usually went bad, he believed firmly. In +its very nature such a condition could not be permanent. It was the +intermediary stage, marking the passage from high to low, from best to +worst. + +All of which might have been true, even as he saw it; but with +definitions for premises, conclusions cannot fail to be dogmatic. What +was good and bad? There it was. That was where his mother whispered +with dead lips to him. Nor alone his mother, but divers conventional +generations, even back to the sturdy ancestor who first uplifted from +the soil and looked down. For Vance Corliss was many times removed +from the red earth, and, though he did not know it, there was a clamor +within him for a return lest he perish. + +Not that he pigeon-holed Frona according to his inherited definitions. +He refused to classify her at all. He did not dare. He preferred to +pass judgment later, when he had gathered more data. And there was the +allurement, the gathering of the data; the great critical point where +purity reaches dreamy hands towards pitch and refuses to call it +pitch--till defiled. No; Vance Corliss was not a cad. And since +purity is merely a relative term, he was not pure. That there was no +pitch under his nails was not because he had manicured diligently, but +because it had not been his luck to run across any pitch. He was not +good because he chose to be, because evil was repellant; but because he +had not had opportunity to become evil. But from this, on the other +hand, it is not to be argued that he would have gone bad had he had a +chance. + +He was a product of the sheltered life. All his days had been lived in +a sanitary dwelling; the plumbing was excellent. The air he had +breathed had been mostly ozone artificially manufactured. He had been +sun-bathed in balmy weather, and brought in out of the wet when it +rained. And when he reached the age of choice he had been too fully +occupied to deviate from the straight path, along which his mother had +taught him to creep and toddle, and along which he now proceeded to +walk upright, without thought of what lay on either side. + +Vitality cannot be used over again. If it be expended on one thing, +there is none left for the other thing. And so with Vance Corliss. +Scholarly lucubrations and healthy exercises during his college days +had consumed all the energy his normal digestion extracted from a +wholesome omnivorous diet. When he did discover a bit of surplus +energy, he worked it off in the society of his mother and of the +conventional minds and prim teas she surrounded herself with. Result: +A very nice young man, of whom no maid's mother need ever be in +trepidation; a very strong young man, whose substance had not been +wasted in riotous living; a very learned young man, with a Freiberg +mining engineer's diploma and a B.A. sheepskin from Yale; and, lastly, +a very self-centred, self-possessed young man. + +Now his greatest virtue lay in this: he had not become hardened in the +mould baked by his several forbears and into which he had been pressed +by his mother's hands. Some atavism had been at work in the making of +him, and he had reverted to that ancestor who sturdily uplifted. But +so far this portion of his heritage had lain dormant. He had simply +remained adjusted to a stable environment. There had been no call upon +the adaptability which was his. But whensoever the call came, being so +constituted, it was manifest that he should adapt, should adjust +himself to the unwonted pressure of new conditions. The maxim of the +rolling stone may be all true; but notwithstanding, in the scheme of +life, the inability to become fixed is an excellence par excellence. +Though he did not know it, this inability was Vance Corliss's most +splendid possession. + +But to return. He looked forward with great sober glee to meeting +Frona Welse, and in the meanwhile consulted often the sun-picture he +carried of her. Though he went over the Pass and down the lakes and +river with a push of money behind him (London syndicates are never +niggardly in such matters). Frona beat him into Dawson by a fortnight. +While on his part money in the end overcame obstacles, on hers the name +of Welse was a talisman greater than treasure. After his arrival, a +couple of weeks were consumed in buying a cabin, presenting his letters +of introduction, and settling down. But all things come in the fulness +of time, and so, one night after the river closed, he pointed his +moccasins in the direction of Jacob Welse's house. Mrs. Schoville, the +Gold Commissioner's wife, gave him the honor of her company. + + +Corliss wanted to rub his eyes. Steam-heating apparatus in the +Klondike! But the next instant he had passed out of the hall through +the heavy portieres and stood inside the drawing-room. And it was a +drawing-room. His moose-hide moccasins sank luxuriantly into the deep +carpet, and his eyes were caught by a Turner sunrise on the opposite +wall. And there were other paintings and things in bronze. Two Dutch +fireplaces were roaring full with huge back-logs of spruce. There was +a piano; and somebody was singing. Frona sprang from the stool and +came forward, greeting him with both hands. He had thought his +sun-picture perfect, but this fire-picture, this young creature with +the flush and warmth of ringing life, quite eclipsed it. It was a +whirling moment, as he held her two hands in his, one of those moments +when an incomprehensible orgasm quickens the blood and dizzies the +brain. Though the first syllables came to him faintly, Mrs. +Schoville's voice brought him back to himself. + +"Oh!" she cried. "You know him!" + +And Frona answered, "Yes, we met on the Dyea Trail; and those who meet +on the Dyea Trail can never forget." + +"How romantic!" + +The Gold Commissioner's wife clapped her hands. Though fat and forty, +and phlegmatic of temperament, between exclamations and hand-clappings +her waking existence was mostly explosive. Her husband secretly +averred that did God Himself deign to meet her face to face, she would +smite together her chubby hands and cry out, "How romantic!" + +"How did it happen?" she continued. "He didn't rescue you over a +cliff, or that sort of thing, did he? Do say that he did! And you +never said a word about it, Mr. Corliss. Do tell me. I'm just dying +to know!" + +"Oh, nothing like that," he hastened to answer. "Nothing much. I, +that is we--" + +He felt a sinking as Frona interrupted. There was no telling what this +remarkable girl might say. + +"He gave me of his hospitality, that was all," she said. "And I can +vouch for his fried potatoes; while for his coffee, it is +excellent--when one is very hungry." + +"Ingrate!" he managed to articulate, and thereby to gain a smile, ere +he was introduced to a cleanly built lieutenant of the Mounted Police, +who stood by the fireplace discussing the grub proposition with a +dapper little man very much out of place in a white shirt and stiff +collar. + +Thanks to the particular niche in society into which he happened to be +born, Corliss drifted about easily from group to group, and was much +envied therefore by Del Bishop, who sat stiffly in the first chair he +had dropped into, and who was waiting patiently for the first person to +take leave that he might know how to compass the manoeuvre. In his +mind's eye he had figured most of it out, knew just how many steps +required to carry him to the door, was certain he would have to say +good-by to Frona, but did not know whether or not he was supposed to +shake hands all around. He had just dropped in to see Frona and say +"Howdee," as he expressed it, and had unwittingly found himself in +company. + +Corliss, having terminated a buzz with a Miss Mortimer on the decadence +of the French symbolists, encountered Del Bishop. But the pocket-miner +remembered him at once from the one glimpse he had caught of Corliss +standing by his tent-door in Happy Camp. Was almighty obliged to him +for his night's hospitality to Miss Frona, seein' as he'd ben +side-tracked down the line; that any kindness to her was a kindness to +him; and that he'd remember it, by God, as long as he had a corner of a +blanket to pull over him. Hoped it hadn't put him out. Miss Frona'd +said that bedding was scarce, but it wasn't a cold night (more blowy +than crisp), so he reckoned there couldn't 'a' ben much shiverin'. All +of which struck Corliss as perilous, and he broke away at the first +opportunity, leaving the pocket-miner yearning for the door. + +But Dave Harney, who had not come by mistake, avoided gluing himself to +the first chair. Being an Eldorado king, he had felt it incumbent to +assume the position in society to which his numerous millions entitled +him; and though unused all his days to social amenities other than the +out-hanging latch-string and the general pot, he had succeeded to his +own satisfaction as a knight of the carpet. Quick to take a cue, he +circulated with an aplomb which his striking garments and long +shambling gait only heightened, and talked choppy and disconnected +fragments with whomsoever he ran up against. The Miss Mortimer, who +spoke Parisian French, took him aback with her symbolists; but he +evened matters up with a goodly measure of the bastard lingo of the +Canadian _voyageurs_, and left her gasping and meditating over a +proposition to sell him twenty-five pounds of sugar, white or brown. +But she was not unduly favored, for with everybody he adroitly turned +the conversation to grub, and then led up to the eternal proposition. +"Sugar or bust," he would conclude gayly each time and wander on to the +next. + +But he put the capstone on his social success by asking Frona to sing +the touching ditty, "I Left My Happy Home for You." This was something +beyond her, though she had him hum over the opening bars so that she +could furnish the accompaniment. His voice was more strenuous than +sweet, and Del Bishop, discovering himself at last, joined in raucously +on the choruses. This made him feel so much better that he +disconnected himself from the chair, and when he finally got home he +kicked up his sleepy tent-mate to tell him about the high time he'd had +over at the Welse's. Mrs. Schoville tittered and thought it all so +unique, and she thought it so unique several times more when the +lieutenant of Mounted Police and a couple of compatriots roared "Rule +Britannia" and "God Save the Queen," and the Americans responded with +"My Country, 'Tis of Thee" and "John Brown." Then big Alec Beaubien, +the Circle City king, demanded the "Marseillaise," and the company +broke up chanting "Die Wacht am Rhein" to the frosty night. + +"Don't come on these nights," Frona whispered to Corliss at parting. +"We haven't spoken three words, and I know we shall be good friends. +Did Dave Harney succeed in getting any sugar out of you?" + +They mingled their laughter, and Corliss went home under the aurora +borealis, striving to reduce his impressions to some kind of order. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +"And why should I not be proud of my race?" + +Frona's cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkling. They had both been +harking back to childhood, and she had been telling Corliss of her +mother, whom she faintly remembered. Fair and flaxen-haired, typically +Saxon, was the likeness she had drawn, filled out largely with +knowledge gained from her father and from old Andy of the Dyea Post. +The discussion had then turned upon the race in general, and Frona had +said things in the heat of enthusiasm which affected the more +conservative mind of Corliss as dangerous and not solidly based on +fact. He deemed himself too large for race egotism and insular +prejudice, and had seen fit to laugh at her immature convictions. + +"It's a common characteristic of all peoples," he proceeded, "to +consider themselves superior races,--a naive, natural egoism, very +healthy and very good, but none the less manifestly untrue. The Jews +conceived themselves to be God's chosen people, and they still so +conceive themselves--" + +"And because of it they have left a deep mark down the page of +history," she interrupted. + +"But time has not proved the stability of their conceptions. And you +must also view the other side. A superior people must look upon all +others as inferior peoples. This comes home to you. To be a Roman +were greater than to be a king, and when the Romans rubbed against your +savage ancestors in the German forests, they elevated their brows and +said, 'An inferior people, barbarians.'" + +"But we are here, now. We are, and the Romans are not. The test is +time. So far we have stood the test; the signs are favorable that we +shall continue to stand it. We are the best fitted!" + +"Egotism." + +"But wait. Put it to the test." + +As she spoke her hand flew out impulsively to his. At the touch his +heart pulsed upward, there was a rush Of blood and a tightening across +the temples. Ridiculous, but delightful, he thought. At this rate he +could argue with her the night through. + +"The test," she repeated, withdrawing her hand without embarrassment. +"We are a race of doers and fighters, of globe-encirclers and +zone-conquerors. We toil and struggle, and stand by the toil and +struggle no matter how hopeless it may be. While we are persistent and +resistant, we are so made that we fit ourselves to the most diverse +conditions. Will the Indian, the Negro, or the Mongol ever conquer the +Teuton? Surely not! The Indian has persistence without variability; +if he does not modify he dies, if he does try to modify he dies anyway. +The Negro has adaptability, but he is servile and must be led. As for +the Chinese, they are permanent. All that the other races are not, the +Anglo-Saxon, or Teuton if you please, is. All that the other races +have not, the Teuton has. What race is to rise up and overwhelm us?" + +"Ah, you forget the Slav," Corliss suggested slyly. + +"The Slav!" Her face fell. "True, the Slav! The only stripling in +this world of young men and gray-beards! But he is still in the +future, and in the future the decision rests. In the mean time we +prepare. If may be we shall have such a start that we shall prevent +him growing. You know, because he was better skilled in chemistry, +knew how to manufacture gunpowder, that the Spaniard destroyed the +Aztec. May not we, who are possessing ourselves of the world and its +resources, and gathering to ourselves all its knowledge, may not we nip +the Slav ere he grows a thatch to his lip?" + +Vance Corliss shook his head non-committally, and laughed. + +"Oh! I know I become absurd and grow over-warm!" she exclaimed. "But +after all, one reason that we are the salt of the earth is because we +have the courage to say so." + +"And I am sure your warmth spreads," he responded. "See, I'm beginning +to glow myself. We are not God's, but Nature's chosen people, we +Angles, and Saxons, and Normans, and Vikings, and the earth is our +heritage. Let us arise and go forth!" + +"Now you are laughing at me, and, besides, we have already gone forth. +Why have you fared into the north, if not to lay hands on the race +legacy?" + + +She turned her head at the sound of approaching footsteps, and cried +for greeting, "I appeal to you, Captain Alexander! I summon you to +bear witness!" + +The captain of police smiled in his sternly mirthful fashion as he +shook hands with Frona and Corliss. "Bear witness?" he questioned. +"Ah, yes! + + "'Bear witness, O my comrades, what a hard-bit gang were we,-- + The servants of the sweep-head, but the masters of the sea!'" + +He quoted the verse with a savage solemnity exulting through his deep +voice. This, and the appositeness of it, quite carried Frona away, and +she had both his hands in hers on the instant. Corliss was aware of an +inward wince at the action. It was uncomfortable. He did not like to +see her so promiscuous with those warm, strong hands of hers. Did she +so favor all men who delighted her by word or deed? He did not mind +her fingers closing round his, but somehow it seemed wanton when shared +with the next comer. By the time he had thought thus far, Frona had +explained the topic under discussion, and Captain Alexander was +testifying. + +"I don't know much about your Slav and other kin, except that they are +good workers and strong; but I do know that the white man is the +greatest and best breed in the world. Take the Indian, for instance. +The white man comes along and beats him at all his games, outworks him, +out-roughs him, out-fishes him, out-hunts him. As far back as their +myths go, the Alaskan Indians have packed on their backs. But the +gold-rushers, as soon as they had learned the tricks of the trade, +packed greater loads and packed them farther than did the Indians. +Why, last May, the Queen's birthday, we had sports on the river. In +the one, two, three, four, and five men canoe races we beat the Indians +right and left. Yet they had been born to the paddle, and most of us +had never seen a canoe until man-grown." + +"But why is it?" Corliss queried. + +"I do not know why. I only know that it is. I simply bear witness. I +do know that we do what they cannot do, and what they can do, we do +better." + +Frona nodded her head triumphantly at Corliss. "Come, acknowledge your +defeat, so that we may go in to dinner. Defeat for the time being, at +least. The concrete facts of paddles and pack-straps quite overcome +your dogmatics. Ah, I thought so. More time? All the time in the +world. But let us go in. We'll see what my father thinks of it,--and +Mr. Kellar. A symposium on Anglo-Saxon supremacy!" + + +Frost and enervation are mutually repellant. The Northland gives a +keenness and zest to the blood which cannot be obtained in warmer +climes. Naturally so, then, the friendship which sprang up between +Corliss and Frona was anything but languid. They met often under her +father's roof-tree, and went many places together. Each found a +pleasurable attraction in the other, and a satisfaction which the +things they were not in accord with could not mar. Frona liked the man +because he was a man. In her wildest flights she could never imagine +linking herself with any man, no matter how exalted spiritually, who +was not a man physically. It was a delight to her and a joy to look +upon the strong males of her kind, with bodies comely in the sight of +God and muscles swelling with the promise of deeds and work. Man, to +her, was preeminently a fighter. She believed in natural selection and +in sexual selection, and was certain that if man had thereby become +possessed of faculties and functions, they were for him to use and +could but tend to his good. And likewise with instincts. If she felt +drawn to any person or thing, it was good for her to be so drawn, good +for herself. If she felt impelled to joy in a well-built frame and +well-shaped muscle, why should she restrain? Why should she not love +the body, and without shame? The history of the race, and of all +races, sealed her choice with approval. Down all time, the weak and +effeminate males had vanished from the world-stage. Only the strong +could inherit the earth. She had been born of the strong, and she +chose to cast her lot with the strong. + +Yet of all creatures, she was the last to be deaf and blind to the +things of the spirit. But the things of the spirit she demanded should +be likewise strong. No halting, no stuttered utterance, tremulous +waiting, minor wailing! The mind and the soul must be as quick and +definite and certain as the body. Nor was the spirit made alone for +immortal dreaming. Like the flesh, it must strive and toil. It must +be workaday as well as idle day. She could understand a weakling +singing sweetly and even greatly, and in so far she could love him for +his sweetness and greatness; but her love would have fuller measure +were he strong of body as well. She believed she was just. She gave +the flesh its due and the spirit its due; but she had, over and above, +her own choice, her own individual ideal. She liked to see the two go +hand in hand. Prophecy and dyspepsia did not affect her as a +felicitous admixture. A splendid savage and a weak-kneed poet! She +could admire the one for his brawn and the other for his song; but she +would prefer that they had been made one in the beginning. + +As to Vance Corliss. First, and most necessary of all, there was that +physiological affinity between them that made the touch of his hand a +pleasure to her. Though souls may rush together, if body cannot endure +body, happiness is reared on sand and the structure will be ever +unstable and tottery. Next, Corliss had the physical potency of the +hero without the grossness of the brute. His muscular development was +more qualitative than quantitative, and it is the qualitative +development which gives rise to beauty of form. A giant need not be +proportioned in the mould; nor a thew be symmetrical to be massive. + +And finally,--none the less necessary but still finally,--Vance Corliss +was neither spiritually dead nor decadent. He affected her as fresh +and wholesome and strong, as reared above the soil but not scorning the +soil. Of course, none of this she reasoned out otherwise than by +subconscious processes. Her conclusions were feelings, not thoughts. + +Though they quarrelled and disagreed on innumerable things, deep down, +underlying all, there was a permanent unity. She liked him for a +certain stern soberness that was his, and for his saving grace of +humor. Seriousness and banter were not incompatible. She liked him +for his gallantry, made to work with and not for display. She liked +the spirit of his offer at Happy Camp, when he proposed giving her an +Indian guide and passage-money back to the United States. He could +_do_ as well as talk. She liked him for his outlook, for his innate +liberality, which she felt to be there, somehow, no matter that often +he was narrow of expression. She liked him for his mind. Though +somewhat academic, somewhat tainted with latter-day scholasticism, it +was still a mind which permitted him to be classed with the +"Intellectuals." He was capable of divorcing sentiment and emotion +from reason. Granted that he included all the factors, he could not go +wrong. And here was where she found chief fault with him,--his +narrowness which precluded all the factors; his narrowness which gave +the lie to the breadth she knew was really his. But she was aware that +it was not an irremediable defect, and that the new life he was leading +was very apt to rectify it. He was filled with culture; what he needed +was a few more of life's facts. + +And she liked him for himself, which is quite different from liking the +parts which went to compose him. For it is no miracle for two things, +added together, to produce not only the sum of themselves, but a third +thing which is not to be found in either of them. So with him. She +liked him for himself, for that something which refused to stand out as +a part, or a sum of parts; for that something which is the corner-stone +of Faith and which has ever baffled Philosophy and Science. And +further, to like, with Frona Welse, did not mean to love. + +First, and above all, Vance Corliss was drawn to Frona Welse because of +the clamor within him for a return to the soil. In him the elements +were so mixed that it was impossible for women many times removed to +find favor in his eyes. Such he had met constantly, but not one had +ever drawn from him a superfluous heart-beat. Though there had been in +him a growing instinctive knowledge of lack of unity,--the lack of +unity which must precede, always, the love of man and woman,--not one +of the daughters of Eve he had met had flashed irresistibly in to fill +the void. Elective affinity, sexual affinity, or whatsoever the +intangible essence known as love is, had never been manifest. When he +met Frona it had at once sprung, full-fledged, into existence. But he +quite misunderstood it, took it for a mere attraction towards the new +and unaccustomed. + +Many men, possessed of birth and breeding, have yielded to this clamor +for return. And giving the apparent lie to their own sanity and moral +stability, many such men have married peasant girls or barmaids, And +those to whom evil apportioned itself have been prone to distrust the +impulse they obeyed, forgetting that nature makes or mars the +individual for the sake, always, of the type. For in every such case +of return, the impulse was sound,--only that time and space interfered, +and propinquity determined whether the object of choice should be +bar-maid or peasant girl. + + +Happily for Vance Corliss, time and space were propitious, and in Frona +he found the culture he could not do without, and the clean sharp tang +of the earth he needed. In so far as her education and culture went, +she was an astonishment. He had met the scientifically smattered young +woman before, but Frona had something more than smattering. Further, +she gave new life to old facts, and her interpretations of common +things were coherent and vigorous and new. Though his acquired +conservatism was alarmed and cried danger, he could not remain cold to +the charm of her philosophizing, while her scholarly attainments were +fully redeemed by her enthusiasm. Though he could not agree with much +that she passionately held, he yet recognized that the passion of +sincerity and enthusiasm was good. + +But her chief fault, in his eyes, was her unconventionality. Woman was +something so inexpressibly sacred to him, that he could not bear to see +any good woman venturing where the footing was precarious. Whatever +good woman thus ventured, overstepping the metes and bounds of sex and +status, he deemed did so of wantonness. And wantonness of such order +was akin to--well, he could not say it when thinking of Frona, though +she hurt him often by her unwise acts. However, he only felt such +hurts when away from her. When with her, looking into her eyes which +always looked back, or at greeting and parting pressing her hand which +always pressed honestly, it seemed certain that there was in her +nothing but goodness and truth. + +And then he liked her in many different ways for many different things. +For her impulses, and for her passions which were always elevated. And +already, from breathing the Northland air, he had come to like her for +that comradeship which at first had shocked him. There were other +acquired likings, her lack of prudishness, for instance, which he awoke +one day to find that he had previously confounded with lack of modesty. +And it was only the day before that day that he drifted, before he +thought, into a discussion with her of "Camille." She had seen +Bernhardt, and dwelt lovingly on the recollection. He went home +afterwards, a dull pain gnawing at his heart, striving to reconcile +Frona with the ideal impressed upon him by his mother that innocence +was another term for ignorance. Notwithstanding, by the following day +he had worked it out and loosened another finger of the maternal grip. + +He liked the flame of her hair in the sunshine, the glint of its gold +by the firelight, and the waywardness of it and the glory. He liked +her neat-shod feet and the gray-gaitered calves,--alas, now hidden in +long-skirted Dawson. He liked her for the strength of her slenderness; +and to walk with her, swinging her step and stride to his, or to merely +watch her come across a room or down the street, was a delight. Life +and the joy of life romped through her blood, abstemiously filling out +and rounding off each shapely muscle and soft curve. And he liked it +all. Especially he liked the swell of her forearm, which rose firm and +strong and tantalizing and sought shelter all too quickly under the +loose-flowing sleeve. + +The co-ordination of physical with spiritual beauty is very strong in +normal men, and so it was with Vance Corliss. That he liked the one +was no reason that he failed to appreciate the other. He liked Frona +for both, and for herself as well. And to like, with him, though he +did not know it, was to love. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +Vance Corliss proceeded at a fair rate to adapt himself to the +Northland life, and he found that many adjustments came easy. While +his own tongue was alien to the brimstone of the Lord, he became quite +used to strong language on the part of other men, even in the most +genial conversation. Carthey, a little Texan who went to work for him +for a while, opened or closed every second sentence, on an average, +with the mild expletive, "By damn!" It was also his invariable way of +expressing surprise, disappointment, consternation, or all the rest of +the tribe of sudden emotions. By pitch and stress and intonation, the +protean oath was made to perform every function of ordinary speech. At +first it was a constant source of irritation and disgust to Corliss, +but erelong he grew not only to tolerate it, but to like it, and to +wait for it eagerly. Once, Carthey's wheel-dog lost an ear in a hasty +contention with a dog of the Hudson Bay, and when the young fellow bent +over the animal and discovered the loss, the blended endearment and +pathos of the "by damn" which fell from his lips was a relation to +Corliss. All was not evil out of Nazareth, he concluded sagely, and, +like Jacob Welse of old, revised his philosophy of life accordingly. + +Again, there were two sides to the social life of Dawson. Up at the +Barracks, at the Welse's, and a few other places, all men of standing +were welcomed and made comfortable by the womenkind of like standing. +There were teas, and dinners, and dances, and socials for charity, and +the usual run of things; all of which, however, failed to wholly +satisfy the men. Down in the town there was a totally different though +equally popular other side. As the country was too young for +club-life, the masculine portion of the community expressed its +masculinity by herding together in the saloons,--the ministers and +missionaries being the only exceptions to this mode of expression. +Business appointments and deals were made and consummated in the +saloons, enterprises projected, shop talked, the latest news discussed, +and a general good fellowship maintained. There all life rubbed +shoulders, and kings and dog-drivers, old-timers and chechaquos, met on +a common level. And it so happened, probably because saw-mills and +house-space were scarce, that the saloons accommodated the gambling +tables and the polished dance-house floors. And here, because he needs +must bend to custom, Corliss's adaptation went on rapidly. And as +Carthey, who appreciated him, soliloquized, "The best of it is he likes +it damn well, by damn!" + +But any adjustment must have its painful periods, and while Corliss's +general change went on smoothly, in the particular case of Frona it was +different. She had a code of her own, quite unlike that of the +community, and perhaps believed woman might do things at which even the +saloon-inhabiting males would be shocked. And because of this, she and +Corliss had their first disagreeable disagreement. + +Frona loved to run with the dogs through the biting frost, cheeks +tingling, blood bounding, body thrust forward, and limbs rising and +falling ceaselessly to the pace. And one November day, with the first +cold snap on and the spirit thermometer frigidly marking sixty-five +below, she got out the sled, harnessed her team of huskies, and flew +down the river trail. As soon as she cleared the town she was off and +running. And in such manner, running and riding by turns, she swept +through the Indian village below the bluff's, made an eight-mile circle +up Moosehide Creek and back, crossed the river on the ice, and several +hours later came flying up the west bank of the Yukon opposite the +town. She was aiming to tap and return by the trail for the wood-sleds +which crossed thereabout, but a mile away from it she ran into the soft +snow and brought the winded dogs to a walk. + +Along the rim of the river and under the frown of the overhanging +cliffs, she directed the path she was breaking. Here and there she +made detours to avoid the out-jutting talus, and at other times +followed the ice in against the precipitous walls and hugged them +closely around the abrupt bends. And so, at the head of her huskies, +she came suddenly upon a woman sitting in the snow and gazing across +the river at smoke-canopied Dawson. She had been crying, and this was +sufficient to prevent Frona's scrutiny from wandering farther. A tear, +turned to a globule of ice, rested on her cheek, and her eyes were dim +and moist; there was an-expression of hopeless, fathomless woe. + +"Oh!" Frona cried, stopping the dogs and coming up to her. "You are +hurt? Can I help you?" she queried, though the stranger shook her +head. "But you mustn't sit there. It is nearly seventy below, and +you'll freeze in a few minutes. Your cheeks are bitten already." She +rubbed the afflicted parts vigorously with a mitten of snow, and then +looked down on the warm returning glow. + +"I beg pardon." The woman rose somewhat stiffly to her feet. "And I +thank you, but I am perfectly warm, you see" (settling the fur cape +more closely about her with a snuggling movement), "and I had just sat +down for the moment." + +Frona noted that she was very beautiful, and her woman's eye roved over +and took in the splendid furs, the make of the gown, and the bead-work +of the moccasins which peeped from beneath. And in view of all this, +and of the fact that the face was unfamiliar, she felt an instinctive +desire to shrink back. + +"And I haven't hurt myself," the woman went on. "Just a mood, that was +all, looking out over the dreary endless white." + +"Yes," Frona replied, mastering herself; "I can understand. There must +be much of sadness in such a landscape, only it never comes that way to +me. The sombreness and the sternness of it appeal to me, but not the +sadness." + +"And that is because the lines of our lives have been laid in different +places," the other ventured, reflectively. "It is not what the +landscape is, but what we are. If we were not, the landscape would +remain, but without human significance. That is what we invest it with. + + "'Truth is within ourselves; it takes no rise + From outward things, whate'er you may believe.'" + +Frona's eyes brightened, and she went on to complete the passage: + + "'There is an inmost centre in us all, + Where truth abides in fulness; and around.' + +"And--and--how does it go? I have forgotten." + + "'Wall upon wall, the gross flesh hems it in--'" + +The woman ceased abruptly, her voice trilling off into silvery laughter +with a certain bitter reckless ring to it which made Frona inwardly +shiver. She moved as though to go back to her dogs, but the woman's +hand went out in a familiar gesture,--twin to Frona's own,--which went +at once to Frona's heart. + +"Stay a moment," she said, with an undertone of pleading in the words, +"and talk with me. It is long since I have met a woman"--she paused +while her tongue wandered for the word--"who could quote 'Paracelsus.' +You are,--I know you, you see,--you are Jacob Welse's daughter, Frona +Welse, I believe." + +Frona nodded her identity, hesitated, and looked at the woman with +secret intentness. She was conscious of a great and pardonable +curiosity, of a frank out-reaching for fuller knowledge. This +creature, so like, so different; old as the oldest race, and young as +the last rose-tinted babe; flung far as the farthermost fires of men, +and eternal as humanity itself--where were they unlike, this woman and +she? Her five senses told her not; by every law of life they were no; +only, only by the fast-drawn lines of social caste and social wisdom +were they not the same. So she thought, even as for one searching +moment she studied the other's face. And in the situation she found an +uplifting awfulness, such as comes when the veil is thrust aside and +one gazes on the mysteriousness of Deity. She remembered: "Her feet +take hold of hell; her house is the way to the grave, going down to the +chamber of death," and in the same instant strong upon her was the +vision of the familiar gesture with which the woman's hand had gone out +in mute appeal, and she looked aside, out over the dreary endless +white, and for her, too, the day became filled with sadness. + +She gave an involuntary, half-nervous shiver, though she said, +naturally enough, "Come, let us walk on and get the blood moving again. +I had no idea it was so cold till I stood still." She turned to the +dogs: "Mush-on! King! You Sandy! Mush!" And back again to the +woman, "I am quite chilled, and as for you, you must be--" + +"Quite warm, of course. You have been running and your clothes are wet +against you, while I have kept up the needful circulation and no more. +I saw you when you leaped off the sled below the hospital and vanished +down the river like a Diana of the snows. How I envied you! You must +enjoy it." + +"Oh, I do," Frona answered, simply. "I was raised with the dogs." + +"It savors of the Greek." + +Frona did not reply, and they walked on in silence. Yet Frona wished, +though she dared not dare, that she could give her tongue free rein, +and from out of the other's bitter knowledge, for her own soul's sake +and sanity, draw the pregnant human generalizations which she must +possess. And over her welled a wave of pity and distress; and she felt +a discomfort, for she knew not what to say or how to voice her heart. +And when the other's speech broke forth, she hailed it with a great +relief. + +"Tell me," the woman demanded, half-eagerly, half-masterly, "tell me +about yourself. You are new to the Inside. Where were you before you +came in? Tell me." + +So the difficulty was solved, in a way, and Frona talked on about +herself, with a successfully feigned girlhood innocence, as though she +did not appreciate the other or understand her ill-concealed yearning +for that which she might not have, but which was Frona's. + +"There is the trail you are trying to connect with." They had rounded +the last of the cliffs, and Frona's companion pointed ahead to where +the walls receded and wrinkled to a gorge, out of which the sleds drew +the firewood across the river to town. "I shall leave you there," she +concluded. + +"But are you not going back to Dawson?" Frona queried. "It is growing +late, and you had better not linger." + +"No . . . I . . ." + +Her painful hesitancy brought Frona to a realization of her own +thoughtlessness. But she had made the step, and she knew she could not +retrace it. + +"We will go back together," she said, bravely. And in candid +all-knowledge of the other, "I do not mind." + +Then it was that the blood surged into the woman's cold face, and her +hand went out to the girl in the old, old way. + +"No, no, I beg of you," she stammered. "I beg of you . . . I . . . I +prefer to continue my walk a little farther. See! Some one is coming +now!" + +By this time they had reached the wood-trail, and Frona's face was +flaming as the other's had flamed. A light sled, dogs a-lope and +swinging down out of the gorge, was just upon them. A man was running +with the team, and he waved his hand to the two women. + +"Vance!" Frona exclaimed, as he threw his lead-dogs in the snow and +brought the sled to a halt. "What are you doing over here? Is the +syndicate bent upon cornering the firewood also?" + +"No. We're not so bad as that." His face was full of smiling +happiness at the meeting as he shook hands with her. "But Carthey is +leaving me,--going prospecting somewhere around the North Pole, I +believe,--and I came across to look up Del Bishop, if he'll serve." + +He turned his head to glance expectantly at her companion, and she saw +the smile go out of his face and anger come in. Frona was helplessly +aware that she had no grip over the situation, and, though a rebellion +at the cruelty and injustice of it was smouldering somewhere deep down, +she could only watch the swift culmination of the little tragedy. The +woman met his gaze with a half-shrinking, as from an impending blow, +and with a softness of expression which entreated pity. But he +regarded her long and coldly, then deliberately turned his back. As he +did this, Frona noted her face go tired and gray, and the hardness and +recklessness of her laughter were there painted in harsh tones, and a +bitter devil rose up and lurked in her eyes. It was evident that the +same bitter devil rushed hotly to her tongue. But it chanced just then +that she glanced at Frona, and all expression was brushed from her face +save the infinite tiredness. She smiled wistfully at the girl, and +without a word turned and went down the trail. + +And without a word Frona sprang upon her sled and was off. The way was +wide, and Corliss swung in his dogs abreast of hers. The smouldering +rebellion flared up, and she seemed to gather to herself some of the +woman's recklessness. + +"You brute!" + +The words left her mouth, sharp, clear-cut, breaking the silence like +the lash of a whip. The unexpectedness of it, and the savagery, took +Corliss aback. He did not know what to do or say. + +"Oh, you coward! You coward!" + +"Frona! Listen to me--" + +But she cut him off. "No. Do not speak. You can have nothing to say. +You have behaved abominably. I am disappointed in you. It is +horrible! horrible!" + +"Yes, it was horrible,--horrible that she should walk with you, have +speech with you, be seen with you." + +"'Not until the sun excludes you, do I exclude you,'" she flung back at +him. + +"But there is a fitness of things--" + +"Fitness!" She turned upon him and loosed her wrath. "If she is unfit, +are you fit? May you cast the first stone with that smugly +sanctimonious air of yours?" + +"You shall not talk to me in this fashion. I'll not have it." + +He clutched at her sled, and even in the midst of her anger she noticed +it with a little thrill of pleasure. + +"Shall not? You coward!" + +He reached out as though to lay hands upon her, and she raised her +coiled whip to strike. But to his credit he never flinched; his white +face calmly waited to receive the blow. Then she deflected the stroke, +and the long lash hissed out and fell among the dogs. Swinging the +whip briskly, she rose to her knees on the sled and called frantically +to the animals. Hers was the better team, and she shot rapidly away +from Corliss. She wished to get away, not so much from him as from +herself, and she encouraged the huskies into wilder and wilder speed. +She took the steep river-bank in full career and dashed like a +whirlwind through the town and home. Never in her life had she been in +such a condition; never had she experienced such terrible anger. And +not only was she already ashamed, but she was frightened and afraid of +herself. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +The next morning Corliss was knocked out of a late bed by Bash, one of +Jacob Welse's Indians. He was the bearer of a brief little note from +Frona, which contained a request for the mining engineer to come and +see her at his first opportunity. That was all that was said, and he +pondered over it deeply. What did she wish to say to him? She was +still such an unknown quantity,--and never so much as now in the light +of the day before,--that he could not guess. Did she desire to give +him his dismissal on a definite, well-understood basis? To take +advantage of her sex and further humiliate him? To tell him what she +thought of him in coolly considered, cold-measured terms? Or was she +penitently striving to make amends for the unmerited harshness she had +dealt him? There was neither contrition nor anger in the note, no +clew, nothing save a formally worded desire to see him. + +So it was in a rather unsettled and curious frame of mind that he +walked in upon her as the last hour of the morning drew to a close. He +was neither on his dignity nor off, his attitude being strictly +non-committal against the moment she should disclose hers. But without +beating about the bush, in that way of hers which he had come already +to admire, she at once showed her colors and came frankly forward to +him. The first glimpse of her face told him, the first feel of her +hand, before she had said a word, told him that all was well. + +"I am glad you have come," she began. "I could not be at peace with +myself until I had seen you and told you how sorry I am for yesterday, +and how deeply ashamed I--" + +"There, there. It's not so bad as all that." They were still +standing, and he took a step nearer to her. "I assure you I can +appreciate your side of it; and though, looking at it theoretically, it +was the highest conduct, demanding the fullest meed of praise, still, +in all frankness, there is much to--to--" + +"Yes." + +"Much to deplore in it from the social stand-point. And unhappily, we +cannot leave the social stand-point out of our reckoning. But so far +as I may speak for myself, you have done nothing to feel sorry for or +be ashamed of." + +"It is kind of you," she cried, graciously. "Only it is not true, and +you know it is not true. You know that you acted for the best; you +know that I hurt you, insulted you; you know that I behaved like a +fish-wife, and you do know that I disgusted you--" + +"No, no!" He raised his hand as though to ward from her the blows she +dealt herself. + +"But yes, yes. And I have all reason in the world to be ashamed. I +can only say this in defence: the woman had affected me deeply--so +deeply that I was close to weeping. Then you came on the scene,--you +know what you did,--and the sorrow for her bred an indignation against +you, and--well, I worked myself into a nervous condition such as I had +never experienced in my life. It was hysteria, I suppose. Anyway, I +was not myself." + +"We were neither of us ourselves." + +"Now you are untrue. I did wrong, but you were yourself, as much so +then as now. But do be seated. Here we stand as though you were ready +to run away at first sign of another outbreak." + +"Surely you are not so terrible!" he laughed, adroitly pulling his +chair into position so that the light fell upon her face. + +"Rather, you are not such a coward. I must have been terrible +yesterday. I--I almost struck you. And you were certainly brave when +the whip hung over you. Why, you did not even attempt to raise a hand +and shield yourself." + +"I notice the dogs your whip falls among come nevertheless to lick your +hand and to be petted." + +"Ergo?" she queried, audaciously. + +"Ergo, it all depends," he equivocated. + +"And, notwithstanding, I am forgiven?" + +"As I hope to be forgiven." + +"Then I am glad--only, you have done nothing to be forgiven for. You +acted according to your light, and I to mine, though it must be +acknowledged that mine casts the broader flare. Ah! I have it," +clapping her hands in delight, "I was not angry with you yesterday; nor +did I behave rudely to you, or even threaten you. It was utterly +impersonal, the whole of it. You simply stood for society, for the +type which aroused my indignation and anger; and, as its +representative, you bore the brunt of it. Don't you see?" + +"I see, and cleverly put; only, while you escape the charge of +maltreating me yesterday; you throw yourself open to it to-day. You +make me out all that is narrow-minded and mean and despicable, which is +very unjust. Only a few minutes past I said that your way of looking +at it, theoretically considered, was irreproachable. But not so when +we include society." + +"But you misunderstand me, Vance. Listen." Her hand went out to his, +and he was content to listen. "I have always upheld that what is is +well. I grant the wisdom of the prevailing social judgment in this +matter. Though I deplore it, I grant it; for the human is so made. +But I grant it socially only. I, as an individual, choose to regard +such things differently. And as between individuals so minded, why +should it not be so regarded? Don't you see? Now I find you guilty. +As between you and me, yesterday, on the river, you did not so regard +it. You behaved as narrow-mindedly as would have the society you +represent." + +"Then you would preach two doctrines?" he retaliated. "One for the +elect and one for the herd? You would be a democrat in theory and an +aristocrat in practice? In fact, the whole stand you are making is +nothing more or less than Jesuitical." + +"I suppose with the next breath you will be contending that all men are +born free and equal, with a bundle of natural rights thrown in? You +are going to have Del Bishop work for you; by what equal free-born +right will he work for you, or you suffer him to work?" + +"No," he denied. "I should have to modify somewhat the questions of +equality and rights." + +"And if you modify, you are lost!" she exulted. "For you can only +modify in the direction of my position, which is neither so Jesuitical +nor so harsh as you have defined it. But don't let us get lost in +dialectics. I want to see what I can see, so tell me about this woman." + +"Not a very tasteful topic," Corliss objected. + +"But I seek knowledge." + +"Nor can it be wholesome knowledge." + +Frona tapped her foot impatiently, and studied him. + +"She is beautiful, very beautiful," she suggested. "Do you not think +so?" + +"As beautiful as hell." + +"But still beautiful," she insisted. + +"Yes, if you will have it so. And she is as cruel, and hard, and +hopeless as she is beautiful." + +"Yet I came upon her, alone, by the trail, her face softened, and tears +in her eyes. And I believe, with a woman's ken, that I saw a side of +her to which you are blind. And so strongly did I see it, that when +you appeared my mind was blank to all save the solitary wail, _Oh, the +pity of it_! _The pity of it_! And she is a woman, even as I, and I +doubt not that we are very much alike. Why, she even quoted +Browning--" + +"And last week," he cut her short, "in a single sitting, she gambled +away thirty thousand of Jack Dorsey's dust,--Dorsey, with two mortgages +already on his dump! They found him in the snow next morning, with one +chamber empty in his revolver." + +Frona made no reply, but, walking over to the candle, deliberately +thrust her finger into the flame. Then she held it up to Corliss that +he might see the outraged skin, red and angry. + +"And so I point the parable. The fire is very good, but I misuse it, +and I am punished." + +"You forget," he objected. "The fire works in blind obedience to +natural law. Lucile is a free agent. That which she has chosen to do, +that she has done." + +"Nay, it is you who forget, for just as surely Dorsey was a free agent. +But you said Lucile. Is that her name? I wish I knew her better." + +Corliss winced. "Don't! You hurt me when you say such things." + +"And why, pray?" + +"Because--because--" + +"Yes?" + +"Because I honor woman highly. Frona, you have always made a stand for +frankness, and I can now advantage by it. It hurts me because of the +honor in which I hold you, because I cannot bear to see taint approach +you. Why, when I saw you and that woman together on the trail, I--you +cannot understand what I suffered." + +"Taint?" There was a tightening about her lips which he did not +notice, and a just perceptible lustre of victory lighted her eyes. + +"Yes, taint,--contamination," he reiterated. "There are some things +which it were not well for a good woman to understand. One cannot +dabble with mud and remain spotless." + +"That opens the field wide." She clasped and unclasped her hands +gleefully. "You have said that her name was Lucile; you display a +knowledge of her; you have given me facts about her; you doubtless +retain many which you dare not give; in short, if one cannot dabble and +remain spotless, how about you?" + +"But I am--" + +"A man, of course. Very good. Because you are a man, you may court +contamination. Because I am a woman, I may not. Contamination +contaminates, does it not? Then you, what do you here with me? Out +upon you!" + +Corliss threw up his hands laughingly. "I give in. You are too much +for me with your formal logic. I can only fall back on the higher +logic, which you will not recognize." + +"Which is--" + +"Strength. What man wills for woman, that will he have." + +"I take you, then, on your own ground," she rushed on. "What of +Lucile? What man has willed that he has had. So you, and all men, +have willed since the beginning of time. So poor Dorsey willed. You +cannot answer, so let me speak something that occurs to me concerning +that higher logic you call strength. I have met it before. I +recognized it in you, yesterday, on the sleds." + +"In me?" + +"In you, when you reached out and clutched at me. You could not down +the primitive passion, and, for that matter, you did not know it was +uppermost. But the expression on your face, I imagine, was very like +that of a woman-stealing cave-man. Another instant, and I am sure you +would have laid violent hands upon me." + +"Then I ask your pardon. I did not dream--" + +"There you go, spoiling it all! I--I quite liked you for it. Don't +you remember, I, too, was a cave-woman, brandishing the whip over your +head? + +"But I am not done with you yet, Sir Doubleface, even if you have +dropped out of the battle." Her eyes were sparkling mischievously, and +the wee laughter-creases were forming on her cheek. "I purpose to +unmask you." + +"As clay in the hands of the potter," he responded, meekly. + +"Then you must remember several things. At first, when I was very +humble and apologetic, you made it easier for me by saying that you +could only condemn my conduct on the ground of being socially unwise. +Remember?" + +Corliss nodded. + +"Then, just after you branded me as Jesuitical, I turned the +conversation to Lucile, saying that I wished to see what I could see." + +Again he nodded. + +"And just as I expected, I saw. For in only a few minutes you began to +talk about taint, and contamination, and dabbling in mud,--and all in +relation to me. There are your two propositions, sir. You may only +stand on one, and I feel sure that you stand on the last one. Yes, I +am right. You do. And you were insincere, confess, when you found my +conduct unwise only from the social point of view. I like sincerity." + +"Yes," he began, "I was unwittingly insincere. But I did not know it +until further analysis, with your help, put me straight. Say what you +will, Frona, my conception of woman is such that she should not court +defilement." + +"But cannot we be as gods, knowing good and evil?" + +"But we are not gods," he shook his head, sadly. + +"Only the men are?" + +"That is new-womanish talk," he frowned. "Equal rights, the ballot, +and all that." + +"Oh! Don't!" she protested. "You won't understand me; you can't. I +am no woman's rights' creature; and I stand, not for the new woman, but +for the new womanhood. Because I am sincere; because I desire to be +natural, and honest, and true; and because I am consistent with myself, +you choose to misunderstand it all and to lay wrong strictures upon me. +I do try to be consistent, and I think I fairly succeed; but you can +see neither rhyme nor reason in my consistency. Perhaps it is because +you are unused to consistent, natural women; because, more likely, you +are only familiar with the hot-house breeds,--pretty, helpless, +well-rounded, stall-fatted little things, blissfully innocent and +criminally ignorant. They are not natural or strong; nor can they +mother the natural and strong." + +She stopped abruptly. They heard somebody enter the hall, and a heavy, +soft-moccasined tread approaching. + +"We are friends," she added hurriedly, and Corliss answered with his +eyes. + +"Ain't intrudin', am I?" Dave Harney grinned broad insinuation and +looked about ponderously before coming up to shake hands. + +"Not at all," Corliss answered. "We've bored each other till we were +pining for some one to come along. If you hadn't, we would soon have +been quarrelling, wouldn't we, Miss Welse?" + +"I don't think he states the situation fairly," she smiled back. "In +fact, we had already begun to quarrel." + +"You do look a mite flustered," Harney criticised, dropping his +loose-jointed frame all over the pillows of the lounging couch. + +"How's the famine?" Corliss asked. "Any public relief started yet?" + +"Won't need any public relief. Miss Frona's old man was too forehanded +fer 'em. Scairt the daylights out of the critters, I do b'lieve. +Three thousand went out over the ice hittin' the high places, an' half +ez many again went down to the caches, and the market's loosened some +considerable. Jest what Welse figgered on, everybody speculated on a +rise and held all the grub they could lay hand to. That helped scare +the shorts, and away they stampeded fer Salt Water, the whole caboodle, +a-takin' all the dogs with 'em. Say!" he sat up solemnly, "corner +dogs! They'll rise suthin' unheard on in the spring when freightin' +gits brisk. I've corralled a hundred a'ready, an' I figger to clear a +hundred dollars clean on every hide of 'em." + +"Think so?" + +"Think so! I guess yes. Between we three, confidential, I'm startin' +a couple of lads down into the Lower Country next week to buy up five +hundred of the best huskies they kin spot. Think so! I've limbered my +jints too long in the land to git caught nappin'." + +Frona burst out laughing. "But you got pinched on the sugar, Dave." + +"Oh, I dunno," he responded, complacently. "Which reminds me. I've +got a noospaper, an' only four weeks' old, the _Seattle +Post-Intelligencer_." + +"Has the United States and Spain--" + +"Not so fast, not so fast!" The long Yankee waved his arms for +silence, cutting off Frona's question which was following fast on that +of Corliss. + +"But have you read it?" they both demanded. + +"Unh huh, every line, advertisements an' all." + +"Then do tell me," Frona began. "Has--" + +"Now you keep quiet, Miss Frona, till I tell you about it reg'lar. +That noospaper cost me fifty dollars--caught the man comin' in round +the bend above Klondike City, an' bought it on the spot. The dummy +could a-got a hundred fer it, easy, if he'd held on till he made +town--" + +"But what does it say? Has--" + +"Ez I was sayin', that noospaper cost me fifty dollars. It's the only +one that come in. Everybody's jest dyin' to hear the noos. So I +invited a select number of 'em to come here to yer parlors to-night, +Miss Frona, ez the only likely place, an' they kin read it out loud, by +shifts, ez long ez they want or till they're tired--that is, if you'll +let 'em have the use of the place." + +"Why, of course, they are welcome. And you are very kind to--" + +He waved her praise away. "Jest ez I kalkilated. Now it so happens, +ez you said, that I was pinched on sugar. So every mother's son and +daughter that gits a squint at that paper to-night got to pony up five +cups of sugar. Savve? Five cups,--big cups, white, or brown, or +cube,--an' I'll take their IOU's, an' send a boy round to their shacks +the day followin' to collect." + +Frona's face went blank at the telling, then the laughter came back +into it. "Won't it be jolly? I'll do it if it raises a scandal. +To-night, Dave? Sure to-night?" + +"Sure. An' you git a complimentary, you know, fer the loan of yer +parlor." + +"But papa must pay his five cups. You must insist upon it, Dave." + +Dave's eyes twinkled appreciatively. "I'll git it back on him, you +bet!" + +"And I'll make him come," she promised, "at the tail of Dave Harney's +chariot." + +"Sugar cart," Dave suggested. "An' to-morrow night I'll take the paper +down to the Opery House. Won't be fresh, then, so they kin git in +cheap; a cup'll be about the right thing, I reckon." He sat up and +cracked his huge knuckles boastfully. "I ain't ben a-burnin' daylight +sence navigation closed; an' if they set up all night they won't be up +early enough in the mornin' to git ahead of Dave Harney--even on a +sugar proposition." + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +Over in the corner Vance Corliss leaned against the piano, deep in +conversation with Colonel Trethaway. The latter, keen and sharp and +wiry, for all his white hair and sixty-odd years, was as young in +appearance as a man of thirty. A veteran mining engineer, with a +record which put him at the head of his profession, he represented as +large American interests as Corliss did British. Not only had a +cordial friendship sprung up between them, but in a business way they +had already been of large assistance to each other. And it was well +that they should stand together,--a pair who held in grip and could +direct at will the potent capital which two nations had contributed to +the development of the land under the Pole. + +The crowded room was thick with tobacco smoke. A hundred men or so, +garbed in furs and warm-colored wools, lined the walls and looked on. +But the mumble of their general conversation destroyed the spectacular +feature of the scene and gave to it the geniality of common +comradeship. For all its _bizarre_ appearance, it was very like the +living-room of the home when the members of the household come together +after the work of the day. Kerosene lamps and tallow candles glimmered +feebly in the murky atmosphere, while large stoves roared their red-hot +and white-hot cheer. + +On the floor a score of couples pulsed rhythmically to the swinging +waltz-time music. Starched shirts and frock coats were not. The men +wore their wolf- and beaver-skin caps, with the gay-tasselled ear-flaps +flying free, while on their feet were the moose-skin moccasins and +walrus-hide muclucs of the north. Here and there a woman was in +moccasins, though the majority danced in frail ball-room slippers of +silk and satin. At one end of the hall a great open doorway gave +glimpse of another large room where the crowd was even denser. From +this room, in the lulls in the music, came the pop of corks and the +clink of glasses, and as an undertone the steady click and clatter of +chips and roulette balls. + +The small door at the rear opened, and a woman, befurred and muffled, +came in on a wave of frost. The cold rushed in with her to the warmth, +taking form in a misty cloud which hung close to the floor, hiding the +feet of the dancers, and writhing and twisting until vanquished by the +heat. + +"A veritable frost queen, my Lucile," Colonel Trethaway addressed her. + +She tossed her head and laughed, and, as she removed her capes and +street-moccasins, chatted with him gayly. But of Corliss, though he +stood within a yard of her, she took no notice. Half a dozen dancing +men were waiting patiently at a little distance till she should have +done with the colonel. The piano and violin played the opening bars of +a schottische, and she turned to go; but a sudden impulse made Corliss +step up to her. It was wholly unpremeditated; he had not dreamed of +doing it. + +"I am very sorry," he said. + +Her eyes flashed angrily as she turned upon him. + +"I mean it," he repeated, holding out his hand. "I am very sorry. I +was a brute and a coward. Will you forgive me?" + +She hesitated, and, with the wisdom bought of experience, searched him +for the ulterior motive. Then, her face softened, and she took his +hand. A warm mist dimmed her eyes. + +"Thank you," she said. + +But the waiting men had grown impatient, and she was whirled away in +the arms of a handsome young fellow, conspicuous in a cap of yellow +Siberian wolf-skin. Corliss came back to his companion, feeling +unaccountably good and marvelling at what he had done. + +"It's a damned shame." The colonel's eye still followed Lucile, and +Vance understood. "Corliss, I've lived my threescore, and lived them +well, and do you know, woman is a greater mystery than ever. Look at +them, look at them all!" He embraced the whole scene with his eyes. +"Butterflies, bits of light and song and laughter, dancing, dancing +down the last tail-reach of hell. Not only Lucile, but the rest of +them. Look at May, there, with the brow of a Madonna and the tongue of +a gutter-devil. And Myrtle--for all the world one of Gainsborough's +old English beauties stepped down from the canvas to riot out the +century in Dawson's dance-halls. And Laura, there, wouldn't she make a +mother? Can't you see the child in the curve of her arm against her +breast! They're the best of the boiling, I know,--a new country always +gathers the best,--but there's something wrong, Corliss, something +wrong. The heats of life have passed with me, and my vision is truer, +surer. It seems a new Christ must arise and preach a new +salvation--economic or sociologic--in these latter days, it matters +not, so long as it is preached. The world has need of it." + +The room was wont to be swept by sudden tides, and notably between the +dances, when the revellers ebbed through the great doorway to where +corks popped and glasses tinkled. Colonel Trethaway and Corliss +followed out on the next ebb to the bar, where fifty men and women were +lined up. They found themselves next to Lucile and the fellow in the +yellow wolf-skin cap. He was undeniably handsome, and his looks were +enhanced by a warm overplus of blood in the cheeks and a certain mellow +fire in the eyes. He was not technically drunk, for he had himself in +perfect physical control; but his was the soul-exhilaration which comes +of the juice of the grape. His voice was raised the least bit and +joyous, and his tongue made quick and witty--just in the unstable +condition when vices and virtues are prone to extravagant expression. + +As he raised his glass, the man next to him accidentally jostled his +arm. He shook the wine from his sleeve and spoke his mind. It was not +a nice word, but one customarily calculated to rouse the fighting +blood. And the other man's blood roused, for his fist landed under the +wolf-skin cap with force sufficient to drive its owner back against +Corliss. The insulted man followed up his attack swiftly. The women +slipped away, leaving a free field for the men, some of whom were for +crowding in, and some for giving room and fair play. + +The wolf-skin cap did not put up a fight or try to meet the wrath he +had invoked, but, with his hands shielding his face, strove to retreat. +The crowd called upon him to stand up and fight. He nerved himself to +the attempt, but weakened as the man closed in on him, and dodged away. + +"Let him alone. He deserves it," the colonel called to Vance as he +showed signs of interfering. "He won't fight. If he did, I think I +could almost forgive him." + +"But I can't see him pummelled," Vance objected. "If he would only +stand up, it wouldn't seem so brutal." + +The blood was streaming from his nose and from a slight cut over one +eye, when Corliss sprang between. He attempted to hold the two men +apart, but pressing too hard against the truculent individual, +overbalanced him and threw him to the floor. Every man has friends in +a bar-room fight, and before Vance knew what was taking place he was +staggered by a blow from a chum of the man he had downed. Del Bishop, +who had edged in, let drive promptly at the man who had attacked his +employer, and the fight became general. The crowd took sides on the +moment and went at it. + +Colonel Trethaway forgot that the heats of life had passed, and +swinging a three-legged stool, danced nimbly into the fray. A couple +of mounted police, on liberty, joined him, and with half a dozen others +safeguarded the man with the wolf-skin cap. + +Fierce though it was, and noisy, it was purely a local disturbance. At +the far end of the bar the barkeepers still dispensed drinks, and in +the next room the music was on and the dancers afoot. The gamblers +continued their play, and at only the near tables did they evince any +interest in the affair. + +"Knock'm down an' drag'm out!" Del Bishop grinned, as he fought for a +brief space shoulder to shoulder with Corliss. + +Corliss grinned back, met the rush of a stalwart dog-driver with a +clinch, and came down on top of him among the stamping feet. He was +drawn close, and felt the fellow's teeth sinking into his ear. Like a +flash, he surveyed his whole future and saw himself going one-eared +through life, and in the same dash, as though inspired, his thumbs flew +to the man's eyes and pressed heavily on the balls. Men fell over him +and trampled upon him, but it all seemed very dim and far away. He +only knew, as he pressed with his thumbs, that the man's teeth wavered +reluctantly. He added a little pressure (a little more, and the man +would have been eyeless), and the teeth slackened and slipped their +grip. + +After that, as he crawled out of the fringe of the melee and came to +his feet by the side of the bar, all distaste for fighting left him. +He had found that he was very much like other men after all, and the +imminent loss of part of his anatomy had scraped off twenty years of +culture. Gambling without stakes is an insipid amusement, and Corliss +discovered, likewise, that the warm blood which rises from hygienic +gymnasium work is something quite different from that which pounds +hotly along when thew matches thew and flesh impacts on flesh and the +stake is life and limb. As he dragged himself to his feet by means of +the bar-rail, he saw a man in a squirrel-skin parka lift a beer-mug to +hurl at Trethaway, a couple of paces off. And the fingers, which were +more used to test-tubes and water colors, doubled into a hard fist +which smote the mug-thrower cleanly on the point of the jaw. The man +merely dropped the glass and himself on the floor. Vance was dazed for +the moment, then he realized that he had knocked the man +unconscious,--the first in his life,--and a pang of delight thrilled +through him. + +Colonel Trethaway thanked him with a look, and shouted, "Get on the +outside! Work to the door, Corliss! Work to the door!" + +Quite a struggle took place before the storm-doors could be thrown +open; but the colonel, still attached to the three-legged stool, +effectually dissipated the opposition, and the Opera House disgorged +its turbulent contents into the street. This accomplished, hostilities +ceased, after the manner of such fights, and the crowd scattered. The +two policemen went back to keep order, accompanied by the rest of the +allies, while Corliss and the colonel, followed by the Wolf-Skin Cap +and Del Bishop, proceeded up the street. + +"Blood and sweat! Blood and sweat!" Colonel Trethaway exulted. "Talk +about putting the vim into one! Why, I'm twenty years younger if I'm a +day! Corliss, your hand. I congratulate you, I do, I heartily do. +Candidly, I didn't think it was in you. You're a surprise, sir, a +surprise!" + +"And a surprise to myself," Corliss answered. The reaction had set in, +and he was feeling sick and faint. "And you, also, are a surprise. +The way you handled that stool--" + +"Yes, now! I flatter myself I did fairly well with it. Did you +see--well, look at that!" He held up the weapon in question, still +tightly clutched, and joined in the laugh against himself. + +"Whom have I to thank, gentlemen?" + +They had come to a pause at the corner, and the man they had rescued +was holding out his hand. + +"My name is St. Vincent," he went on, "and--" + +"What name?" Del Bishop queried with sudden interest. + +"St. Vincent, Gregory St. Vincent--" + +Bishop's fist shot out, and Gregory St. Vincent pitched heavily into +the snow. The colonel instinctively raised the stool, then helped +Corliss to hold the pocket-miner back. + +"Are you crazy, man?" Vance demanded. + +"The skunk! I wish I'd hit 'm harder!" was the response. Then, "Oh, +that's all right. Let go o' me. I won't hit 'm again. Let go o' me, +I'm goin' home. Good-night." + +As they helped St. Vincent to his feet, Vance could have sworn he heard +the colonel giggling. And he confessed to it later, as he explained, +"It was so curious and unexpected." But he made amends by taking it +upon himself to see St. Vincent home. + +"But why did you hit him?" Corliss asked, unavailingly, for the fourth +time after he had got into his cabin. + +"The mean, crawlin' skunk!" the pocket-miner gritted in his blankets. +"What'd you stop me for, anyway? I wish I'd hit 'm twice as hard!" + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +"Mr. Harney, pleased to meet you. Dave, I believe, Dave Harney?" Dave +Harney nodded, and Gregory St. Vincent turned to Frona. "You see, Miss +Welse, the world is none so large. Mr. Harney and I are not strangers +after all." + +The Eldorado king studied the other's face until a glimmering +intelligence came to him. "Hold on!" he cried, as St. Vincent started +to speak, "I got my finger on you. You were smooth-faced then. Let's +see,--'86, fall of '87, summer of '88,--yep, that's when. Summer of +'88 I come floatin' a raft out of Stewart River, loaded down with +quarters of moose an' strainin' to make the Lower Country 'fore they +went bad. Yep, an' down the Yukon you come, in a Linderman boat. An' +I was holdin' strong, ez it was Wednesday, an' my pardner ez it was +Friday, an' you put us straight--Sunday, I b'lieve it was. Yep, +Sunday. I declare! Nine years ago! And we swapped moose-steaks fer +flour an' bakin' soda, an'--an'--an' sugar! By the Jimcracky! I'm +glad to see you!" + +He shoved out his hand and they shook again. + +"Come an' see me," he invited, as he moved away. "I've a right tidy +little shack up on the hill, and another on Eldorado. Latch-string's +always out. Come an' see me, an' stay ez long ez you've a mind to. +Sorry to quit you cold, but I got to traipse down to the Opery House +and collect my taxes,--sugar. Miss Frona'll tell you." + +"You are a surprise, Mr. St. Vincent." Frona switched back to the +point of interest, after briefly relating Harney's saccharine +difficulties. "The country must indeed have been a wilderness nine +years ago, and to think that you went through it at that early day! Do +tell me about it." + +Gregory St. Vincent shrugged his shoulders, "There is very little to +tell. It was an ugly failure, filled with many things that are not +nice, and containing nothing of which to be proud." + +"But do tell me, I enjoy such things. They seem closer and truer to +life than the ordinary every-day happenings. A failure, as you call +it, implies something attempted. What did you attempt?" + +He noted her frank interest with satisfaction. "Well, if you will, I +can tell you in few words all there is to tell. I took the mad idea +into my head of breaking a new path around the world, and in the +interest of science and journalism, particularly journalism, I proposed +going through Alaska, crossing the Bering Straits on the ice, and +journeying to Europe by way of Northern Siberia. It was a splendid +undertaking, most of it being virgin ground, only I failed. I crossed +the Straits in good order, but came to grief in Eastern Siberia--all +because of Tamerlane is the excuse I have grown accustomed to making." + +"A Ulysses!" Mrs. Schoville clapped her hands and joined them. "A +modern Ulysses! How romantic!" + +"But not an Othello," Frona replied. "His tongue is a sluggard. He +leaves one at the most interesting point with an enigmatical reference +to a man of a bygone age. You take an unfair advantage of us, Mr. St. +Vincent, and we shall be unhappy until you show how Tamerlane brought +your journey to an untimely end." + +He laughed, and with an effort put aside his reluctance to speak of his +travels. "When Tamerlane swept with fire and sword over Eastern Asia, +states were disrupted, cities overthrown, and tribes scattered like +star-dust. In fact, a vast people was hurled broadcast over the land. +Fleeing before the mad lust of the conquerors, these refugees swung far +into Siberia, circling to the north and east and fringing the rim of +the polar basin with a spray of Mongol tribes--am I not tiring you?" + +"No, no!" Mrs. Schoville exclaimed. "It is fascinating! Your method +of narration is so vivid! It reminds me of--of--" + +"Of Macaulay," St. Vincent laughed, good-naturedly. "You know I am a +journalist, and he has strongly influenced my style. But I promise you +I shall tone down. However, to return, had it not been for these +Mongol tribes, I should not have been halted in my travels. Instead of +being forced to marry a greasy princess, and to become proficient in +interclannish warfare and reindeer-stealing, I should have travelled +easily and peaceably to St. Petersburg." + +"Oh, these heroes! Are they not exasperating, Frona? But what about +the reindeer-stealing and the greasy princesses?" + +The Gold Commissioner's wife beamed upon him, and glancing for +permission to Frona, he went on. + +"The coast people were Esquimo stock, merry-natured and happy, and +inoffensive. They called themselves the Oukilion, or the Sea Men. I +bought dogs and food from them, and they treated me splendidly. But +they were subject to the Chow Chuen, or interior people, who were known +as the Deer Men. The Chow Chuen were a savage, indomitable breed, with +all the fierceness of the untamed Mongol, plus double his viciousness. +As soon as I left the coast they fell upon me, confiscated my goods, +and made me a slave." + +"But were there no Russians?" Mrs. Schoville asked. + +"Russians? Among the Chow Chuen?" He laughed his amusement. +"Geographically, they are within the White Tsar's domain; but +politically, no. I doubt if they ever heard of him. Remember, the +interior of North-Eastern Siberia is hidden in the polar gloom, a terra +incognita, where few men have gone and none has returned." + +"But you--" + +"I chance to be the exception. Why I was spared, I do not know. It +just so happened. At first I was vilely treated, beaten by the women +and children, clothed in vermin-infested mangy furs, and fed on refuse. +They were utterly heartless. How I managed to survive is beyond me; +but I know that often and often, at first, I meditated suicide. The +only thing that saved me during that period from taking my own life was +the fact that I quickly became too stupefied and bestial, what of my +suffering and degradation. Half-frozen, half-starved, undergoing +untold misery and hardship, beaten many and many a time into +insensibility, I became the sheerest animal. + +"On looking back much of it seems a dream. There are gaps which my +memory cannot fill. I have vague recollections of being lashed to a +sled and dragged from camp to camp and tribe to tribe. Carted about +for exhibition purposes, I suppose, much as we do lions and elephants +and wild men. How far I so journeyed up and down that bleak region I +cannot guess, though it must have been several thousand miles. I do +know that when consciousness returned to me and I really became myself +again, I was fully a thousand miles to the west of the point where I +was captured. + +"It was springtime, and from out of a forgotten past it seemed I +suddenly opened my eyes. A reindeer thong was about my waist and made +fast to the tail-end of a sled. This thong I clutched with both hands, +like an organ-grinder's monkey; for the flesh of my body was raw and in +great sores from where the thong had cut in. + +"A low cunning came to me, and I made myself agreeable and servile. +That night I danced and sang, and did my best to amuse them, for I was +resolved to incur no more of the maltreatment which had plunged me into +darkness. Now the Deer Men traded with the Sea Men, and the Sea Men +with the whites, especially the whalers. So later I discovered a deck +of cards in the possession of one of the women, and I proceeded to +mystify the Chow Chuen with a few commonplace tricks. Likewise, with +fitting solemnity, I perpetrated upon them the little I knew of parlor +legerdemain. Result: I was appreciated at once, and was better fed and +better clothed. + +"To make a long story short, I gradually became a man of importance. +First the old people and the women came to me for advice, and later the +chiefs. My slight but rough and ready knowledge of medicine and +surgery stood me in good stead, and I became indispensable. From a +slave, I worked myself to a seat among the head men, and in war and +peace, so soon as I had learned their ways, was an unchallenged +authority. Reindeer was their medium of exchange, their unit of value +as it were, and we were almost constantly engaged in cattle forays +among the adjacent clans, or in protecting our own herds from their +inroads. I improved upon their methods, taught them better strategy +and tactics, and put a snap and go into their operations which no +neighbor tribe could withstand. + +"But still, though I became a power, I was no nearer my freedom. It +was laughable, for I had over-reached myself and made myself too +valuable. They cherished me with exceeding kindness, but they were +jealously careful. I could go and come and command without restraint, +but when the trading parties went down to the coast I was not permitted +to accompany them. That was the one restriction placed upon my +movements. + +"Also, it is very tottery in the high places, and when I began altering +their political structures I came to grief again. In the process of +binding together twenty or more of the neighboring tribes in order to +settle rival claims, I was given the over-lordship of the federation. +But Old Pi-Une was the greatest of the under-chiefs,--a king in a +way,--and in relinquishing his claim to the supreme leadership he +refused to forego all the honors. The least that could be done to +appease him was for me to marry his daughter Ilswunga. Nay, he +demanded it. I offered to abandon the federation, but he would not +hear of it. And--" + +"And?" Mrs. Schoville murmured ecstatically. + +"And I married Ilswunga, which is the Chow Chuen name for Wild Deer. +Poor Ilswunga! Like Swinburne's Iseult of Brittany, and I Tristram! +The last I saw of her she was playing solitaire in the Mission of +Irkutsky and stubbornly refusing to take a bath." + +"Oh, mercy! It's ten o'clock!" Mrs. Schoville suddenly cried, her +husband having at last caught her eye from across the room. "I'm so +sorry I can't hear the rest, Mr. St. Vincent, how you escaped and all +that. But you must come and see me. I am just dying to hear!" + +"And I took you for a tenderfoot, a _chechaquo_," Frona said meekly, as +St. Vincent tied his ear-flaps and turned up his collar preparatory to +leaving. + +"I dislike posing," he answered, matching her meekness. "It smacks of +insincerity; it really is untrue. And it is so easy to slip into it. +Look at the old-timers,--'sour-doughs' as they proudly call themselves. +Just because they have been in the country a few years, they let +themselves grow wild and woolly and glorify in it. They may not know +it, but it is a pose. In so far as they cultivate salient +peculiarities, they cultivate falseness to themselves and live lies." + +"I hardly think you are wholly just," Frona said, in defence of her +chosen heroes. "I do like what you say about the matter in general, +and I detest posing, but the majority of the old-timers would be +peculiar in any country, under any circumstances. That peculiarity is +their own; it is their mode of expression. And it is, I am sure, just +what makes them go into new countries. The normal man, of course, +stays at home." + +"Oh, I quite agree with you, Miss Welse," he temporized easily. "I did +not intend it so sweepingly. I meant to brand that sprinkling among +them who are _poseurs_. In the main, as you say, they are honest, and +sincere, and natural." + +"Then we have no quarrel. But Mr. St. Vincent, before you go, would +you care to come to-morrow evening? We are getting up theatricals for +Christmas. I know you can help us greatly, and I think it will not be +altogether unenjoyable to you. All the younger people are +interested,--the officials, officers of police, mining engineers, +gentlemen rovers, and so forth, to say nothing of the nice women. You +are bound to like them." + +"I am sure I shall," as he took her hand. "Tomorrow, did you say?" + +"To-morrow evening. Good-night." + +A brave man, she told herself as she went bade from the door, and a +splendid type of the race. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +Gregory St. Vincent swiftly became an important factor in the social +life of Dawson. As a representative of the Amalgamated Press +Association, he had brought with him the best credentials a powerful +influence could obtain, and over and beyond, he was well qualified +socially by his letters of introduction. It developed in a quiet way +that he was a wanderer and explorer of no small parts, and that he had +seen life and strife pretty well all over the earth's crust. And +withal, he was so mild and modest about it, that nobody, not even among +the men, was irritated by his achievements. Incidentally, he ran +across numerous old acquaintances. Jacob Welse he had met at St. +Michael's in the fall of '88, just prior to his crossing Bering Straits +on the ice. A month or so later, Father Barnum (who had come up from +the Lower River to take charge of the hospital) had met him a couple of +hundred miles on his way north of St. Michael's. Captain Alexander, of +the Police, had rubbed shoulders with him in the British Legation at +Peking. And Bettles, another old-timer of standing, had met him at +Fort o' Yukon nine years before. + +So Dawson, ever prone to look askance at the casual comer, received him +with open arms. Especially was he a favorite with the women. As a +promoter of pleasures and an organizer of amusements he took the lead, +and it quickly came to pass that no function was complete without him. +Not only did he come to help in the theatricals, but insensibly, and as +a matter of course, he took charge. Frona, as her friends charged, was +suffering from a stroke of Ibsen, so they hit upon the "Doll's House," +and she was cast for Nora. Corliss, who was responsible, by the way, +for the theatricals, having first suggested them, was to take Torvald's +part; but his interest seemed to have died out, or at any rate he +begged off on the plea of business rush. So St. Vincent, without +friction, took Torvald's lines. Corliss did manage to attend one +rehearsal. It might have been that he had come tired from forty miles +with the dogs, and it might have been that Torvald was obliged to put +his arm about Nora at divers times and to toy playfully with her ear; +but, one way or the other, Corliss never attended again. + +Busy he certainly was, and when not away on trail he was closeted +almost continually with Jacob Welse and Colonel Trethaway. That it was +a deal of magnitude was evidenced by the fact that Welse's mining +interests involved alone mounted to several millions. Corliss was +primarily a worker and doer, and on discovering that his thorough +theoretical knowledge lacked practical experience, he felt put upon his +mettle and worked the harder. He even marvelled at the silliness of +the men who had burdened him with such responsibilities, simply because +of his pull, and he told Trethaway as much. But the colonel, while +recognizing his shortcomings, liked him for his candor, and admired him +for his effort and for the quickness with which he came to grasp things +actual. + +Del Bishop, who had refused to play any hand but his own, had gone to +work for Corliss because by so doing he was enabled to play his own +hand better. He was practically unfettered, while the opportunities to +further himself were greatly increased. Equipped with the best of +outfits and a magnificent dog-team, his task was mainly to run the +various creeks and keep his eyes and ears open. A pocket-miner, first, +last, and always, he was privately on the constant lookout for pockets, +which occupation did not interfere in the least with the duty he owed +his employer. And as the days went by he stored his mind with +miscellaneous data concerning the nature of the various placer deposits +and the lay of the land, against the summer when the thawed surface and +the running water would permit him to follow a trace from creek-bed to +side-slope and source. + +Corliss was a good employer, paid well, and considered it his right to +work men as he worked himself. Those who took service with him either +strengthened their own manhood and remained, or quit and said harsh +things about him. Jacob Welse noted this trait with appreciation, and +he sounded the mining engineer's praises continually. Frona heard and +was gratified, for she liked the things her father liked; and she was +more gratified because the man was Corliss. But in his rush of +business she saw less of him than formerly, while St. Vincent came to +occupy a greater and growing portion of her time. His healthful, +optimistic spirit pleased her, while he corresponded well to her +idealized natural man and favorite racial type. Her first doubt--that +if what he said was true--had passed away. All the evidence had gone +counter. Men who at first questioned the truth of his wonderful +adventures gave in after hearing him talk. Those to any extent +conversant with the parts of the world he made mention of, could not +but acknowledge that he knew what he talked about. Young Soley, +representing Bannock's News Syndicate, and Holmes of the Fairweather, +recollected his return to the world in '91, and the sensation created +thereby. And Sid Winslow, Pacific Coast journalist, had made his +acquaintance at the Wanderers' Club shortly after he landed from the +United States revenue cutter which had brought him down from the north. +Further, as Frona well saw, he bore the ear-marks of his experiences; +they showed their handiwork in his whole outlook on life. Then the +primitive was strong in him, and his was a passionate race pride which +fully matched hers. In the absence of Corliss they were much together, +went out frequently with the dogs, and grew to know each other +thoroughly. + +All of which was not pleasant to Corliss, especially when the brief +intervals he could devote to her were usually intruded upon by the +correspondent. Naturally, Corliss was not drawn to him, and other men, +who knew or had heard of the Opera House occurrence, only accepted him +after a tentative fashion. Trethaway had the indiscretion, once or +twice, to speak slightingly of him, but so fiercely was he defended by +his admirers that the colonel developed the good taste to thenceforward +keep his tongue between his teeth. Once, Corliss, listening to an +extravagant panegyric bursting from the lips of Mrs. Schoville, +permitted himself the luxury of an incredulous smile; but the quick +wave of color in Frona's face, and the gathering of the brows, warned +him. + +At another time he was unwise enough and angry enough to refer to the +Opera House broil. He was carried away, and what he might have said of +that night's happening would have redounded neither to St. Vincent's +credit nor to his own, had not Frona innocently put a seal upon his +lips ere he had properly begun. + +"Yes," she said. "Mr. St. Vincent told me about it. He met you for +the first time that night, I believe. You all fought royally on his +side,--you and Colonel Trethaway. He spoke his admiration unreservedly +and, to tell the truth, with enthusiasm." + +Corliss made a gesture of depreciation. + +"No! no! From what he said you must have behaved splendidly. And I +was most pleased to hear. It must be great to give the brute the rein +now and again, and healthy, too. Great for us who have wandered from +the natural and softened to sickly ripeness. Just to shake off +artificiality and rage up and down! and yet, the inmost mentor, serene +and passionless, viewing all and saying: 'This is my other self. +Behold! I, who am now powerless, am the power behind and ruleth still! +This other self, mine ancient, violent, elder self, rages blindly as +the beast, but 'tis I, sitting apart, who discern the merit of the +cause and bid him rage or bid him cease!' Oh, to be a man!" + +Corliss could not help a humoring smile, which put Frona upon defence +at once. + +"Tell me, Vance, how did it feel? Have I not described it rightly? +Were the symptoms yours? Did you not hold aloof and watch yourself +play the brute?" + +He remembered the momentary daze which came when he stunned the man +with his fist, and nodded. + +"And pride?" she demanded, inexorably. "Or shame?" + +"A--a little of both, and more of the first than the second," he +confessed. "At the time I suppose I was madly exultant; then +afterwards came the shame, and I tossed awake half the night." + +"And finally?" + +"Pride, I guess. I couldn't help it, couldn't down it. I awoke in the +morning feeling as though I had won my spurs. In a subconscious way I +was inordinately proud of myself, and time and again, mentally, I +caught myself throwing chests. Then came the shame again, and I tried +to reason back my self-respect. And last of all, pride. The fight was +fair and open. It was none of my seeking. I was forced into it by the +best of motives. I am not sorry, and I would repeat it if necessary." + +"And rightly so." Frona's eyes were sparkling. "And how did Mr. St. +Vincent acquit himself?" + +"He? . . . . Oh, I suppose all right, creditably. I was too busy +watching my other self to take notice." + +"But he saw you." + +"Most likely so. I acknowledge my negligence. I should have done +better, the chances are, had I thought it would have been of interest +to you--pardon me. Just my bungling wit. The truth is, I was too much +of a greenhorn to hold my own and spare glances on my neighbors." + +So Corliss went away, glad that he had not spoken, and keenly +appreciating St. Vincent's craft whereby he had so adroitly forestalled +adverse comment by telling the story in his own modest, self-effacing +way. + + +Two men and a woman! The most potent trinity of factors in the +creating of human pathos and tragedy! As ever in the history of man, +since the first father dropped down from his arboreal home and walked +upright, so at Dawson. Necessarily, there were minor factors, not +least among which was Del Bishop, who, in his aggressive way, stepped +in and accelerated things. This came about in a trail-camp on the way +to Miller Creek, where Corliss was bent on gathering in a large number +of low-grade claims which could only be worked profitably on a large +scale. + +"I'll not be wastin' candles when I make a strike, savve!" the +pocket-miner remarked savagely to the coffee, which he was settling +with a chunk of ice. "Not on your life, I guess rather not!" + +"Kerosene?" Corliss queried, running a piece of bacon-rind round the +frying-pan and pouring in the batter. + +"Kerosene, hell! You won't see my trail for smoke when I get a gait on +for God's country, my wad in my poke and the sunshine in my eyes. Say! +How'd a good juicy tenderloin strike you just now, green onions, fried +potatoes, and fixin's on the side? S'help me, that's the first +proposition I'll hump myself up against. Then a general whoop-la! for +a week--Seattle or 'Frisco, I don't care a rap which, and then--" + +"Out of money and after a job." + +"Not on your family tree!" Bishop roared. "Cache my sack before I go +on the tear, sure pop, and then, afterwards, Southern California. +Many's the day I've had my eye on a peach of a fruit farm down +there--forty thousand'll buy it. No more workin' for grub-stakes and +the like. Figured it out long; ago,--hired men to work the ranch, a +manager to run it, and me ownin' the game and livin' off the +percentage. A stable with always a couple of bronchos handy; handy to +slap the packs and saddles on and be off and away whenever the fever +for chasin' pockets came over me. Great pocket country down there, to +the east and along the desert." + +"And no house on the ranch?" + +"Cert! With sweet peas growin' up the sides, and in back a patch for +vegetables--string-beans and spinach and radishes, cucumbers and +'sparagrass, turnips, carrots, cabbage, and such. And a woman inside +to draw me back when I get to runnin' loco after the pockets. Say, you +know all about minin'. Did you ever go snoozin' round after pockets? +No? Then just steer clear. They're worse than whiskey, horses, or +cards. Women, when they come afterwards, ain't in it. Whenever you +get a hankerin' after pockets, go right off and get married. It's the +only thing'll save you; and even then, mebbe, it won't. I ought 'a' +done it years ago. I might 'a' made something of myself if I had. +Jerusalem! the jobs I've jumped and the good things chucked in my time, +just because of pockets! Say, Corliss, you want to get married, you +do, and right off. I'm tellin' you straight. Take warnin' from me and +don't stay single any longer than God'll let you, sure!" + +Corliss laughed. + +"Sure, I mean it. I'm older'n you, and know what I'm talkin'. Now +there's a bit of a thing down in Dawson I'd like to see you get your +hands on. You was made for each other, both of you." + +Corliss was past the stage when he would have treated Bishop's meddling +as an impertinence. The trail, which turns men into the same blankets +and makes them brothers, was the great leveller of distinctions, as he +had come to learn. So he flopped a flapjack and held his tongue. + +"Why don't you waltz in and win?" Del demanded, insistently. "Don't +you cotton to her? I know you do, or you wouldn't come back to cabin, +after bein' with her, a-walkin'-like on air. Better waltz in while you +got a chance. Why, there was Emmy, a tidy bit of flesh as women go, +and we took to each other on the jump. But I kept a-chasin' pockets +and chasin' pockets, and delayin'. And then a big black lumberman, a +Kanuck, began sidlin' up to her, and I made up my mind to speak--only I +went off after one more pocket, just one more, and when I got back she +was Mrs. Somebody Else. + +"So take warnin'. There's that writer-guy, that skunk I poked outside +the Opera House. He's walkin' right in and gettin' thick; and here's +you, just like me, a-racin' round all creation and lettin' matrimony +slide. Mark my words, Corliss! Some fine frost you'll come slippin' +into camp and find 'em housekeepin'. Sure! With nothin' left for you +in life but pocketing!" + +The picture was so unpleasant that Corliss turned surly and ordered him +to shut up. + +"Who? Me?" Del asked so aggrievedly that Corliss laughed. + +"What would you do, then?" he asked. + +"Me? In all kindness I'll tell you. As soon as you get back you go +and see her. Make dates with her ahead till you got to put 'em on +paper to remember 'em all. Get a cinch on her spare time ahead so as +to shut the other fellow out. Don't get down in the dirt to +her,--she's not that kind,--but don't be too high and mighty, neither. +Just so-so--savve? And then, some time when you see she's feelin' +good, and smilin' at you in that way of hers, why up and call her hand. +Of course I can't say what the showdown'll be. That's for you to find +out. But don't hold off too long about it. Better married early than +never. And if that writer-guy shoves in, poke him in the +breadbasket--hard! That'll settle him plenty. Better still, take him +off to one side and talk to him. Tell'm you're a bad man, and that you +staked that claim before he was dry behind the ears, and that if he +comes nosin' around tryin' to file on it you'll beat his head off." + +Bishop got up, stretched, and went outside to feed the dogs. "Don't +forget to beat his head off," he called back. "And if you're squeamish +about it, just call on me. I won't keep 'm waitin' long." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +"Ah, the salt water, Miss Welse, the strong salt water and the big waves +and the heavy boats for smooth or rough--that I know. But the fresh +water, and the little canoes, egg-shells, fairy bubbles; a big breath, a +sigh, a heart-pulse too much, and pouf! over you go; not so, that I do +not know." Baron Courbertin smiled self-commiseratingly and went on. +"But it is delightful, magnificent. I have watched and envied. Some day +I shall learn." + +"It is not so difficult," St. Vincent interposed. "Is it, Miss Welse? +Just a sure and delicate poise of mind and body--" + +"Like the tight-rope dancer?" + +"Oh, you are incorrigible," Frona laughed. "I feel certain that you know +as much about canoes as we." + +"And you know?--a woman?" Cosmopolitan as the Frenchman was, the +independence and ability for doing of the Yankee women were a perpetual +wonder to him. "How?" + +"When I was a very little girl, at Dyea, among the Indians. But next +spring, after the river breaks, we'll give you your first lessons, Mr. +St. Vincent and I. So you see, you will return to civilization with +accomplishments. And you will surely love it." + +"Under such charming tutorship," he murmured, gallantly. "But you, Mr. +St. Vincent, do you think I shall be so successful that I may come to +love it? Do you love it?--you, who stand always in the background, +sparing of speech, inscrutable, as though able but unwilling to speak +from out the eternal wisdom of a vast experience." The baron turned +quickly to Frona. "We are old friends, did I not tell you? So I may, +what you Americans call, _josh_ with him. Is it not so, Mr. St. +Vincent?" + +Gregory nodded, and Frona said, "I am sure you met at the ends of the +earth somewhere." + +"Yokohama," St. Vincent cut in shortly; "eleven years ago, in +cherry-blossom time. But Baron Courbertin does me an injustice, which +stings, unhappily, because it is not true. I am afraid, when I get +started, that I talk too much about myself." + +"A martyr to your friends," Frona conciliated. "And such a teller of +good tales that your friends cannot forbear imposing upon you." + +"Then tell us a canoe story," the baron begged. "A good one! A--what +you Yankees call--a _hair-raiser_!" + +They drew up to Mrs. Schoville's fat wood-burning stove, and St. Vincent +told of the great whirlpool in the Box Canyon, of the terrible corkscrew +in the mane of the White Horse Rapids, and of his cowardly comrade, who, +walking around, had left him to go through alone--nine years before when +the Yukon was virgin. + +Half an hour later Mrs. Schoville bustled in, with Corliss in her wake. + +"That hill! The last of my breath!" she gasped, pulling off her mittens. +"Never saw such luck!" she declared none the less vehemently the next +moment. + +"This play will never come off! I never shall be Mrs. Linden! How can +I? Krogstad's gone on a stampede to Indian River, and no one knows when +he'll be back! Krogstad" (to Corliss) "is Mr. Maybrick, you know. And +Mrs. Alexander has the neuralgia and can't stir out. So there's no +rehearsal to-day, that's flat!" She attitudinized dramatically: "'_Yes, +in my first terror! But a day has passed, and in that day I have seen +incredible things in this house! Helmer must know everything! There +must be an end to this unhappy secret! O Krogstad, you need me, and I--I +need you_,' and you are over on the Indian River making sour-dough bread, +and I shall never see you more!" + +They clapped their applause. + +"My only reward for venturing out and keeping you all waiting was my +meeting with this ridiculous fellow." She shoved Corliss forward. "Oh! +you have not met! Baron Courbertin, Mr. Corliss. If you strike it rich, +baron, I advise you to sell to Mr. Corliss. He has the money-bags of +Croesus, and will buy anything so long as the title is good. And if you +don't strike, sell anyway. He's a professional philanthropist, you know. + +"But would you believe it!" (addressing the general group) "this +ridiculous fellow kindly offered to see me up the hill and gossip along +the way--gossip! though he refused point-blank to come in and watch the +rehearsal. But when he found there wasn't to be any, he changed about +like a weather-vane. So here he is, claiming to have been away to Miller +Creek; but between ourselves there is no telling what dark deeds--" + +"Dark deeds! Look!" Frona broke in, pointing to the tip of an amber +mouth-piece which projected from Vance's outside breast-pocket. "A pipe! +My congratulations." + +She held out her hand and he shook good-humoredly. + +"All Del's fault," he laughed. "When I go before the great white throne, +it is he who shall stand forth and be responsible for that particular +sin." + +"An improvement, nevertheless," she argued. "All that is wanting is a +good round swear-word now and again." + +"Oh, I assure you I am not unlearned," he retorted. "No man can drive +dogs else. I can swear from hell to breakfast, by damn, and back again, +if you will permit me, to the last link of perdition. By the bones of +Pharaoh and the blood of Judas, for instance, are fairly efficacious with +a string of huskies; but the best of my dog-driving nomenclature, more's +the pity, women cannot stand. I promise you, however, in spite of hell +and high water--" + +"Oh! Oh!" Mrs. Schoville screamed, thrusting her fingers into her ears. + +"Madame," Baron Courbertin spoke up gravely, "it is a fact, a lamentable +fact, that the dogs of the north are responsible for more men's souls +than all other causes put together. Is it not so? I leave it to the +gentlemen." + +Both Corliss and St. Vincent solemnly agreed, and proceeded to detonate +the lady by swapping heart-rending and apposite dog tales. + +St. Vincent and the baron remained behind to take lunch with the Gold +Commissioner's wife, leaving Frona and Corliss to go down the hill +together. Silently consenting, as though to prolong the descent, they +swerved to the right, cutting transversely the myriad foot-paths and sled +roads which led down into the town. It was a mid-December day, clear and +cold; and the hesitant high-noon sun, having laboriously dragged its pale +orb up from behind the southern land-rim, balked at the great climb to +the zenith, and began its shamefaced slide back beneath the earth. Its +oblique rays refracted from the floating frost particles till the air was +filled with glittering jewel-dust--resplendent, blazing, flashing light +and fire, but cold as outer space. + +They passed down through the scintillant, magical sheen, their moccasins +rhythmically crunching the snow and their breaths wreathing mysteriously +from their lips in sprayed opalescence. Neither spoke, nor cared to +speak, so wonderful was it all. At their feet, under the great vault of +heaven, a speck in the midst of the white vastness, huddled the golden +city--puny and sordid, feebly protesting against immensity, man's +challenge to the infinite! + +Calls of men and cries of encouragement came sharply to them from close +at hand, and they halted. There was an eager yelping, a scratching of +feet, and a string of ice-rimed wolf-dogs, with hot-lolling tongues and +dripping jaws, pulled up the slope and turned into the path ahead of +them. On the sled, a long and narrow box of rough-sawed spruce told the +nature of the freight. Two dog-drivers, a woman walking blindly, and a +black-robed priest, made up the funeral cortege. A few paces farther on +the dogs were again put against the steep, and with whine and shout and +clatter the unheeding clay was hauled on and upward to its ice-hewn +hillside chamber. + +"A zone-conqueror," Frona broke voice. + +Corliss found his thought following hers, and answered, "These battlers +of frost and fighters of hunger! I can understand how the dominant races +have come down out of the north to empire. Strong to venture, strong to +endure, with infinite faith and infinite patience, is it to be wondered +at?" + +Frona glanced at him in eloquent silence. + +"'_We smote with our swords_,'" he chanted; "'_to me it was a joy like +having my bright bride by me on the couch.' 'I have marched with my +bloody sword, and the raven has followed me. Furiously we fought; the +fire passed over the dwellings of men; we slept in the blood of those who +kept the gates_.'" + +"But do you feel it, Vance?" she cried, her hand flashing out and resting +on his arm. + +"I begin to feel, I think. The north has taught me, is teaching me. The +old thing's come back with new significance. Yet I do not know. It +seems a tremendous egotism, a magnificent dream." + +"But you are not a negro or a Mongol, nor are you descended from the +negro or Mongol." + +"Yes," he considered, "I am my father's son, and the line goes back to +the sea-kings who never slept under the smoky rafters of a roof or +drained the ale-horn by inhabited hearth. There must be a reason for the +dead-status of the black, a reason for the Teuton spreading over the +earth as no other race has ever spread. There must be something in race +heredity, else I would not leap at the summons." + +"A great race, Vance. Half of the earth its heritage, and all of the +sea! And in threescore generations it has achieved it all--think of it! +threescore generations!--and to-day it reaches out wider-armed than ever. +The smiter and the destroyer among nations! the builder and the +law-giver! Oh, Vance, my love is passionate, but God will forgive, for +it is good. A great race, greatly conceived; and if to perish, greatly +to perish! Don't you remember: + +"'_Trembles Yggdrasil's ash yet standing; groans that ancient tree, and +the Jotun Loki is loosed. The shadows groan on the ways of Hel, until +the fire of Surt has consumed the tree. Hrym steers from the east, the +waters rise, the mundane snake is coiled in jotun-rage. The worm heats +the water, and the eagle screams; the pale of beak tears carcases; the +ship Naglfar is loosed. Surt from the south comes with flickering flame; +shines from his sword the Val-god's sun_.'" + +Swaying there like a furred Valkyrie above the final carnage of men and +gods, she touched his imagination, and the blood surged exultingly along +unknown channels, thrilling and uplifting. + +"'_The stony hills are dashed together, the giantesses totter; men tread +the path of Hel, and heaven is cloven. The sun darkens, earth in ocean +sinks, fall from heaven the bright stars, fire's breath assails the +all-nourishing tree, towering fire plays against heaven itself_.'" + +Outlined against the blazing air, her brows and lashes white with frost, +the jewel-dust striking and washing against hair and face, and the +south-sun lighting her with a great redness, the man saw her as the +genius of the race. The traditions of the blood laid hold of him, and he +felt strangely at one with the white-skinned, yellow-haired giants of the +younger world. And as he looked upon her the mighty past rose before +him, and the caverns of his being resounded with the shock and tumult of +forgotten battles. With bellowing of storm-winds and crash of smoking +North Sea waves, he saw the sharp-beaked fighting galleys, and the +sea-flung Northmen, great-muscled, deep-chested, sprung from the +elements, men of sword and sweep, marauders and scourgers of the warm +south-lands! The din of twenty centuries of battle was roaring in his +ear, and the clamor for return to type strong upon him. He seized her +hands passionately. + +"Be the bright bride by me, Frona! Be the bright bride by me on the +couch!" + +She started and looked down at him, questioningly. Then the import of it +reached her and she involuntarily drew back. The sun shot a last failing +flicker across the earth and vanished. The fire went out of the air, and +the day darkened. Far above, the hearse-dogs howled mournfully. + +"No," he interrupted, as words formed on her lips. "Do not speak. I +know my answer, your answer . . . now . . . I was a fool . . . Come, +let us go down." + +It was not until they had left the mountain behind them, crossed the +flat, and come out on the river by the saw-mill, that the bustle and +skurry of human life made it seem possible for them to speak. Corliss +had walked with his eyes moodily bent to the ground; and Frona, with head +erect and looking everywhere, stealing an occasional glance to his face. +Where the road rose over the log run-way of the mill the footing was +slippery, and catching at her to save her from falling, their eyes met. + +"I--I am grieved," she hesitated. And then, in unconscious self-defence, +"It was so . . . I had not expected it--just then." + +"Else you would have prevented?" he asked, bitterly. + +"Yes. I think I should have. I did not wish to give you pain--" + +"Then you expected it, some time?" + +"And feared it. But I had hoped . . . I . . . Vance, I did not come +into the Klondike to get married. I liked you at the beginning, and I +have liked you more and more,--never so much as to-day,--but--" + +"But you had never looked upon me in the light of a possible +husband--that is what you are trying to say." + +As he spoke, he looked at her side-wise, and sharply; and when her eyes +met his with the same old frankness, the thought of losing her maddened +him. + +"But I have," she answered at once. "I have looked upon you in that +light, but somehow it was not convincing. Why, I do not know. There was +so much I found to like in you, so much--" + +He tried to stop her with a dissenting gesture, but she went on. + +"So much to admire. There was all the warmth of friendship, and closer +friendship,--a growing _camaraderie_, in fact; but nothing more. Though +I did not wish more, I should have welcomed it had it come." + +"As one welcomes the unwelcome guest." + +"Why won't you help me, Vance, instead of making it harder? It is hard +on you, surely, but do you imagine that I am enjoying it? I feel because +of your pain, and, further, I know when I refuse a dear friend for a +lover the dear friend goes from me. I do not part with friends lightly." + +"I see; doubly bankrupt; friend and lover both. But they are easily +replaced. I fancy I was half lost before I spoke. Had I remained +silent, it would have been the same anyway. Time softens; new +associations, new thoughts and faces; men with marvellous adventures--" + +She stopped him abruptly. + +"It is useless, Vance, no matter what you may say. I shall not quarrel +with you. I can understand how you feel--" + +"If I am quarrelsome, then I had better leave you." He halted suddenly, +and she stood beside him. "Here comes Dave Harney. He will see you +home. It's only a step." + +"You are doing neither yourself nor me kindness." She spoke with final +firmness. "I decline to consider this the end. We are too close to it +to understand it fairly. You must come and see me when we are both +calmer. I refuse to be treated in this fashion. It is childish of you." +She shot a hasty glance at the approaching Eldorado king. "I do not +think I deserve it at your hands. I refuse to lose you as a friend. And +I insist that you come and see me, that things remain on the old footing." + +He shook his head. + +"Hello!" Dave Harney touched his cap and slowed down loose-jointedly. +"Sorry you didn't take my tip? Dogs gone up a dollar a pound since +yesterday, and still a-whoopin'. Good-afternoon, Miss Frona, and Mr. +Corliss. Goin' my way?" + +"Miss Welse is." Corliss touched the visor of his cap and half-turned on +his heel. + +"Where're you off to?" Dave demanded. + +"Got an appointment," he lied. + +"Remember," Frona called to him, "you must come and see me." + +"Too busy, I'm afraid, just now. Good-by. So long, Dave." + +"Jemimy!" Dave remarked, staring after him; "but he's a hustler. Always +busy--with big things, too. Wonder why he didn't go in for dogs?" + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +But Corliss did go back to see her, and before the day was out. A +little bitter self-communion had not taken long to show him his +childishness. The sting of loss was hard enough, but the thought, now +they could be nothing to each other, that her last impressions of him +should be bad, hurt almost as much, and in a way, even more. And +further, putting all to the side, he was really ashamed. He had +thought that he could have taken such a disappointment more manfully, +especially since in advance he had not been at all sure of his footing. + +So he called upon her, walked with her up to the Barracks, and on the +way, with her help, managed to soften the awkwardness which the morning +had left between them. He talked reasonably and meekly, which she +countenanced, and would have apologized roundly had she not prevented +him. + +"Not the slightest bit of blame attaches to you," she said. "Had I +been in your place, I should probably have done the same and behaved +much more outrageously. For you were outrageous, you know." + +"But had you been in my place, and I in yours," he answered, with a +weak attempt at humor, "there would have been no need." + +She smiled, glad that he was feeling less strongly about it. + +"But, unhappily, our social wisdom does not permit such a reversal," he +added, more with a desire to be saying something. + +"Ah!" she laughed. "There's where my Jesuitism comes in. I can rise +above our social wisdom." + +"You don't mean to say,--that--?" + +"There, shocked as usual! No, I could not be so crude as to speak +outright, but I might _finesse_, as you whist-players say. Accomplish +the same end, only with greater delicacy. After all, a distinction +without a difference." + +"Could you?" he asked. + +"I know I could,--if the occasion demanded. I am not one to let what I +might deem life-happiness slip from me without a struggle. That" +(judicially) "occurs only in books and among sentimentalists. As my +father always says, I belong to the strugglers and fighters. That +which appeared to me great and sacred, that would I battle for, though +I brought heaven tumbling about my ears." + +"You have made me very happy, Vance," she said at parting by the +Barracks gates. "And things shall go along in the same old way. And +mind, not a bit less of you than formerly; but, rather, much more." + + +But Corliss, after several perfunctory visits, forgot the way which led +to Jacob Welse's home, and applied himself savagely to his work. He +even had the hypocrisy, at times, to felicitate himself upon his +escape, and to draw bleak fireside pictures of the dismal future which +would have been had he and Frona incompatibly mated. But this was only +at times. As a rule, the thought of her made him hungry, in a way akin +to physical hunger; and the one thing he found to overcome it was hard +work and plenty of it. But even then, what of trail and creek, and +camp and survey, he could only get away from her in his waking hours. +In his sleep he was ignobly conquered, and Del Bishop, who was with him +much, studied his restlessness and gave a ready ear to his mumbled +words. + +The pocket-miner put two and two together, and made a correct induction +from the different little things which came under his notice. But this +did not require any great astuteness. The simple fact that he no +longer called on Frona was sufficient evidence of an unprospering suit. +But Del went a step farther, and drew the corollary that St. Vincent +was the cause of it all. Several times he had seen the correspondent +with Frona, going one place and another, and was duly incensed thereat. + +"I'll fix 'm yet!" he muttered in camp one evening, over on Gold Bottom. + +"Whom?" Corliss queried. + +"Who? That newspaper man, that's who!" + +"What for?" + +"Aw--general principles. Why'n't you let me paste 'm that night at the +Opera House?" + +Corliss laughed at the recollection. "Why did you strike him, Del?" + +"General principles," Del snapped back and shut up. + +But Del Bishop, for all his punitive spirit, did not neglect the main +chance, and on the return trip, when they came to the forks of Eldorado +and Bonanza, he called a halt. + +"Say, Corliss," he began at once, "d'you know what a hunch is?" His +employer nodded his comprehension. "Well, I've got one. I ain't never +asked favors of you before, but this once I want you to lay over here +till to-morrow. Seems to me my fruit ranch is 'most in sight. I can +damn near smell the oranges a-ripenin'." + +"Certainly," Corliss agreed. "But better still, I'll run on down to +Dawson, and you can come in when you've finished hunching." + +"Say!" Del objected. "I said it was a hunch; and I want to ring you in +on it, savve? You're all right, and you've learned a hell of a lot out +of books. You're a regular high-roller when it comes to the +laboratory, and all that; but it takes yours truly to get down and read +the face of nature without spectacles. Now I've got a theory--" + +Corliss threw up his hands in affected dismay, and the pocket-miner +began to grow angry. + +"That's right! Laugh! But it's built right up on your own pet theory +of erosion and changed riverbeds. And I didn't pocket among the +Mexicans two years for nothin'. Where d'you s'pose this Eldorado gold +came from?--rough, and no signs of washin'? Eh? There's where you +need your spectacles. Books have made you short-sighted. But never +mind how. 'Tisn't exactly pockets, neither, but I know what I'm +spelling about. I ain't been keepin' tab on traces for my health. I +can tell you mining sharps more about the lay of Eldorado Creek in one +minute than you could figure out in a month of Sundays. But never +mind, no offence. You lay over with me till to-morrow, and you can buy +a ranch 'longside of mine, sure." "Well, all right. I can rest up and +look over my notes while you're hunting your ancient river-bed." + +"Didn't I tell you it was a hunch?" Del reproachfully demanded. + +"And haven't I agreed to stop over? What more do you want?" + +"To give you a fruit ranch, that's what! Just to go with me and nose +round a bit, that's all." + +"I do not want any of your impossible fruit ranches. I'm tired and +worried; can't you leave me alone? I think I am more than fair when I +humor you to the extent of stopping over. You may waste your time +nosing around, but I shall stay in camp. Understand?" + +"Burn my body, but you're grateful! By the Jumpin' Methuselah, I'll +quit my job in two minutes if you don't fire me. Me a-layin' 'wake +nights and workin' up my theory, and calculatin' on lettin' you in, and +you a-snorin' and Frona-this and Frona-that--" + +"That'll do! Stop it!" + +"The hell it will! If I didn't know more about gold-mining than you do +about courtin'--" + +Corliss sprang at him, but Del dodged to one side and put up his fists. +Then he ducked a wild right and left swing and side-stepped his way +into firmer footing on the hard trail. + +"Hold on a moment," he cried, as Corliss made to come at him again. +"Just a second. If I lick you, will you come up the hillside with me?" + +"Yes." + +"And if I don't, you can fire me. That's fair. Come on." + +Vance had no show whatever, as Del well knew, who played with him, +feinting, attacking, retreating, dazzling, and disappearing every now +and again out of his field of vision in a most exasperating way. As +Vance speedily discovered, he possessed very little correlation between +mind and body, and the next thing he discovered was that he was lying +in the snow and slowly coming back to his senses. + +"How--how did you do it?" he stammered to the pocket-miner, who had his +head on his knee and was rubbing his forehead with snow. + +"Oh, you'll do!" Del laughed, helping him limply to his feet. "You're +the right stuff. I'll show you some time. You've got lots to learn +yet what you won't find in books. But not now. We've got to wade in +and make camp, then you're comin' up the hill with me." + +"Hee! hee!" he chuckled later, as they fitted the pipe of the Yukon +stove. "Slow sighted and short. Couldn't follow me, eh? But I'll +show you some time, oh, I'll show you all right, all right!" + +"Grab an axe an' come on," he commanded when the camp was completed. + +He led the way up Eldorado, borrowed a pick, shovel, and pan at a +cabin, and headed up among the benches near the mouth of French Creek. +Vance, though feeling somewhat sore, was laughing at himself by this +time and enjoying the situation. He exaggerated the humility with +which he walked at the heel of his conqueror, while the extravagant +servility which marked his obedience to his hired man made that +individual grin. + +"You'll do. You've got the makin's in you!" Del threw down the tools +and scanned the run of the snow-surface carefully. "Here, take the +axe, shinny up the hill, and lug me down some _skookum_ dry wood." + +By the time Corliss returned with the last load of wood, the +pocket-miner had cleared away the snow and moss in divers spots, and +formed, in general design, a rude cross. + +"Cuttin' her both ways," he explained. "Mebbe I'll hit her here, or +over there, or up above; but if there's anything in the hunch, this is +the place. Bedrock dips in above, and it's deep there and most likely +richer, but too much work. This is the rim of the bench. Can't be +more'n a couple of feet down. All we want is indications; afterwards +we can tap in from the side." + +As he talked, he started fires here and there on the uncovered spaces. +"But look here, Corliss, I want you to mind this ain't pocketin'. This +is just plain ordinary 'prentice work; but pocketin'"--he straightened +up his back and spoke reverently--"but pocketin' is the deepest science +and the finest art. Delicate to a hair's-breadth, hand and eye true +and steady as steel. When you've got to burn your pan blue-black twice +a day, and out of a shovelful of gravel wash down to the one wee speck +of flour gold,--why, that's washin', that's what it is. Tell you what, +I'd sooner follow a pocket than eat." + +"And you would sooner fight than do either." Bishop stopped to +consider. He weighed himself with care equal to that of retaining the +one wee speck of flour gold. "No, I wouldn't, neither. I'd take +pocketin' in mine every time. It's as bad as dope; Corliss, sure. If +it once gets a-hold of you, you're a goner. You'll never shake it. +Look at me! And talk about pipe-dreams; they can't burn a candle +'longside of it." + +He walked over and kicked one of the fires apart. Then he lifted the +pick, and the steel point drove in and stopped with a metallic clang, +as though brought up by solid cement. + +"Ain't thawed two inches," he muttered, stooping down and groping with +his fingers in the wet muck. The blades of last year's grass had been +burned away, but he managed to gather up and tear away a handful of the +roots. + +"Hell!" + +"What's the matter?" Corliss asked. + +"Hell!" he repeated in a passionless way, knocking the dirt-covered +roots against the pan. + +Corliss went over and stooped to closer inspection. "Hold on!" he +cried, picking up two or three grimy bits of dirt and rubbing them with +his fingers. A bright yellow flashed forth. + +"Hell!" the pocket-miner reiterated tonelessly. "First rattle out the +box. Begins at the grass roots and goes all the way down." + +Head turned to the side and up, eyes closed, nostrils distended and +quivering, he rose suddenly to his feet and sniffed the air. Corliss +looked up wonderingly. + +"Huh!" the pocket-miner grunted. Then he drew a deep breath. "Can't +you smell them oranges?" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +The stampede to French Hill was on by the beginning of Christmas week. +Corliss and Bishop had been in no hurry to record for they looked the +ground over carefully before blazing their stakes, and let a few close +friends into the secret,--Harney, Welse, Trethaway, a Dutch _chechaquo_ +who had forfeited both feet to the frost, a couple of the mounted +police, an old pal with whom Del had prospected through the Black Hills +Country, the washerwoman at the Forks, and last, and notably, Lucile. +Corliss was responsible for her getting in on the lay, and he drove and +marked her stakes himself, though it fell to the colonel to deliver the +invitation to her to come and be rich. + +In accordance with the custom of the country, those thus benefited +offered to sign over half-interests to the two discoverers. Corliss +would not tolerate the proposition. Del was similarly minded, though +swayed by no ethical reasons. He had enough as it stood. "Got my +fruit ranch paid for, double the size I was calculatin' on," he +explained; "and if I had any more, I wouldn't know what to do with it, +sure." + +After the strike, Corliss took it upon himself as a matter of course to +look about for another man; but when he brought a keen-eyed Californian +into camp, Del was duly wroth. + +"Not on your life," he stormed. + +"But you are rich now," Vance answered, "and have no need to work." + +"Rich, hell!" the pocket-miner rejoined. "Accordin' to covenant, you +can't fire me; and I'm goin' to hold the job down as long as my sweet +will'll let me. Savve?" + +On Friday morning, early, all interested parties appeared before the +Gold Commissioner to record their claims. The news went abroad +immediately. In five minutes the first stampeders were hitting the +trail. At the end of half an hour the town was afoot. To prevent +mistakes on their property,--jumping, moving of stakes, and mutilation +of notices,--Vance and Del, after promptly recording, started to +return. But with the government seal attached to their holdings, they +took it leisurely, the stampeders sliding past them in a steady stream. +Midway, Del chanced to look behind. St. Vincent was in sight, footing +it at a lively pace, the regulation stampeding pack on his shoulders. +The trail made a sharp bend at that place, and with the exception of +the three of them no one was in sight. + +"Don't speak to me. Don't recognize me," Del cautioned sharply, as he +spoke, buttoning his nose-strap across his face, which served to quite +hide his identity. "There's a water-hole over there. Get down on your +belly and make a blind at gettin' a drink. Then go on by your lonely +to the claims; I've business of my own to handle. And for the love of +your bother don't say a word to me or to the skunk. Don't let 'm see +your face." + +Corliss obeyed wonderingly, stepping aside from the beaten path, lying +down in the snow, and dipping into the water-hole with an empty +condensed milk-can. Bishop bent on one knee and stooped as though +fastening his moccasin. Just as St. Vincent came up with him he +finished tying the knot, and started forward with the feverish haste of +a man trying to make up for lost time. + +"I say, hold on, my man," the correspondent called out to him. + +Bishop shot a hurried glance at him and pressed on. St. Vincent broke +into a run till they were side by side again. + +"Is this the way--" + +"To the benches of French Hill?" Del snapped him short. "Betcher your +life. That's the way I'm headin'. So long." + +He ploughed forward at a tremendous rate, and the correspondent, +half-running, swung in behind with the evident intention of taking the +pace. Corliss, still in the dark, lifted his head and watched them go; +but when he saw the pocket-miner swerve abruptly to the right and take +the trail up Adams Creek, the light dawned upon him and he laughed +softly to himself. + +Late that night Del arrived in camp on Eldorado exhausted but jubilant. + +"Didn't do a thing to him," he cried before he was half inside the +tent-flaps. "Gimme a bite to eat" (grabbing at the teapot and running +a hot flood down his throat),--"cookin'-fat, slush, old moccasins, +candle-ends, anything!" + +Then he collapsed upon the blankets and fell to rubbing his stiff +leg-muscles while Corliss fried bacon and dished up the beans. + +"What about 'm?" he exulted between mouthfuls. "Well, you can stack +your chips that he didn't get in on the French Hill benches. _How far +is it, my man_?" (in the well-mimicked, patronizing tones of St. +Vincent). "_How far is it_?" with the patronage left out. "_How far +to French Hill_?" weakly. "_How far do you think it is_?" very weakly, +with a tremolo which hinted of repressed tears. "_How far_--" + +The pocket-miner burst into roars of laughter, which were choked by a +misdirected flood of tea, and which left him coughing and speechless. + +"Where'd I leave 'm?" when he had recovered. "Over on the divide to +Indian River, winded, plum-beaten, done for. Just about able to crawl +into the nearest camp, and that's about all. I've covered fifty stiff +miles myself, so here's for bed. Good-night. Don't call me in the +mornin'." + +He turned into the blankets all-standing, and as he dozed off Vance +could hear him muttering, "_How far is it, my man_? _I say, how far is +it_?" + + +Regarding Lucile, Corliss was disappointed. "I confess I cannot +understand her," he said to Colonel Trethaway. "I thought her bench +claim would make her independent of the Opera House." + +"You can't get a dump out in a day," the colonel interposed. + +"But you can mortgage the dirt in the ground when it prospects as hers +does. Yet I took that into consideration, and offered to advance her a +few thousand, non-interest bearing, and she declined. Said she didn't +need it,--in fact, was really grateful; thanked me, and said that any +time I was short to come and see her." + +Trethaway smiled and played with his watch-chain. "What would you? +Life, even here, certainly means more to you and me than a bit of grub, +a piece of blanket, and a Yukon stove. She is as gregarious as the +rest of us, and probably a little more so. Suppose you cut her off +from the Opera House,--what then? May she go up to the Barracks and +consort with the captain's lady, make social calls on Mrs. Schoville, +or chum with Frona? Don't you see? Will you escort her, in daylight, +down the public street?" + +"Will you?" Vance demanded. + +"Ay," the colonel replied, unhesitatingly, "and with pleasure." + +"And so will I; but--" He paused and gazed gloomily into the fire. +"But see how she is going on with St. Vincent. As thick as thieves +they are, and always together." + +"Puzzles me," Trethaway admitted. "I can grasp St. Vincent's side of +it. Many irons in the fire, and Lucile owns a bench claim on the +second tier of French Hill. Mark me, Corliss, we can tell infallibly +the day that Frona consents to go to his bed and board,--if she ever +does consent." + +"And that will be?" + +"The day St. Vincent breaks with Lucile." + +Corliss pondered, and the colonel went on. + +"But I can't grasp Lucile's side of it. What she can see in St. +Vincent--" + +"Her taste is no worse than--than that of the rest of the women," Vance +broke in hotly. "I am sure that--" + +"Frona could not display poor taste, eh?" Corliss turned on his heel +and walked out, and left Colonel Trethaway smiling grimly. + +Vance Corliss never knew how many people, directly and indirectly, had +his cause at heart that Christmas week. Two men strove in particular, +one for him and one for the sake of Frona. Pete Whipple, an old-timer +in the land, possessed an Eldorado claim directly beneath French Hill, +also a woman of the country for a wife,--a swarthy _breed_, not over +pretty, whose Indian mother had mated with a Russian fur-trader some +thirty years before at Kutlik on the Great Delta. Bishop went down one +Sunday morning to yarn away an hour or so with Whipple, but found the +wife alone in the cabin. She talked a bastard English gibberish which +was an anguish to hear, so the pocket-miner resolved to smoke a pipe +and depart without rudeness. But he got her tongue wagging, and to +such an extent that he stopped and smoked many pipes, and whenever she +lagged, urged her on again. He grunted and chuckled and swore in +undertones while he listened, punctuating her narrative regularly with +_hells_! which adequately expressed the many shades of interest he felt. + +In the midst of it, the woman fished an ancient leather-bound volume, +all scarred and marred, from the bottom of a dilapidated chest, and +thereafter it lay on the table between them. Though it remained +unopened, she constantly referred to it by look and gesture, and each +time she did so a greedy light blazed in Bishop's eyes. At the end, +when she could say no more and had repeated herself from two to half a +dozen times, he pulled out his sack. Mrs. Whipple set up the gold +scales and placed the weights, which he counterbalanced with a hundred +dollars' worth of dust. Then he departed up the hill to the tent, +hugging the purchase closely, and broke in on Corliss, who sat in the +blankets mending moccasins. + +"I'll fix 'm yet," Del remarked casually, at the same time patting the +book and throwing it down on the bed. + +Corliss looked up inquiringly and opened it. The paper was yellow with +age and rotten from the weather-wear of trail, while the text was +printed in Russian. "I didn't know you were a Russian scholar, Del," +he quizzed. "But I can't read a line of it." + +"Neither can I, more's the pity; nor does Whipple's woman savve the +lingo. I got it from her. But her old man--he was full Russian, you +know--he used to read it aloud to her. But she knows what she knows +and what her old man knew, and so do I." + +"And what do the three of you know?" + +"Oh, that's tellin'," Bishop answered, coyly. "But you wait and watch +my smoke, and when you see it risin', you'll know, too." + + +Matt McCarthy came in over the ice Christmas week, summed up the +situation so far as Frona and St. Vincent were concerned, and did not +like it. Dave Harney furnished him with full information, to which he +added that obtained from Lucile, with whom he was on good terms. +Perhaps it was because he received the full benefit of the sum of their +prejudice; but no matter how, he at any rate answered roll-call with +those who looked upon the correspondent with disfavor. It was +impossible for them to tell why they did not approve of the man, but +somehow St. Vincent was never much of a success with men. This, in +turn, might have been due to the fact that he shone so resplendently +with women as to cast his fellows in eclipse; for otherwise, in his +intercourse with men, he was all that a man could wish. There was +nothing domineering or over-riding about him, while he manifested a +good fellowship at least equal to their own. + +Yet, having withheld his judgment after listening to Lucile and Harney, +Matt McCarthy speedily reached a verdict upon spending an hour with St. +Vincent at Jacob Welse's,--and this in face of the fact that what +Lucile had said had been invalidated by Matt's learning of her intimacy +with the man in question. Strong of friendship, quick of heart and +hand, Matt did not let the grass grow under his feet. "'Tis I'll be +takin' a social fling meself, as befits a mimber iv the noble Eldorado +Dynasty," he explained, and went up the hill to a whist party in Dave +Harney's cabin. To himself he added, "An' belike, if Satan takes his +eye off his own, I'll put it to that young cub iv his." + +But more than once during the evening he discovered himself challenging +his own judgment. Probe as he would with his innocent wit, Matt found +himself baffled. St. Vincent certainly rang true. Simple, +light-hearted, unaffected, joking and being joked in all good-nature, +thoroughly democratic. Matt failed to catch the faintest echo of +insincerity. + +"May the dogs walk on me grave," he communed with himself while +studying a hand which suffered from a plethora of trumps. "Is it the +years are tellin', puttin' the frost in me veins and chillin' the +blood? A likely lad, an' is it for me to misjudge because his is +a-takin' way with the ladies? Just because the swate creatures smile +on the lad an' flutter warm at the sight iv him? Bright eyes and brave +men! 'Tis the way they have iv lovin' valor. They're shuddered an' +shocked at the cruel an' bloody dades iv war, yet who so quick do they +lose their hearts to as the brave butcher-bye iv a sodger? Why not? +The lad's done brave things, and the girls give him the warm soft +smile. Small reason, that, for me to be callin' him the devil's own +cub. Out upon ye, Matt McCarthy, for a crusty old sour-dough, with +vitals frozen an' summer gone from yer heart! 'Tis an ossification +ye've become! But bide a wee, Matt, bide a wee," he supplemented. +"Wait till ye've felt the fale iv his flesh." + + +The opportunity came shortly, when St. Vincent, with Frona opposite, +swept in the full thirteen tricks. + +"A rampse!" Matt cried. "Vincent, me lad, a rampse! Yer hand on it, +me brave!" + +It was a stout grip, neither warm nor clammy, but Matt shook his head +dubiously. "What's the good iv botherin'?" he muttered to himself as +he shuffled the cards for the next deal. "Ye old fool! Find out first +how Frona darlin' stands, an' if it's pat she is, thin 'tis time for +doin'." + +"Oh, McCarthy's all hunky," Dave Harney assured them later on, coming +to the rescue of St. Vincent, who was getting the rough side of the +Irishman's wit. The evening was over and the company was putting on +its wraps and mittens. "Didn't tell you 'bout his visit to the +cathedral, did he, when he was on the Outside? Well, it was suthin' +like this, ez he was explainin' it to me. He went to the cathedral +durin' service, an' took in the priests and choir-boys in their +surplices,--_parkas_, he called 'em,--an' watched the burnin' of the +holy incense. 'An' do ye know, Dave, he sez to me, 'they got in an' +made a smudge, and there wa'n't a darned mosquito in sight.'" + +"True, ivery word iv it." Matt unblushingly fathered Harney's yarn. +"An' did ye niver hear tell iv the time Dave an' me got drunk on +condensed milk?" + +"Oh! Horrors!" cried Mrs. Schoville. "But how? Do tell us." + +"'Twas durin' the time iv the candle famine at Forty Mile. Cold snap +on, an' Dave slides into me shack to pass the time o' day, and glues +his eyes on me case iv condensed milk. 'How'd ye like a sip iv Moran's +good whiskey?' he sez, eyin' the case iv milk the while. I confiss me +mouth went wet at the naked thought iv it. 'But what's the use iv +likin'?' sez I, with me sack bulgin' with emptiness.' 'Candles worth +tin dollars the dozen,' sez he, 'a dollar apiece. Will ye give six +cans iv milk for a bottle iv the old stuff?' 'How'll ye do it?' sez I. +'Trust me,' sez he. 'Give me the cans. 'Tis cold out iv doors, an' +I've a pair iv candle-moulds.' + +"An' it's the sacred truth I'm tellin' ye all, an' if ye run across +Bill Moran he'll back me word; for what does Dave Harney do but lug off +me six cans, freeze the milk into his candle-moulds, an' trade them in +to bill Moran for a bottle iv tanglefoot!" + +As soon as he could be heard through the laughter, Harney raised his +voice. "It's true, as McCarthy tells, but he's only told you the half. +Can't you guess the rest, Matt?" + +Matt shook his head. + +"Bein' short on milk myself, an' not over much sugar, I doctored three +of your cans with water, which went to make the candles. An' by the +bye, I had milk in my coffee for a month to come." + +"It's on me, Dave," McCarthy admitted. "'Tis only that yer me host, or +I'd be shockin' the ladies with yer nortorious disgraces. But I'll +lave ye live this time, Dave. Come, spade the partin' guests; we must +be movin'." + +"No ye don't, ye young laddy-buck," he interposed, as St. Vincent +started to take Frona down the hill, "'Tis her foster-daddy sees her +home this night." + +McCarthy laughed in his silent way and offered his arm to Frona, while +St. Vincent joined in the laugh against himself, dropped back, and +joined Miss Mortimer and Baron Courbertin. + +"What's this I'm hearin' about you an' Vincent?" Matt bluntly asked as +soon as they had drawn apart from the others. + +He looked at her with his keen gray eyes, but she returned the look +quite as keenly. + +"How should I know what you have been hearing?" she countered. + +"Whin the talk goes round iv a maid an' a man, the one pretty an' the +other not unhandsome, both young an' neither married, does it 'token +aught but the one thing?" + +"Yes?" + +"An' the one thing the greatest thing in all the world." + +"Well?" Frona was the least bit angry, and did not feel inclined to +help him. + +"Marriage, iv course," he blurted out. "'Tis said it looks that way +with the pair of ye." + +"But is it said that it _is_ that way?" + +"Isn't the looks iv it enough ?" he demanded. + +"No; and you are old enough to know better. Mr. St. Vincent and I--we +enjoy each other as friends, that is all. But suppose it is as you +say, what of it?" + +"Well," McCarthy deliberated, "there's other talk goes round, 'Tis +said Vincent is over-thick with a jade down in the town--Lucile, they +speak iv her." + +"All of which signifies?" + +She waited, and McCarthy watched her dumbly. + +"I know Lucile, and I like her," Frona continued, filling the gap of +his silence, and ostentatiously manoeuvring to help him on. "Do you +know her? Don't you like her?" + +Matt started to speak, cleared his throat, and halted. At last, in +desperation, he blurted out, "For two cents, Frona, I'd lay ye acrost +me knee." + +She laughed. "You don't dare. I'm not running barelegged at Dyea." + +"Now don't be tasin'," he blarneyed. + +"I'm not teasing. Don't you like her?--Lucile?" + +"An' what iv it?" he challenged, brazenly. + +"Just what I asked,--what of it?" + +"Thin I'll tell ye in plain words from a man old enough to be yer +father. 'Tis undacent, damnably undacent, for a man to kape company +with a good young girl--" + +"Thank you," she laughed, dropping a courtesy. Then she added, half in +bitterness, "There have been others who--" + +"Name me the man!" he cried hotly. + +"There, there, go on. You were saying?" + +"That it's a crying shame for a man to kape company with--with you, an' +at the same time be chake by jowl with a woman iv her stamp." + +"And why?" + +"To come drippin' from the muck to dirty yer claneness! An' ye can ask +why?" + +"But wait, Matt, wait a moment. Granting your premises--" + +"Little I know iv primises," he growled. "'Tis facts I'm dalin' with." + +Frona bit her lip. "Never mind. Have it as you will; but let me go on +and I will deal with facts, too. When did you last see Lucile?" + +"An' why are ye askin'?" he demanded, suspiciously. + +"Never mind why. The fact." + +"Well, thin, the fore part iv last night, an' much good may it do ye." + +"And danced with her?" + +"A rollickin' Virginia reel, an' not sayin' a word iv a quadrille or +so. Tis at square dances I excel meself." + +Frona walked on in a simulated brown study, no sound going up from the +twain save the complaint of the snow from under their moccasins. + +"Well, thin?" he questioned, uneasily. + +"An' what iv it?" he insisted after another silence. + +"Oh, nothing," she answered. "I was just wondering which was the +muckiest, Mr. St. Vincent or you--or myself, with whom you have both +been cheek by jowl." + +Now, McCarthy was unversed in the virtues of social wisdom, and, though +he felt somehow the error of her position, he could not put it into +definite thought; so he steered wisely, if weakly, out of danger. + +"It's gettin' mad ye are with yer old Matt," he insinuated, "who has +yer own good at heart, an' because iv it makes a fool iv himself." + +"No, I'm not." + +"But ye are." + +"There!" leaning swiftly to him and kissing him. "How could I remember +the Dyea days and be angry?" + +"Ah, Frona darlin', well may ye say it. I'm the dust iv the dirt under +yer feet, an' ye may walk on me--anything save get mad. I cud die for +ye, swing for ye, to make ye happy. I cud kill the man that gave ye +sorrow, were it but a thimbleful, an' go plump into hell with a smile +on me face an' joy in me heart." + +They had halted before her door, and she pressed his arm gratefully. +"I am not angry, Matt. But with the exception of my father you are the +only person I would have permitted to talk to me about this--this +affair in the way you have. And though I like you, Matt, love you +better than ever, I shall nevertheless be very angry if you mention it +again. You have no right. It is something that concerns me alone. +And it is wrong of you--" + +"To prevint ye walkin' blind into danger?" + +"If you wish to put it that way, yes." + +He growled deep down in his throat. + +"What is it you are saying?" she asked. + +"That ye may shut me mouth, but that ye can't bind me arm." + +"But you mustn't, Matt, dear, you mustn't." + +Again he answered with a subterranean murmur. + +"And I want you to promise me, now, that you will not interfere in my +life that way, by word or deed." + +"I'll not promise." + +"But you must." + +"I'll not. Further, it's gettin' cold on the stoop, an' ye'll be +frostin' yer toes, the pink little toes I fished splinters out iv at +Dyea. So it's in with ye, Frona girl, an' good-night." + +He thrust her inside and departed. When he reached the corner he +stopped suddenly and regarded his shadow on the snow. "Matt McCarthy, +yer a damned fool! Who iver heard iv a Welse not knowin' their own +mind? As though ye'd niver had dalin's with the stiff-necked breed, ye +calamitous son iv misfortune!" + +Then he went his way, still growling deeply, and at every growl the +curious wolf-dog at his heels bristled and bared its fangs. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +"Tired?" + +Jacob Welse put both hands on Frona's shoulders, and his eyes spoke the +love his stiff tongue could not compass. The tree and the excitement +and the pleasure were over with, a score or so of children had gone +home frostily happy across the snow, the last guest had departed, and +Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were blending into one. + +She returned his fondness with glad-eyed interest, and they dropped +into huge comfortable chairs on either side the fireplace, in which the +back-log was falling to ruddy ruin. + +"And this time next year?" He put the question seemingly to the +glowing log, and, as if in ominous foreshadow, it flared brightly and +crumbled away in a burst of sparks. + +"It is marvellous," he went on, dismissing the future in an effort to +shake himself into a wholesomer frame of mind. "It has been one long +continuous miracle, the last few months, since you have been with me. +We have seen very little of each other, you know, since your childhood, +and when I think upon it soberly it is hard to realize that you are +really mine, sprung from me, bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh. As +the tangle-haired wild young creature of Dyea,--a healthy, little, +natural animal and nothing more,--it required no imagination to accept +you as one of the breed of Welse. But as Frona, the woman, as you were +to-night, as you are now as I look at you, as you have been since you +came down the Yukon, it is hard . . . I cannot realize . . . I . . ." +He faltered and threw up his hands helplessly. "I almost wish that I +had given you no education, that I had kept you with me, faring with +me, adventuring with me, achieving with me, and failing with me. I +would have known you, now, as we sit by the fire. As it is, I do not. +To that which I did know there has been added, somehow (what shall I +call it?), a subtlety; complexity,--favorite words of yours,--which is +beyond me. + +"No." He waved the speech abruptly from her lips. She came over and +knelt at his feet, resting her head on his knee and clasping his hand +in firm sympathy. "No, that is not true. Those are not the words. I +cannot find them. I fail to say what I feel. Let me try again. +Underneath all you do carry the stamp of the breed. I knew I risked +the loss of that when I sent you away, but I had faith in the +persistence of the blood and I took the chance; doubted and feared when +you were gone; waited and prayed dumbly, and hoped oftentimes +hopelessly; and then the day dawned, the day of days! When they said +your boat was coming, death rose and walked on the one hand of me, and +on the other life everlasting. _Made or marred; made or marred_,--the +words rang through my brain till they maddened me. Would the Welse +remain the Welse? Would the blood persist? Would the young shoot rise +straight and tall and strong, green with sap and fresh and vigorous? +Or would it droop limp and lifeless, withered by the heats of the world +other than the little simple, natural Dyea world? + +"It was the day of days, and yet it was a lingering, watching, waiting +tragedy. You know I had lived the years lonely, fought the lone fight, +and you, away, the only kin. If it had failed . . . But your boat +shot from the bluffs into the open, and I was half-afraid to look. Men +have never called me coward, but I was nearer the coward then than ever +and all before. Ay, that moment I had faced death easier. And it was +foolish, absurd. How could I know whether it was for good or ill when +you drifted a distant speck on the river? Still, I looked, and the +miracle began, for I did know. You stood at the steering-sweep. You +were a Welse. It seems so little; in truth it meant so much. It was +not to be expected of a mere woman, but of a Welse, yes. And when +Bishop went over the side, and you gripped the situation as +imperatively as the sweep, and your voice rang out, and the Siwashes +bent their backs to your will,--then was it the day of days." + +"I tried always, and remembered," Frona whispered. She crept up softly +till her arm was about his neck and her head against his breast. He +rested one arm lightly on her body, and poured her bright hair again +and again from his hand in glistening waves. + +"As I said, the stamp of the breed was unmarred, but there was yet a +difference. There is a difference. I have watched it, studied it, +tried to make it out. I have sat at table, proud by the side of you, +but dwarfed. When you talked of little things I was large enough to +follow; when of big things, too small. I knew you, had my hand on you, +when _presto_! and you were away, gone--I was lost. He is a fool who +knows not his own ignorance; I was wise enough to know mine. Art, +poetry, music,--what do I know of them? And they were the great +things, are the great things to you, mean more to you than the little +things I may comprehend. And I had hoped, blindly, foolishly, that we +might be one in the spirit as well as the one flesh. It has been +bitter, but I have faced it, and understand. But to see my own red +blood get away from me, elude me, rise above me! It stuns. God! I +have heard you read from your Browning--no, no; do not speak--and +watched the play of your face, the uplift and the passion of it, and +all the while the words droning in upon me, meaningless, musical, +maddening. And Mrs. Schoville sitting there, nursing an expression of +idiotic ecstasy, and understanding no more than I. I could have +strangled her. + +"Why, I have stolen away, at night, with your Browning, and locked +myself in like a thief in fear. The text was senseless, I have beaten +my head with my fist like a wild man, to try and knock some +comprehension into it. For my life had worked itself out along one set +groove, deep and narrow. I was in the rut. I had done those things +which came to my hand and done them well; but the time was past; I +could not turn my hand anew. I, who am strong and dominant, who have +played large with destiny, who could buy body and soul a thousand +painters and versifiers, was baffled by a few paltry cents' worth of +printed paper!" + +He spilled her hair for a moment's silence. + +"To come back. I had attempted the impossible, gambled against the +inevitable. I had sent you from me to get that which I had not, +dreaming that we would still be one. As though two could be added to +two and still remain two. So, to sum up, the breed still holds, but +you have learned an alien tongue. When you speak it I am deaf. And +bitterest of all, I know that the new tongue is the greater. I do not +know why I have said all this, made my confession of weakness--" + +"Oh, father mine, greatest of men!" She raised her head and laughed +into his eyes, the while brushing back the thick iron-gray hair which +thatched the dome of his forehead. "You, who have wrestled more +mightily, done greater things than these painters and versifiers. You +who know so well the law of change. Might not the same plaint fall +from your father's lips were he to sit now beside you and look upon +your work and you?" + +"Yes, yes. I have said that I understand. Do not let us discuss +it . . . a moment's weakness. My father was a great man." + +"And so mine." + +"A struggler to the end of his days. He fought the great lone +fight--" + +"And so mine." + +"And died fighting." + +"And so shall mine. So shall we all, we Welses." + +He shook her playfully, in token of returning spirits. "But I intend +to sell out,--mines, Company, everything,--and study Browning." + +"Still the fight. You can't discount the blood, father." + +"Why were you not a boy?" he demanded, abruptly. "You would have been +a splendid one. As it is, a woman, made to be the delight of some man, +you must pass from me--to-morrow, next day, this time next year, who +knows how soon? Ah? now I know the direction my thought has been +trending. Just as I know you do, so do I recognize the inevitableness +of it and the justness. But the man, Frona, the man?" + +"Don't," she demurred. "Tell me of your father's fight, the last +fight, the great lone fight at Treasure City. Ten to one it was, and +well fought. Tell me." + +"No, Frona. Do you realize that for the first time in our lives we +talk together seriously, as father and daughter,--for the first time? +You have had no mother to advise; no father, for I trusted the blood, +and wisely, and let you go. But there comes a time when the mother's +counsel is needed, and you, you who never knew one?" + +Frona yielded, in instant recognition, and waiting, snuggled more +closely to him. + +"This man, St. Vincent--how is it between you?" + +"I . . . I do not know. How do you mean?" + +"Remember always, Frona, that you have free choice, yours is the last +word. Still, I would like to understand. I could . . . perhaps . . . +I might be able to suggest. But nothing more. Still, a suggestion . . ." + +There was something inexpressibly sacred about it, yet she found +herself tongue-tied. Instead of the one definite thing to say, a +muddle of ideas fluttered in her brain. After all, could he +understand? Was there not a difference which prevented him from +comprehending the motives which, for her, were impelling? For all her +harking back to the primitive and stout defence of its sanity and +truth, did his native philosophy give him the same code which she drew +from her acquired philosophy? Then she stood aside and regarded +herself and the queries she put, and drew apart from them, for they +breathed of treason. + +"There is nothing between us, father," she spoke up resolutely. "Mr. +St. Vincent has said nothing, nothing. We are good friends, we like +each other, we are very good friends. I think that is all." + +"But you like each other; you like him. Is it in the way a woman must +like a man before she can honestly share her life with him, lose +herself in him? Do you feel with Ruth, so that when the time comes you +can say, 'Thy people are my people, and thy God my God'?" + +"N---o. It may be; but I cannot, dare not face it, say it or not say +it, think it or not think it--now. It is the great affirmation. When +it comes it must come, no one may know how or why, in a great white +flash, like a revelation, hiding nothing, revealing everything in +dazzling, blinding truth. At least I so imagine." + +Jacob Welse nodded his head with the slow meditation of one who +understands, yet stops to ponder and weigh again. + +"But why have you asked, father? Why has Mr. St. Vincent been raised? +I have been friends with other men." + +"But I have not felt about other men as I do of St. Vincent. We may be +truthful, you and I, and forgive the pain we give each other. My +opinion counts for no more than another's. Fallibility is the +commonest of curses. Nor can I explain why I feel as I do--I oppose +much in the way you expect to when your great white flash sears your +eyes. But, in a word, I do not like St. Vincent." + +"A very common judgment of him among the men," Frona interposed, driven +irresistibly to the defensive. + +"Such consensus of opinion only makes my position stronger," he +returned, but not disputatively. "Yet I must remember that I look upon +him as men look. His popularity with women must proceed from the fact +that women look differently than men, just as women do differ +physically and spiritually from men. It is deep, too deep for me to +explain. I but follow my nature and try to be just." + +"But have you nothing more definite?" she asked, groping for better +comprehension of his attitude. "Can you not put into some sort of +coherence some one certain thing of the things you feel?" + +"I hardly dare. Intuitions can rarely be expressed in terms of +thought. But let me try. We Welses have never known a coward. And +where cowardice is, nothing can endure. It is like building on sand, +or like a vile disease which rots and rots and we know not when it may +break forth." + +"But it seems to me that Mr. St. Vincent is the last man in the world +with whom cowardice may be associated. I cannot conceive of him in +that light." + +The distress in her face hurt him. "I know nothing against St. +Vincent. There is no evidence to show that he is anything but what he +appears. Still, I cannot help feeling it, in my fallible human way. +Yet there is one thing I have heard, a sordid pot-house brawl in the +Opera House. Mind you, Frona, I say nothing against the brawl or the +place,--men are men, but it is said that he did not act as a man ought +that night." + +"But as you say, father, men are men. We would like to have them other +than they are, for the world surely would be better; but we must take +them as they are. Lucile--" + +"No, no; you misunderstand. I did not refer to her, but to the fight. +He did not . . . he was cowardly." + +"But as you say, it is _said_. He told me about it, not long +afterwards, and I do not think he would have dared had there been +anything--" + +"But I do not make it as a charge," Jacob Welse hastily broke in. +"Merely hearsay, and the prejudice of the men would be sufficient to +account for the tale. And it has no bearing, anyway. I should not +have brought it up, for I have known good men funk in my time--buck +fever, as it were. And now let us dismiss it all from our minds. I +merely wished to suggest, and I suppose I have bungled. But understand +this, Frona," turning her face up to his, "understand above all things +and in spite of them, first, last, and always, that you are my +daughter, and that I believe your life is sacredly yours, not mine, +yours to deal with and to make or mar. Your life is yours to live, and +in so far that I influence it you will not have lived your life, nor +would your life have been yours. Nor would you have been a Welse, for +there was never a Welse yet who suffered dictation. They died first, +or went away to pioneer on the edge of things. + +"Why, if you thought the dance house the proper or natural medium for +self-expression, I might be sad, but to-morrow I would sanction your +going down to the Opera House. It would be unwise to stop you, and, +further, it is not our way. The Welses have ever stood by, in many a +lost cause and forlorn hope, knee to knee and shoulder to shoulder. +Conventions are worthless for such as we. They are for the swine who +without them would wallow deeper. The weak must obey or be crushed; +not so with the strong. The mass is nothing; the individual +everything; and it is the individual, always, that rules the mass and +gives the law. A fig for what the world says! If the Welse should +procreate a bastard line this day, it would be the way of the Welse, +and you would be a daughter of the Welse, and in the face of hell and +heaven, of God himself, we would stand together, we of the one blood, +Frona, you and I." + +"You are larger than I," she whispered, kissing his forehead, and the +caress of her lips seemed to him the soft impact of a leaf falling +through the still autumn air. + +And as the heat of the room ebbed away, he told of her foremother and +of his, and of the sturdy Welse who fought the great lone fight, and +died, fighting, at Treasure City. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +The "Doll's House" was a success. Mrs. Schoville ecstasized over it in +terms so immeasurable, so unqualifiable, that Jacob Welse, standing +near, bent a glittering gaze upon her plump white throat and +unconsciously clutched and closed his hand on an invisible windpipe. +Dave Harney proclaimed its excellence effusively, though he questioned +the soundness of Nora's philosophy and swore by his Puritan gods that +Torvald was the longest-eared Jack in two hemispheres. Even Miss +Mortimer, antagonistic as she was to the whole school, conceded that +the players had redeemed it; while Matt McCarthy announced that he +didn't blame Nora darlin' the least bit, though he told the Gold +Commissioner privately that a song or so and a skirt dance wouldn't +have hurt the performance. + +"Iv course the Nora girl was right," he insisted to Harney, both of +whom were walking on the heels of Frona and St. Vincent. "I'd be +seein'--" + +"Rubber--" + +"Rubber yer gran'mother!" Matt wrathfully exclaimed. + +"Ez I was sayin'," Harney continued, imperturbably, "rubber boots is +goin' to go sky-high 'bout the time of wash-up. Three ounces the pair, +an' you kin put your chips on that for a high card. You kin gather 'em +in now for an ounce a pair and clear two on the deal. A cinch, Matt, a +dead open an' shut." + +"The devil take you an' yer cinches! It's Nora darlin' I have in me +mind the while." + +They bade good-by to Frona and St. Vincent and went off disputing under +the stars in the direction of the Opera House. + +Gregory St. Vincent heaved an audible sigh. "At last." + +"At last what?" Frona asked, incuriously. + +"At last the first opportunity for me to tell you how well you did. +You carried off the final scene wonderfully; so well that it seemed you +were really passing out of my life forever." + +"What a misfortune!" + +"It was terrible." + +"No." + +"But, yes. I took the whole condition upon myself. You were not Nora, +you were Frona; nor I Torvald, but Gregory. When you made your exit, +capped and jacketed and travelling-bag in hand, it seemed I could not +possibly stay and finish my lines. And when the door slammed and you +were gone, the only thing that saved me was the curtain. It brought me +to myself, or else I would have rushed after you in the face of the +audience." + +"It is strange how a simulated part may react upon one," Frona +speculated. + +"Or rather?" St. Vincent suggested. + +Frona made no answer, and they walked on without speech. She was still +under the spell of the evening, and the exaltation which had come to +her as Nora had not yet departed. Besides, she read between the lines +of St. Vincent's conversation, and was oppressed by the timidity which +comes over woman when she faces man on the verge of the greater +intimacy. + +It was a clear, cold night, not over-cold,--not more than forty +below,--and the land was bathed in a soft, diffused flood of light +which found its source not in the stars, nor yet in the moon, which was +somewhere over on the other side of the world. From the south-east to +the northwest a pale-greenish glow fringed the rim of the heavens, and +it was from this the dim radiance was exhaled. + +Suddenly, like the ray of a search-light, a band of white light +ploughed overhead. Night turned to ghostly day on the instant, then +blacker night descended. But to the southeast a noiseless commotion +was apparent. The glowing greenish gauze was in a ferment, bubbling, +uprearing, downfalling, and tentatively thrusting huge bodiless hands +into the upper ether. Once more a cyclopean rocket twisted its fiery +way across the sky, from horizon to zenith, and on, and on, in +tremendous flight, to horizon again. But the span could not hold, and +in its wake the black night brooded. And yet again, broader, stronger, +deeper, lavishly spilling streamers to right and left, it flaunted the +midmost zenith with its gorgeous flare, and passed on and down to the +further edge of the world. Heaven was bridged at last, and the bridge +endured! + +At this flaming triumph the silence of earth was broken, and ten +thousand wolf-dogs, in long-drawn unisoned howls, sobbed their dismay +and grief. Frona shivered, and St. Vincent passed his arm about her +waist. The woman in her was aware of the touch of man, and of a slight +tingling thrill of vague delight; but she made no resistance. And as +the wolf-dogs mourned at her feet and the aurora wantoned overhead, she +felt herself drawn against him closely. + +"Need I tell my story?" he whispered. + +She drooped her head in tired content on his shoulder, and together +they watched the burning vault wherein the stars dimmed and vanished. +Ebbing, flowing, pulsing to some tremendous rhythm, the prism colors +hurled themselves in luminous deluge across the firmament. Then the +canopy of heaven became a mighty loom, wherein imperial purple and deep +sea-green blended, wove, and interwove, with blazing woof and flashing +warp, till the most delicate of tulles, fluorescent and bewildering, +was daintily and airily shaken in the face of the astonished night. + +Without warning the span was sundered by an arrogant arm of black. The +arch dissolved in blushing confusion. Chasms of blackness yawned, +grew, and rushed together. Broken masses of strayed color and fading +fire stole timidly towards the sky-line. Then the dome of night +towered imponderable, immense, and the stars came back one by one, and +the wolf-dogs mourned anew. + +"I can offer you so little, dear," the man said with a slightly +perceptible bitterness. "The precarious fortunes of a gypsy wanderer." + +And the woman, placing his hand and pressing it against her heart, +said, as a great woman had said before her, "A tent and a crust of +bread with you, Richard." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +How-ha was only an Indian woman, bred of a long line of fish-eating, +meat-rending carnivores, and her ethics were as crude and simple as +her blood. But long contact with the whites had given her an insight +into their way of looking at things, and though she grunted +contemptuously in her secret soul, she none the less understood their +way perfectly. Ten years previous she had cooked for Jacob Welse, +and served him in one fashion or another ever since; and when on a +dreary January morning she opened the front door in response to the +deep-tongued knocker, even her stolid presence was shaken as she +recognized the visitor. Not that the average man or woman would have +so recognized. But How-ha's faculties of observing and remembering +details had been developed in a hard school where death dealt his +blow to the lax and life saluted the vigilant. + +How-ha looked up and down the woman who stood before her. Through +the heavy veil she could barely distinguish the flash of the eyes, +while the hood of the _parka_ effectually concealed the hair, and the +_parka_ proper the particular outlines of the body. But How-ha +paused and looked again. There was something familiar in the vague +general outline. She quested back to the shrouded head again, and +knew the unmistakable poise. Then How-ha's eyes went blear as she +traversed the simple windings of her own brain, inspecting the bare +shelves taciturnly stored with the impressions of a meagre life. No +disorder; no confused mingling of records; no devious and +interminable impress of complex emotions, tangled theories, and +bewildering abstractions--nothing but simple facts, neatly classified +and conveniently collated. Unerringly from the stores of the past +she picked and chose and put together in the instant present, till +obscurity dropped from the woman before her, and she knew her, word +and deed and look and history. + +"Much better you go 'way quickety-quick," How-ha informed her. + +"Miss Welse. I wish to see her." + +The strange woman spoke in firm, even tones which betokened the will +behind, but which failed to move How-ha. + +"Much better you go," she repeated, stolidly. + +"Here, take this to Frona Welse, and--ah! would you!" (thrusting her +knee between the door and jamb) "and leave the door open." + +How-ha scowled, but took the note; for she could not shake off the +grip of the ten years of servitude to the superior race. + + + May I see you? + + LUCILE. + + +So the note ran. Frona glanced up expectantly at the Indian woman. + +"Um kick toes outside," How-ha explained. "Me tell um go 'way +quickety-quick? Eh? You t'ink yes? Um no good. Um--" + +"No. Take her,"--Frona was thinking quickly,--"no; bring her up +here." + +"Much better--" + +"Go!" + +How-ha grunted, and yielded up the obedience she could not withhold; +though, as she went down the stairs to the door, in a tenebrous, +glimmering way she wondered that the accident of white skin or swart +made master or servant as the case might be. + +In the one sweep of vision, Lucile took in Frona smiling with +extended hand in the foreground, the dainty dressing-table, the +simple finery, the thousand girlish evidences; and with the sweet +wholesomeness of it pervading her nostrils, her own girlhood rose up +and smote her. Then she turned a bleak eye and cold ear on outward +things. + +"I am glad you came," Frona was saying. "I have _so_ wanted to see +you again, and--but do get that heavy _parka_ off, please. How thick +it is, and what splendid fur and workmanship!" + +"Yes, from Siberia." A present from St. Vincent, Lucile felt like +adding, but said instead, "The Siberians have not yet learned to +scamp their work, you know." + +She sank down into the low-seated rocker with a native grace which +could not escape the beauty-loving eye of the girl, and with +proud-poised head and silent tongue listened to Frona as the minutes +ticked away, and observed with impersonal amusement Frona's painful +toil at making conversation. + +"What has she come for?" Frona asked herself, as she talked on furs +and weather and indifferent things. + +"If you do not say something, Lucile, I shall get nervous, soon," she +ventured at last in desperation. "Has anything happened?" + +Lucile went over to the mirror and picked up, from among the trinkets +beneath, a tiny open-work miniature of Frona. "This is you? How old +were you?" + +"Sixteen." + +"A sylph, but a cold northern one." + +"The blood warms late with us," Frona reproved; "but is--" + +"None the less warm for that," Lucile laughed. "And how old are you +now?" + +"Twenty." + +"Twenty," Lucile repeated, slowly. "Twenty," and resumed her seat. +"You are twenty. And I am twenty-four." + +"So little difference as that!" + +"But our blood warms early." Lucile voiced her reproach across the +unfathomable gulf which four years could not plumb. + +Frona could hardly hide her vexation. Lucile went over and looked at +the miniature again and returned. + +"What do you think of love?" she asked abruptly, her face softening +unheralded into a smile. + +"Love?" the girl quavered. + +"Yes, love. What do you know about it? What do you think of it?" + +A flood of definitions, glowing and rosy, sped to her tongue, but +Frona swept them aside and answered, "Love is immolation." + +"Very good--sacrifice. And, now, does it pay?" + +"Yes, it pays. Of course it pays. Who can doubt it?" + +Lucile's eyes twinkled amusedly. + +"Why do you smile?" Frona asked. + +"Look at me, Frona." Lucile stood up and her face blazed. "I am +twenty-four. Not altogether a fright; not altogether a dunce. I +have a heart. I have good red blood and warm. And I have loved. I +do not remember the pay. I know only that I have paid." + +"And in the paying were paid," Frona took up warmly. "The price was +the reward. If love be fallible, yet you have loved; you have done, +you have served. What more would you?" + +"The whelpage love," Lucile sneered. + +"Oh! You are unfair." + +"I do you justice," Lucile insisted firmly. "You would tell me that +you know; that you have gone unveiled and seen clear-eyed; that +without placing more than lips to the brim you have divined the taste +of the dregs, and that the taste is good. Bah! The whelpage love! +And, oh, Frona, I know; you are full womanly and broad, and lend no +ear to little things, but"--she tapped a slender finger to +forehead--"it is all here. It is a heady brew, and you have smelled +the fumes overmuch. But drain the dregs, turn down the glass, and +say that it is good. No, God forbid!" she cried, passionately. +"There are good loves. You should find no masquerade, but one fair +and shining." + +Frona was up to her old trick,--their common one,--and her hand slid +down Lucile's arm till hand clasped in hand. "You say things which I +feel are wrong, yet may not answer. I can, but how dare I? I dare +not put mere thoughts against your facts. I, who have lived so +little, cannot in theory give the lie to you who have lived so +much--" + +"'For he who lives more lives than one, more lives than one must +die.'" + +From out of her pain, Lucile spoke the words of her pain, and Frona, +throwing arms about her, sobbed on her breast in understanding. As +for Lucile, the slight nervous ingathering of the brows above her +eyes smoothed out, and she pressed the kiss of motherhood, lightly +and secretly, on the other's hair. For a space,--then the brows +ingathered, the lips drew firm, and she put Frona from her. + +"You are going to marry Gregory St. Vincent?" + +Frona was startled. It was only a fortnight old, and not a word had +been breathed. "How do you know?" + +"You have answered." Lucile watched Frona's open face and the bold +running advertisement, and felt as the skilled fencer who fronts a +tyro, weak of wrist, each opening naked to his hand. "How do I +know?" She laughed harshly. "When a man leaves one's arms suddenly, +lips wet with last kisses and mouth areek with last lies!" + +"And--?" + +"Forgets the way back to those arms." + +"So?" The blood of the Welse pounded up, and like a hot sun dried +the mists from her eyes and left them flashing. "Then that is why +you came. I could have guessed it had I given second thought to +Dawson's gossip." + +"It is not too late." Lucile's lip curled. "And it is your way." + +"And I am mindful. What is it? Do you intend telling me what he has +done, what he has been to you. Let me say that it is useless. He is +a man, as you and I are women." + +"No," Lucile lied, swallowing her astonishment. + +"I had not thought that any action of his would affect you. I knew +you were too great for that. But--have you considered me?" + +Frona caught her breath for a moment. Then she straightened out her +arms to hold the man in challenge to the arms of Lucile. + +"Your father over again," Lucile exclaimed. "Oh, you impossible +Welses!" + +"But he is not worthy of you, Frona Welse," she continued; "of me, +yes. He is not a nice man, a great man, nor a good. His love cannot +match with yours. Bah! He does not possess love; passion, of one +sort and another, is the best he may lay claim to. That you do not +want. It is all, at the best, he can give you. And you, pray what +may you give him? Yourself? A prodigious waste! But your father's +yellow--" + +"Don't go on, or I shall refuse to listen. It is wrong of you." So +Frona made her cease, and then, with bold inconsistency, "And what +may the woman Lucile give him?" + +"Some few wild moments," was the prompt response; "a burning burst of +happiness, and the regrets of hell--which latter he deserves, as do +I. So the balance is maintained, and all is well." + +"But--but--" + +"For there is a devil in him," she held on, "a most alluring devil, +which delights me, on my soul it does, and which, pray God, Frona, +you may never know. For you have no devil; mine matches his and +mates. I am free to confess that the whole thing is only an +attraction. There is nothing permanent about him, nor about me. And +there's the beauty, the balance is preserved." + +Frona lay back in her chair and lazily regarded her visitor, Lucile +waited for her to speak. It was very quiet. + +"Well?" Lucile at last demanded, in a low, curious tone, at the same +time rising to slip into her parka. + +"Nothing. I was only waiting." + +"I am done." + +"Then let me say that I do not understand you," Frona summed up, +coldly. "I cannot somehow just catch your motive. There is a flat +ring to what you have said. However, of this I am sure: for some +unaccountable reason you have been untrue to yourself to-day. Do not +ask me, for, as I said before, I do not know where or how; yet I am +none the less convinced. This I do know, you are not the Lucile I +met by the wood trail across the river. That was the true Lucile, +little though I saw of her. The woman who is here to-day is a +strange woman. I do not know her. Sometimes it has seemed she was +Lucile, but rarely. This woman has lied, lied to me, and lied to me +about herself. As to what she said of the man, at the worst that is +merely an opinion. It may be she has lied about him likewise. The +chance is large that she has. What do you think about it?" + +"That you are a very clever girl, Frona. That you speak sometimes +more truly than you know, and that at others you are blinder than you +dream." + +"There is something I could love in you, but you have hidden it away +so that I cannot find it." + +Lucile's lips trembled on the verge of speech. But she settled her +parka about her and turned to go. + +Frona saw her to the door herself, and How-ha pondered over the white +who made the law and was greater than the law. + +When the door had closed, Lucile spat into the street. "Faugh! St. +Vincent! I have defiled my mouth with your name!" And she spat +again. + + +"Come in." + +At the summons Matt McCarthy pulled the latch-string, pushed the door +open, and closed it carefully behind him. + +"Oh, it is you!" St. Vincent regarded his visitor with dark +abstraction, then, recollecting himself, held out his hand. "Why, +hello, Matt, old man. My mind was a thousand miles away when you +entered. Take a stool and make yourself comfortable. There's the +tobacco by your hand. Take a try at it and give us your verdict." + +"An' well may his mind be a thousand miles away," Matt assured +himself; for in the dark he had passed a woman on the trail who +looked suspiciously like Lucile. But aloud, "Sure, an' it's +day-dramin' ye mane. An' small wondher." + +"How's that?" the correspondent asked, cheerily. + +"By the same token that I met Lucile down the trail a piece, an' the +heels iv her moccasins pointing to yer shack. It's a bitter tongue +the jade slings on occasion," Matt chuckled. + +"That's the worst of it." St. Vincent met him frankly. "A man looks +sidewise at them for a passing moment, and they demand that the +moment be eternal." + +Off with the old love's a stiff proposition, eh?" + +"I should say so. And you understand. It's easy to see, Matt, +you've had some experience in your time." + +"In me time? I'll have ye know I'm not too old to still enjoy a bit +iv a fling." + +"Certainly, certainly. One can read it in your eyes. The warm heart +and the roving eye, Matt!" He slapped his visitor on the shoulder +with a hearty laugh. + +"An' I've none the best iv ye, Vincent. 'Tis a wicked lad ye are, +with a takin' way with the ladies--as plain as the nose on yer face. +Manny's the idle kiss ye've given, an' manny's the heart ye've broke. +But, Vincent, bye, did ye iver know the rale thing?" + +"How do you mean?" + +"The rale thing, the rale thing--that is--well, have ye been iver a +father?" + +St. Vincent shook his head. + +"And niver have I. But have ye felt the love iv a father, thin?" + +"I hardly know. I don't think so." + +"Well, I have. An' it's the rale thing, I'll tell ye. If iver a man +suckled a child, I did, or the next door to it. A girl child at +that, an' she's woman grown, now, an' if the thing is possible, I +love her more than her own blood-father. Bad luck, exciptin' her, +there was niver but one woman I loved, an' that woman had mated +beforetime. Not a soul did I brathe a word to, trust me, nor even +herself. But she died. God's love be with her." + +His chin went down upon his chest and he quested back to a +flaxen-haired Saxon woman, strayed like a bit of sunshine into the +log store by the Dyea River. He looked up suddenly, and caught St. +Vincent's stare bent blankly to the floor as he mused on other things. + +"A truce to foolishness, Vincent." + +The correspondent returned to himself with an effort and found the +Irishman's small blue eyes boring into him. + +"Are ye a brave man, Vincent?" + +For a second's space they searched each other's souls. And in that +space Matt could have sworn he saw the faintest possible flicker or +flutter in the man's eyes. + +He brought his fist down on the table with a triumphant crash. "By +God, yer not!" + +The correspondent pulled the tobacco jug over to him and rolled a +cigarette. He rolled it carefully, the delicate rice paper crisping +in his hand without a tremor; but all the while a red tide mounting +up from beneath the collar of his shirt, deepening in the hollows of +the cheeks and thinning against the cheekbones above, creeping, +spreading, till all his face was aflame. + +"'Tis good. An' likely it saves me fingers a dirty job. Vincent, +man, the girl child which is woman grown slapes in Dawson this night. +God help us, you an' me, but we'll niver hit again the pillow as +clane an' pure as she! Vincent, a word to the wise: ye'll niver lay +holy hand or otherwise upon her." + +The devil, which Lucile had proclaimed, began to quicken,--a fuming, +fretting, irrational devil. + +"I do not like ye. I kape me raysons to meself. It is sufficient. +But take this to heart, an' take it well: should ye be mad enough to +make her yer wife, iv that damned day ye'll niver see the inding, nor +lay eye upon the bridal bed. Why, man, I cud bate ye to death with +me two fists if need be. But it's to be hoped I'll do a nater job. +Rest aisy. I promise ye." + +"You Irish pig!" + +So the devil burst forth, and all unaware, for McCarthy found himself +eye-high with the muzzle of a Colt's revolver. + +"Is it loaded?" he asked. "I belave ye. But why are ye lingerin'? +Lift the hammer, will ye?" + +The correspondent's trigger-finger moved and there was a warning +click. + +"Now pull it. Pull it, I say. As though ye cud, with that flutter +to yer eye." + +St. Vincent attempted to turn his head aside. + +"Look at me, man!" McCarthy commanded. "Kape yer eyes on me when ye +do it." + +Unwillingly the sideward movement was arrested, and his eyes returned +and met the Irishman's. + +"Now!" + +St. Vincent ground his teeth and pulled the trigger--at least he +thought he did, as men think they do things in dreams. He willed the +deed, flashed the order forth; but the flutter of his soul stopped it. + +"'Tis paralyzed, is it, that shaky little finger?" Matt grinned into +the face of the tortured man. "Now turn it aside, so, an' drop it, +gently . . . gently . . . gently." His voice crooned away in +soothing diminuendo. + +When the trigger was safely down, St. Vincent let the revolver fall +from his hand, and with a slight audible sigh sank nervelessly upon a +stool. He tried to straighten himself, but instead dropped down upon +the table and buried his face in his palsied hands. Matt drew on his +mittens, looking down upon him pityingly the while, and went out, +closing the door softly behind him. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +Where nature shows the rough hand, the sons of men are apt to respond +with kindred roughness. The amenities of life spring up only in mellow +lands, where the sun is warm and the earth fat. The damp and soggy +climate of Britain drives men to strong drink; the rosy Orient lures to +the dream splendors of the lotus. The big-bodied, white-skinned +northern dweller, rude and ferocious, bellows his anger uncouthly and +drives a gross fist into the face of his foe. The supple +south-sojourner, silken of smile and lazy of gesture, waits, and does +his work from behind, when no man looketh, gracefully and without +offence. Their ends are one; the difference lies in their ways, and +therein the climate, and the cumulative effect thereof, is the +determining factor. Both are sinners, as men born of women have ever +been; but the one does his sin openly, in the clear sight of God; the +other--as though God could not see--veils his iniquity with shimmering +fancies, hiding it like it were some splendid mystery. + +These be the ways of men, each as the sun shines upon him and the wind +blows against him, according to his kind, and the seed of his father, +and the milk of his mother. Each is the resultant of many forces which +go to make a pressure mightier than he, and which moulds him in the +predestined shape. But, with sound legs under him, he may run away, +and meet with a new pressure. He may continue running, each new +pressure prodding him as he goes, until he dies and his final form will +be that predestined of the many pressures. An exchange of +cradle-babes, and the base-born slave may wear the purple imperially, +and the royal infant begs an alms as wheedlingly or cringe to the lash +as abjectly as his meanest subject. A Chesterfield, with an empty +belly, chancing upon good fare, will gorge as faithfully as the swine +in the next sty. And an Epicurus, in the dirt-igloo of the Eskimos, +will wax eloquent over the whale oil and walrus blubber, or die. + +Thus, in the young Northland, frosty and grim and menacing, men +stripped off the sloth of the south and gave battle greatly. And they +stripped likewise much of the veneer of civilization--all of its +follies, most of its foibles, and perhaps a few of its virtues. Maybe +so; but they reserved the great traditions and at least lived frankly, +laughed honestly, and looked one another in the eyes. + +And so it is not well for women, born south of fifty-three and reared +gently, to knock loosely about the Northland, unless they be great of +heart. They may be soft and tender and sensitive, possessed of eyes +which have not lost the lustre and the wonder, and of ears used only to +sweet sounds; but if their philosophy is sane and stable, large enough +to understand and to forgive, they will come to no harm and attain +comprehension. If not, they will see things and hear things which +hurt, and they will suffer greatly, and lose faith in man--which is the +greatest evil that may happen them. Such should be sedulously +cherished, and it were well to depute this to their men-folk, the +nearer of kin the better. In line, it were good policy to seek out a +cabin on the hill overlooking Dawson, or--best of all--across the Yukon +on the western bank. Let them not move abroad unheralded and +unaccompanied; and the hillside back of the cabin may be recommended as +a fit field for stretching muscles and breathing deeply, a place where +their ears may remain undefiled by the harsh words of men who strive to +the utmost. + + +Vance Corliss wiped the last tin dish and filed it away on the shelf, +lighted his pipe, and rolled over on his back on the bunk to +contemplate the moss-chinked roof of his French Hill cabin. This +French Hill cabin stood on the last dip of the hill into Eldorado +Creek, close to the main-travelled trail; and its one window blinked +cheerily of nights at those who journeyed late. + +The door was kicked open, and Del Bishop staggered in with a load of +fire-wood. His breath had so settled on his face in a white rime that +he could not speak. Such a condition was ever a hardship with the man, +so he thrust his face forthwith into the quivering heat above the +stove. In a trice the frost was started and the thawed streamlets +dancing madly on the white-hot surface beneath. Then the ice began to +fall from is beard in chunks, rattling on the lid-tops and simmering +spitefully till spurted upward in clouds of steam. + +"And so you witness an actual phenomenon, illustrative of the three +forms of matter," Vance laughed, mimicking the monotonous tones of the +demonstrator; "solid, liquid, and vapor. In another moment you will +have the gas." + +"Th--th--that's all very well," Bishop spluttered, wrestling with an +obstructing piece of ice until it was wrenched from his upper lip and +slammed stoveward with a bang. + +"How cold do you make it, Del? Fifty?" + +"Fifty?" the pocket-miner demanded with unutterable scorn, wiping his +face. "Quicksilver's been solid for hours, and it's been gittin' +colder an' colder ever since. Fifty? I'll bet my new mittens against +your old moccasins that it ain't a notch below seventy." + +"Think so?" + +"D'ye want to bet?" + +Vance nodded laughingly. + +"Centigrade or Fahrenheit?" Bishop asked, suddenly suspicious. + +"Oh, well, if you want my old moccasins so badly," Vance rejoined, +feigning to be hurt by the other's lack of faith, "why, you can have +them without betting." + +Del snorted and flung himself down on the opposite bunk. "Think yer +funny, don't you?" No answer forthcoming, he deemed the retort +conclusive, rolled over, and fell to studying the moss chinks. + +Fifteen minutes of this diversion sufficed. "Play you a rubber of crib +before bed," he challenged across to the other bunk. + +"I'll go you." Corliss got up, stretched, and moved the kerosene lamp +from the shelf to the table, "Think it will hold out?" he asked, +surveying the oil-level through the cheap glass. + +Bishop threw down the crib-board and cards, and measured the contents +of the lamp with his eye. "Forgot to fill it, didn't I? Too late now. +Do it to-morrow. It'll last the rubber out, sure." + +Corliss took up the cards, but paused in the shuffling. "We've a big +trip before us, Del, about a month from now, the middle of March as +near as I can plan it,--up the Stuart River to McQuestion; up +McQuestion and back again down the Mayo; then across country to Mazy +May, winding up at Henderson Creek--" + +"On the Indian River?" + +"No," Corliss replied, as he dealt the hands; "just below where the +Stuart taps the Yukon. And then back to Dawson before the ice breaks." + +The pocket-miner's eyes sparkled. "Keep us hustlin'; but, say, it's a +trip, isn't it! Hunch?" + +"I've received word from the Parker outfit on the Mayo, and McPherson +isn't asleep on Henderson--you don't know him. They're keeping quiet, +and of course one can't tell, but . . ." + +Bishop nodded his head sagely, while Corliss turned the trump he had +cut. A sure vision of a "twenty-four" hand was dazzling him, when +there was a sound of voices without and the door shook to a heavy knock. + +"Come in!" he bawled. "An' don't make such a row about it! Look at +that"--to Corliss, at the same time facing his hand--"fifteen-eight, +fifteen-sixteen, and eight are twenty-four. Just my luck!" + +Corliss started swiftly to his feet. Bishop jerked his head about. +Two women and a man had staggered clumsily in through the door, and +were standing just inside, momentarily blinded by the light. + +"By all the Prophets! Cornell!" The pocket-miner wrung the man's hand +and led him forward. "You recollect Cornell, Corliss? Jake Cornell, +Thirty-Seven and a Half Eldorado." + +"How could I forget?" the engineer acknowledged warmly, shaking his +hand. "That was a miserable night you put us up last fall, about as +miserable as the moose-steak was good that you gave us for breakfast." + +Jake Cornell, hirsute and cadaverous of aspect, nodded his head with +emphasis and deposited a corpulent demijohn on the table. Again he +nodded his head, and glared wildly about him. The stove caught his eye +and he strode over to it, lifted a lid, and spat out a mouthful of +amber-colored juice. Another stride and he was back. + +"'Course I recollect the night," he rumbled, the ice clattering from +his hairy jaws. "And I'm danged glad to see you, that's a fact." He +seemed suddenly to remember himself, and added a little sheepishly, +"The fact is, we're all danged glad to see you, ain't we, girls?" He +twisted his head about and nodded his companions up. "Blanche, my +dear, Mr. Corliss--hem--it gives me . . . hem . . . it gives me +pleasure to make you acquainted. Cariboo Blanche, sir. Cariboo +Blanche." + +"Pleased to meet you." Cariboo Blanche put out a frank hand and looked +him over keenly. She was a fair-featured, blondish woman, originally +not unpleasing of appearance, but now with lines all deepened and +hardened as on the faces of men who have endured much weather-beat. + +Congratulating himself upon his social proficiency, Jake Cornell +cleared his throat and marshalled the second woman to the front. "Mr. +Corliss, the Virgin; I make you both acquainted. Hem!" in response to +the query in Vance's eyes--"Yes, the Virgin. That's all, just the +Virgin." + +She smiled and bowed, but did not shake hands. "A toff" was her secret +comment upon the engineer; and from her limited experience she had been +led to understand that it was not good form among "toffs" to shake +hands. + +Corliss fumbled his hand, then bowed, and looked at her curiously. She +was a pretty, low-browed creature; darkly pretty, with a well-favored +body, and for all that the type was mean, he could not escape the charm +of her over-brimming vitality. She seemed bursting with it, and every +quick, spontaneous movement appeared to spring from very excess of red +blood and superabundant energy. + +"Pretty healthy proposition, ain't she?" Jake Cornell demanded, +following his host's gaze with approval. + +"None o' your gammon, Jake," the Virgin snapped back, with lip curled +contemptuously for Vance's especial benefit. "I fancy it'd be more in +keeping if you'd look to pore Blanche, there." + +"Fact is, we're plum ding dong played out," Jake said. "An' Blanche +went through the ice just down the trail, and her feet's like to +freezin'." + +Blanche smiled as Corliss piloted her to a stool by the fire, and her +stern mouth gave no indication of the pain she was suffering. He +turned away when the Virgin addressed herself to removing the wet +footgear, while Bishop went rummaging for socks and moccasins. + +"Didn't go in more'n to the ankles," Cornell explained confidentially; +"but that's plenty a night like this." + +Corliss agreed with a nod of the head. + +"Spotted your light, and--hem--and so we come. Don't mind, do you?" + +"Why, certainly not--" + +"No intrudin'?" + +Corliss reassured him by laying hand on his shoulder and cordially +pressing him to a seat. Blanche sighed luxuriously. Her wet stockings +were stretched up and already steaming, and her feet basking in the +capacious warmth of Bishop's Siwash socks. Vance shoved the tobacco +canister across, but Cornell pulled out a handful of cigars and passed +them around. + +"Uncommon bad piece of trail just this side of the turn," he remarked +stentoriously, at the same time flinging an eloquent glance at the +demijohn. "Ice rotten from the springs and no sign till you're into +it." Turning to the woman by the stove, "How're you feeling, Blanche?" + +"Tony," she responded, stretching her body lazily and redisposing her +feet; "though my legs ain't as limber as when we pulled out." + +Looking to his host for consent, Cornell tilted the demijohn over his +arm and partly filled the four tin mugs and an empty jelly glass. + +"Wot's the matter with a toddy?" the Virgin broke in; "or a punch?" + +"Got any lime juice?" she demanded of Corliss. + +"You 'ave? Jolly!" She directed her dark eyes towards Del. "'Ere, +you, cookie! Trot out your mixing-pan and sling the kettle for 'ot +water. Come on! All hands! Jake's treat, and I'll show you 'ow! Any +sugar, Mr. Corliss? And nutmeg? Cinnamon, then? O.K. It'll do. +Lively now, cookie!" + +"Ain't she a peach?" Cornell confided to Vance, watching her with +mellow eyes as she stirred the steaming brew. + +But the Virgin directed her attentions to the engineer. "Don't mind +'im, sir," she advised. "'E's more'n arf-gorn a'ready, a-'itting the +jug every blessed stop." + +"Now, my dear--" Jake protested. + +"Don't you my-dear me," she sniffed. "I don't like you." + +"Why?" + +"Cos . . ." She ladled the punch carefully into the mugs and +meditated. "Cos you chew tobacco. Cos you're whiskery. Wot I take to +is smooth-faced young chaps." + +"Don't take any stock in her nonsense," the Fraction King warned, "She +just does it a-purpose to get me mad." + +"Now then!" she commanded, sharply. "Step up to your licker! 'Ere's +'ow!" + +"What'll it be?" cried Blanche from the stove. + +The elevated mugs wavered and halted. + +"The Queen, Gawd bless 'er!" the Virgin toasted promptly. + +"And Bill!" Del Bishop interrupted. + +Again the mugs wavered. + +"Bill 'oo?" the Virgin asked, suspiciously. + +"McKinley." + +She favored him with a smile. "Thank you, cookie, you're a trump. +Now! 'Ere's a go, gents! Take it standing. The Queen, Gawd bless +'er, and Bill McKinley!" + +"Bottoms up!" thundered Jake Cornell, and the mugs smote the table with +clanging rims. + +Vance Corliss discovered himself amused and interested. According to +Frona, he mused ironically,--this was learning life, was adding to his +sum of human generalizations. The phrase was hers, and he rolled it +over a couple of times. Then, again, her engagement with St. Vincent +crept into his thought, and he charmed the Virgin by asking her to +sing. But she was coy, and only after Bishop had rendered the several +score stanzas of "Flying Cloud" did she comply. Her voice, in a weakly +way, probably registered an octave and a half; below that point it +underwent strange metamorphoses, while on the upper levels it was +devious and rickety. Nevertheless she sang "Take Back Your Gold" with +touching effect, which brought a fiery moisture into the eyes of the +Fraction King, who listened greedily, for the time being experiencing +unwonted ethical yearnings. + +The applause was generous, followed immediately by Bishop, who toasted +the singer as the "Enchantress of Bow Bells," to the reverberating +"bottoms up!" of Jake Cornell. + + +Two hours later, Frona Welse rapped. It was a sharp, insistent rap, +penetrating the din within and bringing Corliss to the door. + +She gave a glad little cry when she saw who it was. "Oh; it is you, +Vance! I didn't know you lived here." + +He shook hands and blocked the doorway with his body. Behind him the +Virgin was laughing and Jake Cornell roaring: + + "Oh, cable this message along the track; + The Prod's out West, but he's coming back; + Put plenty of veal for one on the rack, + Trolla lala, la la la, la la!" + + +"What is it?" Vance questioned. "Anything up?" + +"I think you might ask me in." There was a hint of reproach in Frona's +voice, and of haste. "I blundered through the ice, and my feet are +freezing." + +"O Gawd!" in the exuberant tones of the Virgin, came whirling over +Vance's shoulder, and the voices of Blanche and Bishop joining in a +laugh against Cornell, and that worthy's vociferous protestations. It +seemed to him that all the blood of his body had rushed into his face. +"But you can't come in, Frona. Don't you hear them?" + +"But I must," she insisted. "My feet are freezing." + +With a gesture of resignation he stepped aside and closed the door +after her. Coming suddenly in from the darkness, she hesitated a +moment, but in that moment recovered her sight and took in the scene. +The air was thick with tobacco smoke, and the odor of it, in the close +room, was sickening to one fresh from the pure outside. On the table a +column of steam was ascending from the big mixing-pan. The Virgin, +fleeing before Cornell, was defending herself with a long mustard +spoon. Evading him and watching her chance, she continually daubed his +nose and cheeks with the yellow smear. Blanche had twisted about from +the stove to see the fun, and Del Bishop, with a mug at rest half-way +to his lips, was applauding the successive strokes. The faces of all +were flushed. + +Vance leaned nervelessly against the door. The whole situation seemed +so unthinkably impossible. An insane desire to laugh came over him, +which resolved itself into a coughing fit. But Frona, realizing her +own pressing need by the growing absence of sensation in her feet, +stepped forward. + +"Hello, Del!" she called. + +The mirth froze on his face at the familiar sound and he slowly and +unwilling turned his head to meet her. She had slipped the hood of her +parka back, and her face, outlined against the dark fur, rosy with the +cold and bright, was like a shaft of the sun shot into the murk of a +boozing-ken. They all knew her, for who did not know Jacob Welse's +daughter? The Virgin dropped the mustard-spoon with a startled shriek, +while Cornell, passing a dazed hand across his yellow markings and +consummating the general smear, collapsed on the nearest stool. +Cariboo Blanche alone retained her self-possession, and laughed softly. + +Bishop managed to articulate "Hello!" but was unable to stave off the +silence which settled down. + +Frona waited a second, and then said, "Good-evening, all." + +"This way." Vance had recovered himself, and seated her by the stove +opposite Blanche. "Better get your things off quickly, and be careful +of the heat. I'll see what I can find for you." + +"Some cold water, please," she asked. "It will take the frost out. +Del will get it." + +"I hope it is not serious?" + +"No." She shook her head and smiled up to him, at the same time +working away at her ice-coated moccasins. "There hasn't been time for +more than surface-freezing. At the worst the skin will peel off." + +An unearthly silence brooded in the cabin, broken only by Bishop +filling a basin from the water-bucket, and by Corliss seeking out his +smallest and daintiest house-moccasins and his warmest socks. + +Frona, rubbing her feet vigorously, paused and looked up. "Don't let +me chill the festivities just because I'm cold," she laughed. "Please +go on." + +Jake Cornell straightened up and cleared his throat inanely, and the +Virgin looked over-dignified; but Blanche came over and took the towel +out of Frona's hands. + +"I wet my feet in the same place," she said, kneeling down and bringing +a glow to the frosted feet. + +"I suppose you can manage some sort of a fit with them. Here!" Vance +tossed over the house-moccasins and woollen wrappings, which the two +women, with low laughs and confidential undertones, proceeded to +utilize. + +"But what in the world were you doing on trail, alone, at this time of +night?" Vance asked. In his heart he was marvelling at the coolness +and pluck with which she was carrying off the situation. + +"I know beforehand that you will censure me," she replied, helping +Blanche arrange the wet gear over the fire. "I was at Mrs. Stanton's; +but first, you must know, Miss Mortimer and I are staying at the +Pently's for a week. Now, to start fresh again. I intended to leave +Mrs. Stanton's before dark; but her baby got into the kerosene, her +husband had gone down to Dawson, and--well, we weren't sure of the baby +up to half an hour ago. She wouldn't hear of me returning alone; but +there was nothing to fear; only I had not expected soft ice in such a +snap." + +"How'd you fix the kid?" Del asked, intent on keeping the talk going +now that it had started. + +"Chewing tobacco." And when the laughter had subsided, she went on: +"There wasn't any mustard, and it was the best I could think of. +Besides, Matt McCarthy saved my life with it once, down at Dyea when I +had the croup. But you were singing when I came in," she suggested. +"Do go on." + +Jake Cornell hawed prodigiously. "And I got done." + +"Then you, Del. Sing 'Flying Cloud' as you used to coming down the +river." + +"Oh, 'e 'as!" said the Virgin. + +"Then you sing. I am sure you do." + +She smiled into the Virgin's eyes, and that lady delivered herself of a +coster ballad with more art than she was aware. The chill of Frona's +advent was quickly dissipated, and song and toast and merriment went +round again. Nor was Frona above touching lips to the jelly glass in +fellowship; and she contributed her quota by singing "Annie Laurie" and +"Ben Bolt." Also, but privily, she watched the drink saturating the +besotted souls of Cornell and the Virgin. It was an experience, and +she was glad of it, though sorry in a way for Corliss, who played the +host lamely. + +But he had little need of pity. "Any other woman--" he said to +himself a score of times, looking at Frona and trying to picture +numerous women he had known by his mother's teapot, knocking at the +door and coming in as Frona had done. Then, again, it was only +yesterday that it would have hurt him, Blanche's rubbing her feet; but +now he gloried in Frona's permitting it, and his heart went out in a +more kindly way to Blanche. Perhaps it was the elevation of the +liquor, but he seemed to discover new virtues in her rugged face. + +Frona had put on her dried moccasins and risen to her feet, and was +listening patiently to Jake Cornell, who hiccoughed a last incoherent +toast. + +"To the--hic--man," he rumbled, cavernously, "the man--hic--that +made--that made--" + +"The blessed country," volunteered the Virgin. + +"True, my dear--hic. To the man that made the blessed country. +To--hic--to Jacob Welse!" + +"And a rider!" Blanche cried. "To Jacob Welse's daughter!" + +"Ay! Standing! And bottoms up!" + +"Oh! she's a jolly good fellow," Del led off, the drink ruddying his +cheek. + +"I'd like to shake hands with you, just once," Blanche said in a low +voice, while the rest were chorusing. + +Frona slipped her mitten, which she had already put on, and the +pressure was firm between them. + +"No," she said to Corliss, who had put on his cap and was tying the +ear-flaps; "Blanche tells me the Pently's are only half a mile from +here. The trail is straight. I'll not hear of any one accompanying me. + +"No!" This time she spoke so authoritatively that he tossed his cap +into the bunk. "Good-night, all!" she called, sweeping the roisterers +with a smile. + +But Corliss saw her to the door and stepped outside. She glanced up to +him. Her hood was pulled only partly up, and her face shone alluringly +under the starlight. + +"I--Frona . . . I wish--" + +"Don't be alarmed," she whispered. "I'll not tell on you, Vance." + +He saw the mocking glint in her eyes, but tried to go on. "I wish to +explain just how--" + +"No need. I understand. But at the same time I must confess I do not +particularly admire your taste--" + +"Frona!" The evident pain in his voice reached her. + +"Oh, you big foolish!" she laughed. "Don't I know? Didn't Blanche +tell me she wet her feet?" + +Corliss bowed his head. "Truly, Frona, you are the most consistent +woman I ever met. Furthermore," with a straightening of his form and a +dominant assertion in his voice, "this is not the last." + +She tried to stop him, but he continued. "I feel, I know that things +will turn out differently. To fling your own words back at you, all +the factors have not been taken into consideration. As for St. Vincent +. . . I'll have you yet. For that matter, now could not be too soon!" + +He flashed out hungry arms to her, but she read quicker than he moved, +and, laughing, eluded him and ran lightly down the trail. + +"Come back, Frona! Come back!" he called, "I am sorry." + +"No, you're not," came the answer. "And I'd be sorry if you were. +Good-night." + +He watched her merge into the shadows, then entered the cabin. He had +utterly forgotten the scene within, and at the first glance it startled +him. Cariboo Blanche was crying softly to herself. Her eyes were +luminous and moist, and, as he looked, a lone tear stole down her +cheek. Bishop's face had gone serious. The Virgin had sprawled head +and shoulders on the table, amid overturned mugs and dripping lees, and +Cornell was tittubating over her, hiccoughing, and repeating vacuously, +"You're all right, my dear. You're all right." + +But the Virgin was inconsolable. "O Gawd! Wen I think on wot is, an' +was . . . an' no fault of mine. No fault of mine, I tell you!" she +shrieked with quick fierceness. "'Ow was I born, I ask? Wot was my +old man? A drunk, a chronic. An' my old woman? Talk of Whitechapel! +'Oo guv a cent for me, or 'ow I was dragged up? 'Oo cared a rap, I +say? 'Oo cared a rap?" + +A sudden revulsion came over Corliss. "Hold your tongue!" he ordered. + +The Virgin raised her head, her loosened hair streaming about her like +a Fury's. "Wot is she?" she sneered. "Sweet'eart?" + +Corliss whirled upon her savagely, face white and voice shaking with +passion. + +The Virgin cowered down and instinctively threw up her hands to protect +her face. "Don't 'it me, sir!" she whined. "Don't 'it me!" + +He was frightened at himself, and waited till he could gather control. +"Now," he said, calmly, "get into your things and go. All of you. +Clear out. Vamose." + +"You're no man, you ain't," the Virgin snarled, discovering that +physical assault was not imminent. + +But Corliss herded her particularly to the door, and gave no heed. + +"A-turning ladies out!" she sniffed, with a stumble over the threshold; + +"No offence," Jake Cornell muttered, pacifically; "no offence." + +"Good-night. Sorry," Corliss said to Blanche, with the shadow of a +forgiving smile, as she passed out. + + +"You're a toff! That's wot you are, a bloomin' toff!" the Virgin +howled back as he shut the door. + +He looked blankly at Del Bishop and surveyed the sodden confusion on +the table. Then he walked over and threw himself down on his bunk. +Bishop leaned an elbow on the table and pulled at his wheezy pipe. The +lamp smoked, flickered, and went out; but still he remained, filling +his pipe again and again and striking endless matches. + +"Del! Are you awake?" Corliss called at last. + +Del grunted. + +"I was a cur to turn them out into the snow. I am ashamed." + +"Sure," was the affirmation. + +A long silence followed. Del knocked the ashes out and raised up. + +"'Sleep?" he called. + +There was no reply, and he walked to the bunk softly and pulled the +blankets over the engineer. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +"Yes; what does it all mean?" Corliss stretched lazily, and cocked up +his feet on the table. He was not especially interested, but Colonel +Trethaway persisted in talking seriously. + +"That's it! The very thing--the old and ever young demand which man +slaps into the face of the universe." The colonel searched among the +scraps in his note-book. "See," holding up a soiled slip of typed +paper, "I copied this out years ago. Listen. 'What a monstrous +spectre is this man, this disease of the agglutinated dust, lifting +alternate feet or lying drugged with slumber; killing, feeding, +growing, bringing forth small copies of himself; grown up with hair +like grass, fitted with eyes that glitter in his face; a thing to set +children screaming. Poor soul, here for so little, cast among so many +hardships, filled with desires so incommensurate and so inconsistent; +savagely surrounded, savagely descended, irremediably condemned to prey +upon his fellow-lives. Infinitely childish, often admirably valiant, +often touchingly kind; sitting down to debate of right or wrong and the +attributes of the deity; rising up to battle for an egg or die for an +idea!' + +"And all to what end?" he demanded, hotly, throwing down the paper, +"this disease of the agglutinated dust?" + +Corliss yawned in reply. He had been on trail all day and was yearning +for between-blankets. + +"Here am I, Colonel Trethaway, modestly along in years, fairly well +preserved, a place in the community, a comfortable bank account, no +need to ever exert myself again, yet enduring life bleakly and working +ridiculously with a zest worthy of a man half my years. And to what +end? I can only eat so much, smoke so much, sleep so much, and this +tail-dump of earth men call Alaska is the worst of all possible places +in the matter of grub, tobacco, and blankets." + +"But it is the living strenuously which holds you," Corliss interjected. + +"Frona's philosophy," the colonel sneered. + +"And my philosophy, and yours." + +"And of the agglutinated dust--" + +"Which is quickened with a passion you do not take into account,--the +passion of duty, of race, of God!" + +"And the compensation?" Trethaway demanded. + +"Each breath you draw. The Mayfly lives an hour." + +"I don't see it." + +"Blood and sweat! Blood and sweat! You cried that after the rough and +tumble in the Opera House, and every word of it was receipt in full." + +"Frona's philosophy." + +"And yours and mine." + +The colonel threw up his shoulders, and after a pause confessed. "You +see, try as I will, I can't make a pessimist out of myself. We are all +compensated, and I more fully than most men. What end? I asked, and +the answer forthcame: Since the ultimate end is beyond us, then the +immediate. More compensation, here and now!" + +"Quite hedonistic." + +"And rational. I shall look to it at once. I can buy grub and +blankets for a score; I can eat and sleep for only one; ergo, why not +for two?" + +Corliss took his feet down and sat up. "In other words?" + +"I shall get married, and--give the community a shock. Communities +like shocks. That's one of their compensations for being +agglutinative." + +"I can't think of but one woman," Corliss essayed tentatively, putting +out his hand. + +Trethaway shook it slowly. "It is she." + +Corliss let go, and misgiving shot into his face. "But St. Vincent?" + +"Is your problem, not mine." + +"Then Lucile--?" + +"Certainly not. She played a quixotic little game of her own and +botched it beautifully." + +"I--I do not understand." Corliss brushed his brows in a dazed sort of +way. + +Trethaway parted his lips in a superior smile. "It is not necessary +that you should. The question is, Will you stand up with me?" + +"Surely. But what a confoundedly long way around you took. It is not +your usual method." + +"Nor was it with her," the colonel declared, twisting his moustache +proudly. + + +A captain of the North-West Mounted Police, by virtue of his +magisterial office, may perform marriages in time of stress as well as +execute exemplary justice. So Captain Alexander received a call from +Colonel Trethaway, and after he left jotted down an engagement for the +next morning. Then the impending groom went to see Frona. Lucile did +not make the request, he hastened to explain, but--well, the fact was +she did not know any women, and, furthermore, he (the colonel) knew +whom Lucile would like to ask, did she dare. So he did it upon his own +responsibility. And coming as a surprise, he knew it would be a great +joy to her. + +Frona was taken aback by the suddenness of it. Only the other day, it +was, that Lucile had made a plea to her for St. Vincent, and now it was +Colonel Trethaway! True, there had been a false quantity somewhere, +but now it seemed doubly false. Could it be, after all, that Lucile +was mercenary? These thoughts crowded upon her swiftly, with the +colonel anxiously watching her face the while. She knew she must +answer quickly, yet was distracted by an involuntary admiration for his +bravery. So she followed, perforce, the lead of her heart, and +consented. + +Yet the whole thing was rather strained when the four of them came +together, next day, in Captain Alexander's private office. There was a +gloomy chill about it. Lucile seemed ready to cry, and showed a +repressed perturbation quite unexpected of her; while, try as she +would, Frona could not call upon her usual sympathy to drive away the +coldness which obtruded intangibly between them. This, in turn, had a +consequent effect on Vance, and gave a certain distance to his manner +which forced him out of touch even with the colonel. + +Colonel Trethaway seemed to have thrown twenty years off his erect +shoulders, and the discrepancy in the match which Frona had felt +vanished as she looked at him. "He has lived the years well," she +thought, and prompted mysteriously, almost with vague apprehension she +turned her eyes to Corliss. But if the groom had thrown off twenty +years, Vance was not a whit behind. Since their last meeting he had +sacrificed his brown moustache to the frost, and his smooth face, +smitten with health and vigor, looked uncommonly boyish; and yet, +withal, the naked upper lip advertised a stiffness and resolution +hitherto concealed. Furthermore, his features portrayed a growth, and +his eyes, which had been softly firm, were now firm with the added +harshness or hardness which is bred of coping with things and coping +quickly,--the stamp of executiveness which is pressed upon men who do, +and upon all men who do, whether they drive dogs, buck the sea, or +dictate the policies of empires. + +When the simple ceremony was over, Frona kissed Lucile; but Lucile felt +that there was a subtle something wanting, and her eyes filled with +unshed tears. Trethaway, who had felt the aloofness from the start, +caught an opportunity with Frona while Captain Alexander and Corliss +were being pleasant to Mrs. Trethaway. + +"What's the matter, Frona?" the colonel demanded, bluntly. "I hope you +did not come under protest. I am sorry, not for you, because lack of +frankness deserves nothing, but for Lucile. It is not fair to her." + +"There has been a lack of frankness throughout." Her voice trembled. +"I tried my best,--I thought I could do better,--but I cannot feign +what I do not feel. I am sorry, but I . . . I am disappointed. No, I +cannot explain, and to you least of all." + +"Let's be above-board, Frona. St. Vincent's concerned?" + +She nodded. + +"And I can put my hand right on the spot. First place," he looked to +the side and saw Lucile stealing an anxious glance to him,--"first +place, only the other day she gave you a song about St. Vincent. +Second place, and therefore, you think her heart's not in this present +proposition; that she doesn't care a rap for me; in short, that she's +marrying me for reinstatement and spoils. Isn't that it?" + +"And isn't it enough? Oh, I am disappointed, Colonel Trethaway, +grievously, in her, in you, in myself." + +"Don't be a fool! I like you too well to see you make yourself one. +The play's been too quick, that is all. Your eye lost it. Listen. +We've kept it quiet, but she's in with the elect on French Hill. Her +claim's prospected the richest of the outfit. Present indication half +a million at least. In her own name, no strings attached. Couldn't +she take that and go anywhere in the world and reinstate herself? And +for that matter, you might presume that I am marrying her for spoils. +Frona, she cares for me, and in your ear, she's too good for me. My +hope is that the future will make up. But never mind that--haven't got +the time now. + +"You consider her affection sudden, eh? Let me tell you we've been +growing into each other from the time I came into the country, and with +our eyes open. St. Vincent? Pshaw! I knew it all the time. She got +it into her head that the whole of him wasn't worth a little finger of +you, and she tried to break things up. You'll never know how she +worked with him. I told her she didn't know the Welse, and she said +so, too, after. So there it is; take it or leave it." + +"But what do you think about St. Vincent?" + +"What I think is neither here nor there; but I'll tell you honestly +that I back her judgment. But that's not the point. What are you +going to do about it? about her? now?" + +She did not answer, but went back to the waiting group. Lucile saw her +coming and watched her face. + +"He's been telling you--?" + +"That I am a fool," Frona answered. "And I think I am." And with a +smile, "I take it on faith that I am, anyway. I--I can't reason it out +just now, but. . ." + +Captain Alexander discovered a prenuptial joke just about then, and led +the way over to the stove to crack it upon the colonel, and Vance went +along to see fair play. + +"It's the first time," Lucile was saying, "and it means more to me, so +much more, than to . . . most women. I am afraid. It is a terrible +thing for me to do. But I do love him, I do!" And when the joke had +been duly digested and they came back, she was sobbing, "Dear, dear +Frona." + +It was just the moment, better than he could have chosen; and capped +and mittened, without knocking, Jacob Welse came in. + +"The uninvited guest," was his greeting. "Is it all over? So?" And +he swallowed Lucile up in his huge bearskin. "Colonel, your hand, and +your pardon for my intruding, and your regrets for not giving me the +word. Come, out with them! Hello, Corliss! Captain Alexander, a good +day." + +"What have I done?" Frona wailed, received the bear-hug, and managed to +press his hand till it almost hurt. + +"Had to back the game," he whispered; and this time his hand did hurt. + +"Now, colonel, I don't know what your plans are, and I don't care. +Call them off. I've got a little spread down to the house, and the +only honest case of champagne this side of Circle. Of course, you're +coming, Corliss, and--" His eye roved past Captain Alexander with +hardly a pause. + +"Of course," came the answer like a flash, though the Chief Magistrate +of the Northwest had had time to canvass the possible results of such +unofficial action. "Got a hack?" + +Jacob Welse laughed and held up a moccasined foot. "Walking +be--chucked!" The captain started impulsively towards the door. "I'll +have the sleds up before you're ready. Three of them, and bells +galore!" + +So Trethaway's forecast was correct, and Dawson vindicated its +agglutinativeness by rubbing its eyes when three sleds, with three +scarlet-tuniced policemen swinging the whips, tore down its main +street; and it rubbed its eyes again when it saw the occupants thereof. + + +"We shall live quietly," Lucile told Frona. "The Klondike is not all +the world, and the best is yet to come." + +But Jacob Welse said otherwise. "We've got to make this thing go," he +said to Captain Alexander, and Captain Alexander said that he was +unaccustomed to backing out. + +Mrs. Schoville emitted preliminary thunders, marshalled the other +women, and became chronically seismic and unsafe. + +Lucile went nowhere save to Frona's. But Jacob Welse, who rarely went +anywhere, was often to be found by Colonel Trethaway's fireside, and +not only was he to be found there, but he usually brought somebody +along. "Anything on hand this evening?" he was wont to say on casual +meeting. "No? Then come along with me." Sometimes he said it with +lamb-like innocence, sometimes with a challenge brooding under his +bushy brows, and rarely did he fail to get his man. These men had +wives, and thus were the germs of dissolution sown in the ranks of the +opposition. + +Then, again, at Colonel Trethaway's there was something to be found +besides weak tea and small talk; and the correspondents, engineers, and +gentlemen rovers kept the trail well packed in that direction, though +it was the Kings, to a man, who first broke the way. So the Trethaway +cabin became the centre of things, and, backed commercially, +financially, and officially, it could not fail to succeed socially. + +The only bad effect of all this was to make the lives of Mrs. Schoville +and divers others of her sex more monotonous, and to cause them to lose +faith in certain hoary and inconsequent maxims. Furthermore, Captain +Alexander, as highest official, was a power in the land, and Jacob +Welse was the Company, and there was a superstition extant concerning +the unwisdom of being on indifferent terms with the Company. And the +time was not long till probably a bare half-dozen remained in outer +cold, and they were considered a warped lot, anyway. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +Quite an exodus took place in Dawson in the spring. Men, because they +had made stakes, and other men, because they had made none, bought up +the available dogs and rushed out for Dyea over the last ice. +Incidentally, it was discovered that Dave Harney possessed most of +these dogs. + +"Going out?" Jacob Welse asked him on a day when the meridian sun for +the first time felt faintly warm to the naked skin. + +"Well, I calkilate not. I'm clearin' three dollars a pair on the +moccasins I cornered, to say nothing but saw wood on the boots. Say, +Welse, not that my nose is out of joint, but you jest cinched me +everlastin' on sugar, didn't you?" + +Jacob Welse smiled. + +"And by the Jimcracky I'm squared! Got any rubber boots?" + +"No; went out of stock early in the winter." Dave snickered slowly. +"And I'm the pertickler party that hocus-pocused 'em." + +"Not you. I gave special orders to the clerks. They weren't sold in +lots." + +"No more they wa'n't. One man to the pair and one pair to the man, and +a couple of hundred of them; but it was my dust they chucked into the +scales an nobody else's. Drink? Don't mind. Easy! Put up your sack. +Call it rebate, for I kin afford it. . . Goin' out? Not this year, I +guess. Wash-up's comin'." + +A strike on Henderson the middle of April, which promised to be +sensational, drew St. Vincent to Stewart River. And a little later, +Jacob Welse, interested on Gallagher Gulch and with an eye riveted on +the copper mines of White River, went up into the same district, and +with him went Frona, for it was more vacation than business. In the +mean time, Corliss and Bishop, who had been on trail for a month or +more running over the Mayo and McQuestion Country, rounded up on the +left fork of Henderson, where a block of claims waited to be surveyed. + +But by May, spring was so far advanced that travel on the creeks became +perilous, and on the last of the thawing ice the miners travelled down +to the bunch of islands below the mouth of the Stewart, where they went +into temporary quarters or crowded the hospitality of those who +possessed cabins. Corliss and Bishop located on Split-up Island (so +called through the habit parties from the Outside had of dividing there +and going several ways), where Tommy McPherson was comfortably +situated. A couple of days later, Jacob Welse and Frona arrived from a +hazardous trip out of White River, and pitched tent on the high ground +at the upper end of Split-up. A few _chechaquos_, the first of the +spring rush, strung in exhausted and went into camp against the +breaking of the river. Also, there were still men going out who, +barred by the rotten ice, came ashore to build poling-boats and await +the break-up or to negotiate with the residents for canoes. Notably +among these was the Baron Courbertin. + +"Ah! Excruciating! Magnificent! Is it not?" + +So Frona first ran across him on the following day. "What?" she asked, +giving him her hand. + +"You! You!" doffing his cap. "It is a delight!" + +"I am sure--" she began. + +"No! No!" He shook his curly mop warmly. "It is not you. See!" He +turned to a Peterborough, for which McPherson had just mulcted him of +thrice its value. "The canoe! Is it not--not--what you Yankees +call--a bute?" + +"Oh, the canoe," she repeated, with a falling inflection of chagrin. + +"No! No! Pardon!" He stamped angrily upon the ground. "It is not +so. It is not you. It is not the canoe. It is--ah! I have it now! +It is your promise. One day, do you not remember, at Madame +Schoville's, we talked of the canoe, and of my ignorance, which was +sad, and you promised, you said--" + +"I would give you your first lesson?" + +"And is it not delightful? Listen! Do you not hear? The +rippling--ah! the rippling!--deep down at the heart of things! Soon +will the water run free. Here is the canoe! Here we meet! The first +lesson! Delightful! Delightful!" + +The next island below Split-up was known as Roubeau's Island, and was +separated from the former by a narrow back-channel. Here, when the +bottom had about dropped out of the trail, and with the dogs swimming +as often as not, arrived St. Vincent--the last man to travel the winter +trail. He went into the cabin of John Borg, a taciturn, gloomy +individual, prone to segregate himself from his kind. It was the +mischance of St. Vincent's life that of all cabins he chose Borg's for +an abiding-place against the break-up. + +"All right," the man said, when questioned by him. "Throw your +blankets into the corner. Bella'll clear the litter out of the spare +bunk." + +Not till evening did he speak again, and then, "You're big enough to do +your own cooking. When the woman's done with the stove you can fire +away." + +The woman, or Bella, was a comely Indian girl, young, and the prettiest +St. Vincent had run across. Instead of the customary greased +swarthiness of the race, her skin was clear and of a light-bronze tone, +and her features less harsh, more felicitously curved, than those +common to the blood. + +After supper, Borg, both elbows on table and huge misshapen hands +supporting chin and jaws, sat puffing stinking Siwash tobacco and +staring straight before him. It would have seemed ruminative, the +stare, had his eyes been softer or had he blinked; as it was, his face +was set and trance-like. + +"Have you been in the country long?" St. Vincent asked, endeavoring to +make conversation. + +Borg turned his sullen-black eyes upon him, and seemed to look into him +and through him and beyond him, and, still regarding him, to have +forgotten all about him. It was as though he pondered some great and +weighty matter--probably his sins, the correspondent mused nervously, +rolling himself a cigarette. When the yellow cube had dissipated +itself in curling fragrance, and he was deliberating about rolling a +second, Borg suddenly spoke. + +"Fifteen years," he said, and returned to his tremendous cogitation. + +Thereat, and for half an hour thereafter, St. Vincent, fascinated, +studied his inscrutable countenance. To begin with, it was a massive +head, abnormal and top-heavy, and its only excuse for being was the +huge bull-throat which supported it. It had been cast in a mould of +elemental generousness, and everything about it partook of the +asymmetrical crudeness of the elemental. The hair, rank of growth, +thick and unkempt, matted itself here and there into curious splotches +of gray; and again, grinning at age, twisted itself into curling locks +of lustreless black--locks of unusual thickness, like crooked fingers, +heavy and solid. The shaggy whiskers, almost bare in places, and in +others massing into bunchgrass-like clumps, were plentifully splashed +with gray. They rioted monstrously over his face and fell raggedly to +his chest, but failed to hide the great hollowed cheeks or the twisted +mouth. The latter was thin-lipped and cruel, but cruel only in a +passionless sort of way. But the forehead was the anomaly,--the +anomaly required to complete the irregularity of the face. For it was +a perfect forehead, full and broad, and rising superbly strong to its +high dome. It was as the seat and bulwark of some vast intelligence; +omniscience might have brooded there. + +Bella, washing the dishes and placing them away on the shelf behind +Borg's back, dropped a heavy tin cup. The cabin was very still, and +the sharp rattle came without warning. On the instant, with a brute +roar, the chair was overturned and Borg was on his feet, eyes blazing +and face convulsed. Bella gave an inarticulate, animal-like cry of +fear and cowered at his feet. St. Vincent felt his hair bristling, and +an uncanny chill, like a jet of cold air, played up and down his spine. +Then Borg righted the chair and sank back into his old position, chin +on hands and brooding ponderously. Not a word was spoken, and Bella +went on unconcernedly with the dishes, while St. Vincent rolled, a +shaky cigarette and wondered if it had been a dream. + +Jacob Welse laughed when the correspondent told him. "Just his way," +he said; "for his ways are like his looks,--unusual. He's an +unsociable beast. Been in the country more years than he can number +acquaintances. Truth to say, I don't think he has a friend in all +Alaska, not even among the Indians, and he's chummed thick with them +off and on. 'Johnny Sorehead,' they call him, but it might as well be +'Johnny Break-um-head,' for he's got a quick temper and a rough hand. +Temper! Some little misunderstanding popped up between him and the +agent at Arctic City. He was in the right, too,--agent's mistake,--but +he tabooed the Company on the spot and lived on straight meat for a +year. Then I happened to run across him at Tanana Station, and after +due explanations he consented to buy from us again." + +"Got the girl from up the head-waters of the White," Bill Brown told +St. Vincent. "Welse thinks he's pioneering in that direction, but Borg +could give him cards and spades on it and then win out. He's been over +the ground years ago. Yes, strange sort of a chap. Wouldn't hanker to +be bunk-mates with him." + +But St. Vincent did not mind the eccentricities of the man, for he +spent most of his time on Split-up Island with Frona and the Baron. +One day, however, and innocently, he ran foul of him. Two Swedes, +hunting tree-squirrels from the other end of Roubeau Island, had +stopped to ask for matches and to yarn a while in the warm sunshine of +the clearing. St. Vincent and Borg were accommodating them, the latter +for the most part in meditative monosyllables. Just to the rear, by +the cabin-door, Bella was washing clothes. The tub was a cumbersome +home-made affair, and half-full of water, was more than a fair match +for an ordinary woman. The correspondent noticed her struggling with +it, and stepped back quickly to her aid. + +With the tub between them, they proceeded to carry it to one side in +order to dump it where the ground drained from the cabin. St. Vincent +slipped in the thawing snow and the soapy water splashed up. Then +Bella slipped, and then they both slipped. Bella giggled and laughed, +and St. Vincent laughed back. The spring was in the air and in their +blood, and it was very good to be alive. Only a wintry heart could +deny a smile on such a day. Bella slipped again, tried to recover, +slipped with the other foot, and sat down abruptly. Laughing +gleefully, both of them, the correspondent caught her hands to pull her +to her feet. With a bound and a bellow, Borg was upon them. Their +hands were torn apart and St. Vincent thrust heavily backward. He +staggered for a couple of yards and almost fell. Then the scene of the +cabin was repeated. Bella cowered and grovelled in the muck, and her +lord towered wrathfully over her. + +"Look you," he said in stifled gutturals, turning to St. Vincent. "You +sleep in my cabin and you cook. That is enough. Let my woman alone." + +Things went on after that as though nothing had happened; St. Vincent +gave Bella a wide berth and seemed to have forgotten her existence. +But the Swedes went back to their end of the island, laughing at the +trivial happening which was destined to be significant. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +Spring, smiting with soft, warm hands, had come like a miracle, and now +lingered for a dreamy spell before bursting into full-blown summer. +The snow had left the bottoms and valleys and nestled only on the north +slopes of the ice-scarred ridges. The glacial drip was already in +evidence, and every creek in roaring spate. Each day the sun rose +earlier and stayed later. It was now chill day by three o'clock and +mellow twilight at nine. Soon a golden circle would be drawn around +the sky, and deep midnight become bright as high noon. The willows and +aspens had long since budded, and were now decking themselves in +liveries of fresh young green, and the sap was rising in the pines. + +Mother nature had heaved her waking sigh and gone about her brief +business. Crickets sang of nights in the stilly cabins, and in the +sunshine mosquitoes crept from out hollow logs and snug crevices among +the rocks,--big, noisy, harmless fellows, that had procreated the year +gone, lain frozen through the winter, and were now rejuvenated to buzz +through swift senility to second death. All sorts of creeping, +crawling, fluttering life came forth from the warming earth and +hastened to mature, reproduce, and cease. Just a breath of balmy air, +and then the long cold frost again--ah! they knew it well and lost no +time. Sand martins were driving their ancient tunnels into the soft +clay banks, and robins singing on the spruce-garbed islands. Overhead +the woodpecker knocked insistently, and in the forest depths the +partridge boom-boomed and strutted in virile glory. + +But in all this nervous haste the Yukon took no part. For many a +thousand miles it lay cold, unsmiling, dead. Wild fowl, driving up +from the south in wind-jamming wedges, halted, looked vainly for open +water, and quested dauntlessly on into the north. From bank to bank +stretched the savage ice. Here and there the water burst through and +flooded over, but in the chill nights froze solidly as ever. Tradition +has it that of old time the Yukon lay unbroken through three long +summers, and on the face of it there be traditions less easy of belief. + +So summer waited for open water, and the tardy Yukon took to stretching +of days and cracking its stiff joints. Now an air-hole ate into the +ice, and ate and ate; or a fissure formed, and grew, and failed to +freeze again. Then the ice ripped from the shore and uprose bodily a +yard. But still the river was loth to loose its grip. It was a slow +travail, and man, used to nursing nature with pigmy skill, able to +burst waterspouts and harness waterfalls, could avail nothing against +the billions of frigid tons which refused to run down the hill to +Bering Sea. + +On Split-up Island all were ready for the break-up. Waterways have +ever been first highways, and the Yukon was the sole highway in all the +land. So those bound up-river pitched their poling-boats and shod +their poles with iron, and those bound down caulked their scows and +barges and shaped spare sweeps with axe and drawing-knife. Jacob Welse +loafed and joyed in the utter cessation from work, and Frona joyed with +him in that it was good. But Baron Courbertin was in a fever at the +delay. His hot blood grew riotous after the long hibernation, and the +warm sunshine dazzled him with warmer fancies. + +"Oh! Oh! It will never break! Never!" And he stood gazing at the +surly ice and raining politely phrased anathema upon it. "It is a +conspiracy, poor La Bijou, a conspiracy!" He caressed La Bijou like it +were a horse, for so he had christened the glistening Peterborough +canoe. + +Frona and St. Vincent laughed and preached him the gospel of patience, +which he proceeded to tuck away into the deepest abysses of perdition +till interrupted by Jacob Welse. + +"Look, Courbertin! Over there, south of the bluff. Do you make out +anything? Moving?" + +"Yes; a dog." + +"It moves too slowly for a dog. Frona, get the glasses." + +Courbertin and St. Vincent sprang after them, but the latter knew their +abiding-place and returned triumphant. Jacob Welse put the binoculars +to his eyes and gazed steadily across the river. It was a sheer mile +from the island to the farther bank, and the sunglare on the ice was a +sore task to the vision. + +"It is a man." He passed the glasses to the Baron and strained +absently with his naked eyes. "And something is up." + +"He creeps!" the baron exclaimed. "The man creeps, he crawls, on hand +and knee! Look! See!" He thrust the glasses tremblingly into Frona's +hands. + +Looking across the void of shimmering white, it was difficult to +discern a dark object of such size when dimly outlined against an +equally dark background of brush and earth. But Frona could make the +man out with fair distinctness; and as she grew accustomed to the +strain she could distinguish each movement, and especially so when he +came to a wind-thrown pine. Sue watched painfully. Twice, after +tortuous effort, squirming and twisting, he failed in breasting the big +trunk, and on the third attempt, after infinite exertion, he cleared it +only to topple helplessly forward and fall on his face in the tangled +undergrowth. + +"It is a man." She turned the glasses over to St. Vincent. "And he is +crawling feebly. He fell just then this side of the log." + +"Does he move?" Jacob Welse asked, and, on a shake of St. Vincent's +head, brought his rifle from the tent. + +He fired six shots skyward in rapid succession. "He moves!" The +correspondent followed him closely. "He is crawling to the bank. Ah! +. . . No; one moment . . . Yes! He lies on the ground and raises his +hat, or something, on a stick. He is waving it." (Jacob Welse fired +six more shots.) "He waves again. Now he has dropped it and lies +quite still." + +All three looked inquiringly to Jacob Welse. + +He shrugged his shoulders. "How should I know? A white man or an +Indian; starvation most likely, or else he is injured." + +"But he may be dying," Frona pleaded, as though her father, who had +done most things, could do all things. + +"We can do nothing." + +"Ah! Terrible! terrible!" The baron wrung his hands. "Before our +very eyes, and we can do nothing! No!" he exclaimed, with swift +resolution, "it shall not be! I will cross the ice!" + +He would have started precipitately down the bank had not Jacob Welse +caught his arm. + +"Not such a rush, baron. Keep your head." + +"But--" + +"But nothing. Does the man want food, or medicine, or what? Wait a +moment. We will try it together." + +"Count me in," St. Vincent volunteered promptly, and Frona's eyes +sparkled. + +While she made up a bundle of food in the tent, the men provided and +rigged themselves with sixty or seventy feet of light rope. Jacob +Welse and St. Vincent made themselves fast to it at either end, and the +baron in the middle. He claimed the food as his portion, and strapped +it to his broad shoulders. Frona watched their progress from the bank. +The first hundred yards were easy going, but she noticed at once the +change when they had passed the limit of the fairly solid shore-ice. +Her father led sturdily, feeling ahead and to the side with his staff +and changing direction continually. + +St. Vincent, at the rear of the extended line, was the first to go +through, but he fell with the pole thrust deftly across the opening and +resting on the ice. His head did not go under, though the current +sucked powerfully, and the two men dragged him out after a sharp pull. +Frona saw them consult together for a minute, with much pointing and +gesticulating on the part of the baron, and then St. Vincent detach +himself and turn shoreward. + +"Br-r-r-r," he shivered, coming up the bank to her. "It's impossible." + +"But why didn't they come in?" she asked, a slight note of displeasure +manifest in her voice. + +"Said they were going to make one more try, first. That Courbertin is +hot-headed, you know." + +"And my father just as bull-headed," she smiled. "But hadn't you +better change? There are spare things in the tent." + +"Oh, no." He threw himself down beside her. "It's warm in the sun." + +For an hour they watched the two men, who had become mere specks of +black in the distance; for they had managed to gain the middle of the +river and at the same time had worked nearly a mile up-stream. Frona +followed them closely with the glasses, though often they were lost to +sight behind the ice-ridges. + +"It was unfair of them," she heard St. Vincent complain, "to say they +were only going to have one more try. Otherwise I should not have +turned back. Yet they can't make it--absolutely impossible." + +"Yes . . . No . . . Yes! They're turning back," she announced. "But +listen! What is that?" + +A hoarse rumble, like distant thunder, rose from the midst of the ice. +She sprang to her feet. "Gregory, the river can't be breaking!" + +"No, no; surely not. See, it is gone." The noise which had come from +above had died away downstream. + +"But there! There!" + +Another rumble, hoarser and more ominous than before, lifted itself and +hushed the robins and the squirrels. When abreast of them, it sounded +like a railroad train on a distant trestle. A third rumble, which +approached a roar and was of greater duration, began from above and +passed by. + +"Oh, why don't they hurry!" + +The two specks had stopped, evidently in conversation. She ran the +glasses hastily up and down the river. Though another roar had risen, +she could make out no commotion. The ice lay still and motionless. +The robins resumed their singing, and the squirrels were chattering +with spiteful glee. + +"Don't fear, Frona." St. Vincent put his arm about her protectingly. +"If there is any danger, they know it better than we, and they are +taking their time." + +"I never saw a big river break up," she confessed, and resigned herself +to the waiting. + +The roars rose and fell sporadically, but there were no other signs of +disruption, and gradually the two men, with frequent duckings, worked +inshore. The water was streaming from them and they were shivering +severely as they came up the bank. + +"At last!" Frona had both her father's hands in hers. "I thought you +would never come back." + +"There, there. Run and get dinner," Jacob Welse laughed. "There was +no danger." + +"But what was it?" + +"Stewart River's broken and sending its ice down under the Yukon ice. +We could hear the grinding plainly out there." + +"Ah! And it was terrible! terrible!" cried the baron. "And that poor, +poor man, we cannot save him!" + +"Yes, we can. We'll have a try with the dogs after dinner. Hurry, +Frona." + +But the dogs were a failure. Jacob Welse picked out the leaders as the +more intelligent, and with grub-packs on them drove them out from the +bank. They could not grasp what was demanded of them. Whenever they +tried to return they were driven back with sticks and clods and +imprecations. This only bewildered them, and they retreated out of +range, whence they raised their wet, cold paws and whined pitifully to +the shore. + +"If they could only make it once, they would understand, and then it +would go like clock-work. Ah! Would you? Go on! Chook, Miriam! +Chook! The thing is to get the first one across." + +Jacob Welse finally succeeded in getting Miriam, lead-dog to Frona's +team, to take the trail left by him and the baron. The dog went on +bravely, scrambling over, floundering through, and sometimes swimming; +but when she had gained the farthest point reached by them, she sat +down helplessly. Later on, she cut back to the shore at a tangent, +landing on the deserted island above; and an hour afterwards trotted +into camp minus the grub-pack. Then the two dogs, hovering just out of +range, compromised matters by devouring each other's burdens; after +which the attempt was given over and they were called in. + +During the afternoon the noise increased in frequency, and by nightfall +was continuous, but by morning it had ceased utterly. The river had +risen eight feet, and in many places was running over its crust. Much +crackling and splitting were going on, and fissures leaping into life +and multiplying in all directions. + +"The under-tow ice has jammed below among the islands," Jacob Welse +explained. "That's what caused the rise. Then, again, it has jammed +at the mouth of the Stewart and is backing up. When that breaks +through, it will go down underneath and stick on the lower jam." + +"And then? and then?" The baron exulted. + +"La Bijou will swim again." + +As the light grew stronger, they searched for the man across the river. +He had not moved, but in response to their rifle-shots waved feebly. + +"Nothing for it till the river breaks, baron, and then a dash with La +Bijou. St. Vincent, you had better bring your blankets up and sleep +here to-night. We'll need three paddles, and I think we can get +McPherson." + +"No need," the correspondent hastened to reply. "The back-channel is +like adamant, and I'll be up by daybreak." + +"But I? Why not?" Baron Courbertin demanded. Frona laughed. +"Remember, we haven't given you your first lessons yet." + +"And there'll hardly be time to-morrow," Jacob Welse added. "When she +goes, she goes with a rush. St. Vincent, McPherson, and I will have to +make the crew, I'm afraid. Sorry, baron. Stay with us another year +and you'll be fit." + +But Baron Courbertin was inconsolable, and sulked for a full half-hour. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +"Awake! You dreamers, wake!" + +Frona was out of her sleeping-furs at Del Bishop's first call; but ere +she had slipped a skirt on and bare feet into moccasins, her father, +beyond the blanket-curtain, had thrown back the flaps of the tent and +stumbled out. + +The river was up. In the chill gray light she could see the ice +rubbing softly against the very crest of the bank; it even topped it in +places, and the huge cakes worked inshore many feet. A hundred yards +out the white field merged into the dim dawn and the gray sky. Subdued +splits and splutters whispered from out the obscureness, and a gentle +grinding could be heard. + +"When will it go?" she asked of Del. + +"Not a bit too lively for us. See there!" He pointed with his toe to +the water lapping out from under the ice and creeping greedily towards +them. "A foot rise every ten minutes." + +"Danger?" he scoffed. "Not on your life. It's got to go. Them +islands"--waving his hand indefinitely down river--"can't hold up under +more pressure. If they don't let go the ice, the ice'll scour them +clean out of the bed of the Yukon. Sure! But I've got to be chasin' +back. Lower ground down our way. Fifteen inches on the cabin floor, +and McPherson and Corliss hustlin' perishables into the bunks." + +"Tell McPherson to be ready for a call," Jacob Welse shouted after him. +And then to Frona, "Now's the time for St. Vincent to cross the +back-channel." + +The baron, shivering barefooted, pulled out his watch. "Ten minutes to +three," he chattered. + +"Hadn't you better go back and get your moccasins?" Frona asked. +"There will be time." + +"And miss the magnificence? Hark!" + +From nowhere in particular a brisk crackling arose, then died away. +The ice was in motion. Slowly, very slowly, it proceeded down stream. +There was no commotion, no ear-splitting thunder, no splendid display +of force; simply a silent flood of white, an orderly procession of +tight-packed ice--packed so closely that not a drop of water was in +evidence. It was there, somewhere, down underneath; but it had to be +taken on faith. There was a dull hum or muffled grating, but so low in +pitch that the ear strained to catch it. + +"Ah! Where is the magnificence? It is a fake!" + +The baron shook his fists angrily at the river, and Jacob Welse's thick +brows seemed to draw down in order to hide the grim smile in his eyes. + +"Ha! ha! I laugh! I snap my fingers! See! I defy!" + +As the challenge left his lips. Baron Courbertin stepped upon a cake +which rubbed lightly past at his feet. So unexpected was it, that when +Jacob Welse reached after him he was gone. + +The ice was picking up in momentum, and the hum growing louder and more +threatening. Balancing gracefully, like a circus-rider, the Frenchman +whirled away along the rim of the bank. Fifty precarious feet he rode, +his mount becoming more unstable every instant, and he leaped neatly to +the shore. He came back laughing, and received for his pains two or +three of the choicest phrases Jacob Welse could select from the +essentially masculine portion of his vocabulary. + +"And for why?" Courbertin demanded, stung to the quick. + +"For why?" Jacob Welse mimicked wrathfully, pointing into the sleek +stream sliding by. + +A great cake had driven its nose into the bed of the river thirty feet +below and was struggling to up-end. All the frigid flood behind +crinkled and bent back like so much paper. Then the stalled cake +turned completely over and thrust its muddy nose skyward. But the +squeeze caught it, while cake mounted cake at its back, and its fifty +feet of muck and gouge were hurled into the air. It crashed upon the +moving mass beneath, and flying fragments landed at the feet of those +that watched. Caught broadside in a chaos of pressures, it crumbled +into scattered pieces and disappeared. + +"God!" The baron spoke the word reverently and with awe. + +Frona caught his hand on the one side and her father's on the other. +The ice was now leaping past in feverish haste. Somewhere below a +heavy cake butted into the bank, and the ground swayed under their +feet. Another followed it, nearer the surface, and as they sprang +back, upreared mightily, and, with a ton or so of soil on its broad +back, bowled insolently onward. And yet another, reaching inshore like +a huge hand, ripped three careless pines out by the roots and bore them +away. + +Day had broken, and the driving white gorged the Yukon from shore to +shore. What of the pressure of pent water behind, the speed of the +flood had become dizzying. Down all its length the bank was being +gashed and gouged, and the island was jarring and shaking to its +foundations. + +"Oh, great! Great!" Frona sprang up and down between the men. "Where +is your fake, baron?" + +"Ah!" He shook his head. "Ah! I was wrong. I am miserable. But the +magnificence! Look!" + +He pointed down to the bunch of islands which obstructed the bend. +There the mile-wide stream divided and subdivided again,--which was +well for water, but not so well for packed ice. The islands drove +their wedged heads into the frozen flood and tossed the cakes high into +the air. But cake pressed upon cake and shelved out of the water, out +and up, sliding and grinding and climbing, and still more cakes from +behind, till hillocks and mountains of ice upreared and crashed among +the trees. + +"A likely place for a jam," Jacob Welse said. "Get the glasses, +Frona." He gazed through them long and steadily. "It's growing, +spreading out. A cake at the right time and the right place . . ." + +"But the river is falling!" Frona cried. + +The ice had dropped six feet below the top of the bank, and the Baron +Courbertin marked it with a stick. + +"Our man's still there, but he doesn't move." + +It was clear day, and the sun was breaking forth in the north-east. +They took turn about with the glasses in gazing across the river. + +"Look! Is it not marvellous?" Courbertin pointed to the mark he had +made. The water had dropped another foot. "Ah! Too bad! too bad! +The jam; there will be none!" + +Jacob Welse regarded him gravely. + +"Ah! There will be?" he asked, picking up hope. + +Frona looked inquiringly at her father. + +"Jams are not always nice," he said, with a short laugh. "It all +depends where they take place and where you happen to be." + +"But the river! Look! It falls; I can see it before my eyes." + +"It is not too late." He swept the island-studded bend and saw the +ice-mountains larger and reaching out one to the other. "Go into the +tent, Courbertin, and put on the pair of moccasins you'll find by the +stove. Go on. You won't miss anything. And you, Frona, start the +fire and get the coffee under way." + +Half an hour after, though the river had fallen twenty feet, they found +the ice still pounding along. + +"Now the fun begins. Here, take a squint, you hot-headed Gaul. The +left-hand channel, man. Now she takes it!" + +Courbertin saw the left-hand channel close, and then a great white +barrier heave up and travel from island to island. The ice before them +slowed down and came to rest. Then followed the instant rise of the +river. Up it came in a swift rush, as though nothing short of the sky +could stop it. As when they were first awakened, the cakes rubbed and +slid inshore over the crest of the bank, the muddy water creeping in +advance and marking the way. + +"Mon Dieu! But this is not nice!" + +"But magnificent, baron," Frona teased. "In the meanwhile you are +getting your feet wet." + +He retreated out of the water, and in time, for a small avalanche of +cakes rattled down upon the place he had just left. The rising water +had forced the ice up till it stood breast-high above the island like a +wall. + +"But it will go down soon when the jam breaks. See, even now it comes +up not so swift. It has broken." + +Frona was watching the barrier. "No, it hasn't," she denied. + +"But the water no longer rises like a race-horse." + +"Nor does it stop rising." + +He was puzzled for the nonce. Then his face brightened. "Ah! I have +it! Above, somewhere, there is another jam. Most excellent, is it +not?" + +She caught his excited hand in hers and detained him. "But, listen. +Suppose the upper jam breaks and the lower jam holds?" + +He looked at her steadily till he grasped the full import. His face +flushed, and with a quick intake of the breath he straightened up and +threw back his head. He made a sweeping gesture as though to include +the island. "Then you, and I, the tent, the boats, cabins, trees, +everything, and La Bijou! Pouf! and all are gone, to the devil!" + +Frona shook her head. "It is too bad." + +"Bad? Pardon. Magnificent!" + +"No, no, baron; not that. But that you are not an Anglo-Saxon. The +race could well be proud of you." + +"And you, Frona, would you not glorify the French!" + +"At it again, eh? Throwing bouquets at yourselves." Del Bishop +grinned at them, and made to depart as quickly as he had come. "But +twist yourselves. Some sick men in a cabin down here. Got to get 'em +out. You're needed. And don't be all day about it," he shouted over +his shoulder as he disappeared among the trees. + +The river was still rising, though more slowly, and as soon as they +left the high ground they were splashing along ankle-deep in the water. +Winding in and out among the trees, they came upon a boat which had +been hauled out the previous fall. And three _chechaquos_, who had +managed to get into the country thus far over the ice, had piled +themselves into it, also their tent, sleds, and dogs. But the boat was +perilously near the ice-gorge, which growled and wrestled and +over-topped it a bare dozen feet away. + +"Come! Get out of this, you fools!" Jacob Welse shouted as he went +past. + +Del Bishop had told them to "get the hell out of there" when he ran by, +and they could not understand. One of them turned up an unheeding, +terrified face. Another lay prone and listless across the thwarts as +though bereft of strength; while the third, with the face of a clerk, +rocked back and forth and moaned monotonously, "My God! My God!" + +The baron stopped long enough to shake him. "Damn!" he cried. "Your +legs, man!--not God, but your legs! Ah! ah!--hump yourself! Yes, +hump! Get a move on! Twist! Get back from the bank! The woods, the +trees, anywhere!" + +He tried to drag him out, but the man struck at him savagely and held +back. + +"How one collects the vernacular," he confided proudly to Frona as they +hurried on. "Twist! It is a strong word, and suitable." + +"You should travel with Del," she laughed. "He'd increase your stock +in no time." + +"You don't say so." + +"Yes, but I do." + +"Ah! Your idioms. I shall never learn." And he shook his head +despairingly with both his hands. + +They came out in a clearing, where a cabin stood close to the river. +On its flat earth-roof two sick men, swathed in blankets, were lying, +while Bishop, Corliss, and Jacob Welse were splashing about inside the +cabin after the clothes-bags and general outfit. The mean depth of the +flood was a couple of feet, but the floor of the cabin had been dug out +for purposes of warmth, and there the water was to the waist. + +"Keep the tobacco dry," one of the sick men said feebly from the roof. + +"Tobacco, hell!" his companion advised. "Look out for the flour. And +the sugar," he added, as an afterthought. + +"That's 'cause Bill he don't smoke, miss," the first man explained. +"But keep an eye on it, won't you?" he pleaded. + +"Here. Now shut up." Del tossed the canister beside him, and the man +clutched it as though it were a sack of nuggets. + +"Can I be of any use?" she asked, looking up at them. + +"Nope. Scurvy. Nothing'll do 'em any good but God's country and raw +potatoes." The pocket-miner regarded her for a moment. "What are you +doing here, anyway? Go on back to high ground." + +But with a groan and a crash, the ice-wall bulged in. A fifty-ton cake +ended over, splashing them with muddy water, and settled down before +the door. A smaller cake drove against the out-jutting corner-logs and +the cabin reeled. Courbertin and Jacob Welse were inside. + +"After you," Frona heard the baron, and then her father's short amused +laugh; and the gallant Frenchman came out last, squeezing his way +between the cake and the logs. + +"Say, Bill, if that there lower jam holds, we're goners;" the man with +the canister called to his partner. + +"Ay, that it will," came the answer. "Below Nulato I saw Bixbie Island +swept clean as my old mother's kitchen floor." + +The men came hastily together about Frona. + +"This won't do. We've got to carry them over to your shack, Corliss." +As he spoke, Jacob Welse clambered nimbly up the cabin and gazed down +at the big barrier. "Where's McPherson?" he asked. + +"Petrified astride the ridge-pole this last hour." + +Jacob Welse waved his arm. "It's breaking! There she goes!" + +"No kitchen floor this time. Bill, with my respects to your old +woman," called he of the tobacco. + +"Ay," answered the imperturbable Bill. + +The whole river seemed to pick itself up and start down the stream. +With the increasing motion the ice-wall broke in a hundred places, and +from up and down the shore came the rending and crashing of uprooted +trees. + +Corliss and Bishop laid hold of Bill and started off to McPherson's, +and Jacob Welse and the baron were just sliding his mate over the +eaves, when a huge block of ice rammed in and smote the cabin squarely. +Frona saw it, and cried a warning, but the tiered logs were overthrown +like a house of cards. She saw Courbertin and the sick man hurled +clear of the wreckage, and her father go down with it. She sprang to +the spot, but he did not rise. She pulled at him to get his mouth +above water, but at full stretch his head, barely showed. Then she let +go and felt about with her hands till she found his right arm jammed +between the logs. These she could not move, but she thrust between +them one of the roof-poles which had underlaid the dirt and moss. It +was a rude handspike and hardly equal to the work, for when she threw +her weight upon the free end it bent and crackled. Heedful of the +warning, she came in a couple of feet and swung upon it tentatively and +carefully till something gave and Jacob Welse shoved his muddy face +into the air. + +He drew half a dozen great breaths, and burst out, "But that tastes +good!" And then, throwing a quick glance about him, Frona, Del Bishop +is a most veracious man." + +"Why?" she asked, perplexedly. + +"Because he said you'd do, you know." + +He kissed her, and they both spat the mud from their lips, laughing. +Courbertin floundered round a corner of the wreckage. + +"Never was there such a man!" he cried, gleefully. "He is mad, crazy! +There is no appeasement. His skull is cracked by the fall, and his +tobacco is gone. It is chiefly the tobacco which is lamentable." + +But his skull was not cracked, for it was merely a slit of the scalp of +five inches or so. + +"You'll have to wait till the others come back. I can't carry." Jacob +Welse pointed to his right arm, which hung dead. "Only wrenched," he +explained. "No bones broken." + +The baron struck an extravagant attitude and pointed down at Frona's +foot. "Ah! the water, it is gone, and there, a jewel of the flood, a +pearl of price!" + +Her well-worn moccasins had gone rotten from the soaking, and a little +white toe peeped out at the world of slime. + +"Then I am indeed wealthy, baron; for I have nine others." + +"And who shall deny? who shall deny?" he cried, fervently. + +"What a ridiculous, foolish, lovable fellow it is!" + +"I kiss your hand." And he knelt gallantly in the muck. + +She jerked her hand away, and, burying it with its mate in his curly +mop, shook his head back and forth. "What shall I do with him, father?" + +Jacob Welse shrugged his shoulders and laughed; and she turned +Courbertin's face up and kissed him on the lips. And Jacob Welse knew +that his was the larger share in that manifest joy. + + +The river, fallen to its winter level, was pounding its ice-glut +steadily along. But in falling it had rimmed the shore with a +twenty-foot wall of stranded floes. The great blocks were spilled +inland among the thrown and standing trees and the slime-coated flowers +and grasses like the titanic vomit of some Northland monster. The sun +was not idle, and the steaming thaw washed the mud and foulness from +the bergs till they blazed like heaped diamonds in the brightness, or +shimmered opalescent-blue. Yet they were reared hazardously one on +another, and ever and anon flashing towers and rainbow minarets +crumbled thunderously into the flood. By one of the gaps so made lay +La Bijou, and about it, saving _chechaquos_ and sick men, were grouped +the denizens of Split-up. + +"Na, na, lad; twa men'll be a plenty." Tommy McPherson sought about +him with his eyes for corroboration. "Gin ye gat three i' the canoe +'twill be ower comfortable." + +"It must be a dash or nothing," Corliss spoke up. "We need three men, +Tommy, and you know it." + +"Na, na; twa's a plenty, I'm tellin' ye." + +"But I'm afraid we'll have to do with two." + +The Scotch-Canadian evinced his satisfaction openly. "Mair'd be a +bother; an' I doot not ye'll mak' it all richt, lad." + +"And you'll make one of those two, Tommy," Corliss went on, inexorably. + +"Na; there's ithers a plenty wi'oot coontin' me." + +"No, there's not. Courbertin doesn't know the first thing. St. +Vincent evidently cannot cross the slough. Mr. Welse's arm puts him +out of it. So it's only you and I, Tommy." + +"I'll not be inqueesitive, but yon son of Anak's a likely mon. He maun +pit oop a guid stroke." While the Scot did not lose much love for the +truculent pocket-miner, he was well aware of his grit, and seized the +chance to save himself by shoving the other into the breach. + +Del Bishop stepped into the centre of the little circle, paused, and +looked every man in the eyes before he spoke. + +"Is there a man here'll say I'm a coward?" he demanded without preface. +Again he looked each one in the eyes. "Or is there a man who'll even +hint that I ever did a curlike act?" And yet again he searched the +circle. "Well and good. I hate the water, but I've never been afraid +of it. I don't know how to swim, yet I've been over the side more +times than it's good to remember. I can't pull an oar without batting +my back on the bottom of the boat. As for steering--well, authorities +say there's thirty-two points to the compass, but there's at least +thirty more when I get started. And as sure as God made little apples, +I don't know my elbow from my knee about a paddle. I've capsized damn +near every canoe I ever set foot in. I've gone right through the +bottom of two. I've turned turtle in the Canyon and been pulled out +below the White Horse. I can only keep stroke with one man, and that +man's yours truly. But, gentlemen, if the call comes, I'll take my +place in La Bijou and take her to hell if she don't turn over on the +way." + +Baron Courbertin threw his arms about him, crying, "As sure as God made +little apples, thou art a man!" + +Tommy's face was white, and he sought refuge in speech from the silence +which settled down. "I'll deny I lift a guid paddle, nor that my wind +is fair; but gin ye gang a tithe the way the next jam'll be on us. For +my pairt I conseeder it ay rash. Bide a wee till the river's clear, +say I." + +"It's no go, Tommy," Jacob Welse admonished. "You can't cash excuses +here." + +"But, mon! It doesna need discreemeenation--" + +"That'll do!" from Corliss. "You're coming." + +"I'll naething o' the sort. I'll--" + +"Shut up!" Del had come into the world with lungs of leather and +larynx of brass, and when he thus jerked out the stops the Scotsman +quailed and shrank down. + +"Oyez! Oyez!" In contrast to Del's siren tones, Frona's were purest +silver as they rippled down-island through the trees. "Oyez! Oyez! +Open water! Open water! And wait a minute. I'll be with you." + +Three miles up-stream, where the Yukon curved grandly in from the west, +a bit of water appeared. It seemed too marvellous for belief, after +the granite winter; but McPherson, untouched of imagination, began a +crafty retreat. + +"Bide a wee, bide a wee," he protested, when collared by the +pocket-miner. "A've forgot my pipe." + +"Then you'll bide with us, Tommy," Del sneered. "And I'd let you have +a draw of mine if your own wasn't sticking out of your pocket." + +"'Twas the baccy I'd in mind." + +"Then dig into this." He shoved his pouch into McPherson's shaking +hands. "You'd better shed your coat. Here! I'll help you. And +private, Tommy, if you don't act the man, I won't do a thing to you. +Sure." + +Corliss had stripped his heavy flannel shirt for freedom; and it was +plain, when Frona joined them, that she also had been shedding. Jacket +and skirt were gone, and her underskirt of dark cloth ceased midway +below the knee. + +"You'll do," Del commended. + +Jacob Welse looked at her anxiously, and went over to where she was +testing the grips of the several paddles. "You're not--?" he began. + +She nodded. + +"You're a guid girl," McPherson broke in. "Now, a've a wumman to home, +to say naething o' three bairns--" + +"All ready!" Corliss lifted the bow of La Bijou and looked back. + +The turbid water lashed by on the heels of the ice-run. Courbertin +took the stern in the steep descent, and Del marshalled Tommy's +reluctant rear. A flat floe, dipping into the water at a slight +incline, served as the embarking-stage. + +"Into the bow with you, Tommy!" + +The Scotsman groaned, felt Bishop breathe heavily at his back, and +obeyed; Frona meeting his weight by slipping into the stern. + +"I can steer," she assured Corliss, who for the first time was aware +that she was coming. + +He glanced up to Jacob Welse, as though for consent, and received it. + +"Hit 'er up! Hit 'er up!" Del urged impatiently. "You're burnin' +daylight!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +La Bijou was a perfect expression of all that was dainty and delicate +in the boat-builder's soul. Light as an egg-shell, and as fragile, her +three-eighths-inch skin offered no protection from a driving chunk of +ice as small as a man's head. Nor, though the water was open, did she +find a clear way, for the river was full of scattered floes which had +crumbled down from the rim-ice. And here, at once, through skilful +handling, Corliss took to himself confidence in Frona. + +It was a great picture: the river rushing blackly between its +crystalline walls; beyond, the green woods stretching upward to touch +the cloud-flecked summer sky; and over all, like a furnace blast, the +hot sun beating down. A great picture, but somehow Corliss's mind +turned to his mother and her perennial tea, the soft carpets, the prim +New England maid-servants, the canaries singing in the wide windows, +and he wondered if she could understand. And when he thought of the +woman behind him, and felt the dip and lift, dip and lift, of her +paddle, his mother's women came back to him, one by one, and passed in +long review,--pale, glimmering ghosts, he thought, caricatures of the +stock which had replenished the earth, and which would continue to +replenish the earth. + +La Bijou skirted a pivoting floe, darted into a nipping channel, and +shot out into the open with the walls grinding together behind. Tommy +groaned. + +"Well done!" Corliss encouraged. + +"The fule wumman!" came the backward snarl. "Why couldna she bide a +bit?" + +Frona caught his words and flung a laugh defiantly. Vance darted a +glance over his shoulder to her, and her smile was witchery. Her cap, +perched precariously, was sliding off, while her flying hair, aglint in +the sunshine, framed her face as he had seen it framed on the Dyea +Trail. + +"How I should like to sing, if it weren't for saving one's breath. Say +the 'Song of the Sword,' or the 'Anchor Chanty.'" + +"Or the 'First Chanty,'" Corliss answered. "'Mine was the woman, +darkling I found her,'" he hummed, significantly. + +She flashed her paddle into the water on the opposite side in order to +go wide of a jagged cake, and seemed not to hear. "I could go on this +way forever." + +"And I," Corliss affirmed, warmly. + +But she refused to take notice, saying, instead, "Vance, do you know +I'm glad we're friends?" + +"No fault of mine we're not more." + +"You're losing your stroke, sir," she reprimanded; and he bent silently +to the work. + +La Bijou was driving against the current at an angle of forty-five +degrees, and her resultant course was a line at right angles to the +river. Thus, she would tap the western bank directly opposite the +starting-point, where she could work up-stream in the slacker flood. +But a mile of indented shore, and then a hundred yards of bluffs rising +precipitously from out a stiff current would still lie between them and +the man to be rescued. + +"Now let us ease up," Corliss advised, as they slipped into an eddy and +drifted with the back-tide under the great wall of rim-ice. + +"Who would think it mid-May?" She glanced up at the carelessly poised +cakes. "Does it seem real to you, Vance?" + +He shook his head. + +"Nor to me. I know that I, Frona, in the flesh, am here, in a +Peterborough, paddling for dear life with two men; year of our Lord +eighteen hundred and ninety-eight, Alaska, Yukon River; this is water, +that is ice; my arms are tired, my heart up a few beats, and I am +sweating,--and yet it seems all a dream. Just think! A year ago I was +in Paris!" She drew a deep breath and looked out over the water to the +further shore, where Jacob Welse's tent, like a snowy handkerchief, +sprawled against the deep green of the forest. "I do not believe there +is such a place," she added. "There is no Paris." + +"And I was in London a twelvemonth past," Corliss meditated. "But I +have undergone a new incarnation. London? There is no London now. It +is impossible. How could there be so many people in the world? This +is the world, and we know of fact that there are very few people in it, +else there could not be so much ice and sea and sky. Tommy, here, I +know, thinks fondly of a place he calls Toronto. He mistakes. It +exists only in his mind,--a memory of a former life he knew. Of +course, he does not think so. That is but natural; for he is no +philosopher, nor does he bother--" + +"Wheest, will ye!" Tommy fiercely whispered. "Your gabble'll bring it +doon aboot oor heads." + +Life is brief in the Northland, and fulfilment ever clutters the heels +of prophecy. A premonitory tremor sighed down the air, and the rainbow +wall swayed above them. The three paddles gripped the water with +common accord. La Bijou leaped out from under. Broadside after +broadside flared and crashed, and a thousand frigid tons thundered down +behind them. The displaced water surged outward in a foamy, upstanding +circle, and La Bijou, striving wildly to rise, ducked through the stiff +overhang of the crest and wallowed, half-full, in the trough. + +"Dinna I tell ye, ye gabbling fules!" + +"Sit still, and bail!" Corliss checked him sharply. "Or you'll not +have the comfort of telling us anything." + +He shook his head at Frona, and she winked back; then they both +chuckled, much like children over an escapade which looks disastrous +but turns out well. + +Creeping timidly under the shadow of the impending avalanches, La Bijou +slipped noiselessly up the last eddy. A corner of the bluff rose +savagely from the river--a monstrous mass of naked rock, scarred and +battered of the centuries; hating the river that gnawed it ever; hating +the rain that graved its grim face with unsightly seams; hating the sun +that refused to mate with it, whereof green life might come forth and +hide its hideousness. The whole force of the river hurled in against +it, waged furious war along its battlements, and caromed off into +mid-stream again. Down all its length the stiff waves stood in serried +rows, and its crevices and water-worn caverns were a-bellow with unseen +strife. + +"Now! Bend to it! Your best!" + +It was the last order Corliss could give, for in the din they were +about to enter a man's voice were like a cricket's chirp amid the +growling of an earthquake. La Bijou sprang forward, cleared the eddy +with a bound, and plunged into the thick. _Dip and lift, dip and +lift_, the paddles worked with rhythmic strength. The water rippled +and tore, and pulled all ways at once; and the fragile shell, unable to +go all ways at once, shook and quivered with the shock of resistance. +It veered nervously to the right and left, but Frona held it with a +hand of steel. A yard away a fissure in the rock grinned at them. La +Bijou leaped and shot ahead, and the water, slipping away underneath, +kept her always in one place. Now they surged out from the fissure, +now in; ahead for half a yard, then back again; and the fissure mocked +their toil. + +Five minutes, each of which sounded a separate eternity, and the +fissure was past. Ten minutes, and it was a hundred feet astern. _Dip +and lift, dip and lift_, till sky and earth and river were blotted out, +and consciousness dwindled to a thin line,--a streak of foam, fringed +on the one hand with sneering rock, on the other with snarling water. +That thin line summed up all. Somewhere below was the beginning of +things; somewhere above, beyond the roar and traffic, was the end of +things; and for that end they strove. + +And still Frona held the egg-shell with a hand of steel. What they +gained they held, and fought for more, inch by inch, _dip and lift_; +and all would have been well but for the flutter of Tommy's soul. A +cake of ice, sucked beneath by the current, rose under his paddle with +a flurry of foam, turned over its toothed edge, and was dragged back +into the depths. And in that sight he saw himself, hair streaming +upward and drowned hands clutching emptiness, going feet first, down +and down. He stared, wide-eyed, at the portent, and his poised paddle +refused to strike. On the instant the fissure grinned in their faces, +and the next they were below the bluffs, drifting gently in the eddy. + +Frona lay, head thrown back, sobbing at the sun; amidships Corliss +sprawled panting; and forward, choking and gasping and nerveless, the +Scotsman drooped his head upon his knees. La Bijou rubbed softly +against the rim-ice and came to rest. The rainbow-wall hung above like +a fairy pile; the sun, flung backward from innumerable facets, clothed +it in jewelled splendor. Silvery streams tinkled down its crystal +slopes; and in its clear depths seemed to unfold, veil on veil, the +secrets of life and death and mortal striving,--vistas of +pale-shimmering azure opening like dream-visions, and promising, down +there in the great cool heart, infinite rest, infinite cessation and +rest. + +The topmost tower, delicately massive, a score of feet above them, +swayed to and fro, gently, like the ripple of wheat in light summer +airs. But Corliss gazed at it unheeding. Just to lie there, on the +marge of the mystery, just to lie there and drink the air in great +gulps, and do nothing!--he asked no more. A dervish, whirling on heel +till all things blur, may grasp the essence of the universe and prove +the Godhead indivisible; and so a man, plying a paddle, and plying and +plying, may shake off his limitations and rise above time and space. +And so Corliss. + +But gradually his blood ceased its mad pounding, and the air was no +longer nectar-sweet, and a sense of things real and pressing came back +to him. + +"We've got to get out of this," he said. His voice sounded like a +man's whose throat has been scorched by many and long potations. It +frightened him, but he limply lifted a shaking paddle and shoved off. + +"Yes; let us start, by all means," Frona said in a dim voice, which +seemed to come to him from a far distance. + +Tommy lifted his head and gazed about. "A doot we'll juist hae to gie +it oop." + +"Bend to it!" + +"Ye'll no try it anither?" + +"Bend to it!" Corliss repeated. + +"Till your heart bursts, Tommy," Frona added. + +Once again they fought up the thin line, and all the world vanished, +save the streak of foam, and the snarling water, and the grinning +fissure. But they passed it, inch by inch, and the broad bend welcomed +them from above, and only a rocky buttress of implacable hate, around +whose base howled the tides of an equal hate, stood between. Then La +Bijou leaped and throbbed and shook again, and the current slid out +from under, and they remained ever in one place. _Dip and lift, dip +and lift_, through an infinity of time and torture and travail, till +even the line dimmed and faded and the struggle lost its meaning. +Their souls became merged in the rhythm of the toil. Ever lifting, +ever falling, they seemed to have become great pendulums of time. And +before and behind glimmered the eternities, and between the eternities, +ever lifting, ever falling, they pulsed in vast rhythmical movement. +They were no longer humans, but rhythms. They surged in till their +paddles touched the bitter rock, but they did not know; surged out, +where chance piloted them unscathed through the lashing ice, but they +did not see. Nor did they feel the shock of the smitten waves, nor the +driving spray that cooled their faces. . . + +La Bijou veered out into the stream, and their paddles, flashing +mechanically in the sunshine, held her to the return angle across the +river. As time and matter came back to them, and Split-up Island +dawned upon their eyes like the foreshore of a new world, they settled +down to the long easy stroke wherein breath and strength may be +recovered. + +"A third attempt would have been useless," Corliss said, in a dry, +cracked whisper. + +And Frona answered, "Yes; our hearts would have surely broken." + +Life, and the pleasant camp-fire, and the quiet rest in the noonday +shade, came back to Tommy as the shore drew near, and more than all, +blessed Toronto, its houses that never moved, and its jostling streets. +Each time his head sank forward and he reached out and clutched the +water with his paddle, the streets enlarged, as though gazing through a +telescope and adjusting to a nearer focus. And each time the paddle +drove clear and his head was raised, the island bounded forward. His +head sank, and the streets were of the size of life; it raised, and +Jacob Welse and the two men stood on the bank three lengths away. + +"Dinna I tell ye!" he shouted to them, triumphantly. + +But Frona jerked the canoe parallel with the bank, and he found himself +gazing at the long up-stream stretch. He arrested a stroke midway, and +his paddle clattered in the bottom. + +"Pick it up!" Corliss's voice was sharp and relentless. + +"I'll do naething o' the kind." He turned a rebellious face on his +tormentor, and ground his teeth in anger and disappointment. + +The canoe was drifting down with the current, and Frona merely held it +in place. Corliss crawled forward on his knees. + +"I don't want to hurt you, Tommy," he said in a low, tense voice, "so +. . . well, just pick it up, that's a good fellow." + +"I'll no." + +"Then I shall kill you," Corliss went on, in the same calm, passionless +way, at the same time drawing his hunting-knife from its sheath. + +"And if I dinna?" the Scotsman queried stoutly, though cowering away. + +Corliss pressed gently with the knife. The point of the steel entered +Tommy's back just where the heart should be, passed slowly through the +shirt, and bit into the skin. Nor did it stop there; neither did it +quicken, but just as slowly held on its way. He shrank back, quivering. + +"There! there! man! Pit it oop!" he shrieked. "I maun gie in!" + +Frona's face was quite pale, but her eyes were hard, brilliantly hard, +and she nodded approval. + +"We're going to try this side, and shoot across from above," she called +to her father. "What? I can't hear. Tommy? Oh, his heart's weak. +Nothing serious." She saluted with her paddle. "We'll be back in no +time, father mine. In no time." + +Stewart River was wide open, and they ascended it a quarter of a mile +before they shot its mouth and continued up the Yukon. But when they +were well abreast of the man on the opposite bank a new obstacle faced +them. A mile above, a wreck of an island clung desperately to the +river bed. Its tail dwindled to a sand-spit which bisected the river +as far down as the impassable bluffs. Further, a few hundred thousand +tons of ice had grounded upon the spit and upreared a glittering ridge. + +"We'll have to portage," Corliss said, as Frona turned the canoe from +the bank. + +La Bijou darted across the narrower channel to the sand-spit and +slipped up a little ice ravine, where the walls were less precipitous. +They landed on an out-jutting cake, which, without support, overhung +the water for sheer thirty feet. How far its other end could be buried +in the mass was matter for conjecture. They climbed to the summit, +dragging the canoe after them, and looked out over the dazzle. Floe +was piled on floe in titanic confusion. Huge blocks topped and +overtopped one another, only to serve as pedestals for great white +masses, which blazed and scintillated in the sun like monstrous jewels. + +"A bonny place for a bit walk," Tommy sneered, "wi' the next jam fair +to come ony time." He sat down resolutely. "No, thank ye kindly, I'll +no try it." + +Frona and Corliss clambered on, the canoe between them. + +"The Persians lashed their slaves into battle," she remarked, looking +back. "I never understood before. Hadn't you better go back after +him?" + +Corliss kicked him up, whimpering, and forced him to go on in advance. +The canoe was an affair of little weight, but its bulk, on the steep +rises and sharp turns, taxed their strength. The sun burned down upon +them. Its white glare hurt their eyes, the sweat oozed out from every +pore, and they panted for breath. + +"Oh, Vance, do you know . . ." + +"What?" He swept the perspiration from his forehead and flung it from +him with a quick flirt of the hand. + +"I wish I had eaten more breakfast." + +He grunted sympathetically. They had reached the midmost ridge and +could see the open river, and beyond, quite clearly, the man and his +signal of distress. Below, pastoral in its green quiet, lay Split-up +Island. They looked up to the broad bend of the Yukon, smiling lazily, +as though it were not capable at any moment of spewing forth a flood of +death. At their feet the ice sloped down into a miniature gorge, +across which the sun cast a broad shadow. + +"Go on, Tommy," Frona bade. "We're half-way over, and there's water +down there." + +"It's water ye'd be thinkin' on, is it?" he snarled, "and you a-leadin' +a buddie to his death!" + +"I fear you have done some great sin, Tommy," she said, with a +reproving shake of the head, "or else you would not be so afraid of +death." She sighed and picked up her end of the canoe. "Well, I +suppose it is natural. You do not know how to die--" + +"No more do I want to die," he broke in fiercely. + +"But there come times for all men to die,--times when to die is the +only thing to do. Perhaps this is such a time." + +Tommy slid carefully over a glistening ledge and dropped his height to +a broad foothold. "It's a' vera guid," he grinned up; "but dinna ye +think a've suffeecient discreemeenation to judge for mysel'? Why +should I no sing my ain sang?" + +"Because you do not know how. The strong have ever pitched the key for +such as you. It is they that have taught your kind when and how to +die, and led you to die, and lashed you to die." + +"Ye pit it fair," he rejoined. "And ye do it weel. It doesna behoove +me to complain, sic a michty fine job ye're makin' on it." + +"You are doing well," Corliss chuckled, as Tommy dropped out of sight +and landed into the bed of the gorge. "The cantankerous brute! he'd +argue on the trail to Judgment." + +"Where did you learn to paddle?" she asked. + +"College--exercise," he answered, shortly. "But isn't that fine? +Look!" + +The melting ice had formed a pool in the bottom of the gorge. Frona +stretched out full length, and dipped her hot mouth in its coolness. +And lying as she did, the soles of her dilapidated moccasins, or rather +the soles of her feet (for moccasins and stockings had gone in shreds), +were turned upward. They were very white, and from contact with the +ice were bruised and cut. Here and there the blood oozed out, and from +one of the toes it streamed steadily. + +"So wee, and pretty, and salt-like," Tommy gibed. "One wouldna think +they could lead a strong man to hell." + +"By the way you grumble, they're leading you fast enough," Corliss +answered angrily. + +"Forty mile an hour," Tommy retorted, as he walked away, gloating over +having the last word. + +"One moment. You've two shirts. Lend me one." + +The Scotsman's face lighted inquisitively, till he comprehended. Then +he shook his head and started on again. + +Frona scrambled to her feet. "What's the matter?" + +"Nothing. Sit down." + +"But what is the matter?" + +Corliss put his hands on her shoulders and pressed her back. "Your +feet. You can't go on in such shape. They're in ribbons. See!" He +brushed the sole of one of them and held up a blood-dripping palm. +"Why didn't you tell me?" + +"Oh, they didn't bother--much." + +"Give me one of your skirts," he demanded. + +"I . . ." She faltered. "I only have one." + +He looked about him. Tommy had disappeared among the ice-floes. + +"We must be getting on," Frona said, attempting to rise. + +But he held her back. "Not another step till I fix you. Here goes, so +shut your eyes." + +She obeyed, and when she opened them he was naked to the waist, and his +undershirt, torn in strips, was being bound about her feet. + +"You were in the rear, and I did not know--" + +"Don't apologize, pray," she interrupted. "I could have spoken." + +"I'm not; I'm reproaching you. Now, the other one. Put it up!" + +The nearness to her bred a madness, and he touched his lips lightly to +the same white little toe that had won the Baron Courbertin a kiss. + +Though she did not draw back, her face flushed, and she thrilled as she +had thrilled once before in her life. "You take advantage of your own +goodness," she rebuked him. + +"Then I will doubly advantage myself." + +"Please don't," she begged. + +"And why not? It is a custom of the sea to broach the spirits as the +ship prepares to sink. And since this is a sort of a forlorn hope, you +know, why not?" + +"But . . ." + +"But what, Miss Prim?" + +"Oh! Of all things, you know I do not deserve that! If there were +nobody else to be considered, why, under the circumstances . . ." + +He drew the last knot tight and dropped her foot. "Damn St. Vincent, +anyway! Come on!" + +"So would I, were I you," she laughed, taking up her end of the canoe. +"But how you have changed, Vance. You are not the same man I met on +the Dyea Trail. You hadn't learned to swear, then, among other things." + +"No, I'm not the same; for which I thank God and you. Only I think I +am honester than you. I always live up to my philosophy." + +"Now confess that's unfair. You ask too much under the +circumstances--" + +"Only a little toe." + +"Or else, I suppose, you just care for me in a kind, big-brotherly way. +In which case, if you really wish it, you may--" + +"Do keep quiet," he broke in, roughly, "or I'll be making a gorgeous +fool of myself." + +"Kiss all my toes," she finished. + +He grunted, but did not deign a reply. The work quickly took their +breath, and they went on in silence till they descended the last steep +to where McPherson waited by the open river. + +"Del hates St. Vincent," she said boldly. "Why?" + +"Yes, it seems that way." He glanced back at her curiously. "And +wherever he goes, Del lugs an old Russian book, which he can't read but +which he nevertheless regards, in some sort of way, as St. Vincent's +Nemesis. And do you know, Frona, he has such faith in it that I can't +help catching a little myself. I don't know whether you'll come to me, +or whether I'll go to you, but--" + +She dropped her end of the canoe and broke out in laughter. He was +annoyed, and a hurt spread of blood ruddied his face. + +"If I have--" he began. + +"Stupid!" she laughed. "Don't be silly! And above all don't be +dignified. It doesn't exactly become you at the present moment,--your +hair all tangled, a murderous knife in your belt, and naked to the +waist like a pirate stripped for battle. Be fierce, frown, swear, +anything, but please don't be dignified. I do wish I had my camera. +In after years I could say: 'This, my friends, is Corliss, the great +Arctic explorer, just as he looked at the conclusion of his +world-famous trip _Through Darkest Alaska_.'" + +He pointed an ominous finger at her and said sternly, "Where is your +skirt?" + +She involuntarily looked down. But its tatterdemalion presence +relieved her, and her face jerked up scarlet. + +"You should be ashamed!" + +"Please, please do not be dignified," he laughed. "Very true, it +doesn't exactly become you at the present moment. Now, if I had my +camera--" + +"Do be quiet and go on," she said. "Tommy is waiting. I hope the sun +takes the skin all off your back," she panted vindictively, as they +slid the canoe down the last shelf and dropped it into the water. + +Ten minutes later they climbed the ice-wall, and on and up the bank, +which was partly a hillside, to where the signal of distress still +fluttered. Beneath it, on the ground, lay stretched the man. He lay +very quietly, and the fear that they were too late was upon them, when +he moved his head slightly and moaned. His rough clothes were in rags, +and the black, bruised flesh of his feet showed through the remnants of +his moccasins. His body was thin and gaunt, without flesh-pads or +muscles, while the bones seemed ready to break through the +tight-stretched skin. As Corliss felt his pulse, his eyes fluttered +open and stared glassily. Frona shuddered. + +"Man, it's fair gruesome," McPherson muttered, running his hand up a +shrunken arm. + +"You go on to the canoe, Frona," Corliss said. "Tommy and I will carry +him down." + +But her lips set firmly. Though the descent was made easier by her +aid, the man was well shaken by the time they laid him in the bottom of +the canoe,--so well shaken that some last shreds of consciousness were +aroused. He opened his eyes and whispered hoarsely, "Jacob Welse . . . +despatches . . . from the Outside." He plucked feebly at his open +shirt, and across his emaciated chest they saw the leather strap, to +which, doubtless, the despatch-pouch was slung. + +At either end of the canoe there was room to spare, but amidships +Corliss was forced to paddle with the man between his knees. La Bijou +swung out blithely from the bank. It was down-stream at last, and +there was little need for exertion. + +Vance's arms and shoulders and back, a bright scarlet, caught Frona's +attention. "My hopes are realized," she exulted, reaching out and +softly stroking a burning arm. "We shall have to put cold cream on it +when we get back." + +"Go ahead," he encouraged. "That feels awfully good." + +She splashed his hot back with a handful of the ice-cold water from +over-side. He caught his breath with a gasp, and shivered. Tommy +turned about to look at them. + +"It's a guid deed we'll 'a doon this day," he remarked, pleasantly. +"To gie a hand in distress is guid i' the sight of God." + +"Who's afeared ?" Frona laughed. + +"Weel," he deliberated, "I was a bit fashed, no doot, but--" + +His utterance ceased, and he seemed suddenly to petrify. His eyes +fixed themselves in a terrible stare over Frona's shoulder. And then, +slowly and dreamily, with the solemnity fitting an invocation of Deity, +murmured, "Guid Gawd Almichty!" + +They whirled their heads about. A wall of ice was sweeping round the +bend, and even as they looked the right-hand flank, unable to compass +the curve, struck the further shore and flung up a ridge of heaving +mountains. + +"Guid Gawd! Guid Gawd! Like rats i' the trap!" Tommy jabbed his +paddle futilely in the water. + +"Get the stroke!" Corliss hissed in his ear, and La Bijou sprang away. + +Frona steered straight across the current, at almost right angles, for +Split-up; but when the sandspit, over which they had portaged, crashed +at the impact of a million tons, Corliss glanced at her anxiously. She +smiled and shook her head, at the same time slacking off the course. + +"We can't make it," she whispered, looking back at the ice a couple of +hundred feet away. "Our only chance is to run before it and work in +slowly." + +She cherished every inward inch jealously, holding the canoe up as +sharply as she dared and at the same time maintaining a constant +distance ahead of the ice-rim. + +"I canna stand the pace," Tommy whimpered once; but the silence of +Corliss and Frona seemed ominous, and he kept his paddle going. + +At the very fore of the ice was a floe five or six feet thick and a +couple of acres in extent. Reaching out in advance of the pack, it +clove through the water till on either side there formed a bore like +that of a quick flood-tide in an inland passage. Tommy caught sight of +it, and would have collapsed had not Corliss prodded him, between +strokes, with the point of his paddle. + +"We can keep ahead," Frona panted; "but we must get time to make the +landing?" + +"When the chance comes, drive her in, bow on," Corliss counselled; "and +when she strikes, jump and run for it." + +"Climb, rather. I'm glad my skirt is short." + +Repulsed by the bluffs of the left bank, the ice was forced towards the +right. The big floe, in advance, drove in upon the precise point of +Split-up Island. + +"If you look back, I'll brain you with the paddle," Corliss threatened. + +"Ay," Tommy groaned. + +But Corliss looked back, and so did Frona. The great berg struck the +land with an earthquake shock. For fifty feet the soft island was +demolished. A score of pines swayed frantically and went down, and +where they went down rose up a mountain of ice, which rose, and fell, +and rose again. Below, and but a few feet away, Del Bishop ran out to +the bank, and above the roar they could hear faintly his "Hit 'er up! +Hit 'er up!" Then the ice-rim wrinkled up and he sprang back to escape +it. + +"The first opening," Corliss gasped. + +Frona's lips spread apart; she tried to speak but failed, then nodded +her head that she had heard. They swung along in rapid rhythm under +the rainbow-wall, looking for a place where it might be quickly +cleared. And down all the length of Split-up Island they raced vainly, +the shore crashing behind them as they fled. + +As they darted across the mouth of the back-channel to Roubeau Island +they found themselves heading directly for an opening in the rim-ice. +La Bijou drove into it full tilt, and went half her length out of water +on a shelving cake. The three leaped together, but while the two of +them gripped the canoe to run it up, Tommy, in the lead, strove only to +save himself. And he would have succeeded had he not slipped and +fallen midway in the climb. He half arose, slipped, and fell again. +Corliss, hauling on the bow of the canoe, trampled over him. He +reached up and clutched the gunwale. They did not have the strength, +and this clog brought them at once to a standstill. Corliss looked +back and yelled for him to leave go, but he only turned upward a +piteous face, like that of a drowning man, and clutched more tightly. +Behind them the ice was thundering. The first flurry of coming +destruction was upon them. They endeavored desperately to drag up the +canoe, but the added burden was too much, and they fell on their knees. +The sick man sat up suddenly and laughed wildly. "Blood of my soul!" +he ejaculated, and laughed again. + +Roubeau Island swayed to the first shock, and the ice was rocking under +their feet. Frona seized a paddle and smashed the Scotsman's knuckles; +and the instant he loosed his grip, Corliss carried the canoe up in a +mad rush, Frona clinging on and helping from behind. The rainbow-wall +curled up like a scroll, and in the convolutions of the scroll, like a +bee in the many folds of a magnificent orchid, Tommy disappeared. + +They fell, breathless, on the earth. But a monstrous cake shoved up +from the jam and balanced above them. Frona tried to struggle to her +feet, but sank on her knees; and it remained for Corliss to snatch her +and the canoe out from underneath. Again they fell, this time under +the trees, the sun sifting down upon them through the green pine +needles, the robins singing overhead, and a colony of crickets chirping +in the warmth. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +Frona woke, slowly, as though from a long dream. She was lying where +she had fallen, across Corliss's legs, while he, on his back, faced the +hot sun without concern. She crawled up to him. He was breathing +regularly, with closed eyes, which opened to meet hers. He smiled, and +she sank down again. Then he rolled over on his side, and they looked +at each other. + +"Vance." + +"Yes." + +She reached out her hand; his closed upon it, and their eyelids +fluttered and drooped down. The river still rumbled en, somewhere in +the infinite distance, but it came to them like the murmur of a world +forgotten. A soft languor encompassed them. The golden sunshine +dripped down upon them through the living green, and all the life of +the warm earth seemed singing. And quiet was very good. Fifteen long +minutes they drowsed, and woke again. + +Frona sat up. "I--I was afraid," she said. + +"Not you." + +"Afraid that I might be afraid," she amended, fumbling with her hair. + +"Leave it down. The day merits it." + +She complied, with a toss of the head which circled it with a nimbus of +rippling yellow. + +"Tommy's gone," Corliss mused, the race with the ice coming slowly back. + +"Yes," she answered. "I rapped him on the knuckles. It was terrible. +But the chance is we've a better man in the canoe, and we must care for +him at once. Hello! Look there!" Through the trees, not a score of +feet away, she saw the wall of a large cabin. "Nobody in sight. It +must be deserted, or else they're visiting, whoever they are. You look +to our man, Vance,--I'm more presentable,--and I'll go and see." + +She skirted the cabin, which was a large one for the Yukon country, and +came around to where it fronted on the river. The door stood open, +and, as she paused to knock, the whole interior flashed upon her in an +astounding picture,--a cumulative picture, or series of pictures, as it +were. For first she was aware of a crowd of men, and of some great +common purpose upon which all were seriously bent. At her knock they +instinctively divided, so that a lane opened up, flanked by their +pressed bodies, to the far end of the room. And there, in the long +bunks on either side, sat two grave rows of men. And midway between, +against the wall, was a table. This table seemed the centre of +interest. Fresh from the sun-dazzle, the light within was dim and +murky, but she managed to make out a bearded American sitting by the +table and hammering it with a heavy caulking-mallet. And on the +opposite side sat St. Vincent. She had time to note his worn and +haggard face, before a man of Scandinavian appearance slouched up to +the table. + +The man with the mallet raised his right hand and said glibly, "You do +most solemnly swear that what you are about to give before the +court--" He abruptly stopped and glowered at the man before him. +"Take off your hat!" he roared, and a snicker went up from the crowd as +the man obeyed. + +Then he of the mallet began again. "You do most solemnly swear that +what you are about to give before the court shall be the truth, the +whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?" + +The Scandinavian nodded and dropped his hand. + +"One moment, gentlemen." Frona advanced up the lane, which closed +behind her. + +St. Vincent sprang to his feet and stretched out his arms to her. +"Frona," he cried, "oh, Frona, I am innocent!" + +It struck her like a blow, the unexpectedness of it, and for the +instant, in the sickly light, she was conscious only of the ring of +white faces, each face set with eyes that burned. Innocent of what? +she thought, and as she looked at St. Vincent, arms still extended, she +was aware, in a vague, troubled way, of something distasteful. +Innocent of what? He might have had more reserve. He might have +waited till he was charged. She did not know that he was charged with +anything. + +"Friend of the prisoner," the man with the mallet said authoritatively. +"Bring a stool for'ard, some of you." + +"One moment . . ." She staggered against the table and rested a hand +on it. "I do not understand. This is all new . . ." But her eyes +happened to come to rest on her feet, wrapped in dirty rags, and she +knew that she was clad in a short and tattered skirt, that her arm +peeped forth through a rent in her sleeve, and that her hair was down +and flying. Her cheek and neck on one side seemed coated with some +curious substance. She brushed it with her hand, and caked mud rattled +to the floor. + +"That will do," the man said, not unkindly. "Sit down. We're in the +same box. We do not understand. But take my word for it, we're here +to find out. So sit down." + +She raised her hand. "One moment--" + +"Sit down!" he thundered. "The court cannot be disturbed." + +A hum went up from the crowd, words of dissent, and the man pounded the +table for silence. But Frona resolutely kept her feet. + +When the noise had subsided, she addressed the man in the chair. "Mr. +Chairman: I take it that this is a miners' meeting." (The man nodded.) +"Then, having an equal voice in the managing of this community's +affairs, I demand to be heard. It is important that I should be heard." + +"But you are out of order. Miss--er--" + +"Welse!" half a dozen voices prompted. + +"Miss Welse," he went on, an added respect marking his demeanor, "it +grieves me to inform you that you are out of order. You had best sit +down." + +"I will not," she answered. "I rise to a question of privilege, and if +I am not heard, I shall appeal to the meeting." + +She swept the crowd with her eyes, and cries went up that she be given +a fair show. The chairman yielded and motioned her to go on. + +"Mr. Chairman and men: I do not know the business you have at present +before you, but I do know that I have more important business to place +before you. Just outside this cabin is a man probably dying from +starvation. We have brought him from across the river. We should not +have bothered you, but we were unable to make our own island. This man +I speak of needs immediate attention." + +"A couple of you nearest the door go out and look after him," the +chairman ordered. "And you, Doc Holiday, go along and see what you can +do." + +"Ask for a recess," St. Vincent whispered. + +Frona nodded her head. "And, Mr. Chairman, I make a motion for a +recess until the man is cared for." + +Cries of "No recess!" and "Go on with the business!" greeted the +putting of it, and the motion was lost. + +"Now, Gregory," with a smile and salutation as she took the stool +beside him, "what is it?" + +He gripped her hand tightly. "Don't believe them, Frona. They are +trying to"--with a gulping swallow--"to kill me." + +"Why? Do be calm. Tell me." + +"Why, last night," he began hurriedly, but broke off to listen to the +Scandinavian previously sworn, who was speaking with ponderous slowness. + +"I wake wide open quick," he was saying. "I coom to the door. I there +hear one shot more." + +He was interrupted by a warm-complexioned man, clad in faded mackinaws. +"What did you think?" he asked. + +"Eh?" the witness queried, his face dark and troubled with perplexity. + +"When you came to the door, what was your first thought?" + +"A-w-w," the man sighed, his face clearing and infinite comprehension +sounding in his voice. "I have no moccasins. I t'ink pretty damn +cold." His satisfied expression changed to naive surprise when an +outburst of laughter greeted his statement, but he went on stolidly. +"One more shot I hear, and I run down the trail." + +Then Corliss pressed in through the crowd to Frona, and she lost what +the man was saying. + +"What's up?" the engineer was asking. "Anything serious? Can I be of +any use?" + +"Yes, yes." She caught his hand gratefully. "Get over the +back-channel somehow and tell my father to come. Tell him that Gregory +St. Vincent is in trouble; that he is charged with-- What are you +charged with, Gregory?" she asked, turning to him. + +"Murder." + +"Murder?" from Corliss. + +"Yes, yes. Say that he is charged with murder; that I am here; and +that I need him. And tell him to bring me some clothes. And, +Vance,"--with a pressure of the hand and swift upward look,--"don't +take any . . . any big chances, but do try to make it." + +"Oh, I'll make it all right." He tossed his head confidently and +proceeded to elbow his way towards the door. + +"Who is helping you in your defence?" she asked St. Vincent. + +He shook his head. "No. They wanted to appoint some one,--a renegade +lawyer from the States, Bill Brown,--but I declined him. He's taken +the other side, now. It's lynch law, you know, and their minds are +made up. They're bound to get me." + +"I wish there were time to hear your side." + +"But, Frona, I am innocent. I--" + +"S-sh!" She laid her hand on his arm to hush him, and turned her +attention to the witness. + +"So the noospaper feller, he fight like anything; but Pierre and me, we +pull him into the shack. He cry and stand in one place--" + +"Who cried?" interrupted the prosecuting lawyer. + +"Him. That feller there." The Scandinavian pointed directly at St. +Vincent. "And I make a light. The slush-lamp I find spilt over most +everything, but I have a candle in my pocket. It is good practice to +carry a candle in the pocket," he affirmed gravely. "And Borg he lay +on the floor dead. And the squaw say he did it, and then she die, too." + +"Said who did it?" + +Again his accusing finger singled out St. Vincent. "Him. That feller +there." + +"Did she?" Frona whispered. + +"Yes," St. Vincent whispered back, "she did. But I cannot imagine what +prompted her. She must have been out of her head." + +The warm-faced man in the faded mackinaws then put the witness through +a searching examination, which Frona followed closely, but which +elicited little new. + +"You have the right to cross-examine the witness," the chairman +informed St. Vincent. "Any questions you want to ask?" + +The correspondent shook his head. + +"Go on," Frona urged. + +"What's the use?" he asked, hopelessly. "I'm fore-doomed. The verdict +was reached before the trial began." + +"One moment, please." Frona's sharp command arrested the retiring +witness. "You do not know of your own knowledge who committed this +murder?" + +The Scandinavian gazed at her with a bovine expression on his leaden +features, as though waiting for her question to percolate to his +understanding. + +"You did not see who did it?" she asked again. + +"Aw, yes. That feller there," accusative finger to the fore. "She say +he did." + +There was a general smile at this. + +"But you did not see it?" + +"I hear some shooting." + +"But you did not see who did the shooting?" + +"Aw, no; but she said--" + +"That will do, thank you," she said sweetly, and the man retired. + +The prosecution consulted its notes. "Pierre La Flitche!" was called +out. + +A slender, swart-skinned man, lithe of figure and graceful, stepped +forward to the open space before the table. He was darkly handsome, +with a quick, eloquent eye which roved frankly everywhere. It rested +for a moment on Frona, open and honest in its admiration, and she +smiled and half-nodded, for she liked him at first glance, and it +seemed as though they had met of old time. He smiled pleasantly back, +the smooth upper lip curling brightly and showing beautiful teeth, +immaculately white. + +In answer to the stereotyped preliminaries he stated that his name was +that of his father's, a descendant of the _coureurs du bois_. His +mother--with a shrug of the shoulders and flash of teeth--was a +_breed_. He was born somewhere in the Barrens, on a hunting trip, he +did not know where. Ah, _oui_, men called him an old-timer. He had +come into the country in the days of Jack McQuestion, across the +Rockies from the Great Slave. + +On being told to go ahead with what he knew of the matter in hand, he +deliberated a moment, as though casting about for the best departure. + +"In the spring it is good to sleep with the open door," he began, his +words sounding clear and flute-like and marked by haunting memories of +the accents his forbears put into the tongue. "And so I sleep last +night. But I sleep like the cat. The fall of the leaf, the breath of +the wind, and my ears whisper to me, whisper, whisper, all the night +long. So, the first shot," with a quick snap of the fingers, "and I am +awake, just like that, and I am at the door." + +St. Vincent leaned forward to Frona. "It was not the first shot." + +She nodded, with her eyes still bent on La Flitche, who gallantly +waited. + +"Then two more shot," he went on, "quick, together, boom-boom, just +like that. 'Borg's shack,' I say to myself, and run down the trail. I +think Borg kill Bella, which was bad. Bella very fine girl," he +confided with one of his irresistible smiles. "I like Bella. So I +run. And John he run from his cabin like a fat cow, with great noise. +'What the matter?' he say; and I say, 'I don't know.' And then +something come, wheugh! out of the dark, just like that, and knock John +down, and knock me down. We grab everywhere all at once. It is a man. +He is in undress. He fight. He cry, 'Oh! Oh! Oh!' just like that. +We hold him tight, and bime-by pretty quick, he stop. Then we get up, +and I say, 'Come along back.'" + +"Who was the man?" + +La Flitche turned partly, and rested his eyes on St. Vincent. + +"Go on." + +"So? The man he will not go back; but John and I say yes, and he go." + +"Did he say anything?" + +"I ask him what the matter; but he cry, he . . . he sob, _huh-tsch_, +_huh-tsch_, just like that." + +"Did you see anything peculiar about him?" + +La Flitche's brows drew up interrogatively. + +^Anything uncommon, out of the ordinary?" + +"Ah, _oui_; blood on the hands." Disregarding the murmur in the room, +he went on, his facile play of feature and gesture giving dramatic +value to the recital. "John make a light, and Bella groan, like the +hair-seal when you shoot him in the body, just like that when you shoot +him in the body under the flipper. And Borg lay over in the corner. I +look. He no breathe 'tall. + +"Then Bella open her eyes, and I look in her eyes, and I know she know +me, La Flitche. 'Who did it, Bella?' I ask. And she roll her head on +the floor and whisper, so low, so slow, 'Him dead?' I know she mean +Borg, and I say yes. Then she lift up on one elbow, and look about +quick, in big hurry, and when she see Vincent she look no more, only +she look at Vincent all the time. Then she point at him, just like +that." Suiting the action to the word, La Flitche turned and thrust a +wavering finger at the prisoner. "And she say, 'Him, him, him.' And I +say, 'Bella, who did it?' And she say, 'Him, him, him. St. Vincha, +him do it.' And then"--La Flitche's head felt limply forward on his +chest, and came back naturally erect, as he finished, with a flash of +teeth, "Dead." + +The warm-faced man, Bill Brown, put the quarter-breed through the +customary direct examination, which served to strengthen his testimony +and to bring out the fact that a terrible struggle must have taken +place in the killing of Borg. The heavy table was smashed, the stool +and the bunk-board splintered, and the stove over-thrown. "Never did I +see anything like it," La Flitche concluded his description of the +wreck. "No, never." + +Brown turned him over to Frona with a bow, which a smile of hers paid +for in full. She did not deem it unwise to cultivate cordiality with +the lawyer. What she was working for was time--time for her father to +come, time to be closeted with St. Vincent and learn all the details of +what really had occurred. So she put questions, questions, +interminable questions, to La Flitche. Twice only did anything of +moment crop up. + +"You spoke of the first shot, Mr. La Flitche. Now, the walls of a log +cabin are quite thick. Had your door been closed, do you think you +could have heard that first shot?" + +He shook his head, though his dark eyes told her he divined the point +she was endeavoring to establish. + +"And had the door of Borg's cabin been closed, would you have heard?" + +Again he shook his head. + +"Then, Mr. La Flitche, when you say the first shot, you do not mean +necessarily the first shot fired, but rather the first shot you heard +fired?" + +He nodded, and though she had scored her point she could not see that +it had any material bearing after all. + +Again she worked up craftily to another and stronger climax, though she +felt all the time that La Flitche fathomed her. + +"You say it was very dark, Mr. La Flitche?" + +"Ah, oui; quite dark." + +"How dark? How did you know it was John you met?" + +"John make much noise when he run. I know that kind of noise." + +"Could you see him so as to know that it was he?" + +"Ah, no." + +"Then, Mr. La Flitche," she demanded, triumphantly, "will you please +state how you knew there was blood on the hands of Mr. St. Vincent?" + +His lip lifted in a dazzling smile, and he paused a moment. "How? I +feel it warm on his hands. And my nose--ah, the smoke of the hunter +camp long way off, the hole where the rabbit hide, the track of the +moose which has gone before, does not my nose tell me?" He flung his +head back, and with tense face, eyes closed, nostrils quivering and +dilated, he simulated the quiescence of all the senses save one and the +concentration of his whole being upon that one. Then his eyes +fluttered partly open and he regarded her dreamily. "I smell the blood +on his hands, the warm blood, the hot blood on his hands." + +"And by gad he can do it!" some man exclaimed. + +And so convinced was Frona that she glanced involuntarily at St. +Vincent's hands, and saw there the rusty-brown stains on the cuffs of +his flannel shirt. + +As La Flitche left the stand, Bill Brown came over to her and shook +hands. "No more than proper I should know the lawyer for the defence," +he said, good-naturedly, running over his notes for the next witness. + +"But don't you think it is rather unfair to me?" she asked, brightly. +"I have not had time to prepare my case. I know nothing about it +except what I have gleaned from your two witnesses. Don't you think, +Mr. Brown," her voice rippling along in persuasive little notes, "don't +you think it would be advisable to adjourn the meeting until to-morrow?" + +"Hum," he deliberated, looking at his watch. + +"Wouldn't be a bad idea. It's five o'clock, anyway, and the men ought +to be cooking their suppers." + +She thanked him, as some women can, without speech; yet, as he looked +down into her face and eyes, he experienced a subtler and greater +satisfaction than if she had spoken. + +He stepped to his old position and addressed the room. "On +consultation of the defence and the prosecution, and upon consideration +of the lateness of the hour and the impossibility of finishing the +trial within a reasonable limit, I--hum--I take the liberty of moving +an adjournment until eight o'clock to-morrow morning." + +"The ayes have it," the chairman proclaimed, coming down from his place +and proceeding to build the fire, for he was a part-owner of the cabin +and cook for his crowd. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +Frona turned to St. Vincent as the last of the crowd filed out. He +clutched her hands spasmodically, like a drowning man. + +"Do believe me, Frona. Promise me." + +Her face flushed. "You are excited," she said, "or you would not say +such things. Not that I blame you," she relented. "I hardly imagine +the situation can be anything else but exciting." + +"Yes, and well I know it," he answered, bitterly. "I am acting like a +fool, and I can't help it. The strain has been terrible. And as +though the horror of Borg's end were not enough, to be considered the +murderer, and haled up for mob justice! Forgive me, Frona. I am +beside myself. Of course, I know that you will believe me." + +"Then tell me, Gregory." + +"In the first place, the woman, Bella, lied. She must have been crazed +to make that dying statement when I fought as I did for her and Borg. +That is the only explanation--" + +"Begin at the beginning," she interrupted. "Remember, I know nothing." + +He settled himself more comfortably on the stool, and rolled a +cigarette as he took up the history of the previous night. + +"It must have been about one in the morning when I was awakened by the +lighting of the slush-lamp. I thought it was Borg; wondered what he +was prowling about for, and was on the verge of dropping off to sleep, +when, though I do not know what prompted me, I opened my eyes. Two +strange men were in the cabin. Both wore masks and fur caps with the +flaps pulled down, so that I could see nothing of their faces save the +glistening of the eyes through the eye-slits. + +"I had no first thought, unless it was that danger threatened. I lay +quietly for a second and deliberated. Borg had borrowed my pistol, and +I was actually unarmed. My rifle was by the door. I decided to make a +rush for it. But no sooner had I struck the floor than one of the men +turned on me, at the same time firing his revolver. That was the first +shot, and the one La Flitche did not hear. It was in the struggle +afterwards that the door was burst open, which enabled him to hear the +last three. + +"Well; I was so close to the man, and my leap out of the bunk was so +unexpected, that he missed me. The next moment we grappled and rolled +on the floor. Of course, Borg was aroused, and the second man turned +his attention to him and Bella. It was this second man who did the +killing, for my man, naturally, had his hands full. You heard the +testimony. From the way the cabin was wrecked, you can picture the +struggle. We rolled and tossed about and fought till stools, table, +shelves--everything was smashed. + +"Oh, Frona, it was terrible! Borg fighting for life, Bella helping +him, though wounded and groaning, and I unable to aid. But finally, in +a very short while, I began to conquer the man with whom I was +struggling. I had got him down on his back, pinioned his arms with my +knees, and was slowly throttling him, when the other man finished his +work and turned on me also. What could I do? Two to one, and winded! +So I was thrown into the corner, and they made their escape. I confess +that I must have been badly rattled by that time, for as soon as I +caught my breath I took out after them, and without a weapon. Then I +collided with La Flitche and John, and--and you know the rest. Only," +he knit his brows in puzzlement, "only, I cannot understand why Bella +should accuse me." + +He looked at her appealingly, and, though she pressed his hand +sympathetically, she remained silent, weighing pro and con what she had +heard. + +She shook her head slowly. "It's a bad case, and the thing is to +convince them--" + +"But, my God, Frona, I am innocent! I have not been a saint, perhaps, +but my hands are clean from blood." + +"But remember, Gregory," she said, gently, "I am not to judge you. +Unhappily, it rests with the men of this miners' meeting, and the +problem is: how are they to be convinced of your innocence? The two +main points are against you,--Bella's dying words and the blood on your +sleeve." + +"The place was areek with blood," St. Vincent cried passionately, +springing to his feet. "I tell you it was areek! How could I avoid +floundering in it, fighting as I was for life? Can you not take my +word--" + +"There, there, Gregory. Sit down. You are truly beside yourself. If +your case rested with me, you know you would go free and clean. But +these men,--you know what mob rule is,--how are we to persuade them to +let you go? Don't you see? You have no witnesses. A dying woman's +words are more sacred than a living man's. Can you show cause for the +woman to die with a lie on her lips? Had she any reason to hate you? +Had you done her or her husband an injury?" + +He shook his head. + +"Certainly, to us the thing is inexplicable; but the miners need no +explanation. To them it is obvious. It rests with us to disprove the +obvious. Can we do it?" + +The correspondent sank down despondently, with a collapsing of the +chest and a drooping forward of the shoulders. "Then am I indeed lost." + +"No, it's not so bad as that. You shall not be hanged. Trust me for +that." + +"But what can you do?" he asked, despairingly. "They have usurped the +law, have made themselves the law." + +"In the first place, the river has broken. That means everything. The +Governor and the territorial judges may be expected in at any moment +with a detachment of police at their backs. And they're certain to +stop here. And, furthermore, we may be able to do something ourselves. +The river is open, and if it comes to the worst, escape would be +another way out; and escape is the last thing they would dream of." + +"No, no; impossible. What are you and I against the many?" + +"But there's my father and Baron Courbertin. Four determined people, +acting together, may perform miracles, Gregory, dear. Trust me, it +shall come out well." + +She kissed him and ran her hand through his hair, but the worried look +did not depart. + +Jacob Welse crossed over the back-channel long before dark, and with +him came Del, the baron, and Corliss. While Frona retired to change +her clothes in one of the smaller cabins, which the masculine owners +readily turned over to her, her father saw to the welfare of the +mail-carrier. The despatches were of serious import, so serious that +long after Jacob Welse had read and re-read them his face was dark and +clouded; but he put the anxiety from him when he returned to Frona. +St. Vincent, who was confined in an adjoining cabin, was permitted to +see them. + +"It looks bad," Jacob Welse said, on parting for the night. "But rest +assured, St. Vincent, bad or not, you'll not be stretched up so long as +I've a hand to play in the rumpus. I am certain you did not kill Borg, +and there's my fist on it." + +"A long day," Corliss remarked, as he walked back with Frona to her +cabin. + +"And a longer to-morrow," she answered, wearily. "And I'm so sleepy." + +"You're a brave little woman, and I'm proud of you." It was ten +o'clock, and he looked out through the dim twilight to the ghostly ice +drifting steadily by. "And in this trouble," he went on, "depend upon +me in any way." + +"In any way?" she queried, with a catch in her voice. + +"If I were a hero of the melodrama I'd say; 'To the death!' but as I'm +not; I'll just repeat, in any way." + +"You are good to me, Vance. I can never repay--" + +"Tut! tut! I do not put myself on sale. Love is service, I believe." + +She looked at him for a long time, but while her face betrayed soft +wonder, at heart she was troubled, she knew not why, and the events of +the day, and of all the days since she had known him, came fluttering +through her mind. + +"Do you believe in a white friendship?" she asked at last. "For I do +hope that such a bond may hold us always. A bright, white friendship, +a comradeship, as it were?" And as she asked, she was aware that the +phrase did not quite express what she felt and would desire. And when +he shook his head, she experienced a glad little inexplicable thrill. + +"A comradeship?" he questioned. "When you know I love you?" + +"Yes," she affirmed in a low voice. + +"I am afraid, after all, that your knowledge of man is very limited. +Believe me, we are not made of such clay. A comradeship? A coming in +out of the cold to sit by your fire? Good. But a coming in when +another man sits with you by your fire? No. Comradeship would demand +that I delight in your delights, and yet, do you think for a moment +that I could see you with another man's child in your arms, a child +which might have been mine; with that other man looking out at me +through the child's eyes, laughing at me through its mouth? I say, do +you think I could delight in your delights? No, no; love cannot +shackle itself with white friendships." + +She put her hand on his arm. + +"Do you think I am wrong?" he asked, bewildered by the strange look in +her face. + +She was sobbing quietly. + +"You are tired and overwrought. So there, good-night. You must get to +bed." + +"No, don't go, not yet." And she arrested him. "No, no; I am foolish. +As you say, I am tired. But listen, Vance. There is much to be done. +We must plan to-morrow's work. Come inside. Father and Baron +Courbertin are together, and if the worst comes, we four must do big +things." + +"Spectacular," Jacob Welse commented, when Frona had briefly outlined +the course of action and assigned them their parts. "But its very +unexpectedness ought to carry it through." + +"A _coup d'etat_!" was the Baron's verdict. "Magnificent! Ah! I feel +warm all over at the thought. 'Hands up!' I cry, thus, and very fierce. + +"And if they do not hold up their hands?" he appealed to Jacob Welse. + +"Then shoot. Never bluff when you're behind a gun, Courbertin. It's +held by good authorities to be unhealthy." + +"And you are to take charge of La Bijou, Vance," Frona said. "Father +thinks there will be little ice to-morrow if it doesn't jam to-night. +All you've to do is to have the canoe by the bank just before the door. +Of course, you won't know what is happening until St. Vincent comes +running. Then in with him, and away you go--Dawson! So I'll say +good-night and good-by now, for I may not have the opportunity in the +morning." + +"And keep the left-hand channel till you're past the bend," Jacob Welse +counselled him; "then take the cut-offs to the right and follow the +swiftest water. Now off with you and into your blankets. It's seventy +miles to Dawson, and you'll have to make it at one clip." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +Jacob Welse was given due respect when he arose at the convening of the +miners' meeting and denounced the proceedings. While such meetings had +performed a legitimate function in the past, he contended, when there +was no law in the land, that time was now beyond recall; for law was +now established, and it was just law. The Queen's government had shown +itself fit to cope with the situation, and for them to usurp its powers +was to step backward into the night out of which they had come. +Further, no lighter word than "criminal" could characterize such +conduct. And yet further, he promised them, in set, sober terms, if +anything serious were the outcome, to take an active part in the +prosecution of every one of them. At the conclusion of his speech he +made a motion to hold the prisoner for the territorial court and to +adjourn, but was voted down without discussion. + +"Don't you see," St. Vincent said to Frona, "there is no hope?" + +"But there is. Listen!" And she swiftly outlined the plot of the +night before. + +He followed her in a half-hearted way, too crushed to partake of her +enthusiasm. "It's madness to attempt it," he objected, when she had +done. + +"And it looks very much like hanging not to attempt it," she answered a +little spiritedly. "Surely you will make a fight?" + +"Surely," he replied, hollowly. + +The first witnesses were two Swedes, who told of the wash-tub incident, +when Borg had given way to one of his fits of anger. Trivial as the +incident was, in the light of subsequent events it at once became +serious. It opened the way for the imagination into a vast familiar +field. It was not so much what was said as what was left unsaid. Men +born of women, the rudest of them, knew life well enough to be aware of +its significance,--a vulgar common happening, capable of but one +interpretation. Heads were wagged knowingly in the course of the +testimony, and whispered comments went the rounds. + +Half a dozen witnesses followed in rapid succession, all of whom had +closely examined the scene of the crime and gone over the island +carefully, and all of whom were agreed that there was not the slightest +trace to be found of the two men mentioned by the prisoner in his +preliminary statement. + +To Frona's surprise, Del Bishop went upon the stand. She knew he +disliked St. Vincent, but could not imagine any evidence he could +possess which would bear upon the case. + +Being sworn, and age and nationality ascertained, Bill Brown asked him +his business. + +"Pocket-miner," he challenged back, sweeping the assemblage with an +aggressive glance. + +Now, it happens that a very small class of men follow pocketing, and +that a very large class of men, miners, too, disbelieve utterly in any +such method or obtaining gold. + +"Pocket-miner!" sneered a red-shirted, patriarchal-looking man, a man +who had washed his first pan in the Californian diggings in the early +fifties. + +"Yep," Del affirmed. + +"Now, look here, young feller," his interlocutor continued, "d'ye mean +to tell me you ever struck it in such-fangled way?" + +"Yep." + +"Don't believe it," with a contemptuous shrug. + +Del swallowed fast and raised his head with a jerk. "Mr. Chairman, I +rise to make a statement. I won't interfere with the dignity of the +court, but I just wish to simply and distinctly state that after the +meeting's over I'm going to punch the head of every man that gets gay. +Understand?" + +"You're out of order," the chairman replied, rapping the table with the +caulking-mallet. + +"And your head, too," Del cried, turning upon him. "Damn poor order +you preserve. Pocketing's got nothing to do with this here trial, and +why don't you shut such fool questions out? I'll take care of you +afterwards, you potwolloper!" + +"You will, will you?" The chairman grew red in the face, dropped the +mallet, and sprang to his feet. + +Del stepped forward to meet him, but Bill Brown sprang in between and +held them apart. + +"Order, gentlemen, order," he begged. "This is no time for unseemly +exhibitions. And remember there are ladies present." + +The two men grunted and subsided, and Bill Brown asked, "Mr. Bishop, we +understand that you are well acquainted with the prisoner. Will you +please tell the court what you know of his general character?" + +Del broadened into a smile. "Well, in the first place, he's an +extremely quarrelsome disposition--" + +"Hold! I won't have it!" The prisoner was on his feet, trembling with +anger. "You shall not swear my life away in such fashion! To bring a +madman, whom I have only met once in my life, to testify as to my +character!" + +The pocket-miner turned to him. "So you don't know me, eh, Gregory St. +Vincent?" + +"No," St. Vincent replied, coldly, "I do not know you, my man." + +"Don't you man me!" Del shouted, hotly. + +But St. Vincent ignored him, turning to the crowd. + +"I never saw the fellow but once before, and then for a few brief +moments in Dawson." + +"You'll remember before I'm done," Del sneered; "so hold your hush and +let me say my little say. I come into the country with him way back in +'84." + +St. Vincent regarded him with sudden interest. + +"Yep, Mr. Gregory St. Vincent. I see you begin to recollect. I +sported whiskers and my name was Brown, Joe Brown, in them days." + +He grinned vindictively, and the correspondent seemed to lose all +interest. + +"Is it true, Gregory?" Frona whispered. + +"I begin to recognize," he muttered, slowly. "I don't know . . . no, +folly! The man must have died." + +"You say in '84, Mr. Bishop?" Bill Brown prompted. + +"Yep, in '84. He was a newspaper-man, bound round the world by way of +Alaska and Siberia. I'd run away from a whaler at Sitka,--that squares +it with Brown,--and I engaged with him for forty a month and found. +Well, he quarrelled with me--" + +A snicker, beginning from nowhere in particular, but passing on from +man to man and swelling in volume, greeted this statement. Even Frona +and Del himself were forced to smile, and the only sober face was the +prisoner's. + +"But he quarrelled with Old Andy at Dyea, and with Chief George of the +Chilcoots, and the Factor at Pelly, and so on down the line. He got us +into no end of trouble, and 'specially woman-trouble. He was always +monkeying around--" + +"Mr. Chairman, I object." Frona stood up, her face quite calm and +blood under control. "There is no necessity for bringing in the amours +of Mr. St. Vincent. They have no bearing whatsoever upon the case; +and, further, none of the men of this meeting are clean enough to be +prompted by the right motive in conducting such an inquiry. So I +demand that the prosecution at least confine itself to relevant +testimony." + +Bill Brown came up smugly complacent and smiling. "Mr. Chairman, we +willingly accede to the request made by the defence. Whatever we have +brought out has been relevant and material. Whatever we intend to +bring out shall be relevant and material. Mr. Bishop is our star +witness, and his testimony is to the point. It must be taken into +consideration that we nave no direct evidence as to the murder of John +Borg. We can bring no eye-witnesses into court. Whatever we have is +circumstantial. It is incumbent upon us to show cause. To show cause +it is necessary to go into the character of the accused. This we +intend to do. We intend to show his adulterous and lustful nature, +which has culminated in a dastardly deed and jeopardized his neck. We +intend to show that the truth is not in him; that he is a liar beyond +price; that no word he may speak upon the stand need be accepted by a +jury of his peers. We intend to show all this, and to weave it +together, thread by thread, till we have a rope long enough and strong +enough to hang him with before the day is done. So I respectfully +submit, Mr. Chairman, that the witness be allowed to proceed." + +The chairman decided against Frona, and her appeal to the meeting was +voted down. Bill Brown nodded to Del to resume. + +"As I was saying, he got us into no end of trouble. Now, I've been +mixed up with water all my life,--never can get away from it, it +seems,--and the more I'm mixed the less I know about it. St. Vincent +knew this, too, and him a clever hand at the paddle; yet he left me to +run the Box Canyon alone while he walked around. Result: I was turned +over, lost half the outfit and all the tobacco, and then he put the +blame on me besides. Right after that he got tangled up with the Lake +Le Barge Sticks, and both of us came near croaking." + +"And why was that?" Bill Brown interjected. + +"All along of a pretty squaw that looked too kindly at him. After we +got clear, I lectured him on women in general and squaws in particular, +and he promised to behave. Then we had a hot time with the Little +Salmons. He was cuter this time, and I didn't know for keeps, but I +guessed. He said it was the medicine man who got horstile; but +nothing'll stir up a medicine man quicker'n women, and the facts +pointed that way. When I talked it over with him in a fatherly way he +got wrathy, and I had to take him out on the bank and give him a +threshing. Then he got sulky, and didn't brighten up till we ran into +the mouth of the Reindeer River, where a camp of Siwashes were fishing +salmon. But he had it in for me all the time, only I didn't know +it,--was ready any time to give me the double cross. + +"Now, there's no denying he's got a taking way with women. All he has +to do is to whistle 'em up like dogs. Most remarkable faculty, that. +There was the wickedest, prettiest squaw among the Reindeers. Never +saw her beat, excepting Bella. Well, I guess he whistled her up, for +he delayed in the camp longer than was necessary. Being partial to +women--" + +"That will do, Mr. Bishop," interrupted the chairman, who, from +profitless watching of Frona's immobile face, had turned to her hand, +the nervous twitching and clinching of which revealed what her face had +hidden. "That will do, Mr. Bishop. I think we have had enough of +squaws." + +"Pray do not temper the testimony," Frona chirruped, sweetly. "It +seems very important." + +"Do you know what I am going to say next?" Del demanded hotly of the +chairman. "You don't, eh? Then shut up. I'm running this particular +sideshow." + +Bill Brown sprang in to avert hostilities, but the chairman restrained +himself, and Bishop went on. + +"I'd been done with the whole shooting-match, squaws and all, if you +hadn't broke me off. Well, as I said, he had it in for me, and the +first thing I didn't know, he'd hit me on the head with a rifle-stock, +bundled the squaw into the canoe, and pulled out. You all know what +the Yukon country was in '84. And there I was, without an outfit, left +alone, a thousand miles from anywhere. I got out all right, though +there's no need of telling how, and so did he. You've all heard of his +adventures in Siberia. Well," with an impressive pause, "I happen to +know a thing or two myself." + +He shoved a hand into the big pocket of his mackinaw jacket and pulled +out a dingy leather-bound volume of venerable appearance. + +"I got this from Pete Whipple's old woman,--Whipple of Eldorado. It +concerns her grand-uncle or great-grand-uncle, I don't know which; and +if there's anybody here can read Russian, why, it'll go into the +details of that Siberian trip. But as there's no one here that can--" + +"Courbertin! He can read it!" some one called in the crowd. + +A way was made for the Frenchman forthwith, and he was pushed and +shoved, protestingly, to the front. + +"Savve the lingo?" Del demanded. + +"Yes; but so poorly, so miserable," Courbertin demurred. "It is a long +time. I forget." + +"Go ahead. We won't criticise." + +"No, but--" + +"Go ahead!" the chairman commanded. + +Del thrust the book into his hands, opened at the yellow title-page. +"I've been itching to get my paws on some buck like you for months and +months," he assured him, gleefully. "And now I've got you, you can't +shake me, Charley. So fire away." + +Courbertin began hesitatingly: "'_The Journal of Father Yakontsk, +Comprising an Account in Brief of his Life in the Benedictine Monastery +at Obidorsky, and in Full of his Marvellous Adventures in East Siberia +among the Deer Men_.'" + +The baron looked up for instructions. + +"Tell us when it was printed," Del ordered him. + +"In Warsaw, 1807." + +The pocket-miner turned triumphantly to the room. "Did you hear that? +Just keep track of it. 1807, remember!" + +The baron took up the opening paragraph. "'_It was because of +Tamerlane_,'" he commenced, unconsciously putting his translation into +a construction with which he was already familiar. + +At his first words Frona turned white, and she remained white +throughout the reading. Once she stole a glance at her father, and was +glad that he was looking straight before him, for she did not feel able +to meet his gaze just them. On the other hand, though she knew St. +Vincent was eying her narrowly, she took no notice of him, and all he +could see was a white face devoid of expression. + +"'_When Tamerlane swept with fire and sword over Eastern Asia_,'" +Courbertin read slowly, "'_states were disrupted, cities overthrown, +and tribes scattered like--like star-dust. A vast people was hurled +broadcast over the land. Fleeing before the conquerors_,'--no, +no,--'_before the mad lust of the conquerors, these refugees swung far +into Siberia, circling, circling to the north and east and fringing the +rim of the polar basin with a spray of Mongol tribes_.'" + +"Skip a few pages," Bill Brown advised, "and read here and there. We +haven't got all night." + +Courbertin complied. "'_The coast people are Eskimo stock, merry of +nature and not offensive. They call themselves the Oukilion, or the +Sea Men. From them I bought dogs and food. But they are subject to +the Chow Chuen, who live in the interior and are known as the Deer Men. +The Chow Chuen are a fierce and savage race. When I left the coast +they fell upon me, took from me my goods, and made me a slave_.'" He +ran over a few pages. "'_I worked my way to a seat among the head men, +but I was no nearer my freedom. My wisdom was of too great value to +them for me to depart. . . Old Pi-Une was a great chief, and it was +decreed that I should marry his daughter Ilswunga. Ilswunga was a +filthy creature. She would not bathe, and her ways were not good . . . +I did marry Ilswunga, but she was a wife to me only in name. Then did +she complain to her father, the old Pi-Une, and he was very wroth. And +dissension was sown among the tribes; but in the end I became mightier +than ever, what of my cunning and resource; and Ilswunga made no more +complaint, for I taught her games with cards which she might play by +herself, and other things_.'" + +"Is that enough?" Courbertin asked. + +"Yes, that will do," Bill Brown answered. "But one moment. Please +state again the date of publication." + +"1807, in Warsaw." + +"Hold on, baron," Del Bishop spoke up. "Now that you're on the stand, +I've got a question or so to slap into you." He turned to the +court-room. "Gentlemen, you've all heard somewhat of the prisoner's +experiences in Siberia. You've caught on to the remarkable sameness +between them and those published by Father Yakontsk nearly a hundred +years ago. And you have concluded that there's been some wholesale +cribbing somewhere. I propose to show you that it's more than +cribbing. The prisoner gave me the shake on the Reindeer River in '88. +Fall of '88 he was at St. Michael's on his way to Siberia. '89 and '90 +he was, by his talk, cutting up antics in Siberia. '91 he come back to +the world, working the conquering-hero graft in 'Frisco. Now let's see +if the Frenchman can make us wise. + +"You were in Japan?" he asked. + +Courbertin, who had followed the dates, made a quick calculation, and +could but illy conceal his surprise. He looked appealingly to Frona, +but she did not help him. "Yes," he said, finally. + +"And you met the prisoner there?" + +"Yes." + +"What year was it?" + +There was a general craning forward to catch the answer. + +"1889," and it came unwillingly. + +"Now, how can that be, baron?" Del asked in a wheedling tone. "The +prisoner was in Siberia at that time." + +Courbertin shrugged his shoulders that it was no concern of his, and +came off the stand. An impromptu recess was taken by the court-room +for several minutes, wherein there was much whispering and shaking of +heads. + +"It is all a lie." St. Vincent leaned close to Frona's ear, but she +did not hear. + +"Appearances are against me, but I can explain it all." + +But she did not move a muscle, and he was called to the stand by the +chairman. She turned to her father, and the tears rushed up into her +eyes when he rested his hand on hers. + +"Do you care to pull out?" he asked after a momentary hesitation. + +She shook her head, and St. Vincent began to speak. It was the same +story he had told her, though told now a little more fully, and in +nowise did it conflict with the evidence of La Flitche and John. He +acknowledged the wash-tub incident, caused, he explained, by an act of +simple courtesy on his part and by John Borg's unreasoning anger. He +acknowledged that Bella had been killed by his own pistol, but stated +that the pistol had been borrowed by Borg several days previously and +not returned. Concerning Bella's accusation he could say nothing. He +could not see why she should die with a lie on her lips. He had never +in the slightest way incurred her displeasure, so even revenge could +not be advanced. It was inexplicable. As for the testimony of Bishop, +he did not care to discuss it. It was a tissue of falsehood cunningly +interwoven with truth. It was true the man had gone into Alaska with +him in 1888, but his version of the things which happened there was +maliciously untrue. Regarding the baron, there was a slight mistake in +the dates, that was all. + +In questioning him. Bill Brown brought out one little surprise. From +the prisoner's story, he had made a hard fight against the two +mysterious men. "If," Brown asked, "such were the case, how can you +explain away the fact that you came out of the struggle unmarked? On +examination of the body of John Borg, many bruises and contusions were +noticeable. How is it, if you put up such a stiff fight, that you +escaped being battered?" + +St. Vincent did not know, though he confessed to feeling stiff and sore +all over. And it did not matter, anyway. He had killed neither Borg +nor his wife, that much he did know. + +Frona prefaced her argument to the meeting with a pithy discourse on +the sacredness of human life, the weaknesses and dangers of +circumstantial evidence, and the rights of the accused wherever doubt +arose. Then she plunged into the evidence, stripping off the +superfluous and striving to confine herself to facts. In the first +place, she denied that a motive for the deed had been shown. As it +was, the introduction of such evidence was an insult to their +intelligence, and she had sufficient faith in their manhood and +perspicacity to know that such puerility would not sway them in the +verdict they were to give. + +And, on the other hand, in dealing with the particular points at issue, +she denied that any intimacy had been shown to have existed between +Bella and St. Vincent; and she denied, further, that it had been shown +that any intimacy had been attempted on the part of St. Vincent. +Viewed honestly, the wash-tub incident--the only evidence brought +forward--was a laughable little affair, portraying how the simple +courtesy of a gentleman might be misunderstood by a mad boor of a +husband. She left it to their common sense; they were not fools. + +They had striven to prove the prisoner bad-tempered. She did not need +to prove anything of the sort concerning John Borg. They all knew his +terrible fits of anger; they all knew that his temper was proverbial in +the community; that it had prevented him having friends and had made +him many enemies. Was it not very probable, therefore, that the masked +men were two such enemies? As to what particular motive actuated these +two men, she could not say; but it rested with them, the judges, to +know whether in all Alaska there were or were not two men whom John +Borg could have given cause sufficient for them to take his life. + +Witness had testified that no traces had been found of these two men; +but the witness had not testified that no traces had been found of St. +Vincent, Pierre La Flitche, or John the Swede. And there was no need +for them so to testify. Everybody knew that no foot-marks were left +when St. Vincent ran up the trail, and when he came back with La +Flitche and the other man. Everybody knew the condition of the trail, +that it was a hard-packed groove in the ground, on which a soft +moccasin could leave no impression; and that had the ice not gone down +the river, no traces would have been left by the murderers in passing +from and to the mainland. + +At this juncture La Flitche nodded his head in approbation, and she +went on. + +Capital had been made out of the blood on St. Vincent's hands. If they +chose to examine the moccasins at that moment on the feet of Mr. La +Flitche, they would also find blood. That did not argue that Mr. La +Flitche had been a party to the shedding of the blood. + +Mr. Brown had drawn attention to the fact that the prisoner had not +been bruised or marked in the savage encounter which had taken place. +She thanked him for having done so. John Borg's body showed that it +had been roughly used. He was a larger, stronger, heavier man than St. +Vincent. If, as charged, St. Vincent had committed the murder, and +necessarily, therefore, engaged in a struggle severe enough to bruise +John Borg, how was it that he had come out unharmed? That was a point +worthy of consideration. + +Another one was, why did he run down the trail? It was inconceivable, +if he had committed the murder, that he should, without dressing or +preparation for escape, run towards the other cabins. It was, however, +easily conceivable that he should take up the pursuit of the real +murderers, and in the darkness--exhausted, breathless, and certainly +somewhat excited--run blindly down the trail. + +Her summing up was a strong piece of synthesis; and when she had done, +the meeting applauded her roundly. But she was angry and hurt, for she +knew the demonstration was for her sex rather than for her cause and +the work she had done. + +Bill Brown, somewhat of a shyster, and his ear ever cocked to the +crowd, was not above taking advantage when opportunity offered, and +when it did not offer, to dogmatize artfully. In this his native humor +was a strong factor, and when he had finished with the mysterious +masked men they were as exploded sun-myths,--which phrase he promptly +applied to them. + +They could not have got off the island. The condition of the ice for +the three or four hours preceding the break-up would not have permitted +it. The prisoner had implicated none of the residents of the island, +while every one of them, with the exception of the prisoner, had been +accounted for elsewhere. Possibly the prisoner was excited when he ran +down the trail into the arms of La Flitche and John the Swede. One +should have thought, however, that he had grown used to such things in +Siberia. But that was immaterial; the facts were that he was +undoubtedly in an abnormal state of excitement, that he was +hysterically excited, and that a murderer under such circumstances +would take little account of where he ran. Such things had happened +before. Many a man had butted into his own retribution. + +In the matter of the relations of Borg, Bella, and St. Vincent, he made +a strong appeal to the instinctive prejudices of his listeners, and for +the time being abandoned matter-of-fact reasoning for all-potent +sentimental platitudes. He granted that circumstantial evidence never +proved anything absolutely. It was not necessary it should. Beyond +the shadow of a reasonable doubt was all that was required. That this +had been done, he went on to review the testimony. + +"And, finally," he said, "you can't get around Bella's last words. We +know nothing of our own direct knowledge. We've been feeling around in +the dark, clutching at little things, and trying to figure it all out. +But, gentlemen," he paused to search the faces of his listeners, "Bella +knew the truth. Hers is no circumstantial evidence. With quick, +anguished breath, and life-blood ebbing from her, and eyeballs glazing, +she spoke the truth. With dark night coming on, and the death-rattle +in her throat, she raised herself weakly and pointed a shaking finger +at the accused, thus, and she said, 'Him, him, him. St. Vincha, him do +it.'" + +With Bill Brown's finger still boring into him, St. Vincent struggled +to his feet. His face looked old and gray, and he looked about him +speechlessly. "Funk! Funk!" was whispered back and forth, and not so +softly but what he heard. He moistened his lips repeatedly, and his +tongue fought for articulation. "It is as I have said," he succeeded, +finally. "I did not do it. Before God, I did not do it!" He stared +fixedly at John the Swede, waiting the while on his laggard thought. +"I . . . I did not do it . . . I did not . . . I . . . I did not." + +He seemed to have become lost in some supreme meditation wherein John +the Swede figured largely, and as Frona caught him by the hand and +pulled him gently down, some man cried out, "Secret ballot!" + +But Bill Brown was on his feet at once. "No! I say no! An open +ballot! We are men, and as men are not afraid to put ourselves on +record." + +A chorus of approval greeted him, and the open ballot began. Man after +man, called upon by name, spoke the one word, "Guilty." + +Baron Courbertin came forward and whispered to Frona. She nodded her +head and smiled, and he edged his way back, taking up a position by the +door. He voted "Not guilty" when his turn came, as did Frona and Jacob +Welse. Pierre La Flitche wavered a moment, looking keenly at Frona and +St. Vincent, then spoke up, clear and flute-like, "Guilty." + +As the chairman arose, Jacob Welse casually walked over to the opposite +side of the table and stood with his back to the stove. Courbertin, +who had missed nothing, pulled a pickle-keg out from the wall and +stepped upon it. + +The chairman cleared his throat and rapped for order. "Gentlemen," he +announced, "the prisoner--" + +"Hands up!" Jacob Welse commanded peremptorily, and a fraction of a +second after him came the shrill "Hands up, gentlemen!" of Courbertin. + +Front and rear they commanded the crowd with their revolvers. Every +hand was in the air, the chairman's having gone up still grasping the +mallet. There was no disturbance. Each stood or sat in the same +posture as when the command went forth. Their eyes, playing here and +there among the central figures, always returned to Jacob Welse. + +St. Vincent sat as one dumfounded. Frona thrust a revolver into his +hand, but his limp fingers refused to close on it. + +"Come, Gregory," she entreated. "Quick! Corliss is waiting with the +canoe. Come!" + +She shook him, and he managed to grip the weapon. Then she pulled and +tugged, as when awakening a heavy sleeper, till he was on his feet. +But his face was livid, his eyes like a somnambulist's, and he was +afflicted as with a palsy. Still holding him, she took a step backward +for him to come on. He ventured it with a shaking knee. There was no +sound save the heavy breathing of many men. A man coughed slightly and +cleared his throat. It was disquieting, and all eyes centred upon him +rebukingly. The man became embarrassed, and shifted his weight +uneasily to the other leg. Then the heavy breathing settled down again. + +St. Vincent took another step, but his fingers relaxed and the revolver +fell with a loud noise to the floor. He made no effort to recover it. +Frona stooped hurriedly, but Pierre La Flitche had set his foot upon +it. She looked up and saw his hands above his head and his eyes fixed +absently on Jacob Welse. She pushed at his leg, and the muscles were +tense and hard, giving the lie to the indifference on his face. St. +Vincent looked down helplessly, as though he could not understand. + +But this delay drew the attention of Jacob Welse, and, as he tried to +make out the cause, the chairman found his chance. Without crooking, +his right arm swept out and down, the heavy caulking-mallet leaping +from his hand. It spanned the short distance and smote Jacob Welse +below the ear. His revolver went off as he fell, and John the Swede +grunted and clapped a hand to his thigh. + +Simultaneous with this the baron was overcome. Del Bishop, with hands +still above his head and eyes fixed innocently before him, had simply +kicked the pickle-keg out from under the Frenchman and brought him to +the floor. His bullet, however, sped harmlessly through the roof. La +Flitche seized Frona in his arms. St. Vincent, suddenly awakening, +sprang for the door, but was tripped up by the breed's ready foot. + +The chairman pounded the table with his fist and concluded his broken +sentence, "Gentlemen, the prisoner is found guilty as charged." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +Frona had gone at once to her father's side, but he was already +recovering. Courbertin was brought forward with a scratched face, +sprained wrist, and an insubordinate tongue. To prevent discussion and +to save time, Bill Brown claimed the floor. + +"Mr. Chairman, while we condemn the attempt on the part of Jacob Welse, +Frona Welse, and Baron Courbertin to rescue the prisoner and thwart +justice, we cannot, under the circumstances, but sympathize with them. +There is no need that I should go further into this matter. You all +know, and doubtless, under a like situation, would have done the same. +And so, in order that we may expeditiously finish the business, I make +a motion to disarm the three prisoners and let them go." + +The motion was carried, and the two men searched for weapons. Frona +was saved this by giving her word that she was no longer armed. The +meeting then resolved itself into a hanging committee, and began to +file out of the cabin. + +"Sorry I had to do it," the chairman said, half-apologetically, +half-defiantly. + +Jacob Welse smiled. "You took your chance," he answered, "and I can't +blame you. I only wish I'd got you, though." + +Excited voices arose from across the cabin. "Here, you! Leggo!" "Step +on his fingers, Tim!" "Break that grip!" "Ouch! Ow!" "Pry his mouth +open!" + +Frona saw a knot of struggling men about St. Vincent, and ran over. He +had thrown himself down on the floor and, tooth and nail, was fighting +like a madman. Tim Dugan, a stalwart Celt, had come to close quarters +with him, and St. Vincent's teeth were sunk in the man's arm. + +"Smash 'm, Tim! Smash 'm!" + +"How can I, ye fule? Get a pry on his mouth, will ye?" + +"One moment, please." The men made way for her, drawing back and +leaving St. Vincent and Tim. + +Frona knelt down by him. "Leave go, Gregory. Do leave go." + +He looked up at her, and his eyes did not seem human. He breathed +stertorously, and in his throat were the queer little gasping noises of +one overwrought. + +"It is I, Gregory." She brushed her hand soothingly across his brow. +"Don't you understand? It is I, Frona. Do leave go." + +His whole body slowly relaxed, and a peaceful expression grew upon his +face. His jaw dropped, and the man's arm was withdrawn. + +"Now listen, Gregory. Though you are to die--" + +"But I cannot! I cannot!" he groaned. "You said that I could trust to +you, that all would come well." + +She thought of the chance which had been given, but said nothing. + +"Oh, Frona! Frona!" He sobbed and buried his face in her lap. + +"At least you can be a man. It is all that remains." + +"Come on!" Tim Dugan commanded. "Sorry to bother ye, miss, but we've +got to fetch 'm along. Drag 'm out, you fellys! Catch 'm by the legs, +Blackey, and you, too, Johnson." + +St. Vincent's body stiffened at the words, the rational gleam went out +of his eyes, and his fingers closed spasmodically on Frona's. She +looked entreaty at the men, and they hesitated. + +"Give me a minute with him," she begged, "just a minute." + +"He ain't worth it," Dugan sneered, after they had drawn apart. "Look +at 'm." + +"It's a damned shame," corroborated Blackey, squinting sidewise at +Frona whispering in St. Vincent's ear, the while her hand wandered +caressingly through his hair. + +What she said they did not hear, but she got him on his feet and led +him forward. He walked as a dead man might walk, and when he entered +the open air gazed forth wonderingly upon the muddy sweep of the Yukon. +The crowd had formed by the bank, about a pine tree. A boy, engaged in +running a rope over one of the branches, finished his task and slid +down the trunk to the ground. He looked quickly at the palms of his +hands and blew upon them, and a laugh went up. A couple of wolf-dogs, +on the outskirts, bristled up to each other and bared their fangs. Men +encouraged them. They closed in and rolled over, but were kicked aside +to make room for St. Vincent. + +Corliss came up the bank to Frona. "What's up?" he whispered. "Is it +off?" + +She tried to speak, but swallowed and nodded her head. + +"This way, Gregory." She touched his arm and guided him to the box +beneath the rope. + +Corliss, keeping step with them, looked over the crowd speculatively +and felt into his jacket-pocket. "Can I do anything?" he asked, +gnawing his under lip impatiently. "Whatever you say goes, Frona. I +can stand them off." + +She looked at him, aware of pleasure in the sight. She knew he would +dare it, but she knew also that it would be unfair. St. Vincent had +had his chance, and it was not right that further sacrifice should be +made. "No, Vance. It is too late. Nothing can be done." + +"At least let me try," he persisted. + +"No; it is not our fault that our plan failed, and . . . and . . ." Her +eyes filled. "Please do not ask it of me." + +"Then let me take you away. You cannot remain here." + +"I must," she answered, simply, and turned to St. Vincent, who seemed +dreaming. + +Blackey was tying the hangman's knot in the rope's end, preparatory to +slipping the noose over St. Vincent's head. + +"Kiss me, Gregory," she said, her hand on his arm. + +He started at the touch, and saw all eager eyes centred upon him, and +the yellow noose, just shaped, in the hands of the hangman. He threw +up his arms, as though to ward it off, and cried loudly, "No! no! Let +me confess! Let me tell the truth, then you'll believe me!" + +Bill Brown and the chairman shoved Blackey back, and the crowd gathered +in. Cries and protestations rose from its midst. "No, you don't," a +boy's shrill voice made itself heard. "I'm not going to go. I climbed +the tree and made the rope fast, and I've got a right to stay." +"You're only a kid," replied a man's voice, "and it ain't good for +you." "I don't care, and I'm not a kid. I'm--I'm used to such things. +And, anyway, I climbed the tree. Look at my hands." "Of course he can +stay," other voices took up the trouble. "Leave him alone, Curley." +"You ain't the whole thing." A laugh greeted this, and things quieted +down. + +"Silence!" the chairman called, and then to St. Vincent, "Go ahead, +you, and don't take all day about it." + +"Give us a chance to hear!" the crowd broke out again. "Put 'm on the +box! Put 'm on the box!" + +St. Vincent was helped up, and began with eager volubility. + +"I didn't do it, but I saw it done. There weren't two men--only one. +He did it, and Bella helped him." + +A wave of laughter drowned him out. + +"Not so fast," Bill Brown cautioned him. "Kindly explain how Bella +helped this man kill herself. Begin at the beginning." + +"That night, before he turned in, Borg set his burglar alarm--" + +"Burglar alarm?" + +"That's what I called it,--a tin bread-pan attached to the latch so the +door couldn't open without tumbling it down. He set it every night, as +though he were afraid of what might happen,--the very thing which did +happen, for that matter. On the night of the murder I awoke with the +feeling that some one was moving around. The slush-lamp was burning +low, and I saw Bella at the door. Borg was snoring; I could hear him +plainly. Bella was taking down the bread-pan, and she exercised great +care about it. Then she opened the door, and an Indian came in softly. +He had no mask, and I should know him if ever I see him again, for a +scar ran along the forehead and down over one eye." + +"I suppose you sprang out of bed and gave the alarm?" + +"No, I didn't," St. Vincent answered, with a defiant toss of the head, +as though he might as well get the worst over with. "I just lay there +and waited." + +"What did you think?" + +"That Bella was in collusion with the Indian, and that Borg was to be +murdered. It came to me at once." + +"And you did nothing?" + +"Nothing." His voice sank, and his eyes dropped to Frona, leaning +against the box beneath him and steadying it. She did not seem to be +affected. "Bella came over to me, but I closed my eyes and breathed +regularly. She held the slush-lamp to me, but I played sleep naturally +enough to fool her. Then I heard a snort of sudden awakening and +alarm, and a cry, and I looked out. The Indian was hacking at Borg +with a knife, and Borg was warding off with his arms and trying to +grapple him. When they did grapple, Bella crept up from behind and +threw her arm in a strangle-hold about her husband's neck. She put her +knee into the small of his back, and bent him backward and, with the +Indian helping, threw him to the floor." + +"And what did you do?" + +"I watched." + +"Had you a revolver?" + +"Yes." + +"The one you previously said John Borg had borrowed?" + +"Yes; but I watched." + +"Did John Borg call for help?" + +"Yes." + +"Can you give his words?" + +"He called, 'St. Vincent! Oh, St. Vincent! Oh, my God! Oh, St. +Vincent, help me!'" He shuddered at the recollection, and added, "It +was terrible." + +"I should say so," Brown grunted. "And you?" + +"I watched," was the dogged reply, while a groan went up from the +crowd. "Borg shook clear of them, however, and got on his legs. He +hurled Bella across the cabin with a back-sweep of the arm and turned +upon the Indian. Then they fought. The Indian had dropped the knife, +and the sound of Borg's blows was sickening. I thought he would surely +beat the Indian to death. That was when the furniture was smashed. +They rolled and snarled and struggled like wild beasts. I wondered the +Indian's chest did not cave in under some of Borg's blows. But Bella +got the knife and stabbed her husband repeatedly about the body. The +Indian had clinched with him, and his arms were not free; so he kicked +out at her sideways. He must have broken her legs, for she cried out +and fell down, and though she tried, she never stood up again. Then he +went down, with the Indian under him, across the stove." + +"Did he call any more for help?" + +"He begged me to come to him." + +"And?" + +"I watched. He managed to get clear of the Indian and staggered over +to me. He was streaming blood, and I could see he was very weak. +'Give me your gun,' he said; 'quick, give me it.' He felt around +blindly. Then his mind seemed to clear a bit, and he reached across me +to the holster hanging on the wall and took the pistol. The Indian +came at him with the knife again, but he did not try to defend himself. +Instead, he went on towards Bella, with the Indian still hanging to him +and hacking at him. The Indian seemed to bother and irritate him, and +he shoved him away. He knelt down and turned Bella's face up to the +light; but his own face was covered with blood and he could not see. +So he stopped long enough to brush the blood from his eyes. He +appeared to look in order to make sure. Then he put the revolver to +her breast and fired. + +"The Indian went wild at this, and rushed at him with the knife, at the +same time knocking the pistol out of his hand. It was then the shelf +with the slush-lamp was knocked down. They continued to fight in the +darkness, and there were more shots fired, though I do not know by +whom. I crawled out of the bunk, but they struck against me in their +struggles, and I fell over Bella. That's when the blood got on my +hands. As I ran out the door, more shots were fired. Then I met La +Flitche and John, and . . . and you know the rest. This is the truth I +have told you, I swear it!" + +He looked down at Frona. She was steadying the box, and her face was +composed. He looked out over the crowd and saw unbelief. Many were +laughing. + +"Why did you not tell this story at first?" Bill Brown demanded. + +"Because . . . because . . ." + +"Well?" + +"Because I might have helped." + +There was more laughter at this, and Bill Brown turned away from him. +"Gentlemen, you have heard this pipe dream. It is a wilder fairy story +than his first. At the beginning of the trial we promised to show that +the truth was not in him. That we succeeded, your verdict is ample +testimony. But that he should likewise succeed, and more brilliantly, +we did not expect. That he has, you cannot doubt. What do you think +of him? Lie upon lie he has given us; he has been proven a chronic +liar; are you to believe this last and fearfully impossible lie? +Gentlemen, I can only ask that you reaffirm your judgment. And to +those who may doubt his mendacity,--surely there are but few,--let me +state, that if his story is true; if he broke salt with this man, John +Borg, and lay in his blankets while murder was done; if he did hear, +unmoved, the voice of the man calling to him for help; if he did lie +there and watch that carnival of butchery without his manhood prompting +him,--let me state, gentlemen, I say, let me state that he is none the +less deserveful of hanging. We cannot make a mistake. What shall it +be?" + +"Death!" "String him up!" "Stretch 'm!" were the cries. + +But the crowd suddenly turned its attention to the river, and even +Blackey refrained from his official task. A large raft, worked by a +sweep at either end, was slipping past the tail of Split-up Island, +close to the shore. When it was at their feet, its nose was slewed +into the bank, and while its free end swung into the stream to make the +consequent circle, a snubbing-rope was flung ashore and several turns +taken about the tree under which St. Vincent stood. A cargo of +moose-meat, red and raw, cut into quarters, peeped from beneath a cool +covering of spruce boughs. And because of this, the two men on the +raft looked up to those on the bank with pride in their eyes. + +"Tryin' to make Dawson with it," one of them explained, "and the sun's +all-fired hot." + +"Nope," said his comrade, in reply to a query, "don't care to stop and +trade. It's worth a dollar and a half a pound down below, and we're +hustlin' to get there. But we've got some pieces of a man we want to +leave with you." He turned and pointed to a loose heap of blankets +which slightly disclosed the form of a man beneath. "We gathered him +in this mornin', 'bout thirty mile up the Stewart, I should judge." + +"Stands in need of doctorin'," the other man spoke up, "and the meat's +spoilin', and we ain't got time for nothin'." "Beggar don't have +anythin' to say. Don't savve the burro." "Looks as he might have been +mixin' things with a grizzly or somethin',--all battered and gouged. +Injured internally, from the looks of it. Where'll you have him?" + +Frona, standing by St. Vincent, saw the injured man borne over the +crest of the bank and through the crowd. A bronzed hand drooped down +and a bronzed face showed from out the blankets. The bearers halted +near them while a decision could be reached as to where he should be +carried. Frona felt a sudden fierce grip on her arm. + +"Look! look!" St. Vincent was leaning forward and pointing wildly at +the injured man. "Look! That scar!" + +The Indian opened his eyes and a grin of recognition distorted his face. + +"It is he! It is he!" St. Vincent, trembling with eagerness, turned +upon the crowd. "I call you all to witness! That is the man who +killed John Borg!" + +No laughter greeted this, for there was a terrible earnestness in his +manner. Bill Brown and the chairman tried to make the Indian talk, but +could not. A miner from British Columbia was pressed into service, but +his Chinook made no impression. Then La Flitche was called. The +handsome breed bent over the man and talked in gutturals which only his +mother's heredity made possible. It sounded all one, yet it was +apparent that he was trying many tongues. But no response did he draw, +and he paused disheartened. As though with sudden recollection, he +made another attempt. At once a gleam of intelligence shot across the +Indian's face, and his larynx vibrated to similar sounds. + +"It is the Stick talk of the Upper White," La Flitche stopped long +enough to explain. + +Then, with knit brows and stumbling moments when he sought +dim-remembered words, he plied the man with questions. To the rest it +was like a pantomime,--the meaningless grunts and waving arms and +facial expressions of puzzlement, surprise, and understanding. At +times a passion wrote itself on the face of the Indian, and a sympathy +on the face of La Flitche. Again, by look and gesture, St. Vincent was +referred to, and once a sober, mirthless laugh shaped the mouths of +them. + +"So? It is good," La Flitche said, when the Indian's head dropped +back. "This man make true talk. He come from White River, way up. He +cannot understand. He surprised very much, so many white men. He +never think so many white men in the world. He die soon. His name Gow. + +"Long time ago, three year, this man John Borg go to this man Gow's +country. He hunt, he bring plenty meat to the camp, wherefore White +River Sticks like him. Gow have one squaw, Pisk-ku. Bime-by John Borg +make preparation to go 'way. He go to Gow, and he say, 'Give me your +squaw. We trade. For her I give you many things.' But Gow say no. +Pisk-ku good squaw. No woman sew moccasin like she. She tan +moose-skin the best, and make the softest leather. He like Pisk-ku. +Then John Borg say he don't care; he want Pisk-ku. Then they have a +_skookum_ big fight, and Pisk-ku go 'way with John Borg. She no want +to go 'way, but she go anyway. Borg call her 'Bella,' and give her +plenty good things, but she like Gow all the time." La Flitche pointed +to the scar which ran down the forehead and past the eye of the Indian. +"John Borg he do that." + +"Long time Gow pretty near die. Then he get well, but his head sick. +He don't know nobody. Don't know his father, his mother, or anything. +Just like a little baby. Just like that. Then one day, quick, click! +something snap, and his head get well all at once. He know his father +and mother, he remember Pisk-ku, he remember everything. His father +say John Borg go down river. Then Gow go down river. Spring-time, ice +very bad. He very much afraid, so many white men, and when he come to +this place he travel by night. Nobody see him 'tall, but he see +everybody. He like a cat, see in the dark. Somehow, he come straight +to John Borg's cabin. He do not know how this was, except that the +work he had to do was good work." + +St. Vincent pressed Frona's hand, but she shook her fingers clear and +withdrew a step. + +"He see Pisk-ku feed the dogs, and he have talk with her. That night +he come and she open the door. Then you know that which was done. St. +Vincent do nothing, Borg kill Bella. Gow kill Borg. Borg kill Gow, +for Gow die pretty quick. Borg have strong arm. Gow sick inside, all +smashed up. Gow no care; Pisk-ku dead. + +"After that he go 'cross ice to the land. I tell him all you people +say it cannot be; no man can cross the ice at that time. He laugh, and +say that it is, and what is, must be. Anyway, he have very hard time, +but he get 'cross all right. He very sick inside. Bime-by he cannot +walk; he crawl. Long time he come to Stewart River. Can go no more, +so he lay down to die. Two white men find him and bring him to this +place. He don't care. He die anyway." + +La Flitche finished abruptly, but nobody spoke. Then he added, "I +think Gow damn good man." + +Frona came up to Jacob Welse. "Take me away, father," she said. "I am +so tired." + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +Next morning, Jacob Welse, for all of the Company and his millions in +mines, chopped up the day's supply of firewood, lighted a cigar, and +went down the island in search of Baron Courbertin. Frona finished the +breakfast dishes, hung out the robes to air, and fed the dogs. Then +she took a worn Wordsworth from her clothes-bag, and, out by the bank, +settled herself comfortably in a seat formed by two uprooted pines. +But she did no more than open the book; for her eyes strayed out and +over the Yukon to the eddy below the bluffs, and the bend above, and +the tail of the spit which lay in the midst of the river. The rescue +and the race were still fresh with her, though there were strange +lapses, here and there, of which she remembered little. The struggle +by the fissure was immeasurable; she knew not how long it lasted; and +the race down Split-up to Roubeau Island was a thing of which her +reason convinced her, but of which she recollected nothing. + +The whim seized her, and she followed Corliss through the three days' +events, but she tacitly avoided the figure of another man whom she +would not name. Something terrible was connected therewith, she knew, +which must be faced sooner or later; but she preferred to put that +moment away from her. She was stiff and sore of mind as well as of +body, and will and action were for the time being distasteful. It was +more pleasant, even, to dwell on Tommy, on Tommy of the bitter tongue +and craven heart; and she made a note that the wife and children in +Toronto should not be forgotten when the Northland paid its dividends +to the Welse. + +The crackle of a foot on a dead willow-twig roused her, and her eyes +met St. Vincent's. + +"You have not congratulated me upon my escape," he began, breezily. +"But you must have been dead-tired last night. I know I was. And you +had that hard pull on the river besides." + +He watched her furtively, trying to catch some cue as to her attitude +and mood. + +"You're a heroine, that's what you are, Frona," he began again, with +exuberance. "And not only did you save the mail-man, but by the delay +you wrought in the trial you saved me. If one more witness had gone on +the stand that first day, I should have been duly hanged before Gow put +in an appearance. Fine chap, Gow. Too bad he's going to die." + +"I am glad that I could be of help," she replied, wondering the while +what she could say. + +"And of course I am to be congratulated--" + +"Your trial is hardly a thing for congratulation," she spoke up +quickly, looking him straight in the eyes for the moment. "I am glad +that it came out as it did, but surely you cannot expect me to +congratulate you." + +"O-o-o," with long-drawn inflection. "So that's where it pinches." He +smiled good-humoredly, and moved as though to sit down, but she made no +room for him, and he remained standing. "I can certainly explain. If +there have been women--" + +Frona had been clinching her hand nervously, but at the word burst out +in laughter. + +"Women?" she queried. "Women?" she repeated. "Do not be ridiculous, +Gregory." + +"After the way you stood by me through the trial," he began, +reproachfully, "I thought--" + +"Oh, you do not understand," she said, hopelessly. "You do not +understand. Look at me, Gregory, and see if I can make you understand. +Your presence is painful to me. Your kisses hurt me. The memory of +them still burns my cheek, and my lips feel unclean. And why? Because +of women, which you may explain away? How little do you understand! +But shall I tell you?" + +Voices of men came to her from down the river-bank, and the splashing +of water. She glanced quickly and saw Del Bishop guiding a poling-boat +against the current, and Corliss on the bank, bending to the tow-rope. + +"Shall I tell you why, Gregory St. Vincent?" she said again. "Tell you +why your kisses have cheapened me? Because you broke the faith of food +and blanket. Because you broke salt with a man, and then watched that +man fight unequally for life without lifting your hand. Why, I had +rather you had died in defending him; the memory of you would have been +good. Yes, I had rather you had killed him yourself. At least, it +would have shown there was blood in your body." + +"So this is what you would call love?" he began, scornfully, his +fretting, fuming devil beginning to rouse. "A fair-weather love, +truly. But, Lord, how we men learn!" + +"I had thought you were well lessoned," she retorted; "what of the +other women?" + +"But what do you intend to do?" he demanded, taking no notice. "I am +not an easy man to cross. You cannot throw me over with impunity. I +shall not stand for it, I warn you. You have dared do things in this +country which would blacken you were they known. I have ears. I have +not been asleep. You will find it no child's play to explain away +things which you may declare most innocent." + +She looked at him with a smile which carried pity in its cold mirth, +and it goaded him. + +"I am down, a thing to make a jest upon, a thing to pity, but I promise +you that I can drag you with me. My kisses have cheapened you, eh? +Then how must you have felt at Happy Camp on the Dyea Trail?" + +As though in answer, Corliss swung down upon them with the tow-rope. + +Frona beckoned a greeting to him. "Vance," she said, "the mail-carrier +has brought important news to father, so important that he must go +outside. He starts this afternoon with Baron Courbertin in La Bijou. +Will you take me down to Dawson? I should like to go at once, to-day. + +"He . . . he suggested you," she added shyly, indicating St. Vincent. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A DAUGHTER OF THE SNOWS*** + + +******* This file should be named 14654.txt or 14654.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/4/6/5/14654 + + + +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. 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