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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/37815-8.txt b/37815-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..96e0424 --- /dev/null +++ b/37815-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10191 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Snowdrift, by James B. Hendryx + +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: Snowdrift + A Story of the Land of the Strong Cold + +Author: James B. Hendryx + +Release Date: October 21, 2011 [EBook #37815] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SNOWDRIFT *** + + + + +Produced by K Nordquist, Ron Stephens and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + SNOWDRIFT + + _A Story of the Land of the Strong Cold_ + + By JAMES B. HENDRYX + + + AUTHOR OF + + "The Gold Girl," "The Gun Brand," "The Texan," + "Prairie Flowers," "The Promise," etc. + + + A.L. BURT COMPANY + Publishers New York + + Published by arrangement with G.P. Putnam's Sons + + Printed in U.S.A. + + + COPYRIGHT, 1922 + BY + JAMES B. HENDRYX + + + BY JAMES B. HENDRYX + + The Promise + The Gun Brand + The Texan + North + The Gold Girl + Prairie Flowers + Snowdrift + Without Gloves + At the Foot of the Rainbow + + This edition is issued under arrangement with the publishers + G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS, NEW YORK AND LONDON + + The Knickerbocker Press, New York + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + + A PROLOGUE 3 + + CHAPTER + + I.--COARSE GOLD 41 + + II.--ON DYEA BEACH 60 + + III.--AT THE MISSION 72 + + IV.--ACE-IN-THE-HOLE 84 + + V.--LUCK TURNS 93 + + VI.--THE DEALER AT STOELL'S 104 + + VII.--"WHERE DO I GO FROM HERE?" 120 + + VIII.--THE PLOTTING OF CAMILLO BILL 132 + + IX.--SNOWDRIFT RETURNS TO THE BAND 143 + + X.--THE DINNER AT REEVES' 155 + + XI.--JOE PETE 170 + + XII.--ON THE TRAIL 184 + + XIII.--THE CAMP ON THE COPPERMINE 198 + + XIV.--IN THE BARRENS 206 + + XV.--MOONLIGHT 223 + + XVI.--CONFESSIONS 243 + + XVII.--IN THE CABIN OF THE "BELVA LOU" 260 + + XVIII.--LOST 277 + + XIX.--TRAPPED 293 + + XX.--"YOU ARE WHITE!" 305 + + XXI.--THE PASSING OF WANANEBISH 323 + + XXII.--CLAW HITS FOR DAWSON 339 + + XXIII.--IN THE TOILS 351 + + XXIV.--THE FIGHT AT CUTER MALONE'S 364 + + + + +SNOWDRIFT + + + + +A PROLOGUE + + +I + +Murdo MacFarlane, the Hudson's Bay Company's trader at Lashing Water +post, laid aside his book and glanced across the stove at his wife who +had paused in her sewing to hold up for inspection a very tiny shirt of +soft wool. + +"I tell you it's there! It's bound to be there," he announced with +conviction. "Just waitin' for the man that's man enough to go an' get +it." + +Margot nodded abstractedly and deftly snipped a thread that dangled from +a seam of a little sleeve. She had heard this same statement many times +during the three years of their married life, and she smiled to herself +as Molaire, her father, who was the Company's factor at Lashing Water, +laid aside his well thumbed invoice with a snort of disgust. She knew +her two men well, did Margot, and she could anticipate almost word for +word the heated argument that was bound to follow. Without rising she +motioned to Tom Shirts, the Company Indian, to light the great swinging +lamp. And as the yellow light flooded the long, low trading room, she +resumed her sewing, while Molaire hitched his chair nearer the stove and +whittled a pipeful of tobacco from a plug. + +"There ye go again with ye're tomrot an' ye're foolishness!" exploded +the old Frenchman, as he threw away his match and crowded the swelling +tobacco back into the bowl of his pipe. "Always babblin' about the gold. +Always wantin' to go an' find out for ye'reself it ain't there." + +"But I'm tellin' you it _is_ there," insisted MacFarlane. + +"Where is it, then? Why ain't it be'n got?" + +"Because the right man ain't gone after it." + +"An' ye're the right man, I suppose! Still lackin' of twenty-five years, +an' be'n four years in the bush; tellin' me that's be'n forty years in +the fur country, an' older than ye before ever I seen it. Ye'll do +better to ferget this foolishness an' stick to the fur like me. I've +lived like a king in one post an' another--an' when I'm old I'll retire +on my pension." + +"An' when I'm old, if I find the gold, I'll ask pension of no man. It +ain't so much for myself that I want gold--it's for them--for Margot, +there, an' the wee Margot in yon." He nodded toward the door of the +living room where the year-old baby lay asleep. + +Molaire shrugged: "Margot has lived always in the bush. She needs no +gold, an' the little one needs no gold. Gold costs lives. Come, Margot, +speak up! Would ye send ye're man to die in the barrens for the gold +that ain't there?" + +Margot paused in her sewing and smiled: "I am not sending him into the +barrens," she said. "If he goes, I go, and the little Margot, too. If +one dies, we all die together. But there must be gold there. Has not +Murdo read it in books? And we have heard rumors of gold among the +Indians." + +"Read it in books!" sniffed Molaire. "Rumors among Injuns! Ye better +stick to fur, boy. Ye take to it natural. There's no better judge of fur +in all the traders I've had. Before long the Company'll make ye a +factor." + +As young Murdo MacFarlane filled and lighted his pipe, his eyes rested +with burning intensity upon his young wife. When finally he spoke it was +half to himself, half to Molaire: "When the lass an' I were married, +back yon, to the boomin' of the bells of Ste. Anne's, I vowed me a vow +that I'd do the best 'twas in me to do for her. An' I vowed it again +when, a year later, the bells of Ste. Anne's rang out at the christening +of the wee little Margot. Is it the best a man can do--to spend his life +in the buyin' of fur for a wage, when gold 'twould pay for a kingdom +lies hid in the sands for the takin'?" + +Molaire's reply was interrupted by a sound from without, and the +occupants of the room looked at each other in surprise. For it was +February and the North lay locked in the iron grip of the strong cold. +Since mid-afternoon the north wind had roared straight out of the +Arctic, driving before it a blue-white smother of powder-dry snow +particles that cut and seared the skin like white-hot steel filings. +MacFarlane was half way across the floor when the door opened and a man, +powdered white from head to foot, stepped into the room in a swirl of +snow fine as steam. With his hip he closed the door against the push of +the wind, and advancing into the room, shook off his huge bear-skin +mittens and unwound the heavy woolen scarf that encircled his parka hood +and muffled his face to the eyes. The scarf, stiff with ice from his +frozen breath, crackled as it unwound, and little ice-chips fell to the +floor. + +"Ha, it's Downey, who else? Lad, lad, what a night to be buckin' the +storm!" cried the trader. + +Corporal Downey, of the Royal North-West Mounted Police, grinned as he +advanced to the stove. "It was buck the storm to Lashin' Water post, or +hole up in a black spruce swamp till it was over. She looks like a three +days' storm, an' I prefer Lashin' Water." + +"Ye're well in time for supper, Corporal," welcomed Molaire, "and the +longer the storm lasts the better. For now we'll have days an' nights of +real whist. We've tried to teach Tom Shirts to play, but he knows no +more about it now than he knows about the ten commandments--an' cares +less. So we've be'n at it three-handed. But three-handed whist is like a +three-legged dog--it limps." + +Neseka, the squaw, looked in from the kitchen to announce supper, and +after ordering Tom to attend to the Corporal's dogs, Molaire clapped his +hands impatiently to attract the attention of MacFarlane and Downey who +were beating the snow from the latter's moose hide parka. "Come," +insisted the old man, "ye're outfit'll have plenty time to dry out. The +supper'll be cold, an' we're losin' time. We've wasted a hand of cards +already." + +"Is the gold bug still buzzin' in your bonnet, Mac?" asked Downey, as +Molaire flourished the keen bladed carving knife over the roasted +caribou haunch. + +"Aye," answered the young Scotchman. "An' when the rivers run free in +the spring, I'll be goin' to get it." + +A long moment of silence followed the announcement during which the +carving knife of Molaire was held suspended above the steaming roast. +The old man's gaze centered upon his son-in-law's face, and in that +moment he knew that the younger man's decision had been made, and that +nothing in the world could change it. The words of Margot flashed +through his brain: "If he goes, I go, and the little Margot, too. If one +dies, we all die together." His little daughter, the light of his life +since the death of her mother years before--and the tiny wee Margot who +had snuggled her way into his rough old heart to cheer him in his old +age--going away--far and far away into the God-knows-where of bitter +cold and howling blizzard--and all on a fool's errand! The keen blade +bit the roast to the bone, raised, dripping red juice, and bit again. + +"_Mon Dieu_, what a fool!" breathed the old man, and as if in final +appeal, turned to Corporal Downey, who had known him long, and who had +guessed what was passing in his mind. "Tell him, Downey, you know the +North beyond the barrens. Tell him he is a fool!" + +And Downey who was not old in years but very wise in the ways of men, +smiled. He liked young Murdo MacFarlane, but he was a Scotchman himself +and he knew the hard-headedness of the breed. + +"Well, a man ain't always a fool because he goes huntin' for gold. +That's accordin'. Where is this gold, Mac? An' how do you know it's +there?" + +"It's there, all right--gold and copper, too. Didn't Captain Knight try +to find it? And Samuel Hearne?" + +"Yes," broke in Molaire, "an' Knight's bones are bleachin' on Marble +Island with his ships on the bottom of the Bay, an' Hearne came back +empty handed." + +"That's why the gold is still there," answered MacFarlane. + +"Where 'bouts is it?" insisted Downey. + +"Up in the Coppermine River country, to the north and east of Bear +Lake." + +"How do you know?" + +"The Injuns had chunks of it. That's what sent Knight and Hearne after +it." + +"How long ago?" + +"Captain Knight started in 1719, an' Hearne about fifty years later." + +"Gosh!" exclaimed Downey. "Ain't that figurin' quite a ways back?" + +"Gold don't rot. If it was there then, it's there now. It's never been +brought out." + +"Yes--_if_ it was there. But, maybe it ain't there an' never was--what +then?" + +"I talked with an Injun, a year back, that said he had seen an Injun +from the North that had seen some Eskimos that had dishes made of yellow +metal." + +"He was prob'ly lyin'," observed Downey, "or the Injun that told him was +lyin'. I've be'n north to the coast a couple of times, an' I never seen +no Injuns nor Eskimos eatin' out of no gold dishes yet." + +"Maybe it's because you've stuck to the Mackenzie, where the posts are. +Have you ever crossed the barrens straight north--between the Mackenzie +an' the Bay?" + +"No," answered Downey, dryly, "an' I hope to God I don't never have to. +You've got a good thing here with the Company, Mac. If I was you I'd +stick to it, anyways till I seen an Injun with some gold. I never seen +one yet--an' I don't never expect to. An' speakin' of Injuns reminds me, +I passed a camp of 'em this forenoon." + +"A camp of 'em!" exclaimed Molaire, in surprise. "Who were they? My +Injuns are all on the trap lines." + +"These are from the North somewheres. I couldn't savvy their lingo. They +ain't much good I guess. They're non-treaty Injuns--wanderers. They +wanted to know where a post was, an' I told 'em. They'll prob'ly be in +to trade when the storm lets up." + +That evening old Molaire played whist badly. His heart was not in the +game, for try as he would to keep his mind on the cards, in his ears was +the sound of the dull roar of the wind, and his thoughts were of the +future--of the long days and nights to come when his loved ones would be +somewhere far in the unknown North, and he would be left alone with his +Company Indians in the little post on Lashing Water. + + +II + +All night the storm roared unabated and, as is the way of Arctic +blizzards, the second day saw its fury increased. During the morning the +four played whist. There had been no mention of gold, and old Molaire +played his usual game with the result that when Neseka called them to +dinner, he and MacFarlane held a three-game lead over Downey and Margot. +The meal over, they returned to the cards. The first game after dinner +proved a close one, each side scoring the odd in turn, while the old +Frenchman, as was his custom, analyzed each hand as the cards were +being shuffled for the next deal. Finally he scored a point and tied the +score. Then he glared at his son-in-law: "An' ye'd of finessed your +ten-spot through on my lead of hearts we'd of made two points an' game!" +he frowned. + +"How was I to know?" MacFarlane paused abruptly in the midst of his deal +and glanced in surprise toward the door which swung open to admit four +Indians who loosened the blankets that covered them from head to foot +and beat the snow from them as they advanced toward the stove. Three of +them carried small packs of fur. The fourth was a young squaw, straight +and lithe as a panther, and as she loosened the moss-bag from her +shoulders, a thin wail sounded from its interior. + +"A baby!" cried Margot, as MacFarlane made his way to the counter, his +eyes upon the packs of fur. She stooped and patted her own little one +who was rolling about upon a thick blanket spread on the floor. The +squaw smiled, and fumbling in the depths of the bag drew forth a tiny +brown-red mite which ceased crying and stared stolidly at the cluster of +strange white faces. "What a terrible day for a baby to be out!" +continued the white woman, as she pushed a chair near to the stove. +Again the squaw smiled and seating herself, turned her back upon the +occupants of the room and proceeded to nurse the tiny atom. + +Meanwhile MacFarlane was trying by means of the Cree language to +question the three bucks who stood in solemn line before the counter, +each with his pack of fur before him. Downey tried them with the +Blackfoot tongue, and the Jargon, while old Molaire and Tom Shirts added +half a dozen dialects from nearer the Bay. But no slightest flicker of +comprehension crossed the face of any one of them. Presently the young +squaw arose and placed her baby upon the blanket beside the white child +where the two little mites sat and stared at each other in owlish +solemnity. As she advanced toward the counter MacFarlane addressed her +in Cree. And to the surprise of all she spoke to him in English: "We buy +food," she said, indicating the packs of fur. + +"Where did you come from?" queried the trader. "An' how is it that you +talk English an' the rest of 'em can't talk nothin'?" + +"We come from far to the northward," she answered. "I have been to +school at the mission. These are Dog Ribs. They have not been to school. +I am of the Yellow Knives. My man was drowned in a rapids. He was name +Bonnetrouge. He was a Dog Rib so I live with these." + +"Why don't you trade at your own post?" asked MacFarlane, suspiciously. +"Is it because you have a debt there that you have not paid?" + +"No. We have no debt at any post. We are only a small band. We move +about all the time. We do not like to stay in one place like the rest. +We see many new rivers, and many lakes, and we go to many places that +the others do not know. We have no debt at any post, we trade as we go +and pay with skins for what we buy." + +"One of them wanderin' bands," observed Downey. "I've run across two or +three of 'em here an' there. They camp a while somewheres an' then, +seems like, they just naturally get restless an' move on." + +The squaw nodded: "The police is right. We do not like to stay and trap +in one place. I have seen many new things, and many things that even the +oldest man has not seen." + +MacFarlane opened the packs and examined their contents, fur by fur, +laying them in separate piles and paying for each as he appraised it in +brass tokens of made beaver. The three bucks looked on in stolid +indifference but MacFarlane noted that the eyes of the squaw followed +his every movement. + +As a general rule the agents of the Hudson's Bay Company deal fairly +with the Indians in the trading of the common or standard skins, and +MacFarlane was no exception. It was in a spirit of fun, to see what the +squaw would do, that he counted out thirty made beaver in payment for a +large otter skin. + +The Indian woman shook her head: "No, that is a good otter. He is worth +more." And with a smile the Scotchman counted ten additional tokens into +the pile, whereat the squaw nodded approval and the trading proceeded. +When at last it was finished the squaw took entire charge of the +purchasing, pausing only now and then, to consult one or the other of +the Indians in their own tongue, and in her selection of only the +essentials, MacFarlane realized that he was dealing with that rarest of +northern Indians, one who possessed sound common sense and the force of +character to reject the useless trinkets so dear to the Indian heart. + +While the bucks were making up their packs the squaw plunged her hand +into the bottom of the moss-bag from which she had taken the baby, and +drew out a single skin. For a long time she stood holding the skin in +one hand while with the other she stroked its softly gleaming surface. +MacFarlane and Molaire gazed at the skin in fascination while Margot +rose from the blanket where she had been playing with the two babies, +and even Corporal Downey who knew little of skins crowded close to feast +his eyes on the jet black pelt whose hairs gleamed with silver radiance. +In all the forty years of his trading Molaire had handled fewer than a +dozen such skins--a true black fox, taken in its prime, so that the +silvered hairs seemed to emit a soft radiance of their own--a skin to +remember, and to talk about. Then the squaw handed the pelt to +MacFarlane and smiled faintly as she watched the trader examine it +almost hair by hair. + +"Where did you get it?" he asked. + +"I trapped it far to the northward, in the barren grounds, upon a river +that has no name. It is a good skin." + +"Did you trap it yourself?" + +"Yes. I am a good trapper. My man was a good trapper and he showed me +how. These are good trappers, too," she indicated the three Indians, +"And all the rest who are with us. There are thirty of us counting the +women and children. But we have not had good luck. That is all the fur +we have caught," she pointed to the skins MacFarlane had just bought, +"Those and the little black fox. When the storms stops we will go again +into the barren grounds, and we must have food, or, if we have bad luck +again, some of us will die." + +"Why do you go to the barren grounds?" asked MacFarlane. "The trappin' +is better to the eastward, or to the westward." + +The squaw shrugged: "My man he had been to school a little, but mostly +he had worked far to the westward along the coast of the sea--among the +white men who dig for gold. And he heard men talk of the gold that lies +in the barren grounds and northward to the coast of the frozen sea. So +he went back to the country of his people, far up on the Mackenzie, and +he told the men of the gold and how it was worth many times more than +the fur. But the old men would not believe him and many of the young men +would not, but some of them did, and these he persuaded to go with him +and hunt for the gold. It was when they were crossing through the +country of my people that I saw him and he saw me and we were married. +That was two years ago and since then we have traveled far and have seen +many things. Then my husband was drowned in a rapids, and I have taken +his place. I will not go back to my people. They were very angry when I +married Bonnetrouge, for the Yellow Knives hate the Dog Ribs. Even if +they were not angry I would not go back, for my husband said there is +gold in the barren grounds. He did not lie. So we will go and get the +gold." + +"There's your chance, Mac," grinned Corporal Downey, "You better throw +in with 'em an' get in on the ground floor." + +But MacFarlane did not smile. Instead, he spoke gravely to the woman: +"An' have you found any gold in the barrens?" + +The squaw shrugged, and glanced down at the babies. When she looked up +again her eyes were upon the little fox skin. "How much?" she asked. + +MacFarlane considered. Holding the pelt he stroked its glossy surface +with his hand. Here was a skin of great value. He had heard many traders +and factors boast of the black, and the silver grey fox skins they had +bought at ridiculously low price--and they were men who did not hesitate +to give full value for the common run of skins. Always, with the +traders, the sight of a rare skin arouses a desire to obtain it--and to +obtain it at the lowest possible figure. And MacFarlane was a trader. +He fixed upon a price in his mind. He raised his eyes, but the squaw +was not looking at him and he followed her glance to the blanket where +the two babies, the red baby and the white baby--his own baby and +Margot's, were touching each other gravely with fat pudgy hands. + +He opened his lips to mention the price, but closed them again as a new +train of thought flashed through his mind. How nearly this woman's case +paralleled his own. The imagination of each was fired by the lure of +gold, and both were scoffed at by their people for daring to believe +that there was still gold in the earth to be had for the taking. Then, +there was the matter of the babies---- + +When finally MacFarlane spoke it was to mention a sum three times larger +than the one that he had fixed upon in his mind--a sum that caused old +Molaire to snort and sputter and to stamp angrily up and down the room. + +The squaw nodded gravely: "You are a good man," she said, simply. "You +have dealt fairly. Sometime, maybe you will know that Wananebish does +not forget." + +Two hours later, when the price of the pelt had been paid and the +supplies all made into packs and carried to the toboggans that had been +left before the door, the Indians wrapped their blankets about them and +prepared to depart. + +As the Indian woman wrapped the baby in warm woolens, Margot urged her +to remain until the storm subsided, but the woman declined with a +smile: "No. These are my people. I will go with them. Where one goes, +all go." + +"But the baby! This is a terrible storm to take a baby into." + +"The baby is warm. She does not know that it storms. She is one of us. +Where we go, she goes, too." + +As the Indians filed through the door into the whirling white smother +the young squaw stepped to the counter for a last look at her black fox +skin. She raised it in her hand, drew it slowly across her cheek, +stroked it softly, and then returned it to the counter, taking +deliberate care to lay it by itself apart from the other skins. Then she +turned and was swallowed up in the storm as MacFarlane closed the door +behind her. + +"Ye could of bought it for half the price!" growled old Molaire, as his +son-in-law returned to the card table. + +"Aye," answered the younger man as he resumed his cards. "But the +Company has still a good margin of profit. They're headin' for the +barrens, an' if, as she said, they have bad luck some of 'em would die. +An' you know who would be the first to go--it would be the babies. I'm +glad I done as I did. I'll sleep better nights." + +"And I'm glad, too," added Margot, as she reached over and patted her +husband's hand, "And so is papa way down in his heart. But he loves to +have people think he is a cross old bear--and bears must growl." + +Corporal Downey grinned at the twinkle that appeared in old Molaire's +eyes, and the game proceeded until Neseka called them to supper. +MacFarlane paused at the counter and raised the fox skin to the light. +And as he did so, a very small, heavy object rolled from its soft folds +and thudded upon the boards. Slowly MacFarlane laid down the skin and, +picking up the object, carried it close under the swinging lamp, where +he held it in his open palm. Curiously the others crowded about and +stared at the dull yellow lump scarcely larger than the two halves of a +split pea. For a long moment there was silence and then MacFarlane +turned to Corporal Downey: "What was it you said," he asked, "about +sticking to my job until I saw an Injun with some gold?" + + +III + +The north wind moaned and soughed about the eaves of the low log trading +post on Lashing Water. Old Molaire rose from his place by the stove, +crossed the room, and threw open the door. Seconds passed as he stood +listening to the roar of the wind in the tree tops, heedless of the fine +powdering of stinging snow particles that glistened like diamond points +upon his silvery hair and sifted beneath his shirt collar. Then he +closed the door and returned to his chair beside the stove. Corporal +Downey watched in silence while the old man filled his pipe. He threw +away the match and raised his eyes to the officer: "It was a year ago, +d'ye mind, an' just such a storm--when that squaw came bringin' her +black fox skin, and her nugget of damned gold." + +"It would be about a year," agreed Downey, gravely nodding his head. "I +made this patrol in February." + +"It's just a year--the thirteenth of the month. I'll not be forgetting +it." + +"An' have you had no word?" + +The old factor shook his head: "No word. They left in May--with the +rivers not yet free of running ice. Two light canoes. Margot could +handle a canoe like a man." + +"You'll prob'ly hear from 'em on the break-up this spring. Maybe they'll +give it up an' come back." + +Molaire shook his head: "Ye don't know Murdo MacFarlane," he said, +"He'll never give up. He swore he would never return to Lashin' Water +without gold. He's Scotch--an' stubborn as the seven-year itch." + +"I'm Scotch," grinned Downey, hoping to draw the old man into an +argument and turn his thoughts from the absent ones. But he would not be +drawn. For a long time he smoked in silence while outside the wind +howled and moaned and sucked red flames high into the stovepipe. + +"She'd be two years old, now," Molaire said, "An' maybe talkin' a bit. +Maybe they've taught her to say grand-père. Don't you think she might be +talkin' a little?" + +"I don't know much about 'em. Do they talk when they're two?" + +The old factor pondered: "Why--it seems to me _she_ did--the other +Margot. But--it's a long time ago--yet it seems like yesterday. I'm +gettin' old an' my memory plays me tricks. Maybe it was three, instead +of two when she begun to say words. D'ye mind, Downey, a year ago we +played whist?" + +"Two-handed cribbage is all right," suggested the Corporal. But the old +man shook his head and for a long, long time the only sound in the room +was the irregular tapping of contracting metal as the fire died down +unheeded in the stove. The old man's pipe went out and lay cold in his +hand. The bearded chin sagged forward onto the breast of his woolen +shirt and his eyes closed. Beyond the stove Corporal Downey drowsed in +his chair. + +Suddenly the old man raised his head: "What was that?" he asked sharply. + +Downey listened with his eyes on the other's face. "I hear nothing," he +answered, "but the booming of the wind." + +The peculiar startled look died out of Molaire's eyes: "Yes," he +answered, "It is the wind. I must have be'n dozin'. But it sounded like +bells. I've heard the bells of Ste. Ann's boom like that--tollin'--when +some one--died." Stiffly he rose from his chair and fumbled upon the +counter for a candle which he handed to Downey. "We'll be goin' to bed, +now," he said, "It's late." + + +IV + +Upon a bunk built against the wall of a tiny cabin of logs five hundred +miles to the northward of Lashing Water post the sick woman turned her +head feebly and smiled into the tear-dimmed eyes of the man who leaned +over her: "It's all right, Murdo," she murmured, "The pain in my side +seems better. I think I slept a little." + +Murdo MacFarlane nodded: "Yes, Margot, you have been asleep for an hour. +In a few days, now, I'm thinkin' you'll be sittin' up, an' in a week's +time you'll be on your feet again." + +The woman's eyes closed, and by the tightening of the drawn lips her +husband knew that she was enduring another paroxysm of the terrible +pain. Outside, the wind tore at the eaves, the sound muffled by its full +freighting of snow. And on the wooden shelf above the man's head the +little alarm clock ticked brassily. + +Once more Margot's eyes opened and the muscles of the white pain-racked +face relaxed. The breath rushed in quick jerky stabs between the parted +lips that smiled bravely. "We are not children, Murdo--you and I," she +whispered. "We must not be afraid to face--this thing. We have found +much happiness together. That will be ours always. Nothing can rob us +of that. We have had it. And now you must face a great unhappiness. I am +going to die. In your eyes I have seen that you, too, know this--when +you thought I slept. To-day--to-night--not later than to-morrow I must +go away. I am not afraid to go--only sorry. We would have had many more +years of happiness, Murdo--you--and I--and the little one--" The low +voice faltered and broke, and the dark eyes brimmed with tears. + +The man's hands clenched till the nails bit deep into the palms. A great +dry sob shook the drooped shoulders: "God!" he breathed, hoarsely, "An' +it's all my fault for bringin' you into this damned waste of snow an' +ice, an' bitter cold!" + +"No, Murdo, it is not your fault. I was as anxious to come as you were. +I am a child of the North, and I love the North. I love its storms and +its sunshine. I love even the grim cruelty of it--its relentless +snuffing out of lives in the guarding of its secrets. Strong men have +gone to their death fighting it, and more men will go--why then should +not I, who am a woman, go also? But, it would have been the same if we +had stayed at Lashing Water. I know what this sickness is. I have seen +men die of it before--Nash, of the Mounted--and Nokoto, a Company +Indian. It is the appendicitis, and no doctor could have got to Lashing +Water in time, any more than he could have got here. They sent the +fastest dog-team on the river when Nash was sick, and before the doctor +came he was dead. It is not your fault, my husband. It is no one's +fault. There is a time when each of us must die. My time is now. That is +all." She ceased speaking, and with an effort that brought little beads +of cold sweat to her forehead, she raised herself upon her elbow and +pointed a faltering forefinger toward the little roughly made crib that +stood close beside the bunk. "Promise me, Murdo," she gasped, "promise +me upon your soul that you will see--that--she--_that she shall go to +school!_ More than I have gone, for there are many things I do not know. +I have read in books things I do not understand." + +"Aye, girl," the deep voice of MacFarlane rumbled through the room as he +eased his wife back onto the pillow, "I promise." + +The dark eyes closed, the white face settled heavily onto the pillow, +and as MacFarlane bent closer he saw that the breathing was peaceful and +regular. It was as though a great load had been lifted from her mind, +and she slept. With her hand still clasped in his the man's tired body +sagged forward until his head rested beside hers. + +MacFarlane awoke with a start. Somewhere in the darkness a small voice +was calling: "Mamma! Daddy! I cold!" For a moment the man lay trying to +collect his befuddled senses. "Just a minute, baby," he called, "Daddy's +comin'." As he raised to a sitting posture upon the edge of the bunk his +fingers came in contact with his wife's hand--the hand that he suddenly +remembered had been clasped in his. Rapidly his brain cleared. He must +have fallen asleep. The fire had burned itself out in the stove and he +shivered in the chill air. Margot's hand must have slipped from his +clasp as they slept. It was too cold for her hand to lie there on top of +the blankets, and her arm protected only by the sleeve of her nightgown. +He would slip it gently beneath the covers and then build up a roaring +fire. + +A low whimpering came from the direction of the crib: "Daddy, I cold." + +"Just a minute, baby, till daddy lights the light." He reached for the +hand that lay beside him there in the darkness. As his fingers clutched +it a short, hoarse cry escaped him. The hand was icy cold--too cold for +even the coldness of the fireless room. The fingers yielded stiffly +beneath his palm and the arm lay rigid upon the blanket. + +MacFarlane sprang to his feet and as he groped upon the shelf for +matches his body was shaken by great dry sobs that ended in low throaty +moans. Clumsily his trembling fingers held the tiny flame to the wick of +the candle, and as the light flickered a moment and then burned clear, +he crossed to the crib where the baby had partly wriggled from beneath +her little blankets and robes. Wrapping her warmly in a blanket, he drew +the rest of the covers over her. + +"I want to get in bed with mamma," came plaintively from the small +bundle. + +MacFarlane choked back a sob: "Don't, don't! little one," he cried, then +lowering his voice to a hoarse whisper, he bent low over the crib. +"S-h-s-h, don't disturb mamma. She's--asleep." + +"I want sumpin' to eat. I want some gravy and some toast." + +"Yes, you wait till daddy builds the fire an' then we'll be nice an' +warm, an' daddy'll get supper." + +Silently MacFarlane set about his work. He kindled a fire, put the +teakettle on, and warmed some caribou gravy, stirring it slowly to +prevent its scorching while he toasted some bread upon the top of the +stove. Once or twice he glanced toward the bed. Margot's face was turned +away from him, and all he could see was a wealth of dark hair massed +upon the pillow. That--and the hand that showed at the end of the +nightgown sleeve. White as snow--and cold as snow it looked against the +warm red of the blanket. MacFarlane crossed and drew the blanket up over +the hand and arm, covering it to the shoulder. Bending over, he looked +long into the white face. The eyes were closed, MacFarlane was glad of +that, and the lips were slightly parted as though in restful slumber. +"Good bye--Margot--lass--" his voice broke thickly. He was conscious of +a gnawing pain in his throat, and two great scalding tears rolled down +his cheeks and dropped to the mass of dark hair where they glistened in +the steady glow of the single candle like tiny globes of fire. He raised +the blanket to cover the still face, lowered it again and crossed to +the table where he laid out a tincup for himself and a little thick +yellow bowl into which he crumbled the toast and poured the gravy over +it. Then he warmed a tiny blanket, wrapped the baby in it and, holding +her on his lap, fed her from a spoon. Between the slowly portioned +spoonfuls he drank great gulps of scalding tea. There were still several +spoonfuls left in the bowl when the tiny mite in his arms snuggled +warmly against him. "Tell me a 'tory," demanded the mite. MacFarlane +told the "'tory"--and another, and another. And then, in response to an +imperious demand, he sang a song. It was the first time MacFarlane had +ever sung a song. It was a song he had often heard Margot sing, and he +was surprised that he had unconsciously learned the words which fell +from his lips in a wailing monotone. + +MacFarlane's heart was breaking--but he finished the song. + +"I sleepy," came drowsily from the blanket. "I want to kiss mamma." + +"S-h-s-h, mamma's asleep. Kiss daddy, and we'll go to bed." + +"I want to kiss mamma," insisted the baby. + +MacFarlane hesitated with tight-pressed lips. Then he rose and carried +the baby to the bedside. "See, mamma's asleep," he whispered, pointing +to the mass of dark hair on the pillow. "Just kiss her hair--and +we--won't--wake--her--up." He held the baby so that the little pursed +lips rested for a moment in the thick mass of hair, then he carried her +to her crib and tucked her in. She was asleep when he smoothed the robe +into place. + +For a long time he stood looking down at the little face on the pillow. +Then he crossed to the table where he sat with his head resting upon his +folded arms while the minutes ticked into hours and the fire burned low. +As he sat there with closed eyes MacFarlane followed the thread of his +life from his earliest recollection. His childhood on the little +hillside farm, the long hours that he struggled with his books under the +eye of the stern-faced schoolmaster, his 'prenticeship in the shop of +the harness-maker in the small Scotch town, his year of work about the +docks at Liverpool, his coming to Canada and hiring out to the Hudson's +Bay Company, his assignment to Lashing Water as Molaire's clerk, his +meeting with Margot when she returned home from school at the +mission--and the wonderful days of that first summer together. Then--his +promotion to the position of trader, his marriage to Margot--step by +step he lived again that long journey from Lashing Water to Ste. Anne's. +For it was old Molaire's wish that his daughter should be married in the +old Gothic church where, years before, he had married her mother. + +MacFarlane raised his head and listened, his wide-staring eyes fixed +upon the black square of the window--that sound--it was--only the moan +and the muffled roar of the wind--but, for a moment it had sounded like +the tone of a deep-throated bell--like the booming of the bells of Ste. +Anne's. Slowly the man lowered his head to his arms and groped for the +thread of his thought where he had left it. Lingeringly, he dwelt upon +the happiness that had been theirs, the coming of the little Margot--the +infinite love that welled in their hearts for this soft little helpless +thing, their delight in her unfolding--the gaining of a pound--the first +tooth--the first half-formed word--the first step. He remembered, too, +their distress at her tiny ills, real and fancied. Then, his own desire +to seek gold--not for himself, but that these two loved ones might enjoy +life in a fullness undreamed by the family of a fur trader. He +recollected Molaire's opposition, his arguments, his scoffing, and his +prediction that by the end of a year he would be back at Lashing Water +buying fur for the Company. And he recollected his own retort, that +without the gold he would never come back. + +And here, in this little thick walled cabin far into the barren grounds, +he had come to the end of the long, long trail. MacFarlane raised his +head and stared at the crib. But, was it the end? He knew that it was +not, and he groped blindly, desperately to picture the end. If it were +not for her--for this little one who lay asleep there in the crib, the +end would be easy. The man's glance sought the rifle that rested upon +its pegs above the window. It was out of the question to think of +returning to Lashing Water, if he would--the baby could not stand five +hundred miles of gruelling winter-trail. He could not keep her here and +leave her alone while he prospected. He could not remain in the cabin +all winter and care for her--he must hunt to live--and game was scarce +and far afield. He shuddered at the thought of what might happen if he +were to leave her alone in the cabin with a fire in the stove--or worse, +of what might eventually happen if some accident befell him and he could +not return to the cabin. + +MacFarlane sat bolt upright. He suddenly remembered that a few days +before, from a high hill some thirty miles to the westward, he had seen +an Indian village nestled against a spruce swamp at a wide bend of a +river. It was a small village of a dozen or more tepees, and he had +intended to visit it later. Why not take the baby over there and give +her into the keeping of some squaw. If he could find one like Neseka all +would be well, for Neseka's love for the little Margot was hardly less +than his own. And surely, in a whole village there must be at least one +like her. + +MacFarlane replenished his fire, and groping upon the shelf, found a +leather covered note book and pencil. The guttered candle flared smokily +and he replaced it with another, and for an hour or more he wrote +steadily, filling page after page of the note book with fine lined +writing. + +When he had finished he thrust the note book into his pocket and again +buried his face in his arms. + + +V + +Toward morning the storm wore itself out, and before the belated winter +dawn had tinted the east MacFarlane set out for the Indian village. The +cold was intense so that his snowshoes crunched on the surface of the +flinty, wind-driven snow. Mile after mile he swung across the barrens +that lay trackless, and white, and dead, skirting towering rock ledges +and patches of scraggly timber. The sun came out and the barrens glared +dazzling white. MacFarlane had left his snow-goggles back in the cabin, +so he squinted his eyes and pushed on. Three times that day he stopped +and built a fire at the edge of a thicket and heated thick caribou gruel +which he fed by spoonfuls to the tiny robe-wrapped little girl that +snuggled warm in his pack sack. Darkness had fallen before he reached +the high hill from which he had seen the village. He scanned the sweep +of waste that lay spread before him, its shapes and distances distorted +and unreal in the feeble light of the glittering stars. He hardly +expected a light to show from a village of windowless tepees in the dead +of winter, and he strove to remember which of those vague splotchy +outlines was the black spruce swamp against which he had seen the +tepees. Suddenly the silence of the night was broken by the sharp jerky +yelp of a stricken dog. The sound issued from one of the dark blotches +of timber, and was followed by a rabble of growls and snarls. MacFarlane +judged the distance that separated him from the vague outline of the +swamp to be three or four miles, but the shrill sounds cut the frozen +air so distinctly that they seemed to issue from the foot of the hill +upon which he stood. A dull spot of light showed for a moment, rocketed +through the air, and disappeared amid a chorus of yelps and howls. An +Indian, disturbed by the fighting dogs, had thrown back the flap of his +tepee and hurled a lighted brand among them. + +Swiftly MacFarlane descended the slope and struck out for the black +spruce swamp. An hour later he stood upon the snow-covered ice of the +river while barking, snarling and growling, the Indian dog pack crowded +about him. It seemed a long time that he stood there holding the dogs at +bay with a stout spruce club. At length dark forms appeared in front of +the tepees and several Indians advanced toward him, dispersing the dogs +with blows and kicks and commands in hoarse gutterals. MacFarlane spoke +to them in Cree, and getting no response, he tried several of the +dialects from about the Bay. He had advanced until he stood among them +peering from one to another of the flat expressionless faces for some +sign of comprehension. But they returned his glances with owlish +blinking of their smoke reddened eyes. MacFarlane's heart sank. These +were the people in whose care he had intended to leave his little +daughter! Suddenly, as a ray of starlight struck aslant one of the flat +bestial faces, a flash of recognition lighted MacFarlane's eyes. The man +was one of the four who had come to trade a year before at Lashing +Water. + +"Where is the squaw?" he cried in English, grasping the man by the +shoulder and shaking him roughly, "Where is Wananebish?" + +At the name, the Indian turned and pointed toward a tepee that stood +slightly apart from the rest, and a moment later MacFarlane stood before +its door. "Wananebish!" he called. And again, "Wananebish!" + +"Yes," came the answer, "What does the white man want?" + +"It is MacFarlane, the trader at Lashing Water. Do you remember a year +ago you sold me a black fox skin?" + +"I remember. Did I not say that Wananebish would not forget? Wait, and I +will let you in, for it is cold." The walls of the tepee glowed faintly +as the squaw struck a light. He could hear her moving about inside and a +few minutes later she threw open the flap and motioned him to enter. +MacFarlane blinked in surprise as she fastened the flap behind him. +Instead of the filthy smoke-reeking interior he had expected, the tepee +was warm and comfortable, its floor covered thickly with robes, and +instead of the open fire in the center with its smoke vent at the apex +of the tepee, he saw a little Yukon stove in which a fire burned +brightly. + +Without a word he removed his pack sack and tenderly lifting the +sleeping baby from it laid her on the robes. Then, seating himself +beside her he told her, simply and in few words what had befallen him. +The squaw listened in silence and for a long time after he finished she +sat staring at the flame of the candle. + +"What would you have me do?" she asked at length. + +"Keep the little one and care for her until I return," answered the man, +"I will pay you well." + +The Indian woman made a motion of dissent. "Where are you going?" + +"To find gold." + +Was it fancy, or did the shadow of a peculiar smile tremble for an +instant upon the woman's lips? "And, if you do not return--what then?" + +"If I do not return by the time of the breaking up of the rivers," +answered the man, "You will take the baby to Lashing Water post to +Molaire, the factor, who is the father of her mother." As he spoke +MacFarlane drew from his pocket the leather notebook, and a packet +wrapped in parchment deer skin and tied with buckskin thongs. He handed +them to the squaw: "Take these," he said, "and deliver them to Molaire +with the baby. In the book I have instructed him to pay you for her +keep." + +"But this Molaire is an old man. Suppose by the time of the breaking up +of the rivers he is not to be found at Lashing Water? He may be dead, or +he may have gone to the settlements." + +"If he has gone to the settlements, you are to find him. If he is +dead--" MacFarlane hesitated: "If Molaire is dead," he repeated, "You +are to take care of the baby until she is old enough to enter the school +at some mission. I'm Scotch, an' no Catholic--but, her mother was +Catholic, an' if the priests an' the sisters make as good woman of her +as they did of her mother, I could ask no more. Give them the notebook +in which I have set down the story as I have told it to you. The packet +you shall open and take out whatever is due you for her keep. It +contains money. Keep some for yourself and give some to the priests to +pay for her education." + +The squaw nodded slowly: "It shall be as you say. And, if for any +reason, we move from here before the breaking up of the rivers, I will +write our direction and place it inside the caribou skull that hangs +upon the great split stump beside the river." + +MacFarlane rose; "May God use you as you use the little one," he said, +"I'll be going now, before she wakes up. It will be better so." He +stooped and gazed for a long time at the face of the sleeping baby. A +hot tear splashed upon the back of his hand, and he brushed it away and +faced the squaw in the door of the tepee: "Goodbye," he said, gruffly, +"Until the rivers break up in the spring." + +The Indian woman shook her head: "Do not say it like that," she +answered, "For those were the words of my man when he, too, left to find +gold. And when the river broke up in the spring he did not come back to +me--for the grinding ice-cakes caught his canoe, and he was crushed to +death in a rapids." + + +VI + +For four long nights and four short days MacFarlane worked at the +digging of a grave. It was a beautiful spot he chose to be the last +resting place of his young wife--a high, spruce-covered promontory that +jutted out into a lake. The cabin and its surroundings had grown +intolerable to him, so that he worked furiously, attacking the iron-hard +ground with fire, and ice-chisel, and spade. At last it was done and +placing the body of his wife in the rough pole coffin, he placed it upon +his sled and locking the dogs in the cabin, hauled it himself to the +promontory and lowered it into the grave. Then he shoveled back the +frozen earth, and erected a wooden cross upon which was burned deep her +name, and returning to the cabin, slept the clock around. + +If MacFarlane had been himself he would have heeded the signs of +approaching storm. But he had become obsessed with desire to leave that +place with its haunting memories, where every mute object seemed to +whisper to him of his loved ones. He was talking and mumbling to himself +as he harnessed his dogs and headed into the North at the breaking of a +day. + +Three hours after MacFarlane hit the trail he left the sparsely timbered +country behind and struck into a vast treeless plain whose glaring white +surface was cut here and there by rugged ridges of basalt which +terminated abruptly in ledges of bare rock. + +At noon he made a fireless camp, ate some pilot bread, and caribou meat. +The air was still--ominously dead and motionless to one who knew the +North. But MacFarlane gave no heed, nor did he even notice that though +there were no clouds in the sky, the low-hung sun showed dull and +coppery through a steel-blue fog. He bolted his food and pressed on. +Before him was no guiding landmark. He laid his course by the compass +and held straight North across the treeless rock-ribbed plain. The man's +lean face looked pinched and drawn. For a week he had taken his sleep in +short fitful snatches, in his chair beside the cabin stove, or with his +back against a tree while he waited for the fire to bite a few inches +deeper into the frozen ground as he toiled at the lonely grave. On and +on he mushed at the head of his dogs, his eyes, glowing feverbright, +stared fixedly from between red-rimmed lids straight into the steel +blue fog bank that formed his northern horizon. And as he walked, he +talked incessantly--now arguing with old Molaire, who predicted dire +things, and refused to believe that there was gold in the North--now +telling Margot of his hopes and planning his future--and again, telling +stories to little Margot of Goldilocks and the three little bears, and +of where the caribou got their horns. + +The blue fog thickened. From somewhere far ahead sounded a low +whispering roar--the roar of mightly wind, muffled by its burden of +snow. When the first blast struck, MacFarlane tottered in his tracks, +then lowering his head, leaned against it and pushed on. Following the +gust was a moment of calm. Behind him the dogs whimpered uneasily. +MacFarlane did not hear them, nor did he hear the roar of the onrushing +wind. + +Around a corner of a rock ledge a scant two hundred yards ahead of him, +appeared a great grey shape, running low. The shape halted abruptly and +circled wide. It was followed by other shapes--gaunt, and grey, and +ugly, between whose back-curled lips white fangs gleamed. The wolf pack, +forty strong, was running before the storm, heading southward for the +timber. Whining with terror, MacFarlane's dogs crowded about his legs in +a sudden rush. The man went down and struggled to his feet, cursing, and +laying about him with clubbed rifle. Then the storm struck in all its +fury. MacFarlane gasped for air, and sucked in great gulps of powdery +snow that bit into his lungs and seared his throat with their stinging +cold. He choked and coughed and jerking off his mitten, clawed with bare +fingers at his throat and eyes. While behind him, down wind, the great +grey caribou wolves, stopped in their wild flight by the scent of meat, +crowded closer, and closer. + +In a panic, MacFarlane's dogs whirled, and dragging the sled behind them +bolted. MacFarlane staggered a few steps forward and fell, then, on +hands and knees he crawled back, groping and pawing the snow for his +mitten and rifle. The sharp frenzied yelps as the dog team plunged into +the wolf-pack sounded faint and far. The man threw up his head. He +pulled off his cap to listen and the wind whipped it from his numbed +fingers--but MacFarlane did not know. Moments of silence followed during +which the man strained his ears to catch a sound that eluded him. + +When the last shred of flesh had been ripped from the bones of the dogs +the gaunt grey leader of the pack raised his muzzle and sniffed the +wind. He advanced a cautious step or two and sniffed again, then seating +himself on his haunches he raised his long pointed muzzle to the sky and +gave voice to the long drawn cry of the kill--and the shapes left the +fang-scarred bits of bone and sniffed up-wind at the man-scent. + +As the sound of the great wolf cry reached his ears above the roar of +the wind, MacFarlane's face lighted with a smile of infinite gladness: +"The bells," he muttered, "I heard them--d'you hear them, Margot--girl? +It's for us--the booming of the bells of Ste. Anne's!" And with the +words on his lips MacFarlane pillowed his head on the snow--and slept. + + +VII + +Years afterward, after old Molaire had been gathered to his fathers and +laid in the little cemetery within the sound of the bells of Ste. +Anne's, Corporal Downey one day came upon a long deserted cabin far into +the barren grounds upon the shore of a nameless lake. He closed the +rotting door behind him, and methodically searching the ground, came at +length upon the solitary grave upon the high promontory that jutted into +the lake. Unconsciously he removed his hat as he read the simple +inscription burned deep into the little wooden cross. His lips moved: +"Margot--girl," he whispered, "if--if--" the whisper thickened and +choked him. He squared his shoulders and cleared his throat roughly. "Aw +hell!" he breathed, and turning, walked slowly back to his canoe and +shoved out onto the water. + +And during the interval of the years the little band of non-treaty +Indians--the homeless and the restless ones--moved on--and on--and +on---- + + + + +CHAPTER I + +COARSE GOLD + + +As Carter Brent pushed through the swinging doors of "The Ore Dump" +saloon, the eyes of the head bartender swept with approval from the +soles of the high laced boots to the crown of the jauntily tilted +Stetson. "What'll it be this morning, Mr. Brent?" he greeted. "Little +eye-opener?" + +The young man grinned as he crossed to the bar: "How did you guess it?" + +The bartender set out decanter and glasses. "Well, after last night, +thought maybe you'd have a kind of fuzzy taste in your mouth." + +"Fuzzy is right! My tongue is coated with fur--dark brown fur--thick and +soft. What time was it when we left here?" + +"Must have been around two o'clock. But, how does it come you ain't on +the works this mornin'? Never knew you to lose a day on account of a +hang-over. Heard a couple of the S. & R.'s tunnels got flooded last +night." + +Brent poured a liberal drink and downed it at a swallow: "Yes," he +answered, dryly, "And that's why I'm not on the works. I'm hunting a +job, and the S. & R. is hunting a new mining engineer." + +"Jepson fired you, did he! Well, you should worry. I've heard 'em +talkin' in here, now an' then--some of the big guns--an' they all claim +you're one of the best engineers in Montana. They say if you'd buckle +down to business you'd have 'em all skinned." + +"Buckle down to business, eh! The trouble with them is that when they +hire a man they think they buy him. It's none of their damn business +what I do evenings. If I'm sober when I'm on the job--and on the job six +days a week, and sometimes seven--they're getting all they're paying +for." + +"They sure are," agreed the other with emphasis, "Have another shot," he +shoved the decanter toward the younger man and leaned closer: "Say Mr. +Brent, you ain't--er, you don't need a little change, do you? If you do +just say so, you're welcome to it." The man drew forth a roll of bills, +but Brent shook his head: + +"No thanks. You can cash this check for me though. Jepson was square +enough about it--paid me in full to date and threw in a month's salary +in advance. I don't blame him any. We quit the best of friends. When he +hired me he knew I liked a little drink now and then, so I took the job +with the understanding that if the outfit ever lost a dollar because of +my boozing, I was through right then." + +"What was it flooded the tunnels?" + +"Water," grinned Brent. + +"Oh," laughed the bartender, "I thought maybe it was booze." + +"You'd have thought so all the more if you'd been there this morning to +hear the temperance lecture that old Jepson threw in gratis along with +that extra month's pay. About the tunnels--we get our power from +Anaconda, and something happened to the high tension wire, and the pumps +stopped, and there wasn't any light, and Number Four and Number Six are +wet tunnels anyway so they filled up and drowned two batteries of +drills. Then, instead of rigging a steam pump and pumping them out +through Number Four, one of the shift bosses rigged a fifteen inch +rotary in Number Six and started her going full tilt with the result +that he ran the water down against that new piece of railroad grade and +washed about fifty feet of it into the river and left the track hanging +in the air by the rails." + +"The damn fool!" + +"Oh, I don't know. He did the best he could. A shift boss isn't hired to +think." + +"What did old Jepson fire _you_ for? He didn't think you clim up an' cut +the high tension wire did he? Or, did he expect you to set around nights +an' keep the juice flowin'?" + +Brent laughed: "Not exactly. But they tried to find me and couldn't. So +when I showed up this morning old Jepson sent for me and asked me where +I was last night. I could have lied out of it easy enough. He would have +accepted any one of a half a dozen excuses--but lying's poor +business--so I told him I was out having a hell of a good time and wound +up about three in the morning with a pretty fair snootful." + +"Bet he thinks a damn sight more of you than if you'd of lied, at that. +But they's plenty of jobs fer you. You've got it in your noodle--what +they need--an' what they've got to pay to get. You might drop around an' +talk to Gunnison, of the Little Ella. He was growlin' in here the other +night because he couldn't get holt of an engineer. Goin' to do a lot of +cross tunnel work or somethin'. Said he was afraid he'd have to send +back East an' get some pilgrim or some kid just out of college. Hold on +a minute there's a bird down there, among them hard rock men, that looks +like he was figgerin' on startin' somethin'. I'll just step down an' put +a flea in his ear." + +Brent's eyes followed the other as he made his way toward the rear of +the long bar where three or four bartenders were busy serving drinks to +a crowd of miners. He noticed casually that the men were divided into +small groups and that they seemed to be talking excitedly among +themselves, and that the talk was mostly in whispers. + +"The Ore Dump" was essentially a mining man's saloon. Its proprietor, +Patsy Kelliher, was an old time miner who, having struck it lucky with +pick and shovel, had started a modest little saloon, and later had +opened "The Ore Dump," in the fitting up of which he had gone the limit +in expensive furnishings. It was his boast that no miner had ever gone +out of his door hungry or thirsty, nor had any man ever lost a cent by +unfair means within his four walls. Rumor had it that Patsy had given +away thousands. Be that as it may, "The Ore Dump" had for years been the +mecca of the mining fraternity. Millionaire mine owners, managers, +engineers, and on down through the list to the humblest "hunk," were +served at its long bar, which had, by common usage become divided by +invisible lines of demarkation. The mine owners, the managers, the +engineers, and the independent contractors foregathered at the front end +of the bar; the hunks, and the wops, and the guineas at the rear end; +while the long space between was a sort of no-man's-land where drank the +shift bosses and the artisans of the mines--the hard-rock men, the +electricians, and the steam-fitters. Combinations of capital running +into millions had been formed at the front end, and combinations of +labor at the rear, while in no-man's-land great mines had been tied up +at the crooking of a finger. + +On this particular morning Carter Brent was the only customer at the +front end of the bar. He poured another drink and watched it glow like a +thing of life with soft amber lights that played through the crystal +clear glass as a thin streak of sunlight struck aslant the bar. The +liquor in his stomach was taking hold. He felt warm, with a glowing, +tingling warmth that permeated to his finger tips. In his mind was a +vast sense of well being. The world was a great old place to live in. He +drank the whisky in his glass and refilled it from the cut glass +decanter. Poor old Jepson--fired the best engineer in Montana--that's +what his friend, the bartender, had just told him, and he got it from +the big guns. Well, it was Jepson's funeral--he and the S. & R. would +have to stagger along as best they could. He would go and see +Gunnison--no, to hell with Gunnison! Brent's fingers closed about the +roll of bills in his trousers pocket. He had plenty of money, he would +wait and pick out a job. He needn't worry. He always was sure of a good +job. Hadn't he had five in the two years since he graduated from +college? There were plenty of mines and they all needed good engineers. +Brent smiled as his thoughts drifted lazily back to his four years in +college. He wished some of the fellows would drop in. "They were a bunch +of damned good sports," he muttered to himself, "And we sure did roll +'em high! Speedy Bennet was always the first to go under--about two +drinks and we'd lay him on the shelf to call for when needed. Then came +McGivern, then Sullivan, and about that time little Morse would begin +flapping his arms around and proclaiming he could fly. Then, after a +while there wouldn't be anyone left but Morey and me--good old +Morey--they canned him in his senior year--and they've been canning me +ever since." + +Brent paused in his soliloquy and regarded the men who had been +whispering among themselves toward the rear of the room. There were no +small groups now, and no whispering. With tense faces they were crowding +about a man who stood with hands palm down upon the bar. He wondered +what it was all about. From his position at the head of the bar he could +see the man's face plainly. Also he could see the faces of the +others--the lined, rugged faces of the hard rock and the vapid, +loose-lipped faces of the wops--and of all the faces only the face of +the man who stood with his hands on the bar betrayed nothing of tense +expectancy. Why were these others crowding about him, and why was he the +only man of them all who was not holding in check by visible effort some +pent up emotion? Brent glanced again into the weather-lined face with +its drooping sun-burned mustache, and its skin tanned to the color of +old leather--a strong face, one would say--the face of a man who had +battled long against odds, and won. Won what? He wondered. For an +instant the man's eyes met his own, and it seemed to Brent as though he +had read the question for surely, behind the long drooping mustache, the +lips twisted into just the shadow of a cynical grin. + +The head bartender stepped to the back bar and, from beside a huge +gilded cash register, he lifted a set of tiny scales which he carried to +the bar and set down directly before the man with the sun-burned +mustache. + +In front of the bar men crowded closer, craning their necks, and +elbowing one another, as their feet made soft shuffling sounds upon the +hardwood floor. One of the man's hands slipped into a side pocket of his +coat and when it came out something thudded heavily upon the bar. Brent +saw the object plainly as the bartender reached for it, a small buckskin +pouch, its surface glazed with the grease and soot of many campfires. He +had seen men carry their tobacco in just such pouches, but this pouch +held no tobacco, it had thumped the bar heavily and lay like a sack of +sand. + +The bartender untied the strings and stood with the pouch poised above +the scales while his eyes roved over the eager, expectant faces of the +crowd. Then he placed a small weight upon the pan of the scales and +poured something slowly from the pouch into the small scoop upon the +opposite side. From his position Brent could see the delicate scales +oscillate and finally strike a balance. The bartender closed the pouch +and handed it back to the owner. Then he picked up the scales and +returned them to their place beside the cash register, while in front of +the bar men surged about the pouch owner clawing and shoving to get next +to him, and all talking at once, nobody paying the slightest attention +to the bartenders who were vainly trying to serve a round of drinks. + +The head bartender returned to his position opposite Brent, and reaching +for the decanter, poured himself a drink. "Drink up and have one on the +stranger--he just set 'em up to the house." + +Brent swallowed the liquor in his glass and refilled it: "What's the +excitement?" he asked, "A man don't ordinarily get as popular as he +seems to be just because he buys a round of drinks, does he?" + +"Didn't you see it? It ain't the round of drinks, it's--wait--" He +stepped to the back bar and lifting the scoop from the scales set it +down in front of Brent, "That's what it is--_gold_! Yes sir, pure gold +just as she comes from the sand--nuggets and dust. It's be'n many a year +since any of that stuff has been passed over this bar for the drinks. +I've be'n here seven years and it's the first _I've_ took in, except now +and then a few colors that some _hombre's_ washed out of some dry coulee +or creek bed--fine dust that's cost him the shovelin' an' pannin' of +tons of gravel. Patsy keeps the scales settin' around for a +curiosity--that, an' because the old-timers likes to see 'em handy. Kind +of reminds 'em of the early days an' starts 'em gassin'. But this here's +the real stuff. Look at that boy." He poked with his finger at an +irregular nugget the size of a navy bean, "Looks like a chunk of +slag--an' that ain't all! He's got a bag full of 'em. I held it in my +hand, an' it weighed _pounds_!" + +As Brent stood looking down at the grains of yellow metal in the little +scoop a strange uneasiness stirred deep within him. He picked up the +nugget and held it in the palm of his hand. One side of it was flat, as +though polished by a thousand years of water-wear, and the other side +was rough and fire-eaten as though fused by a mighty heat. Brent had +seen plenty of gold--coined gold, gold fashioned by the goldsmith's art, +and gold in bricks and ingots, in the production of which he himself had +been a factor. Yet never before had the sight of gold moved him. It had +been merely a valuable metal which it was his business to help extract +from certain rocks by certain processes of chemistry and expensive +machinery. Yet here in his hand was a new kind of gold--gold that seemed +to reach into the very heart of him with a personal appeal. Raw +gold--gold that had known the touch of neither chemicals nor machinery, +but that had been wrested by the bare hands of a man from some far place +where the fires of a glowing world and the glacial ice-drift had +fashioned it. The vague uneasiness that had stirred him at sight of the +yellow grains, flamed into a mighty urge at its touch. He, too, would go +and get gold--and he would get it not by process of brain, but by +process of brawn. Not by means of chemicals and machinery, but by +slashing into the sides of mountains, and ripping the guts out of +creeks! Carefully he returned the nugget to the scoop, and as he raised +his eyes to the bartender's, he moistened his lips with his tongue. + +"Where did he get it?" he asked, huskily. + +"God, man! If I know'd that I wouldn't be standin' here, would I?" He +jerked his thumb toward the rear of the room where men were frenziedly +crowding the stranger. "That's what they all want to know. Lord, if he'd +let the word slip what a stampede there'd be! Every man for himself an' +the devil take the hindmost. Out of every hundred that's in on a +stampede, about one makes a stake, an' ten gets their ante back, an' the +rest goes broke. They all know what they're going up against--but the +damned fools! Every one of 'em would stake all they've got, an' their +life throw'd in, to be in on it." + +"It's the lure of gold," muttered Brent, "I've heard of it, but I never +felt it before. Are they damned fools? Wouldn't you?" + +"Wouldn't I--what?" + +"Wouldn't you go--along with the rest?" + +"_Hell--yes!_ An' so would anyone else that had any red guts in 'em!" + +Brent poured himself a drink, and shoved the decanter toward the other, +"Let's liquor," he said, "and then maybe if we can get that fellow away +from the crowd where we can talk----" + +The bartender interrupted the thought before it was expressed; "No +chance. Take a look at him. Believe me, there's one _hombre_ that ain't +goin' to spill nothin' he don't want to. An' when a man makes a strike +like that he don't hang around bars runnin' off at the chin about +it--not what you could notice, he don't. Far as I can see we got just +one chance. It's a damn slim one, but you can't always tell what's +runnin' in these birds' heads. He asked me if Patsy Kelliher was runnin' +this dump, an' when I told him he was, he had me send for him. Said he +wanted to see him _pronto_. An' then he kind of throw'd his eyes around +over the faces of the boys an' he says: 'You're all friends of Patsy's?' +He seen in a minute how Patsy stood acehigh with them all, an' then he +says; 'Well, just kind of stick around 'till Patsy gets down here an' it +might be I'll explode somethin' amongst his friends that'll clean this +dump out.' Now, you might take that two ways, but he don't look like one +of these, what you might call, anarchists, does he? An' when he said +that he laughed, an' he says: 'Belly up to the bar an' I'll buy a little +drink--_an' I'll pay for it with coarse gold!_' Well, you seen how much +drinkin' they done, an'--Here's Patsy, now!" + +Brent turned and nodded greeting as the proprietor of "The Ore Dump" +entered the door. + +"Is it yersilf that sint fer me, Mister Brint, ye spalpeen?" he grinned, +"Bein' a gintleman yersilf, ye'll be knowin' Oi'd still be at me +newspaper an' seegar. Whut's on yer mind thot ye'll be dhraggin' a mon +from the bossom of his family befoor lunch?" + +"It ain't him," explained the bartender, "It's the stranger, I told him +you didn't never show up till after dinner, but----" + +"_Lunch! Damn it! Lunch!_" Kelliher's fist smote the bar, and as he +scowled into the face of his head bartender, Brent detected a twinkle in +the deep-set blue eyes. "Didn't the owld woman beat that same into me +own head a wake afther we'd moved into the big house? An' she done ut +wid a tree-calf concoordance to Shakspere wid gold edges thot sets on +the par--livin' room table? 'Tis a handy an' useful weapon--a worthy +substitute, as the feller says, to the pleebeen rollin' pin an' fryin' +pan. Thim tree calves has got a hide on 'em loike the bottom av a +sluice-box. Oi bet they could make anvils out av the hide av a +full-grow'd tree-bull. G'wan now an' trot out this ill-fared magpie that +must be at his chatterin' befoor the break av day!" + +At a motion from the bartender the crowd parted to allow the stranger to +make his way to the front, surged together behind him, and followed, +ranging itself in a semicircle at a respectful distance. Thus with the +two principals, Brent found himself included within this semicircle of +excited faces. + +The two eyed each other for a moment in silence, the stranger with a +smile half-veiled by his sun-burned mustache, and Kelliher with a +frankly puzzled expression upon his face as his thick fingers toyed with +the heavy gold chain that hung cable-like from pocket to pocket of his +gaily colored vest. + +"I figured you wouldn't know me." The stranger's grin widened as he +noted the look of perplexity. + +"An' no more I don't," retorted the other, unconsciously tilting his +high silk hat at an aggressive angle over his right eye. "Let's git the +cards on the table. Who are ye? An' what ye got in ye're head that ye +couldn't kape there till afther lunch?" + +"I'm McBride." + +Brent saw that the name conveyed nothing to the other, whose puzzled +frown deepened. "Ye're McBride!" The tone was good-naturedly sarcastic, +"Well, ye'd av still be'n McBride this afthernoon, av ye'd be'n let live +that long. But who the divil's McBride that Oi shud come tearin' down to +look into the ugly mug av um?" + +The stranger laughed: "Nine years ago McBride was the night telegraph +operator over in the yards. That was before you moved up here. You was +still in the little dump over on Fagin street an' you done most of the +work yerself--used to open up mornings. There wasn't no big diamon's +shinin' in the middle of yer bald-face shirt them days--I doubt an' you +owned a bald-face shirt, except, maybe, for Sundays. Anyhow, you'd be +openin' up in the mornin' when I'd be goin off trick, an' I most +generally stopped in for a couple of drinks or so. An' one mornin' when +I'd downed three or four, I noticed you kind of givin' me the once-over. +There wasn't no one else in the place, an' you come over an' leaned yer +elbows on the bar, an' you says: 'Yer goin' kind of heavy on that stuff, +son,' you says. + +"'What the hell's the difference?' I says, 'I ain't got only six months +to live an' I might's well enjoy what I can of it.' + +"'Are they goin' to hang ye in six months?' you asks, 'Have ye got yer +sentence?' + +"'I've got my sentence,' I says, 'But it ain't hangin'. The doctors +sentenced me. It's the con.' + +"'To hell with the doctors,' you says, 'They don't know it all. We'll +fool 'em. All you need is to git out in the mountains--an' lay off the +hooch.' + +"I laughed at you. 'Me go to the mountains!' I says, 'Why man I ain't +hardly got strength to get to my room an' back to the job again--an' +couldn't even make that if it wasn't for the hooch.' + +"'That's right,' you says, 'From the job to the room, an' the room to +the job, ye'll last maybe six months--but I'm doubtin' it. But the +mountains is different.' An' then you goes on an talks mountains an' +gold till you got me interested, an' you offers to grub-stake me for a +trip into the Kootenay country. You claimed it was a straight business +proposition--fifty-fifty if I made a strike, an' you put up the money +against my time." The stranger paused and smiled as a subdued ripple of +whisperings went from man to man as he mentioned the Kootenay. Then he +looked Kelliher squarely in the face: "There wasn't no gold in the +Kootenay," he said simply, "Or leastwise I couldn't find none. I figured +someone had be'n stringin' you." + +Patsy Kelliher shifted the hat to the back of his head and laughed out +loud as his little eyes twinkled with merriment. "I git ye now, son," he +said, "I moind the white face av ye, an' the chist bowed in like the +bottom av a wash bowl, an' yer shoulders stuck out befront ye loike the +horns av a cow." He paused as his eyes ran the lines of sinewy leanness +and came to rest upon the sun bronzed face: "So ye made a failure av the +trip, eh? A plumb clane failure--an' Oi'm out the couple av hundred it +cost me fer the grub stake----" + +"It cost you more than five hundred," interrupted the other. "I was in +bad shape and there was things I needed that other men wouldn't of--that +I don't need--now." + +"Well--foive hundred, thin. An' how long has ut be'n ago?" + +"Nine years." + +Kelliher laughed: "Who was roight--me or the damn doctors? Ye've lived +eighteen toimes as long as they was going to let ye live a'ready--an' av +me eyes deceive me roight, ye ain't ordered no coffin yet." + +"No--I ain't ordered no coffin. I come here to hunt you up an' pay you +back." + +Kelliher laughed: "There ain't nothin' to pay son. You don't owe me a +cent. A grub-stake's a grub-stake, an' no one iver yit said Patsy +Kelliher welched on a bargain. Besoides, Oi guess ye got all Oi sint ye +afther. I know'd damn well they wasn't no gold in the Kootenay--none +that a tenderfoot lunger cud foind." + +McBride laughed: "Sure--I knew after I'd been there six months what you +done it for. I doped it all out. But, as you say, a grub-stake's a +grub-stake, an' no time limit on it, an' no one ever said Jim McBride +ever welched on a bargain, neither. I ain't never be'n just ready to +come back an' settle with you, till now. I drifted north, and farther +north, till I wound up in the Yukon country. I prospected around there +an' had pretty good luck. I'd got back my strength an' my health till +right now there ain't but damn few men in the big country that can hit +the trail with Jim McBride. But I wasn't never satisfied with what I was +takin' out. I know'd there was somethin' big somewheres up there. I +could _feel_ it, an' I played for the big stake. Others stuck by stuff +that was pannin' 'em out wages. I didn't. They called me a fool--an' I +let 'em. I struck up river at last an' they laughed--but they ain't +laughin' now. Me an' a squaw-man named Carmack hunted moose together +over on Bonanza. One day Carmack was scratchin' around the roots of a +big birch tree an' just fer fun he gets to monkeyin' with my pan." The +man paused and Brent could hear the suppressed breathing of the miners +who had crowded close. His eyes swept their faces and he saw that every +eye in the house was staring into the face of McBride as they hung upon +his every word. He realized suddenly that he himself was waiting in a +fever of impatience for the man to go on. "Then I come into camp, an' we +both fooled with the pan--but we didn't fool long. God, man! We was +shakin' it out of the grass roots! _Coarse gold!_ I stayed at it a +month--an' I've filed on every creek within ten miles of that lone birch +tree. Then I come outside to find you an' settle." He paused and his +eyes swept the room: "These men friends of yourn?" he asked. Kelliher +nodded. "Well then I'm lettin' 'em in. Right here starts the biggest +stampede the world ever seen. Some of the old timers that was already up +there are into the stuff now--but in the spring the whole world will be +gettin' in on it!" + +Kelliher was the only self-possessed man in the room: "What'll she run +to the pan?" he asked. + +"_Run to the pan!_ God knows! We thought she was _big_ when she hit an +ounce----" + +"_An ounce to the pan!_" cried Kelliher, "Man ye're crazy!" + +The other continued: "An' we thought she was _little_ when she run a +hundred dollars--two hundred! I've washed out six-hundred dollars to +the pan! An' I ain't to bed rock!" + +And then he began to empty his pockets. One after another the little +buckskin sacks thudded upon the bar--ten--fifteen--twenty of them. +McBride spoke to Kelliher, who stared with incredulous, bulging eyes: +"That's your share of what I've took out. You're filed along with me as +full pardner in all the claims I've got. They's millions in them +claims--an' more millions fer the men that gets there first." He paused +and turned to the men of the crowd who stood silent, with tense white +faces, and staring eyes glued on the pile of buckskin sacks: "Beat it, +you gravel hogs!" he cried, "It's the biggest strike that ever was! Hit +fer Seattle, go by Dyea Beach an' over the Chilkoot, an' take a thousand +pounds of outfit--or you'll die. A hell of a lot of you'll die +anyhow--but some of you will win--an' win big. Over the Chilkoot, down +through the lakes, an' down the Yukon to Dawson--" A high pitched, +unnatural yell, animal-like in its nervous excitement broke from a +throat in the crowd, and the next instant pandemonium broke loose in +Kelliher's, and Carter Brent fought his way to the door through a +howling mass of mad men, and struck out for his boarding house at a +run. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +ON DYEA BEACH + + +In a drizzle of cold rain forty men stood on Dyea beach and viewed with +disfavor the forty thousand pounds of sodden, mud-smeared outfit that +had been hurriedly landed from the little steamer that was already +plowing her way southward. Of the sixty-odd men who, two weeks before +had stood in Patsy Kelliher's "Ore Dump Saloon" and had seen Jim McBride +toss one after another upon the bar twenty buckskin pouches filled to +bursting with coarse gold in his reckoning with Kelliher, these forty +had accomplished the first leg of the long North trail. The next year +and the next, thousands, and tens of thousands of men would follow in +their footsteps, for these forty were the forerunners of the great +stampede from the "outside"--a stampede that exacted merciless toll in +the lives of fools and weaklings, even as it heaped riches with lavish +prodigality into the laps of the strong. + +Jim McBride had said that each man must carry in a thousand pounds of +outfit. Well and good, they had complied. Each had purchased his +thousand pounds, had it delivered on board the steamer, and in due +course, had watched it dumped upon the beach from the small boats. +Despite the cold drizzle, throughout the unloading the forty had laughed +and joked each other and had liberally tendered flasks. But now, with +the steamer a vanishing speck in the distance and the rock-studded Dyea +Flats stretching away toward the mountains, the laughter and joking +ceased. Men eyed the trail, moved aimlessly about, and returned to their +luggage. The thousand pound outfits had suddenly assumed proportions. +Every ounce of it must be man-handled across a twenty-eight mile portage +and over the Chilkoot Pass. Now and then a man bent down and gave a +tentative lift at a bale or a sack. Muttered curses had taken the place +of laughter, and if a man drew a flask from his pocket, he drank, and +returned it to his pocket without tendering it to his neighbor. + +When Carter Brent had reached the seclusion of his room after leaving +Kelliher's saloon, he slipped his hand into his pocket and withdrawing +his roll of bills, counted them. He found exactly three hundred and +seventy-eight dollars which he rightly decided was not enough to finance +an expedition to the gold country. He must get more--and get it quickly. +Returning the bills in his pocket he packed his belongings, left the +room, and a few minutes later was admitted upon signal to the gambling +rooms of Nick the Greek where selecting a faro layout, he bought a +stack of chips. At the end of a half-hour he bought another stack, and +thereafter he began to win. When his innings totaled one thousand +dollars he cashed in, and that evening at seven o'clock he stepped onto +a train bound for Seattle. He was mildly surprised that none of the +others from Kelliher's were in evidence. But when he arrived at his +destination he grinned as he saw them swarming from the day coaches +ahead. + +And now on Dyea beach he stood and scowled as he watched the rain water +collect in drops and roll down the sides of his packages. + +"He said they was Injuns would pack this here junk," complained a man +beside him, "Where'n hell be they?" + +"Search me," grinned Brent, "How much can you carry?" + +"Don't know--not a hell of a lot over them rocks--an' he said this here +Chilkoot was so steep you had to climb it instead of walk." + +"Suppose we make a try," suggested Brent. "A man ought to handle a +hundred pounds----" + +"_A hundred pounds!_ You're crazy as hell! I ain't no damn burro--me. +Not no hundred pounds no twenty-eight mile, an' part of it cat-climbin'. +'Bout twenty-five's more my size." + +"You like to walk better than I do," shrugged Brent, "Have you stopped +to figure that a twenty-five-pound pack means four trips to the +hundred--forty trips for the thousand? And forty round trips of +twenty-eight miles means something over twenty-two hundred miles of +hiking." + +"Gawd!" exclaimed the other, in dismay, "It must be hell to be +eggicated! If _I'd_ figgered that out, _I'd_ of stayed on the boat! +We're in a hell of a fix now, an' no ways to git back. That grub'll all +be et gittin' it over the pass, an' when we git there, we ain't +nowheres--we got them lakes an' river to make after that. Looks like by +the time we hit this here Bonanza place all the claims will be took up, +or the gold'll be rotted with old age." + +"You're sure a son of gloom," opined Brent as he stooped and affixed his +straps to a hundred-pound sack of flour. "But I'm going to hit the +trail. So long." + +As Brent essayed to swing the pack to his shoulders he learned for the +first time in his life that one hundred pounds is a matter not lightly +to be juggled. The pack did not swing to his shoulders, and it was only +after repeated efforts, and the use of other bales of luggage as a +platform that he was at length able to stand erect under his burden. The +other man had watched without offer of assistance, and Brent's wrath +flared as he noted his grin. Without a word he struck across the +rock-strewn flat. + +"Hurry back," taunted the other, "You ort to make about four trips by +supper time." + +Before he had covered fifty yards Brent knew that he could never stand +the strain of a hundred-pound pack. While not a large man, he was well +built and rugged, but he had never before carried a pack, and every +muscle of his body registered its aching protest at the unaccustomed +strain. Time and again it seemed as though the next step must be his +last, then a friendly rock would show up ahead and he would stagger +forward and sink against its side allowing the rock to ease the weight +from his shoulders. As the distance between resting places became +shorter, the periods of rest lengthened, and during these periods, while +he panted for breath and listened to the pounding of his heart's blood +as it surged past his ear drums, his brain was very active. "McBride +said a good packer could walk off with a hundred, or a hundred and fifty +pounds, and he'd seen 'em pack two hundred," he muttered. "And I've been +an hour moving one hundred pounds one mile! And I'm so near all in that +I couldn't move it another mile in a week. I wonder where those Indian +packers are that he said we could get?" His eyes travelled back across +the flats, every inch of which had caused him bodily anguish, and came +to rest upon the men who still moved aimlessly among the rain-sodden +bales, or stood about in groups. "Anyway I'm the only one that has made +a stab at it." + +A sound behind him caused him to turn his head abruptly to see five +Indians striding toward him along the rock-strewn trail. Brent wriggled +painfully from his pack straps as the leader, a bigframed giant of a +man, halted at his side and stared stolidly down at him. Brent gained +his feet and thrust out his hand: "Hello, there, old Nick o' Time! Want +a job? I've got a thousand pounds of junk back there on the beach, +counting this piece, and all you gentlemen have got to do is to flip it +up onto your backs and skip over the Chilkoot with it--it's a snap, and +I'll pay you good wages. Do you speak English?" + +The big Indian nodded gravely, "Me spik Eengliss. Me no nem Nickytam. +Nem Kamish--W'ite man call Joe Pete." + +Brent nodded: "All right, Joe Pete. Now how much are you and your gang +going to charge me to pack this stuff up over the pass?" + +The Indian regarded the sack of flour: "You _chechako_," he announced. + +"Just as you say," grinned Brent, "I wouldn't take that from everybody, +whatever it means, but if you'll get that stuff over the pass you can +call me anything you want to." + +"You Boston man." + +"No--I'm from Tennessee. But we'll overlook even that. How much you pack +it over the pass." Brent pointed to the flour and held up ten fingers. + +The Indian turned to his followers and spoke to them in guttural jargon. +They nodded assent, and he turned to Brent: "Top Chilkoot fi' cent +poun'--hondre poun', fi' dolla. Lak Lindermann, three cent poun' +mor'--hondre poun' all way, eight dolla." + +"You're on!" agreed Brent, "Thousand pounds, eighty dollars--all the +way." + +The Indian nodded, and Brent produced a ten dollar gold piece which he +handed to the man, indicated that he would get the rest when they +reached Lake Lindermann. + +The Indian motioned to the smallest of his followers and pointing to the +sack of flour, mumbled some words of jargon, whereupon the man stepped +to the pack, removed Brent's straps and producing straps of his own +swung the burden to his back and started off at a brisk walk. + +As Brent led the way back to the beach at the head of his Indians he +turned more than once to glance back at the solitary packer, but as far +as he could see him, the man continued to swing along at the same brisk +pace at which he had started, whereat he conceived a sudden profound +respect for his hirelings. "The littlest runt of the bunch has got me +skinned a thousand miles," he muttered, "But I'll learn the trick. A +year from now I'll hit the trail with any of 'em." + +Back at the beach the Indians were surrounded by thirty-nine clamoring, +howling men who pushed and jostled one another in a frenzied attempt to +hire the packers. + +"No, you don't!" cried Brent, "These men are working for me. When I'm +through with them you can have them, and not before." + +Ugly mutterings greeted the announcement. "Who the hell do you think +you are?" "Divide 'em up!" "Give someone else a chanct." Others advanced +upon the Indians and shook sheaves of bills under their noses, offering +double and treble Brent's price. But the Indians paid no heed to the +paper money, and inwardly Brent thanked the lucky star that guided him +into exchanging all his money into gold before leaving Seattle. + +Despite the fact that he was next to useless as a packer Brent was no +weakling. Ignoring the mutterings he led the Indians to his outfit and +while they affixed their straps, he faced the crowding men. + +"Just stay where you are, boys," he said. "This stuff here is my stuff, +and for the time being the ground it's on is my ground." + +The man who had sneered at his attempt to pack the flour crowded close +and quick as a flash, Brent's left fist caught him square on the point +of the chin and he crashed backward among the legs of the others. +Brent's voice never changed tone, nor by so much as the flutter of an +eye lash did he betray any excitement. "Any man that crosses that line +is going to find trouble--and find it damned quick." + +"He's bluffin'," cried a thick voice from the rear of the crowd, "Let me +up there. I'll show the damn dude!" A huge hard-rock man elbowed his way +through the parting crowd, his whiskey-reddened eyes narrowed to slits. +Three paces in front of Brent he halted abruptly and stared into the +muzzle of the blue steel gun that had flashed into the engineer's hand. + +"Come on," invited Brent, "If I'm bluffing I won't shoot. You're twice +as big as I am. I wouldn't stand a show in the world in a +rough-and-tumble. But, I'm not bluffing--and there won't be any +rough-and-tumble." + +For a full half minute the man stared into the unwavering muzzle of the +gun. + +"You would shoot a man, damn you!" he muttered as he backed slowly away. +And every man in the crowd knew that he spoke the truth. + +Three of the Indians had put their straps to a hundred pounds apiece and +were already strung out on the trail. Brent turned to see Joe Pete +regarding him with approval, and as he affixed his straps to a fifty +pound pack, the big Indian stooped and swung an extra fifty pounds on +top of the hundred already on his back and struck out after the others. +At the end of a half-mile Brent was laboring heavily under his load, +while Joe Pete had never for an instant slackened his pace. "What's he +made of? Don't he ever rest?" thought Brent, as he struggled on. The +blood was pounding in his ears, and his laboring lungs were sucking in +the air in great gulps. At length his muscles refused to go another +step, and he sagged to the ground and lay there sick and dizzy without +energy enough left at his command to roll the pack from his shoulders. +After what seemed an hour the pack was raised and the Indian who had +gone ahead with his first pack swung the fifty pounds to his own +shoulders and started off. Brent scrambled to his feet and followed. + +A mile farther on they came to the others lying on the ground smoking +and resting. The packs lay to one side, and Brent made mental note of +the fact that these packers carried much of the weight upon a strap that +looped over their foreheads, and that instead of making short hauls and +then resting with their packs on they made long hauls and took long +rests with their packs thrown off. They were at least three miles from +the beach, and it was nearly an hour before they again took the trail. +In the meantime Joe Pete had rigged a tump-line for Brent, and when he +again took the trail he was surprised at the difference the shifting of +part of the load to his head made in the ease with which he carried it. + +Two miles farther on they came upon the sack of flour where the Indian +had left it and Joe Pete indicated that this would be their first day's +haul. Six hundred pounds of Brent's thousand had been moved five miles, +and leaving the small Indian to make camp, the others, together with +Brent returned for the remaining four hundred. + +This time they were not molested by the men on the beach, many of whom +they passed on the trail laboring along under packs which for the most +part did not exceed fifty pounds weight. + +On the return Brent insisted on packing his fifty pounds and much to his +delight found that he was able to make the whole distance of three miles +to the resting place. Joe Pete nodded grave approval of this feat and +Brent, in whose veins flowed the bluest blood of the South, felt his +heart swell with pride because he had won the approbation of this dark +skinned packer of the North. + +Into this rest camp came the erstwhile head barkeeper at Kelliher's, and +to him Brent imparted the trail-lore he had picked up. Also he exchanged +with him one hundred dollars in gold for a like amount in bills, and +advised Joe Pete that when his present contract was finished this other +would be a good man to work for. + +Day after day they packed, and upon the last day of trail Brent made +four miles under one hundred pounds with only one rest--much of the way +through soft muskeg. And he repeated the performance in the afternoon. +At Lindermann Joe Pete found an Indian who agreed to run Brent and his +outfit down through the lakes and the river to Dawson in a huge freight +canoe. + +The first stampeders from the outside bought all available canoes and +boats so that by the time of the big rush boats had to be built on the +shore of the lake from timber cut green and whip-sawed into lumber on +the spot. Also, the price of packing over the Chilkoot jumped from five +cents a pound to ten, to twenty, to fifty, to seventy, and even a +dollar, as men fought to get in before the freeze up--but that was a +year and a half after Brent floated down the Yukon in his big birch +canoe. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +AT THE MISSION + + +Far in the Northland, upon the bank of a great river that disgorges into +the frozen sea, stands a little Roman Catholic Mission. The mission is +very old--having had its inception in the early days of the fur trade. +Its little chapel boasts a stained glass window--a window fashioned in +Europe, carried across the Atlantic to Hudson Bay in a wooden sailing +vessel, and transported through three thousand miles of wilderness in +canoes, York boats, and scows, and over many weary miles of portage upon +the backs of sweating Indians. Upon its walls hang paintings--works of +real merit, the labor of priestly hands long dead. A worthy monument, +this mission, to the toil and self sacrifice of the early Fathers, and a +living tribute to the labor of the grave Grey Nuns. + +The time was July--late evening of a July day. The sun still held high +above the horizon, and upon the grassed plateau about the buildings of +the mission children were playing. They were Indian children, for the +most part, thick bodied and swarthy faced but among them here and there, +could be seen the lighter skin of a half breed. Near the door of one of +the buildings sat a group of older Indian girls sewing. In the doorway +the good Father Ambrose stood with his eyes upon the up-reach of the +river. + +Like a silent grey shadow Sister Mercedes glided from the chapel and +seated herself upon a wooden bench drawn close beside the door. Her eyes +followed the gaze of the priest. "No sign of the brigade?" she asked. +"They have probably tied up for the night. Tomorrow maybe--or the day +after, they will come." Ensued a long pause during which both studied +the river. "I think," continued the Nun, "that when the scows return +southward we will be losing Snowdrift." + +"Eh?" The priest turned his head quickly and regarded Sister Mercedes +with a frown. "Henri of the White Water? Think you he has----" + +The Sister interrupted: "No, no! To school. She is nineteen, now. We can +do nothing more for her here. In the matter of lessons, as you well +know, she has easily outstripped all others, and books! She has already +exhausted our meagre library." + +The priest nodded. The frown still puckered his brow but his lips +smiled--a smile that conveyed more of questioning than of mirth. +Intensely human himself, Father Ambrose was no mean student of human +nature, and he spoke with a troubled mind: "To us here at the mission +have been brought many children, both of the Indians and of the Metis. +And, having absorbed to their capacity our teachings, the Indians have +gone stolidly back to their tepees, and to their business of hunting and +trapping, carrying with them a measure of useful handicraft, a +smattering of letters, and the precepts of the Word." The smile had +faded from the clean-cut lips of the priest, and Sister Mercedes noted a +touch of sadness in the voice, as she watched a slanting ray of sunlight +play for a moment upon the thinning, silvery hair. "I have grown old in +the service of God here at this mission, and it is natural that I have +sought diligently among my people for the outward and visible signs of +the fruit of my labor. And I have found, with a few notable exceptions +that in one year, or two, or three, the handicraft is almost forgotten, +the letters are but a dim blur of memory, and the Word?" He shrugged, +"Who but God can tell? It is the Metis who are the real problem. For it +is in their veins that civilization meets savagery. The clash and the +conflict of races--the antagonism that is responsible for the wars of +the world--is inherent in the very blood that gives them life. And the +outcome is beyond the ken or the conjecture of man. I have seen, I +think, every conceivable combination of physical and mental condition, +save the one most devoutly to be hoped for--a blending of the best that +is in each race. That I have not seen. Unless it be that we are to see +it in Snowdrift." + +Sister Mercedes smiled: "I do not believe that Snowdrift is a half +breed. I believe she is a white child." + +Father Ambrose smiled tolerantly: "Still of that belief? But, it is +impossible. I know her mother. She, too, was a child of this +mission--long before your time. She is one of the few Indians who did +not forget the handicraft nor the letters." The old man paused and shook +his head sadly, "And until she brought this child here I believed that +she had not forgotten the Word. For she continued to profess her belief, +and among her people she waged war upon the rum-runners. Later, I, +myself, married her to a Dog Rib, a man who was the best of his tribe. +Then they disappeared and I heard nothing from her until she brought +this child, Snowdrift, to us here at the mission. She told me that her +husband had been drowned in a rapid, and then she told me--not in +confessional, for she would not confess, that this was her child and +that her father was a white man, but that he was not her husband." + +"She may have lied. Loving the child, she may have feared that we would +take her away, or institute a search for her people." + +"She loves the child--with the mother love. But she did not lie. If she +had lied, would she not have said that after the death of her husband +she had married this white man? I would have believed her. But, +evidently the idea of truth is more firmly implanted in her heart +than--other virtues--so she told the truth--knowing even as she did so +the light in which she would stand before men, and also the standing of +her daughter." + +"Oh, it is a shame!" cried the Nun, "But, still I do not believe it! I +cannot believe it! Snowdrift's skin, where the sun and the wind have not +turned it, is as white as mine." + +"But her hair and eyes are the dark hair and eyes of the Indian. And +when she was first brought here, have you forgotten that she fought like +a little wild cat, and that she ran away and trailed her band to its +encampment? Could a white child have done that?" + +"But after she had been brought back, and had begun to learn she fought +just as hard against returning to the tribe for a brief vacation. She is +a dreamer of dreams. She loves music and appreciates its beauty, and the +beauty of art and the poets." + +"She can trail an animal through country that would throw many an Indian +at fault." + +"She hates the sordid. She hates the rum-runners, and the greasy +smoke-blackened tepees of the Indians. In her heart there has been an +awakening. She longs for something better--higher. She has consented to +go to the convent." + +"And at the same time we are in mortal dread lest she marry that prince +of all devils, Henri of the White Water. Why she even dresses like an +Indian--the only one of the older girls who does not wear the clothing +of white women." + +"That is because of her artistic temperament. She loves the ease and +comfort of the garments. And she realizes their beauty in comparison to +the ugliness of the coarse clothing and shoes with which we must provide +them." + +"Where is she now?" + +"Hunting." + +Father Ambrose laughed: "And I predict that she will not return until +she has brought down her caribou, or her moose. Would your white maiden +of nineteen be off hunting alone in the hills with her rifle? No. By our +very contentions we have established the dual nature of her. In her the +traits of civilization and savagery are not blended, but each in turn +dominate and order her thoughts and actions. Hers is what one might term +an alternating ego. And it is a thing that troubles me sore. What will +happen down there--down at the convent, where they will not understand +her, and where there is no hunting? To what end will this marvelous +energy exert itself? For, it will not remain pent up within her breast. +It will seek outlet. And then?" + +"Who can tell?" answered the Nun, thoughtfully. "At least, I shall be +glad indeed to know that she will be far from the baleful influence of +Henri of the White Water. For, devil that he is, there is no gainsaying +the fact that there is something attractive about him, with his bold +free manner, and his handsome face, and gay clothing. He is a figure +that might well attract a more sophisticated woman than our little +Snowdrift. As yet, though, I think he has failed to rouse in her more +than a passing interest. If she cared for him she would not be away +hunting while everyone else is eagerly watching for the brigade." + +Father Ambrose shrugged: "'Tis past understanding--the way of a maid +with a man. But see, here she comes, now." Both watched the lithe form +that swung across the clearing from the bush. The girl was hatless, her +mass of black hair, caught up and held in place by an ingenious twist of +bark. Her face and full rounded throat that rose gracefully from the +open collar of a buckskin hunting shirt showed a rich hazel brown in the +slanting rays of the sun. Buckskin gloves protected her hands from the +ever present mosquitoes. A knee-length skirt of heavy cloth, a pair of +deer skin leggings tanned with the hair on, and Indian moccasins +completed her costume. + +"What luck?" greeted the priest. + +The girl paused before them and flashing a smile, disclosed a set of +teeth that gleamed like wet pearls: "Good luck," she answered, "A young +bull caribou, and two wolves that were just closing in on a cow with a +young calf. Every bullet went true. I shot three times. Has the brigade +passed?" + +The priest shook his head: "No, not yet. They will have camped before +this for the night." As he spoke the girl's eyes strayed to the river, +and at the extreme reach of glistening water, they held: "Look!" she +cried, "They are coming, now!" Around the bend into view shot a scow, +and another, and another, until the whole surface of the river seemed +black with the scows. The playing children had seen them too, and with +wild whoops of delight they were racing for the bank, followed by the +older Indian girls, and by Father Ambrose. For the annual coming of the +brigade is an event in the North, bringing as it does the mail and the +supplies for the whole year to these lonely dwellers of the far +outlands. + +Sister Mercedes remained seated upon her bench and standing her rifle +against the wall, Snowdrift sat down beside her, and in silence the two +watched the scows swing shoreward in response to the strokes of the +heavy steering sweeps, and listened to the exchange of shouted +greetings. + +Of all the rivermen, the bravest figure was that of Henri of the White +Water. The two women could see him striding back and forth issuing +orders regarding the mooring of scows and the unloading of freight. They +saw him pause suddenly in his restless pacing up and down, and eagerly +scan the faces of the assembled group. Then, his glance travelled back +from the river and rested upon the two silent figures beside the door, +and with a wave of his hand, he tossed the sack of mail to the waiting +priest, and stepping past him strode rapidly up the bank in the +direction of the mission. + +The face of Sister Mercedes hardened as she noted the flaunting air of +the approaching man, his stocking cap of brilliant blue, his snow-white +_capote_ thrown open to reveal the flannel shirt of vivid red and black +checks. + +With a royal bow, he swept the blue stocking cap from his head and +saluted the two upon the bench: "Ah-ha, greetings, _ma chères_! From +Henri of the White Water to the fairest flower of the North, and +her--ah, guardian angel--_non_?" His lips flashed a smile, and he +continued: "But, there are times when even a guardian angel is not +desired to be. Come with me, Snowdrift, and we will walk yonder to the +edge of the bank, where we will still be within sight of the ever +watching eye of the church, but well out of hearing of its ever +listening ear. You see, Sister _religieuse_, I am a respecter of your +little laws!" He laughed aloud, "Ah, yes Henri of the White Water is a +great respecter of laws, _voila_!" + +Seating themselves upon the high bank of the river the two watched the +sun dip slowly behind the scrub timber. And, as the twilight deepened, +the man talked rapidly and earnestly, while the girl listened in +silence. "And so," he concluded, "When the scows return, in one month +from now, you shall leave this place forever. We shall go away and be +married, and we will journey far, far up the rivers to the cities of the +white men, and only upon occasion will we make flying trips into the +North--to the trade." + +"It is said that you trade hooch," said the girl, "I will not marry any +man who trades hooch. I hate the traders of hooch." + +"Ah-ha! _Ma chère!_ Yes, I have now and then traded hooch. You see, I do +not deny. Henri of the White Water must have adventure. But upon my +soul, if you do not want me to trade hooch, I shall never trade another +drop--_non_." + +"When the scows return in a month, I shall go with them," answered the +girl dispassionately, "But, not to be married. I am going to school----" + +"To school! _Mon Dieu!_ Have you not had enough of school? It is time +you were finished with such foolishness. You, who are old enough to be +the mother of children, talking of going to school! Bah! It is to laugh! +And where would you go--to school?" + +"To the convent, at Montreal." + +"The devil take these meddlers!" cried the man, rising and pacing +rapidly up and down before the girl. Then suddenly he paused and looking +down upon her, laughed aloud. "Ha, ha! You would go to Montreal! And +what will you do when you get there? What will you say when they ask you +who is your father? Eh, what will you tell them?" + +The girl looked at him in wide-eyed surprise. "Why, what do you mean? I +shall tell them the truth--that my father is dead. Why should I not tell +them that my father is dead. He was a good man. My mother has told me." + +Again the man laughed, his laugh of cruel derision: "Such innocence! It +is unbelievable! They will have nothing to do with you in the land of +the white men. They will scorn you and look down upon you. You never had +a father----" + +The girl was upon her feet, now, facing him with flashing eyes: "It is a +lie! I did have a father! And he was a good man. He was not like the +father of you, old Boussard, the drunken and thieving old hanger-on +about the posts!" + +"Aye, I grant you that the old devil is nothing to brag of. I do not +point to him with the finger of pride, but he is nevertheless a +produceable father. He and my Indian mother were married. I at least am +no _enfant natural_--no _batarde_! No one can poke at me the finger of +scorn, and draw aside in the passing, as from a thing unclean!" + +The girl's face flamed red, and tears of rage welled from her eyes: "I +do not know what you mean!" she cried, "But I do know that I hate you! I +will find out what you mean--and then maybe I will kill you." In her +rage she sprang at the man's throat with her bare hands, but he easily +thrust her aside, and sobbing she ran toward the mission. + +It was long after midnight that Snowdrift emerged from the room of +Sister Mercedes. The girl had gone straight to the Nun and asked +questions, nor would she be denied their answers. And so explaining, +comforting, as best she could, the good Sister talked till far into the +night. Snowdrift had gone into the room an unsophisticated girl--she +came out from it a woman--but, a woman whose spirit, instead of being +crushed and broken by the weight of her shame, rose triumphant and +defiant above that shame. For in her heart was bitter hatred against the +white men, whose code of ethics brought shame upon the innocent head of +one whose very existence was due to the lust of a man of their own race. + +Silently the girl crossed the clearing to the building in which was her +room, and very silently she made up a pack of her belongings. Then, +taking the pack, and her rifle, she stole silently out the door and +crossing the broad open space, entered the bush. At the edge of the +clearing she turned, and stood for a long time looking back at the +mission with its little buildings huddled together in the moonlight. And +then, with a choking sob that forced itself past her tight-pressed lips, +she turned and plunged into the timber. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +ACE-IN-THE-HOLE + + +On the outskirts of Dawson, city of the tents and log buildings, Brent +pitched his own tent, paid off his Indian canoeman, and within the hour +was sucked into the mad maelstrom of carousal that characterized the +early days of the big gold camp. + +It was the city of men gone mad. The saloon was the center of +activity--and saloons there were aplenty; Dick Stoell's Place, which was +"the big game" of Dawson; "The Nugget" of uproarious fame; Cuter +Malone's "Klondike Palace," where, nightly, revel raged to the _n_th +power--where bearded men and scarlet women gave over to debauch +magnificent in its wild abandon; and many others, each with its wheels +of chance, its cards, its music, and its women. + +And into the whirl of it Carter Brent plunged with a zest born of youth +and of muscles iron-hard from the gruelling trail. And into it he fitted +as though to the manner born. No invisible lines of demarkation divided +the bars of Dawson as they had divided Kelliher's bar. Millionaires in +blanket coats and mukluks rubbed shoulders with penniless watery-eyed +squaw-men. Sourdoughs who spilled coarse gold from the mouths of sacks, +misfit _chechakos_, and painted women, danced, and sang, and cursed, and +gambled, the short nights through. + +The remnant of Brent's thousand dollars was but a drop in the bucket, +and he was glad when it was gone three days after his arrival. Not that +he particularly wanted to be "broke." But in the spending of it, men had +taken his measure--the bills and the coined gold had branded him as a +man from the "outside," a _chechako_--a tenderfoot. + +An hour after he had tossed his last yellow disk upon the bar in payment +for a round of drinks he had hired out to Camillo Bill Waters to sluice +gravel at an ounce a day. An ounce was sixteen dollars. Thereafter for +the space of a month he was seen no more in Dawson. + +Then one day he returned. He presented a slip of paper signed by Camillo +Bill to the bartender at Stoell's and received therefor thirty ounces of +gold--raw gold, in dust and nuggets. He bought a round of drinks +glorying in the fact that at last he, too, was spending coarse gold. He +bet ten ounces on an Indian foot race, and won. More drinks, and an hour +later he bet his pile on a seven, a ten-spot, a deuce, and a king in a +game of stud poker. Two players called the bet and he flipped over his +hole card--it was a seven-spot and again he won. + +He quit the game and danced for an hour, and between dances he drank +whiskey. He got the hunch that this was his lucky day and that he could +win, but the hunch called for quick big bets, and not for long continued +play. He rode his hunch, and at Cuter Malone's wheel he tossed fifty +ounces on Number 21. The ivory ball rolled slower and slower, hesitated +on the 10 and then with a last turn settled into 21. He pocketed +twenty-eight thousand dollars with a grin. The news of the bet spread +swiftly and Brent became a man of sorts. Four times more that night he +placed big bets--and three of the times he won. + +One of these plays also in a game of stud earned him the name by which +he became known in the North. With a king, and a queen, showing in his +own hand he mercilessly raised an exposed pair of Jacks. Of the six +other players in the game five dropped out. The holder of the Jacks +stayed for the last draw and checked the bet. Brent laid fifty thousand +dollars on his cards, a king, a queen, an eight spot and a four spot. +The other stared at the hand for a long time. He was a man known for his +nerve and his high play, and he knew that Brent knew this. Whispers of +the big bet had gone about the room and men and women crowded the table. +At length the other turned down his cards in token of surrender, and +with a laugh Brent turned his hole card face up. It was the Ace of +Diamonds, and an audible gasp hissed from twenty throats. Thereafter +Brent was known as Ace-In-The-Hole. + +The next morning he deposited one hundred and thirty thousand dollars in +Dick Stoell's safe, and his pockets still bulged with dust. For two days +and nights he drank and danced, but not a card did he touch, nor did he +lay any bet. When questioned he answered that his hunch was not working. +The sourdoughs respected him and treated him as an equal. He spent dust +lavishly but he did not throw it away. + +Then suddenly he bought an outfit and disappeared. When the first snow +flew he was back, and into Dick Stoell's safe went many sacks of raw +gold. He drank harder than ever and spent gold more freely. His fame +spread to other camps, and three men came up from Circle to relieve him +of his pile. He was gambling regularly now, and in a game of stud he +caught them at the trick by means of which they had won forty thousand +dollars from him. Many miners, among them a goodly sprinkling of old +timers, were watching the play, and many of them had already detected +the swindle, but after the custom of the country they held their peace. +Brent never batted an eye upon discovering the trick, but when a few +moments later it was repeated, things happened in Stoell's--and they +happened with the rapidity of light. One minute after the trouble +started there was an ominous silence in the room. A circle of men stood +and stared at the wreck of a table, across which sagged the body of a +man killed with his own gun. Another man with his jaw shattered lay on +the floor, and a third lay white and still across him with a wide red +mark on his forehead where a sack of gold dust had caught him fair. And +over all stood Brent with one leg jammed through the rungs of a broken +chair. + +The incident placed Ace-In-The-Hole in the foremost ranks of the big men +of the North. He was regarded as the equal of such men as Old Bettles, +Camillo Bill Waters, Swiftwater Bill, and McMann. Sourdoughs sought his +acquaintance and _chechakos_ held him in awe. When the snow lay deep he +bought the best string of dogs he could find, hired an Indian musher, +and again disappeared. He was back at Christmas for a two weeks +carousal, and when he hit the trail again he carried with him several +gallons of whiskey. The sourdoughs shook their heads and exchanged +glances at this, but a man's business is his own. In July he sent his +Indian down for ten men to work his sluices and much whiskey. In +September he came down himself and he brought with him a half million in +gold. + +Others had cleaned up big during the summer, and that winter saw +Dawson's highest peak of wild orgies and wild spending. Riding a hunch +when he first hit town Brent doubled and trebled his pile, and then with +Jimmie the Rough, McMann, Camillo Bill and a few others they inaugurated +such a campaign of reckless spending as the North had never seen and +never again did see. + +Brent was never sober, now--and men said he never slept. He was the +youngest and by far the strongest of the spenders, the urge of the game +was in his blood, and he rode it as he rode his hunches--to the limit of +his endurance. All men liked him--open hearted, generous to the fault, +and square as a die in his dealings, he spent his money like a prince. +And where the men liked him the painted women worshipped him--but they +worshipped from afar. For despite the utmost blandishments of the most +intriguing of them, he treated all alike--even Kitty, whom men called +"The Queen of the Yukon," failed to hold him in thrall. This dancing +girl who had taken the North by storm, who was the North's darling and +beautiful plaything, whose boast it was that she had never sought any +man, fell violently in love with Brent. Men saw it and marvelled, for it +was known in the camps that she had spurned men who had laid fortunes at +her feet. It was not that he feared women, rather he sought them. He +danced with them, frolicked with them--and then promptly forgot them. +His one real passion was gambling. Any game or device whereupon big bets +could be laid found him an enthusiastic devotee. And his luck became a +byword in the North. + +"Sometime your luck will change," warned the dancing girl as the two sat +one evening in the early fall at a little table in Stoell's and drank +champagne which cost Brent fifty dollars the quart. "And then you'll be +broke and----" + +Brent who had been idly toying with the rings upon her fingers returned +the slender hand to the table. "It can't change. It's a part of me. As +long as I'm me, I'll be lucky. Look, I'll show you! You want to marry +me--you've told me so. Well, I don't want to marry you, or anyone +else--wouldn't know what to do with you if I did marry you. You want me +to go back on the claim--well, here's a bargain--just to show you that I +can't lose." He pulled a buckskin sack full of gold from his pocket and +held it before the girl's eyes. "See this sack. It isn't very big. It +can't cover many numbers. I'm going to stand up in this chair and toss +it onto the roulette table over there, and play every number it touches. +If I lose I lose the dust--Stoell will get that. But that isn't all I'll +lose--I'll lose myself--to you. If one of the numbers that this sack +falls on don't win, I marry you tonight, and we hit for the claim +tomorrow." + +The girl stared at him, fascinated: "Do you mean that--you'll quit +gambling--and you'll sober up and--and live with me?" + +Again Brent laughed: "Yes, I'll quit gambling, and sober up, and live +with you till--how does it go--till death us do part." + +"Toss it!" The words of the girl came short, with a curious indrawing of +the breath, and her fingers clutched at the edge of the table till the +knuckles whitened. The men who were crowded about the wheel glanced +toward the table at the sound, and standing in his chair Brent waved +them to fall back. Then he told them of his bet--while the dancing girl +sat with parted lips, her eyes fastened upon his face. The men at the +wheel surged back to give room. The proposition caught their fancy. +Ace-In-The-Hole, prince of gamblers, was betting himself--with the odds +against him! And every man and woman in the room knew that if he lost he +would keep his word to the last letter. + +Carefully measuring the distance, Brent balanced the sack in his hand, +then with a slow movement of his arm, tossed it onto the table. It +struck almost squarely in the center, covering Numbers 13, 14, 16, 17, +19, and 20. The croupier spun the wheel, and sent the ivory ball +spinning on its way. The men who had been playing, and the men from the +bar, crowded close, their eyes on the whirling wheel. Brent sat down in +his chair, lighted a cigarette, and filled the two empty champagne +glasses from the bottle. He glanced across at Kitty. She was leaning +forward with her face buried in her arms. Her shoulders were heaving +with quick, convulsive sobs. In Brent's heart rose sudden pity for this +girl. What to him had been a mere prank, a caprice of the moment, was to +her a thing of vital import. The black fox fur had fallen away from +about her neck exposing a bare shoulder that gleamed white in the light +of the swinging lamp. She looked little and helpless, and Brent felt a +desire to take her in his arms and comfort her. He leaned toward her, +half rose from his chair and then, at a sound from the table, he settled +back. + +"Number 13 wins," announced the croupier, and the room was suddenly +filled with the voices of many men. The croupier scribbled a notation +upon a piece of paper and together with the sack of dust laid it upon +the table between Brent and the girl. A moment later she raised her head +and stared, dry eyed into Brent's face. + +"Here, little girl," he said gently. "Forgive me. I didn't know you +really felt--that way. Here, this is all yours--take it. The bet paid +six to one. The weigher will cash this slip at the bar." + +With a swift motion of her hand the girl swept sack and slip to the +floor. "Oh, I--I hope you _die_!" she cried hysterically, and gathering +her wrap about her, she sped from the room. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +LUCK TURNS + + +Before the advent of the tin-horns, who invaded the Yukon at the time of +the big rush, a "limit" in a poker game was a thing unknown. "Table +stakes" did not exist, nor did a man mention the amount he stood to lose +when he sat in a game. When a player took his seat it was understood +that he stood good for all he possessed of property, whatever or +wherever it might be. If the play on any hand ran beyond his "pile" all +he had to do was to announce the fact and the other players would either +draw down to it, or if they wished to continue the play, the pot, +including the amount of the "short" player's last bet was pushed aside +until the last call was made, the "short" player only participating in +the portion of the pot so set aside. If, in the final show-down his hand +was the highest he raked in this pot and the next high hand collected +the subsequent bets. + +Stud poker was the play most favored by Brent, and when he sat in a game +the table soon became rimmed with spectators. Other games would break +up that the players might look on, and they were generally rewarded by +seeing plenty of action. It was Brent's custom to trail along for a +dozen hands or more, simply calling moderate bets on good hands, or +turning down his cards at the second or third card. Then, suddenly, he +would shove out an enormous bet, preferably raising a pair when his own +hand showed nothing. If this happened on the second or third card dealt +it invariably gave the other players pause, for they knew that each +succeeding bet would be higher than the first, and that if they stayed +for the final call they would stand to lose heavily if not be actually +wiped out. But they knew also that the bet was as apt to be made on +nothing as on a good hand, and should they drop out they must pass up +the opportunity to make a killing. Another whim of Brent's was always to +expose his hole card after the play, a trick that aggravated his +opponents as much as it amused the spectators. + +The result was that many players had fallen into the habit of dropping +out of a game when Ace-In-The-Hole sat in--not because they disliked him +personally, but because, as they openly admitted, they were afraid of +his play. Many of these spent hours watching his cards. Not a man among +them but knew that he was as square as a die, but every man among them +knew that his phenomenal luck must sometime desert him, and when that +time came they intended to be in at the killing. For only Brent himself +believed that his luck would hold--believed it was as much a part of +himself as the color of his hair or his eyes. + +Among those who refused to play was Johnny Claw, from whom Brent had won +ten thousand dollars a month before on three successive hands--two cold +bluffs, and a club in the hole with four clubs showing, against Claw's +king in the hole with two kings showing. Unlike the others who had lost +to him, Claw nursed a bitter and secret hatred for him, and he +determined that when luck did turn he would profit to the limit of his +pile. + +Johnnie Claw was one of the few old timers whom men distrusted. He was a +squaw-man who had trapped and traded in the country as far back as any +man could remember. With the coming of more white men, and the +establishment of saloons along the river, Claw had ceased his trapping, +and had confined his trading to the illicit peddling of hooch, for the +most part among the Indians of the interior, and to that uglier, but +more profitable traffic that filled the brothels and the dance halls of +the Yukon with painted women from the "outside." So Claw moved among his +compeers as a man despised, yet accepted, because he was of the North, +and of the civilization thereof a component part. + +Brent's luck held until the night before Thanksgiving, then the +inevitable happened--he began to lose. At the roulette wheel and the +faro table he lost twenty-five thousand dollars, and later, in a game +of stud, he dropped one hundred thousand more. The loss did not worry +him any, he drank a little more than usual during the play, and his +plunges came a little more frequently, but the cards were not falling +his way, and when they did fall, he almost invariably ran them up +against a stronger hand. + +Rumor that the luck of Ace-In-The-Hole had changed at last spread +rapidly through the camp, and late in the afternoon of Thanksgiving day, +when the play was resumed, spectators crowded the table ten deep. Men +estimated Brent's winnings at anywhere from one to five millions and +there was an electric thrill in the air as the players settled +themselves in their chairs and counted their stacks of chips. The game +was limited to eight players, and Camillo Bill Waters arriving too late +to be included, promptly bought the seat of a prospector named Troy, +paying therefor twenty-thousand dollars in dust. "We're after yer hide," +he grinned good-naturedly at Brent, "an' I'm backin' the hunch that +we're a-goin' to hang it on the fence this day." + +"Come and get it!" laughed Brent. "But I'll give you fair warning that I +wear it tight and before you rip it off someone's going to get hurt." +Cards in hand he glanced at the tense faces around the board. "I've got +a hunch that this game is going to make history on the Yukon," he +smiled, "And it better be opened formally with a good stiff round of +drinks." While they waited for the liquor his eye fell upon the face of +Johnny Claw, who sat at the table, the second man from his right. "I +thought you wouldn't sit in a game with me," he said, truculently. + +"An' I wouldn't, neither, while yer luck was runnin'--but, it's +different, now. Yer luck's busted--an' you'll be busted. An' I'm right +here to git my money back, an' some of yourn along with it." + +Brent laughed: "You won't be in the game an hour, Claw. I don't like +you, and I don't like your business, and the best thing you can do is to +cash in right now before the game starts." + +A moment of tense silence followed Brent's words, for among the men of +the Yukon, open insult must be wiped out in blood. But Claw made no move +except to reach out and finger a stack of chips, while men shot sidewise +glances into each other's faces. The stack of chips rattled upon the +cloth under the play of his nervous fingers, and Kitty, who had taken +her position directly behind Brent with a small slippered foot upon a +rung of his chair, tittered. Claw took his cue from the sound and +laughed loudly: "I'll play my cards, an' you play yourn, an' I'll do my +cashin' in later," he answered. "An' here's the drinks, so le's liquor +an' git to goin'." He downed his whiskey at a gulp, the bartender +removed the empty glasses, and the big game was on. + +The play ran rather cautiously at first, even more cautiously than +usual. But there was an unwonted tenseness in the atmosphere. Each man +had bought ten thousand dollars worth of chips, with the white chips at +one hundred dollars, the reds at five hundred, and blues at a +thousand--and each man knew that his stack was only a shoestring. + +After five or six deals Camillo Bill, who sat directly across the table +from Brent tossed in a red chip on his third card which was a queen. +Claw stayed, the next man folded, and Brent, who showed a seven and a +nine-spot raised a thousand. The others dropped, and Camillo Bill saw +the raise. Claw, whose exposed cards were a ten-spot and a jack, +hesitated for a moment and tossed in a blue chip. Camillo Bill's next +card was an ace, Claw paired his jack and Brent drew a six-spot. With a +grin at Brent, Claw pushed in a blue chip, and without hesitation Brent +dropped in four blue ones, raising Claw three thousand. Camillo Bill +studied the cards, tilted his hole card and glanced at its corner, and +raised Brent two thousand. Claw, also surveyed the cards: + +"Yer holdin' a four-straight damn high," he snarled at Brent, "but I've +got mine--my pair of jacks has got anything you've got beat, an' Camillo +hain't got no pair of queens or he'd of boosted yer other bet. I'd ort +to raise, but I'll jest stay." And he dropped five blue chips into the +pot. Camillo Bill paired his ace with the last card, Claw drew a deuce, +and Brent a ten spot. Camillo Bill bet a white chip, Claw stared at +Brent's cards for a few moments and merely called, and Brent laughed: + +"Here's your white chip, Bill, and I'll just lift it ten thousand--I'm +that much light in the pot for a minute." + +Camillo Bill called after a moment's deliberation, and Claw sat staring +at the pot. He had just two blue chips left before him. "I ain't got ten +thousan'," he whined, "I figger I've got about five thousan' outside +this here stack, an' if I call fer that an' lose I'm busted flat." His +hand pushed the two blue chips toward the pot, hesitated, and was +quickly withdrawn. "Damned if I do!" he snarled, "My jacks-up ain't +worth it--not agin luck like yourn." He turned over his hole card which +was a deuce, and again Brent laughed and flipped his hole card over. It +was the king of spades. + +"I haven't got a damned thing, and I never did have. What have you got +buried, Bill, another ace?" + +Camillo Bill grinned and shook his head: "Nope, my down card's a king, +too. All I got is them pair of aces. Where's yer guts, Claw?" + +Claw glared at Brent as the latter bought a new stack of chips, +scribbled an I.O.U. for ten thousand upon a scrap of paper, and tossed +it across to Camillo Bill. Then clutching his two chips he rose from the +table: "You jest done that to git me!" he growled, "I ain't got no show +in this game--if you can't beat me yerself you'll run me up agin a +better hand till I'm busted, if you lose money doin' it!" + +"You've got it doped right, Claw," said Brent, evenly. "I told you you +wouldn't last an hour, and if you'd have listened to me you'd have been +eight thousand better off. Your hour isn't up yet, we've got plenty of +time to get the rest of it." + +"You'll raise hell gittin' the rest of it!" muttered the man, and as he +walked toward the bar, Troy, who had sold his seat to Camillo Bill, +slipped into the vacated chair. + +The incident served to liven the game up, and thereafter red and blue +chips outnumbered the white ones in nearly every pot. + +There was no thought of stopping for supper, and when the game broke up +long past midnight Brent had lost three hundred thousand dollars. He +turned to Kitty, who had never left her post at the back of his chair: +"Come on, girl, let's go find something to eat and some fuzzy water," he +smiled. "They sure had my number, tonight, but I'll go after them +tomorrow." + +Brent ordered and drank three glasses of whiskey, while waiting for the +meal to be served, and after it was over, the girl leaned back in her +chair and studied him as she sipped her champagne. + +"You're different than you were a year ago," she said. + +Brent laughed: "Sure, I was a poor man, then----" + +The girl straightened in her chair and interrupted him abruptly, "And +you'll never amount to a _damn_ until you're a poor man again!" she +exclaimed, with such feeling that Brent stared at her in surprise. + +"What! What do you mean?" + +"I mean just what I said. A year ago you were _some man_. Folks say +you're a mining engineer--educated in a college. What are you now? +You're a gam., that's what you are, and the hooch is putting its mark on +you, too--and it's a shame." + +"What in the world is the matter with you, Kitty?" The man stared at her +in surprise, "The hooch don't hurt me any--and I only play for the fun +of the game----" + +"No you don't! You play because its got into your blood, and you can't +help playing. And you'll keep on playing till you're busted and it'll be +a good thing when you are! Your luck has changed now, and they'll get +you." + +"I'm still playing on their money," retorted Brent a little nettled at +the girl's attack. "If they clean me out, all right. They'll only win +the half million I took out of my two claims--the rest of it I took away +from them. Anyway, whose business is it?" he asked sullenly. + +"It ain't nobody's business, but yours. I--I wish to God it was mine. +Everybody knows the hooch is getting you--and that is just what they all +say--it's a shame--but it's his own business. I'm the only one that +could say anything to you, and I'm--I'm sorry I did." + +"They're right--it's my business, and no one else's. If they think I'm +so damned far gone let them come and get my pile--I'll still have the +claims, and I'll go out and bring in another stake and go after them +harder than ever!" + +"No you won't--they'll get the claims, too. And you won't have the +nerve, nor the muscles to go out and make another strike. When you once +bust, you'll be a bum--a has-been--_right_." + +"I suppose," sneered Brent, thoroughly angry now: "that I should marry +you and hit out for the claim so we could keep what's left in the +family--and you'd be the family." + +The girl laughed, a trifle hysterically: "No--I wouldn't marry you on a +bet--now. I was foolish enough to think of it, once--but not now. I've +done some thinking since that night you tossed that sack of dust on the +board. If you married me and did go back to where you were--if you quit +the cards and the hooch and got down to be what you ought to be--where +would I stand? Who am I, and what am I? You would stick by your +bargain--but you wouldn't want me. You could never go back outside--with +_me_. And if you wouldn't quit the cards and the hooch, I wouldn't have +_you_--not like you are now--flabby, and muddy-eyed, an' your breath so +heavy with rot-gut you could light it with a match. No, that dream's +busted and inside of a week you'll be busted, too." Setting down her +glass the girl quitted the table abruptly, leaving Brent to finish the +bottle of champagne alone, after which he sauntered down to Cuter +Malone's "Klondike Palace" and made a night of it, drinking and dancing. + +The week that followed was a week of almost unbroken losses for Brent. +In vain, he plunged, betting his cards more wildly, and more recklessly +than ever before, in an effort to force his luck. But it only hastened +the end, which came about midnight upon the Thursday following +Thanksgiving Day, at the moment he looked into the eyes of Camillo Bill +Waters and called a bet of fifty-thousand: "That's good," he announced, +as Bill showed Aces-up. "And that just finishes me--I held the claims at +a million--and that's the last of it." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE DEALER AT STOELL'S + + +On the morning after the final game of stud in which he had slipped the +last dollar of his fortune across the green cloth, Brent threw back his +blankets and robes and sat upon the edge of his bunk. He had long since +discarded his tent for a cabin and his eyes took in the details of the +rough furnishings in the grey light that filtered through the heavily +frosted window panes. He drew on his shirt and trousers and glanced at +his watch. It was ten o'clock. He built a roaring fire, broke the ice +that had formed upon the surface of a huge pail of water, filled his +coffee-pot, and set his wash pan beside it upon the stove. Then he +returned to his bunk and, feeling beneath his pillow, withdrew a flat +quart bottle and took a long drink. When the water had warmed in the +pan, he shaved before a small mirror that hung above his rude wash +stand. Twice during the process he returned to the bottle for a swallow +of liquor. + +"Kitty was right," he confided to his reflection in the glass, "My luck +did turn--and now, I'm broke." + +He finished shaving and, as he was about to turn from the wash stand +paused, and thrusting his face close to the mirror, subjected it to +careful scrutiny. + +"Eyes _are_ a little muddy," he grudgingly admitted, "And face a little +pouchy and red, but, hell, it isn't the hooch!--I don't drink enough to +hurt me any. It's being indoors so much, and the smoke. Two days on the +trail will fix that. I've got to slip out and make another strike. And +when I come back--that bunch will be in for an awful cleaning." + +He threw a handful of coffee into the pot, and sliced some bacon into a +frying pan, and when the grease ran, he broke a half-dozen eggs and +scrambled them with the bacon. + +"She said I wouldn't have the nerve nor the muscles to hit out and +locate another claim," he grinned as he swallowed a draught of scalding +coffee. "I'll show her!" + +He finished his meal, washed the dishes, and drew on his mukluks and +blanket coat. As he opened the door he was met by a blast of wind-driven +snow that fairly took his breath, and drawing back into the room he shut +the door. + +"I thought it was pretty dark in here for this time of day--some +blizzard!" + +He drew down the ear-flaps of his fur cap, hunted up his heavy mittens, +and once more opening the door, pushed out into the storm. + +Twenty minutes later he entered Stoell's place, and as he stamped the +snow from his garments, and beat it from his cap and mittens, Camillo +Bill greeted him from the bar. + +"Hello, Ace-In-The-Hole! I'm buyin' a drink." The room was deserted +except for the bartender who promptly set out bottle and glasses. "Let's +go over here," suggested Camillo Bill, when the empty glasses had been +returned to the bar. He led the way to a small table. + +"Bring the bottle and glasses!" called Brent over his shoulder, and +Camillo Bill seconded the order with a nod. + +"Now," he began, as Brent filled his glass, "Let's get this here deal +straightened out. In the first place, is them two claims of yourn worth +a million?" + +Brent flushed, hotly, but Camillo Bill forestalled his reply. "Hold on, +now. I didn't mean what you're thinkin' about--an' you ort to know me +well enough to know I didn't. When you said them two claims was worth a +million, not me, nor no one else questioned your word, did we? Well, +what I'm gettin' at is are they worth more than a million, 'n' how much +more?" + +Brent laughed: "They're worth more than a million. How much more I don't +know. I took out a half a million last summer, and I don't think I'm +half way to bed-rock at the deepest." + +Camillo Bill nodded: "All right, that's what I wanted to know. You see, +there's five or six of us holds your slips an' markers that totals a +million over an' above what was in Stoell's safe. I'll jest cash them +slips an' markers, an' take over the claims." + +Brent shrugged, "Go ahead. It don't make any difference to me how you +divide them up." + +Camillo Bill grinned: "It does make a hell of a lot of difference to you +how we divide 'em up," he said. "It's like this: I like your style. +You're a _tillicum_--a natural borned sourdough. You're white clean +through. When you said there's so and so much in Stoell's safe, the dust +was there. An' when you know'd yer claims was worth more than a million, +you says a million instead of stretchin' it to two million, an' maybe +stickin' some one. Now when I cash them markers that's out agin the +claims, an' figger in the slips an' markers I hold myself, I'll have a +million invested, won't I? An', that's what I won--a million--not a +million an' a half, or two million--just a million. Well, when I get +that million back--you get the claims back--see?" + +Brent stared at the man in amazement: "What do you mean? I lost the +claims--lost them fair and square----" + +"No you didn't," interrupted the other, "You lose just what yer slips +an' markers says you lose--an' not a damn cent more. The claims was only +a sort of security for the dust. C'latteral the banks would call it. Am +I right, or wrong?" + +Brent drank the whiskey in his glass and refilling it, shoved the bottle +toward Camillo Bill, but the man shook his head. "No more for me. Too +much of that stuff ain't no good. But about them claims--am I right, or +wrong?" + +"You're the whitest damned white man that walks on two legs, if that's +what you mean," answered Brent, in a low voice. "I'll make the claims +over to you, now." + +"Don't say that," replied Camillo Bill, "they was five or six of us that +figgered out this play--all friends of yourn. We all of us agreed to do +what I'm doin'--it was only a question of who could afford to carry the +load till next fall. I kin. Right's right--an' wrong ain't deuce-high, +nowheres. A million's a million--an' it ain't two million. An' you don't +need to make over them claims to me, neither. Jest you sign a paper +givin' me the right to go into 'em an' take out a million, an' we'll +tear up them slips an' markers." + +"But what if there isn't a million in them. I believe there is--much +more than a million. But, what if they're 'spotted,' and I just happened +to hit the spots, or what if bed-rock shows a lot shallower than I think +it will----" + +"What if! What if! To hell with what if! If the claims peter out I ain't +no better off if I hold title to 'em, am I? If they ain't good for the +million, what the hell difference does it make who owns 'em? I'd ruther +someone else holds a bum claim than me, any day," he added with a grin. +"An' now that's settled, what you goin' to do, while I'm gettin' out my +dust?" + +Brent drank his liquor, and reached for the bottle: "Why, I'm going to +hit out and locate another strike," he said, a trifle thickly. + +Camillo Bill regarded him thoughtfully: "Where at?" + +"Why I don't know. There are plenty of +creeks--Eldorado--Ophir--Doolittle----" + +The other laughed: "Listen here," he said, "While you be'n here in town +rollin' 'em high an' soppin' up hooch, they's be'n a hell of a change on +the creeks. Ain't you stopped to notice that Dawson's more'n twict as +big as she was in August, an' that the country is gittin full of +tin-horns, an' _chechakos_. Well it is--an' every creek's filed that's +worth a damn--an' so's every one that ain't. They ain't a claim to be +took up no more on Bonanza, nor Ophir, nor Siwash, nor Eldorado, nor +Alhambra, nor Sulphur, nor Excelsis, nor Christo, nor Doolittle, nor not +hardly none on no pup nor dry wash that runs into 'em." + +"All right, I'll go farther, then," retorted Brent, pouring more liquor +into his glass. "I'll go beyond the last creek that's staked. And, by +God, I'll find gold!" + +Camillo Bill shook his head: "Look a here, you ain't in no shape to hit +out on no long trip. You've laid up too long to tackle it, an' you've +drunk too much of that damned hooch. It ain't none of my business what +you do, or what you don't do--maybe you ain't drinkin' enough of it, I +don't know. But that there's damn poor stuff to train on for a long +trail in winter--an' I'm tellin' it to you that winter's sure hit these +diggin's an' hit 'em hard. Tell you what I'll do. I've be'n nosin' +'round buyin' claims while you be'n layin' abed daytimes sleepin' off +the hooch. I've got more'n what I kin 'tend to alone. I'll give you two +thousand a month to help me look after 'em, an' you can sort of ease off +the hooch, an' get broke in easy agin. If you sleep nights, an' keep out +doors daytimes, an' lay off the cards an' the hooch, you'll be good as +ever agin spring." + +"Not on your life," flared Brent, "I'm as good a man right now as I ever +was! And a damn sight too good a man to be anybody's pensioner. You know +damned well that you don't need me at two thousand a month, or any other +figure, except at an ounce a day, the same as anyone else gets. What the +hell's the matter with everybody?" A querulous note crept into Brent's +voice, "I tell you I'm as good a man as I ever was! Kitty told me the +same thing--that I'm drinking too much! Whose business is it if I am? +But, I'm not, and I'll hit the trail tomorrow and show you all!" + +"So long," said Camillo Bill as he rose from his chair. "I told you it +wasn't no one's business but yourn, so they ain't no argyment there. +Only, jest you remember that I'm a friend of yourn, an' so is +Kitty--an' a man might have a damn sight worse friend than her, at +that." + +Later in the day Stoell accosted Brent as he stood drinking alone at the +bar. "They romped right up your middle, didn't they, the last week or +so?" + +Brent nodded: "They cleaned me out. I played them too high for the cards +I was holding." + +"What you figuring on doing now?" + +"Going to hit out and locate another claim when this storm lets up." + +"You've got a long trip ahead. Everything's staked." + +"So they say, but I guess I'll find something, somewhere." + +"Why don't you take an inside job this winter. Hell of a lot of grief +out there in the snow with only a tent and a bunch of huskies." + +"What kind of a job?" + +"I'm figuring on starting up a new layout--faro. How'd you like to deal? +Just till spring when the weather lets up a little. You can't tell what +you're staking under ten foot of snow anyhow." + +"I never dealt faro." + +"It won't take you long to learn. I only run one big game now because I +can't trust no one to deal another--but I could get plenty of play on +one if I had it goin'. I figure that the boys all like you, an' you'd be +a good card. They all know you're square an' I'd get a good play on your +layout. What do you say? It's a damn sight better than mushin' out +there in the cold." + +"What will you pay?" + +"Well, how would five hundred a month, an' five percent of the winnings +of the layout do? You wouldn't need to come on till around nine in the +evening, and stay till the play was through. I'll throw in your supper, +and dinner at midnight, and we won't keep any bar tab. You're welcome to +what drinks you want--only you've got to keep sober when you're on +shift." + +Brent did not answer immediately. A couple of men came through the door +in a whirl of flying snow, and he shivered slightly, as the blast of +cold air struck him. Stoell was right, there would be a hell of a lot of +grief out there on the long snow trail. "I guess I'll take you up on +that," he said, "When do I start?" + +"It'll take me a day or so to get rigged up. Let's make it day after +tomorrow night. Meantime you can do your eating and drinking here--just +make yourself at home. The boys'll be tickled when they hear the +news--it'll spread around the camp pretty lively that you're dealing +faro at Stoell's, and we'll get good play--see." + +During the next two days Brent spent much time in Stoell's, drinking at +the bar, and watching the preparation of the new layout over which he +was to preside. And to him there, at different times came eight or ten +of the sourdoughs of the Yukon, each with a gruff offer of assistance, +but carefully couched in words that could give no offense. "You'll be on +yer feet agin, 'fore long. If you need any change in the meantime, just +holler," imparted one. Said another: "Here, jest slip this poke in yer +jeans. I ain't needin' it. Somethin'll turn up d'rectly, an' you can +slip it back then." But Brent declined all offers, with thanks. And to +each he explained that he had a job, and each, when he learned the +nature of the job, either answered rather evasively, or congratulated +him in terms that somehow seemed lacking in enthusiasm. Old Bettles was +the only man to voice open disapproval: "Hell," he blurted, "Anyone c'n +deal faro. Anyone c'n gamble with another man's money, an' eat another +man's grub, an' drink another man's hooch. But, it's along the cricks +an' the gulches you find the reg'lar he-man sourdoughs." + +At the words of this oldest settler on the Yukon, Brent strangely took +no offense. Rather he sought to excuse his choice of profession: "I'm +only doing it till spring, then I'm going to hit into the hills, and +when I come back we'll play them higher than ever," he explained. "I'm a +little soft now and don't feel quite up to tackling the winter trail." + +"Humph," grunted Bettles, "You won't be comin' back--because you ain't +never goin' to go. If yer soft now, you'll be a damn sight softer agin +spring. Dealin' from a box an' lappin' up hooch ain't a-goin' to put you +in shape for to chaw moose-meat an' wrestle a hundred pound pack. It'll +sap yer guts." But Brent laughed at the old man's warning, and the next +evening took his place behind the layout with the cards spread before +him. + +As Stoell had predicted, Brent proved to be a great drawing card for the +gambling house. Play at his layout ran high, and the table was always +crowded. But nearly all the players were _chechakos_--men new to the +country, who had struck it lucky and were intent upon making a big +splash. Among these tin-horns and four-flushers, Ace-In-The-Hole was a +deity. For among petty gamblers he was a prince of gamblers. Rumors and +fantastic lies were rife at all the bars concerning his deeds. "He had +cleaned up ten million in a summer on a claim." "He killed three men +with three blows of his fist." "The Queen of the Yukon was all caked in +on him, and he wouldn't have her. He tossed her a slip for half a +million that he had won on a single bet at the wheel, and because she +was sore at him, she ground it into the floor with her foot." "He had +bet a million on an ace in the hole--hence his name. He had gambled away +twenty million in a week." And so it went. Men fell over themselves to +make his acquaintance that they might ostentatiously boast of that +acquaintance at the bars. One would casually mention that +"Ace-In-The-Hole says to me, the other day, he says--" Or, "I was +tellin' Ace-In-The-Hole about one time I an' a couple of tarts down in +'Frisco--" Or, "Me an' Ace-In-The-Hole was eatin' supper the other +night, an' he says to me--" When he was off duty, men crowded to stand +next to him at the bar, they plied him with drinks, and invited him to +dine. All of which meant increased business for Stoell. So that upon +several occasions when Brent was too drunk to attend to business, Stoell +himself dealt his game and said nothing. + +It was inevitable that this sudden popularity should in a measure turn +Brent's head. Personally, he detested the loud-mouthed fawning +_chechakos_, but as his association with them grew, his comradery with +the real sourdoughs diminished. They did not openly or purposely cut +him. They still greeted him as an equal, they drank with him, and +occasionally they took a fling at his game. But there was a difference +that Brent was quick to notice, and quick to resent, but powerless to +dispel. He was a professional gambler, now--and they were mining +men--that was all. + +Only once since he had taken up his new vocation had he seen Kitty. She +had come into Stoell's one evening, and slipping behind the table stood +at his elbow until the end of the deal. As he shuffled the cards +preparatory to returning them into the box, she placed her lips close to +his ear: "Who are all your friends?" she whispered indicating the +tin-horns and _chechakos_ that rimmed the table. Brent flushed, +slightly, and answered nothing. "So this is what you meant by hitting +the trail when they broke you, is it? Well, take it from me, it's a +short trail, and a steep grade slanting down, and when you're on the +toboggan it ain't going to take long to hit the bottom--with a bump." +And before Brent could reply she had slipped away and lost herself in +the crowd. + +Night after night, although his eyes sought the crowd, he never saw her +again, nor did he find her upon his excursions to "The Nugget," or to +Cuter Malone's "Klondike Palace." If she were purposely avoiding him, +she was succeeding admirably. + +Along in February, Brent was surprised one day to receive, in his own +cabin, a visit from Johnny Claw. "What do you want?" he asked as the man +stood in the doorway. + +Claw entered, closing the door behind him. He removed his cap and +mittens, and fumbling beneath his parka, produced a sealed bottle of +whiskey which he set upon the table: "Oh, jest dropped in fer a little +visit. Been 'outside.' Try a shot of this hooch--better'n anything +Stoell's got." + +Brent sat down upon the edge of his bunk and motioned the man to a +chair: "Didn't know you were so damned friendly with me that you would +lug me in a bottle of hooch from the outside," he said, "What's on your +chest?" + +Claw produced a corkscrew and opened the bottle, then he poured a +half-tumbler into each of two glasses. "Le's liquor," he said, offering +one to Brent. "Good stuff, ain't it?" + +Brent nodded: "Damned good. But what's the idea?" + +"Idee is jest this," announced Claw, eyeing him shrewdly, "You damn near +busted me, but I ain't holdin' that agin' you." He paused and Brent, who +knew that he was lying, waited for him to proceed. "You told me right +plain out that you didn't like the business I was in! That's all right, +too. I s'pose it ain't no hell of a good business, but someone's got to +bring 'em in or you bucks wouldn't have nobody to dance with. But, +layin' all that aside, you're dealin' the big game for Stoell." + +"Yup." + +"Well, listen: You're hittin' the hooch too hard fer to suit Stoell. At +the end of the month you're out of a job--see? He's goin' to let you +out, 'cause yer showin' up too reg'lar with a bun on. Says it's got to +where yer crocked so often he might's well be dealin' the game hisself." + +"Who did he tell this to--you?" + +The other leered: "Naw, not to me. He don't like me no more'n what you +do. But, I happened to hear him tellin' it to Old Bettles an' Camillo +Bill. 'That's right,' says Bettles, 'fire him, an' maybe we kin git him +into the hills.' 'I'm 'fraid not,' says Camillo Bill. 'Leastways not +till spring. An' at the rate he's goin', by that time he'll be countin' +bees.' 'It's a shame,' says Bettles, 'There's a damn good man gone +wrong.' 'He is a damn good man,' says Stoell, 'They ain't many I'd trust +to deal that big game. He's square as hell--but, the hooch has got +him.'" + +"The hell it has," said Brent, with a short laugh. "They're damned +fools! I don't drink enough to hurt me any. I'm as good a man as I ever +was!" + +"Sure you be," assented Claw. "What little you drink wouldn't hurt no +one. What's it any of their business? You don't need no guardeen to tell +you when to take a drink," he paused and refilled Brent's glass. "'Yer +square as hell,'" says Stoell--"but what's it gittin' you? He's goin' to +fire you, ain't he?" + +"Well?" + +"Well--why not git even with him, an' at the same time clean up big fer +yerself? They ain't no chanct to git caught." + +"What do you mean?" Brent's voice rasped a trifle harshly, but Claw did +not notice. + +"I got it all doped out. Cold deck him--an' I'll play agin the fixed +deck an' make a cleanin'--an' we'll split." + +"You mean----" + +"I mean this. Me an' you will fix up a deck, an' I'll copy off how the +cards lays. Then you slip 'em into the box an' start the deal, an' I'll +lay the bets. Of course, knowin' how they'll fall, I kin win whenever I +want to. No one'll ever b'lieve it's a frame-up, 'cause they know you're +square, an' likewise they know you hate me, an' they wouldn't figger +we'd git together. I'll make the play strong by comin' in fer a night +er two before we spring it an' braggin' that I've got a system. Then +I'll have my slip of paper an' I'll look at it, an' make bets, an' of +course I'll lose--'cause they ain't no system. An' the next night I'll +do the same an' the third night we'll slip in the fixed deck--an' then +my system'll win. An' all the time I'll be sneerin' at you, like I hated +yer guts----" + +The sentence was never finished. In a blind rage Brent hurled himself +upon the man, and both crashed to the floor together. The fight was fast +and furious while it lasted. But, flabby, and with his brain befuddled +with liquor, Brent was no match for the other, who a year before, he +could have killed with his bare hands. He got in several good blows at +the start, which slowed up his antagonist, and rendered him incapable of +inflicting serious damage later, when Brent winded and gasping, was +completely at his mercy. A referee would unhesitatingly have declared it +Claw's fight, for when he slipped from the cabin it was to leave Brent +nursing two half-closed and rapidly purpling eyes, with nose and lips to +match. + +When, four days later he showed up at Stoell's, the latter called him +aside and weighing out what was coming to him in dust, informed him that +his services were no longer required. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +"WHERE DO I GO FROM HERE?" + + +From Stoell's Brent drifted to "The Nugget," where for a month, he dealt +faro on percentage in a "limit" game--for with the tin-horns and the +_chechakos_ had come also "limits" and "table stakes." + +Here, "The Queen of the Yukon" passed and repassed his layout a dozen +times in an evening on her way to and from the dance-hall in the rear, +but never by even so much as a look did she admit that she recognized +him. + +On the afternoon of his first payday, he sat in a "table stakes" game of +stud and a run of luck netted him seven hundred dollars. Whereupon he +promptly went on a spree that lasted three days and when he again showed +up for duty another dealer was presiding over his layout. + +The next day Cuter Malone called him into a little back room and sounded +him out. "Hear how yer out of a job," quoth Cuter, as he set two glasses +and a bottle upon the little table between them. Brent nodded, and the +other continued: "Want to keep on dealin'?" + +"Why yes, I guess so. I'm going to hit the trail right after the +break-up, but until that comes I might as well be doing something." + +"Sure. Well I got a good percent proposition fer you. You'll draw quite +a little trade--you done it at Stoell's, an' then swung the heft of it +over to 'The Nugget.'" + +"Is it a limit game?" asked Brent. "What percentage will you pay?" + +Malone filled the glasses from the bottle, and having drank combed at +his black beard with his fingers: "W-e-e-l, that's accordin'. This here +game I'm figgerin' on is a sure thing--that is, o' course, lots o' turns +has got to lose, but in the long run she wins big." + +"What do you mean--a sure thing?" + +Cuter grinned craftily: "D'ye ever hear tell of a double-slotted box? +Well, I've got one, an'----" + +Brent interrupted him with a short laugh: "What you mean is that because +I've got the reputation for being square, you want to use me for a +decoy, and when they come in, rob them on a percentage." + +"Well, that's--er--talkin' it out kind of plain----" + +"You can go to hell!" exclaimed Brent, "and that's talking it out kind +of plain, too." + +Cuter laughed: "Don't git sore about it. Business is business, an' I'm +into it to git the money, one way an' another. If you don't want to +deal, how about goin' behind the bar? That's a square enough game." He +paused and grinned. "An' I wouldn't mind fer onct havin' someone +handlin' my dust that I wouldn't feel like friskin' every time he went +out the door to see how much of it had stuck to him." + +And so Brent began tending bar in the notorious "Klondike Palace," and +Kitty, as she faced him for the first time with her dancing partner and +called for a drink, addressed him in words that to her partner meant +nothing: "Your toboggan is going good, now--ain't it, Ace-In-The-Hole? +You're most there, now--most to the bump that lays at the end of the +trail." And Brent served the drinks, and answered nothing. + +The "Klondike Palace" was the wildest and most notorious of all the +dives of the big camp. Unlike Stoell's and "The Nugget," everything +downstairs was in one big room. The bar occupied a whole side, the +gambling tables and devices were in the rear, and the remainder of the +wide floor space was given over to dancing. At the rear of the bar a +flight of stairs led upward to the rooms of the painted women. + +And it was concerning one of these painted women that, three weeks +later, Brent had his first "run in" with Cuter Malone. It was bitter +cold and snowing thickly, and Brent, with lowered head, was boring +through the white smother on his way to work. He paused in the light +that shone dully through the heavily frosted windows of Malone's and was +about to push open the door, when from the thick darkness around the +side of the building he heard a woman scream. It was a sharp, terrible +scream, that ended in a half-muffled shriek. And without an instant's +hesitation, Brent dashed around the corner. The "Klondike Palace" was +located well upon the edge of the big camp, beyond it being only a few +scattered cabins. Scarcely fifty feet from the street he came upon a man +standing over a woman who was cowering in the snow. Neither saw him, and +even as he looked the man struck with a coiled dog whip. Again the woman +screamed, and the man jumped upon her and started to kick her first with +one foot then with the other as she lay in the snow. Like an avalanche +Brent hurled himself upon the man, his fist catching him squarely upon +the side of the head and sending him sprawling. Without waiting for him +to get up, Brent jerked the woman to her feet and pushed her toward the +street. He saw then that she was one of the girls who roomed over +Malone's, and that she was clad in the thinnest of silk stockings, and +the flimsiest of semi-transparent gowns. One of her high-heeled slippers +had been lost in the snow. Scarce able to stand, the girl staggered +whimpering toward the light. Turning upon the man who had regained his +feet Brent found himself looking into the muzzle of a forty-five. So +close was the man that even in the darkness he could see his face. It +was Johnnie Claw, and Brent saw that the recognition was mutual. Claw's +thick lips writhed back in a grin of hate, and Brent could hear his +breath sucking heavily between his clenched teeth. Eye to eye they +stared as Brent's lips moved in a sneer: "Well--you--damned--pimp--why +don't you shoot?" To his intense surprise, the gun wavered, dropped to +the man's side and, jamming it into the pocket of his fur coat, Claw +pushed past him toward the street, mumbling thick curses. + +Later, that night, when business was a little slack during a dance +Malone motioned him aside: "Say, what the hell be you buttin' in on +other folks business fer?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"You know what I mean. What did you go knockin' Johnnie Claw down fer, +when he was givin' that damn Violet what was comin' to her, fer holdin' +out on him?" + +"Giving her what was coming! My God, man, he would have kicked her to +death there in the snow--that's what he would have done!" + +"Well, what if he did--she's hisn, ain't she?" + +A surge of swift anger almost overcame Brent. His fists clenched, and it +was with difficulty that he refrained from striking Malone down where he +stood. Instead, he leaned a trifle closer to the man: "Just let this +stick to you, Malone," he said, "What passes between me and Claw, or me +and anyone else, when it isn't on your premises and on your time, is my +business--see?" + +Malone laughed, shortly, and with a shrug, turned away, while Brent +served drinks to a couple who had left the dance and sauntered to the +bar. The couple were Kitty, and a strapping young _chechako_ called +Moosehide Charlie, the name referring to an incident that had occurred +early in the winter when he had skinned out a moose and, finding himself +far from camp and no blankets, had wrapped himself in the green hide and +gone to sleep. In the morning he awoke to find himself encased in an +iron-hard coffin of frozen moosehide unable to move hand or foot. +Luckily a party of hunters found him and spent half a day thawing him +out over a roaring fire. + +Said Kitty to Moosehide Charlie, as she sipped at the liquid that by +courtesy was called port wine: "That's Johnnie Claw over there by the +door. He's one-two-three with Cuter Malone--some say they're pardners." + +Her companion swallowed his liquor and glanced indifferently toward the +object of the girl's remarks. "It ain't worryin' me none who he's +pardners with. I don't like the looks of him, nohow." + +"Sh-sh-sh," warned Kitty, "What a man learns in this country don't hurt +him any. I was just telling you so if you ever happened to run foul of +Claw, you'd know enough to keep your eye on Malone, too." + +"Guess I ain't goin' to run foul of him. Come on, let's dance." + +Kitty had not even favored him by so much as a glance, but as Brent +removed the glasses from the bar, he smiled. + +The days were rapidly lengthening on the Yukon. At noon each day the sun +was higher in the heavens and its increased heat was heralded by little +streams of snow water that trickled over the ice of the creeks. + +One evening when the grip of winter had broken and the feel of spring +was in the air, Moosehide Charlie stood at the bar drinking with Johnnie +Claw. It was too early for the dancers and three or four of the girls +sat idly along the opposite wall. As Brent served the drinks, he noticed +that Claw appeared to be urging the younger man into a deal of some +kind--he, caught a word now and then, of reference to dumps, slucings, +and water heads. Moosehide seemed to be holding out. He was a man who +drank little, and after two drinks he turned from the bar shaking his +head. "Come on," urged Claw, "Have another." + +"No, two or three's my limit. I don't aim to git drunk." + +"Drunk, hell!" laughed Claw, "I don't nuther. You've only had two. Make +it three, an' I'll tell you what I'll do, I'll throw off a leetle on +that claim. I ain't got time to fool with it, noways." + +Moosehide returned to the bar: "Well, one more, then, an' that's all. +But you'll have to throw off more'n just a little on that property, fer +me to touch it." + +Claw filled his glass and pushed the bottle toward the other and as +Moosehide Charlie measured his liquor, out of the tail of his eye, Brent +saw Claw pour something from a small vial into his own glass and return +the vial swiftly to his pocket. The next moment he was talking earnestly +to Moosehide who, as he listened, toyed with his glass, rubbing into +patterns the few drops of liquor he had spilled upon the bar. + +Cuter Malone had himself carried a tray of drinks to be served at one of +the poker tables in the rear, and just at this moment, tray and glasses +struck the floor with a loud crash. Moosehide Charlie turned quickly at +the sound, and as he did so Brent saw Johnnie Claw deftly switch the +glasses upon the bar. Malone returned, grumbling at his clumsiness, for +another tray of drinks, and Claw raised his glass. "I guess we kin deal, +all right. Le's drink, an' then we'll slip into the back room there an' +figger it out." + +As Moosehide picked up the glass before him, Brent reached out swiftly +and took it from his fingers. He looked into it for a second and tossed +its contents onto the floor. "Better fill her up again," he said, "There +was a fly in it." A fly on the Yukon, with the rivers still frozen, and +the sodden snow three feet deep on the ground! Moosehide stared, and +before Brent could move, Cuter Malone had floored him with a blow from a +heavy bottle. The truth flashed upon Moosehide Charlie. One blow of his +fist settled Claw, while with his other hand he reached across the bar +and jerked a gun from the hand of Cuter Malone. The poker players rose +from their chairs and started for the bar, but Moosehide motioned them +back with the gun. "Jest go on with yer game, boys," he said meaningly. +"Don't mind me." And as they settled into their places he stepped around +the bar, keeping Malone covered. Kitty, who had been chatting with the +girls on the opposite side of the room, darted across the floor and +brushing past Moosehide, knelt beside Brent. "Jest raise up his head, +girl, an' throw some water in his face," ordered Moosehide, "An' pour a +little licker down his throat. If he can't swaller it, it'll make him +gag an' bring him to." Then he turned to Malone: "An' you, you damn +crook! You git busy an' weigh out what's comin' to him. An' weigh it +damn quick--an' weigh it right. 'Cause if it ain't right, I'm a-comin' +back here with about forty or ninety of my friends an' I'm tellin' it to +you, we'll gut this damn joint--an' you along with it!" + +Brent only partially revived under the water and choking whiskey, and +between them they managed to get him out the door and onto Moosehide's +sled. Then they hauled him to his cabin and put him to bed, where he lay +for two weeks, delirious with fever, while Kitty stayed day and night +at his side and nursed him. Another week passed, during which the girl +came daily and cooked his meals, and made him get up for a little while +each day while she aired and rearranged his blankets. At length came a +day when he rose and dressed himself and stayed up till evening. + +"You won't be needing me any more," said the girl, simply, as she stood +in the doorway late in the afternoon. She pointed to two small buckskin +sacks which she had laid upon the table. "There's your pay that was +coming to you from Cuter Malone, and a sack that Moosehide Charlie left +for you." + +"Moosehide Charlie? He don't owe me anything." + +"Says he owes you a whole lot, and he wanted me to give you that. He's +gone off on a trip up Indian River." + +Brent picked up the sack, which was a dozen times the weight of the +other, and extended it toward the girl: "Give this back to him," he said +shortly. "I don't need it." + +Kitty did not take it: "You do too need it," she said, "How long will +that pinch of dust last you? And what are you going to do when it's +gone?" + +"It don't make any difference what I do when it's gone. Whatever I do, I +won't live on charity." And he tossed the sack past her through the +doorway where it buried itself in the snow. + +"You're a fool, Ace-In-The-Hole," she said, quietly, "A _damn fool_." + +The man nodded, slowly: "That's right, I reckon. Anyway we won't quarrel +about it. Will you do me just one more favor?" + +"What is it?" + +"Take this dust and get me a bottle of hooch--a quart bottle--two of +them." + +"No, I won't!" + +Brent rose to his feet: "I'll have to go myself, then," he said, as he +cast his eyes about for his hat. + +"You ain't able! You're weak as a cat, and you'd fall down in the snow." + +"I'll get up again, then." He found the hat and put it on. + +"I'll go," the words were hurled at him, and he handed her Cuter +Malone's sack. "Never mind that--" + +"Take it! Or I won't touch the hooch." + +Reluctantly, she took it and in half an hour she was back and without a +word deposited two quart bottles upon the table. + +"Will you drink with me?" Brent asked, as he drew the cork. + +"No! I'm going, now." + +Brent rose to his feet and held out his hand: "Good bye, Kitty," he +said, gravely. "I know what you've done for me--and I won't forget it. +You'll come to see me--sometimes?" + +"No. I hate you! An' if you could see yourself the way I see +you--knowing what you are, and what you ought to be--you'd hate +yourself!" + +Brent flushed under the sting of the words: "I'm as good a man as I ever +was," he muttered, defiantly. + +The girl sneered: "You are--like hell! Why, you ain't even got a +job--now. You're a bum! You hit the bump that I told you was at the end +of your trail--now, where do you go from here?" And before Brent could +reply she was gone. + +"Where do I go from here?" he repeated slowly, as he sank into a chair +beside his table, and swallowed a stiff drink of whiskey. And, "Where do +I go from here?" he babbled meaninglessly, three hours later when, very +drunk, his head settled slowly forward upon his folded arms, and he +slept. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE PLOTTING OF CAMILLO BILL + + +With the rapidly lengthening days the sodden snow thawed and was carried +away by the creeks which were running waist-deep on top of the ice. New +snow fell, lay dazzling white for a day or two, and then under the ever +increasing heat of the sun, it, too, turned sodden, and sullen, and +grey, and added its water to the ever increasing torrent of the creeks. +Bare patches of ground showed upon south slopes. The ice in the creeks +let go, and was borne down by the torrents in grinding, jamming floes. +Then, the big river broke up. Wild geese and ducks appeared heading +northward. Wild flowers in a riot of blazing color followed up the +mountain sides upon the heels of the retreating snow-banks. And with +bewildering swiftness, the Yukon country leaped from winter into summer. + +From his little cabin Carter Brent noted the kaleidoscopic change of +seasons, and promised himself that as soon as the creeks receded into +their normal beds he would hit the gold trail. He ate little, drank +much, and spent most of his days in reading from some books left him by +a wandering Englishman who had come in overland from the North-west +territories, where for a year or more he had prowled aimlessly among the +Hudson's Bay posts, and the outposts of the Mounted. The books were, for +the most part, government reports, geological, and geodetical, upon the +Canadian North. + +"She said I am a bum," he muttered to himself one evening as he laid +aside his book, and in the gathering darkness walked to the door and +watched the last play of sunlight upon the distant glittering peaks. +"But, I'll show her--I'll show her where I'll go from here. I'm as good +a man as I ever was." This statement that he had at first made to +others, he now found necessary to make to himself. A dozen times a day +he would solemnly assure himself that he was as good a man as he ever +was, and that when he got ready to hit the trail he would show them. + +The sunlight faded from the peaks, and as he turned from the doorway, +his eyes fell upon his pack straps that hung from their peg on the wall. +Reaching for his hat, he stepped to the door and peered out to make sure +that no one was watching. Then he stooped and fixed his straps to a +half-sack of flour which he judged would weigh about fifty pounds. After +some difficulty he got the pack onto his back and started for the bank +of the river, a quarter of a mile away. A hundred yards from the cabin +he stopped for breath. His shoulders ached, and the muscles of his neck +felt as though they were being torn from their moorings as he pushed his +forehead against the tump-line. With the sweat starting from every pore +he essayed a few more steps, stumbled, and in clumsily catching his +balance, his hat fell off. As he stooped to recover it, the weight of +the pack forced him down and down until he was flat on his belly with +his face in the mud. For a long time he lay, panting, until the +night-breeze chilled the sweat on his skin, and he shivered. Then he +struggled to rise, gained his hands and knees and could get no farther. +Again and again he tried to rise to his feet, but the weight of the pack +held him down. He remembered that between the Chilkoot and Lake +Lindermann he had risen out of the mud with a hundred pounds on his +shoulders, and thought nothing of it. He wriggled from the straps and +carrying, and resting, staggered back to his cabin and sank into a +chair. He took a big drink and felt better. "It's the fever," he assured +himself, "It left me weak. I'll be all right in a day or so. I'm as good +a man as I ever was--only, a little out of practice." + +After that Brent stayed closer than ever to his cabin until the day came +when there was not enough dust left in his little buckskin sack to pay +for a quart of hooch. He bought a pint, and as he drank it in his cabin, +decided he must go to work, until he got strong enough to hit the +trail. Houses were going up everywhere, houses of boards that were +taking the place of the tents and the cabins of the previous year. Work +there was a plenty, and the laborers were few. _Chechakos_ were pouring +in by the thousands and staking clear to the mountain tops. But, none of +them would work. Crazed by the lure of gold they pitted the hillsides +and valleys and mucked like gnomes in their wild scramble for riches. +Brent worked for a week in a sawmill, and then quit, bought some hooch +and some necessary food, and retired to his cabin to reread his reports +and laugh at the efforts of the hillside miners. + +The old timers were scattered out in the hills, and the tin-horns and +_chechakos_ who had worshiped at his shrine were dispersed, or had +forgotten him. Life moved swiftly in the big camp. Yesterday's hero +would be forgotten tomorrow. And the name of Ace-In-The-Hole meant +nothing to the newcomers. Occasionally he met one of the old timers, who +would buy him a drink, and hurry on about his business. + +Spasmodically Brent worked at odd jobs. He fired a river steamboat on a +round trip to Fort Gibbon. Always he promised himself pretty soon, now, +he would be ready to hit the trail. Stampedes were of almost daily +occurrence, but Brent was never in on them and so the summer wore on and +still he had not hit the trail. "I'll just wait now, for snow," he +decided late in August. "Then I'll get a good dog team together, and +make a real rush. There's no use hitting out with a poling boat, the +creeks are all staked, and back-packing is too hard work for a white +man. I'm as good a man as I ever was, and when the snow comes I'll show +them." + +Brent's wardrobe was depleted until it consisted of a coarse blue jumper +and ragged overalls drawn over underclothing, laced and tied together in +a dozen places. He had not shaved for a month. + +Later in October Camillo Bill came to his cabin. He stood in the doorway +and stared into the dirty interior where Brent, with the unwashed dishes +of his last meal shoved back, sat reading. + +"Hello, Camillo," greeted the owner of the cabin as he rose to his feet +and extended his hand, "Come in and sit down." + +Camillo Bill settled himself into a chair: "Well I'll be damned!" he +exclaimed under his breath. + +Brent rinsed a couple of murky glasses in the water pail, and reached +for a bottle that sat among the dirty dishes: "Have a drink," he +invited, extending a glass to his visitor. + +Camillo Bill poured a taste of liquor into the glass and watched Brent, +with shaking hand, slop out a half a tumblerful, and drink it down as +one would drink water. He swallowed the liquor and returned the glass to +the table. + +"Take some more," urged Brent, "I've got another quart under the bunk." + +"No thanks," refused the other, curtly, "I heard you was down an' out, +but--by God, I wasn't lookin' for this!" + +"What's the matter?" asked Brent, flushing beneath his stubby beard, +"What do you mean?" + +Righteous indignation blazed from Camillo Bill's eyes. "Mean! You know +damn well what I mean!" he thundered. "Look around this shack! Look in +the lookin' glass up there! You're livin' here worse'n a dog lives! +You're worse'n a--a squaw-man!" + +Brent rose to his feet, and drew himself proudly erect. Ragged and +unshaven as he was, the effect was ludicrous, but Camillo Bill saw +nothing of humour as he stared at the wreck of his friend. Brent spoke +slowly, measuring his words: "No man--not even you can insult me and get +away with it. I'm as good a man as I ever was, and I'll prove it if +you'll step outside." + +"You couldn't prove nothin' to nobody, noway. Kitty told me you'd gone +to hell--but, I didn't know you'd gone on plumb through." + +Brent sank weakly into his chair and began to whimper: "I'm as good a +man as I ever was," he sniveled. + +"Shut up!" Camillo Bill's fist struck the table, "It makes me mad to +look at you! You're a hell of a lookin' object. You won't winter +through. They'll find you froze some mornin' half ways between here an' +some saloon." + +"I won't be here when winter comes. I'm going to hit the trail when +snow flies, with a dog outfit." + +"Where do you aim to go?" + +"Over beyond the Mackenzie. Over in the Coppermine River country. +There's gold over there, and there aren't a million _chechakos_ gouging +for it." + +Camillo Bill roared with laughter: "Over beyond the Mackenzie! Picked +you out the roughest an' the furtherest place to go there is. An' +nuthin' there when you get there--only you'd never get there. You ain't +got the strength nor the guts to cross Indian River--let alone the +Mackenzie. An' besides, where do you aim to get your outfit?" + +"I'll work in the sawmill till I get enough, or anyone will grub-stake +me--you will." + +"I will--like hell! An' no one else won't, neither. You'd never buy +nothin' but hooch if they did." + +A gleam of hope flashed into Brent's eyes: "Say," he asked, "How about +my claims? You must have taken out your million by this time." + +Camillo Bill smiled and his eyes never wavered as they met Brent's gaze: +"Petered plumb out," he said, "That's what I come to tell you about. +They ain't an ounce left in 'em." + +"Did you get yours?" asked Brent dully. "If you didn't, just let me know +how much you are shy, and I'll make it good--when I make my strike, over +beyond the Mackenzie." + +This time the other did not laugh. His fists clenched, and he muttered +under his breath: "All gone to hell--puffed an' bloated, an' rotten +with hooch--an' still square as a brick school house!" For a long time +he sat silent, staring at the floor. + +Brent poured himself another drink: "How much are you shy?" he repeated. + +The words roused Camillo Bill from a brown study: "Huh?" he asked. + +"I said, how much are you shy of that million?" + +"Oh, I don't know yet. I ain't cleaned up the tailin' of the dump. It +ain't goin' to be so far off, though. I'll let you know later." He got +up and crossed to the door. "So long," he said, and without waiting for +Brent's adieu, struck out at a fast walk for Stoell's where he found old +Bettles and Swiftwater Bill drinking at the bar with Moosehide Charlie, +who was telling of a fresh strike on a nameless creek to the westward. + +Camillo Bill motioned the three to a small table, and when they were +seated he ordered the drinks: "We got a job to do," he announced, +plunging straight into his subject, "An' we got to do it thorough." + +"Meanin' which?" asked Bettles. + +"Meanin' to kidnap a man, an' hide him out fer a year, an' make him work +like hell every minute he ain't sleepin' or eatin'." + +"That sounds like a hell of a contrack," opined Swiftwater Bill. "Who's +goin' to keep him workin', an' what at, an' what for?" + +"For the good of his soul," grinned Camillo, "The spark of a man's +there yet--an' a damn good man. But if we all don't git down an' blow +like hell the spark's goin' out." + +"Clear as mulligan," grinned Moosehide Charlie. + +Camillo Bill looked into the faces of his companions: "Anyone saw +Ace-In-The-Hole, lately?" he asked. + +Bettles shook his head, and Swiftwater Bill spoke up: "I seen him about +a month ago--bought him a drink. He's on the toboggan." + +Moosehide Charlie broke in: "I ain't seen him since spring when he saved +me from gettin' doped in Cuter Malone's. Cuter floored him with a bottle +an' Kitty an' I got him home an' she looked after him till he got +better. I give her a sack of dust to give him, but he wouldn't take +it--throw'd it out in the snow, an' Kitty dug it out an' brung it back. +If you all is figgerin' on gettin' up a stake fer him, let me in I'll go +as high as the next." + +Camillo Bill shook his head: "Nothin' doin' on the stake stuff. He +wouldn't take it, an' if he did it would be the worst thing we could do +to him. He'd blow it all in fer hooch. I went over to his cabin just now +to turn back his claims. I've took out my million, an' only worked one +of 'em. An' it ain't worked half out. They must be two or three million +in 'em yet. Kitty told me the hooch had got him right--but she didn't +tell it strong enough. He's in a hell of a shape, an' thinks he's as +good a man as he ever was. He's dirty, an' ragged, an' bloated with +hooch an' broke--an' yet, by God--he's a man! When I seen how things +was, I decided not to say anything about the claims because if he got +holt of 'em now, he'd blow 'em in as fast as he could get out the dust. +But, after a while he asked me, an' I told him they'd petered out. He +never batted an eye, but he says, 'Did you get out your million? +'Cause,' he says, 'if you didn't just tell me how much you're shy, an' +I'll make it good!' He thinks he's goin' somewhere over beyond the +Mackenzie when the snow comes--but, hell--he ain't in no shape to go +nowheres. What we got to do is jest na'chelly steal him, an' put him in +a cabin somewheres way out in the hills, an' hire a couple of guards for +him, an' keep him workin' for a whole damn year. It'll nearly kill him +at first, but it'll put him back where he was, if it don't kill him--an' +if it does, it's better to die workin' than to freeze to death drunk +like McMann did." + +"I got the place to put him," said Swiftwater, "The claim's no good, but +it's way to hell an' gone from here, an' there's a cabin on it." + +"Just the ticket," agreed Camillo. + +"We better send out quite a bunch of hooch. So he can kind of taper +off," suggested Moosehide Charlie. + +"Taper--hell!" cried Bettles, "If you taper off, you taper on agin. I +know. The way to quit is to quit." + +"We'll figger that out," laughed Camillo, "The best way is to ask the +doc. I'll tend to that, an' I'll get a guard hired, an' see about grub +an' tools and stuff. We'll meet here a week from tonight an' pull the +deal off, an' Swiftwater he can go along fer guide--only you don't want +to let him see you. I'll get guards that he don't know, an' that don't +know him. We'll have to pay 'em pretty good, but it's worth it." + +Old Bettles nodded: "He was a damn good man, onct." + +"An' he'll be agin'!" exclaimed Camillo, "If he lives through it. His +heart's right." + +And so they parted, little thinking that when they would gather for the +carrying out of their scheme, Brent would have disappeared as completely +as though the earth had swallowed him up. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +SNOWDRIFT RETURNS TO THE BAND + + +As Snowdrift plodded mile after mile, in her flight from the mission, +her brain busied itself with her problem, and the first night beside her +little campfire she laid her plans for the future. In her heart was no +bitterness against old Wananebish--only compassion that resolved itself +into an intense loyalty and a determination to stay with her and to +lighten the burden that the years were heaping upon her. For she knew of +the old woman's intense love for her, and the hardships she willingly +endured to keep her in school at the mission. The blame was the white +man's blame--the blame of the man who was her father. + +Her face burned hot and her eyes flashed as her hatred of white men grew +upon her. Gladly would she have opened her veins and let out the last +drop of white blood that coursed the length of them. At least she could +renounce the white man's ways--his teachings, and his very language. +From now on she was Indian--and yet, again came that fleeting, elusive +_memory_--always, ever since she had been a little girl there had been +the _memory_, and when it came she would close her eyes, and press her +hands to her head and try and try in vain to grasp it--to bring the +picture clean-cut to her mind. Then the _memory_ would fade away--but it +would return again, in a month--a year--always it would return--a log +cabin--wind-tossed waters--a beautiful white woman who held her close--a +big man with a beard upon his face like McTavish, the factor. At first +she had told Wananebish of the _memory_, but she had laughed and said +that it was the wives of the different factors and traders at the posts +who were wont to make much of the little girl when the band came to +trade. The explanation never quite satisfied Snowdrift, but she accepted +it for want of a better. Was it a flash of memory from another +existence? There was the book she had borrowed from Father Ambrose, the +peculiar book that she did not understand, and that Father Ambrose said +he did not understand, and did not want to understand, for it was all +about some heathenish doctrine. She wondered if it could not be possible +that people lived over and over again, as the book said, and if so, why +couldn't they remember? Maybe last time she had been a white girl, and +this time she was a half-breed, and the next time she would be an +Indian--she wouldn't wait till next time! She was an Indian now. She +hated the white men. + +And so it went as hour on hour she worked her plans for the future. She +knew that Wananebish was getting old, that she was losing her grip on +the band. Many of the older ones had died, and many of the younger ones +had deserted, and those who were left were dissatisfied, and always +grumbling. There were only eighteen or twenty of them all told, now, and +they preferred to hang about along the rivers, trapping just enough fur +to make a scanty living and pay for the hooch that the free-traders +brought in. They were a degenerate lot and old Wananebish had grown +weary in trying to get them back into the barrens where there was gold. +They scoffed at the gold. There had been so little of it found in so +many years of trying--yet she had not been able to get them to leave the +vicinity of the river. But, now, to the river had come news of the great +gold strike beyond the mountains to the westward. Snowdrift reasoned +that if there were gold to the westward there would be gold also to the +eastward, especially as Wananebish knew that it was there--had even +found some of it long years ago. Maybe they would go, now--far back into +the barrens, far, far away from Henri of the White Water. + +Upon the fourth day after her departure from the mission, the girl +walked into the camp of the little band of non-treaty Indians. Straight +to the tepee of Wananebish, she went--to the only mother she had ever +known. The old squaw received her with open arms, and with much +wondering, for upon her last visit to the mission the good Sister +Mercedes had told her that Snowdrift would go and continue her studies +at the great convent in the far away land of the white man. It was the +thing she had most feared to hear, yet, by not so much as the flicker of +an eyelash did she betray her soul-hurt. All the long years of +deception, during which MacFarlane's note book had lain wrapped in its +waterproof wrappings and jealously guarded in the bottom of the moss bag +had gone for naught. For it was to guard against the girl's going to the +land of the white man that the deception had been practiced. None but +she knew that no drop of Indian blood coursed through the veins of the +girl, and she knew that once firmly established among her own people she +would never return to the North. At that time she had almost yielded to +the impulse to tell the truth to them, and to spread the proofs before +them--almost, but not quite, for as long as the girl believed herself to +be half Indian there was a chance that she would return, and so the +squaw had held her peace, and now here was the girl herself--here in the +tepee, and she had brought her all her belongings. Wananebish plied her +with questions, but the girl's answers were brief, and spoken in the +Indian tongue, a thing that greatly surprised and troubled the old +woman, for since babyhood, the girl had despised the speech of the +Indians. + +The two prepared supper in silence, and in silence they ate it. And for +a long time they sat close together and silent beside the mosquito +smudge of punk and green twigs. The eyes of the old squaw closed and she +crooned softly from pure joy, for here beside her was the only being in +the world that she loved. Her own baby, the tiny red mite she had +deposited that day upon the blanket in the far away post at Lashing +Water, had died during that first winter. The crooning ceased abruptly, +and the black, beady eyes flashed open. But why was she here? And for +how long? She must know. Why did not the girl speak? The silence became +unbearable even to this woman who all her life had been a creature of +silence. Abruptly she asked the question: "Are you not going to the land +of the white men?" + +And quick as a flash came the answer in the Indian tongue: "_I hate the +white men!_" The suppressed passion behind the words brought a low +inarticulate cry to the lips of the squaw. She reached for the sheath +knife at her belt, and the sinews upon the back of the hand that grasped +it stood out like whip cords. The black eyes glittered like the eyes of +a snake, and the lips curled back in a snarl of hate, so that the yellow +fangs gleamed in the wavering light of a tiny flame that flared from the +smouldering fire. + +Words came in a hoarse croak: "Who is he? I will cut his heart out!" + +Then the hand of the girl was laid soothingly upon her arm, and again +she spoke words in the Indian tongue: "No, no, not that." + +The old squaw's muscles relaxed as she felt the arm of the girl steal +about her shoulders. The knife slipped back into its sheath, as her body +was drawn close against the girl's. For a long time they sat thus in +silence, and then the girl rose, for she was very tired. At the door of +the tepee she paused: "There are some good white men," she said, "Tell +me again, was my father a good white man?" + +Still seated beside the fire the old squaw nodded slowly, "A good white +man--yes. He is dead." + +The eyes of the girl sought with penetrating glance the face beside the +fire. Was there veiled meaning in those last words? Snowdrift thought +not, and entering the tepee she crept between her blankets. + +When the sound of the girl's breathing told that she slept old +Wananebish stole noiselessly into the tepee and, emerging a moment later +with the old moss bag, she poked at the fire with a stick, and threw on +some dry twigs, and seated herself in the light of the flickering +flames. She thrust her hand into the bag and withdrew a packet from +which she undid the wrappings. Minutes passed as she sat staring at the +notebook of MacFarlane, and at the package of parchment deer-skin still +secure in its original wrapping. For never had the squaw touched a +dollar of the money left in her care for the maintainance and education +of the girl. Poor as she was Wananebish had kept Snowdrift in school, +had clothed and fed her solely by her own efforts, by the fruits of her +hunting and trapping. All during the years she had starved, and saved, +and driven shrewd bargains that the girl might receive education, even +as she herself had received education. + +And, now, tonight, she knew that the girl had been suddenly made to +realize that she was one of those born out of wedlock, and the shame of +it was heavy upon her. The old woman's heart beat warm as she realized +that the girl held no blame for her--only an intense hatred for the +white men, one of whose race had wrought the supposed wrong. + +For a long time Wananebish sat beside the fire her heart torn by +conflicting emotions. She knew right from wrong. She had not the excuse +of ignorance of the ethics of conduct, for she, too, had been an apt +pupil at the mission school. And for nearly nineteen years she had been +living a lie. And during those years right had struggled against love a +thousand times--and always love had won--the savage, selfish love that +bade her keep the object of her affections with her in the Northland. +Upon the death of her baby soon after the visit of MacFarlane, her whole +life centered upon the tiny white child. In the spring when the band +moved, she had left false directions in the caribou skull beside the +river, and instead of heading for Lashing Water to deliver the babe to +old Molaire, she had headed northward, and upon the third day had come +upon the remains of a sled, and a short distance farther on, a rifle, +and a sheath knife--the same that now swung at her own belt, and which +bore upon its inside surface, the legend "Murdo MacFarlane." A thousand +times she had been upon the point of telling the girl of her parentage, +and turning over to her the packet, but always the fear was upon her +that she would forsake the North, and seek the land of her own people. +Years before, when she had entered the girl at the mission, she had +smothered the temptation to tell all, and to deliver the packet to the +priest. But instead, she invented the story of her illegitimate birth +and accepted the shame. She knew from the first that Sister Mercedes +doubted the tale, that she believed the girl to be white, but she +stoutly held to her story, nor deviated from it so much as a hair's +breadth, during years of periodical questioning. + +But now? What should she do now that the girl herself was suffering +under the stigma of her birth? Should she tell her the truth and deliver +to her the packet of her father? If she did would not the girl turn upon +her with hatred, even as she had turned against the people of her own +race? Should she remain silent, still living the lie she had lived all +these years, and thus keep at her side the girl she loved with the +savage mother love of a wild beast? Was it not the girl's right to know +who she was, and if she so willed, to go among her own people, and to go +among them with unsullied name? Clearly this was her right. Wananebish +admitted the right, and the admission strengthened her purpose. Slowly +she rose from the fire and with the packet and the notebook in her hand, +stepped to the door of the tepee and stood listening to the breathing of +the sleeping girl. She would slip the packet beneath the blankets, and +then--and then--she, herself would go away--and stay until the girl had +gone out of the North. Then she would come back to her people. Her eyes +swept the group of tepees that showed dimly in the starlight--back to +her people! A great wave of revulsion and self-pity swept over her as +she saw herself, old and unheeded, working desperately for the +betterment of the little band of degenerates, waging almost single +handed the losing battle against the whiskey runners. Suddenly she +straightened, and the hand clutched tightly the packet. If Snowdrift +stayed, might not the band yet be saved? What is it the white men say +when they seek excuse for their misdeeds? Ah, yes, it is that the end +justifies the means. As she repeated the old sophistry a gleam of hope +lighted her eyes and she returned again to the fire. At least, the girl +would remain at her side, and would care for her in her old age--only a +few more years, and then she would die, and after that-- Carefully she +rewrapped the packet and returned it to the moss bag. As always before +the savage primal love triumphed over the ethics, and with a great +weight lifted from her mind, the old squaw sought her blankets. + +Heart and soul, during the remaining days of the summer, Snowdrift threw +herself into the work of regenerating the little band of Indians. News +of the great gold strike on the Yukon had reached the Mackenzie and +these rumors the girl used to the utmost in her arguments in favor of a +journey into the barrens. At first her efforts met with little +encouragement, but her enthusiasm for the venture never lagged and +gradually the opposition weakened before the persistence of her +onslaughts. + +When the brigade passed northward, Henri of the White Water had promised +the Indians he would return with hooch, and it was in anticipation of +this that the young men of the band were holding back. When, in August, +word drifted up the river that a patrol of the mounted from Fort Simpson +had come upon a certain _cache_, and that Henri of the White Water was +even then southward bound under escort, the last of the opposition +vanished. Without hooch one place was as good as another and if they +should find gold--why they could return and buy much hooch, from some +other whiskey runner. But, they asked, how about debt? Already they were +in debt to the company, and until the debt was paid they could expect +nothing, and a long trip into the barrens would call for much in the way +of supplies. + +McTavish, the bearded trader at Fort Good Hope, listened patiently until +the girl finished her recital, and then his thick fingers toyed with the +heavy inkstand upon his desk. + +"I do' no' what to say, to ye, lass," he began, "The Company holds me to +account for the debt I give, an' half the band is already in my debt. +Ye're mither, auld Wananebish is gude for all she wants an' so are you, +for ye're a gud lass. Some of the others are gud too, but theer be some +amongst them that I wad na trust for the worth of a buckshot. They've +laid around the river too lang. They're a worthless, hooch-guzzlin' +outfit. They're na gude." + +"But that's just why I want debt," cried the girl, "To get them away +from the river. There's no hooch here now, and they will go. I, myself, +will stand responsible for the debt." + +The Scotchman regarded the eager face gravely: "Wheer wad ye tak them?" +he asked. + +"Way to the eastward, beyond Bear Lake, there is a river. The trapping +is good there, and there is gold----" + +"The Coppermine," interrupted McTavish, "Always theer has been talk of +gold on the Coppermine--but na gold has been found theer. However, as ye +say, the trappin' should be gude. Yer Injuns be na gude along the river. +They're lazy an' no account, an' gettin' worse. Theer's a bare chance ye +can save 'em yet if ye can get 'em far into the barrens. I'm goin' to +give ye that chance. If ye'll guarantee the debt, I'll outfit 'em--no +finery an' frippery, mind ye--just the necessities for the winter in the +bush. Bring 'em along, lass, an' the sooner ye get started the better, +for 'tis a lang trail ye've set yerself--an' may gude luck go with ye." + +And so it was that upon the first day of September, the little band of +Indians under the leadership of Snowdrift and Wananebish, loaded their +goods into canoes and began the laborious ascent of Hare Indian River. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE DINNER AT REEVES' + + +With the rush of the _chechakos_ had come also the vanguard of big +business--keen-eyed engineers and bespectacled metallurgists, +accompanied by trusted agents of Wall Street, who upon advice of the +engineers and the metallurgists paid out money right and left for +options. + +First over the pass in the spring came Reeves and Howson who struck into +the hills and, passing up the rich "gold in the grass roots" claims, +concentrated upon a creek of lesser promise. By the first of July, their +findings upon this creek justified the report to their principals in the +states that roused those officials of the newly organized Northern +Dredge Company from their stupor of watchful waiting into a cauldron of +volcanic activity. + +Fowler, the little purchasing agent sat at his desk and for fourteen +straight hours dictated telegrams, pausing only to refer to pages of +neatly typed specifications, with the result that within twenty-four +hours upon many railroads carloads of freight began to move toward a +certain dock in Seattle at which was moored a tramp steamer waiting to +receive her cargo. A sawmill from the Washington forests, steel rails +and a dinky engine from Pittsburg, great dredges from Ohio, tools, iron, +cement from widely separated States and the crowning item of all, a +Mississippi River steamboat jerked bodily from the water and dismantled +ready to be put together in a matter of hours at the mouth of the Yukon. + +Late in August that same steamboat, her decks and two barges piled high +with freight, nosed into the bank at Dawson and threw out her mooring +lines, while down her plank swarmed the Northern Company's skilled +artisans--swarmed also into the waiting arms of her husband, Reba +Reeves, wife of the Northern Dredge Company's chief engineer and general +manager of operation. Reeves led his wife to the little painted house +that he had bought and furnished, and turned his attention to the +problem of transporting his heavy outfit to the creek of his selection. + +For a month thereafter he was on the works night and day, snatching his +sleep where he could, now and then at home, but more often upon the pile +of blankets and robes that he had thrown into a corner of the little +slab office on the bank of the creek. Early in October, upon one of his +flying visits, his wife reminded him that he had promised to send a man +down to bank the house for the winter. + +"Don't see how I can spare a man right now, little girl," he answered, +"I'm hiring every man I can find that will handle a pick or a shovel, or +drive a nail, or carry a board. I've still got three miles of flume to +put in, and half a mile of railroad grade to finish--and the snow will +hit us any time now." + +"You can't work your old dredges in the winter, anyhow, why don't you +wait till spring." + +"When spring comes I want to be in shape to begin throwing out the +gravel the minute the ground thaws, and I don't want to be bothered +building flume and railroad." + +"But, dearest, the floor is so cold. We can't live in this house in the +winter unless it is banked. All the neighbors have their houses banked +three or four feet high, and if the ground freezes we'll never get it +done." + +Reeves' brow puckered into a frown: "That's right," he admitted, "Tell +you what I'll do, I'll come down Saturday afternoon and stay over Sunday +and bank it myself. Maybe I can find someone to help me. There's an old +tramp that lives in a cabin a piece back from the river. One of my +foremen has hired him three or four times, but he's no good--won't work +more than two or three days at a stretch--he's a drunkard, and can't +stay away from booze. Maybe, though, if I stay right on the job with him +till it's finished I can get a day's work out of him--anyway I'll try." + +Of the books left by the Englishman, the one that interested Brent most +was a volume from which the title page had long since disappeared as had +the lettering upon its back, if indeed any had ever existed. It +contained what appeared to be semi-official reports upon the mineral +possibilities of the almost unexplored territory lying between the +Mackenzie and Back's Fish River, but more particularly upon the +Coppermine River and its tributaries. To these reports was added a +monograph which treated exhaustively of the expeditions of Hearne into +the North in search of gold, and also of the illfated expedition of old +Captain Knight. This book held a peculiar fascination for Brent, and he +read and reread it, poring over its contents by the hour as he dreamed +his foolish dreams of some day carrying on Hearne's explorations to +ultimate success. + +Upon the night following the visit of Camillo Bill, Brent sat beside his +dirty table, with his stinking oil lamp drawn near, and his favorite +book held close to catch the sullen light that filtered through its +murky, smoke blackened chimney. This night the book held a new interest +for him. All along he had cherished the hope that when Camillo Bill +should turn back his claims, there would still be a goodly amount of +gold left in the gravel. But Camillo Bill said that the claims had +petered out--and Camillo Bill was square. All that was left for him to +do then was to hit for the Coppermine, and not so much for himself, for +he stood in honor bound to see that Camillo Bill lost nothing through +cashing those slips and markers upon his assurance that the claims were +worth a million. + +The book settled slowly to Brent's lap, he poured a drink, and idly +turned its pages, as his drunken imagination pictured himself mushing at +the head of a dog team through those unknown wastes, and at the end of +the long trail finding gold, gold, gold. He turned to the inside of the +front cover and stared idly at the name penned many years ago. The ink +was faded and brown and the name almost illegible so that he had to turn +it aslant to follow the faint tracery. "Murdo MacFarlane, Lashing +Water," he read, "I wonder where Lashing Water is? And who was this +Murdo MacFarlane? And where is he now? Did he find Hearne's lost gold? +Or, did he--did he--?" A loud knock upon the door roused Brent from his +dreamy speculation. + +"Come in!" he called, and turned to see Reeves standing in the doorway. + +"Hello," greeted the intruder, plunging straight into the object of his +visit, "I'm up against it, and I wonder if you won't help me out." He +paused, and Brent waited for him to proceed, "I'm Reeves, of the +Northern Dredge Company, and I've got every available man in Dawson out +there on the works trying to finish three miles of flume and a half mile +of railroad before snow flies. I can't spare a man off the works, but +I've got to bank my house, so I decided to stay home myself tomorrow and +tackle it. If you'll help me, and if we get a good early start, I think +we can finish the job by night. I wouldn't care a rap if it were not for +my wife, she's from the South, and I'm afraid of those cold floors. What +do you say, will you do it? I'll pay you well." + +"Yes," answered Brent, and he noticed that the other's eyes had strayed +in evident surprise to the pile of books upon the table among the dirty +dishes. + +"All right, that's fine! What time can I expect you?" + +"Daylight," answered Brent, "Will you have a drink?" he indicated the +bottle that stood beside the pile of books, but Reeves shook his head: + +"No, thanks, I've got to tackle some work tonight that I've been putting +off for weeks. See you in the morning." + +Seated once more in his chair with his book, Brent poured himself a +drink, "From the South," he whispered, and raising the murky glass to +his lips swallowed the liquor. His eyes closed and into his brain +floated a picture, dim and indistinct, at first, but gradually taking +definite form--a little town of wide, tree-shaded streets, a +weather-stained brick courthouse standing in the centre of a grassed +square, and facing it across the street a red brick schoolhouse. The +schoolhouse doors swung open and out raced a little boy swinging his +books on the end of a strap. He was a laughing, cleareyed little boy, +and he wore buckled slippers and black velvet nickers, and a wide collar +showed dazzling white against the black of the velvet jacket. + +Other children followed, barefooted little boys whose hickory shirts, +many sizes too large for the little bodies, bulged grotesquely about +their "galluses," and little boys shod in stiff hot looking black shoes +and stockings, and little girls with tight-braided pig-tails hanging +down their backs, and short starched skirts, who watched with envious +eyes as the velvet clad boy ran across to the "hitch-rail" that flanked +the courthouse sidewalk, and mounted a stocky little "calico" Shetland +pony, and rode down the tree-shaded street at a furious gallop. On the +outskirts of the town the pony swerved of its own accord between two +upstanding stone posts and into a broad avenue that swept in graceful +curves between two rows of huge evergreens that led from the white +turnpike to a big brick house, the roof of whose broad gallery was +supported upon huge white pillars. Up the avenue raced the pony and up +the dozen steps that led to the gallery, just at the moment that the +huge bulk of a round-eyed colored "mammy" blocked the doorway of the +hall. + +"Hyah, yo' rascal, yo'!" cried the outraged negress flourishing her +broom, "Git yo' circus hoss offen my clean gallery flo', fo' I bus' him +wide open wif dis, broom! Lawd sakes, efen Miss Callie see yo' hyah, she +gwine raise yo' ha'r fo' sho'! Yo' Ca'teh Brent, yo' _git_!" The broom +swished viciously--and Brent opened his eyes with a jerk. The first +fitful gusts of a norther were whipping about the eaves of his cabin, +and shivering slightly, he crawled into his bunk. + +All the forenoon the two men worked side by side with pick and shovel +and wheelbarrow, piling the earth high above the baseboards of Reeves' +white painted house. Brent spoke little and he worked as, it seemed to +him, he had never worked before. The muscles of his back and arms and +fingers ached, and in his vitals was the gnawing desire for drink. But +he had brought no liquor with him, and he fought down the desire and +worked doggedly, filling the wheelbarrows as fast as Reeves could dump +them. At noon Reeves surveyed the work with satisfaction: "We've got +it!" he exclaimed, "We're a little more than half through, and none too +soon." The wind had blown steadily from the north, carrying with it +frequent flurries of snow. "We'll knock off now. Just step into the +house." + +Brent shook his head, "No, I'll slip over to the cabin. I'll be back by +the time you're through dinner." + +Reeves, who had divined the man's need, stepped closer, "Come in, won't +you. I've got a little liquor that I brought from the outside. I think +you'll like it." + +Without a word Brent followed him into the kitchen where Reeves set out +the bottle and a tumbler: "Just help yourself," he said, "I never use +it," and passed into the next room. Eagerly Brent poured himself half a +tumblerful and gulped it down, and as he returned the glass to the +table, he heard the voice of Reeves: "You don't mind if he eats with us +do you? He's worked mighty hard, and--" the sentence was interrupted by +a woman's voice: + +"Why, certainly he will eat with us. See, the table's all set. I saw you +coming so I brought the soup in. Hurry before it gets cold." At the +man's words Brent's eyes had flashed a swift glance over his +disreputable garments. His lips had tightened at the corners, and as he +had waited for the expected protest, they had twisted into a cynical +smile. But at the woman's reply, the smile died from his lips, and he +took a furtive step toward the door, hesitated, and unconsciously his +shoulders stiffened, and a spark flickered for a moment in his muddy +eyes. Why not? It had been many a long day since he had sat at a table +with a woman--that kind of a woman. Like a flash came Reeves' words of +the night before. "She's from the South." If the man should really ask +him to sit at his table, why not accept--and carry it through in his own +way? The good liquor was taking hold. Brent swiftly dashed some more +into the glass and downed it at a swallow. Then Reeves stepped into the +room. + +"You are to dine here," he announced, "we both of us need a good hot +meal, and a good smoke, and my wife has your place all laid at the +table." + +"I thank you," answered Brent, "May I wash?" Reeves, who had expected an +awkward protest started at the words, and indicated the basin at the +sink. As Brent subjected his hands and face to a thorough scrubbing, and +carefully removed the earth from beneath his finger nails, Reeves eyed +him quizzically. Brent preceded his host into the dining room where Mrs. +Reeves waited, standing beside her chair. + +Reeves stepped forward: "My wife, Mr.----," his voice trailed purposely, +but instead of mumbling a name, and acknowledging the introduction with +an embarrassed bob of the head, Brent smiled: + +"Let us leave it that way, please. Mrs. Reeves, allow me," and stepping +swiftly to her chair he seated her with a courtly bow. He looked up to +see Reeves staring in open-mouthed amazement. Again, he smiled, and +stepped to his own place, not unmindful of the swift glance of surprise +that passed between husband and wife. After that surprises came fast. +Surprise at the ease and grace of manner with which he comported +himself, gave place to surprise and admiration at his deft maneuvering +of the conversation to things of the "outside"--to the literary and +theatrical successes of a few years back, and to the dozen and one +things that make dinner small talk. The Reeves' found themselves +consumed with curiosity as to this man with the drunkard's eye, the +unkempt beard, and the ragged clothing of a tramp, whose jests and quips +kept them in constant laughter. All through the meal Mrs. Reeves studied +him. There was something fine in the shape of the brow, in the thin, +well formed nose, in the occasional flash of the muddy eyes that held +her. + +"You are from the South, aren't you?" she asked, during a pause in the +conversation. + +Brent smiled. "Yes, far from the South--very far." + +"I am from the South, too, and I love it," continued the woman, her eyes +upon the man's face. "From Plantersville, Tennessee--I've lived there +all my life." At the words Brent started perceptibly, and the hand that +held his coffee cup trembled violently so that part of the contents +splashed onto his napkin. When he returned the cup to its saucer it +rattled noisily. + +The woman half rose from her chair: "_Carter Brent_!" she cried. And +Reeves, staring at his wife in astonishment, saw that tears glistened in +her eyes. + +The next moment Brent had pulled himself together: "You win," he smiled, +regarding her curiously, "But, you will pardon me I'm sure. I've been +away a long time, and I'm afraid----" + +"Oh, you wouldn't recognize me. I was only sixteen or seventeen when you +left Plantersville. You had been away at college, and you came home for +a month. I'm Reba Moorhouse----" + +"Indeed I do remember you," laughed Brent, "Why you did me the honor to +dance with me at Colonel Pinkney's ball. But, tell me, how are your +mother and father and Fred and Emily? I suppose Doctor Moorhouse still +shoots his squirrels square in the eye, eh!" + +"Mother died two years ago, and dad has almost given up his practice," +she smiled, "So he'll have more time to shoot squirrels. Fred is in +college, and Emily married Charlie Harrow, and they bought the old +Melcher place out on the pike." + +Brent hesitated a moment: "And--and--my father--have you seen him +lately?" + +"Yes, indeed! General Brent and Dad are still the greatest of cronies. +He hasn't changed a bit since I can first remember him. Old Uncle Jake +still drives him to the bank at nine o'clock each morning, he still eats +his dinners at the Planter's Hotel, and then makes his rounds of the +lumber yard, and the coal yard, and the tobacco warehouse, or else Uncle +Jake drives him out to inspect some of his farms, and back home at four +o'clock. No, to all appearances, the General hasn't changed--but, dad +says there is a change in the last two or three years. He--he--would +give everything he owns just to hear from--you." + +Brent was silent for a moment: "But, he must not hear--yet. I'll make +another strike, one of these days--and then-----" + +"Did you make a strike?" asked Reeves. + +Brent nodded. "Yes, I was on the very peak of the first stampede. Did +you, by chance, ever hear of Ace-In-The-Hole?" + +Reeves smiled: "Yes--notorious gambler, wasn't he? Were you here when he +was? Made a big strike, somewhere, and then gambled away ten or twenty +million, didn't he, and then--I never did hear what became of him." + +Brent smiled: "Yes, he made a strike. Then, I suppose, he was just what +you said--a notorious gambler--his losses were grossly exaggerated, they +were not over two millions at the outside." + +"A mere trifle," laughed Reeves, "What ever became of him." + +"Just at this moment he is seated at a dining table, talking with a +generous host, and a most charming hostess----" + +"Are _you_ Ace-In-The-Hole?" + +"So designated upon the Yukon," smiled Brent. + +Mrs. Reeves leaned suddenly forward: "Oh, why don't you--why don't you +brace up? Let liquor alone, and----" + +Brent interrupted her with a wave of the hand: "Theoretically a very +good suggestion," he smiled, "But, practically--it won't work. +Personally, I do not think I drink enough to hurt me any--but we will +waive that point--if I do, it is my own fault." He was about to add that +he was as good a man as he ever was, but something saved him that +sophistry, and when he looked into the face of his hostess his muddy +eyes twinkled humorously. "At least," he said, "I have succeeded in +eliminating one fault--I have not gambled in quite some time." + +"And you never will gamble again?" + +Brent laughed: "I didn't say that. However I see very little chance of +doing so in the immediate future." + +"Promise me that you never will?" she asked, "You might, at least, +promise me that, if you won't give up the other." + +"What assurance would you have that I would keep my promise?" parried +the man. + +Quick as a flash came the reply, "The word of a Brent!" + +Unconsciously the man's shoulders straightened: He hesitated a moment +while he regarded the woman gravely: "Yes," he said, "I will promise you +that, if it will please you, 'Upon the word of a Brent.'" He turned +abruptly to Reeves, "We had better be getting at that job again, or we +won't finish it before dark," he said, and with a bow to Mrs. Reeves, +"You will excuse us, I know." The woman nodded and as her husband was +about to follow Brent from the room she detained him. + +"Who is he?" asked Reeves, as the door closed behind him. + +"Who is he!" exclaimed his wife, "Why he's Carter Brent! The very last +of the Brents! Anyone in the South can tell you what that means. They're +the bluest of the blue bloods. His father, the old General, owns the +bank, and about everything else that's worth owning in Plantersville, +and half the county besides! And oh, it's a shame! A shame! We've got +to do something! You've got to do something! He's a mining engineer, +too. I recognized him before he told me, and when I mentioned +Plantersville, did you see his hand tremble? I was sure then. Oh, can't +you give him a position?" + +Reeves considered: "Why, yes, I could use a good mining engineer. +But--he's too far gone. He couldn't stay away from the booze. I don't +think there's any use trying." + +"There is, I tell you! The blood is there--and when the blood is there +it is _never_ too late! Didn't you notice the air with which he gave me +his promise not to gamble 'Upon the word of a Brent.' He would die +before he would break that promise--you see." + +"But--he wouldn't promise to let liquor alone. The gambling--in his +circumstances is more or less a joke." + +"But, when he gets on his feet again it won't be a joke!" she insisted. +"You mark my words, he is going to make good. I can _feel_ it. And that +is why I got him to promise not to gamble. If you can make him promise +to let liquor alone you can depend on it he will let it alone. You'll +try--won't you dear?" + +"Yes, little girl, I'll try," smiled Reeves, kissing his young wife, +"But I'll tell you beforehand, you are a good deal more sanguine of +success than I am." And he passed out and joined Brent who was busily +loading a wheelbarrow. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +JOE PETE + + +Several times during the afternoon as they worked side by side, Reeves +endeavored to engage Brent in conversation, but the latter's replies +were short to the verge of curtness, and Reeves gave it up and devoted +his energy to the task in hand. The fitful snow flurries of the forenoon +settled into a steady fall of wind-driven flakes that cut the air in +long horizontal slants and lay an ever-thickening white blanket upon the +frozen surface of the ground. Darkness fell early, and the job was +finished by lantern light. When the last barrow of earth had been +placed, the two made a tour of inspection which ended at the kitchen +door. + +"Snug and tight for the winter!" exclaimed Reeves, "And just in time!" + +"Yes," answered Brent, "Winter is here." + +The door opened and the face of Mrs. Reeves was framed for a moment in +the yellow lamp light: "Supper is ready!" she called, cheerily. + +"Come in," invited Reeves, heartily, "We'll put that supper where it +will do the most good, and then we'll----" + +Brent interrupted him: "Thank you, I'll go home." + +"Oh, come, now!" insisted the other. "Mrs. Reeves is expecting you. She +will be really disappointed if you run off that way." + +"Disappointed--_hell_!" cried Brent, so fiercely that Reeves stared at +him in surprise. "Do you think for a minute that it was easy for me to +sit at a table--the table of a southern lady--in these rags? Would you +care to try it--to try and play the rôle of a gentleman behind a six +weeks' growth of beard, and with your hair uncut for six months? It +would have been an ordeal at any table, but to find out suddenly--at a +moment when you were straining every nerve in your body to carry it +through, that your hostess was one you had known--in other days--and who +had known you--I tell you man it was hell! What I've got to have is not +food, but whiskey--enough whiskey to make me drunk--very drunk. And the +hell I've gone through is not a circumstance to the hell I've got to +face when that same whiskey begins to die out--lying there in the bunk +staring wide-eyed into the thick dark--seeing things that aren't +there--hearing voices that were, and are forever stilled, and voices +that never were--the voices of the damned--taunting, reviling, mocking +your very soul, asking you what you have done with your millions? And +where do you go from here? And your hands shaking so that you can't draw +the cork from the bottle to drown the damned voices and still them till +you have to wake up again, hoping when you do it will be daylight--it's +easier in daylight. I tell you man that's _hell_! It isn't the hell that +comes after he dies a man fears--it's the hell that comes in the dark. A +hell born of whiskey, and only whiskey will quench the fires of it--and +more whiskey--and more----" + +Reeves grasped his hand in a mighty grip: "I think I understand, old +man--a little," he said. "I'll make excuse to Mrs. Reeves." + +"Tell her the truth if you want to," growled Brent, turning away, "We'll +never meet again." + +"You've forgotten something," called Reeves as he extended a hand which +held a crisp bill. + +Brent examined it. It was a twenty. "What is this--wages or charity?" he +asked. + +"Wages--and you've earned every cent of it." + +"Shoveling dirt, or play acting?" There was a sneer in the man's voice, +which Reeves was quick to resent. + +"Shoveling dirt," he replied, shortly. + +"Men shovel dirt in this camp now for eight or ten." + +"I think I am quite capable of judging what a man's services are worth +to me," answered Reeves, "Good bye." He turned to the door, and Brent +crumpled the bill into his pocket and disappeared in the whirling snow. + +Arriving at his cabin he carefully deposited two quarts of liquor upon +the table, lighted his smoky lamp, and built a roaring fire in the +stove. Seating himself in a chair, he carefully removed the cork from +the bottle and took a long, long drink. He realized suddenly that the +unwonted physical exercise had made him very tired and hungry. The +greater part of a link of bologna sausage lay upon the table, a remnant +of a previous meal. He took the sausage in his hand and devoured it, +pausing now and then to drink from the bottle. When the last fragment +had been consumed he settled himself in his chair and, with the bottle +at his elbow, stared for a long time at the log wall. "Winter is here," +he muttered, at length, "And I've got to hit the trail." He took a +drink, and carefully replaced the bottle upon the table, and again for a +long time he stared at the logs. A knock on the door startled him. + +"Come in," he called. He felt better now. The liquor was taking hold. + +Reeves stamped the snow noisily from his feet and closed the door behind +him. Brent rose and motioned for the man to draw the other chair closer +to the stove. He turned up the murky lamp a trifle, then turned it down +again because it smoked. + +Reeves seated himself, and fumbling in his pocket, produced two cigars, +one of which he tendered to Brent. "I came, partly on my own account, +and partly at the earnest solicitation of my wife." He smiled, "I hardly +know how to begin." + +"If it's a sermon, begin about three words from the end; but if it is a +drinking bout, begin at the beginning, but you will have to pardon me +for beginning in the middle, for I have already consumed half a quart." +He indicated the bottle and Reeves noted that his lips were smiling, and +that there was a sparkle in the muddy eyes. + +"Not guilty on either count," he laughed, "I neither preach nor drink. +What brings me here is a mere matter of business." + +"Business? Sure you haven't got your dates mixed. I have temporarily +withdrawn from the business world." + +Reeves was relieved to see that the fierce mood of a few hours before +had given place to good humour. "No, it is regarding the termination of +this temporary withdrawal that I want to see you. I understand you're a +mining engineer." + +"Colorado School of Mines--five good jobs within two years in +Montana--later, placer miner, 'notorious gambler,' and--" he included +himself and the interior of the cabin in an expressive gesture. + +"Do you want another good job?" + +"What kind of a job?" + +"An engineering job. How would you like to be my assistant in the +operation of this dredging proposition?" + +Brent shook his head: "It wouldn't work." + +"Why not?" + +Brent smiled: "Too close to Dawson. I like the hooch too well. And, +aside from that, you don't need me. You will be laying off men now. Not +hiring them." + +"Laying off laborers, yes. But there is plenty of work along that creek +this winter for the right man--for me, and for you, if you will assume +it." + +Again Brent shook his head: "There is another reason," he objected, "I +have got to make another strike--and a good one. I have an obligation to +meet--an obligation that in all probability will involve more money than +any salary I could earn." + +"Small chance of a rich strike, now. The whole country is staked." + +"Around here, yes. But not where I'm going." + +"Where is that?" + +"Over beyond the Mackenzie. In the Coppermine River country." + +"Beyond the Mackenzie!" cried Reeves, "Man are you crazy!" + +"No, not crazy, only, at the moment, comfortably drunk. But that has +nothing whatever to do with my journey to the Coppermine. I will be cold +sober when I hit the trail." + +"And when will that be? How do you expect to finance the trip?" + +"Ah, there's the rub," grinned Brent, "I have not the least idea in the +world of how I am going to finance it. When that detail is arranged, I +shall hit the trail within twenty-four hours." + +Reeves was thinking rapidly. He did not believe that there was any gold +beyond the Mackenzie. To the best of his knowledge there was nothing +beyond the Mackenzie. Nothing--no towns--no booze! If Brent would be +willing to go into a country for six months or a year in which booze was +not obtainable--"There's no booze over there," he said aloud, "How much +would you have to take with you?" + +"Not a damned drop!" + +"What!" + +Brent rose suddenly to his feet and stood before Reeves. "I have been +fooling myself," he said, in a low tense voice, "Do you know what my +shibboleth has been? What I have been telling myself and telling +others--and expecting them to believe? I began to say it, and honestly +enough, when I first started to get soft, and I kept it up stubbornly +when the softness turned to flabbiness, and I maintained it doggedly +when the flabbiness gave way to pouchiness: 'I am as good a man as I +ever was!' That's the damned lie I've been telling myself! I nearly told +it at your table, and before your wife, but thank God I was spared that +humiliation. Just between friends, I'll tell the truth--I'm a damned +worthless, hooch-guzzling good-for-naught! And the hell of it is, I +haven't got the guts to quit!" He seized the bottle from the table and +drank three or four swallows in rapid succession, "See that--what did I +tell you?" He glared at Reeves as if challenging a denial. "But, I've +got one chance." + +He straightened up and pointed toward the eastward. "Over beyond the +Mackenzie there is no hooch. If I can get away from it for six months I +can beat it. If I can get my nerve back--get my _health_ back, By God, I +_will_ beat it! If there's enough of a Brent left in me, for that girl, +your wife, to recognize through this disguise of rags and hair and dirt, +there's enough of a Brent, sir, to put up one hell of a fight against +booze!" + +Reeves found himself upon his feet slapping the other on the back. +"You've said it man! You've said it! I will arrange for the financing." + +"You! How?" + +"On your own terms." + +Brent was silent for a moment: "Take your pick," he said, "Grub-stake +me, or loan me two thousand dollars. If I live I'll pay you back--with +interest. If I don't--you lose." + +Reeves regarded him steadily: "I lose, only in case you die--you promise +me that--on the word of a Brent? And I don't mean the two thousand--you +understand what I mean, I think." + +Brent nodded, slowly: "I understand. And I promise--on the word of a +Brent. But," he hastened to add, "I am not promising that I will not +drink any more hooch--now or any other time--I have here a quart and a +half of liquor. In all probability between now and tomorrow morning I +shall get very drunk." + +"You said you would leave within twenty-four hours," reminded Reeves. + +"And so I will." + +"How do you want the money?" + +"How do I want it? I'll tell you. I want it in dust, and I want it +inside of an hour. Can you get it?" + +"Yes," answered Reeves, and drawing on cap and mittens, pushed out into +the storm. + +Hardly had the door closed behind him, than it opened again and Brent +also disappeared in the storm. + +In a little shack upon the river bank, an Indian grunted sleepily in +answer to an insistent banging upon his door: "Hey, Joe Pete, come out +here! I want you!" + +A candle flared dully, and presently the door opened, and a huge Indian +stood in the doorway rubbing his eyes with his fist. + +"Come with me," ordered Brent, "To the cabin." + +Silently the Indian slipped into his outer clothing and followed, and +without a word of explanation, Brent led the way to his cabin. For a +half hour they sat in silence, during which Brent several times drank +from his bottle. Presently Reeves entered and laid a pouch upon the +table. He looked questioningly at the Indian who returned the scrutiny +with a look of stolid indifference. + +"Joe Pete, this is Mr. Reeves. Reeves, that Injun is Joe Pete, the best +damned Injun in Alaska, or anywhere else. Used to pack over the +Chilkoot, until he made so much money he thought he'd try his hand at +the gold--now he's broke. Joe Pete is going with me. He and I understand +each other perfectly." He picked up the sack and handed it to the +Indian: "Two thousand dolla--_pil chikimin_. Go to police, find out +trail to Mackenzie--Fort Norman. How many miles? How many days? Buy grub +for two. Buy good dogs and sled. Buy two outfits clothes--plenty tabac. +Keep rest of _pil chikimin_ safe until two days on trail, then give it +to me. We hit the trail at eight o'clock tomorrow morning." + +Without a word the Indian took the sack and slipped silently out the +door, while Reeves stared in astonishment: + +"You've got a lot of confidence in that Indian!" he exclaimed. "I +wouldn't trust one of them out of my sight with a dollar bill!" + +"You don't know Joe Pete," grinned Brent. "I've got more confidence in +him than I have in myself. The hooch joints will be two days behind me +before I get my hands on that dust." + +"And now, what?" asked Reeves. + +"Be here at eight o'clock tomorrow morning and witness the start," +grinned Brent, "In the meantime, I am going to make the most of the +fleeting hours." He reached for the bottle, and Reeves held up a warning +hand: + +"You won't be in any shape to hit the trail in the morning, if you go +too heavy on that." + +Brent laughed: "Again, I may say, you don't know Joe Pete." + +At seven o'clock in the morning Reeves hurried to Brent's cabin. The +snow about the door lay a foot deep, trackless and unbroken. Reeves' +heart gave a bound of apprehension. There was no dog team nor sled in +evidence, nor was there any sign that the Indian had returned. A dull +light glowed through the heavily frosted pane and without waiting to +knock Reeves pushed open the door and entered. + +Brent greeted him with drunken enthusiasm: "H'l'o, Reeves, ol' top! Glad +to she you. S'down an' have a good ol' drink! Wait'll I shave. Hell of a +job to shave." He stood before the mirror weaving back and forth, with a +razor in one hand and a shaving brush in the other, and a glass half +full of whiskey upon the washstand before him, into which he gravely +from time to time dipped the shaving brush, and rubbing it vigorously +upon the soap, endeavored to lather the inch-long growth of beard that +covered his face. Despite his apprehension as to what had become of the +paragon, Joe Pete, Reeves was forced to laugh. He laughed and laughed, +until Brent turned around and regarded him gravely: "Wash matter? Wash +joke? Wait a minuit lesh have a li'l drink." He reached for the bottle, +that sat nearly empty upon the table, and guzzled a swallow of the +liquor. "Damn near all gone. Have to get nosher one when Joe Pete +comes." + +"When Joe Pete comes!" cried Reeves, "You'll never see Joe Pete again! +He's skipped out!" + +"Skipped out? Washa mean skipped out?" + +"I mean that it's a quarter past seven and he hasn't showed up and you +told him you would start at eight." + +Brent laid his razor upon the table: "Quar' pasht seven? Quar pasht +seven isn't eight 'clock. You don' know Joe Pete." + +"But, man, you're not ready. There's nothing packed. And you're as drunk +as a lord!" + +"Sure, I'm drunk's a lord--drunker'n two lords--lords ain't so damn' +drunk. If I don't get packed by eight 'clock I'll have to go wishout +packin'. You don' know Joe Pete." + +At a quarter of eight there was a commotion before the door, and the +huge Indian entered the room, dressed for the trail. He stood still, +gave one comprehensive look around the room, and silently fell to work. +He examined rapidly everything in the cabin, throwing several articles +into a pile. Brent's tooth brush, comb, shaving outfit, and mirror he +made into a pack which he carried to the sled, returning a moment later +with a brand new outfit of clothing. He placed it upon the chair and +motioned Brent to get into it. But Brent stood and stared at it +owlishly. Whereupon, without a word, the Indian seized him and with one +or two jerks stripped him to the skin and proceeded to dress him as one +would dress a baby. Brent protested weakly, but all to no purpose. +Reeves helped and soon Brent was clothed for the winter trail even to +moose hide parka. He grinned foolishly, and drank the remaining liquor +from the bottle. "Whad' I tell you?" he asked solemnly of Reeves. "You +don't know Joe Pete." + +The Indian consulted a huge silver watch, and returning it to his +pocket, sat upon the edge of the bunk, and stared at the wall. Brent +puttered futilely about the room, and addressed the Indian. "We got to +get a bottle of hooch. I got to have jus' one more drink. Jus' one more +drink, an' then to hell wish it." + +The Indian paid not the slightest heed, but continued to stare at the +wall. A few minutes later he again consulted his watch, and rising, +grasped Brent about the middle and carried him, struggling and +protesting out the door and lashed him securely to the sled. + +Reeves watched the proceeding in amazement, and almost before he +realized what was happening, the Indian had taken his place beside the +dogs. He cracked his whip, shouted an unintelligible command, and the +team started. Upon the top of the load, Brent wagged a feeble farewell +to Reeves: "Sho long, ol' man--she you later--I got to go now. You don' +know Joe Pete." + +The outfit headed down the trail to the river. Reeves, standing beside +the door of the deserted cabin, glanced at his watch. It was eight +o'clock. He turned, closed the door and started for home chuckling. The +chuckle became a laugh, and he smote his thigh and roared, until some +laborers going to work stopped to look at him. Then he composed himself +and went home to tell his wife. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +ON THE TRAIL + + +At noon Joe Pete swung the outfit into the lee of a thicket, built a +fire, and brewed tea. Brent woke up and the Indian loosened the +_babiche_ line that had secured him, coiled the rope carefully, and +without a word, went on with his preparation of the meal. Brent +staggered and stumbled about in the snow in an effort to restore +circulation to his numbed arms and legs. His head ached fiercely, and +when he could in a measure control his movements, he staggered to the +fire. Joe Pete tendered him a cup of steaming tea. Brent smelled of the +liquid with disgust: "To hell with tea!" he growled thickly, "I want +hooch. I've got to have it--just one drink." + +Joe Pete drank a swallow of tea, and munched unconcernedly at a piece of +pilot bread. + +"Give me a drink of hooch! Didn't you hear me? I need it," demanded +Brent. + +"Hooch no good. Tea good. Ain' got no hooch--not wan drink." + +"No hooch!" cried Brent, "I tell you I've got to have it! I thought I +could get away with it, this trailing without hooch--but, I can't. How +far have we come?" + +"Bout 'leven mile." + +"Well, just as soon as you finish eating you turn that dog team around. +We're going back." Brent was consumed by a torturing thirst. He drank +the tea in great gulps and extended his cup for more. He drank a second +and a third cup, and the Indian offered him some bread. Brent shook his +head: + +"I can't eat. I'm sick. Hurry up and finish, and hit the back-trail as +fast as those dogs can travel." + +Joe Pete finished his meal, washed the cups, and returned the cooking +outfit to its appointed place on the load. + +"You goin' ride?" he asked. + +"No, I'll walk. Got to walk a while or I'll freeze." + +The Indian produced from the pack a pair of snowshoes and helped Brent +to fasten them on. Then he swung the dogs onto the trail and continued +on his course. + +"Here you!" cried Brent, "Pull those dogs around! We're going back to +Dawson." + +Joe Pete halted the dogs and walked back to where Brent stood beside the +doused fire: "Mebbe-so we goin' back Dawson," he said, "But, firs' we +goin' Fo't Norman. You tak hol' tail-rope, an' mush." + +A great surge of anger swept Brent. His eyes, red-rimmed and swollen +from liquor, and watery from the glare of the new fallen snow, fairly +blazed. He took a step forward and raised his arm as though to strike +the Indian: "What do you mean? Damn you! Who is running this outfit? +I've changed my mind. I'm not going to Fort Norman." + +Joe Pete did not even step back from the up-lifted arm. "You ain' change +_my_ min' none. You droonk. I ain' hear you talk. Bye-m-bye, you git +sober, Joe Pete hear you talk. You grab tail-rope now or I tie you oop +agin." + +Suddenly Brent realized that he was absolutely in this man's power. For +the first time in his life he felt utterly helpless. The rage gave place +to a nameless fear: "How far is it to Fort Norman?" he asked, in an +unsteady voice. + +"'Bout fi' hondre mile." + +"Five hundred miles! I can't stand the trip, I tell you. I'm in no +condition to stand it. I'll die!" + +The Indian shrugged--a shrug that conveyed to Brent more plainly than +words that Joe Pete conceded the point, and that if it so happened, his +demise would be merely an incident upon the trail to Fort Norman. Brent +realized the futility of argument. As well argue with one of the eternal +peaks that flung skyward in the distance. For he, at least, knew Joe +Pete. In the enthusiasm of his great plan for self redemption he had +provided against this very contingency. He had deliberately chosen as +his companion and guide the one man in all the North who, come what +may, would deviate no hair's breadth from his first instructions. And +now, he stood there in the snow and cursed himself for a fool. The +Indian pointed to the tail-rope, and muttering curses, Brent reached +down and picked it up, and the outfit started. + +So far they had fairly good going. The course lay up Indian River, +beyond the head reaches of which they would cross the Bonnet Plume pass, +and upon the east slope of the divide, pick up one of the branches of +the Gravel and follow that river to the Mackenzie. Joe Pete traveled +ahead, breaking trail for the dogs, and before they had gone a mile +Brent was puffing and blowing in his effort to keep up. His grip +tightened on the tail-rope. The dogs were fairly pulling him along. At +each step it was becoming more and more difficult to lift his feet. He +stumbled and fell, dragged for a moment, and let go. He lay with his +face in the snow. He did not try to rise. The snow felt good to his +throbbing temples. He hoped the Indian would not miss him for a long, +long time. Better lie here and freeze than endure the hell of that long +snow trail. Then Joe Pete was lifting him from the snow and carrying him +to the sled. He struggled feebly, and futilely he cursed, but the effort +redoubled the ache in his head, and a terrible nausea seized him, from +which he emerged weak and unprotesting while the Indian bound him upon +the load. + +At dark they camped. Brent sitting humped up beside the fire while Joe +Pete set up the little tent and cooked supper. Brent drank scalding tea +in gulps. Again he begged in vain for hooch--and was offered pilot bread +and moose meat. He tried a piece of meat but his tortured stomach +rejected it, whereupon Joe Pete brewed stronger tea, black, and bitter +as gall, and with that Brent drenched his stomach and assuaged after a +fashion his gnawing thirst. Wrapped in blankets he crept beneath his +rabbit robe--but not to sleep. The Indian had built up the fire and +thrown the tent open to its heat. For an hour Brent tossed about, bathed +in cold sweat. Things crawled upon the walls of the tent, mingling with +the shadows of the dancing firelight. He closed his eyes, and buried his +head in his blankets, but the things were there too--twisting, writhing +things, fantastic and horrible in color, and form, and unutterably +loathsome in substance. And beyond the walls of the tent--out in the +night--were the voices--the voices that taunted and tormented. He threw +back his robe, and crawled to the fireside, where he sat wrapped in +blankets. He threw on more wood from the pile the Indian had placed +ready to hand, so that the circle of the firelight broadened, and +showers of red sparks shot upward to mingle with the yellow stars. + +But, it was of no use. The crawling, loathsome shapes writhed and +twisted from the very flames--laughed and danced in the lap and the lick +of the red flames of fire. Brent cowered against his treetrunk and +stared, his red-rimmed eyes stretched wide with horror, while his blood +seemed to freeze, and his heart turned to water within him. From the +fire, from beyond the fire, and from the blackness of the forest behind +him crept a _thing_--shapeless, and formless, it was, of a substance +vicious and slimy. It was of no color, but an unwholesome luminosity +radiated from its changing outlines--an all encompassing ever +approaching thing of horror, it drew gradually nearer and nearer, +engulfing him--smothering him. He could reach out now and touch it with +his hands. His fingers sank deep in its slime and--with a wild shriek, +Brent leaped from his blankets, and ran barefooted into the forest. Joe +Pete found him a few minutes later, lying in the snow with a rapidly +swelling blue lump on his forehead where he had crashed against a tree +in his headlong flight. He picked him up and carried him to the tent +where he wrapped him in his blankets and thrust him under the robe with +a compress of snow on his head. + +In the morning, Brent, babbling for whiskey, drank tea. And at the noon +camp he drank much strong tea and ate a little pilot bread and a small +piece of moose meat. He walked about five miles in the afternoon before +he was again tied on the sled, and that night he helped Joe Pete set up +the tent. For supper he drank a quart of strong bitter tea, and ate more +bread and meat, and that night, after tossing restlessly till midnight, +he fell asleep. The shapes came, and the voices, but they seemed less +loathsome than the night before. They took definite concrete shapes, +shapes of things Brent knew, but of impossible color. Cerese lizards and +little pink snakes skipped lightly across the walls of the tent, and +bunches of luminous angleworms writhed harmlessly in the dark corners. +The skipping and writhing annoyed, disgusted, but inspired no terror, so +Brent slept. + +The third day he ate some breakfast, and did two stretches on snowshoes +during the day that totaled sixteen or eighteen miles, and that night he +devoured a hearty meal and slept the sleep of the weary. + +The fourth day he did not resort to the sled at all. Nor all during the +day did he once ask for a drink of hooch. Day after day they mushed +eastward, and higher and higher they climbed toward the main divide of +the mountains. As they progressed the way became rougher and steeper, +the two alternated between breaking trail and work at the gee-pole. With +the passing of the days the craving for liquor grew less and less +insistent. Only in the early morning was the gnawing desire strong upon +him, and to assuage this desire he drank great quantities of strong tea. +The outward manifestation of this desire was an intense irritability, +that caused him to burst into unreasoning rage at a frozen guy rope or a +misplaced mitten, and noting this, Joe Pete was careful to see that +breakfast was ready before he awakened Brent. + +On the tenth day they topped the Bonnet Plume pass and began the long +descent of the eastern slope. That night a furious blizzard roared down +upon them from out of the North, and for two days they lay snowbound, +venturing from the tent only upon short excursions for firewood. Upon +the first of these days Brent shaved, a process that, by reason of a +heavy beard of two months' growth, and a none too sharp razor, consumed +nearly two hours. When the ordeal was over he regarded himself for a +long time in the little mirror, scowling at the red, beefy cheeks, and +at the little broken veins that showed blue-red at the end of his nose. +He noted with approval that his eyes had cleared of the bilious yellow +look, and that the network of tiny red veins were no longer visible upon +the eyeballs. With approval, too, he prodded and pinched the hardening +muscles in his legs and arms. + +When the storm passed they pushed on, making heavy going in the loose +snow. The rejuvenation of Brent was rapid now. Each evening found him +less tired and in better heart, and each morning found him ready and +eager for the trail. + +"To hell with the hooch," he said, one evening, as he and the Indian sat +upon their robes in the door of the tent and watched the red flames lick +at the firewood, "I wouldn't take a drink now if I had a barrel of it!" + +"Mebbe-so not now, but in de morning you tak' de beeg drink--you bet," +opined the Indian solemnly. + +"The hell I would!" flared Brent, and then he laughed. "There is no way +of proving it, but if there were, I'd like to bet you this sack of dust +against your other shirt that I wouldn't." He waited for a reply, but +Joe Pete merely shrugged, and smoked on in silence. + +Down on the Gravel River, with the Mackenzie only three or four days +away, the outfit rounded a bend one evening and came suddenly upon a +camp. Brent, who was in the lead, paused abruptly and stared at the fire +that flickered cheerfully among the tree trunks a short distance back +from the river. "We'll swing in just below them," he called back to Joe +Pete, "It's time to camp anyway." + +As they headed in toward the bank they were greeted by a rabble of +barking, snarling dogs, which dispersed howling and yelping as a man +stepped into their midst laying right and left about him with a +long-lashed whip. The man was Johnnie Claw, and Brent noted that in the +gathering darkness he had not recognized him. + +"Goin' to camp?" asked Claw. + +Brent answered in the affirmative, and headed his dogs up the bank +toward a level spot some twenty or thirty yards below the fire. + +Claw followed and stood beside the sled as they unharnessed the dogs: +"Where you headin'?" he asked. + +"Mackenzie River." + +"Well, you ain't got fer to go. Trappin'?" + +Brent shook his head: "No. Prospecting." + +"Where'd you come from?" + +"Dawson." + +"Dawson!" exclaimed Claw, and Brent, who had purposely kept his face +turned away, was conscious that the man was regarding him closely. Claw +began to speak rapidly, "This Dawson, it's way over t'other side the +mountains, ain't it? I heard how they'd made a strike over there--a big +strike." + +Brent nodded: "Yes," he answered. "Ever been there?" + +"Me? No. Me an' the woman lives over on the Nahanni. I trap." + +Brent laughed: "What's the matter, Claw? I'm not connected with the +police. You don't need to lie to me. What have you got, a load of hooch +for the Injuns?" + +The man stepped close and stared for a moment into Brent's face. Then, +suddenly, he stepped back: "Well, damn my soul, if it ain't you!" + +He was staring at Brent in undisguised astonishment: "But, what in +hell's happened to you? A month ago you was----" + +"A bum," interrupted Brent, "Going to hell by the hooch route--and not +much farther to go. But I'm not now, and inside of six months I will be +as good a man as I ever was." + +"You used to claim you always was as good a man as you ever was," +grinned Claw. "Well, you was hittin' it a little too hard. I'm glad you +quit. You an' me never hit it off like, what you might say, brothers. +You was always handin' me a jolt, one way an' another. But, I never laid +it up agin you. I allus said you played yer cards on top of the +table--an' if you ever done anything to a man you done it to his +face--an' that's more'n a hell of a lot of 'em does. There's the old +woman hollerin' fer supper. I'll come over after you've et, an' we'll +smoke a pipe 'er two." Claw disappeared and Brent and Joe Pete ate their +supper in silence. Now and again during the meal Brent smiled to himself +as he caught the eyes of the Indian regarding him sombrely. + +After supper Claw returned and seated himself by the fire: "What you +doin' over on this side," he asked, "You hain't honest to God +prospectin' be you?" + +"Sure I am. Everything is staked over there, and I've got to make +another strike." + +"They ain't no gold on this side," opined Claw. + +"Who says so?" + +"Me. An' I'd ort to know if anyone does. I've be'n around here goin' on +twenty year, an' I spend as much time on this side as I do on t'other." +Brent remembered he had heard of Claw's long journeys to the +eastward--men said he went clear to the coast of the Arctic where he +carried on nefarious barter with the whalers, trading Indian and Eskimo +women for hooch, which he in turn traded to the Indians. + +"Maybe you haven't spent much time hunting for gold," hazarded Brent. + +"I'd tell a party I hain't! What's the use of huntin' fer gold where +they hain't none? Over on this side a man c'n do better at somethin' +else." He paused and leered knowingly at Brent. + +"For instance?" + +Claw laughed: "I hain't afraid to tell you what I do over here. They +hain't but damn few I would tell, but I know you won't squeal. You +hain't a-goin' to run to the Mounted an' spill all you know--some +would--but not you. I'm peddling hooch--that's what I'm doin'. Got two +sled-loads along that I brung through from Dawson. I thin it out with +water an' it'll last till I git to the coast--clean over on Coronation +Gulf, an' then I lay in a fresh batch from the whalers an' hit back fer +Dawson. It used to be I could hit straight north from here an' connect +up with the whalers near the mouth of the Mackenzie--but the Mounted got +onto me, an' I had to quit. Well, it's about time to roll in." The man +reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of liquor, "Glad you +quit hooch," he grinned, "But, I don't s'pose you'd mind takin' a little +drink with a friend--way out here it can't hurt you none, where you +can't git no more." He removed the cork and tendered the bottle. But +Brent shook his head: "No thanks, Claw," he said, "I'm off of it. And +besides, I haven't got but a few real friends--and you are not one of +them." + +"Oh, all right, all right," laughed Claw as he tilted the bottle and +allowed part of the contents to gurgle audibly down his throat, "Of +course I know you don't like me none whatever, but I like you all right. +No harm in offerin' a man a drink, is they?" + +"None whatever," answered Brent, "And no harm in refusing one when you +don't want it." + +Claw laughed again: "Not none whatever--when you don't want it." And +turning on his heel, he returned to his own tent, chuckling, for he had +noted the flash that momentarily lighted Brent's eyes at the sight of +the liquor and the sound of it gurgling down his throat. + +Early in the morning Brent awoke to see Claw standing beside his fire +while Joe Pete prepared breakfast. He joined the two and Claw thrust out +his hand: "Well, yer breakfast's ready an' you'll be pullin' out soon. +We've pulled a'ready--the old woman's mushin' ahead. So long--shake, to +show they's no hard feelin's--or, better yet, have a drink." He drew the +bottle from his pocket and thrust it toward Brent so abruptly that some +of the liquor spilled upon Brent's bare hand. The odor of it reached his +nostrils, and for a second Brent closed his eyes. + +"Tea ready," said Joe Pete, gruffly. + +"Damn it! Don't I know it?" snapped Brent, then his hand reached out for +the bottle. "Guess one won't hurt any," he said, and raising the bottle +to his lips, drank deeply. + +"Sure it won't," agreed Claw, "I know'd you wasn't afraid of it. Take +it, or let it alone, whichever you want to--show'd that las' night." + +Instantly the liquor enveloped Brent in its warm glow. The grip of it +felt good in his belly, and a feeling of vast well-being pervaded his +brain. Claw turned to go. + +"What do you get for a quart of that liquor over here," asked Brent. + +"Two ounces," answered Claw, "An' they ain't nothin' in it at that, +after packin' it over them mountains. I git two ounces fer it after it's +be'n weakened--but I'll let you have it, fer two the way it is." + +"I'll take a quart," said Brent, and a moment later he paid Claw two +ounces "guess weight" out of the buckskin pouch, in return for a bottle +that Claw produced from another pocket. And as Brent turned into the +tent, Claw slipped back into the timber and joined his squaw who was +breaking trail at a right angle to the river over a low divide. And as +he mushed on in the trail of his sleds, Claw turned and leered evilly +upon the little camp beside the frozen river. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE CAMP ON THE COPPERMINE + + +It was mid-afternoon when Brent drank the last of the liquor and threw +the bottle into the snow. He was very drunk, and with the utmost +gravity, halted the outfit and commanded the Indian to turn the dogs and +strike out on the trail of Claw. But Joe Pete merely shrugged, and +started the dogs, whereupon Brent faced about and started over the +back-trail. When he had proceeded a hundred yards the Indian halted the +dogs, and strode swiftly after Brent, who was making poor going of it on +his snowshoes. As Joe Pete understood his orders, the journey to the +Mackenzie called for no side trips after hooch, and he made this fact +known to Brent in no uncertain terms. Whereupon Brent cursed him +roundly, and showed fight. It was but the work of a few moments for the +big Indian to throw him down, tie him hand and foot and carry him, +struggling and cursing, back to the sled, where he rode for the +remainder of the day in a most uncomfortable position from which he +hurled threats and malediction upon the broad back of the Indian. + +The following morning Brent awoke long before daylight. His head ached +fiercely and in his mouth was the bitter aftermath of dead liquor. In +vain he sought sleep, but sleep would not come. Remorse and shame +gripped him as it had never gripped him before. He writhed at the +thought that only a day or two ago he had laughed at hooch, and had +openly boasted that he was through with it and that he would not take a +drink if he possessed a barrel of it. And, at the very first +opportunity, he had taken a drink, and after that first drink, he had +paid gold that was not his to use for such purpose for more hooch, and +had deliberately drank himself drunk. The reviling and malediction which +he had hurled at Joe Pete from the sled were words of gentle endearment +in comparison with the terrible self-castigation that he indulged in as +he tossed restlessly between his blankets and longed for the light of +day. To be rid of the torture he finally arose, replenished the fire, +and brewed many cups of strong tea. And when Joe Pete stepped from the +tent in the grey of the morning it was to find breakfast ready, and +Brent busy harnessing the dogs. In silence the meal was eaten, and in +silence the two hit the trail. That day was a hard one owing to rough +ice encountered upon the lower Gravel River, and the two alternated +frequently between breaking trail and working at the gee-pole. The long +snow trail had worked wonders for Brent physically, and by evening he +had entirely thrown off the effects of the liquor. He ate a hearty +supper, and over the pipes beside the fire the two men talked of gold. +As they turned in, Brent slapped Joe Pete on the back: "Just forget what +I said yesterday--I was a damned fool." + +The Indian shrugged: "The hooch, she all tam' mak' de damn fool. She no +good. I ain' care w'at de hooch talk 'bout. Som' tam' you queet de +hooch. Dat good t'ing. W'en you sober, you good man. You say, Joe Pete, +you do lak dis. I do it. W'en de hooch say, Joe Pete you do lak som' +nodder way. I say go to hell." + +At Fort Norman, Brent bought an additional dog team and outfitted for +the trip to the Coppermine. Upon learning from Murchison, the factor, +that the lower Coppermine, from Kendall River northward to the coast, +had been thoroughly explored and prospected without finding gold, he +decided to abandon the usual route by way of Dease Bay, Dease River, the +Dismal Lakes, and the Kendall River, and swing southward to the eastern +extremity of Conjuror Bay of Great Bear Lake, and then head straight +across the barrens, to strike the upper reaches of the Coppermine in the +region of Point Lake. + +Murchison expressed doubt that there was gold upon any part of the +Coppermine, "If there is," he added, "No one's ever got any of it. An' +I'm doubtin' if there's any gold east of the Mackenzie. I've been on the +river a good many years, an' I never saw any, except a few nuggets that +an old squaw named Wananebish found years ago." + +"On the Coppermine?" asked Brent. + +Murchison laughed: "I don't know--an' she don't either. She found 'em, +an' then her husband was drowned in a rapids and she pulled out of there +and she claims she ain't never be'n able to locate the place since, an' +she's spent years huntin' for it an' draggin' a little band of worthless +Injuns after her. They're over there now, somewhere. I heard they hit up +Hare Indian River, along about the first of September. McTavish at Good +Hope, give 'em debt to be rid of 'em. But I don't think they'll find any +gold. The formation don't seem to be right on this side of the river." + +"Gold has been taken from the bottom of the sea, and from the tops of +mountains," reminded Brent, "You know the old saying, 'Gold is where you +find it.'" + +"Aye," answered Murchison, with a smile, "But, east of the Mackenzie, +gold is where you don't find it." + +The four hundred mile journey from Fort Norman to the Coppermine was +accomplished in sixteen days. A permanent camp-site was selected upon +the west bank of the river, and the two worked with a will in +constructing a tiny log cabin, well within the shelter of a thick clump +of spruce. Brent's eyes had lost the last trace of muddiness, the +bloated unhealthy skin had cleared, and his flabby muscles had grown +iron-hard so that he plunged into the work of felling and trimming +trees, and heaving at logs with a zest and enthusiasm that had not been +his for many a long day. He had not even thought of a drink in a week. +When the cabin was finished and the last of the chinking rammed into +place, he laughingly faced Joe Pete upon the trampled snow of the +dooryard. "Come on now, you old leather image!" he cried, "Come and take +your medicine! I owe you a good fall or two for the way you used me on +the trail. You're heap _skookum_, all right, but I can put you on your +back! Remember you didn't handle the butt ends of _all_ those logs!" + +And thus challenged the big Indian, who was good for his two hundred +pound pack on a portage, sailed in with a grin, and for ten minutes the +only sounds in the spruce thicket were the sounds of scrapping _mukluks_ +on the hard-trampled snow, and the labored breathing of the straining +men. Laughter rang loud as Brent twice threw the Indian, rolled him onto +his back, and rubbed snow into his face, and then, still laughing, the +two entered their cabin and devoured a huge meal of broiled caribou +steaks, and pilot bread. + +Supper over, Joe Pete lighted his pipe and regarded Brent gravely: "On +de trail," he said, "I handle you lak wan leetle baby. Now, you _skookum +tillicum_. You de firs mans kin put Joe Pete on de back. De hooch, she +no good for hell!" + +"You bet, she's no good!" agreed Brent, "Believe me, I'm through with +it. It's been a good while since I've even thought of a drink." + +Joe Pete seemed unimpressed: "You ain't t'ink 'bout a drink cos you +ain't got non. Dat better you keep 'way from it, or you t'ink 'bout it +dam' queek." And Brent, remembering that morning on the trail when he +had said good bye to Claw, answered nothing. + +For the next few days, while Joe Pete worked at the building of a cache, +Brent hunted caribou. Upon one of these excursions, while following up +the river, some three of four miles south of the cabin, he came suddenly +upon a snowshoe trail. It was a fresh trail, and he had followed it +scarcely a mile when he found other trails that crossed and recrossed +the river, and upon rounding a sharp bend, he came abruptly upon an +encampment. Three tiny log cabins, and a half-dozen tepees were visible +in a grove of scraggling spruce that gave some shelter from the sweep of +the wind. Beyond the encampment, the river widened abruptly into a lake. +An Indian paused in the act of hacking firewood from a dead spruce, and +regarded him stolidly. Brent ascended the bank and greeted him in +English. Receiving no response, he tried the jargon: + +"_Klahowya, six?_" + +The Indian glanced sidewise, toward one of the cabins, and muttered +something in guttural. Then, the door of the cabin opened and a girl +stepped out onto the snow and closed the door behind her. Brent stared, +speechless, as his swift glance took in the details of her moccasins, +deer-skin leggings, short skirt, white _capote_ and stocking cap. She +held a high-power rifle in her mittened hand. Then their eyes met, and +the man felt his heart give a bound beneath his tight-buttoned mackinaw. +Instantly, he realized that he was staring rudely, and as the blood +mounted to his cheeks, he snatched the cap from his head and stepped +forward with hasty apology: "I beg your pardon," he stammered, "You see, +I had no idea you were here--I mean, I had not expected to meet a lady +in the middle of this God-forsaken wilderness. And especially as I only +expected to find Indians--and I hadn't even expected them, until I +struck the trail on the river." The man paused, and for the first time +noted the angry flash of the dark eyes--noted, too, that the red lips +curled scornfully. + +"_I_ am an Indian," announced the girl, haughtily, "And, now you have +found us--go!" + +"An Indian!" cried Brent, "Surely, you are----" + +"Go!" Repeated the girl, "Before I kill you!" + +"Oh, come, now," smiled Brent, "You wouldn't do that. We are neighbors, +why not be friends?" + +"Go!" repeated the girl, "and don't come back! The next time I shall not +warn you." The command was accompanied by a sharp click, as she threw a +cartridge into the chamber of her rifle, and another swift glance into +her eyes showed Brent that she was in deadly earnest. He returned the +cap to his head and bowed: + +"Very well," he said gravely. "I don't know who you think I am, or why +you should want to kill me, but I do know that some day we shall become +better acquainted. Good bye--till we meet again." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +IN THE BARRENS + + +Late that evening Brent and Joe Pete were surprised by a knock upon the +door of their cabin. Brent answered the summons and three Indians filed +solemnly into the room. Two of them stood blinking foolishly while the +third drew from a light pack a fox skin which he extended for Brent's +inspection. Brent handed the skin to Joe Pete: "What's all this?" he +asked, "What do they want?" + +"Hooch," answered the Indian who had handed over the skin. + +Brent shook his head: "No hooch here," he answered, "You've come to the +wrong place. You are the fellow I saw today in the camp up the river. +Tell me, who is the young lady that claims she's an Injun? And why is +she on the war-path?" The three stared stolidly at each other and at +Brent, but gave no hint of understanding a word he had uttered. He +turned to Joe Pete. "You try it," he said, "See if you can make 'em +talk." The Indian tried them in two or three coast dialects, but to no +purpose, and at the end of his attempt, the visitors produced two more +fox skins and added them to the first. + +"They think we're holding out for a higher price," laughed Brent. + +"No wonder these damned hooch-peddlers can afford to take a chance. What +are those skins worth?" + +Joe Pete examined the pelts critically: "Dis wan she dark cross fox, +wort' mebbe-so, t'irty dolla. Dis wan, an' dis wan, cross fox, wort' +'bout twenty dolla." + +"Seventy dollars for a bottle of hooch!" cried Brent, "It's robbery!" + +He handed back the skins, and at the end of five minutes, during which +time he indicated as plainly as possible by means of signs, that there +was no hooch forthcoming, the Indians took their departure. The next +evening they were back again, and this time they offered six skins, one +of them a silver fox that Joe Pete said would bring eighty dollars at +any trading post. After much patient pantomime Brent finally succeeded +in convincing them that there was really no hooch to be had, and with +openly expressed disgust, the three finally took their departure. + +Shortly after noon a week later, Brent drew the last bucket of gravel +from the shallow shaft, threw it onto the dump, and leaving Joe Pete to +look after the fire, took his rifle and struck off up the river in +search of caribou. "Go down the river," whispered the still small voice +of Common Sense, "There are no hunters there." But Brent only smiled, +and held his course. And as he swung over the snow trail his thoughts +were of the girl who had stepped from the cabin and angrily ordered him +from the village at the point of her rifle. Each day during the +intervening week he had thought of her, and he had lain awake at night +and tried in vain to conjure a reason for her strange behaviour. Alone +on the trail he voiced his thoughts: "Why should she threaten to shoot +me? Who does she think I am? Why should she declare she is an Injun? I +don't believe she's any more Injun than I am. Who ever heard of an Injun +with eyes like hers, and lips, yes, and a tip-tilted nose? Possibly, a +breed--but, never an Injun. And, I wonder if her warlike attitude +includes the whole white race, or a limited part of it, or only me? I'll +find out before this winter is over--but, I'll bet she can shoot! She +threw that shell into her rifle in a sort of off-hand _practiced_ way, +like most girls would powder their nose." + +His speculation was cut short by a trail that crossed the river at a +right angle and headed into the scrub in a south-easterly direction. The +trail was only a few hours old and had been made by a small band of +caribou traveling at a leisurely pace. Abruptly, Brent left the River +and struck into the trail. For an hour he followed it through the +scraggly timber and across patches of open tundra and narrow beaver +meadows. The animals had been feeding as they traveled and it was +evident that they could not be far ahead. Cautiously topping a low +ridge, he sighted them upon a small open tundra, about two hundred yards +away. There were seven all told, two bulls, three cows, and two +yearlings. One of the bulls and two cows were pawing the snow from the +moss, and the others were lying down. Taking careful aim, Brent shot the +standing bull. The animals that had been lying down scrambled to their +feet, and three more shots in rapid succession accounted for a cow and +one of the yearlings, and Brent watched the remaining four plunge off +through the snow in the direction of the opposite side of the tundra +which was a mile or more in width. When they had almost reached the +scrub he was startled to see the flying bull suddenly rear high and +topple into the snow, the next instant one of the others dropped, and a +moment later a third. Then to his ears came the sound of four shots +fired in rapid succession. As Brent stepped out onto the tundra and, +sheath knife in hand, walked to his fallen caribou, he saw a figure from +the opposite scrub. An exclamation of surprise escaped him. It was the +girl of the Indian Village. + +"Wonder if she needs any help?" he muttered as he slit the throat of his +third caribou. He glanced across the short open space to see the girl +bending over the carcass of the other bull. "Guess I'll take a chance," +he grinned, "And go and see. I knew she could shoot--three out of four, +running shots--that's going some!" When he was half way across the open +he saw the girl rise and wipe the blade of her knife upon the hair of +the dead bull's neck. She turned and knife in hand, waited for him to +approach. Brent noted that her rifle lay within easy reach of her hand, +propped against the dead animal's belly. He noted also, that as he drew +near, she made no move to recover it. + +Jerking at the strings of his cap, he removed it from his head: "That +was mighty good shooting," he smiled, "Those brutes were sure +traveling!" + +"But, they were very close. I couldn't have missed. It took two shots +for the last one, but both bullets counted. You did good shooting, too. +Your shots were harder--they were farther away. Did all your bullets +count?" + +Brent laughed aloud from pure joy. He hardly heard her words. The only +thing he could clearly comprehend was the fact that there was no hint of +anger in the dark eyes, and that the red lips were smiling. "I'm sure I +don't know," he managed to reply, "I didn't stop to look. I think very +likely I missed one shot." + +"Why do you take your cap off?" she asked, and almost instantly she +smiled again: "Oh, yes, I know--I have read of it--but, they don't do it +here. Put it on please. It is cold." + +Brent returned the cap to his head. "I'm glad I didn't know the other +day, how expert you are with your rifle," he laughed, "Or I wouldn't +have stayed as long as I did." + +The girl regarded him gravely: "You are not angry with me?" she asked. + +"Why, no, of course not! Why should I be angry with you? I knew that +there was no reason why you should shoot me. And I knew that things +would straighten out, somehow. I thought you had mistaken me for someone +else, and----" + +"I thought you were a hooch-runner," interrupted the girl. "I did not +think any white man who is not a hooch-runner, or a policeman, would be +way over here, and I could see that you were not in the Mounted." + +"No," answered Brent, "I am not in the Mounted, but, how do you know +that I am not a hooch-runner?" + +"Because, three of our band went to your cabin that very night to buy +hooch, and they did not get it. And the next night they went again and +took more fox skins, and again they came away empty handed." + +"You sent them then?" + +"No, no! But, I knew that they would think the same as I did, that you +wanted to trade them hooch, so I followed them when they slipped out of +the village. Both nights I followed, and I pressed my ear close to the +door, so that I heard all you said." + +Brent smiled: "I have some recollection of asking one of those wooden +images something about a certain warlike young lady----" + +The girl interrupted him with a laugh: "Yes, I heard that, and I heard +you swear at the hooch traders, and tell the Indians there was no hooch +in the cabin, and I was glad." + +The man's eyes sought hers in a swift glance: "Why--why were you glad?" +he asked. + +"Because I--because you--because I didn't want to kill you. And I would +have killed you if you had sold them hooch." + +"You wouldn't--really----" + +"Yes, I would!" cried the girl, and Brent saw that the dark eyes +flashed, "I would kill a hooch-runner as I would a wolf. They are +wolves. They're worse than wolves! Wolves kill for meat, but they kill +for money. They take the fur that would put bread in the mouths of the +women and the little babies, and they make the men drunken and no good. +There used to be thirty of us in the band, and now there are only +sixteen. Two of the men deserted their families since we came here, +because they would not stay where there was no hooch." The girl ceased +speaking and glanced quickly upward: "Snow!" she cried, "It is starting +to snow, and darkness will soon be here. I must draw these caribou, +before they freeze." She drew the knife from her belt and stepped to the +carcass of the bull. But Brent took it from her hand. + +"Let me do it," he said, eagerly, "You stand there and tell me how, and +we'll have it done in no time." + +"Tell you how!" exclaimed the girl, "What do you mean?" Brent laughed: +"I'm afraid I'm still an awful _chechako_ about some things. I can shoot +them, all right, but there has always been someone to do the drawing, +and skinning, and cutting up. But, I'll learn quickly. Where do I +begin?" + +Under the minute directions of the girl Brent soon had the big bull +drawn. The two smaller animals were easier and when the job was finished +he glanced apprehensively at the thickening storm. "We had better go +now," he said. "Do you know how far it is to your camp?" + +"Nine or ten miles, I think," answered the girl, "We have only been here +since fall and this is the first time I have hunted in this direction. +But, first we must draw your caribou. If they freeze they cannot be +drawn and then they will not be fit for food." + +"But, the snow," objected Brent. "It is coming down faster all the +time." + +"The snow won't bother us. There is no wind. Hurry, we must finish the +others before dark." + +"But, the wind might spring up at any moment, and if it does we will +have a regular blizzard." + +"Then we can camp," answered the girl, and before the astounded man +could reply, she had led off at a brisk pace in the direction of the +other caribou. + +The early darkness was already beginning to make itself felt and Brent +drove to his task with a will, and to such good purpose that the girl +nodded hearty approval. "You did learn quickly," she smiled, "I could +not have done it any better nor quicker, myself." + +"Thank you," he laughed, "And that is a real compliment, for by the way +you can handle a rifle, and cover ground on snowshoes, I know you are +_skookum tillicum_." + +"Yes," admitted the girl, "I'm _skookum tillicum_. But, I ought to be. I +was born in the North and I have lived in the woods and in the barrens, +and upon rivers, all my life." + +Brent was about to reply when each glanced for a moment into the other's +face, and then both stared into the North. From out of the darkness came +a sullen roar, low, and muffled, and mighty, like the roar of surf on +the shore of a distant sea. + +"It is the wind!" cried the girl, "Quick, take a shoulder of meat! We +must find shelter and camp." + +"I can't cut a leg bone with this knife!" + +"There are no bones! It is like this." She snatched the knife from +Brent's hand and with a few deft slashes severed a shoulder from the +yearling caribou. "Come, quick," she urged, and led the way toward a +dark blotch that showed in the scraggling timber a few hundred yards +away: "When the storm strikes, we shall not be able to see," she flung +over her shoulder, "We must make that thicket of spruce--or we're +bushed." + +Louder and louder sounded the roar of the approaching wind. Brent +encumbered with his rifle and the shoulder of meat, found it hard to +keep up with the girl whose snowshoes fairly flew over the snow. They +gained the thicket a few moments before the storm struck. The girl +paused before a thick spruce, that had been broken off and lay with its +trunk caught across the upstanding butt, some four feet from the ground. +Jerking the ax from its sheath she set to work lopping branches from the +dead tree. + +"Break some live branches for the roof of our shelter!" she commanded. +"This stuff will do for firewood, and in a minute you can take the ax +and I will build the wikiup." The words were snatched from her lips by +the roar of the storm. Full upon them, now, it bent and swayed the thick +spruces as if to snap them at the roots. Brent gasped for breath in the +first rush of it and the next moment was coughing the flinty dry +snow-powder from his lungs. No longer were there snow-flakes in the +air--the air itself was snow--snow that seared and stung as it bit into +lips and nostrils, that sifted into the collars of _capote_ and +mackinaw, and seized neck and throat in a deadly chill. Back and forth +Brent stumbled bearing limbs which he tore from the trunks of trees, and +as he laid them at her feet the girl deftly arranged them. The ax made +the work easier, and at the end of a half-hour the girl shouted in his +ear that there were enough branches. Removing their rackets, they stood +them upright in the snow, and stooping, the girl motioned him to follow +as she crawled through a low opening in what appeared to be a mountain +of spruce boughs. To his surprise, Brent found that inside the wikiup he +could breathe freely. The fine powdered snow, collecting upon the +close-lying needles had effectively sealed the roof and walls. + +For another half hour, the two worked in the intense blackness of the +interior with hands and feet pushing the snow out through the opening, +and when the task was finished they spread a thick floor of the small +branches that the girl had piled along one side. Only at the opening +there were no branches, and there upon the ground the girl proceeded to +build a tiny fire. "We must be careful," she cautioned, "and only build +a small fire, or our house will burn down." As she talked she opened a +light packsack that Brent had noticed upon her shoulders, and drew from +its interior a rabbit robe which she spread upon the boughs. Then from +the pack she produced a small stew pan and a little package of tea. She +filled the pan with snow, and smiled up into Brent's face: "And, now, at +last, we are snug and comfortable for the night. We can live here for +days if necessary. The caribou are not far away, and we have plenty of +tea." + +"You are a wonder," breathed Brent, meeting squarely the laughing gaze +of the dark eyes, "Do you know that if it had not been for you, I would +have been--would never have weathered this storm?" + +"You were not born in the bush," she reminded, as she added more snow to +the pan. "I do not even know your name," she said, gravely, "And yet I +feel--" she paused, and Brent, his voice raised hardly above a whisper, +asked eagerly: + +"Yes, you feel--how do you feel?" + +"I feel as though--as though I had known you always--as though you were +my friend." + +"Yes," he answered, and it was with an effort he kept the emotion from +his voice, "We have known each other always, and I am your friend. My +name is Carter Brent. And now, tell me something about yourself. Who are +you? And why did you tell me you were an Indian?" + +"I am an Indian," she replied, quickly, "That is, I am a half-breed. My +father was a white man." + +"And what is your name?" + +"Snowdrift." + +"Snowdrift!" he cried, "what an odd name! Is it your last name or your +first?" + +"Why, it is the only name I have, and I never had any other." + +"But your father--what was your father's name?" + +There was a long moment of silence while the girl threw more snow into +the pan, and added wood to the fire. Then her words came slowly, and +Brent detected a peculiar note in her voice. He wondered whether it was +bitterness, or pain: "My father is dead," she answered, "I do not know +his name. Why is Snowdrift an odd name?" + +"I think it a beautiful name!" cried Brent. + +"Do you--really?" The dark eyes were regarding him with a look in which +happiness seemed to be blended with fear lest he were mocking her. + +"Indeed I do! I love it. And now tell me more--of your life--of your +education." + +"I went to school at the mission on the Mackenzie. I went there for a +good many years, and I worked hard, for I like to study. And books! I +love to read books. I read all they had, and some of them many times. Do +you love books?" + +"Why yes," answered Brent, "I used to. I haven't read many since I came +North." + +"Why did you come North?" + +"I came for gold." + +"For gold!" cried the girl, her eyes shining, "That is why we are here! +Wananebish says there is gold here in the barrens. Once many years ago +she found it--but we have tried to find the place again, and we cannot." + +"Who is Wananebish?" + +"Wananebish is my mother. She is an Indian, and she has tried to keep +the band together through many years, and to keep them away from the +hooch, but, they will not listen to her. It was hard work to persuade +them to come away from the river. And, have you found gold?" + +"Yes," answered Brent, "Way over beyond the mountains that lie to the +westward of the Mackenzie, I found much gold. But I lost it." + +"Lost it! Oh, that was too bad. Did it fall off your sled?" + +"Well, not exactly," answered the man dryly. "In my case, it was more of +a toboggan." + +"Couldn't you find it again?" + +"No. Other men have it, now." + +"And they won't give it back!" + +"No, it is theirs. That part of it is all right--only I would give +anything in the world to have it--now." + +"Why do you want it now? Can you not find more gold? I guess I do not +understand." + +Brent shook his head: "No, you do not understand. But, sometime you will +understand. Sometime I think I shall have many things to tell you--and +then I want you to understand." + +The girl glanced at him wonderingly, as she threw a handful of tea into +the pan. "You must sharpen some green sticks and cut pieces of meat," +she said, "And we will eat our supper." + +A silence fell upon them during the meal, a silence broken only by the +roar of the wind that came to them as from afar, muffled as it was by +its own freighting of snow. Hardly for a moment did Brent take his eyes +from the girl. There was a great unwonted throbbing in his breast, that +seemed to cry out to him to take the girl in his arms and hold her +tight against his pounding heart, and the next moment the joy of her was +gone, and in its place was a dull heavy pain. + +"Now, I know why I like you," said the girl, abruptly, as she finished +her piece of venison. + +"Yes?" smiled Brent, "And are you going to tell me?" + +"It is because you are good." She continued, without noting the quick +catch in the man's breath. "Men who hunt for gold are good. My father +was good, and he died hunting for gold. Wananebish told me. It was years +and years ago when I was a very little baby. I know from reading in +books that many white men are good. But in the North they are bad. +Unless they are of the police, or are priests, or factors. I had sworn +to hate all white men who came into the North--but I forgot the men who +hunt gold." + +"I am glad you remembered them," answered Brent gravely. "I hope you are +right." + +"I am sleepy," announced the girl. "We cannot both sleep in this robe, +for we have only one, and to keep warm it is necessary to roll up in it. +One of us can sleep half the night while the other tends the fire, and +then the other will sleep." + +"You go to sleep," said Brent. "I will keep the fire going. I am not a +bit sleepy. And besides, I have a whole world of thinking to do." + +"I will wake up at midnight, and then you can sleep," she said, and, +taking off her moccasins, and leggings, and long woolen stockings she +arranged them upon sticks to dry and rolled up in the thick robe. + +"Good night," called Brent, as she settled down. + +"Good night, and may God keep you. You forgot that part," she corrected, +gravely, "We used to say that at the Mission." + +"Yes," answered Brent, "May God keep you. I did forget that part." + +Suddenly the girl raised her head: "Do you believe we have known each +other always?" she asked. + +"Yes, girl," he answered, "I believe we have known each other since the +beginning of time itself." + +"Why did you come way over here to find gold? I have heard that there is +much gold beyond the mountains to the westward." + +It was upon Brent's tongue to say: "I came to find you," but, he +restrained the impulse. "All the gold claims that are any good are taken +up over there," he explained, "And I read in a book that a man gave me +that there was gold here." + +"What kind of a book was that? I never read a book about gold." + +"It was an old book. One that the man had picked up over in the Hudson +Bay country. Its title was torn off, but upon one of its pages was +written a man's name, probably the name of the former owner of the book. +I have often wondered who he was. The name was Murdo MacFarlane." + +"Murdo MacFarlane!" cried the girl, sitting bolt upright, and staring at +Brent. + +"Yes," answered the man, "Do you know him?" + +The girl reached out and tossed her belt to Brent. "It is the name upon +the sheath of the knife," she answered, "It is Wananebish's knife. I +broke the point of mine." + +Brent took the sheath and held it close to the light of the little fire. +"Murdo MacFarlane," he deciphered, "Yes, the name is the same." And long +after the girl's regular breathing told him she was sleeping, he +repeated the name again: "Murdo MacFarlane. I don't know who you were or +who you are, if you still live, but whoever you were, or whoever you +are--here's good luck to you--Murdo MacFarlane!" + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +MOONLIGHT + + +The wind had died down, although the snow continued to fall thickly the +following morning, as Brent and Snowdrift crept from the wikiup and +struck out for the river. It was heavy going, even the broad webbed +snowshoes sinking deeply into the fluffy white smother that covered the +wind-packed fall of the night. Brent offered to break trail, but +Snowdrift insisted upon taking her turn, and as he labored in her wake, +the man marveled at the strength and the untiring endurance of the +slender, lithe-bodied girl. He marveled also at the unfailing sureness +of her sense of direction. Twice, when he was leading she corrected him +and when after nearly four hours of continuous plodding, they stood upon +the bank of the river, he realized that without her correction, his +course would have carried him miles to the southward. + +"Good bye," he smiled, extending his bared hand, when at length they +came to the parting of the ways, "I don't want but one of the caribou I +shot. Divide the other two between the families of the Indians that +skipped out." + +Slipping off her mitten, the girl took the proffered hand unhesitatingly +and an ecstatic thrill shot through Brent's heart at the touch of the +firm slender fingers that closed about his own--a thrill that +half-consciously, half-unconsciously, caused him to press the hand that +lay warm within his clasp. + +"Yes," she answered, making no effort to release the hand, "They need +the meat. With the rabbits they can snare, it will keep them all winter. +I have not much fur yet--a few fox skins, and some _loup cervier_. I +will bring them to you tomorrow." + +"Bring them to me!" cried Brent, "What do you mean? Why should you bring +them to me?" + +"Why!" she exclaimed, regarding him curiously, "To pay for the meat, of +course. A caribou is worth a cross fox, and----" + +Brent felt the blood mounting to his face. Abruptly, almost roughly he +released the girl's hand. "I did not offer to sell you the meat," he +answered, a trifle stiffly. "They need it, and they're welcome to it." + +Snowdrift, too, had been thrilled by that handclasp, and the thrill had +repeated itself at the gentle pressure of the strong fingers, and she +was quick to note the change in the man's manner, and stood uncertainly +regarding her bared hand until a big snowflake settled upon it and +melted into a drop of water. Then she thrust the hand into her big fur +mitten, and as her glance met his, Brent saw that the dark eyes were +deep with concern: "I--I do not understand," she said, softly. "I have +made you angry. I do not want you to be angry with me. Do you mean that +you want to give them the meat? People do not give meat, excepting to +members of their own tribe when they are very poor. But you are not of +the tribe. You are not even an Indian. White men do not give Indians +meat, ever." + +Already Brent was cursing himself for his foolish flare of pride. Again +his heart thrilled at the wonder of the girl's absolute +unsophistication. Swiftly his hand sought hers, but this time she did +not remove it from the mitten. "I am not angry with you, Snowdrift!" he +exclaimed, quickly, "I was a fool! It was I who did not understand. But, +I want you to understand that here is one white man who does give meat +to Indians. And I wish I were a member of your tribe. Sometime, +maybe----" + +"Oh, no, no! You would not want to be one of us. We are very poor, and +we are Indians. You are a white man. Why should you want to live with +us?" + +"Some day I will tell you why," answered the man, in a voice so low that +the dark eyes searched his face wonderingly. "And, now, won't you give +me your hand again? To show me that you are not angry with me." + +The girl laughed happily: "Angry with you! Oh, I would never be angry +with you! You are good. You are the only good white man I have known +who was not a priest, or a factor, or a policeman--and even they do not +give the Indians meat." With a swift movement she slipped her hand from +the mitten and once more placed it within his, and this time there was +nothing unconscious in the pressure of Brent's clasp. He fancied that he +felt the slender hand tremble ever so lightly within his own, and +glanced swiftly into the girl's face. For an instant their eyes met, and +then the dark eyes dropped slowly before his gaze, and very gently he +released her hand. + +"May I come and see you, soon?" he asked. + +"Why, yes, of course! Why did you ask me that?" she inquired, +wonderingly, "You know the way to our camp, and you know that now I know +you are not a hooch trader." + +"Why," smiled Brent, "I asked because--why, just because it seemed the +thing to do--a sort of formality, I reckon." + +The girl's smile met his own: "I do not understand, I guess. +Formality--what is that? A custom of the land of the white man? But I +have not read of that in books. Here in the North if anybody wants to go +a place, he goes, unless he has been warned to stay away for some +reason, and then if he goes he will get shot. I will shoot the hooch +traders if they come to the camp. The first time I will tell them to +go--and if they come back I will kill them." + +"You wouldn't kill them--really?" smiled Brent, amazed at the matter of +fact statement coming from this slip of a girl, whose face rimmed in its +snow-covered parka hood was, he told himself, the most beautiful face he +had ever looked upon. "Didn't they teach you in the mission that it is +wrong to kill?" + +"It is wrong to kill in anger, or for revenge for a wrong, or so that +you may steal a man's goods. But it is not wrong to kill one who is +working harm in the world. You, too, know that this is true, because in +the books I have read of many such killings, and in some books it was +openly approved, and other books were so written that the approval was +made plain." + +"But, there is the law," ventured Brent. + +"Yes, there is the law. But the law is no good up here. By the time the +policemen would get here the hooch trader would be many miles away. And +even if they should catch him, the Indians would not say that he traded +them hooch. They would be afraid. No, it is much better to kill them. +They take all the fur in trade for hooch, and then the women have +nothing to eat, and the little babies die." + +Brent nodded, thoughtfully; "I reckon you're right," he agreed, "But, I +wish you would promise me that if any hooch runners show up, you will +let me deal with them." + +"Oh, will you?" cried the girl, her eyes shining, "Will you help me? Oh, +with a white man to help me! With _you_--" she paused, and as Brent's +glance met hers, the dark eyes drooped once more, and the man saw that +the cheeks were flushed through their tan. + +"Of course I'll help you!" he smiled reassuringly, "I would love to, and +between us we'll make the Coppermine country a mighty unhealthy place +for the hooch runners." + +"You will come to see me," reminded the girl, "And I will come to see +you, and we will hunt together, and you will show me how to find gold." + +"Yes," promised Brent, "We will see each other often--very often. And we +will hunt together, and I will show you all I know about finding gold. +Good bye, and if you need any help getting the meat into camp, let me +know and Joe Pete and I will come down with the dogs." + +"We won't need any help with the meat. There are plenty of us to haul it +in. That is squaw's work, Good bye." + +The girl stood motionless and watched Brent until his form was hidden by +a bend of the river. Then, slowly, she turned and struck off up stream. +And as she plodded through the ever deepening snow her thoughts were all +of the man who had come so abruptly--so vitally into her life, and as +she pondered she was conscious of a strange unrest within her, an +awakening longing that she did not understand. Subconsciously she drew +off her heavy mitten and looked at the hand that had lain in his. And +then, she raised it to her face, and drew it slowly across her cheek. + +In the cabin, she answered the questions of old Wananebish in +monosyllables, and after a hearty meal, she left the cabin abruptly and +entered another, where she lifted a very tiny red baby from its bed of +blankets and skins, and to the astonishment of the mite's mother, seated +herself beside the little stove, and crooned to it, and cuddled it, +until the short winter day came to a close. + +Early the following day Snowdrift piloted a dozen squaws with their +sleds and dog teams to the place of the kill. One of Brent's three +caribou was gone, and the girl's eyes lighted with approval as she saw +that his trail was partially covered with new-fallen snow. "He came back +yesterday--he and his Indian, and they got the meat. He is strong," she +breathed to herself, "Stronger than I, for I was tired from walking in +the loose snow, and I did not come back." + +Leaving the squaws to bring in the meat, the girl shouldered her rifle +and struck into the timber, her footsteps carrying her unerringly toward +the patch of scrub in which she and Brent had sought shelter from the +storm. She halted beside the little wikiup, snow-buried, now--even the +hole through which they had crawled was sealed with the new-fallen snow. +For a long time she stood looking down at the little white mound. As she +turned to go, her glance fell upon a trough-like depression, only half +filled with snow. The depression was a snowshoe trail, and it ended just +beyond the little mound. + +"It is _his_ trail," she whispered, to a Canada jay that chattered and +jabbered at her from the limb of a dead spruce. "He came here, as I +came, to look at our little wikiup. And he went away and left it just as +it was." Above her head the jay flitted nervously from limb to limb with +his incessant scolding. "Why did he come?" she breathed, "And why did I +come?" And, as she had done upon the river, she drew her hand from her +mitten and passed it slowly across her cheek. Then she turned, and +striking into the half-buried trail, followed it till it merged into +another trail, the trail of a man with a dog-sled, and then she followed +the broader trail to the northwestward. + +At nine o'clock that same morning Brent threw the last shovelful of the +eight-inch thawing of gravel from the shallow shaft, and leaving Joe +Pete to build and tend the new fire, he picked up his rifle, and under +pretense of another hunt, struck off up the river in the direction of +the Indian camp. + +Joe Pete watched with a puzzled frown until he had disappeared. Then he +carried his wood and lighted the fire in the bottom of the shaft. + +An hour and a half later Brent knocked at the door of the cabin from +which Snowdrift had stepped, rifle in hand, upon the occasion of their +first meeting. The door was opened by a wrinkled squaw, who looked +straight into his eyes as she waited for him to speak. There was +unveiled hostility in the stare of those beady black eyes, and it was +with a conscious effort that Brent smiled: "Is Snowdrift in?" he +inquired. + +"No," the squaw answered, and as an after-thought, "She has gone with +the women to bring in the meat." + +The man was surprised that the woman spoke perfect English. The Indians +who had come to trade, had known only the word "hooch." His smile +broadened, though he noticed that the glare of hostility had not faded +from the eyes: "She told you about our hunt, then? It was great sport. +She is a wonder with a rifle." + +"No, she did not tell me." The words came in a cold, impersonal +monotone. + +"Can't I come in?" Brent asked the question suddenly. "I must get back +to camp soon. I just came down to see--to see if I could be of any help +in bringing in the meat." + +"The women bring in the meat," answered the woman, and Brent felt as +though he had been caught lying. But, she stepped aside and motioned him +to a rude bench beside the stove. Brent removed his cap and glanced +about him, surprised at the extreme cleanliness of the interior, until +he suddenly remembered that this was the home of the girl with the +wondrous dark eyes. Covertly he searched the face of the old squaw, +trying to discover one single feature that would proclaim her to be the +mother of the girl, but try as he would, no slightest resemblance could +he find in any line or lineament of the wrinkled visage. + +She had seated herself upon the edge of the bunk beyond the little +stove. + +"Can't we be friends?" he asked abruptly. + +The laugh that greeted his question sounded in his ears like the snarl +of a wolf: "Yes, if you will let me kill you now--we can be friends." + +"Oh, come," laughed Brent, "That's carrying friendship a bit too far, +don't you think?" + +"I had rather you had traded hooch to the men," answered the woman, +sullenly, "For then she would even now hate you--as someday she will +learn to hate you!" + +"Learn to hate me! What do you mean?" + +"You know what I mean!" cried the squaw, her voice quivering with anger, +"You white men are devils! You come, and you stay a while, and then you +go your way, and you stop again, and your trail is a trail of misery--of +misery, and of father-less half-breed babies! I wish she had killed you +that day you stood out there in the snow! Maybe the harm has been +already done----" + +"What do you mean?" roared Brent, overturning the bench and towering +above the little stove in his rage. "You can't talk to me like that! Out +with it! What do you mean?" + +The squaw, also, was upon her feet, cowering at the side of the bunk, as +she hurled her words into Brent's face. "Where were you last night? +And, where was she?" + +Two steps and Brent was before her, his face thrust to within a foot of +her own: "We were together," he answered in a voice that cut cold as +steel, "In a wikiup that we built in the blinding snow and the darkness +to protect us from the storm. Half of the night, while she slept upon +her robe, I sat and tended the fire, and then, because she insisted upon +it, she tended the fire while I slept." As the man spoke never for a +moment did the glittering eyes of the squaw leave his close-thrust, +blazing eyes, and when he finished, she sank to the bunk with an +inarticulate cry. For in the righteous wrath of the blazing eyes she had +read the truth--and in his words was the ring of truth. + +"Can it be?" she faltered, "Can it be that there is such a white man?" + +The anger melted from Brent's heart as quickly as it had come. He saw +huddled upon the bunk not a poison-tongued, snake-eyed virago, but a +woman whose heart was torn with solicitude for the welfare of her child. +But, was Snowdrift her child? Swiftly the thought flitted into Brent's +brain, and as swiftly flashed another. Her child, or another's--what +matter? One might well question her parentage--but never her love. + +Gently his hand went out and came to rest upon the angular shoulder. And +when he spoke the tone of his voice, even more than his words, +reassured the woman. "There are many such white men," he said, +soothingly. "You need not fear. I am your friend, and the friend of +Snowdrift. I, like yourself, am here to find gold, and like yourself, I +too, hate the traders of hooch--and with reason." He stepped to the +stove, upturned the bench and recovered his cap. And as the old woman +rose to her feet, Brent saw that the look of intense hatred had been +supplanted by a look, which if not exactly of friendliness, was at least +one of passive tolerance. At the doorway he paused, hesitated for a +moment, and then, point blank, flashed the question that for days had +been uppermost in his mind: "Who is Snowdrift?" + +Wananebish leaned against a stanchion of the bunk. Instinctively, her +savage heart knew that the white man standing before had spoken the +truth. Her eyes closed, and for a moment, in the withered breast raged a +conflict. Then her eyes opened, her lips moved, and she saw that the man +was straining eagerly toward her to catch the words: "Snowdrift is my +daughter," she said. + +Brent hesitated. He had been quick to catch the flash of the eye that +had accompanied the words, a flash more of defiance than of anger. It +was upon his tongue to ask who was Murdo MacFarlane, but instead he +bowed: "I must go now. I shall be coming here often. I hope I shall not +be unwelcome." + +The look of passive tolerance was once more in her eyes, and she +shrugged so noncommittally that Brent knew that for the present, if he +had not gained an ally, he had at least, eliminated an enemy. + +As the man plodded down the river, his thoughts were all of the girl. +The stern implacability of her as she stood in the doorway of the cabin +and ordered him from the encampment. The swift assurance with which she +assumed leadership as the storm roared down upon them. The ingenuous +announcement that they must spend the night--possibly several nights in +the barrens. And the childlike naïvete of the words that unveiled her +innermost thoughts. The compelling charm of her, her beauty of face and +form, and the lithe, untiring play of her muscles as she tramped through +the new-fallen snow. Her unerring sense of direction. Her simple code of +morals regarding the killing of men. Her every look, and word and +movement was projected with vivid distinctness upon his brain. And then +his thoughts turned to the little cabin that was her home, and to the +leathern skinned old woman who told him she was the girl's mother. + +"The squaw lied!" he uttered fiercely. "Never in God's world is +Snowdrift her daughter! But--who is she?" + +He rounded the last bend of the river and brought up shortly. Joe Pete +was stoking the fire with wood, and upon the gravel dump, sat the girl +apparently very much interested in the operation. + +Almost at the same instant she saw him, and Brent's heart leaped within +him at the glad little cry that came to him over the snow, as the girl +scrambled to her feet and hurried toward him. "Where have you been?" she +asked. "I came to hunt--and you were gone. So I waited for you to come, +and I watched Joe Pete feed the fire in the hole." + +Brent's fingers closed almost caressingly over the slender brown hand +that was thrust into his and he smiled into the upraised eyes: "I, too, +went to hunt. I went to your cabin, and your--mother," despite himself, +the man's tongue hesitated upon the word, "told me that you had gone +with the women to bring in the meat." + +"Oh, you have seen Wananebish!" cried the girl, "And she was glad to see +you?" + +"Well," smiled Brent, "Perhaps not so awfully glad--right at first. But +Wananebish and I are good friends, now." + +"I am glad. I love Wananebish. She is good to me. She has deprived +herself of many things--sometimes I think, even of food, that I might +stay in school at the mission. And now it is too late to hunt today, and +I am hungry. Let us go in the cabin and eat." + +"Fine!" cried Brent, "Hey, Joe Pete, cut some caribou steaks, and I'll +build up the fire!" He turned again to the girl, "Come on," he laughed, +"I could eat a raw dog!" + +"But, there is plenty of meat!" cried the girl, "And you'll need the +dogs! Only when men are starving will they eat their dogs--and not +_raw_!" + +Brent laughed heartily into the dismayed face: "You need not be afraid, +we will save the dogs till we need them. That was only a figure of +speech. I meant that I am very hungry, and that, if I could find nothing +else to eat I should relish even raw dog meat." + +Snowdrift was laughing, now: "I see!" she cried, "In books are many such +sayings. It is a metaphor--no, not a metaphor--a--oh, I don't remember, +but anyway I am glad you said that because I thought such things were +used only in the language of books--and maybe I can say one like that +myself, someday." + +At the door of the cabin they removed their snowshoes, and a few moments +later a wood fire was roaring in the little stove. Joe Pete came in with +the frozen steaks, set them down upon the table, and moved toward the +door, but Brent called him back. "You're in on this feed! Get busy and +fry up those steaks while I set the table." + +The Indian hesitated, glanced shrewdly at Brent as if to ascertain the +sincerity of the invitation, and throwing off his parka, busied himself +at the stove, while Brent and Snowdrift, laughing and chattering like +children, placed the porcelain lined plates and cups and the steel +knives and forks upon the uneven pole table. + +The early darkness was gathering when they again left the cabin. +Snowdrift paused to watch Joe Pete throw wood into the flames that +leaped from the mouth of the shallow shaft: "Why do you have the fire +in the hole?" she asked of Brent, who stood at her side. + +"Why, to thaw the gravel so we can throw it out onto the dump. Then in +the spring, we'll sluice out the dump and see what we've got." + +"Do you mean for gold?" asked the girl in surprise, "We only hunt for +gold in the summer in the sand of the creeks and the rivers." + +"This way is better," explained Brent. "In the summer you can only muck +around in the surface stuff. You can't sink a shaft because the water +would run in and fill it up. In most places the deeper you go the richer +the gravel. The very best of it is right down against bed-rock. In the +winter we keep a fire going until the gravel is thawed for six or eight +inches down, then we rake out the ashes and wait for the hole to cool +down so there will be air instead of gas in it, and then we throw out +the loose stuff and build up the fire again." + +"And you won't know till spring whether you have any gold or not? Why, +maybe you would put in a whole winter's work and get nothing!" + +"Oh, we kind of keep cases on it with the pan. Every day or so I scoop +up a panful and carry it into the cabin and melt some ice and pan it +out." + +"And is there gold here? Have you found it?" + +"Not yet. That is, not in paying quantities. The gravel shows just +enough color to keep us at it. I don't think it is going to amount to +much. So far we're making fair wages--and that's about all." + +"What do you mean by fair wages?" smiled the girl. "You see, I am +learning all I can about finding gold." + +"I expect we're throwing out maybe a couple of ounces a day--an ounce +apiece. If it don't show something pretty quick I'm going to try some +other place. There's a likely looking creek runs in above here." + +"But an ounce of gold is worth sixteen dollars!" exclaimed the girl, +"And sixteen dollars every day for each of you is lots of money." + +Brent laughed: "It's good wages, and that's about all. But I'm not here +just to make wages. I've got to make a strike." + +"How much is a strike?" + +"Oh, anywhere from a half a million up." + +"A half a million dollars!" cried the girl, "Why, what could you do with +it all?" + +Brent laughed: "Oh I could manage to find use for it, I reckon. In the +first place I owe a man some money over on the Yukon--two men. They've +got to be paid. And after that--" His voice trailed off into silence. + +"And what would you do after that?" persisted the girl. + +"Well," answered the man, as he watched the shower of sparks fly upward, +"That depends--But, come, it's getting dark. I'll walk home with you." + +"Are you going because you think I am afraid?" she laughed. + +"I am going because I want to go," he answered, and led off up the +river. + +As the darkness settled the snow-covered surface of the river showed as +a narrow white lane that terminated abruptly at each bend in a wall of +intense blackness. Overhead a million stars glittered so brightly in the +keen air that they seemed suspended just above the serried skyline of +the bordering spruces. At the end of an hour it grew lighter. Through +the openings between the flanking spruce thickets long naked ridges with +their overhanging wind-carved snow-cornices were visible far back from +the river. As they came in sight of the encampment the girl, who was +traveling ahead, paused abruptly and with an exclamation of delight, +pointed toward a distant ridge upon the clean-cut skyline of which the +rim of the full moon showed in an ever widening segment of red. Brent +stood close by her side, and together, in wrapt silence they watched the +glowing orb rise clear of the ridge, watched its color pale until it +hung cold and clean-cut in the night sky like a disk of burnished brass. + +"Isn't it beautiful?" she breathed, and by the gentle pressure that +accompanied the words, Brent suddenly knew that her bared hand was in +his own, and that two mittens lay upon the snow at their feet. + +"Wonderful," he whispered, as his eyes swept the unending panorama of +lifeless barrens. "It is as if we two were the only living beings in +the whole dead world." + +"Oh, I wish--I wish we were!" cried the girl, impulsively. And then: "No +that is wrong! Other people--thousands and thousands of them--men, and +women, and little babies--they all love to live." + +"It is wonderful to live," breathed the man, "And to be standing +here--with you--in the moonlight." + +"Ah, the moonlight--is it the moonlight that makes me feel so +strange--in here?" she raised her mittened hand and pressed it against +her breast, "So strange and restless. I want to go--I do not know +where--but, I want to do something big--to go some place--any place, but +to go, and go, and go!" Her voice dropped suddenly, and Brent saw that +her eyes were resting broodingly upon the straggling group of tepees and +cabins. A dull square of light glowed sullenly from her own cabin +window, and her voice sounded heavy and dull: "But, there is no place to +go, and nothing to do, but hunt, and trap, and look for gold. Sometimes +I wish I were dead. No I do not mean that--but, I wish I had never +lived." + +"Nonsense, girl! You love to live! Beautiful, strong, young--why, life +is only just starting for--you." Brent had almost said "us." + +"But, of what use is it all? Why should one love to live? I am an +Indian--yet I hate the Indians--except Wananebish. We fight the hooch +traders, yet the men get the hooch. It is no use. I learned to love +books at the mission--and there are no books. You are here--with you I +am happy. But, if you do not find a strike, you will go away. Or, if we +do not find gold, we will go. The Indians will return to the river and +become hangers-on at the posts. It is all--no use!" + +Brent's arms were about her, her yielding body close against his, and +she was sobbing against the breast of his parka. The man's brain was a +chaos. In vain he strove to control the trembling of his muscles as he +crushed her to him. In an unsteady voice he was murmuring words: "There, +there, dear. I am never going away from you--never." Two arms stole +about his neck, and Brent's heart pounded wildly as he felt them tighten +in a convulsive embrace. He bent down and their lips met in a long, +lingering kiss, "Darling," he whispered, with his lips close to her ear, +"You are mine--mine! And I am yours. And we will live--live! Tell me +Snowdrift--sweetheart--do you love me?" + +"I love you!" her lips faltered the simple words, and Brent saw that the +dark eyes that looked up into his own glowed in the moonlight like black +pools. "Now--I know--it was--not the moonlight--in here--it was love!" + +"Yes, darling, it was love. I have loved you since the first moment I +saw you." + +"And I have loved you--always!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +CONFESSIONS + + +Brent returned to the cabin with his brain in a whirl. "I'll make a +strike before spring! I've got to! Then we'll hit for Dawson, and we'll +stop at Fort Norman and be married. No--we'll go on through and be +married at the Reeves'! Married! A Brent married to an Indian!" He +halted in the trail and cursed himself for the thought. + +"She's a damn sight too good for you! You're a hell of a Brent--nothing +left but the name! Gambler--notorious gambler, Reeves said--and a +barkeep in Malone's dive. You're a hooch hound, and you've got to keep +away from hooch to stay sober! You don't dare go back to Dawson--nor +anywhere else where there's a saloon! You're broke, and worse than +broke. You're right now living on Reeves' money--and you think of +marrying _her_!" + +Furiously, next morning, he attacked the gravel at the bottom of the +shaft. When the loose muck was thrown out he swore at the slow progress, +and futilely attacked the floor of the shaft with his pick as though to +win down to bed-rock through the iron-hard frost. Then he climbed out +and, scooping up a pan from the dump, retired to the cabin, and washed +it out. + +"Same thing," he muttered disgustedly, as he stared at the yellow +grains, "Just wages. I've got to make a strike! There's Reeves to +pay--and Camillo Bill--and I've got to have dust--and plenty of it--for +_her_. Damn this hole! I'm going to hit for the lower river. We'll cover +this shaft to keep the snow out and hit north. Hearne, and Franklin, and +Richardson all report native copper on the lower river--amygdaloid beds +that crop out in sheer cliffs. Gold isn't the only metal--there's +millions in copper! And, the river winding in and out among the trap and +basalt dykes, there's bound to be gold, too." He collected the few +grains of gold, threw out the gravel and water, and picking up his +rifle, stepped out the door. At the shaft he paused and called to Joe +Pete that he was going hunting and as the big Indian watched him +disappear up the river, his lips stretched in a slow grin, and he tossed +wood into the shaft. + +A mile from the cabin Brent rounded a sharp bend and came face to face +with Snowdrift. There was an awkward silence during which both strove to +appear unconcerned. The girl was the first to speak, and Brent noticed +that she was blushing furiously: "I--I am hunting," she announced, +swinging her rifle prominently into view. + +Brent laughed: "So am I hunting--for you." + +"But really, I am hunting caribou. There are lots of mouths to feed, and +the men are not much good. They will spend hours slipping up onto a +caribou and then miss him." + +"Come on, then, let's go," answered the man gaily. "Which way shall it +be?" + +"I saw lots of tracks the other day on a lake to the eastward. It is six +or seven miles. I think we will find caribou there." Brent tried to take +her hand, but she eluded him with a laugh, and struck out through the +scraggling timber at a pace that he soon found hard to follow. + +"Slow down! I'll be good!" he called, when they had covered a quarter of +a mile, and Snowdrift laughingly slackened her pace. + +"You're a wonder!" he panted, as he closed up the distance that +separated them, "Don't you ever get tired?" + +"Oh, yes, very often. But, not so early in the day. See, three caribou +passed this way only a few hours ago--a bull and two cows." They struck +into the trail, and two hours later Snowdrift succeeded in bring down +one of the cows with a long shot as the three animals trotted across a +frozen muskeg. + +"And now we must kill one for you," announced the girl as Brent finished +drawing the animal. + +"We needn't be in any hurry about it," he grinned. "We still have most +of the one we got the other day." + +"Then, why are you hunting?" + +"I told you. I found what I was hunting--back there on the river. How +about lunch? I'm hungry as a wolf." + +The girl pointed to a sheltered spot in the lee of a spruce thicket, and +while Brent scraped back the snow, she produced food from her pack. + +"You must have figured on getting pretty hungry," teased Brent, eying +the generous luncheon to which he had added his own. + +Snowdrift blushed: "You brought more than I did!" she smiled, +"See--there is much more." + +"Oh, I'll come right out with it--I put that up for two!" + +"And mine is for two," she admitted, "But you are mean for making me say +it." + +During the meal the girl was unusually silent and several times Brent +surprised a look of pain in the dark eyes, and then the look would fade +and the eyes would gaze pensively into the distance. Once he was sure +that her lip quivered. + +"What's the matter, Snowdrift," he asked abruptly, "What is troubling +you? Tell me all about it. You might as well begin now, you +know--because----" + +She hastened to interrupt him: "Nothing is the matter!" she cried, with +an obviously forced gaiety. "But, tell me, where did you come +from--before you came to the Yukon? All my life I have wanted to know +more of the land that lies to the southward--the land of the white man. +Father Ambrose and Sister Mercedes told me much--but it was mostly of +the church. And Henri of the White Water told me of the great stores in +Edmonton where one may buy fine clothes, of other stores where one may +sell hooch without fear of the police, and also where one may win money +with cards. But, surely, there are other things. The white men, and the +women, they do not always go to church and buy clothes, and drink hooch, +and gamble with cards. And are all the women beautiful like the pictures +in the books, and in the magazines?" + +Brent laughed: "No, all the women are not beautiful. It is only once in +a great while that one sees a really beautiful woman, and you are the +most beautiful woman I have ever seen----" + +"But I am not beautiful!" cried the girl, "Not like the pictures." + +"The pictures are not pictures of real women, they are creations of an +artist's brain. The pictures are the artist's conception of what the +real women should be." + +Snowdrift regarded him with a puzzled frown: "Is it all make-believe, in +the land of the white man? The books--the novels that tell of knights in +armor, and of the beautiful ladies with their clothes, and their rings +of the diamonds that sparkle like ice--and other novels that tell of +suffering, and of the plotting of men and women who are very bad--and of +the doings of men and women who are good--Sister Mercedes said they are +all lies--that they are the work of the brain of the man who wrote it +down. Is it all lies and make-believe? Do the white men use their brains +only to tell of the doings of people who have never lived, and to make +pictures of people and things that never were? Do you, too, live in the +make-believe? You have told me you love me. And just now you told me +that I was the most beautiful woman you have seen. Those are the words +of the books--of the novels. Always the man must tell the woman she is +the most beautiful woman in the world. And it is all make-believe, and +in the words is no truth!" + +"No, no, dear! You do not understand. I don't know whether I can explain +it, but it is not all make-believe--by a long shot! Life down there is +as real as it is here. There are millions of people there and for them +all life is a struggle. Millions live in great cities, and other +millions live in the country and raise grain with which to feed +themselves, and the millions who live in the cities. And the people in +the cities work in great factories, and make the clothing, and the +tools, and guns, and everything that is used by themselves and by the +people who live outside the cities, and they build the ships and the +railroads which carry these goods to all parts of the world. But you +have read of all that in the books--and the books are not all lies and +make-believe, for they tell of life as it is--not as any one or a dozen +characters live it--but as thousands and millions live it. The comings +and goings of the characters are the composite comings and goings of a +thousand or a million living breathing people. And because each person +is too busy--too much occupied with his own particular life, he does not +know of the lives of the other millions. But he wants to know--so he +reads the books and the magazines, and the newspapers." The girl hung +absorbed upon his words, and for an hour Brent talked, describing, +explaining, detailing the little things and the great things, the +common-places, and the wonders of the far-off land to the southward. But +of all the things he described, the girl was most interested in the +libraries with their thousands and thousands of books that one might +read for the asking--the libraries, and the clothing of the women. + +"All my life," she concluded, "I have wanted to go to the land of the +white man, and see these things myself. But, I never shall see them, and +I am glad you have told me more." + +Brent laughed, happily, and before she could elude him his arms were +about her and he had drawn her close. "Indeed you shall see them!" he +cried. "You and I shall see them together. We'll be married at Dawson, +and we'll make a strike----" + +With a low cry the girl freed herself from his arms, and drew away to +the other side of the fire: "No, no, no!" she cried, with a catch in her +voice, "I can never marry you! Oh, why must we love! Why must we +suffer, when the fault is not ours? They would hate me, and despise me, +and point at me with the finger of scorn!" + +Brent laughed: "Hold on girl!" he cried, "Some of the best families in +the world have Indian blood in their veins--and they're proud of it! I +know 'em! They'll come a long way from hating you. Why, they'll pile all +over themselves to meet you--and a hundred years from now our +great-grand-children will be bragging about you!" Suddenly, he grew +serious, "But maybe you won't marry me, after all--when you've heard +what I've got to say. Maybe you'll despise me--and it'll be all right if +you do. It will be what I have earned. It isn't a pretty story, and it's +going to hurt to tell it--to you. But, you've got to know--so here goes. + +"In the first place, you think I'm good. But, I'm not good--by most of +the ten commandments, and a lot of by-laws. I'm not going to do any +white-washing--I'm going to begin at the beginning and tell you the +truth, so you can see how far I've dropped. In the first place my family +tree is decorated with presidents, and senators, and congress-men, and +generals, and diplomats, and its branches are so crowded with colonels, +and majors and captains and judges, and doctors, that they have to prop +them up to keep them from breaking. Some were rich, but honest; and some +were poor, but not so honest, and a lot of them were half way between in +both wealth and honesty. But, anyway, you can't turn twenty pages of +United States history without running onto the trail of at least one man +that I can claim kin to. As for myself, I'm a college man, and a mining +engineer--that means I was fitted by family and education to be a big +man, and maybe get a chance to slip into history myself--I've made some, +over on the Yukon, but--it ain't fit to print. + +"Hooch was at the bottom of the whole business. I couldn't handle hooch +like some men can. One drink always called for another, and two drinks +called for a dozen. I liked to get drunk, and I did get drunk, every +chance I got--and that was right often. I lost job after job because I +wouldn't stay sober--and later some others because I couldn't stay +sober. I heard of the gold on the Yukon and I went there, and I found +gold--lots of it. I was counted one of the richest men in the country. +Then I started out to get rid of the gold. I couldn't spend it all so I +gambled it away. Almost from the time I made my strike I never drew a +sober breath, until I'd shoved my last marker across the table. Then I +dealt faro--turned professional gambler for wages in the best place in +Dawson, but the hooch had got me and I lost out. I got another job in a +saloon that wasn't so good, but it was the same story, and in a little +while I was tending bar--selling hooch--in the lowest dive in town--and +that means the lowest one in the world, I reckon. That last place, The +Klondike Palace; with its painted women, who sell themselves nightly to +men, with the scum of the earth carousing in its dance-hall, and +playing at its tables, was the hell-hole of the Yukon. And I was part of +it. I stood behind its bar and sold hooch--I was the devil that kept the +hell-fires stoked and roaring. And I kept full of hooch myself, or I +couldn't have stood it. Then I lost out even there, on--what you might +call a technicality--and after that I was just a plain bum. Everybody +despised me--worst of all, I despised myself. I did odd jobs to get +money to buy hooch, and when I had bought it I crawled into my shack and +stayed there till it was gone. I was weak and flabby, and dirty. My +hands shook so I couldn't raise a glass of hooch to my lips, until I'd +had a stiff shot. I used to lap the first drink out of a saucer like a +dog. I dodged the men who had once been my friends. Only Joe Pete, who +had helped me over the Chilkoot, and who remembered that I was a good +man on the trail, and a girl named Kitty, would even turn their heads to +glance at the miserable drunkard that slunk along the street with his +bottle concealed in his ragged pocket. + +"There is one more I thought was my friend. His name is Camillo Bill, +and he is square as a die, and he did me a good turn when he cleaned me +out, by holding my claims for only what he had coming when he could have +taken them all. But he came to see me one day toward the last. He came +to tell me that the claims had petered out. I wanted him to grub-stake +me, for a prospecting trip and he refused. That hurt me worse than all +the rest--for I thought he was my friend. He cursed me, and refused to +grub-stake me. Then I met a real friend--one I had never seen before, +and he furnished the gold for my trip to the Coppermine, and--here I +am." + +Snowdrift had listened with breathless attention and when Brent +concluded she was silent for a long time. "This girl named Kitty?" she +asked at length, "Who is she, and why was she your friend? Did you love +this woman? Is she beautiful?" + +"No," answered Brent, gravely, "I did not love her. She was not the kind +of a woman a man would love. She was beautiful after a fashion. She +might have been very beautiful had her life fallen in a different +groove. She was an adventuress, big hearted, keen of brain--but an +adventuress. Hers was a life distorted and twisted far from its original +intent. For it was plain to all that she had been cast in a finer mould, +and even the roughest and most brutal of the men treated her with a +certain respect that was not accorded to the others. She never spoke of +her past. She accepted the present philosophically, never by word or +look admitting that she had chosen the wrong road. Her ethics were the +ethics of the muck and ruck of the women of the dance halls. She +differed only in that she had imagination--and a certain pride that +prevented her from holding herself cheaply. Where others were careless +and slovenly, she was well groomed. And while they caroused and +shamelessly debauched themselves, she held aloof from the rabble. + +"You asked why she was my friend. I suppose it was because she was quick +to see that I too, was different from the riff-raff of the dives. Not +that I was one whit better than they--for I was not. It was no credit to +me that I was inherently different. It was, I reckon, a certain innate +pride that kept me out of the filth of the mire, as it kept her out. To +me the painted slovens were physically loathsome, so I shunned them. She +was keener of brain than I--or maybe it was because she had a +perspective. But while I was still at the height of my success with the +claims and with the cards, she foresaw the end, and she warned me. But, +I disregarded the warning, and later, when I was rushing straight to the +final crash, she warned me again and again, and she despised me for the +fool I was. + +"When, at the very bottom, I was taken suddenly sick, it was Kitty who +nursed me through. And then, when I was on my feet again she left me to +myself. I have not seen her since." + +"And, if you make a strike again," asked the girl in a low voice, "Will +you go back to Dawson--to the cards and the hooch?" + +"I will go back to Dawson," he answered, "And pay my debts. I will not +go back to the cards. I am through with gambling for good and all, for I +have promised. And when a Brent gives his word, he would die rather than +break it." + +"But the hooch?" persisted Snowdrift. "Are you done with the hooch too?" + +Brent was conscious that the eyes of the girl were fixed upon his in a +gaze of curious intentness, as though their deliberate calm suppressed +some mighty emotion. He groped for words: "I don't--that is, how can I +tell? I drink no hooch now--but there is none to drink. I hate it for I +know that what it did to me once it will do to me again. I hate it--and +I love it!" exclaimed the man. "Tell me, is hate stronger than love?" + +The girl was silent for a moment, and by the clenching of her fists, +Brent knew that a struggle was raging within her. She ignored his +question, and when she spoke her voice was low, and the words fell with +a peculiar dullness of tone: "I, too, have a thing to tell. It is a +horrible thing. And when you have heard you will not want to marry me." +The girl paused, and Brent felt suddenly sick and weak. There was a dull +ache in his breast that was an actual physical pain, and when the cold +breeze fanned his forehead, it struck with a deadly chill. With a mighty +effort he recovered, leaned swiftly toward her and was vaguely conscious +that she winced at the grip of his fingers upon her arm. + +"Tell me!" he cried hoarsely. For a single instant his eyes blazed into +hers, and then, as though anticipating her words, his fingers relaxed +their hold and he settled back with a half-articulate moan--"_Oh, +God!_" + +"What you have told me," she continued, in the same dull tone, "Is +nothing. It is past and gone. It is dead, and its evil died with it. You +are a white man. The white man's thoughts are your thoughts, and his +standards are your standards. You work the harm, then unjustly you sit +in judgment. And the harm does not die with the deed. The shame of it is +a thing of the present, and of the future, and it is borne always by the +innocent. + +"The thing I must tell you is this. I am a half-breed. But my father was +not the husband of Wananebish, who is my mother----" + +Brent interrupted her with quick, glad cry: "Is that all?" The blood +surged hot through his veins. The ache in his breast became a wild +singing. And suddenly he realized the grip and the depth of the thing +that is called love, with its power to tear and to rend the very +foundations of his being. He felt an insane desire to leap and to +shout--and the next instant the girl was in his arms and he was crushing +her against his breast as he covered her face with hot kisses. And when +a few moments later, he released her, he laughed aloud--a laugh that was +clear and boyish, and altogether good to hear, while the girl gazed +half-fearfully--half-wonderingly into his eyes: + +"I--I do not understand," she faltered, "I have known this only for a +short time. Henri of the White Water told me of it, and of the shame of +it--and then Sister Mercedes--and it is true, because years ago when I +was very small, Wananebish told it to Father Ambrose----" + +"Damn Henri of the White Water! And damn Sister Mercedes and Father +Ambrose!" cried Brent, his eyes narrowing, "What did they tell you for? +What difference does it make?" + +"Henri of the White Water told me because he was angry. I would not +marry him. I was going to a great convent school, and he said that in +the land of the white man I would be an object of scorn--that people +would shun me, and point me out with the finger of shame. I did not +believe him, so I went to Sister Mercedes, and she told me, also. And so +I would not go to the school, and that night I came away from the +mission--came back to the Indians." She paused, and as she raised her +eyes to his, Brent saw that in their depths a wondrous newborn hope +struggled against fear. Her lips moved: "You do not scorn me? You love +me--knowing that?" + +Again she was in his arms, and his lips were upon hers: "Yes, I love +you--love you--love you! You are mine, darling--mine for all time!" She +did not resist his arms, and he felt her yielding body press close +against his own, as her shoulders heaved in short, quick sobs. + +Softly, almost timidly, her arms stole about his neck, and her +tear-jeweled eyes raised to his: "And you would marry me, not knowing +who I am?" + +"Yes, darling," reassured Brent, "Neither knowing nor caring who you +are. It is enough that you are the dearest, and most beautiful, and the +most lovable woman in the whole world of women. Why, girl, the wonder is +not that I love you--but that you could love me, after what I told you." + +"It is the answer to your question," she smiled, "It means that love is +the strongest thing in all the world--stronger than hate, stronger than +race, or laws, or codes of ethics. Love is supreme!" + +"And that means, then, that my love for hooch will conquer my hate for +it?" + +"No!" breathed the girl, and Brent could feel her arms tighten about his +neck. "For your love for hooch has not only to overcome your hate for +it, but it must also overcome your love for me, and my love for you. I +am not afraid to fight it out with hooch for your love! If I cannot make +myself more to you than hooch ever can, I would not be worthy of your +love!" + +"My darling," whispered Brent, his lips close to her ear, "You have won +already. I will promise----" + +He was interrupted by her fingers upon his lips, shutting off the words. + +"No--dear," she hesitated a second at the unfamiliar word, "You must not +promise--yet. It is easy to promise, out here in the barrens, where you +have me in your arms, and the hooch is far away. I ask no odds of hooch. +Wait till you have stood the test. I am not afraid. I have not much +learning, but some things I know. I know that, holding a promise in as +high regard as you hold one, if anything should happen--if you should +drink hooch just once, the promise would be broken--and never again +would a promise be just the same. We have a war with hooch--you and I. +And we are going to win. But, in the histories I have read of few wars +where every battle was won by the same army. Some of the battles we must +expect to lose--but the _war_ we will win." + +"Not much learning," smiled Brent, looking into the depths of the dark +eyes, "But the concentrated wisdom of the ages--the wisdom that is the +heritage of woman, and which not one woman in a thousand learns to +apply." + +For a long time the two sat beside their little fire, add in the gloom +of the early darkness, they made their way toward the river. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +IN THE CABIN OF THE _BELVA LOU_ + + +For two weeks Brent and Snowdrift were together each day from dawn until +dark. Leaving Joe Pete to work the claim on the Coppermine, they burned +into the gravel on a creek that gave promise, and while their fire +slowly thawed out the muck, they hunted. When at a depth of four feet +they had not struck a color, Brent gave it up. + +"No use," he said, one day as he tossed the worthless pebbles from his +pan. "If there was anything here, we'd have found at least a trace. I'm +going to hit down the river and have a look at the Copper Mountains." + +"Take me with you!" cried the girl, eagerly, "How long will you be +gone?" + +"I wish I could," smiled Brent, "But Joe Pete and I will be gone two +weeks--a month--maybe longer. It depends on what we find. If we were +only married, what a great trip it would be! But, never mind, +sweetheart, we've got a good many trips coming--years and years of +them." + +"But that isn't now," objected the girl, "What will I do all the while +you are gone? Each morning I hurry here as fast as I can, and each +evening I am sorry when the darkness comes and I must leave you." + +The man drew her close, "Yes, darling," he whispered, "I understand. The +hours I spend away from you are long hours, and I count them one by one. +I do not want to go away from you, but it is for you that I must make a +strike." + +"I would rather have you with me than have all the strikes in the +world!" + +"I know--but we don't want to spend all our days in this God-forgotten +wilderness, fighting famine, and the strong cold. We want to go far away +from all this, where there is music, and books, and life! You've got it +coming, little girl--but first we must make a strike." + +"And, we will not be married until you make your strike?" The dark eyes +looked wistfully into his, and Brent smiled: + +"Strike or no strike, we will be married in the spring!" he cried, "and +if the strike has not been made, we'll make it together." + +"Will we be married at the mission?" + +"No--at Dawson." + +"Dawson!" cried the girl, "And I shall really see Dawson? But, isn't it +very far?" + +Brent laughed: "Yes, you will really see Dawson--and you won't see much +when you see it, in comparison with what you will see when we quit the +North and go back to the States. In the spring you and Wananebish, and +Joe Pete and I will take a month's vacation--and when we come back, +darling, we will have each other always." + +"But, if you do not make a strike?" questioned the girl, "What then? +Would you be happy here in the North--with me?" + +"Sweetheart," answered Brent, "If I knew to a certainty that I should +never make a strike--that I should always live in these barrens, I would +marry you anyway--and call the barrens blessed. But, I will make a +strike! It is for you--and I cannot fail! Oh, if I hadn't been such a +fool!" + +The girl smiled into his eyes: "If you hadn't been such a--a fool, you +would never have come to the barrens. And I--I would always have been +just an Indian--hating the white man, hating the world, living my life +here and there, upon the lakes and the rivers, in cabins and tepees, +with just enough education to long for the better things, and with my +heart bursting with pain and bitterness in the realization that those +things were not for me." + +"It is strange how everything works out for the best," mused Brent, "The +whys and the wherefores of life are beyond my philosophy. Sordid, and +twisted, and wrong as they were, my Dawson days, and the days of the +years that preceded them were all but the workings of destiny--to bring +you and me together up here on the rim of the Arctic. + +"It was a great scheme, little girl," he smiled, suddenly breaking into +a lighter mood, "And the beauty of it is--it worked. But what I was +getting at is this: it don't seem reasonable that after going to all +that trouble to bring us together, and taking such liberties with my +reputation, Old Man Destiny is going to make us fill out the rest of the +time punching holes in gravel, and snaring rabbits, and hunting +caribou." + +That evening they said good bye upon the edge of the clearing that +surrounded the Indian encampment, and as Brent turned to go he drew a +heavy bag from his pocket and handed it to the girl, "Keep this till I +come back," he said, "It's gold." + +"Oh, it is heavy!" cried the girl in surprise. + +Brent smiled, "Weighs up pretty big now. But when we make our strike it +won't be a shoestring. But come--one more good bye and I must be going. +I've got to pack my outfit for an early start." + +One day a week later Brent stood with Joe Pete on the northernmost ridge +of the Copper Mountains and gazed toward the coast of the Arctic Ocean. +Almost at their feet, buried beneath snow and ice were the Bloody Falls +of the Coppermine and to the northward, only snow. Brent was surprised, +for he knew that the ridge upon which he was standing could not be more +than ten or twelve miles from the coast, but he also knew that he could +see for twenty miles or more, and that the only thing that met the eye +was a gently undulating plain of snow, unbroken by even so much as a +twig or a bush, or a hillock worthy the name. Never, he thought, as his +glance swept the barren, treeless waste, had eyes of mortal man beheld +its equal for absolute bleak desolation. + +A cry from Joe Pete cause him to concentrate his gaze upon a spot toward +which the Indian pointed, where, dimly discernible, a dark object +appeared against the unbroken surface of the snow. The steel blue +haze--the "cold fog" of the North, obfuscated its outlines, as it +destroyed perspective so that the object may have been five miles away, +or twenty. It may have been the size of a dog, or the size of a +skyscraper. In vain the two strained their eyes in an endeavor to make +it out. In the first gloom of the early darkness it disappeared +altogether, and the two made their way to the frozen surface of the +river where, in the shelter of a perpendicular wall of rock, they made +their camp and kindled a tiny fire of twigs they had collected the day +before from the last timber on the Coppermine, at a creek that runs in +from the eastward. + +For two days, holding to the surface of the river, the two had threaded +the transverse ridges that form the Copper Mountains. It was Brent's +idea to mush straight to the northernmost ridge and work back slowly, +stopping wherever practicable to prospect among the outcropping ledges. +He had planned, also, to burn into the gravel at intervals, but he had +not foreseen the fact that the mountains lay north of the timber line, +so the burning had to be abandoned. + +At daylight they again climbed the ridge. The cold fog had disappeared +and as Joe Pete, who was in the lead, reached the summit, he gave voice +to a loud cry of surprise. For in place of the indiscernible object of +the day before, apparently only ten or twelve miles distant, and right +in the centre of the vast plain of snow was a ship--each mast and spar +standing out clean-cut as a cameo against its dazzling background. Brent +even fancied he could see men walking about her deck, and other men +walking to and fro among a group of snow mounds that clustered close +about the hulk. + +"A whaler!" he exclaimed, "One of those that Johnnie Claw said wintered +up here." + +For a long time Brent watched the ship, and covertly Joe Pete watched +Brent. At length the white man spoke. "Reckon we'll just mush over there +and call on 'em. Neighbors aren't so damned common up here that we can +afford to pass them by when we're in sight of 'em." + +"Dat better, mebbe-so, we don' go w'ere we ain' got no business. +Mebbe-so dat Godam Johnnie Claw, she giv' you som' mor' hooch, eh? Dat +breed gal she dam' fine 'oman--she ain' lak dat." + +Brent laughed, a trifle nervously: "I don't reckon there's any danger of +that," he answered, shortly. "Come on, we'll harness the dogs and pull +out there. I'd like to see what kind of an outfit they've got, and as +long as we're this near it would be too bad not to go to the very top of +the continent." + +Joe Pete shrugged and followed Brent down to the river where they broke +camp, harnessed the dogs, and struck out over the plain. The wind-packed +snow afforded good footing and the outfit pushed rapidly northward. + +Brent was surprised at the absence of a pressure ridge at the shore +line, but so flat was the snow-buried beach that it was with difficulty +that he determined where the land left off and the sea-ice began. The +whaler he judged to be frozen in at a distance of three or four miles +from shore. + +The figures of men could be plainly seen, now, and soon it became +evident that their own presence had been noted, for three or four +figures were seen to range themselves along the rail, evidently studying +them through a glass. + +While still a mile or two distant, the figures at the rail disappeared +below deck, but others moved about among the snow mounds in the shelter +of the vessel's hull. + +Upon arriving at the mounds, which proved to be snow igloos such as are +used by the Eskimos, Brent halted the dogs, and advanced to where two +men, apparently oblivious to his presence, were cutting up blubber. + +"Hello," he greeted, "Where's the captain?" + +One of the men did not even look up. The other, presenting a villainous +hairy face, nodded surlily toward an ice-coated ladder. + +"Wait here," said Brent, turning to Joe Pete, "Till I find out whether +this whole crew is as cordial to strangers as these two specimens." + +At the words, the man who had directed Brent to the ladder, raised his +head and opened his lips as if to speak, but evidently thinking better +of it, he uttered a sneering laugh, and went on with his cutting of +blubber. + +Brent climbed the ladder, and made his way across the snow-buried deck, +guided by a well packed path that led to a door upon which he knocked +loudly. While waiting for a response he noticed the name _Belva Lou_ +painted upon the stern of a small boat that lay bottomside up upon the +deck. Knocking again, he called loudly, and receiving no reply, opened +the door and found himself upon a steep flight of stairs. Stepping from +the dazzling whiteness of the outside, the interior of the whaler was +black as a pocket, and he paused upon the stairs to accustom his eyes to +the change. As the foul air from below filled his lungs it seemed to +Brent that he could not go on. The stench nauseated him--the vile +atmosphere reeked of rancid blubber, drying furs, and the fumes of dead +cookery. A tiny lamp that flared in a wall pocket at the foot of the +stairs gave forth a stink of its own. Gradually, as his eyes accorded to +the gloom, Brent took cognizance of the dim interior. The steep short +flight of steps terminated in a narrow passage that led toward the +stern whence came the muffled sound of voices. Descending, he glanced +along the passage toward a point where, a few feet distant, another lamp +flared dimly. Just beyond this lamp was a door, and from beyond the door +came the sound of voices. + +He groped his way to the door and knocked. There was a sudden hush, a +few gruffly mumbled words, and then a deep voice snarled: "Who's there?" + +"Just a visitor," announced Brent, stifling a desire to turn and rush +from that fetid hole out into the clean air--but it was too late. + +The voice beyond the door commanded thickly: "Come in, an' we'll look ye +over!" + +For just an instant Brent hesitated, then his hand fumbled for the knob, +turned it, and the narrow door swung inward. He stepped into the +box-like apartment, and for a moment stood speechless as his eyes strove +to take in the details of the horrid scene. + +The stinking air of the dank passage was purest ozone in comparison with +the poisonous fog of the overheated, unventilated room. He felt suddenly +sick and dizzy as he sucked the evil effluvia into his lungs--the thick, +heavy smoke of cheap tobacco, the stench of unbathed humans, the +overpowering reek of spilled liquor, the spent breath from rum-soaked +bodies, the gaseous fumes of a soft coal stove, and the odor from an +oil lamp that had smoked one side of its chimney black. + +"Shut the door! Coal costs money. What the hell ye tryin' to do, heat +the hull Ar'tic? Who be ye, anyhow? An' wot d'ye want?" + +Mechanically Brent closed the door behind him, as he glanced into the +leering eyes of the speaker, who sat, with two other men, and a +partially clad Eskimo woman, at a table upon which were set out a bottle +and several glasses. + +Before Brent could reply, the man across the table from the speaker +leaped to his feet and thrust out his hand. Through the grey haze of +smoke, Brent recognized Johnnie Claw. + +"Well, if it ain't my ol' friend Ace-In-The-Hole!" cried the hooch +runner. "'S all right Cap! Best sport on the Yukon!" Ignoring the fact +that Brent had refused the proffered hand, Claw leered into his face: +"Ace-In-The-Hole let me make you 'quainted with Cap Jinkins, Cap'n of +the _Belva Lou_--damn good sport, too--an' Asa Scroggs, mate. Both damn +good sports, _Belva Lou_ fetches out more oil an' bone 'n any of +'em--an' Cap ain't 'fraid to spend his money. Glad you come long. +Welcome to stay long as you like--ain't he Cap?" + +The Captain lowered a glass from his lips, and cleansed his overhanging +mustache upon the back of a hairy hand: "Sure," he growled, surlily, +"Didn't know he was friend o' yourn. S'down." The room contained only +four chairs, and as he spoke, the man, with a sweep of his hand, struck +the klooch from her chair, and kicked it toward Brent, who sank into it +heavily, and stared dully at the klooch who crawled to a corner and +returned the stare with a drunken, loose-lipped grin upon her fat face. +Brent shifted his glance, and upon a bunk beyond the table he saw +another klooch, lying in a drunken stupor, her only garment, a grimy +wrapper of faded calico, was crumpled about her, exposing one brown leg +to the hip. + +Schooled as he had been to sights of debauchery by his service with +Cuter Malone, Brent was appalled--sickened by the sottish degeneracy of +his surroundings. + +With unsteady hand the mate slopped some liquor into a glass and shoved +it toward him: "Swaller that," he advised, with a grin, "Yer gittin' +white 'round the gills. Comin' right in out of the air, it might seem a +leetle close in here, at first." + +The fumes arising from the freshly spilled liquor smelled _clean_--the +only hint of cleanliness in the whole poisoned atmosphere of the cabin. +He breathed them deeply into his lungs, and for an instant the dizziness +and sickness at his stomach seemed less acute. Maybe one drink--one +little sip would revive him--counteract the poison of the noisome air, +and stimulate him against the dull apathy that was creeping upon him. +Slowly, his hand stole toward the glass, his fingers closed about it, +and he raised it to his lips. Another deep inhalation of its fragrance +and he drained it at a gulp. + +"Didn't know we had no neighbors," ventured the Captain, filling his own +glass. "What ye doin' up here?" + +"Prospecting," answered Brent, "The Copper Mountains. I saw your vessel +from the ridge, and thought I would come over and see what a whaler +looks like." The strong liquor was taking hold. A warm glow gripped his +belly and diffused itself slowly through his veins. The nausea left him, +and the olid atmosphere seemed suddenly purged of its reek. + +"Well," grinned the captain, "The _Belva Lou_ hain't what ye'd call no +floatin' palace, but she's ahead o' most whalers. An' after Johnnie gits +through hornin' round 'mongst the Husky villages an' fixes us up with a +wife apiece, we manage to winter through right comfortable. Me an' Asa +stays on board, an' the rest of the crew, builds 'em igloos. But, here's +me runnin' off at the head--an' you might spill it all to the Mounted." + +"Not him," laughed Claw. "Him an' I ain't always pulled, what you might +say, together--but he's square--kill you in a minute, if he took a +notion--but he'd go to hell before he'd snitch. Have another drink, +Ace-In-The-Hole, 'twon't hurt you none--only rum--an' water-weak." + +Before he knew it the glass was in his hand, and again Brent drank. + +After that he took them as they came. The bottle was emptied and tossed +into the corner where the drunken klooch recovered it and holding it to +her lips, greedily sucked the few drops that remained in the bottom. +Another bottle was produced, and Brent, his brain fired by the raw +liquor, measured glasses, drink for drink, never noticing that the same +liquor served, in the glasses of the other three, for round after round +of libations. + +"Wher's yer camp?" asked Claw, as he refilled the glasses. + +"Bloody Falls," answered Brent, waxing loquacious. "Bloody Falls of the +Coppermine, where old Samuel Hearne's Indians butchered the Eskimos." + +"Butchered the Eskimos!" exclaimed Claw, "What d'you mean--butchered? I +ain't heard 'bout no Huskies bein' killed, an' who in hell's Sam Hearne? +I be'n round here, off an' on, fer long while, an' I ain't never run +acrost no Sam Hearne. What be you handin' us? You ort to start a +noospaper." + +Brent laughed uproariously: "No, Claw, I reckon you never ran across +him. This happened over a hundred years ago--1771--July 13th, to be +exact." + +Asa Scroggs grinned knowingly: "Man kin lap up a hell of a lot of idees +out of a bottle of hooch," he opined, "Mostly it runs to ph'los'fy, er +fightin', er po'try, er singin', er religion, er women, er sad +mem'ries--but this here stale news idee is a new one. But, g'wan, +Ace-In-The-Hole, did the Mounted git Sam fer his murdersome massacres?" + +"That was a hundred years before the Mounted was thought of," answered +Brent, eying Scroggs truculently, as his inflamed brain sought hidden +insult in the words. + +"I always know'd I was born too late," laughed Claw, who, noting the +signs of approaching trouble, sought peace. "This here'd be a hell of a +fine country, if it wasn't fer the Mounted. But, say, Ace-In-The-Hole, +you doin' any good? Struck any color?" + +Brent forgot Scroggs and turned to Claw: "No, not to speak of. Just +about made wages." + +"Well," continued the hooch runner, "You had a pretty fair sack of dust +when you come in. What d'you say we start a little game of stud--jest +the four of us?" + +"Nothing doing," answered Brent, shortly. "I'm off of stud." + +"Off of stud!" exclaimed the other, "How in hell d'you ever expect to +git even? Stud owes you more dust than you kin pile on a sled!" + +Brent drank a glass of rum: "The game can keep what it owes me. And +besides I left my dust in camp--except a couple of ounces, or so." + +"Yer finger bet goes with me," assured Claw, "Everybody's wouldn't, by a +damn sight--but yourn does. What d'you say?" + +"My word is good in a game, is it?" asked Brent. + +"Good as the dust--in one, or out of one," promptly assured Claw. + +"Well, then listen to this: I gave my word in the presence of the man +who staked me for this trip, that I would never gamble again. So I +reckon you know how much stud I'll play from now on." + +"Gawd A'mighty!" breathed Claw, incredulously, "An' the game owin' you +millions. Well, have a drink on it, anyway." + +Claw refilled Brent's glass, and thrust it into his hand, with a wink at +the captain, for he had been quick to note that the liquor and the hot +fetid air of the room was making Brent drowsy. His eyes had become dull +and heavy lidded, and his chin rested heavily upon the throat of his +parka. "Ain't happened to run onto a little bunch of Injuns, up the +river, have you?" asked the man, as Brent gagged at the liquor. + +"No," answered Brent, drowsily, "No Injuns in Copper Mountains--nothing +in the mountains--nothing but snow." Gradually his eyes closed, and his +head rolled heavily to one side. The drunken klooch rose to her knees, +and with a maudlin giggle, seized Brent's half empty glass and drained +it. + +With a curse, the captain kicked her into her corner, and turned to Claw +with a suggestive motion: "Slit his gullet, an' we'll slip him down a +seal hole with some scrap iron on his legs. He's prob'bly lyin' 'bout +leavin' the dust in camp." + +Claw shook his head: "Not him," he opined, "Search him first." + +The Captain and the mate subjected the unconscious man to a thorough +search, at the conclusion of which Scroggs tossed a small lean gold sack +upon the table. "Prob'ly all he's got left, anyhow," he growled in +disgust. "Le's jest weight him an' slip him through the ice the way he +is. 'Tain't so messy." + +"Not by a damn sight!" objected Claw. "It's jest like I told you, when +we was watchin' him through the glass. He's got anyways clost to a +hundred ounces. I seen it, when he paid me fer the hooch, like I was +tellin' you." + +"Well, we kin back-track him to his camp, an' if we can't find it we kin +put the hot irons to the Injun's feet till he squeals." + +"The Injun don't know where it's at," argued Claw contemptuously, "He's +too damn smart to trust a Siwash. An' you bet he's got it _cached_ where +we couldn't find it. He wouldn't leave it round where the first bunch of +Huskies that come along could lift it, would he?" + +"Well," growled the Captain, "Yer so damn smart, what's yer big idee?" + +"We got to let him go. Put back his little two ounces, so he won't +suspicion nothin'. Then, when he wakes up, I'll slip him a bottle of +hooch fer a present, an' he'll hit fer camp and start in on it. It won't +last long, an' then you an' me an' Scroggs will happen along with more +hooch to sell him. When he digs up the dust to pay fer it, I'll tend to +him. You two git the Injun--but _he's_ mine. I've got a long score to +settle with him--an' I know'd if I waited long enough, my time would +come." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +LOST + + +Brent was conscious of a drone of voices. They came from a great +distance--from so great a distance that he could not distinguish the +words. He half-realized that somewhere, men were talking. + +Befuddled, groping, his brain was struggling against the stupor that had +held him unconscious for an hour. Two months before, half the amount of +liquor he had taken into his system would have drugged him into a whole +night's unconsciousness, but the life in the open, and the hard work in +the gravel and on the trail, had so strengthened him physically that the +rum, even in the poisonous air of the cabin could not deaden him for +long. Gradually, out of the drone of voices a word was sensed by his +groping brain. Then a group of words. Where was he? Who were these men? +And why did they persist in talking when he wanted to sleep? His head +ached, and he was conscious of a dull pain in his cramped neck. He was +about to shift into an easier position, when suddenly he realized where +he was. He was drunk--in the filthy cabin of the _Belva Lou_--and the +voices were the voices of Claw, and the mate, and the Captain, who were +still at their liquor. A wave of sickening remorse swept him. He, Carter +Brent, couldn't keep away from the hooch. Even in the vile cabin of the +_Belva Lou_, he had fallen for it. It was no use. He would kill +himself--would blow his worthless brains out and be done with it, rather +than face--A sudden savage rage obsessed him. Kill himself, he would, +but first--he would rid the North of these vultures. + +He was upon the point of leaping to his feet, and with his fists, his +chair--anything that came to hand, annihilating the brutish occupants of +the cabin, when the gruff voice of the Captain cut in upon Claw's +droning monotone. + +"An' when we git him an' his Injun planted, me an' Asa'll take his dogs +an' hit back here, an' you kin strike east along the coast till you pick +up another woman. It's a damn outrage--that's what it is! Chargin' me +fifty dollars apiece fer greasy old pelters like them, that ain't worth +the grub they eat! What I want is a young one--good lookin' an' young." + +"You had yer pick out of the eight," growled Claw. + +"An' a hell of a pick it was! Why, I've went out an' rustled 'em myself, +an' fer a sack of flour, an' a half a dozen fish-hooks, an' mebbe a file +er two, I've got the pick of a hull village." + +Brent's brain cleared gradually as he listened to the villainous +dialogue. Vaguely he sensed that it was himself and Joe Pete that the +Captain spoke of "planting." So they intended to murder him, did they? +And, when that detail had been attended to, they would go on with their +traffic in "winter wives." But, they did not intend to kill him here on +board the vessel. The Captain had spoken of coming back, after the deed +was done. Where would they take him? Brent suddenly found himself +possessed by curiosity. He decided to wait and see. And, when the time +came, he would give as good an account of himself as he could--and +then--what difference did it make? They were not fit to live. He would +kill them if he could--or maybe they would kill him. But he was not fit +to live either. He had sat at table with them--had fraternized with +them--drank liquor in the stinking cabin with the scum of the earth. He +was no better than they--he was one of them. The bottle scraped along +the table, and he could hear the audible gulping of liquor, the tap of +the returned glasses, and the harsh rasping of throats as they were +cleared of the fiery bite. + +Then the voice of Claw: "You ain't had no pick of a village since the +Mounted begun patrolin' the coast." + +"Damn the Mounted!" + +"Yeh, that's what I say. But damnin' 'em don't git red of 'em. Facts is, +they're here, an' every year it's harder an' harder fer a man to make a +livin'. But listen, Cap, I've got one bet up my sleeve. But it'll cost +you more'n any fifty dollars--er a hundred, either. She ain't no +Husky--she's an Injun breed--an' damn near white. Her name's +Snowdrift--an' she's the purtiest thing in the North. I've had my eyes +on her fer a couple of years. She was in the mission over on the +Mackenzie. But she ain't there no more. She's way up the Coppermine, +with a band of about twenty Dog Ribs." Claw paused to pour a glass of +liquor, and Brent felt the blood pounding his eardrums in great surging +throbs. He felt the sweat break out on his forehead and the palms of his +hands, and it was only by a superhuman effort that he continued to feign +sleep. Surely, they would notice the flush on his face, the sweat +glistening on his forehead and the dryness of his lips--but, no--Claw +was speaking again: + +"I tried to buy her once--last year it was, offen her mother--offered +her a thousan' dollars, cash money--an' 'fore I know'd what happened, +the damned old squaw had me about half killed. She's a hell cat. She +done it barehanded--clawed my eyes, an' clawed out a hull handful of +whiskers--you kin see that patch on my throat where they never grow'd +back. It was over near Good Hope, an' I didn't dast to make no holler, +nor kill her neither, on account of the Mounted--but I'll get her yet. +An' when I do, I'll learn her to pull folks whiskers out by the ruts +when they're tryin' to do the right thing by her!" + +"You won't git no thousan' dollars from me!" exploded the Captain, "They +ain't no woman, white, red, brown, yaller, or black that's worth no +thousan' dollars o' my money!" + +"Oh, ain't they?" sneered Claw, "Well you don't git her then. Fact is I +never figgered on sellin' her to you, nohow. I kin take her over to +Dawson an' make ten thousan' offen her in six months' time. They got the +dust over there, an' they ain't afraid to spend it--an' they know a good +lookin' woman when they see one. I'm a tellin' you they ain't no woman +ever hit the Yukon that kin anyways touch her fer looks--an' I've saw +'em all. The only reason I'm offerin' her to you is because I kin run +her up here a damn sight easier than I kin take her clean over to +Dawson--an' with a damn sight less risk, too." + +"How old is she?" growled the Captain. + +"Ain't a day over twenty. She's dirt cheap at a thousan'. You could have +her all winter, an' next summer you could slip into one of them coast +towns, Juneau, or Skagway, or even the ones farther north, an' make five +or ten times what you paid fer her." + +"But s'pose she got spunky, an' I'd kill her, or knock out her teeth, er +an eye--then where'd my profits be? Women's hell to handle if they take +a notion." + +"That's your lookout. It's your money that's invested, an' if you ain't +got sense enough to look after it, it's your funeral--not mine." + +"How you goin' to git her here? How you goin' to git her away from the +Injuns? An' how do you know where she's at?" + +"It's like this. Last summer she leaves the mission an' her an' the old +squaw talks the Dog Ribs into hittin' over onto the Coppermine to +prospect. They gits over there an' builds 'em a camp, an' starts in +trappin' an' prospectin'. But a couple of the bucks has got a thirst fer +hooch, an' they can't git none so they pulls out an' hits back fer the +Mackenzie. I run onto one of 'em an' he give me the dope--he's the one +that's here with me, an' he's goin' to guide me down to the village when +I git ready to go. That's why I asked Ace-In-The-Hole if he'd saw 'em. I +didn't want him buttin' in on the deal--the old squaw's bad enough, but +Gawd! I seen him kill three men in about a second in a saloon in Dawson +over a stud game--bare handed. They ain't no woman ever got her hooks +into him--not even The Queen of the Yukon--an' she done her +damndest--really loved him, an' all that sort of bunk. I know all about +women, an' she'd of run straight as hell if he'd of married her--some +says she's run straight ever sense she got caked in on him--even after +she seen it wasn't no use. He kind of sticks up fer 'em all. Anyways, he +knocked hell out of me one night when I was lacin' it to a gal I'd brung +into the country with a dog whip. He won't stand fer no rough stuff +when they's women mixed up in it, an' I'd ruther be in hell with my legs +cut off than have him find out what we was up to. I don't want none of +his meat--me!" + +"Better go easy with yer jaw then," advised the Captain, "Mebbe he ain't +so damn dead to the world as he's lettin' on." + +Claw laughed: "I've got him gauged. I've studied him 'cause I aimed to +git him sometime. He's a hooch-hound right. Half what he's drunk today +will put him dead fer hours. You could pull all his teeth an' he'd never +feel it. No, we ain't got to bother about him. He'll be out of the way +before I hit fer the Injun camp, anyhow. We'll wake him up after while, +an' I'll give him the bottle of hooch, like I said, so he'll stay soused +an' not move his camp, then we'll hit over there with more hooch, an' +when he uncovers his dust we'll git him an' the Injun both. Your share +of his dust will be half enough to pay fer the breed. But, before we +start out you fork over half the price--balance payable on delivery, an' +me an' the Injun'll hit on up the river an' fetch back the girl. It'll +cost you a keg of rum besides the thousan', 'cause the only way to git +her away from them Siwashes'll be to git 'em all tanked up. They'll be +right fer it, bein' off the hooch as long as they have. But, at that, I +better take along a man or two of the crew, to help me handle 'em." + +"We won't bother none of the crew," rasped the Captain, harshly. "I'll +jest go 'long myself. With five hundred dollars of my dust in yer jeans +fer a starter after ye'd got her, ye might git to thinkin' o' them ten +thousan' you could make off her in Dawson--not that I wouldn't trust +you, you understand, but jest to save myself some worry while you was +gone, then, if she's as good lookin' as you say, I'd ruther be along +myself than let you an' some of the crew have her till you get here." + +Brent's first sensation when he heard the name of Snowdrift upon Claw's +lips had been one of blind, unreasoning fury, but his brain cleared +rapidly as the man proceeded, and as he listened to the unspeakable +horror of the conversation, the blind fury gave place to a cold, deadly +rage. He realized that if he were to save the woman he loved from a fate +more horrible than he had ever conceived of, he must exert the utmost +care to make no false move. His heart chilled at the thought of what +would have happened to her had he yielded to the first blind impulse to +launch himself at the throats of the men there in the little cabin where +all the odds were against him. A pistol shot, a blow from behind, and +Snowdrift would have been left absolutely in the power of these fiends. + +Cold sober, now, his one thought was to get out of the cabin, yet he +dared not move. Should he show signs of returning consciousness he knew +that suspicion would immediately fasten upon him, and that his life +would not be worth a penny. He must wait until they roused him, and +even then, he must not be easily roused. Claw had assured the Captain +that half the amount of liquor would deaden him for hours, therefore he +must play his part. But could he? Was it humanly possible to endure the +physical torture of his cramped position. Every muscle of his body ached +horribly. His head ached, he was consumed with torturing thirst, and his +mouth was coated with a bitter slime. Added to this was the brain +torture of suspense when his every instinct called for action. Suppose +they should change their minds. He dared not risk opening his eyes to +the merest slit, because he knew that Claw or the Captain might be +holding a knife to his ribs, or a pistol at his head. Any moment might +be his last--and then--Snowdrift--he dared not even shudder at the +thought. There was another danger, suppose he should over-play his part, +when they undertook to awaken him, or should under-play it? He knew to a +certainty that one false move would mean death without a chance to +defend himself, unarmed as he was and with the odds of three to one +against him. + +An interminable period, during which the men talked and wrangled among +themselves, was interrupted by a loud knock upon the door. + +"Who's there?" roared the Captain, "An' what d'ye want?" + +"Dat me--Joe Pete," came a familiar voice from beyond the door. "An' I'm +t'ink dat tam we goin' back. She start to snow, an' I ain' lak we git +los'. Too mooch no trail." + +"Might's well git 'em started now as anytime," whispered Claw. "_We_ +don't want 'em to git lost, neither. What we want is fer 'em to git to +their camp an' then the snow an' the hooch'll hold 'em till we git +there." + +"Next thing is to git him woke up," answered the Captain. Aloud, he +called to Joe Pete: "All right, come on in an' give us a hand, yer +pardner's stewed to the guards, an' it ain't goin' to be no cinch to +wake him up." + +The door opened, and Brent's heart gave a leap as he felt the hand of +the big Indian upon his shoulder. If anything should go wrong now, at +least the odds against him were greatly reduced insofar as the occupants +of the cabin were concerned. But, there would still be the crew--they +could shoot from the cover of the igloos-- The hand was shaking him +roughly, and it was with a feeling of vast relief that Brent allowed his +head to roll about upon the stiffened muscles of his neck. A glass was +pressed to his lips, and there was nothing feigned in the coughing with +which he sought to remove the strangling liquor from his throat. His +eyes opened, and the next instant a dipper of cold water was dashed into +his face. The shaking continued, and he babbled feeble protest: "Lemme +'lone. G'way--le'me sleep!" The shaking was redoubled, and Brent blinked +stupidly, and feigned maudlin anger as the Indian slapped him with the +flat of his hand, first on one cheek and then on the other. "Who you +slappin'," he muttered, thickly, as he staggered to his feet and stood +swaying and holding to the table for support, "C'm on an' fight!" he +challenged, acting his part to a nicety, glaring owlishly about, "I c'n +lick y'all. Gi'me some water, I'm burnin' up." A dipper of water was +thrust into his hands and he drained it in huge gulps, "What's goin' on +here?" he asked, apparently revived a little by the water, "Gi'me some +hooch!" + +Claw laid a conciliating hand upon his arm: "Listen, Ace-In-The-Hole," +he purred, "Not no more hooch right now. It's startin' to snow, an' you +got to be hittin' fer camp. Look a here," he picked up a corked bottle +and extended it to Brent, "Here's a bottle fer you. Wait till you git to +camp, and then go to it. 'Twon't take you only a little while--but you +got to git goin'. If she thicks up on you before you git to the +mountains you'll be in a hell of a fix--but you got time to make it if +the Siwash will shove the dogs along. Better let him ride the sled," he +said, turning to Joe Pete, "You'll make better time." + +Brent took the bottle and slipped it beneath his parka: "How much?" he +asked, fumbling clumsily for his sack. + +"That's all right," assured Claw, "Tain't nothin' 't all. It's a present +from me an' Cap. Shows we know how to treat a friend. Come over an' see +us agin, when the storm lets up. Yer welcome to anything we got." + +"Much 'blige, Claw," mumbled Brent, blinking with solemn gravity, as he +smothered an impulse to reach out and crush the man's wind-pipe in the +grip of his hand, "Didn't know you was good fren' of mine. Know +it--now--an' you, too, Cap--an' you, too, Snaggs." + +"Scroggs," corrected the mate, "Asa Scroggs." + +"Sure--Scroggs--'scuse me--mus' be little full. My name's Ace, +too--Ace-In-The-Hole--pair of aces, haw, haw, haw! Pair to draw to, I'll +say. Well, s'long. Tell you what," he said, as he turned to the door, +leaning heavily upon Joe Pete, "You come on over to my camp, when the +storm lets up. Right on the river--can't miss it--Bloody Falls--where +Old Hearne's Injuns butchered the poor Eskimos--damn shame! Bring over +plenty of hooch--I've got the dust to pay for it--bring dozen +bottles--plenty dust back there in camp--an' it'll be my treat." + +"We'll come," the Captain hastened to accept, "Might's well be good +friends. Neighbors hain't none too thick in these parts. We'll come, +won't we Claw--an' we'll bring the hooch." + +Stumbling and mumbling, Brent negotiated the narrow ally and the steep +flight of stairs in the wake of Joe Pete. At the head of the ladder that +led down the ship's side, he managed to stumble and land harmlessly in a +huge pile of snow that had been shoveled aside to make a path to the +igloos, and amid the jibes of the two sailors who were cutting blubber, +allowed Joe Pete to help him onto the sled. + +The wind had risen to half a gale. Out of the northeast it roared, +straight across the frozen gulf from the treeless, snow-buried wastes of +Wollaston Land, driving before it flinty particles of snow that hissed +earthward in long cutting slants. + +Heading the dogs southward, Joe Pete struck into the back-trail and, +running behind, with a firm grip on the tail-rope, urged them into a +pace that carried the outfit swiftly over the level snow-covered ice. + +Upon the sled Brent lay thinking. Now that the necessity for absolute +muscle control no longer existed, the condition of cold hate into which +he had forced himself gave place to a surge of rage that drove his nails +into his palms, and curses from his lips, as he tried in his unreasoning +fury to plan extermination of the two fiends who had plotted the +soul-murder of his wonder woman. He would tear them to shreds with his +two hands. He would shoot them down from ambush without a chance to +protect themselves, as they searched for his camp among the rock-ridges +of Bloody Falls. + +Gradually the fume of fury cooled and he planned more sanely. He was +conscious of a torturing thirst. The bottle of hooch pressed against his +side, and carefully so as not to disturb the covering robe, he drew it +from beneath his parka. He was cold sober, now. The shock of what he +had heard in the cabin of the _Belva Lou_ had completely purged his +brain of the effect of the strong liquor. But not so his body. Every +nerve and fibre of him called for more liquor. There was a nauseating +sickness in his stomach, a gnawing dryness in his throat, and a creeping +coldness in his veins that called for the feel of the warm glow of +liquor. Never in his life had the physical desire for drink been more +acute--but his brain was cold sober. + +Nothing of the heart-sickening remorse of his first moments of +consciousness assailed him now. What was done was done. He knew that he +had yielded to his desire for drink, had weakly succumbed to the first +temptation, as he had always weakly succumbed--an act, in itself +contemptible. But with an ironical smile he realized that his very +weakness had placed him in a position to save from a fate a thousand +times more horrible than death, the girl who had become dearer to him +than life itself. But, with that realization, came also the realization +that only by the merest accident, had the good been born of evil, that +the natural and logical result of his act would have had its culmination +at Bloody Falls when he and Joe Pete would have sunk down dead upon the +snow at the moment he produced the gold to pay for more hooch. Claw had +laid his plans along the logical sequence of events. "He played me for a +drunkard, as he had a right to," muttered Brent. "And his scheme would +have worked except for one little mistake. He forgot to figure that +physically I'm a better man than I was back at Dawson. He thought he had +me gauged right, and so he talked. But--he over-played his hand. An hour +ago, I was a drunkard. Am I a drunkard now? It is the test," he +muttered, "The war is on," and with a grim tightening of the lips, he +thrust the bottle back under his parka. + +Three times within the next two hours he withdrew the bottle. And three +times he returned it to its place. He thought of tossing it into the +snow--and a moment later, angrily dismissed the thought. "_She_ wouldn't +ask odds of the hooch and I won't either! I'll keep this bottle right +with me. I'll fight this fight like a man--like a Brent! And, by God, +when I win, it won't be because I couldn't get the hooch! It will be +because I wouldn't drink it when I had it!" + +And, the next moment, to the utter astonishment of Joe Pete, he leaped +perfectly sober from the sled, and took his place at the tail-rope with +a laughing command to the Indian to take a rest on the robes. + +An hour later, Brent halted the dogs and aroused Joe Pete. "We ought to +have hit shore by this time," he said, "I'm afraid something's wrong." + +The snow had thickened, entirely obliterating the trail, and forming an +opaque wall through which the eye could penetrate but a short distance +beyond the lead dog. + +The Indian noted the course, and the direction of the wind. "Mebbe-so +win' change," he opined, and even as he spoke the long sweeping lines of +snow were broken into bewildering zig-zags. A puff of wind coming at a +right angle from the direction of the driving gale was followed by +another blustering puff from the opposite direction, and they came thick +and fast from every direction, and seemingly from all directions at +once. The snow became powder-fine and, in a confusion of battering +blasts, the two men pushed uncertainly on. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +TRAPPED + + +For three days the Arctic blizzard raged and howled, and drifted the +snow deep over the igloos that were grouped about the hulk of the _Belva +Lou_. On the morning of the fourth day Claw and the Captain made their +way across the snow-buried deck and gazed out toward the distant ridges +of the Copper Mountains. + +"Might's well git started," opined Claw, "Have 'em load a week's grub +onto my sled, an' you an' me, an' the Dog Rib'll hit out." + +"Will a week's grub be enough?" growled the Captain, "It's goin' to be a +hell of a trip. Mebbe we'd ort to wait a couple o' days an' see what the +weather'll do." + +"Wait--hell!" cried Claw, "What's the use waitin'? The b'rom'ter's up, +an' you know damn well we ain't in fer no more storm fer a week er two. +What we want to do is to git over to Bloody Falls before Ace-In-The-Hole +takes a notion to break camp. An' what's the use of packin' more grub? +We'll have his won't we?" + +"He ain't goin' to break camp till we come along with the hooch," argued +the other, "Couple days more an' this snow will be settled an' the +goin'll be easier." + +"If you don't want to go, you kin stay here," retorted Claw, "Me--I +ain't goin' to take no chances. I an' the Dog Rib kin handle them two, +if you don't want none of it. An' then we'll shove on to the Injun camp +an' git the girl, an' I'll jest slip on over to Dawson with her--a +thousan' dollars is too cheap, anyhow. If I hadn't of b'n lit up I'd +never offered her to you fer no such figger." + +"A trade's a trade," interrupted the Captain. "If yer so hell-bent on +goin', I'll go along." He shouted the necessary orders to the sailors +who were clearing the snow from the doorways of the igloos, and the two +turned to the cabin. + +"I'll take that five hundred now, before we start, an' you kin give me +the balance when we git back with the girl," suggested Claw. + +"Ye said there'd be five hundred apiece in Ace-In-The-Hole's sack," +reminded the Captain, "I'll pay the first installment with that." + +"You will, like hell! You'll pay me now. We ain't got that sack yet. +Come acrost." + +"I'll give ye an order on----" + +"You'll give me an order on no one! You'll count out five hundred, cash +money--dust, er bills, right here in this cabin, 'fore we budge an inch. +You've got it--come acrost!" + +After much grumbling the Captain produced a roll of bills and counting +off five hundred dollars, passed the money reluctantly across the table +to Claw, who immediately stowed it away. "Don't forget to have 'em put a +keg of rum on the sled," he reminded, "We'll need it when we get to the +Injuns. Not half water, neither. What we want this trip is the strong +stuff that'll set 'em afire." + +"You got to stand your half o' the rum. We're pardners on this." + +"I stand nothin'. You put up the rum, an' the grub, an' a thousan' +dollars fer the girl. My contract is to git her, an' deliver her on +board the _Belva Lou_. The only thing we're pardners on is +Ace-In-The-Hole's dust. A trade's a trade--an' you got all the best of +it, at that." + +Late that afternoon Claw and the Captain, and the renegade Dog Rib +reached the Bloody Falls of the Coppermine, and searched vainly for +Brent's camp. + +"Pulled out!" cried the Captain, after an hour's search along the base +of the upstanding rock ledges. + +Claw shook his head: "They never got here," he amended, "The storm got +bad before they hit the ridges, an' they're lost." + +"Where's the camp, then?" + +Claw indicated the high piled snow: "Tent was only pegged to the snow. +Wind blew it down, and the fresh snow buried it. We'll camp an' hang +around a couple of days. If they weathered the storm, they'll be along +by that time. If they didn't--well, they won't bother us none with the +girl." + +"But, how about the dust?" asked the Captain, "If they don't come, we've +got to find the camp." + +Claw laughed: "You'll have a hell of a time doin' it! With the snow +piled twenty foot deep along them ledges. If they don't show up, we'll +shove on to the Injuns. It's clost to a hundred an' fifty mile to the +camp, accordin' to the Dog Rib, an' it'll take us anyways a week to make +it, with the goin' as bad as it is." + +"An' if we hang around here fer a couple o' days, that'll make nine +days, with a week's grub. What ye goin' to do 'bout that? I told ye we'd +ort to take more." + +"Yer head don't hurt you none--the way you work it, does it?" sneered +Claw, "I s'pose we couldn't send the Dog Rib back fer some more grub +while we was awaitin'? An' while he's gone you kin git a belly full of +rootin' up the snow to find the camp." + +For two days Claw laid in the tent and laughed at the Captain's sporadic +efforts to uncover Brent's camp. "If you'd help, 'stead of layin' around +laughin', we might find it!" flared the Captain. + +"I don't want to find it," jeered Claw, "I'm usin' my head--me. The main +reason I come here was to kill Ace-In-The-Hole, so he couldn't butt in +on the other business. If the storm saved me the trouble, all right." + +"But, the dust!" + +"Sure--the dust," mocked Claw. "If we find the camp, an' locate the +dust, I divide it up with you. If we don't--I slip up here in the +spring, when you're chasin' whales, an' with the snow melted off all I +got to do is reach down an' pick it up--an' they won't be no dividin', +neither." + +"What's to hinder me from slippin' in here long about that time? Two kin +play that game." + +"Help yerself," grinned Claw, "Only, the Mounted patrol will be along in +the spring, an' they'll give you a chanct to explain about winterin' +them klooches on the _Belva Lou_. You've forgot, mebbe, that such +customs is frowned on." + +"Ye damn double dealin' houn'!" cried the Captain, angrily. + +"Double dealin', eh? I s'pose I'd ort to be out there breakin' my back +diggin' in the snow, so I could divvy up with you dust that I could have +all to myself, by takin' it easy. I offered to share the dust with you, +cause I figgered I needed yer help in bumpin' off them two. If you don't +help, you don't git paid, an' that's all there is to it." + +The Indian returned with the provisions, and in the morning of the third +day they struck out up the Coppermine, with the Indian breaking trail +ahead of the dogs. + +"I didn't expect 'em to show up," grinned Claw, as he trudged along +behind the Captain. "I figgered if they didn't make camp that first +stretch, they never would make it. Full of hooch, a man ain't fit to hit +the trail even in good weather. He thinks he kin stand anything--an' he +can't stand nothin'. The cold gits him. Here's what happened. The storm +gits thick, an' they git off the course. The Siwash is lost an' he tries +to wake up Ace-In-The-Hole. He finds the bottle of hooch--and that's the +end of the Siwash. Somewheres out on the sea-ice, or in under the snow +on the flats they's two frozen corpses--an' damn good reddence, I says." + +Shortly after noon of the sixth day on the trail, the Dog Rib halted +abruptly and stood staring in bewilderment at a little log cabin, half +buried in the snow, that showed between the spruce trunks upon the right +bank of the stream. Claw hastened forward, and spoke to him in jargon. +The Indian shook his head, and by means of signs and bits of jargon, +conveyed the information that the cabin did not belong to the Indian +camp, and that it had not been there at the time he fled from the camp. +He further elucidated that the camp was several miles along. + +"Must be some of 'em got sore at the rest, an' moved up here an' built +the shack," opined Claw, "Anyways, we got to find out--but we better be +heeled when we do it." He looked to his revolver, and stooping, picked +up a rifle from the sled. The Captain followed his example, and Claw +ordered the Indian to proceed. No one had appeared, and at the foot of +the ascent to the cabin, Claw paused to examine a snow-covered mound. +The Captain was about to join him when, with a loud yell of terror, he +suddenly disappeared from sight, and the next moment the welkin rang +with his curses, while Claw laughing immoderately at the mishap, stood +peering into Brent's brush-covered shaft. It was but the work of a few +moments to haul the discomfited Captain from the hole. "Shaft, an' an +ore dump," explained Claw. "This here's a white man's layout, an' he's +up to date, too. They ain't be'n burnin' in, even on the Yukon, only a +year or so. Wonder who he is?" + +The two followed the Indian who had halted before the cabin, and stood +looking down at the snowshoe trail that led from the door. + +"Off huntin', I guess. Er over to the Injun camp. Looks like them tracks +was made yesterday. He ain't done no work in the shaft though sence the +storm. We'll go in an' make ourself to home till he gits back, anyhow. I +don't like the idee of no white man in here. 'Cordin' to who it +is--but----" + +"Mebbe it ain't a white man," ventured the Captain. + +"Sure it's a white man. Didn't I jest tell you that burnin' in ain't no +Injun trick?" + +"Dog Rib snowshoes," suggested the Indian in jargon, pointing to the +tracks. + +"That don't prove nothin'," retorted Claw, "He could of got 'em from +the Injuns, couldn't he? They's two of 'em lives here," he added, from +the interior. "Unharness the dogs, while I build up a fire." + + * * * * * + +From the moment of Brent's departure, Snowdrift bent all her energies +persuading the Indians to burn into the gravel for gold. At first her +efforts were unavailing. Even Wananebish refused to take any interest in +the proceeding, so the girl was forced to cut her own wood, tend her own +fire, and throw out her own gravel. When, however, at the end of a week +she panned out some yellow gold in the little cabin, as she had seen +Brent do, the old squaw was won completely over, and thereafter the two +women worked side by side, with the result that upon the test panning, +Snowdrift computed that they, too, were taking out almost an ounce a day +apiece. When the other Indians saw the gold they also began to scrape +away the snow, and to cut wood and to build their fires on the gravel. +Men and women, and even the children worked all day and took turns +tending the fire at night. Trapping and hunting were forgotten in the +new found craze for gold, and it became necessary for Snowdrift to tole +off hunters for the day, as the supply of meat shrank to an alarming +minimum. + +By the end of another week interest began to flag. The particles of gold +collected in the test pannings were small in size, and few in number, +the work was hard and distasteful, and it became more and more +difficult for the girl to explain to them that these grains were not the +ultimate reward for the work, that they were only tests, and that the +real reward would not be visible until spring when they would clean up +the gravel dumps that were mounding up beside the shafts. The Indians +wanted to know how this was to be accomplished, and Snowdrift suddenly +realized that she did not know. She tried to remember what Brent had +told her of the sluicing out process, and realized that he had told very +little. Both had been content to let the details go until such time as +the sluicing should begin. Vaguely, she told the Indians of sluice boxes +and riffles, but they were quick to see that she knew not whereof she +spoke. In vain, she told them that Brent would explain it all when he +returned, but they had little use for this white man who had no hooch to +trade. At last, in desperation, she hit upon the expedient of showing +the Indians more gold. From Brent's sack she extracted quantities of +dust which she displayed with pride. The plan worked at first, but soon, +the Indians became dissatisfied with their own showing, and either +knocked off altogether, or ceased work on the shafts and began to +laboriously pan out their dumps, melting the ice for water, and carrying +the gravel, a pan at a time, to their cabins. + +This too, was abandoned after a few days, and the Indians returned to +their traps, and to the snaring of rabbits. Only Snowdrift and old +Wananebish kept up to the work of cutting and hauling the wood, tending +the fires, and throwing out the gravel. Despite the grueling toil, +Snowdrift found time nearly every day to slip up and visit Brent's +cabin. Sometimes she would go only to the bend of the river and gaze at +it from a distance. Again she would enter and sit in his chair, or +moving softly about the room, handle almost reverently the things that +were his, wiping them carefully and returning them to their place. She +purloined a shirt from a nail above his bunk, and carrying it home used +it as a pattern for a wonderfully wrought shirt of buckskin and beads. +Each evening, she worked on the shirt, while Wananebish sat stolidly by, +and each night as she knelt beside her bunk she murmured a prayer for +the well-being of the big strong man who was hers. + +But whether it was at the shaft, at her needle, at her devotions, or +upon her frequent trips to his cabin, her thoughts were always of Brent, +and her love for him grew with the passing of the days until her longing +for his presence amounted, at times, almost to a physical pain. One by +one, she counted the days of his absence, and mentally speculated upon +his return. After the second week had passed she never missed a day in +visiting his cabin. Always at the last bend of the river, she quickened +her steps, and always she paused, breathless, for some sign of his +return. + +"Surely, he will come soon," she would mutter, when the inspection +showed only the lifeless cabin, or, "He will come tomorrow." When the +seventeenth and the eighteenth days had passed, with no sign of him, the +girl, woman like, began to conjure up all sort and manner of dire +accident that could have befallen him. He might have been drowned upon a +thinly crusted rapid. He might have become lost. Or frozen. Or, ventured +upon a snow cornice and been dashed to pieces upon the rocks below. +Every violent death known to the North she pictured for him, and as each +picture formed in her brain, she dismissed it, laughed at her fears, and +immediately pictured another. + +On the nineteenth day she chopped wood until the early darkness drove +her from her tasks, then she returned to the cabin and, fastening on her +snowshoes, struck off down the river. "Surely, he will be here today," +she murmured, "If he is not here today I will know something has +happened, and tomorrow I shall start out to find him. But, no--I am +foolish! Did he not say it would be two weeks--a month--maybe +longer--those were his very words. And it is only nineteen days, and +that is not a month. But, he will come sooner!" She flushed deeply, "He +will come to _me_--for he does love me, even as I love him. In his eyes +I have seen it--and in his voice--and in the touch of his hand." + +The last bend was almost in sight and she quickened her pace. She knew +to an inch, the exact spot from which the first glimpse of the cabin was +to be had. She reached the spot and stared eagerly toward the spruce +thicket. The next instant a glad cry rang out upon the still Arctic air. +"Oh, he has come! He has come! The light is in his window! Oh, my +darling! My own, own man!" + +Half laughing, half sobbing, she ran forward, urging her tired muscles +to their utmost, stumbling, recovering, hurrying on. Only a minute more +now! Up the bank from the river! And, not even pausing to remove her +snowshoes, she burst into the room with Brent's name upon her lips. + +The next instant the blood rushed from her face leaving it deathly +white. She drew herself swiftly erect, and with a wild cry of terror +turned to fly from the room. But her snowshoes fouled, and she fell +heavily to the floor, just as Johnnie Claw, with a triumphant leer upon +his bearded face leaped to the door, banged it shut, and stood with his +back against it, leering and smirking down at her, while the Captain of +the _Belva Lou_ knelt over her and stared into her eyes with burning, +bestial gaze. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +"YOU ARE WHITE!" + + +"So! my beauty!" grinned the Captain, "Fer once in his life Claw didn't +lie. An' ye didn't wait fer us to go an' git ye--jest come right to us +nice as ye please--an' saved me a keg o' rum." He rose with an evil +leer. "An' now git up an' make yerself to home--an' long as ye do as I +say, an' don't git yer back up, you an' me'll git along fine." + +Frantic with terror the girl essayed to rise, but her snowshoes impeded +her movements, so with trembling fingers she loosened the thongs and, +leaping to her feet, backed into a corner, and stared in wide-eyed +horror first at the Captain, then at Claw, the sight of whom caused her +to shrink still further against the wall. + +The man sneered: "Know me, eh? Rec'lect the time, over to the mission I +tried to persuade you to make the trip to Dawson with me do you? Well, I +made up my mind I'd git you. Tried to buy you offen the squaw an' she +like to tore me to pieces. I'd of kidnapped you then, if it hadn't be'n +fer the Mounted. But I've got you now--got you an' sold you to him," he +grinned, pointing to the Captain. "An' yer lucky, at that. Let me make +you acquainted with Cap Jinkins. 'Tain't every breed girl gits to be +mistress of a ship like the _Belva Lou_." + +Her eyes blazing with anger, she pointed a trembling finger at Claw: +"Stand away from that door! Let me go!" + +"Oh, jest like that!" mocked the man. "If he says let you go, it's all +right with me, pervided he comes acrost with the balance of the dust." + +The Captain laughed, and turning to the Dog Rib, he ordered: "Slip out +to the sled an' git a bottle o' rum, an' we'll all have a little drink." + +For the first time Snowdrift noticed the presence of the Indian. +"Yondo!" she screamed, "This is your work! You devil!" and beside +herself with rage and terror, she snatched a knife from the table and +leaped upon him like a panther. + +"Git back there!" cried Claw, leveling his revolver. + +Quick as a flash, the Captain knocked up the gun, pinioned the girl's +arms from behind, and stood glaring over her shoulder at Claw: "Put up +that gun, damn ye! An' look out who yer pullin' it on!" + +"By God, that's my Injun! I ain't through with him, yet, an' there ain't +no damn jade kin carve him up in under my nose." + +"An' this here's my woman, too. An' there ain't no damn hooch runner kin +pull a gun on her, neither!" + +"Ain't no harm done," conciliated Claw, "An' I guess they ain't no call +to fight over 'em. How about that drink?" + +"Git it!" ordered the Captain, and as the cowering Dog Rib slunk from +the room, he snatched the knife from the pinioned hand of the girl and +hurled it under the bunk: + +"An', now you hell-cat!" he rasped, pushing her from him, "You set to +an' git supper! An' don't go tryin' no more monkey business, er I'll +break ye in two! They seems to be grub enough here without usin' none of +my own," he added, eying the supplies ranged along the opposite wall, +"Who owns this shack, anyhow?" + +"Carter Brent owns it," cried the girl, drawing herself erect and +glaring into the man's eyes. It was as though the very mention of his +name, nerved her to defiance. "And when he returns, he will kill you +both--kill you! Do you hear?" + +"It's a lie!" roared Claw, then paused, abruptly. "I wonder--maybe it is +his shack. He come straight from the Yukon, an' that accounts fer the +burnin' in." + +"Know him?" asked the Captain. + +"Know him!" growled Claw, "Yes, I know him--an' so do you. That's +Ace-In-The-Hole's real name." + +"The hell it is!" cried the Captain, and laughed uproariously. "So +that's the way the wind blows! An' the breed's be'n livin' here with +him! Things is sure comin' my way! That's most too good to be true--an' +you misrepresentin' her to be a virgin, fresh from a school--ho, ho, +ho!" + +"What'd you mean?" snarled Claw, "How was I to know----" + +"Whether ye know'd, er whether ye didn't, it didn't make no +difference--I win either way." + +"What d'you mean?" Claw repeated. + +"You know what I mean," sneered the Captain, truculently, "Secondhand +goods--half price--see?" + +"You mean I don't git my other five hundred?" yelled Claw jerking the +revolver from his holster and levelling at the Captain's head, "Is that +what ye mean?" + +Surprised at the suddenness of the action, the Captain was caught off +guard, and he stood blinking foolishly into the mouth of the gun: +"Well," he faltered, moistening his lips with his tongue, "Mebbe we +might kind o' talk it over." + +"The only talkin' over you'll git out of me, is to come acrost with the +five hundred," sneered Claw. + +"Ye know damn well I ain't got no five hundred with me. Wait till we git +to the _Belva Lou_." + +"I'll wait, all right--but not till we git to the _Belva Lou_. Me an' +the girl will wait on shore, in sight of the _Belva Lou_, while you go +out an' git the money an' fetch it back--an' you'll come back _alone_ +with it. An' what's more--you ain't ahead nothin' on the rum, neither. +'Cause I'm goin' to slip down to the Injun camp in about five minutes, +an' the rum goes along. I'll be back by daylight, an' instead of the +rum, I'll have all the fur--an' everything else them Dog Ribs has got. +An' I'll git square with that damn squaw fer jerkin' that handful of +whiskers out of me, too." + +"That's all right, Johnnie," assured the Captain, still with his eyes on +the black muzzle of the gun. "Take the rum along--only, we'd ort to +split half an' half on that fur." + +"Half an' half, hell! You got what you come after, ain't you? An' if I +kin pick up an honest dollar on the side, that ain't no reason I should +split it with you, is it? I'll jest leave you two to git acquainted +while I slip down to the camp." + +"Go ahead," grinned the Captain, "An' don't hurry back, we'll wait." + +"Yer damn right you'll wait!" retorted Claw, "I'll have the dogs." In +the doorway he paused, "An', by the way, Cap. Don't open that door till +I git out of range--see?" + +The moment the door closed behind Claw, the Captain placed his back +against it and turned to the girl: "Git to work now an' git supper! +We're goin' to hit the back-trail inside an' hour. We kin pack what grub +we'll need, an' we'll git most a hull night's start, cause he'll be busy +with them Injuns till mornin'." + +Snowdrift confronted him with blazing eyes: At the words her blood +seemed to freeze within her, leaving her cold and numb with horror. She +had heard of the coastal traffic in winter wives, but always it had +seemed to her a thing vague and unreal. But now the full hideousness of +it stood revealed to her. She herself, at that very moment stood +trapped, bought and sold--absolutely in the power of the two bearded +beasts, who in the very loathsomeness of their filthy minds, discussed +her as they would discuss a piece of merchandise, bargained and haggled +over the price of her living body! A single ray of hope had dawned in +her breast as the men began to quarrel. If they would only come to +blows, and to grip-lock in their rage, she might be able to seize a +weapon, or better still dash from the room. Once in the scrub, she could +easily elude them. But the hope died when Claw covered the Captain with +his gun. And with the hope died also the numbing terror. A strange, +unnatural calm took possession of her. There was still one way out--and +she would seek that way. As the two men stood facing each other, she had +caught a glimpse of the blade of the knife that lay where the Captain +had thrown it, beneath the edge of the bunk. Stealthily her moccasined +foot had reached out and slid it toward her, and as the door opened upon +Claw's departure, she had stooped swiftly and recovered it. She would +plunge the blade into her own heart--no, better, she would attack the +Captain now that they were alone, and either kill him, or by the very +fury of her onslaught, would force him to kill her. So with the knife +concealed by her folded arms, her eyes blazed defiance: + +"I'll never cook your supper! You dog! You unspeakable devil! I'll kill +you first--or you'll kill me!" + +"Kill ye, eh?" sneered the man, "Well, I might, at that, if I didn't +have five hundred good dollars tied up in ye. Guess they ain't much +danger of me killin' ye till I get my money back, one way er +another--an' I guess they ain't no one knows that no better'n what you +do. An' as fer killin' _me_," he laughed, "You look spunky 'nough +to--but I'm hard to kill--it's be'n tried." + +"I've warned you!" cried the girl, "And I'll kill you!" + +"Git to work! Damn ye!" snarled the Captain, "yer losin' time! You cook +that supper, er by God I'll make ye wisht I had killed ye! I'll tame ye! +I'll show ye who's boss! Mebbe you won't be so pretty when I git through +with ye--but ye'll be tame!" + +The innermost thought of her brain found voice in words, "Oh, if he were +here!" + +"Hollerin' fer yer man, eh," taunted the Captain, "Ye ain't his'n now, +yer mine--an' he won't come cause he's dead----" + +"Dead!" The word shrieked from the lips of the tortured girl, "No, no, +no!" + +"Yes, yes, yes," mocked the man, "He's dead an' froze hard as a capstan +bar, somewheres upon the sea ice, an' his Injun, too. Got dead drunk +upon the _Belva Lou_, an' started fer shore in the big storm--an' he +never got there. So ye might's well make the best of it with me. An' +I'll treat ye right if ye give me what I want. An' if ye don't give it, +I'll take it--an' it'll be the worse fer you." + +The girl scarcely heard the words. Brent was dead. Her whole world--the +world that was just beginning to unfold its beauties and its +possibilities to her--to hold promise of the wondrous happiness of which +she had read and dreamed, but had never expected to realize--her whole +world had suddenly come crashing about her--Brent was dead, and--like a +flame of fire the thought flashed across her brain--the man responsible +for his death stood before her, and was even now threatening her with a +fate a thousand times worse than death. + +With a wild scream, animal-like, terrifying in its fury, the girl sprang +upon the man like a tiger. He saw the flash of the knife blade in the +air, and warding off the blow with his arm, felt the bite and the hot +rip of it as it tore into his shoulder. With a yell of pain and rage he +struck blindly out, and his fist sent the girl crashing against the +table. The force of the impact jarred the chimney from the little oil +bracket-lamp, and the light suddenly dimmed to a red flaring half-gloom. +Like a flash the girl recovered herself, and again she flew at the man +whose hand gripped the butt of his revolver. Again he struck out to ward +the blow, and by the merest accident the barrel of the heavy gun struck +the wrist of the hand that held the knife hurling it from her grasp, +while at the same time his foot tripped her and she crashed heavily to +the floor. Before she could get up, the man was upon her, cursing, +panting hot fury. Kicking, striking out, clawing like a wild cat, the +girl managed to tear herself from his grasp, but as she regained her +feet, a huge hand fastened in the neck of her shirt. There was a moment +of terrific strain as she pulled to free herself, holding to the +stanchion of the bunk for support, then with a loud ripping sound the +garment, and the heavy woolen undershirt beneath gave way, and the girl, +stripped bare to the waist, stood panting with the table interposed +between herself and the man who rose slowly to his feet. At the sight of +her, half naked in the dimly wavering light of the flaring wick flame, +his look suddenly shifted from mad fury to bestial desire. Deliberately +he picked up the knife from the floor, and without taking his eyes from +the girl opened the door and tossed it out into the snow. Then he +returned the revolver to its holster and stared gloatingly at the white +breasts that rose and fell convulsively, as the breath sobbed from the +girl's lungs. And as she looked into his devouring eyes, abysmal terror +once more seized hold of her, for the loathsome desire in those eyes +held more of horror than had their blaze of fury. + +The man moistened his thick lips, smacking them in anticipation, and as +he slowly advanced to the table, his foot struck an object that felt +soft and yielding to the touch, yet when he sought to brush it aside, it +was heavy. He glanced down, and the next instant stooped swiftly and +picked up Brent's sack of dust, which the girl had carried inside her +shirt. For an instant, greed supplanted the lust in his eyes, and he +laughed. Long and loud, he laughed, while the girl, pumping the air into +her lungs, gained strength with every second. "So here's where he left +his dust, is it? It's too good to be true! I pay five hundred fer the +girl instead of a thousan', an' all the dust, that Claw'll be up +scratchin' the gravel around Bloody Falls fer next summer. I guess +that's poor--five hundred clean cash profit, an' the girl besides!" + +The sight of Brent's gold in the man's foul clutch was too much for +Snowdrift, and the next instant a billet of stovewood crashed against +the wall within an inch of his head. With a low growl, he dropped the +sack to the floor and started around the table. In vain the girl cast +wildly about for some weapon, as, keeping the table between them, she +milled round and round the room. In vain she tried each time she passed +it, to wrench open the door. But always the man was too quick for her, +and when finally, he pushed the table against it, she once more found +herself cornered this time without a weapon, and half dead from fatigue. +Slowly, deliberately, the man advanced upon her. When he reached out +and touched her bare arm with a thick fingered, hairy hand, she shrieked +aloud, and redoubled the fury of her attack, clawing and striking at his +face. But, her onslaught was futile. He easily warded off her tiring +efforts. Closer and closer he pressed, his eyes aglitter with the fever +of lust, his thick lips twisted into a gloating grin, until his arms +closed slowly about her waist and his body pressed hers backward onto +the bunk. + + * * * * * + +Joe Pete wanted to camp, but Brent would have none of it. The storm +thickened. The wind increased in fury, buffeting them about, and causing +the dogs to whine and cringe in the harness until it became necessary to +fasten a leash to the leader to prevent their bolting. Hopelessly lost +though they were, Brent insisted upon pushing on. "The land lies this +way," he kept saying, "and we'll strike it somewhere along the coast." +Then he would appeal to the Indian who would venture no opinion +whatever, frankly admitting he was lost, and always counseling the +making of a camp. Finally, when darkness came they did camp, merely +digging into the snow; and tossing blanket and robes and a little food +into the pit, crawled in and drew the tarpaulin over them. + +Brent slept little that first night. Over and over again he tried to +reason out the course, and between times he lay hugging tightly his +bottle of hooch. "I wouldn't lose you for a million," he muttered, as +each tortured nerve of his body cried out for stimulant, and the little +brain devils added their urge, and with sophistry and cunning excuse +sought to undermine his resolve. "Just one drink." "You need it." "Taper +off gradually." "It's medicine." But to the insidious suggestions of the +brain devils he turned a deaf ear, and with clenched teeth, gripped his +bottle. "I'll never want you--never need you any more than I do this +night," he whispered into the dark. "Right now I'd give half my life for +one big swig--but my life isn't mine to give now. It's hers--_hers_, do +you hear! It's her fight that I'm fighting, now--and, by God, she's +going to win!" + +In the morning, despite the protest of Joe Pete, Brent pushed on. The +storm had increased in fury, and it was with difficulty they kept their +feet. Toward noon, both knew that they had gained land of some kind, for +the terrain became rolling, and in places even hilly. + +"We ain' goin' right fer de mountaine," shouted the Indian, with his +lips close to Brent's ear. "Dey an' no leetle hill dere till we com' to +de ridge." + +"I don't care," yelled Brent, "We're heading south, and that's the main +thing. We can hit for the river when the storm stops." + +The third day was a repetition of the second, except that the hills +became higher and more numerous, but entirely unlike the ridge formation +of the Copper Mountains. That night the storm wore itself out, and the +morning of the fourth day dawned bright and clear, with a wind blowing +strongly. + +"Well, where are we?" asked Brent, as he and Joe Pete ascended a nearby +hillock to take observation of their surroundings. + +For a long time the Indian studied the horizon, nor did he speak until +every degree of the arc had been subjected to minute scrutiny. + +"I'm t'ink, we com' too mooch far wes'," he observed, "I'm t'ink, we +better strike eas', 'bout wan day, tomor'." + +"Tomorrow!" cried Brent. "Why not today--now?" + +The Indian pointed to the dogs. "Too mooch tired out. Too mooch no good. +We got to res' today. Mebbe-so, travel tomor'!" + +A glance at the dogs convinced Brent, anxious as he was to push on, that +it would be useless to try it, for the dogs were in a pitiable condition +from the three day fight with the storm. He wanted to make up a pack and +push on alone, but the Indian dissuaded him. + +"S'pose com' nudder beeg snow? W'at you do den, eh? You git los'. You +trail git cover up. I kin no fin'. Dat better you wait." And wait they +did, though Brent fretted and chafed the whole day through. + +The following morning they started toward the southeast, shaping their +course by a far-distant patch of timber that showed as a dark spot on +the dazzling snow. The ground was broken and hard to travel, and their +progress was consequently slow. At noon they cut a dog loose, and later +another, the released animals limping along behind as best they could. + +At noon of their seventh day of travel, the eighth after the storm, +Brent, who was in the lead, halted suddenly and pointed to a small lake +that lay a mile or more to the southward. + +"I know that lake!" he cried, "It's the one where Snowdrift killed a +caribou! The river is six or seven miles east of here, and we'll strike +it just below our cabin." + +"You sure 'bout dat'?." asked the Indian. "De dogs, w'at you call, all +in. I ain' lak' we mak mor' travel we kin help." + +"Yes--sure," exclaimed Brent, "I couldn't be mistaken. There is the +point where we ate lunch--that broken spruce leaning against those two +others." + +"Dat good lan' mark," the Indian agreed, "I ain' t'ink you wrong now." + +Joyously, Brent led off to the eastward. The pace was woefully slow, for +of the seven dogs, only three remained, and the men were forced to work +at pulling the sled. "We ought to make the cabin a little after dark," +he figured, "And then--I'll grab a bite to eat and hit out for +Snowdrift. Wonder if she's looking for me yet? Wonder if she's been +thinking about me? It's--let's see--this is the nineteenth +day--nineteen days since I've seen her--and it seems like nineteen +years! I hate to tell her I didn't make a strike. And worst of all I +hate to tell her about--what happened on the _Belva Lou_. But, I'll come +clean. I will tell her--and I'll show her the bottle--and thank God I +didn't pull the cork! And I never will pull it, now. I learned something +out there in the snow--learned what a man can do." He grinned as he +thought of Claw and the Captain of the _Belva Lou_, searching the Copper +Mountains for his camp, so they could kill him and steal his dust. Then +the grin hardened into a straight-lipped frown as he planned the +vengeance that was to be his when they came after the girl. + +"They won't be in any hurry about starting up river," he argued, +"They'll hunt for me for a week. Then, when they do come--I'll kill 'em +as I would kill so many mad dogs. I hate to shoot a man from ambush--but +there's two of 'em, and I don't dare to take a chance. If they should +get me--" he shuddered at the thought, and pressed on. + +As he swung onto the river, a sharp cry escaped him and he stooped in +the darkness to stare at a trail in the snow. + +The cry brought Joe Pete to his side. "Those tracks!" rasped Brent, +"When were they made? And who made 'em?" + +The Indian stooped close and examined the trail. "Two--t'ree mans, an' a +team," he muttered, "An' wan man dat Godam Johnnie Claw!" + +"How do you know?" cried Brent, "How old are they?" And leaping to the +sled, he cut the pack thongs with one sweep of his knife and grabbed up +his rifle. + +"I know dem track--seen um on Mackenzie. B'en gon' 'bout two t'ree +hour!" + +"Bring on the outfit!" Brent called over his shoulder, and the Indian +stared in surprise as he watched the man strike out on the trail in +great leaping strides. + +The distance to the cabin was a scant mile, and Brent covered it without +slackening his pace. At the foot of the bank, he noted with relief that +the trail swung upward to his own cabin. If they had stopped, there was +yet time. His first glance had detected no light in the window, but as +he looked again, he saw that a peculiar dull radiance filtered through +the oiled parchment that served as a glass. Cautiously he maneuvered up +the bank, and made his way to the cabin, mentally debating with himself +whether to burst in upon the occupants and chance a surprise, or to lie +in wait till they came out. He stood in the shelter of the meat _cache_ +weighing his chances, when suddenly from beyond the log walls came the +sound of a woman's scream--loud--shrill--terrible, it sounded, cutting +the black silence of the night. What woman? There could be only +one--with a low cry that sounded in his own ears like the snarl of a +beast, he dropped the rifle and sprang against the door. It flew inward +and for a second Brent could see nothing in the murky interior of the +room. There was a sound from the bunk and, through the smoke haze he +made out the face of the Captain of the _Belva Lou_. As the man sprang +erect, their bodies met with an impact that carried them to the floor. +Brent found himself on top, and the next instant his fingers were +twisting, biting into a hairy throat with a grip that crushed and tore. +In his blind fury he was only half-conscious that heavy fists were +battering at his face. Beneath him the body of the Captain lashed and +struggled. The man's tongue lolled from his open mouth, and from beneath +the curled lips came hoarse wheezing gasps, and great gulping strangling +gurgles. A wave of exultation seized Brent as he realized that the thing +that writhed and twisted in his grasp was the naked throat of a man. +Vaguely he became conscious that above him hovered a white shape, and +that the shape was calling his name, in strange quavering tones. He +tightened his grip. There was a wild spasmodic heaving of the form +beneath him--and the form became suddenly still. But Brent did not +release his grasp. Instead he twisted and ground his fingers deeper and +deeper into the flesh that yielded now, and did not writhe. With his +face held close, he glared like a beast into the face of the man beneath +him--a horrible face with its wide-sprung jaws exposing the slobbered +tongue, the yellow snag-like teeth, the eyes, back-rolled until only the +whites showed between the wide-staring lids, and the skin fast purpling +between the upper beard and the mottled thatch of hair. + +A hand fell upon his shoulder, and glancing up he saw Snowdrift and +realized that she was urging him to rise. As in a dream he caught the +gleam of white shoulders, and saw that one bare arm clasped a fragment +of torn shirt to her breast. He staggered to his feet, gave one glance +into the girl's eyes, and with a wild, glad cry caught her to him and +pressed her tight against his pounding heart. + +A moment later she struggled from his embrace. She flushed deeply as his +eyes raised from her shoulders to meet her own. He was speaking, and at +the words her heart leaped wildly. + +"It's a lie!" he cried, "You are not a breed! I knew it! I knew it! My +darling--you are white--as white as I am! Old Wananebish is not your +mother! Do you hear? _You are white!_" + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +THE PASSING OF WANANEBISH + + +Stepping across to a duffle bag, Brent produced a shirt and an +undershirt which he tossed to the girl who, in the weakness of sudden +reaction had thrown herself sobbing upon the bunk. + +"There, there, darling," he soothed, as with his back toward her, his +eyes roved about the room seeking to picture, in the wild disorder, the +terrific struggle that had taken place. "Put on those things, and then +you can tell me all about it. You're all right now, dear. I will never +leave you again." + +"But--oh, if you had not come!" sobbed the girl. + +"But, I did come, sweetheart--and everything is all right. Forget the +whole horrid business. Come, we will go straight to Wananebish. Not +another hour, nor a minute will we wait. And we will make her tell the +truth. I have never believed you were her daughter--and now I know!" + +"But," faltered the girl, as she slipped into the warm garments, "If I +am not her daughter, who am I? Oh, it is horrible--not to know who you +are! If this is true--she must tell--she has got to tell me! I have the +right to know! And, my mother and my father--where are they? Who are +they?" + +"We will know soon, darling," assured Brent, drawing her to him and +looking down into her up-lifted eyes, "But, first let me tell you +this--I don't care who you are. You are mine, now, dearest--the one +woman for me in all the world. And no matter who, or what your parents +were, you are mine, mine, mine!" His lips met hers, her arms stole about +his neck, and as she clung to him she whispered: + +"Oh, everything seems all strange, and unreal, and up-side-down, and +horrible, and in all the world, darling, you are the one being who is +good, and sane and strong--oh, I love you so--don't ever leave me +again----" + +"Never again," assured Brent, smiling down into the dark eyes raised so +pleadingly to his. "And, now, do you feel able to strike out for the +camp?" + +"I feel able to go to the end of the earth, with you," she answered +quickly, and he noticed that her voice had assumed its natural buoyancy, +and that her movements were lithe and sure as she stooped to lace her +snowshoes, and he marveled at the perfect resiliency of nerves that +could so quickly regain their poise after the terrible ordeal to which +they had been subjected. + +"Where is Claw?" he asked, abruptly, as he stooped and recovered his +gold sack from the floor where the Captain had dropped it. + +"Come we must hurry!" cried the girl, who in the excitement had +forgotten his very existence, "He started for the camp, to trade hooch +to the Indians--and--oh, hurry!" she cried, as she plunged out into the +night. "He hates Wananebish, and he threatened to get even with her! If +he should kill her now--before--before she could tell us--" She was +already descending the bank to the river when Brent recovering his +rifle, hastened after her, and although he exerted himself to the +utmost, the flying figure gradually drew away from him. When it had all +but disappeared in the darkness, he called, and the girl waited, +whereupon Brent despite her protest, took the lead, and with his rifle +ready for instant use, hastened on up the river. + +A half mile from the encampment, Brent struck into the scattered timber, +"He may watch the back-trail," he flung back over his shoulder, "and we +don't want to walk into a trap." + +Rapidly they made their way through the scrub, and upon the edge of the +clearing, they paused. In the wide space before one of the cabins, brush +fires were blazing. And by the light of the leaping flames the Indians +could be seen crowding and fighting to get to the door of the cabin. +Brent drew Snowdrift into the shelter of a bush, from which point of +vantage they watched Claw, who stood in the doorway, glass in one hand, +six-gun in the other, dispensing hooch. Standing by his side, Yondo +received the skins from the crowding Indians, and tossed them into the +cabin. The process was beautifully simple--a drink for a skin. As Yondo +took a skin Claw passed out a drink to its erstwhile owner. + +"Damn him!" muttered Brent, raising his rifle. But Snowdrift pushed it +aside. + +"It is too dark," she whispered, "You can't see the sights, and you +might hit one of the Indians." Breaking off sharply, she pointed toward +her own cabin. The door had been thrown open and, rifle in hand old +Wananebish stepped out on the snow. She raised the rifle, and with loud +cries the Indians surged back from about the hooch runner. Before the +rifle could speak Claw fired, and dropping her gun, old Wananebish +staggered a few steps forward and pitched headlong into the snow. + +With a yell of rage, Brent broke cover and dashed straight across the +clearing. As the cry reached him, Claw looked up, fired one hasty shot +at the approaching figure, and leaping straight through the throng of +Indians, disappeared in the scrub beyond the cabin, with Yondo close at +his heels. + +Brent was aware that Snowdrift was at his side. "Go to her," panted the +girl, "I will try to handle the Indians." For an instant he hesitated, +then, realizing that the girl could deal with her own band better +without his presence, he hastened to the squaw who had raised herself to +an elbow and was vainly trying to rise. Picking her up bodily, Brent +carried her into the cabin and placed her upon the bunk. + +"Where--is--she?" the woman gasped, as he tore open her shirt and +endeavored to staunch the flow of blood from a wound low down upon the +sunken chest. + +"She's all right," assured the man, "Claw has gone, and she is trying to +quiet the Indians." + +The old crone shook her head: "No use," she whispered the words with +difficulty, "Take her away--while--there--is--time. +They--are--crazy--for--hooch--and--they--will--sell--her--to--him." She +sank back gasping, and Brent held a cup of water to her lips as he +motioned her to be quiet. + +"I am going to take her," he answered, "But, tell me--who is Snowdrift?" + +The beady eyes fixed his with a long, searching stare. She was about to +speak when the door opened and Snowdrift herself burst into the room and +sank down beside the bunk. + +With a laboring effort the old woman laid a clawlike hand upon the +girl's arm: "Forgive me," she whispered, and summoning all her fast +ebbing strength she gasped: "It is all a lie. You are not my child. You +are white. I loved you, and I was afraid you would go to your people." A +paroxysm of coughing seized her, and a gush of red blood welled from her +lips. "Look--in--the--moss--bag," she croaked, the words gurgling +through her blood-flooded throat. She fell heavily back upon the +blanket and the red torrent gushed afresh from between the stilled lips. + +With a dry sob, Snowdrift turned to Brent: "We must go!" she faltered, +hurriedly, "I can do nothing with the Indians. I tried to reach the +hooch to destroy it, but they crowded me away. He has lied to them--won +them completely over by the promise of more hooch. He told them he has +plenty of hooch _cached_ in the scrub. Already they have sent runners to +bring him back, and when he comes," the girl paused and shuddered "They +will do anything he tells them to--for hooch, and you know what that +will be--come, we must go while we have time!" + +"Can't we stay and fight him?" cried Brent, "Surely some of the Indians +will be with us." + +"No--only a few of the squaws--and they would be no good. No, we must go +before they bring him back! My sled is beside the door. Hurry and load +it with supplies while I harness the dogs." As she talked, the girl's +hands searched beneath the blankets upon which lay the body of the squaw +and with a low cry she drew forth the moss-bag which she handed to +Brent. "Take it," she said, "and do not trust it to the sled. We have no +time to look into it now--but that little bag contains the secret of my +life----" + +"And I will guard it with my own!" cried Brent, as he took the bag from +her hand. "Hurry, now and harness the dogs. I'll throw in some grub and +blankets and we will finish the outfit at my cabin where we'll pick up +Joe Pete." + +While Brent worked at the lashings of the sled pack, Snowdrift slipped +silently into the cabin and, crossing to the bunk, bent low over the +still form of the squaw: "Good-by, Wananebish," she sobbed, as she +pressed her lips to the wrinkled forehead, "I don't know what you have +done--nor why you did it--but, I forgive you." She turned to see Brent +examining the two heavy crotches that were fixed, one on either side of +the doorway on the inside. "That is our lock," explained the girl. "See, +there is the bar that goes across the door, like the bar at the post at +Fort Norman. Wananebish made it. And every night when we were inside she +placed the bar in the crotches and no one could have got in without +smashing the door to pieces. Ever since I returned from the mission, +Wananebish has feared someone, and now I know it was Claw." + +"If we could only drop the bar from the outside," mused Brent, "Maybe we +could gain a lot of time. I know Claw, and when he finds that he has all +the Indians with him, and that we are only two, he is not going to give +you up without a struggle. By George!" he exclaimed, suddenly, "I +believe I can do it!" He motioned the girl outside, and slipped the bar +into the crotch at the hinge side of the door, then driving a knife upon +the inside, he rested the bar upon it, and stepping outside, banged the +door shut. The knife held, and opening the door, he loosened the blade +a little and tried again. This time the banging of the door jarred the +knife loose. It fell to the floor, and the heavy bar dropped into place +and the man smiled with satisfaction as he threw his weight against the +door. "That will keep them busy for a while," he said, "They'll think +we're in there and they know we're armed, so they won't be any too +anxious to mix things up at close quarters." + +Swiftly the dogs flew up the well packed trail toward Brent's cabin. The +night was dark, and the Indians were fighting over the rum cask that +Claw had abandoned. As they hurried down the river, the two cast more +than one glance over their shoulders toward the cabin where the Indians +milled about in the firelight. + +At the first bend of the river, they paused and looked back. Shots were +being fired in scattering volleys, and suddenly Snowdrift grasped +Brent's arm: "Look!" she cried, "At our cabin!" + +At first Brent could see nothing but the distant glow of the brush +fires, then from the direction of the cabin they had just left a tongue +of flame shot upward through the darkness. There were more shots, and +the flames widened and leaped higher. + +"They're piling brush against the cabin," cried Brent. "They think +they'll burn us out. Come on, we haven't a minute to lose, for when Claw +learns that we are not in the cabin, he'll be on our trail." + +At his own shack Brent tore the lashings from the sled, and began to +rearrange the pack, adding supplies from his stores. Joe Pete stared in +astonishment. "Come on here!" cried Brent, "Get to work! We're off for +Dawson! And we've got to take grub enough to last till we hit Fort +Norman." + +"All day long you have been on the trail," cried the girl, "You are +tired! Can't we stand them off here until you are rested?" + +Brent shook his head: "You saw what happened at the other cabin," he +answered. "And here it would be even worse. With the window and the door +on the same side, they could burn us out in no time." + +"But they will trail us--and we must travel heavy," she pointed to the +loaded sled. + +"We will take our chances in the open," said Brent grimly. "And if luck +favors us we will get a long lead. The Indians may get too drunk to +follow, or they may stop to loot my cabin, and even if they should +overtake us, we can give a good account of ourselves. We have three +rifles, and the Indians can't shoot, and Claw will not risk his own +hide. Strike out straight for Fort Norman, Joe Pete. We will take turns +breaking trail." + +At daylight they camped upon the apex of a high ridge that commanded a +six or seven mile sweep of the back-trail, and all three noted with +relief that the stiff wind had filled their trail with the shifting +snow. All through the night they had avoided the timbered swamps and +the patches of scrub both for the purpose of allowing the wind full +sweep at their trail, and also to force their pursuers to expose +themselves to the open. It was decided that until danger of pursuit was +past they would travel only at night and thus eliminate in so far as +possible, the danger of a surprise attack. + +Because the men had been on the trail almost constantly for twenty-four +hours, Snowdrift insisted upon standing first watch, and as Brent +unrolled his blankets, he removed the moss-bag from his shoulders and +handed it to the girl. Both he and Joe Pete were asleep the instant they +hit the blankets, and for a long time Snowdrift sat with the moss-bag +hugged close, and her eyes fixed upon the long sweep of back-trail. At +length she thrust her hand into the bag and withdrew the packet, secure +in its waterproof wrapping. Over and over she turned it in her hand as +she speculated, woman like, upon its contents. Time and again she +essayed to untie the thong that bound it but each time her fingers were +stilled before the knot was undone. + +"Oh, I am afraid--afraid," she murmured, when her burning curiosity +urged her fingers to do their task. "Suppose he--my father was a man +like--like those two--suppose he was Claw, himself!" She shuddered at +the thought. "No, no!" she whispered, "Wananebish said that he was good. +My mother, then, who was she? Is some terrible stigma attached to her +name? Better never to know who I am, than to know _that_!" For a moment +she held the packet above the little flames of her fire as though she +would drop it in, but even as she held it she knew she would not destroy +it, for she decided that even to know the worst would be better than the +gnawing of life-long uncertainty. "He, too, has the right to know," she +murmured, "And we will open it together." And with a sigh, she replaced +the packet in the bag, and returned to her scrutiny of the back-trail. + +Despite the agreement to divide equally the time of watching, the girl +resolved to let the men sleep until mid-day before calling Brent who was +to take the second watch. + +At noon, Brent awoke of his own accord, and the girl was startled by the +sound of his voice in her ear: "Anything doing?" + +"No," she answered, "Not even a wolf, or a caribou has crossed the +open." + +"Have you explored that?" He indicated the moss-bag with a nod, and the +girl was quick to note the carefully suppressed eagerness of the words. + +"No. I--waited. I wanted you--and--Oh, I was afraid!" + +"Nonsense, darling!" laughed the man, "I am not afraid! Give me the bag. +Again I swear to you, I do not care who you are. You are mine--and +nothing else matters!" Snowdrift slipped her hand into the bag and +withdrew the packet, and she handed it to Brent, he placed his arm about +her shoulders and drew her close against his side, and with her head +resting upon his shoulders, her eyes followed his every movement as his +fingers fumbled at the knot. + +Carefully he unwrapped the waterproof covering and disclosed a small +leather note book, and a thick packet wound round with parchment deer +skin. On the fly leaf of the note book, in a round, clear hand was +written the name MURDO MACFARLANE, and below, Lashing Water. + +"Murdo MacFarlane," cried Brent, "Why, that's the name in the book that +told of Hearne's lost mines--the book that brought me over here!" + +"And the name on the knife--see, I have it here!" exclaimed the girl. +"But, go on! Who was MacFarlane, and what has he to do with me?" + +Eagerly Brent read aloud the closely written pages, that told of the +life of Murdo MacFarlane; of his boyhood in Scotland, of his journey to +Canada, his service with the Hudson's Bay Company, his courtship of +Margot Molaire, and their marriage to the accompaniment of the booming +of the bells of Ste. Anne's, of the birth of their baby--the little +Margot, of his restless longing for gold, that his wife and baby need +not live out their lives in the outlands, of the visit of Wananebish and +her little band of Dog Ribs, of his venture into the barrens, +accompanied by his wife and little baby, of the cabin beside the +nameless lake and the year of fruitless search for gold in the barrens. + +"Oh, that is it! That is it! The memory!" cried the girl. + +"What do you mean? What memory?" + +"Always I have had it--the memory. Time and time again it comes back to +me--but I can never seem to grasp it. A cabin, a beautiful woman who +leaned over me, and talked to me, and a big man who took me up in his +arms, a lake beside the cabin, and--that is all. Dim and elusive, +always, I have tried for hours at a time to bring it sharply into mind, +but it was no use--the memory would fade, and in its place would be the +tepee, or my little room at the mission. But, go on! What became of +Murdo MacFarlane, and Margot--of my father and my mother. And why have I +always lived with Wananebish?" + +Brent read the closing lines with many a pause, and with many a catch in +his voice--the lines which told of the death of Margot, and of his +determination to take the baby and leave her with Wananebish until he +should return to her, of his leaving with the squaw all of his +money--five hundred pounds in good bank notes, with instructions to use +it for her keep and education in case he did not return. And so he came +to the concluding paragraph which read: + +"In the morning I shall carry my wee Margot to the Indian woman. It is +the only thing I can do. And then I shall strike North for gold. But +first I must return to this cabin and bury my dead. God! Why did she +have to die? She should be buried beside her mother in the little +graveyard at Ste. Anne's. But it cannot be. Upon a high point that juts +out onto the lake, I will dig her grave--upon a point where we used +often to go and watch the sunset, she and I and the little one. And +there she will lie, while far below her the booming and the thunder of +the wind-lashed waters of the lake will rise about her like the sound of +bells--her requiem--like the tolling of the bells of Ste. Anne's." + +"Oh, where is he now--my father?" sobbed the girl, as he concluded. + +Brent's arm tightened about her shoulders, "He is dead," he whispered, +"He has been dead these many years, or he would have found you." He +swept his arm toward the barrens, "Somewhere in this great white land +your father met his death--and it was a man's death--the kind of death +he would have welcomed--for he was a man! The whole North is his grave. +And out of it, his spirit kept calling--calling. And the call was +heard--by a drunkard in a little cabin on the Yukon. I am that drunkard, +and into my keeping the spirit of Murdo MacFarlane has entrusted the +life of his baby--his wee Margot." Brent paused, and his voice suddenly +cut hard as steel, "And may God Almighty strike me dead if I ever +violate that trust!" + +Slender brown fingers were upon his lips. "Don't talk like that, dear, +it scares me. See, I am not afraid. And you are _not_ a drunkard." + +"I got drunk on the _Belva Lou_." + +"Didn't I say we couldn't expect to win all the battles?" + +"And, I carry my bottle with me." He reached into his blankets and drew +out the bottle of rum. + +"And the cork has not been pulled," flashed the girl, "And you have +carried it ever since you left the whaler." + +"Yes, darling," answered the man softly, "And I always shall keep it, +and I never will pull the cork. I can give you that promise, now. I can +promise you--on the word of a Brent that----" + +"Not yet, sweetheart--please!" interrupted the girl, "Let us hold back +the promise, till we need it. That promise is our heavy artillery. This +is only the beginning of the war. And no good general would show the +enemy all he has got right in the beginning." + +"You wonder woman!" laughed Brent, as he smothered the upraised eyes +with kisses, "But see, we have not opened the packet." Carefully he +unwound the parchment wrapping, and disclosed a closely packed pile of +bank notes. So long had they remained undisturbed that their edges had +stuck together so that it was with difficulty he succeeded in counting +them. "One hundred," he announced, at length, "One hundred five-pound +notes of the Bank of England." + +"Why, Wananebish never used any of the money!" cried the girl. + +Brent shook his head: "Not a penny has been touched. I doubt that she +ever even opened the packet." + +"Poor old Wananebish," murmured the girl, "And she needed it so. But she +saved it all for me." + +When darkness gathered, they again hit the trail. A last look from the +ridge disclosed no sign of pursuit, and that night they made twenty-five +miles. For three more nights they traveled, and then upon the shore of +Great Bear Lake, they gave up the night travel and continued their +journey by daylight. + +Upon the evening of the eighteenth day they pulled in to Fort Norman, +where they outfitted for the long trail to the Yukon. Before she left, +Snowdrift paid the debt of a thousand skins that McTavish had extended +to the Indians, and the following morning the outfit pulled out and +headed for the mountains which were just visible far to the westward. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +CLAW HITS FOR DAWSON + + +When Claw returned to the flame-lighted clearing, a scant half-hour +after he had fled from the avenging figure of Brent, it was to find his +keg of rum more than half consumed, and most of the Indians howling +drunk. Close about him they crowded, pressing skins upon him and +demanding more liquor. The man was quick to see that despite the +appearance of Brent and the girl, he held the upper hand. The Indians +would remain his as long as the rum held out. + +"Ask 'em where the white man went--him an' the girl," he ordered Yondo. + +The Indian pointed to the cabin of Wananebish, and a devilish gleam +leaped into Claw's eyes: "Tell 'em I'll give a hull keg of rum, er a +hundred dollars, cash money to the man that kills him!" he shouted, "an' +another keg to the one that brings me the girl!" + +The drunken savages heard the offer with a whoop, and yelling like +fiends, they rushed to the cabin. The barred door held against their +attack, and with sinister singleness of purpose they rushed back to the +fires, and securing blazing fagots, began to pile brush against the wall +of the building. + +With an evil grin on his face, Claw took up his position behind a stump +that gave unobstructed view of the door through which the two must rush +from the burning cabin, and waited, revolver in hand. + +Louder roared the fire, and higher and higher shot the flames, but the +door remained closed. Claw waited, knowing that it would take some time +for the logs to burn through. But, when, at length, the whole cabin was +a mass of flames, and the roof caved in, his rage burst forth in a +tirade of abuse: + +"They lied!" he shrilled, "They wasn't in there. Ace-In-The-Hole +wouldn't never stayed in there an' burnt up! The Injuns lied! An' he's +layin' to git me. Mebbe he's got a bead on me right now!" and in a +sudden excess of terror, the man started to burrow into the snow. + +Yondo stopped, and in the bright light of the flames examined the trail +to the river. Then he pointed down the stream in the direction of +Brent's cabin, and Claw, too, examined the trail. "They've pulled out!" +he cried, "Pulled out for his shack! Tell 'em to come on! We'll burn 'em +out up there! I ain't a-goin' to let her git away from me now--an' to +hell with Cap Jinkins! I'll take her to Dawson, an' make real money +offen her. An' I'll git Ace-In-The-Hole too. I found that girl first! +She's mine--an' by God, I'll have her!" He started for the river. At +the top of the bank, he paused: "What's ailin 'em?" he roared, "Why +don't they come! Standin' there gogglin' like fools!" + +"They say," explained Yondo, in jargon, "That they want to see the rum +first." + +"Tell 'em I left it up to his shack!" roared the man, "Tell 'em +anything, jest so they come. Git my dogs an' come on. We'll lead out, +an' they'll foller if they think they's hooch in it." + +Yondo headed the dogs down the trail, and Claw threw himself upon the +sled and watched the drunken Indians string out behind, yelling, +whooping, staggering and falling in their eagerness for more hooch. + +When they came in sight of the cabin, Claw saw that it was dark. "You +slip up and see what you kin find out," he ordered Yondo, "An' I'll stay +here with the dogs an' handle the Injuns when they come along." + +Five minutes later the Indian returned and reported that there was no +one in the cabin, and that the door was open. With a curse, Claw headed +the dogs up the bank, and pushed through the open door. Match in hand, +he stumbled and fell sprawling over the body of the Captain of the +_Belva Lou_, uttering a shriek of terror as his bare hand came in +contact with the hairy face. Scrambling to his feet, he fumbled for +another match, and with trembling fingers, managed to light the little +bracket lamp. "Choked him to death bare handed!" he cried in horror, +"And he'd of done me that way, too! But where be they? Look, they be'n +here!" The man pointed to the disordered supplies, that had been thrown +about in the haste of departure. "They've pulled out!" he cried. "Git +out there an' find their trail!" + +Yondo returned, and pointed to the westward, holding up three fingers, +and making the sign of a heavily loaded sled. + +"That'll be him, an' her, an' the Injun," said Claw, "an' they're +hittin' fer Fort Norman." Reaching down, he picked up a sack of flour +and carrying it out to the sled, ordered Yondo to help with the other +supplies. Suddenly, he sprang erect and gazed toward the west. "I wonder +if he would?" he cried aloud, "I'll bet he'll take her clean to Dawson!" +He laughed harshly, "An' if he does, she's mine--mine, an' no trouble +nor risk takin' her there! Onct back among the saloons, Ace-In-The-Hole +will start in on the hooch--an' then I'll git her." + +From far up the river came the whoop-whoroo of the drunken Indians. +"Quick," cried Claw, "Git that pack throw'd together. When they git here +an' find out they ain't no more hooch, they'll butcher me an' you!" And +almost before the Indian had secured the lashings, Claw started the +dogs, and leaving the Indian to handle the gee-pole, struck out on the +trail of Brent. + +It was no part of Claw's plan to overtake the trio. Indeed, it was the +last thing in the world he wanted to do. At midnight they camped with a +good ten miles between themselves and the drunken Dog Ribs. In the +morning they pushed on, keeping a sharp lookout ahead. Soon Brent's +trail began to drift full of snow, and by noon it was obliterated +altogether. Thereupon Claw ordered the Indian to shape his own course +for Fort Norman, and because of Yondo's thorough knowledge of the +country, arrived in sight of the post on the evening of the sixteenth +day. + +When he learned from an Indian wood chopper, that no other outfit had +arrived, Claw pulled a mile up the river and waited. + +Two days later, from the summit of a nearby hill, he saw the outfit pull +in, and with glittering eyes he watched it depart, knowing that Brent +would hit for the Yukon by way of the Bonnet Plume Pass. + +Claw paid off Yondo and struck straight westward alone, crossing the +divide by means of a steep and narrow pass known only to a few. Thus, +shortening the trail by some four or five days, he showed up in Cuter +Malone's Klondike Palace at the height of an evening's hilarity. + +Cuter greeted him from behind the bar: "Hello, Claw! Thought you was +over with the whalers!" + +"Was," answered Claw, "Jest got back," he drained the glass Malone had +set before him, and with a sidewise quirk of the head, sauntered into a +little back room. + +A few minutes later, Cuter followed, carefully closing and locking the +door after him: "What's on yer mind?" he asked, as he seated himself +beside the little table. + +"They's aplenty on it. But mostly it's a girl." + +"What's the matter? One git away from you?" + +"She ain't yet, but she's damn near it. She'll be here in a few days, +an' she's the purtiest piece that ever hit the Yukon." + +"Must be right pert then, cause that's coverin' quite a bit of +territory." + +"Yes, an' you could cover twict as much an' still not find nothin' that +would touch her fer looks." + +"Where is she?" + +"She's comin'. Ace-In-The-Hole's bringin' her in." + +"Ace-In-The-Hole! Yer crazy as hell! First place, Ace-In-The-Hole ain't +here no more. Folks says old R.E. Morse got him an' he drounded hisself +in the river. Camillo Bill an' that bunch he used to trot with, has +combed Dawson with a fine tooth comb fer him, an' they can't find him +nowheres." + +"Drounded?--hell!" exclaimed Claw, "Ain't I be'n to his shack on the +Coppermine? Didn't he come up to the _Belva Lou_ an' git drunk, an' then +git lost, an' then find his way back to his shack an' choke the life out +of Cap Jinkins? Yes sir, bare handed! I looked at Cap's throat where he +lay dead on the floor an' it was damn near squose in two! An' he'd of +squose mine, if he could caught me!" + +"What about the gal? What's he got to do with her? He wouldn't stand fer +no such doin's, an' you'd ort to know it. Didn't he knock you down fer +whalin' one with a dog whip!" + +"Yes, an' I'll even up the score," growled Claw savagely, "An' me an' +you'll shove a heft of dust in the safe fer profits. It's like this. +She's his girl, an' he's bringin' her here." + +"His girl! Say Claw, what you handin' me? Time was when Ace-In-The-Hole +could of had his pick of any of 'em. But that time's gone. They wouldn't +no _klooch_ look at him twict, now. He's that fer gone with the hooch. +He's a bum." + +"You know a hell of a lot about it! Didn't you jest git through tellin' +me he was drounded? An' now he's a bum! Both of which they ain't neither +one right--by a damn sight. He's be'n out there where they ain't no +hooch, an' he's as good a man as he ever was--as long as he can't git +the hooch. But here in Dawson he kin git it--see? An' me an' you has got +to see that he does git it. An' we'll git the girl. I've figured it all +out, comin' over. Was goin' to fetch her myself, but it would of be'n a +hell of a job, an' then there's the Mounted. But this way we git her +delivered, C.O.D. right to our door, you might say. Startin' about day +after tomorrow, we'll put lookouts on the Klondike River, an' the Indian +River. They're comin' in over the Bonnet Plume. When they git here the +lookout will tell us where they go. Then we rig up some kind of excuse +to git him away, an' when we've got him paralysed drunk, we'll send a +message to the girl that he needs her, an' we'll bring her +here--an'--well, the middle room above the little dance hall up stairs +will hold her--it's helt 'em before." + +Malone grinned: "Guess I didn't know what I was up to when I built that +room, eh? They kin yell their head off an' you can't hear 'em outside +the door. All right, Claw, you tend to the gittin' her here an' I'll +pass the word around amongst the live ones that's got the dust. We ain't +had no new ones in this winter, an' the boys'll 'preciate it." + + * * * * * + +It was evening. Brent and Snowdrift had climbed from the little trail +camp at the edge of the timber line, to the very summit of the great +Bonnet Plume Pass to watch the sun sink to rest behind the high-flung +peaks of the mighty Alaskan ranges. + +"Oh, isn't it grand! And wonderful!" cried the girl as her eyes swept +the vast panorama of glistening white mountains. "How small and +insignificant I feel! And how stern, and rugged, and hard it all looks." + +"Yes, darling," whispered Brent, as his arm stole about her waist, "It +is stern, and rugged, and hard. But it is clean, and honest, and grand. +It is the world as God made it." + +"I have never been in the mountains before," said the girl, "I have +seen them from the Mackenzie, but they were so far away they never +seemed real. We have always hunted upon the barrens. Tell me, is it all +like this? And where is the Yukon?" + +Brent smiled at her awe of the vastness: "Pretty much all like this," he +answered. "Alaska is a land of mountains. Of course there are wide +valleys, and mighty rivers, and along the rivers are the towns and the +mining camps." + +"I have never seen a town," breathed the girl, "What will we do when we +get there?" + +"We will go straight to the Reeves," he answered, with a glad smile. +"Reeves is the man who staked me for the trip into the barrens, and his +wife is an old, old friend of mine. We were born and grew up in the same +town, and we will go straight to them." + +"I wonder whether she will like me? I have known no white women except +Sister Mercedes." + +"Darling, she will love you!" cried Brent, "Everyone will love you! And +we will be married in their house." + +"But, what will he think when you tell him you have not made a strike?" + +Brent laughed: "He will be the first to see that I have made a strike, +dear--the richest strike in all the North." + +"And you didn't tell me!" cried the girl, "Tell me about it, now! Was it +on the Coppermine?" + +"Yes, it was on the Coppermine. I made the great strike, one evening in +the moonlight--when the dearest girl in the world told me she loved me." + +Snowdrift raised her wondrous dark eyes to his: "Isn't it wonderful to +love as we love?" she whispered, "To be all the world to each other? I +do not care if we never make a strike. All I want is to be with you +always. And if we do not make a strike we will live in our tepee and +snare rabbits, and hunt, and be happy, always." + +Brent covered the upturned face with kisses: "I guess we can manage +something better than a tepee," he smiled. "I've got more than half of +Reeves' dust left, and I've been thinking the matter over. The fact is, +I don't think much of that Coppermine country for gold. I reckon we'll +get a house and settle down in Dawson for a while, and I'll take the job +Reeves offered me, and work till I get him paid off, and Camillo Bill, +and enough ahead for a grub-stake, and then we'll see what's to be done. +We'll have lots of good times, too. There's the Reeves' and--and----" + +Brent paused, and the girl smiled, "What's the matter? Can't you think +of any more?" + +"Well, to tell the truth, I don't know any others who--that is, married +folks, our kind, you know. The men I knew best are all single men. But, +lots of people have come in with the dredge companies. The Reeves will +know them." + +"There is that girl you called Kitty," suggested Snowdrift. + +"Yes--" answered Brent, a little awkwardly, "That's so. But, she's--a +little different." + +"But I will like her, I am sure, because she nursed you when you were +sick. I know what you mean!" she exclaimed abruptly, and Brent saw that +the dark eyes flashed, "You mean that people point at her the finger of +scorn--as they would have pointed at me, had I been--as I thought I was. +But it is all wrong, and I will not do that! And I will hate those who +do! And I will tell them so!" she stamped her moccasined foot in anger, +and the man laughed: + +"My goodness!" he exclaimed feigning alarm, "I can see from here where I +better get home to meals on time, and not forget to put the cat out." + +"Now, you are making fun of me," she pouted, "But it is wrong, and you +know it is, and maybe the very ones who do the pointing are worse in +their hearts than she is." + +"You said it!" cried Brent, "The ones that look down upon the frailties +of others, are the very ones who need watching themselves. And that is a +good thing to remember in picking out friends. And, darling, you can go +as far as you like with Kitty. I'm for you. She's got a big heart, and +there's a lot more to her than there is to most of 'em. But, come, it's +dark, and we must be getting back to camp. See the little fire down on +the edge of the timber line. It looks a thousand miles away." + +And as they picked their way, side by side, down the long slope, Brent +was conscious that with the growing tenderness that each day's +association with his wonder woman engendered, there was also a growing +respect for her outlook upon life. Her years in the open had developed a +sense of perception that was keen to separate the dross from the pure +gold of human intent. "She's a great girl," he breathed, as he glanced +at her profile, half hidden in the starlight, "She deserves the best +that's in a man--and she'll get it!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +IN THE TOILS + + +Late one afternoon, a dog sled, with Joe Pete in the lead, and Brent and +Snowdrift following swung rapidly down the Klondike River. A few miles +from Dawson, the outfit overtook a man walking leisurely toward town, a +rifle swung over his shoulder. Recognizing him as one Zinn, a former +hanger-on at Cuter Malone's, Brent called a greeting. + +"Damned if it ain't Ace-In-The-Hole!" cried the man, in well simulated +surprise. "They'll be rollin' 'em high in Dawson tonight!" + +Brent laughed, and hurried on. And behind him upon the trail Zinn +quickened his pace. + +At the outskirts of town the three removed their snowshoes and, ordering +Joe Pete to take the outfit to his own shack, Brent and Snowdrift +hurried toward the Reeves'. + +As they passed up the street Brent noticed that the dark eyes of the +girl were busily drinking in the details of the rows upon rows of low +frame houses. "At last you are in Dawson," he said, including with a +sweep of the arm the mushroom city that had sprung up in the shadow of +Moosehide Mountain, "Does it look like you expected it would? Are you +going to like it?" + +The girl smiled at the eagerness in his voice: "Yes, dear, I shall love +it, because it will be our home. It isn't quite as I expected it to +look. The houses all placed side by side, with the streets running +between are as I thought they would be, but the houses themselves are +different. They are not of logs, or of the thin iron like the warehouse +of the new trading company on the Mackenzie, and they are not made of +bricks and stones and very tall like the pictures of cities in the +books." + +Brent laughed: "No, Dawson is just half way between. Since the sawmills +came the town has rapidly outgrown the log cabin stage, although there +are still plenty of them here, but it has not yet risen to the dignity +of brick and stone." + +"But the houses of brick and stone will come!" cried the girl, +enthusiastically, "And take the place of the houses of wood, and we +shall be here to see the building of another great city." + +Brent shook his head: "I don't know," he replied, doubtfully, "It all +depends on the gravel. I wouldn't care to do much speculating in Dawson +real estate right now. The time for that has passed. The next two or +three years will tell the story. If I were to do any predicting, I'd say +that instead of the birth of a great city, we are going to witness the +lingering death of an overgrown town." He paused and pointed to a small +cabin of logs that stood deserted, half buried in snow. "Do you see that +shack over there? That's mine. It don't look like much, now. But, I gave +five thousand in dust for it when I made my first strike." + +The girl's eyes sparkled as she viewed the dejected looking building, +"And that will be our home!" she cried. + +"Not by a long shot, it won't!" laughed Brent, "We'll do better than +that. I never want to see the inside of the place again! Yes, I do--just +once. I want to go there and get a book--the book that lured me to the +Coppermine--the book in which is written the name of Murdo MacFarlane. +We will always keep that book, darling. And some day we will get it +bound in leather and gold." + +Before a little white-painted house that stood back from the street, the +man paused: "The Reeves' live here," he announced, and as he turned into +the neatly shovelled path that led to the door, he reached down and +pressed the girl's hand reassuringly: "Mrs. Reeves is an old, old +friend," he whispered, "She will be a sister to you." + +As Brent led the way along the narrow path his eyes rested upon the +slope of snow-buried earth that pitched sharply against the base of the +walls of the house, "Hardest work I ever did," he grinned, "Hope the +floor kept warm." + +As he waited the answer to his knock upon the door, he noticed casually +that Zinn sauntered past and turned abruptly into the street that led +straight to Cuter Malone's. The next instant the door was opened and +Reba Reeves stood framed in the doorway. Brent saw that in the gloom of +early evening she did not recognize him. "Is Mr. Reeves home?" he asked. + +"Yes, won't you step in? answered the woman, standing aside. + +"Thank you. I think we will." + +Something in the man's tone caused the woman to step quickly forward and +peer sharply into his face: "Carter Brent!" she cried, and the next +instant the man's hands were in both of hers, and she was pulling him +into the room. Like a flash Brent remembered that other time she had +called his name in a tone of intense surprise, and that there had been +tears in her eyes then, even as there were tears in her eyes now, but +this time they were tears of gladness. And then, from another room came +Reeves, and a pair of firm hands were laid upon his shoulders and he was +spun around to meet the gaze of the searching grey eyes that stared into +his own. Brent laughed happily as he noted the start of surprise that +accompanied Reeves' words: "Good Lord! What a change!" A hand slipped +from his shoulder and grasped his own. + +A moment later, Brent freed the hand, and as Mrs. Reeves lighted the +lamp, turned and drew Snowdrift toward him. "And now I want you to +meet--Miss Margot MacFarlane. Within a very few hours she is going to +become Mrs. Carter Brent. You see," he added turning to Reba Reeves, "I +brought her straight to you. The hotel isn't----" + +The sentence was never finished, already the two women were in each +other's arms, and Reba Reeves was smiling at him over the girl's +shoulder: "Carter Brent! If you had dared to even think of taking her to +the hotel, I'd never have spoken to you again! You just let me catch you +talking about hotels--when your _folks_ are living right here! And now +take off your things because supper is most ready. You'll find warm +water in the reservoir of the stove, and I'll make an extra lot of good +hot coffee, because I know you will be tired of tea." + +Never in his life had Brent enjoyed a meal as he enjoyed that supper in +the dining room of the Reeves', with Snowdrift, radiant with happiness, +beside him, and his host and hostess eagerly plying him with questions. + +"I think it is the most romantic thing I ever heard of!" cried Reba +Reeves, when Snowdrift had finished telling of her life among the +Indians, and at the mission, "It's easy enough to see why Carter chose +you, but for the life of me I can't see how you came to take an old +scapegrace like him!" she teased, and the girl smiled: + +"I took him because I love him," she answered, "Because he is good, and +strong, and brave, and because he can be gentle and tender and--and he +understands. And he is not a scapegrace any more," she added, gravely, +"He has told me all about how he drank hooch until he became a--a +bun----" + +"A what?" + +"A bun--is it not that when a man drinks too much hooch?" + +"A bum," supplied Brent, laughing. + +"So many new words!" smiled the girl. "But I will learn them all. +Anyway, we will fight the hooch together, and we will win." + +"You bet you'll win!" cried Reeves, heartily, "And if I'm any judge, I'd +say you've won already. How about it Brent?" + +Deliberately--thoughtfully, Brent nodded: "She has won," he said. + +"On the word of a Brent?" Reba Reeves' eyes were looking straight into +his own as she asked the question. + +"Yes," he answered, "On the word of a Brent." + +A moment's silence followed the words, after which he turned to Reeves: +"And, now--let's talk business. I have used about half the dust you +loaned me. There is nothing worth while on the Coppermine--now." He +smiled, as his eyes rested upon the girl, "So I have come back to take +that job you offered me. Eleven hundred miles, we came, under the +chaperonage of Joe Pete----" + +"And a very capable chaperonage it was!" laughed Reeves, "Funniest thing +I ever saw in my life--there in your cabin the morning you started. It +was then I learned to know Joe Pete. But, go on." + +"That's about all there is to it. Except that I'd like to keep the rest +of the dust, and pay you back in installments--that is, if the job is +still open. I've got to borrow enough for a start, somewhere--and I +reckon you're about the only friend I've got left." + +"How about that fellow, Camillo Bill? I thought he was a friend of +yours." + +"I thought so too, but--when I was down and out, and wanted a +grub-stake, he turned me down. He's all right though--square as a die." + +"About that job," continued Reeves, gravely, "I'm a little afraid you +wouldn't just fill the bill." + +For a moment Brent felt as though he had been slapped in the face. He +had counted on the job--needed it. The next instant he was smiling: +"Maybe you're right," he said, "I reckon I am a little rusty on +hydraulics and----" + +"I'd take a chance on the hydraulics," laughed Reeves, "But--before we +go any further, what would you take for your title to those two claims +that Camillo Bill has been operating?" + +"Depends on who wanted to buy 'em," grinned Brent. + +"What will you sell them to me for?" + +"What will you give?" + +"How would ten thousand for the two of them strike you?" + +Brent laughed: "Don't you go speculating on any claims," he advised, +"I'd be tickled to death to get ten thousand dollars--or ten thousand +cents out of those claims--but not from you. It would be highway +robbery." + +"And if I did buy them from you at ten thousand, or a hundred thousand, +you would be only a piker of a robber, as compared to me." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I mean that if anybody offers you a million for 'em--you laugh at 'em," +exclaimed Reeves, "Because they're worth a whole lot more than that." + +Brent stared at the man as though he had taken leave of his senses. "Who +has been stringing you?" he asked, "The fact is, those claims are a +liability, and not an asset. Camillo Bill took them over to try to get +the million I owed him out of 'em--and he couldn't do it. And when +Camillo Bill can't get the dust out, it isn't there." + +"How do you know he couldn't do it?" + +"Because he told me so." + +"He lied." + +Brent flushed: "I reckon you don't know Camillo Bill," he said gravely, +"As I told you, he wouldn't grub-stake me when I needed a grub-stake, +and I don't understand that. But, I'd stake my life on it that he never +lied about those claims--never tried to beat me out of 'em when I was +down and out! Why, man, he won them in a game of stud--and he wouldn't +take them!" + +"But he lied to you, just the same," insisted Reeves, and Brent saw that +the man's eyes were twinkling. "And it was because he is one of the best +friends a man ever had that he did lie to you, and that he wouldn't +grub-stake you. You said a while ago that I was about the only friend +you had left. Let me tell you a little story, and then judge for +yourself. + +"About a week after you had gone, inquiries began to float around town +as to your whereabouts. I didn't pay any attention to them at first, but +the inquiries persisted. They searched Dawson, and all the country +around for you. When I learned that the inquiries emanated from such men +as Camillo Bill, and Old Bettles, and Moosehide Charlie, and a few more +of the heaviest men in the camp, I took notice, and quietly sent for +Camillo Bill and had a talk with him. It seems that after he had taken +his million out of the claims, he went to you for the purpose of turning +them back. He had not seen you for some time, and he was--well, it +didn't take him but a minute to see what would happen if he turned back +the claims and dumped a couple of million dollars worth of property into +your hands at that time. So he told you they had petered out. Then he +hunted up a bunch of the real sourdoughs who are your friends, and they +planned to kidnap you and take you away for a year--keep you under guard +in a cabin, a hundred miles from nowhere, and keep you off the liquor, +and make you work like a nigger till you found yourself again. They +laid their plot, and when they came to spring it, you had disappeared." + +Brent listened, with tight-pressed lips, and as Reeves finished, he +asked: + +"And you say he got out his million, and there is still something left +in the gravel?" + +Reeves laughed: "I would call it something! Camillo Bill says he only +worked one of the claims--and only about half of that. Yes, I would say +there was something left." + +"I reckon a man don't always know his friends," murmured Brent, after a +long silence, "I wonder where I can find Camillo Bill?" + +"He's in town, somewhere. I saw him this afternoon." + +Brent turned to Snowdrift, who had listened, wide-eyed to the narrative: +"You wait here, dear," he said, "And I'll hunt up a parson, and a ring, +and Camillo Bill. I need a--a best man!" + +"Oh, why don't you wait a week or so and give us time to get ready so we +can have a real wedding?" cried Mrs. Reeves. + +Brent shook his head: "I reckon this one will be real enough," he +grinned, "And besides, we've waited quite a while, already." + +As he turned into the street from the path leading from the door he +almost bumped into a man in the darkness: + +"Hello! Is that you, Ace-In-The-Hole? Yer the man I'm huntin' fer. +Friend of yourn's hurt an' wants to see you." + +"Who is it, Zinn? And how did he know I was in town?" + +"It's Camillo Bill. I was tellin' I see'd you comin' in--an hour or so +back, in Stoell's. Then Camillo, he goes down to the sawmill to see +about some lumber, an' a log flies off the carriage an' hits him. He's +busted up pretty bad. Guess he's goin' to cash in. They carried him to a +shack over back of the mill an' he's hollerin' fer you." + +"Come on then--quick!" cried Brent. "What the hell are you standin' +there for? Have they got a doctor?" + +"Yup," answered Zinn, as he hurried toward the outskirts of the town, +"He'll be there by now." + +Along the dark streets, and through a darker lumber yard, hurried Zinn, +with Brent close at his heels urging him to greater speed. At length +they passed around behind the sawmill and Brent saw that a light showed +dimly in the window of a disreputable log shack that stood upon the edge +of a deep ravine. The next moment he had pushed through the door, and +found himself in the presence of four as evil looking specimens as ever +broke the commandments. One of them he recognized as "Stumpy" Cooley, a +man who, two years before had escaped the noose only by prompt action of +the Mounted, after he had been duly convicted by a meeting of outraged +miners of robbing a _cache_. + +"Where's Camillo Bill?" demanded Brent, his eyes sweeping the room. + +"Tuk him to the hospital jest now," informed Stumpy. + +"Hospital!" cried Brent. + +"Yes--built one sence you was here. But, you don't need to be in no +hurry, 'cause he's out of his head, now." The man produced a bottle and +pulling the cork, offered it to Brent: "Might's well have a little +drink, an' we'll be goin'." + +"To hell with your drinks!" cried Brent, "Where is this hospital?" +Suddenly he sensed that something was wrong. And whirling saw that two +of the men had slipped between himself and the door. He turned to Stumpy +to see an evil grin upon the man's face. + +"When I ask anyone to drink with me, he most generally does it," he +sneered, "Or I know the reason why." + +"There's the reason!" roared Brent, and quick as a flash his right fist +smashed into the man's face, the blow knocking him clean across the +room. The next instant a man sprang onto Brent's back and another dived +for his legs, while a third struck at him with a short piece of +scantling. Brent fought like a tiger, weaving this way and that, and +stumbling about the room in a vain effort to rid himself of the two men +who clung to him like leeches. Stumpy staggered toward him, and Brent +making a frenzied effort to release one of his pinioned arms, saw him +raise the heavy quart whiskey bottle. The next instant it descended with +a full arm swing. Brent saw a blinding flash of light, a stab of pain +seemed to pierce his very brain, his knees buckled suddenly and he was +falling, down, down, down, into a bottomless pit of intense blackness. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +THE FIGHT AT CUTER MALONE'S + + +The porter at Cuter Malone's Klondike Palace was lighting the huge oil +lamps as the girl called Kitty sauntered to the bar with her dancing +partner who loudly demanded wine. Cuter Malone himself, standing behind +the bar in earnest conversation with Johnnie Claw, set out the drinks +and as the girl raised her glass, a man brushed past her. She recognized +Zinn, one of Malone's despicable lieutenants, and was quick to note that +something unusual was in the air. A swift meaning glance passed between +Claw and Malone, and as Zinn stepped around the bar to deposit his +rifle, he whispered earnestly to the two who stepped close to listen. + +Unperceived, Kitty managed to edge near, and the next instant she was +all attention. For from the detached words that came to her ears, she +made out, "Ace-In-The-Hole," and "the girl," and then Malone, whose +voice carried above the others issued an order, "The shack behind the +saw mill. Git him soused. Knock him out if you have to--but don't kill +him. Once we git the girl here me an' Claw--" the rest of the sentence +was lost as it blended with an added order of Claw's. "Ace-In-The-Hole!" +thought Kitty, "What did it mean? And who is 'The girl?' Ace-In-The-Hole +is dead. And, yet--" she glanced toward Claw whose beady eyes were +glittering with excitement. "He just came back from somewhere--maybe he +knows--something." + +She saw Zinn cross the room and speak in a whisper to four men who were +playing solo at a table near the huge stove. She knew those men, Stumpy +Cooley, and his three companions. The men nodded, and went on with their +game, and Zinn returned and resumed his conversation with Malone and +Claw. But the girl could hear nothing more. The "professor" was loudly +banging out the notes of the next dance upon the piano, and her partner +was pulling at her arm. + +For two hours Kitty danced, and between dances she drank wine at the +bar, and always her eyes were upon the four men at the solo table, and +upon Zinn, who loafed close by, and upon Malone and Claw, who she noted, +were drinking more than usual, as they hob-nobbed behind the bar. + +The evening crowd foregathered. The music became faster, the talk +louder, the laughter wilder. At the conclusion of a dance, Kitty saw +Malone speak to Zinn, who immediately slipped out the door. The four men +at the table, threw down their cards, and sauntered casually from the +room and declining the next dance, the girl dashed up the stairway to +her room where she kicked off her high heeled slippers, pulled a pair of +heavy woolen stockings over her silk ones, and hurriedly laced her +moccasins. She jammed a cap over her ears and slipping into a heavy fur +coat, stepped out into the hall and came face to face with Johnnie Claw. +"Where do you think you're goin'?" asked the man with a sneer. + +"It's none of your business!" snapped the girl, "I don't have to ask you +when I want to go anywhere--and I don't have to tell you where I'm +goin', either! You haven't got any strings on me!" + +"Well--fergit it, 'cause you ain't goin' nowhere's--not right now." + +"Get out of my way! Damn you!" cried the girl, "If I had a gun here, I'd +blow your rotten heart out!" + +"But, you ain't got none--an' I have--so it's the other way around. Only +I ain't goin' to kill you, if you do like I say. + +"Listen here, I seen you easin' over and tryin' to hear what me an' +Malone, an' Zinn was talkin' about. I don't know how much you heard, but +you heard enough, so you kep' pretty clost cases on all of us. G'wan +back in yer room, 'fore I put you there! What the hell do you care +anyhow? All we want is the girl. Onct we git her up in the strong room, +you kin have Ace-In-The-Hole. An' as long as she's around you ain't +nowhere with him. Why don't you use yer head?" + +"You fool!" screamed the girl, in a sudden fury, and as she tried to +spring past him, Claw's fist caught her squarely in the chin and without +a sound she crashed backward across the door sill. Swiftly the man +reached down and dragged her into the room, removed the key from the +lock on the inside, closed and locked the door, and thrusting the key +into his pocket, turned and walked down stairs. + +How long she lay there, Kitty did not know. Consciousness returned +slowly. She was aware of a dull ache in her head, and after what seemed +like a long time she struggled to her knees and drew herself onto the +bed where she lay trying to think what had happened. Faintly, from below +drifted the sound of the piano. So, they were still dancing, down there? +Then, suddenly the whole train of events flashed through her brain. She +leaped to her feet and staggered groggily to the door. It was locked. In +vain she screamed and beat upon the panels. She rushed to the window but +its double sash of heavily frosted panes nailed tight for the winter was +immovable. In a sudden frenzy of rage she seized a chair and smashed the +glass. The inrush of cold air felt good to her throbbing temples, and +wrenching a leg from the chair she beat away the jagged fragments until +only the frame remained. Leaning far out, she looked down. Her room was +at the side of the building, near the rear, and she saw that a huge +snowdrift had formed where the wind eddied around the corner. Only a +moment she hesitated, then standing upright on the sill, she leaped far +out and landed squarely in the centre of the huge drift. Struggling to +her feet she wallowed to the street, and ran swiftly through the +darkness in the direction of the sawmill. And, at that very moment, Zinn +was knocking upon the door of the Reeves home. + +When the door had closed behind Brent, Mrs. Reeves had insisted upon +Snowdrift's taking a much needed rest upon the lounge in the living +room, and despatching Reeves upon an errand to a neighbor's, busied +herself in the kitchen. The girl lay back among the pillows wondering +when her lover would return when the sound of the knock sent her flying +to the door. She drew back startled when, instead of Brent she was +confronted by the man they had passed on the river. + +"Is they a lady here name of Snowdrift?" asked the man. + +A sudden premonition of evil shot through the girl's heart. She paled to +the lips. Where was Brent? Had something happened? "Yes, yes!" she +answered quickly, "I am Snowdrift. What has happened? Why do you want +me?" + +"It's him--yer man--Ace-In-The-Hole," he answered. + +"Oh, what is it?" cried the girl, in a frenzy of impatience, "has he +been hurt?" + +"Well--not jest hurt, you might say. He's loadin' up on hooch. Some of +us friends of hisn tried to make him go easy--but it ain't no use. I +seen you an' him comin' in on the river, an' I figgered mebbe you could +handle him. We're afraid someone'll rob him when he gits good an' +drunk." + +And not more than an hour ago he had given his promise--on the word of a +Brent--a promise that Mrs. Reeves had just finished telling her would +never be broken. A low sob that ended in a moan trembled upon the girl's +lips: "Wait!" she commanded, and slipping into the room, caught up her +cap and parka, and stepping out into the darkness, closed the door +noiselessly behind her. + +"Take me to him--quickly!" she said, "Surely he will listen to me." + +"That's what I figgered," answered the man, and turning led the way down +the dark street. + +Presently the subdued light that filtered through the frosted windows of +the Klondike Palace came into view, and as they reached the place Zinn +led the way to the rear, and pushed open a door. Snowdrift found herself +in a dimly lighted hallway. Cuter Malone stepped forward with a smile: + +"Jest a minute, lady. Better put this here veil over yer face. He's up +stairs, an' we got to go in through the bar. They's a lot of folks in +there, an' they ain't no use of you bein' gopped at. With this on, they +won't notice but what it's one of the women that lives here." + +Snowdrift fastened the heavy veil over her face, and taking her arm, +Malone piloted her through the bar-room and up the stairs. Through the +mesh of the veil, Snowdrift caught a confused vision of many men +standing before a long bar, of other men, and women in gay colors +dancing upon a smooth stretch of floor, and her ears rang with the loud +crashing of the piano. Bewildered, confused, she tightened her grasp +upon Malone's arm. At the head of the stairs, the man paused and opened +a door. "You kin take off the veil, now," he said, as he locked the door +behind them, "They ain't no one up here." + +A sudden terror possessed the girl, and she glanced swiftly into the +man's face. "But--where is he?" + +"Oh, he's on up," he assured her, "This way." He led the way across the +room known as the small dance hall, and through a passage from which +doors opened on either side, to a flight of stairs in the rear. At the +head of the stairs the girl could see a light burning. He motioned her +to proceed, and as she gained the top, a man stepped out from the shadow +and seized her arms. + +One look into his face and the girl gave a wild shriek of terror. + +The man was Johnnie Claw. + +The next moment she found herself thrust into a room lighted only by a +single candle. It was a bare, forbidding looking room, windowless and +with a door of thick planking, secured by a hasp and padlock upon the +outside. Its single article of furniture was a bed. + +"So," leered Claw, "You thought you could git away from me did you? +Thought you was playin' hell when you an' Ace-In-The-Hole hit fer +Dawson, did you? Well, you played hell, all right--but not like you +figgered. Yer mine, now." Trembling so that her limbs refused to support +her, Snowdrift sank down upon the bed. + +"Oh where is he?" she moaned. + +Claw laughed: "Oh, he's all right," he mocked, "He's soused to the +guards by this time, an' after I an' some friends of mine git him to +sign a deed to a couple of claims he owns, we'll feed him to the fish." + +The girl tried to rise, but her muscles refused to obey the dictates of +her brain, and she sank back upon the bed. + +"You'll be all right here when you git used to it. The girls all have a +lot of fun. I'm goin' below now. You stay here an' think it over. Tain't +no use to holler--this room's built a purpose to tame the likes of you +in. Some of 'em that's be'n in here has walked out, an' some of 'em has +be'n carried out--but none of 'em has ever _got_ out. An' jest so you +don't take no fool notion to burn the house down, I'll take this candle +along. I got a horror of burnin'." Again he laughed harshly, and the +next moment Snowdrift found herself in darkness, and heard the padlock +rattle in the hasp. + +Kitty drew swiftly into the intense blackness between two lumber piles. +She heard the sound of voices coming toward her, and a moment later she +could distinguish the words. "Damn him! He like to busted my jaw! Gawd, +what a wallop he's got! But I fixed him, when I smashed that quart over +his head!" + +"Maybe he'll bleed to death," ventured another. + +"Naw, he ain't cut bad. I seen the gash over his eye. He's bloody as +hell, but he looks worse'n he is. Say, you sure you tied him tight? He's +been out damn near an hour an' he'll be comin' to, 'fore long--an' +believe me----" + +The men passed out of hearing and Kitty slipped from cover and sped +toward the shack the outline of which she could see beyond the corner of +the sawmill. + +She made sure that all four of the men were together, so she pushed in +without hesitation. "Hello!" she called, softly. "Ace-In-The-Hole! You +here?" No answer, and she moved further into the room and stumbled over +the prostrate form of a man. Swiftly she dropped to her knees and +assured herself that his hands and feet were tied. Deftly her fingers +explored his pockets until they found his knife, and a moment later the +thongs that bound him were severed. Her hand rested for a second upon +his forehead, and with a low cry she withdrew it, wet and sticky with +blood. Leaping to her feet, she procured a handful of snow which she +dashed into his face. Again and again she repeated the performance, and +then he moved. He muttered, feebly, and received more snow. Then she +bent close to his ear: + +"Listen, Ace-In-The-Hole--it's me--Kitty!" + +"Kitty," murmured the man, uncertainly. "Snowdrift!" + +"Yes I lit in a snowdrift all right when I jumped out the window--but +how did you know? Come--wake up! Is there a light here?" + +"Where am I?" + +"In the shack back of the sawmill." + +"Where's Camillo Bill?" + +"Camillo Bill--he's up to Stoell's, I guess. But listen, give me a +match." + +Clumsily Brent fumbled in his pocket and produced a match. Kitty seized +it, and in the flare of its flame saw a candle upon the table. She held +the flame to the wick, and in the flickering light Brent sat up, and +glanced about him. The air was heavy with the reek of the whiskey from +the broken bottle. His head hurt, and he raised his hand and withdrew it +red with blood. Then, he leaped unsteadily to his feet: "Damn 'em!" he +roared, "It was a plant! What's their game?" + +"I know what it is!" cried Kitty, "Quick--tell me--have you got a +girl--here in Dawson?" + +"Yes, yes--at Reeves--her name is Snowdrift, and she----" + +"Come then--we ain't got any time to lose! It's Cuter Malone and that +damned Johnnie Claw----" + +"Johnnie Claw!" cried Brent. "Claw is a thousand miles from here--on the +Coppermine!" + +"He's right this minute in the Klondike Palace--and your girl will be +there too, if you don't shake your legs! They framed this play to get +her--and I heard 'em--partly. If I'd known where she was, I'd have gone +there first--but I didn't know." + +Already Brent was staggering from the room, and Kitty ran close beside +him. The cold air revived the man and he ran steadily when he reached +the street. "Tell me--" panted Kitty, at his side. "This girl--is--she +straight?" + +"I'm going to marry her tonight!" cried the man. + +"Then hurry--for Christ's sake!" sobbed Kitty, "Oh, hurry! Hurry!" + +At a certain street corner Kitty halted suddenly, and Brent ran on. He +rushed into Reeves' house like a whirlwind. "Where's Snowdrift?" he +cried, as the Reeves' stared wide-eyed at the blood-soaked apparition. + +"What has happened----?" + +"Where is she?" yelled Brent, his eyes glaring like a mad man's. + +"I--we don't know. I was in the kitchen, and--" but Brent had dashed +from the room, and when Reeves found his hat, the madman had disappeared +in the darkness. + +Quite a group of old timers had foregathered at Stoell's, Moosehide +Charlie drifted in, and seeing Camillo Bill, Swiftwater Bill, and Old +Bettles standing at the bar, he joined them. + +"What do you say we start a regular old he-man's game of stud?" he +asked. "We ain't had no real game fer quite a while." + +Camillo Bill shook his head slowly: "No--not fer me. I'll play a +reasonable game--but do you know since Ace-In-The-Hole went plumb to +hell the way he done over the game--I kind of took a dislikin' to it." + +"It was the hooch, more'n the stud," argued Bettles. + +"Mebbe it was--but, damn it! It was 'em both. There was one hombre I +liked." + +"Wonder if he'll come back?" mused Swiftwater Bill. + +"Sure as hell!" affirmed Camillo. + +"Will he have sense enough to lay off the hooch?" + +"I don't know, but I got twenty thousan' dollars says he will." + +Camillo Bill looked defiantly around. + +"Take it!" cried Swiftwater Bill, "An' I hope to hell I lose!" + +The door burst open and Kitty, gasping for breath hurtled into the room: +"Camillo Bill!" she screamed. "Quick! All of you! Hey you sourdoughs!" +her voice rose to a shriek, and men crowded from the tables in the rear, +"Come on! Ace-In-The-Hole needs us! He's back! An' he's brought a girl! +They're goin' to be married. But--Claw and Cuter Malone, framed it to +steal her! He's gone down there now!" she panted. "Come on! They hired a +gang to get Ace-In-The-Hole, and they damn near did!" + +With a yell Camillo Bill reached clear over the bar and grabbed one of +Stoell's guns, and an instant later followed by a crowd of lesser lights +the big men of the Yukon rushed down the street, led by Kitty, and +Camillo Bill, and Stoell, himself, who another gun in hand, had vaulted +the bar without waiting to put on his coat or his cap. + +"They'll take her up stairs--way up--" gasped Kitty as she ran, +"And--for God's sake--hurry!" + +Bareheaded, his face covered with blood, a human cyclone burst through +the door of the Klondike Palace. Straight for the bar he rushed, bowling +men over like ten pins. Cuter Malone flashed one startled glance and +reached for his gun, but before he could grasp it the shape hurdled the +bar and the two went to the floor in a crash of glass. Brent's hand +first found the gun, and gripping it by the barrel he brought it +crashing down on Cuter's head. Leaping to his feet he fired, and the +bartender, bung-starter in hand, sprawled on top of his employer. + +Across the room came a rush of men--Stumpy Cooley, Zinn, and others. +Again Brent fired, and Zinn crumpled slowly to the floor. Stumpy whirled +a chair above his head and Brent dodged as the missile crashed into the +mirror above the back bar. The bar-room was a pandemonium of noise. Men +crowded in from the dance hall bent upon overpowering the madman who had +interrupted their frolic. Screaming women rushed for the stairs. + +Brent was lifted from his feet and rushed bodily half way across the +room, the very numbers of his assailants protecting him from a hundred +blows. Weaving--milling, the crowd surged this way and that, striking at +Brent, and hitting each other. They surged against the stove, and it +crashed upon its side, filling the room with smoke from the toppling +pipe, and covering the floor with blazing chunks of wood and live coals. + +Suddenly through the doors swept a whirlwind of human shapes! The +surging crowd went down before the onrush, and Brent struggled madly to +free himself from the thrashing arms and legs. Revolvers barked, chairs +crashed against heads and against other chairs. Roulette and faro +layouts were splintered, and poker tables were smashed like kindling +wood, men seizing upon the legs for weapons. And above all rose the +sound of crashing glass and the shrill shrieks of women. The room filled +with choking smoke. Flames ate into the floor and shot up the wooden +walls. + +The door at the head of the stairs opened suddenly and Brent caught +sight of the white face of Claw. He was afraid to shoot, for the +frenzied girls, instead of seeking safety in the street, had crowded +upon the stairs and were pouring through the door which Claw was vainly +trying to close. The smoke sucked upward, and the flames crackled more +loudly, fanned by the new formed draught. Struggling through the +fighting, surging men, Brent gained the foot of the stairs. He saw Claw +raise his gun, and the next instant a figure flashed between. The gun +roared, and the figure crumpled to the floor. It was Kitty. With an +oath, Brent sprang up the stairway, as the flames roared behind him. + +He turned for an instant and as his eyes swept the room he saw Camillo +Bill stoop and gather Kitty into his arms, and stagger toward the front +door. Other men were helping the wounded from the room. Someone yelled +at Brent to come down and save himself. He glanced toward the speaker. +It was Bettles, and even as he looked the man was forced to retreat +before the flames and was lost to view. At the head of the stairs Brent +slammed the door shut. The little dance hall was full of girls huddled +together shrieking. Other girls were stumbling from their rooms, with +their belongings in their arms. From the narrow hallway that led to the +rear rushed Claw. The man seemed beside himself with terror. His eyes +were wide and staring and he made for a window, cursing shrilly as he +forced his way through the close-packed crowd of girls, striking them, +knocking them down and trampling on them. He did not see Brent and +seizing a chair drove it through the window. The floor was hot, and the +air thick with smoke. Claw was about to leap to safety when like a +panther Brent sprang upon him, and bore him to the floor. He reached out +swiftly and his fingers buried themselves in the man's throat as they +had buried themselves in the Captain's. He glared into the terror-wide +eyes of the worst man in the North, and laughed aloud. An unnatural, +maniacal laugh, it was, that chilled the hearts of the cowering girls. +"Kill him!" shrilled one hysterically. "Kill him!" "Kill him!" Others +took up the cry, Brent threw Claw onto his belly, placed his knees upon +the small of his back, locked the fingers of both hands beneath the +man's chin and pulled slowly and steadily upward. Backward came Claw's +head as he tore frantically at Brent's arms with his two hands. +Upward--and backward came the man's head and shoulders, and Brent +shortened his leverage by suddenly slipping his forearms instead of his +fingers beneath Claw's chin. Strangling sounds came gurgling from his +throat. Brent leaned backward, adding the weight of his body to the pull +of his arms. Claw's back was bent sharply upward just in front of the +knees that held him to the floor, and summoning all his strength Brent +surged backward, straining every muscle of his body until it seemed he +could not pull another pound. + +Suddenly there was a dull audible snap--and Claw folded backward. + +Brent released his grip and leaping to his feet rushed back through the +hallway, and up the stairs. A door of thick planking stopped him and +upon a hasp he saw a heavy padlock. Jerking the gun from his belt, he +placed the muzzle against the lock and pulled the trigger. There was a +deafening explosion and the padlock flew open and swung upon its staple. + +Dashing into the room, Brent snatched Snowdrift into his arms, and +rushed down the stairs. Pausing at the window Claw had smashed, he stood +the girl upon her feet, and knocking the remaining glass from the sash +with the butt of the gun, he grabbed one of the screaming girls and +pitched her into the big snowdrift that ranged along the whole length of +the burning building. + + * * * * * + +It was light as day, now, the flames were leaping high above the roof at +the front, and already tongues of red were showing around the doorway at +the head of the stairs. A great crowd had collected, and at the sight of +the girl's form hurtling through the air, they surged to the spot. +Spurts of smoke and tiny jet-like flames were finding their way through +the cracks of the floor. Brent realized there was no time to lose, and +seizing another girl, he pitched her out. Then he took them as they +came--big ones and little ones, fully dressed and half dressed, +screaming, fighting, struggling to get away--or to be taken next, he +pitched them out until only Snowdrift remained. + +Lifting her to the window, he told her to jump, and watched to see her +light safely in the snow. + +Smoke was pouring through the fast widening cracks in the floor. Brent +leaped to the window sill. As he stood poised, a section of the floor +between himself and Claw dropped through, and a rush of flames shot +upward. Suddenly he saw Claw's arms thrash wildly: "My Gawd!" the man +shrieked, "My back's broke! I'm burnin' up!" The whole floor let go and +a furnace of overpowering flame rushed upward as he jumped--almost into +the waiting arms of Camillo Bill. + +"It's Ace-In-The-Hole, all right!" yelled the big man, as he grasped +Brent's shoulders, and rocked him back and forth, "An' by God! _He's as +good a man as he ever was!_" + +"Where's Kitty?" asked Brent, when he could get his breath. "I saw her +go down. She stopped Claw's bullet that was meant for me! And I saw you +carry her out!" + +"Kitty's all right," whispered Camillo Bill in his ear, and Brent +glanced quickly into the man's shining eyes. "Jest nicked in the +shoulder--an' say--I've always wanted her--but she wouldn't have +me--but--now you're out of the way--I told her all over again how I +stood--an' _damned if she didn't take me_!" + + +THE END + + + + + * * * * * + +Transcriber's Notes: + +Normalized punctuation, + +Maintained dialect in it's original spelling and format. + +Silently corrected a few obvious typesetting errors. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Snowdrift, by James B. 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Hendryx. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + text-indent: 1em; +} + + + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} +.p4 {margin-top: 4em;} +.p6 {margin-top: 6em;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + + .tdc {text-align: center;} + + + +.tp {border: 6px double black; margin: auto; width: 500px;} + + + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps; + font-size: 110%;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + + +/* Transcriber's notes */ +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + margin-left : 25%; + margin-right : 25%; + border: dashed 1px; + color: black; + font-size:smaller; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:5em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; } + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Snowdrift, by James B. Hendryx + +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: Snowdrift + A Story of the Land of the Strong Cold + +Author: James B. Hendryx + +Release Date: October 21, 2011 [EBook #37815] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SNOWDRIFT *** + + + + +Produced by K Nordquist, Ron Stephens and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + +<!-- Page i --> + + + + +<div class="tp"> +<h1>SNOWDRIFT</h1> + +<p class="tdc"><i>A Story of the Land of the Strong Cold</i></p> +</div> +<div class="tp"> +<h2> By JAMES B. HENDRYX</h2> +</div> +<div class="tp"> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Author of</span></h3> + +<p class="tdc">"The Gold Girl," "The Gun Brand," "The Texan,"<br /> +"Prairie Flowers," "The Promise," etc.</p> +<div class="p6"> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/i-f001.jpg" width="150" height="147" alt="" /> +</div></div> +<div class="p6"> +</div></div> +<div class="tp"> +<h3> A.L. BURT COMPANY<br /> +Publishers New York</h3> + +<h4> Published by arrangement with G.P. Putnam's Sons<br /> + + Printed in U.S.A.</h4> + </div> +<!-- Page ii --> + +<div class="p6" /> +<p class="tdc"> +<span class="smcap">Copyright, 1922</span><br /> +<small>BY</small><br /> +JAMES B. HENDRYX</p> + +<div class="p6" /> + +<p class="tdc"><span class="smcap">By James B. Hendryx</span></p> + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="TOC"> +<tr><td align="left">The Promise</td><td align="left"></td><td align="left">The Gold Girl</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Gun Brand</td><td align="left"></td><td align="left">Prairie Flowers</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Texan</td><td align="left"></td><td align="left">Snowdrift</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">North</td><td align="left"></td><td align="left">Without Gloves</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="left">At the Foot of the Rainbow</td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + + +<div class="p2" /> +<p class="tdc">This edition is issued under arrangement with the publishers<br /> +<span class="smcap">G.P. Putnam's Sons, New York and London</span></p> +<div class="p2" /> +<p class="tdc">The Knickerbocker Press, New York</p> +<!-- Page iii --> + + +<div class="p6" /> + +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> + + + + + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Book List"> +<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="left"></td><td align="left">PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Prologue</td><td align="left"></td><td align="right"><a href="#A_PROLOGUE">3</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER</td><td align="left"></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">I.</td><td align="left">—Coarse Gold</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">41</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">II.</td><td align="left">—On Dyea Beach</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">60</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">III.</td><td align="left">—At the Mission</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">72</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">IV.</td><td align="left">—Ace-In-The-Hole</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">84</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">V.</td><td align="left">—Luck Turns</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">93</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VI.</td><td align="left">—The Dealer at Stoell's</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">104</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VII.</td><td align="left">—"Where Do I Go from Here?"</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">120</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VIII.</td><td align="left">—The Plotting of Camillo Bill</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">132</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">IX.</td><td align="left">—Snowdrift Returns to the Band</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">143</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">X.</td><td align="left">—The Dinner at Reeves'</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">155</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XI.</td><td align="left">—Joe Pete</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">170</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XII.</td><td align="left">—On the Trail</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">184</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XIII.</td><td align="left">—The Camp on the Coppermine</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">198</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XIV.</td><td align="left">—In the Barrens</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">206</a></td> +<td align="left"><!-- Page iv --></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XV.</td><td align="left">—Moonlight</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">223</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XVI.</td><td align="left">—Confessions</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">243</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XVII.</td><td align="left">—In the Cabin of the "Belva Lou" </td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">260</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XVIII.</td><td align="left">—Lost</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">277</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XIX.</td><td align="left">—Trapped</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">293</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XX.</td><td align="left">—"You are White!"</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">305</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXI.</td><td align="left">—The Passing of Wananebish</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">323</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXII.</td><td align="left">—Claw Hits for Dawson</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">339</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXIII.</td><td align="left">—In the Toils</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">351</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXIV.</td><td align="left">—The Fight at Cuter Malone's</td><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">364</a></td></tr> +</table></div> +<!-- Page 1 --> + + + +<!-- Page 2 --><!-- Page 3 --> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h1><a name="SNOWDRIFT" id="SNOWDRIFT"></a>SNOWDRIFT</h1> + + + + +<h2><a name="A_PROLOGUE" id="A_PROLOGUE"></a>A PROLOGUE</h2> + +<div class="p2" /> +<p class="tdc">I</p> + +<p>Murdo MacFarlane, the Hudson's Bay Company's trader at Lashing Water +post, laid aside his book and glanced across the stove at his wife who +had paused in her sewing to hold up for inspection a very tiny shirt of +soft wool.</p> + +<p>"I tell you it's there! It's bound to be there," he announced with +conviction. "Just waitin' for the man that's man enough to go an' get +it."</p> + +<p>Margot nodded abstractedly and deftly snipped a thread that dangled from +a seam of a little sleeve. She had heard this same statement many times +during the three years of their married life, and she smiled to herself +as Molaire, her father, who was the Company's factor at Lashing Water, +laid aside his well thumbed invoice with a snort of disgust. She knew +her two men well, did Margot, and she could anticipate almost word for +word the heated argument that was bound to follow. Without rising she +motioned to Tom Shirts, the Company Indian,<!-- Page 4 --> to light the great swinging +lamp. And as the yellow light flooded the long, low trading room, she +resumed her sewing, while Molaire hitched his chair nearer the stove and +whittled a pipeful of tobacco from a plug.</p> + +<p>"There ye go again with ye're tomrot an' ye're foolishness!" exploded +the old Frenchman, as he threw away his match and crowded the swelling +tobacco back into the bowl of his pipe. "Always babblin' about the gold. +Always wantin' to go an' find out for ye'reself it ain't there."</p> + +<p>"But I'm tellin' you it <i>is</i> there," insisted MacFarlane.</p> + +<p>"Where is it, then? Why ain't it be'n got?"</p> + +<p>"Because the right man ain't gone after it."</p> + +<p>"An' ye're the right man, I suppose! Still lackin' of twenty-five years, +an' be'n four years in the bush; tellin' me that's be'n forty years in +the fur country, an' older than ye before ever I seen it. Ye'll do +better to ferget this foolishness an' stick to the fur like me. I've +lived like a king in one post an' another—an' when I'm old I'll retire +on my pension."</p> + +<p>"An' when I'm old, if I find the gold, I'll ask pension of no man. It +ain't so much for myself that I want gold—it's for them—for Margot, +there, an' the wee Margot in yon." He nodded toward the door of the +living room where the year-old baby lay asleep.</p> + +<p>Molaire shrugged: "Margot has lived always in the bush. She needs no +gold, an' the little one needs<!-- Page 5 --> no gold. Gold costs lives. Come, Margot, +speak up! Would ye send ye're man to die in the barrens for the gold +that ain't there?"</p> + +<p>Margot paused in her sewing and smiled: "I am not sending him into the +barrens," she said. "If he goes, I go, and the little Margot, too. If +one dies, we all die together. But there must be gold there. Has not +Murdo read it in books? And we have heard rumors of gold among the +Indians."</p> + +<p>"Read it in books!" sniffed Molaire. "Rumors among Injuns! Ye better +stick to fur, boy. Ye take to it natural. There's no better judge of fur +in all the traders I've had. Before long the Company'll make ye a +factor."</p> + +<p>As young Murdo MacFarlane filled and lighted his pipe, his eyes rested +with burning intensity upon his young wife. When finally he spoke it was +half to himself, half to Molaire: "When the lass an' I were married, +back yon, to the boomin' of the bells of Ste. Anne's, I vowed me a vow +that I'd do the best 'twas in me to do for her. An' I vowed it again +when, a year later, the bells of Ste. Anne's rang out at the christening +of the wee little Margot. Is it the best a man can do—to spend his life +in the buyin' of fur for a wage, when gold 'twould pay for a kingdom +lies hid in the sands for the takin'?"</p> + +<p>Molaire's reply was interrupted by a sound from without, and the +occupants of the room looked at each other in surprise. For it was +February and the North lay locked in the iron grip of the strong cold.<!-- Page 6 --> +Since mid-afternoon the north wind had roared straight out of the +Arctic, driving before it a blue-white smother of powder-dry snow +particles that cut and seared the skin like white-hot steel filings. +MacFarlane was half way across the floor when the door opened and a man, +powdered white from head to foot, stepped into the room in a swirl of +snow fine as steam. With his hip he closed the door against the push of +the wind, and advancing into the room, shook off his huge bear-skin +mittens and unwound the heavy woolen scarf that encircled his parka hood +and muffled his face to the eyes. The scarf, stiff with ice from his +frozen breath, crackled as it unwound, and little ice-chips fell to the +floor.</p> + +<p>"Ha, it's Downey, who else? Lad, lad, what a night to be buckin' the +storm!" cried the trader.</p> + +<p>Corporal Downey, of the Royal North-West Mounted Police, grinned as he +advanced to the stove. "It was buck the storm to Lashin' Water post, or +hole up in a black spruce swamp till it was over. She looks like a three +days' storm, an' I prefer Lashin' Water."</p> + +<p>"Ye're well in time for supper, Corporal," welcomed Molaire, "and the +longer the storm lasts the better. For now we'll have days an' nights of +real whist. We've tried to teach Tom Shirts to play, but he knows no +more about it now than he knows about the ten commandments—an' cares +less. So we've be'n at it three-handed. But three-handed whist is like a +three-legged dog—it limps."<!-- Page 7 --></p> + +<p>Neseka, the squaw, looked in from the kitchen to announce supper, and +after ordering Tom to attend to the Corporal's dogs, Molaire clapped his +hands impatiently to attract the attention of MacFarlane and Downey who +were beating the snow from the latter's moose hide parka. "Come," +insisted the old man, "ye're outfit'll have plenty time to dry out. The +supper'll be cold, an' we're losin' time. We've wasted a hand of cards +already."</p> + +<p>"Is the gold bug still buzzin' in your bonnet, Mac?" asked Downey, as +Molaire flourished the keen bladed carving knife over the roasted +caribou haunch.</p> + +<p>"Aye," answered the young Scotchman. "An' when the rivers run free in +the spring, I'll be goin' to get it."</p> + +<p>A long moment of silence followed the announcement during which the +carving knife of Molaire was held suspended above the steaming roast. +The old man's gaze centered upon his son-in-law's face, and in that +moment he knew that the younger man's decision had been made, and that +nothing in the world could change it. The words of Margot flashed +through his brain: "If he goes, I go, and the little Margot, too. If one +dies, we all die together." His little daughter, the light of his life +since the death of her mother years before—and the tiny wee Margot who +had snuggled her way into his rough old heart to cheer him in his old +age—going away—far and far away into the God-knows-where of bitter +cold and howling blizzard—and all on a fool's<!-- Page 8 --> errand! The keen blade +bit the roast to the bone, raised, dripping red juice, and bit again.</p> + +<p>"<i>Mon Dieu</i>, what a fool!" breathed the old man, and as if in final +appeal, turned to Corporal Downey, who had known him long, and who had +guessed what was passing in his mind. "Tell him, Downey, you know the +North beyond the barrens. Tell him he is a fool!"</p> + +<p>And Downey who was not old in years but very wise in the ways of men, +smiled. He liked young Murdo MacFarlane, but he was a Scotchman himself +and he knew the hard-headedness of the breed.</p> + +<p>"Well, a man ain't always a fool because he goes huntin' for gold. +That's accordin'. Where is this gold, Mac? An' how do you know it's +there?"</p> + +<p>"It's there, all right—gold and copper, too. Didn't Captain Knight try +to find it? And Samuel Hearne?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," broke in Molaire, "an' Knight's bones are bleachin' on Marble +Island with his ships on the bottom of the Bay, an' Hearne came back +empty handed."</p> + +<p>"That's why the gold is still there," answered MacFarlane.</p> + +<p>"Where 'bouts is it?" insisted Downey.</p> + +<p>"Up in the Coppermine River country, to the north and east of Bear +Lake."</p> + +<p>"How do you know?"</p> + +<p>"The Injuns had chunks of it. That's what sent Knight and Hearne after +it."<!-- Page 9 --></p> + +<p>"How long ago?"</p> + +<p>"Captain Knight started in 1719, an' Hearne about fifty years later."</p> + +<p>"Gosh!" exclaimed Downey. "Ain't that figurin' quite a ways back?"</p> + +<p>"Gold don't rot. If it was there then, it's there now. It's never been +brought out."</p> + +<p>"Yes—<i>if</i> it was there. But, maybe it ain't there an' never was—what +then?"</p> + +<p>"I talked with an Injun, a year back, that said he had seen an Injun +from the North that had seen some Eskimos that had dishes made of yellow +metal."</p> + +<p>"He was prob'ly lyin'," observed Downey, "or the Injun that told him was +lyin'. I've be'n north to the coast a couple of times, an' I never seen +no Injuns nor Eskimos eatin' out of no gold dishes yet."</p> + +<p>"Maybe it's because you've stuck to the Mackenzie, where the posts are. +Have you ever crossed the barrens straight north—between the Mackenzie +an' the Bay?"</p> + +<p>"No," answered Downey, dryly, "an' I hope to God I don't never have to. +You've got a good thing here with the Company, Mac. If I was you I'd +stick to it, anyways till I seen an Injun with some gold. I never seen +one yet—an' I don't never expect to. An' speakin' of Injuns reminds me, +I passed a camp of 'em this forenoon."</p> + +<p>"A camp of 'em!" exclaimed Molaire, in surprise.<!-- Page 10 --> "Who were they? My +Injuns are all on the trap lines."</p> + +<p>"These are from the North somewheres. I couldn't savvy their lingo. They +ain't much good I guess. They're non-treaty Injuns—wanderers. They +wanted to know where a post was, an' I told 'em. They'll prob'ly be in +to trade when the storm lets up."</p> + +<p>That evening old Molaire played whist badly. His heart was not in the +game, for try as he would to keep his mind on the cards, in his ears was +the sound of the dull roar of the wind, and his thoughts were of the +future—of the long days and nights to come when his loved ones would be +somewhere far in the unknown North, and he would be left alone with his +Company Indians in the little post on Lashing Water.</p> + +<div class="p2" /> +<p class="tdc">II</p> + +<p>All night the storm roared unabated and, as is the way of Arctic +blizzards, the second day saw its fury increased. During the morning the +four played whist. There had been no mention of gold, and old Molaire +played his usual game with the result that when Neseka called them to +dinner, he and MacFarlane held a three-game lead over Downey and Margot. +The meal over, they returned to the cards. The first game after dinner +proved a close one, each side scoring the odd in turn, while the old +French<!-- Page 11 -->man, as was his custom, analyzed each hand as the cards were +being shuffled for the next deal. Finally he scored a point and tied the +score. Then he glared at his son-in-law: "An' ye'd of finessed your +ten-spot through on my lead of hearts we'd of made two points an' game!" +he frowned.</p> + +<p>"How was I to know?" MacFarlane paused abruptly in the midst of his deal +and glanced in surprise toward the door which swung open to admit four +Indians who loosened the blankets that covered them from head to foot +and beat the snow from them as they advanced toward the stove. Three of +them carried small packs of fur. The fourth was a young squaw, straight +and lithe as a panther, and as she loosened the moss-bag from her +shoulders, a thin wail sounded from its interior.</p> + +<p>"A baby!" cried Margot, as MacFarlane made his way to the counter, his +eyes upon the packs of fur. She stooped and patted her own little one +who was rolling about upon a thick blanket spread on the floor. The +squaw smiled, and fumbling in the depths of the bag drew forth a tiny +brown-red mite which ceased crying and stared stolidly at the cluster of +strange white faces. "What a terrible day for a baby to be out!" +continued the white woman, as she pushed a chair near to the stove. +Again the squaw smiled and seating herself, turned her back upon the +occupants of the room and proceeded to nurse the tiny atom.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile MacFarlane was trying by means of<!-- Page 12 --> the Cree language to +question the three bucks who stood in solemn line before the counter, +each with his pack of fur before him. Downey tried them with the +Blackfoot tongue, and the Jargon, while old Molaire and Tom Shirts added +half a dozen dialects from nearer the Bay. But no slightest flicker of +comprehension crossed the face of any one of them. Presently the young +squaw arose and placed her baby upon the blanket beside the white child +where the two little mites sat and stared at each other in owlish +solemnity. As she advanced toward the counter MacFarlane addressed her +in Cree. And to the surprise of all she spoke to him in English: "We buy +food," she said, indicating the packs of fur.</p> + +<p>"Where did you come from?" queried the trader. "An' how is it that you +talk English an' the rest of 'em can't talk nothin'?"</p> + +<p>"We come from far to the northward," she answered. "I have been to +school at the mission. These are Dog Ribs. They have not been to school. +I am of the Yellow Knives. My man was drowned in a rapids. He was name +Bonnetrouge. He was a Dog Rib so I live with these."</p> + +<p>"Why don't you trade at your own post?" asked MacFarlane, suspiciously. +"Is it because you have a debt there that you have not paid?"</p> + +<p>"No. We have no debt at any post. We are only a small band. We move +about all the time. We do not like to stay in one place like the rest.<!-- Page 13 --> +We see many new rivers, and many lakes, and we go to many places that +the others do not know. We have no debt at any post, we trade as we go +and pay with skins for what we buy."</p> + +<p>"One of them wanderin' bands," observed Downey. "I've run across two or +three of 'em here an' there. They camp a while somewheres an' then, +seems like, they just naturally get restless an' move on."</p> + +<p>The squaw nodded: "The police is right. We do not like to stay and trap +in one place. I have seen many new things, and many things that even the +oldest man has not seen."</p> + +<p>MacFarlane opened the packs and examined their contents, fur by fur, +laying them in separate piles and paying for each as he appraised it in +brass tokens of made beaver. The three bucks looked on in stolid +indifference but MacFarlane noted that the eyes of the squaw followed +his every movement.</p> + +<p>As a general rule the agents of the Hudson's Bay Company deal fairly +with the Indians in the trading of the common or standard skins, and +MacFarlane was no exception. It was in a spirit of fun, to see what the +squaw would do, that he counted out thirty made beaver in payment for a +large otter skin.</p> + +<p>The Indian woman shook her head: "No, that is a good otter. He is worth +more." And with a smile the Scotchman counted ten additional tokens into +the pile, whereat the squaw nodded approval<!-- Page 14 --> and the trading proceeded. +When at last it was finished the squaw took entire charge of the +purchasing, pausing only now and then, to consult one or the other of +the Indians in their own tongue, and in her selection of only the +essentials, MacFarlane realized that he was dealing with that rarest of +northern Indians, one who possessed sound common sense and the force of +character to reject the useless trinkets so dear to the Indian heart.</p> + +<p>While the bucks were making up their packs the squaw plunged her hand +into the bottom of the moss-bag from which she had taken the baby, and +drew out a single skin. For a long time she stood holding the skin in +one hand while with the other she stroked its softly gleaming surface. +MacFarlane and Molaire gazed at the skin in fascination while Margot +rose from the blanket where she had been playing with the two babies, +and even Corporal Downey who knew little of skins crowded close to feast +his eyes on the jet black pelt whose hairs gleamed with silver radiance. +In all the forty years of his trading Molaire had handled fewer than a +dozen such skins—a true black fox, taken in its prime, so that the +silvered hairs seemed to emit a soft radiance of their own—a skin to +remember, and to talk about. Then the squaw handed the pelt to +MacFarlane and smiled faintly as she watched the trader examine it +almost hair by hair.</p> + +<p>"Where did you get it?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I trapped it far to the northward, in the barren<!-- Page 15 --> grounds, upon a river +that has no name. It is a good skin."</p> + +<p>"Did you trap it yourself?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I am a good trapper. My man was a good trapper and he showed me +how. These are good trappers, too," she indicated the three Indians, +"And all the rest who are with us. There are thirty of us counting the +women and children. But we have not had good luck. That is all the fur +we have caught," she pointed to the skins MacFarlane had just bought, +"Those and the little black fox. When the storms stops we will go again +into the barren grounds, and we must have food, or, if we have bad luck +again, some of us will die."</p> + +<p>"Why do you go to the barren grounds?" asked MacFarlane. "The trappin' +is better to the eastward, or to the westward."</p> + +<p>The squaw shrugged: "My man he had been to school a little, but mostly +he had worked far to the westward along the coast of the sea—among the +white men who dig for gold. And he heard men talk of the gold that lies +in the barren grounds and northward to the coast of the frozen sea. So +he went back to the country of his people, far up on the Mackenzie, and +he told the men of the gold and how it was worth many times more than +the fur. But the old men would not believe him and many of the young men +would not, but some of them did, and these he persuaded to go with him +and hunt for the gold. It was when they were crossing through<!-- Page 16 --> the +country of my people that I saw him and he saw me and we were married. +That was two years ago and since then we have traveled far and have seen +many things. Then my husband was drowned in a rapids, and I have taken +his place. I will not go back to my people. They were very angry when I +married Bonnetrouge, for the Yellow Knives hate the Dog Ribs. Even if +they were not angry I would not go back, for my husband said there is +gold in the barren grounds. He did not lie. So we will go and get the +gold."</p> + +<p>"There's your chance, Mac," grinned Corporal Downey, "You better throw +in with 'em an' get in on the ground floor."</p> + +<p>But MacFarlane did not smile. Instead, he spoke gravely to the woman: +"An' have you found any gold in the barrens?"</p> + +<p>The squaw shrugged, and glanced down at the babies. When she looked up +again her eyes were upon the little fox skin. "How much?" she asked.</p> + +<p>MacFarlane considered. Holding the pelt he stroked its glossy surface +with his hand. Here was a skin of great value. He had heard many traders +and factors boast of the black, and the silver grey fox skins they had +bought at ridiculously low price—and they were men who did not hesitate +to give full value for the common run of skins. Always, with the +traders, the sight of a rare skin arouses a desire to obtain it—and to +obtain it at the lowest possible figure. And MacFarlane was a trader. +He<!-- Page 17 --> fixed upon a price in his mind. He raised his eyes, but the squaw +was not looking at him and he followed her glance to the blanket where +the two babies, the red baby and the white baby—his own baby and +Margot's, were touching each other gravely with fat pudgy hands.</p> + +<p>He opened his lips to mention the price, but closed them again as a new +train of thought flashed through his mind. How nearly this woman's case +paralleled his own. The imagination of each was fired by the lure of +gold, and both were scoffed at by their people for daring to believe +that there was still gold in the earth to be had for the taking. Then, +there was the matter of the babies——</p> + +<p>When finally MacFarlane spoke it was to mention a sum three times larger +than the one that he had fixed upon in his mind—a sum that caused old +Molaire to snort and sputter and to stamp angrily up and down the room.</p> + +<p>The squaw nodded gravely: "You are a good man," she said, simply. "You +have dealt fairly. Sometime, maybe you will know that Wananebish does +not forget."</p> + +<p>Two hours later, when the price of the pelt had been paid and the +supplies all made into packs and carried to the toboggans that had been +left before the door, the Indians wrapped their blankets about them and +prepared to depart.</p> + +<p>As the Indian woman wrapped the baby in warm woolens, Margot urged her +to remain until the<!-- Page 18 --> storm subsided, but the woman declined with a +smile: "No. These are my people. I will go with them. Where one goes, +all go."</p> + +<p>"But the baby! This is a terrible storm to take a baby into."</p> + +<p>"The baby is warm. She does not know that it storms. She is one of us. +Where we go, she goes, too."</p> + +<p>As the Indians filed through the door into the whirling white smother +the young squaw stepped to the counter for a last look at her black fox +skin. She raised it in her hand, drew it slowly across her cheek, +stroked it softly, and then returned it to the counter, taking +deliberate care to lay it by itself apart from the other skins. Then she +turned and was swallowed up in the storm as MacFarlane closed the door +behind her.</p> + +<p>"Ye could of bought it for half the price!" growled old Molaire, as his +son-in-law returned to the card table.</p> + +<p>"Aye," answered the younger man as he resumed his cards. "But the +Company has still a good margin of profit. They're headin' for the +barrens, an' if, as she said, they have bad luck some of 'em would die. +An' you know who would be the first to go—it would be the babies. I'm +glad I done as I did. I'll sleep better nights."</p> + +<p>"And I'm glad, too," added Margot, as she reached over and patted her +husband's hand, "And so is papa way down in his heart. But he loves to<!-- Page 19 --> +have people think he is a cross old bear—and bears must growl."</p> + +<p>Corporal Downey grinned at the twinkle that appeared in old Molaire's +eyes, and the game proceeded until Neseka called them to supper. +MacFarlane paused at the counter and raised the fox skin to the light. +And as he did so, a very small, heavy object rolled from its soft folds +and thudded upon the boards. Slowly MacFarlane laid down the skin and, +picking up the object, carried it close under the swinging lamp, where +he held it in his open palm. Curiously the others crowded about and +stared at the dull yellow lump scarcely larger than the two halves of a +split pea. For a long moment there was silence and then MacFarlane +turned to Corporal Downey: "What was it you said," he asked, "about +sticking to my job until I saw an Injun with some gold?"</p> + +<div class="p2" /> +<p class="tdc">III</p> + +<p>The north wind moaned and soughed about the eaves of the low log trading +post on Lashing Water. Old Molaire rose from his place by the stove, +crossed the room, and threw open the door. Seconds passed as he stood +listening to the roar of the wind in the tree tops, heedless of the fine +powdering of stinging snow particles that glistened like diamond points +upon his silvery hair and sifted beneath his shirt collar. Then he +closed the door and returned to his<!-- Page 20 --> chair beside the stove. Corporal +Downey watched in silence while the old man filled his pipe. He threw +away the match and raised his eyes to the officer: "It was a year ago, +d'ye mind, an' just such a storm—when that squaw came bringin' her +black fox skin, and her nugget of damned gold."</p> + +<p>"It would be about a year," agreed Downey, gravely nodding his head. "I +made this patrol in February."</p> + +<p>"It's just a year—the thirteenth of the month. I'll not be forgetting +it."</p> + +<p>"An' have you had no word?"</p> + +<p>The old factor shook his head: "No word. They left in May—with the +rivers not yet free of running ice. Two light canoes. Margot could +handle a canoe like a man."</p> + +<p>"You'll prob'ly hear from 'em on the break-up this spring. Maybe they'll +give it up an' come back."</p> + +<p>Molaire shook his head: "Ye don't know Murdo MacFarlane," he said, +"He'll never give up. He swore he would never return to Lashin' Water +without gold. He's Scotch—an' stubborn as the seven-year itch."</p> + +<p>"I'm Scotch," grinned Downey, hoping to draw the old man into an +argument and turn his thoughts from the absent ones. But he would not be +drawn. For a long time he smoked in silence while outside the wind +howled and moaned and sucked red flames high into the stovepipe.</p> + +<p>"She'd be two years old, now," Molaire said,<!-- Page 21 --> "An' maybe talkin' a bit. +Maybe they've taught her to say grand-père. Don't you think she might be +talkin' a little?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know much about 'em. Do they talk when they're two?"</p> + +<p>The old factor pondered: "Why—it seems to me <i>she</i> did—the other +Margot. But—it's a long time ago—yet it seems like yesterday. I'm +gettin' old an' my memory plays me tricks. Maybe it was three, instead +of two when she begun to say words. D'ye mind, Downey, a year ago we +played whist?"</p> + +<p>"Two-handed cribbage is all right," suggested the Corporal. But the old +man shook his head and for a long, long time the only sound in the room +was the irregular tapping of contracting metal as the fire died down +unheeded in the stove. The old man's pipe went out and lay cold in his +hand. The bearded chin sagged forward onto the breast of his woolen +shirt and his eyes closed. Beyond the stove Corporal Downey drowsed in +his chair.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the old man raised his head: "What was that?" he asked sharply.</p> + +<p>Downey listened with his eyes on the other's face. "I hear nothing," he +answered, "but the booming of the wind."</p> + +<p>The peculiar startled look died out of Molaire's eyes: "Yes," he +answered, "It is the wind. I must have be'n dozin'. But it sounded like +bells. I've heard the bells of Ste. Ann's boom like that—tollin'—when +some one—died." Stiffly he rose from his<!-- Page 22 --> chair and fumbled upon the +counter for a candle which he handed to Downey. "We'll be goin' to bed, +now," he said, "It's late."</p> + +<div class="p2" /> +<p class="tdc">IV</p> + +<p>Upon a bunk built against the wall of a tiny cabin of logs five hundred +miles to the northward of Lashing Water post the sick woman turned her +head feebly and smiled into the tear-dimmed eyes of the man who leaned +over her: "It's all right, Murdo," she murmured, "The pain in my side +seems better. I think I slept a little."</p> + +<p>Murdo MacFarlane nodded: "Yes, Margot, you have been asleep for an hour. +In a few days, now, I'm thinkin' you'll be sittin' up, an' in a week's +time you'll be on your feet again."</p> + +<p>The woman's eyes closed, and by the tightening of the drawn lips her +husband knew that she was enduring another paroxysm of the terrible +pain. Outside, the wind tore at the eaves, the sound muffled by its full +freighting of snow. And on the wooden shelf above the man's head the +little alarm clock ticked brassily.</p> + +<p>Once more Margot's eyes opened and the muscles of the white pain-racked +face relaxed. The breath rushed in quick jerky stabs between the parted +lips that smiled bravely. "We are not children, Murdo—you and I," she +whispered. "We must not be afraid to face—this thing. We have found +much<!-- Page 23 --> happiness together. That will be ours always. Nothing can rob us +of that. We have had it. And now you must face a great unhappiness. I am +going to die. In your eyes I have seen that you, too, know this—when +you thought I slept. To-day—to-night—not later than to-morrow I must +go away. I am not afraid to go—only sorry. We would have had many more +years of happiness, Murdo—you—and I—and the little one—" The low +voice faltered and broke, and the dark eyes brimmed with tears.</p> + +<p>The man's hands clenched till the nails bit deep into the palms. A great +dry sob shook the drooped shoulders: "God!" he breathed, hoarsely, "An' +it's all my fault for bringin' you into this damned waste of snow an' +ice, an' bitter cold!"</p> + +<p>"No, Murdo, it is not your fault. I was as anxious to come as you were. +I am a child of the North, and I love the North. I love its storms and +its sunshine. I love even the grim cruelty of it—its relentless +snuffing out of lives in the guarding of its secrets. Strong men have +gone to their death fighting it, and more men will go—why then should +not I, who am a woman, go also? But, it would have been the same if we +had stayed at Lashing Water. I know what this sickness is. I have seen +men die of it before—Nash, of the Mounted—and Nokoto, a Company +Indian. It is the appendicitis, and no doctor could have got to Lashing +Water in time, any more than he could have got here. They sent the +fastest dog-team on the river when Nash was<!-- Page 24 --> sick, and before the doctor +came he was dead. It is not your fault, my husband. It is no one's +fault. There is a time when each of us must die. My time is now. That is +all." She ceased speaking, and with an effort that brought little beads +of cold sweat to her forehead, she raised herself upon her elbow and +pointed a faltering forefinger toward the little roughly made crib that +stood close beside the bunk. "Promise me, Murdo," she gasped, "promise +me upon your soul that you will see—that—she—<i>that she shall go to +school!</i> More than I have gone, for there are many things I do not know. +I have read in books things I do not understand."</p> + +<p>"Aye, girl," the deep voice of MacFarlane rumbled through the room as he +eased his wife back onto the pillow, "I promise."</p> + +<p>The dark eyes closed, the white face settled heavily onto the pillow, +and as MacFarlane bent closer he saw that the breathing was peaceful and +regular. It was as though a great load had been lifted from her mind, +and she slept. With her hand still clasped in his the man's tired body +sagged forward until his head rested beside hers.</p> + +<p>MacFarlane awoke with a start. Somewhere in the darkness a small voice +was calling: "Mamma! Daddy! I cold!" For a moment the man lay trying to +collect his befuddled senses. "Just a minute, baby," he called, "Daddy's +comin'." As he raised to a sitting posture upon the edge of the bunk his +fingers came in contact with his wife's hand—the<!-- Page 25 --> hand that he suddenly +remembered had been clasped in his. Rapidly his brain cleared. He must +have fallen asleep. The fire had burned itself out in the stove and he +shivered in the chill air. Margot's hand must have slipped from his +clasp as they slept. It was too cold for her hand to lie there on top of +the blankets, and her arm protected only by the sleeve of her nightgown. +He would slip it gently beneath the covers and then build up a roaring +fire.</p> + +<p>A low whimpering came from the direction of the crib: "Daddy, I cold."</p> + +<p>"Just a minute, baby, till daddy lights the light." He reached for the +hand that lay beside him there in the darkness. As his fingers clutched +it a short, hoarse cry escaped him. The hand was icy cold—too cold for +even the coldness of the fireless room. The fingers yielded stiffly +beneath his palm and the arm lay rigid upon the blanket.</p> + +<p>MacFarlane sprang to his feet and as he groped upon the shelf for +matches his body was shaken by great dry sobs that ended in low throaty +moans. Clumsily his trembling fingers held the tiny flame to the wick of +the candle, and as the light flickered a moment and then burned clear, +he crossed to the crib where the baby had partly wriggled from beneath +her little blankets and robes. Wrapping her warmly in a blanket, he drew +the rest of the covers over her.</p> + +<p>"I want to get in bed with mamma," came plaintively from the small +bundle.<!-- Page 26 --></p> + +<p>MacFarlane choked back a sob: "Don't, don't! little one," he cried, then +lowering his voice to a hoarse whisper, he bent low over the crib. +"S-h-s-h, don't disturb mamma. She's—asleep."</p> + +<p>"I want sumpin' to eat. I want some gravy and some toast."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you wait till daddy builds the fire an' then we'll be nice an' +warm, an' daddy'll get supper."</p> + +<p>Silently MacFarlane set about his work. He kindled a fire, put the +teakettle on, and warmed some caribou gravy, stirring it slowly to +prevent its scorching while he toasted some bread upon the top of the +stove. Once or twice he glanced toward the bed. Margot's face was turned +away from him, and all he could see was a wealth of dark hair massed +upon the pillow. That—and the hand that showed at the end of the +nightgown sleeve. White as snow—and cold as snow it looked against the +warm red of the blanket. MacFarlane crossed and drew the blanket up over +the hand and arm, covering it to the shoulder. Bending over, he looked +long into the white face. The eyes were closed, MacFarlane was glad of +that, and the lips were slightly parted as though in restful slumber. +"Good bye—Margot—lass—" his voice broke thickly. He was conscious of +a gnawing pain in his throat, and two great scalding tears rolled down +his cheeks and dropped to the mass of dark hair where they glistened in +the steady glow of the single candle like tiny globes of fire. He raised +the blanket to cover<!-- Page 27 --> the still face, lowered it again and crossed to +the table where he laid out a tincup for himself and a little thick +yellow bowl into which he crumbled the toast and poured the gravy over +it. Then he warmed a tiny blanket, wrapped the baby in it and, holding +her on his lap, fed her from a spoon. Between the slowly portioned +spoonfuls he drank great gulps of scalding tea. There were still several +spoonfuls left in the bowl when the tiny mite in his arms snuggled +warmly against him. "Tell me a 'tory," demanded the mite. MacFarlane +told the "'tory"—and another, and another. And then, in response to an +imperious demand, he sang a song. It was the first time MacFarlane had +ever sung a song. It was a song he had often heard Margot sing, and he +was surprised that he had unconsciously learned the words which fell +from his lips in a wailing monotone.</p> + +<p>MacFarlane's heart was breaking—but he finished the song.</p> + +<p>"I sleepy," came drowsily from the blanket. "I want to kiss mamma."</p> + +<p>"S-h-s-h, mamma's asleep. Kiss daddy, and we'll go to bed."</p> + +<p>"I want to kiss mamma," insisted the baby.</p> + +<p>MacFarlane hesitated with tight-pressed lips. Then he rose and carried +the baby to the bedside. "See, mamma's asleep," he whispered, pointing +to the mass of dark hair on the pillow. "Just kiss her hair—and +we—won't—wake—her—up." He<!-- Page 28 --> held the baby so that the little pursed +lips rested for a moment in the thick mass of hair, then he carried her +to her crib and tucked her in. She was asleep when he smoothed the robe +into place.</p> + +<p>For a long time he stood looking down at the little face on the pillow. +Then he crossed to the table where he sat with his head resting upon his +folded arms while the minutes ticked into hours and the fire burned low. +As he sat there with closed eyes MacFarlane followed the thread of his +life from his earliest recollection. His childhood on the little +hillside farm, the long hours that he struggled with his books under the +eye of the stern-faced schoolmaster, his 'prenticeship in the shop of +the harness-maker in the small Scotch town, his year of work about the +docks at Liverpool, his coming to Canada and hiring out to the Hudson's +Bay Company, his assignment to Lashing Water as Molaire's clerk, his +meeting with Margot when she returned home from school at the +mission—and the wonderful days of that first summer together. Then—his +promotion to the position of trader, his marriage to Margot—step by +step he lived again that long journey from Lashing Water to Ste. Anne's. +For it was old Molaire's wish that his daughter should be married in the +old Gothic church where, years before, he had married her mother.</p> + +<p>MacFarlane raised his head and listened, his wide-staring eyes fixed +upon the black square of the window—that sound—it was—only the moan +and<!-- Page 29 --> the muffled roar of the wind—but, for a moment it had sounded like +the tone of a deep-throated bell—like the booming of the bells of Ste. +Anne's. Slowly the man lowered his head to his arms and groped for the +thread of his thought where he had left it. Lingeringly, he dwelt upon +the happiness that had been theirs, the coming of the little Margot—the +infinite love that welled in their hearts for this soft little helpless +thing, their delight in her unfolding—the gaining of a pound—the first +tooth—the first half-formed word—the first step. He remembered, too, +their distress at her tiny ills, real and fancied. Then, his own desire +to seek gold—not for himself, but that these two loved ones might enjoy +life in a fullness undreamed by the family of a fur trader. He +recollected Molaire's opposition, his arguments, his scoffing, and his +prediction that by the end of a year he would be back at Lashing Water +buying fur for the Company. And he recollected his own retort, that +without the gold he would never come back.</p> + +<p>And here, in this little thick walled cabin far into the barren grounds, +he had come to the end of the long, long trail. MacFarlane raised his +head and stared at the crib. But, was it the end? He knew that it was +not, and he groped blindly, desperately to picture the end. If it were +not for her—for this little one who lay asleep there in the crib, the +end would be easy. The man's glance sought the rifle that rested upon +its pegs above the window. It<!-- Page 30 --> was out of the question to think of +returning to Lashing Water, if he would—the baby could not stand five +hundred miles of gruelling winter-trail. He could not keep her here and +leave her alone while he prospected. He could not remain in the cabin +all winter and care for her—he must hunt to live—and game was scarce +and far afield. He shuddered at the thought of what might happen if he +were to leave her alone in the cabin with a fire in the stove—or worse, +of what might eventually happen if some accident befell him and he could +not return to the cabin.</p> + +<p>MacFarlane sat bolt upright. He suddenly remembered that a few days +before, from a high hill some thirty miles to the westward, he had seen +an Indian village nestled against a spruce swamp at a wide bend of a +river. It was a small village of a dozen or more tepees, and he had +intended to visit it later. Why not take the baby over there and give +her into the keeping of some squaw. If he could find one like Neseka all +would be well, for Neseka's love for the little Margot was hardly less +than his own. And surely, in a whole village there must be at least one +like her.</p> + +<p>MacFarlane replenished his fire, and groping upon the shelf, found a +leather covered note book and pencil. The guttered candle flared smokily +and he replaced it with another, and for an hour or more he wrote +steadily, filling page after page of the note book with fine lined +writing.<!-- Page 31 --></p> + +<p>When he had finished he thrust the note book into his pocket and again +buried his face in his arms.</p> + +<div class="p2" /> +<p class="tdc">V</p> + +<p>Toward morning the storm wore itself out, and before the belated winter +dawn had tinted the east MacFarlane set out for the Indian village. The +cold was intense so that his snowshoes crunched on the surface of the +flinty, wind-driven snow. Mile after mile he swung across the barrens +that lay trackless, and white, and dead, skirting towering rock ledges +and patches of scraggly timber. The sun came out and the barrens glared +dazzling white. MacFarlane had left his snow-goggles back in the cabin, +so he squinted his eyes and pushed on. Three times that day he stopped +and built a fire at the edge of a thicket and heated thick caribou gruel +which he fed by spoonfuls to the tiny robe-wrapped little girl that +snuggled warm in his pack sack. Darkness had fallen before he reached +the high hill from which he had seen the village. He scanned the sweep +of waste that lay spread before him, its shapes and distances distorted +and unreal in the feeble light of the glittering stars. He hardly +expected a light to show from a village of windowless tepees in the dead +of winter, and he strove to remember which of those vague splotchy +outlines was the black spruce swamp against which he had seen the +tepees. Suddenly the silence of the night was broken by the<!-- Page 32 --> sharp jerky +yelp of a stricken dog. The sound issued from one of the dark blotches +of timber, and was followed by a rabble of growls and snarls. MacFarlane +judged the distance that separated him from the vague outline of the +swamp to be three or four miles, but the shrill sounds cut the frozen +air so distinctly that they seemed to issue from the foot of the hill +upon which he stood. A dull spot of light showed for a moment, rocketed +through the air, and disappeared amid a chorus of yelps and howls. An +Indian, disturbed by the fighting dogs, had thrown back the flap of his +tepee and hurled a lighted brand among them.</p> + +<p>Swiftly MacFarlane descended the slope and struck out for the black +spruce swamp. An hour later he stood upon the snow-covered ice of the +river while barking, snarling and growling, the Indian dog pack crowded +about him. It seemed a long time that he stood there holding the dogs at +bay with a stout spruce club. At length dark forms appeared in front of +the tepees and several Indians advanced toward him, dispersing the dogs +with blows and kicks and commands in hoarse gutterals. MacFarlane spoke +to them in Cree, and getting no response, he tried several of the +dialects from about the Bay. He had advanced until he stood among them +peering from one to another of the flat expressionless faces for some +sign of comprehension. But they returned his glances with owlish +blinking of their smoke reddened eyes.<!-- Page 33 --> MacFarlane's heart sank. These +were the people in whose care he had intended to leave his little +daughter! Suddenly, as a ray of starlight struck aslant one of the flat +bestial faces, a flash of recognition lighted MacFarlane's eyes. The man +was one of the four who had come to trade a year before at Lashing +Water.</p> + +<p>"Where is the squaw?" he cried in English, grasping the man by the +shoulder and shaking him roughly, "Where is Wananebish?"</p> + +<p>At the name, the Indian turned and pointed toward a tepee that stood +slightly apart from the rest, and a moment later MacFarlane stood before +its door. "Wananebish!" he called. And again, "Wananebish!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," came the answer, "What does the white man want?"</p> + +<p>"It is MacFarlane, the trader at Lashing Water. Do you remember a year +ago you sold me a black fox skin?"</p> + +<p>"I remember. Did I not say that Wananebish would not forget? Wait, and I +will let you in, for it is cold." The walls of the tepee glowed faintly +as the squaw struck a light. He could hear her moving about inside and a +few minutes later she threw open the flap and motioned him to enter. +MacFarlane blinked in surprise as she fastened the flap behind him. +Instead of the filthy smoke-reeking interior he had expected, the tepee +was warm and comfortable, its floor covered thickly with<!-- Page 34 --> robes, and +instead of the open fire in the center with its smoke vent at the apex +of the tepee, he saw a little Yukon stove in which a fire burned +brightly.</p> + +<p>Without a word he removed his pack sack and tenderly lifting the +sleeping baby from it laid her on the robes. Then, seating himself +beside her he told her, simply and in few words what had befallen him. +The squaw listened in silence and for a long time after he finished she +sat staring at the flame of the candle.</p> + +<p>"What would you have me do?" she asked at length.</p> + +<p>"Keep the little one and care for her until I return," answered the man, +"I will pay you well."</p> + +<p>The Indian woman made a motion of dissent. "Where are you going?"</p> + +<p>"To find gold."</p> + +<p>Was it fancy, or did the shadow of a peculiar smile tremble for an +instant upon the woman's lips? "And, if you do not return—what then?"</p> + +<p>"If I do not return by the time of the breaking up of the rivers," +answered the man, "You will take the baby to Lashing Water post to +Molaire, the factor, who is the father of her mother." As he spoke +MacFarlane drew from his pocket the leather notebook, and a packet +wrapped in parchment deer skin and tied with buckskin thongs. He handed +them to the squaw: "Take these," he said, "and deliver them to Molaire +with the baby. In the book I have instructed him to pay you for her +keep."<!-- Page 35 --></p> + +<p>"But this Molaire is an old man. Suppose by the time of the breaking up +of the rivers he is not to be found at Lashing Water? He may be dead, or +he may have gone to the settlements."</p> + +<p>"If he has gone to the settlements, you are to find him. If he is +dead—" MacFarlane hesitated: "If Molaire is dead," he repeated, "You +are to take care of the baby until she is old enough to enter the school +at some mission. I'm Scotch, an' no Catholic—but, her mother was +Catholic, an' if the priests an' the sisters make as good woman of her +as they did of her mother, I could ask no more. Give them the notebook +in which I have set down the story as I have told it to you. The packet +you shall open and take out whatever is due you for her keep. It +contains money. Keep some for yourself and give some to the priests to +pay for her education."</p> + +<p>The squaw nodded slowly: "It shall be as you say. And, if for any +reason, we move from here before the breaking up of the rivers, I will +write our direction and place it inside the caribou skull that hangs +upon the great split stump beside the river."</p> + +<p>MacFarlane rose; "May God use you as you use the little one," he said, +"I'll be going now, before she wakes up. It will be better so." He +stooped and gazed for a long time at the face of the sleeping baby. A +hot tear splashed upon the back of his hand, and he brushed it away and +faced the squaw<!-- Page 36 --> in the door of the tepee: "Goodbye," he said, gruffly, +"Until the rivers break up in the spring."</p> + +<p>The Indian woman shook her head: "Do not say it like that," she +answered, "For those were the words of my man when he, too, left to find +gold. And when the river broke up in the spring he did not come back to +me—for the grinding ice-cakes caught his canoe, and he was crushed to +death in a rapids."</p> + +<div class="p2" /> +<p class="tdc">VI</p> + +<p>For four long nights and four short days MacFarlane worked at the +digging of a grave. It was a beautiful spot he chose to be the last +resting place of his young wife—a high, spruce-covered promontory that +jutted out into a lake. The cabin and its surroundings had grown +intolerable to him, so that he worked furiously, attacking the iron-hard +ground with fire, and ice-chisel, and spade. At last it was done and +placing the body of his wife in the rough pole coffin, he placed it upon +his sled and locking the dogs in the cabin, hauled it himself to the +promontory and lowered it into the grave. Then he shoveled back the +frozen earth, and erected a wooden cross upon which was burned deep her +name, and returning to the cabin, slept the clock around.</p> + +<p>If MacFarlane had been himself he would have heeded the signs of +approaching storm. But he<!-- Page 37 --> had become obsessed with desire to leave that +place with its haunting memories, where every mute object seemed to +whisper to him of his loved ones. He was talking and mumbling to himself +as he harnessed his dogs and headed into the North at the breaking of a +day.</p> + +<p>Three hours after MacFarlane hit the trail he left the sparsely timbered +country behind and struck into a vast treeless plain whose glaring white +surface was cut here and there by rugged ridges of basalt which +terminated abruptly in ledges of bare rock.</p> + +<p>At noon he made a fireless camp, ate some pilot bread, and caribou meat. +The air was still—ominously dead and motionless to one who knew the +North. But MacFarlane gave no heed, nor did he even notice that though +there were no clouds in the sky, the low-hung sun showed dull and +coppery through a steel-blue fog. He bolted his food and pressed on. +Before him was no guiding landmark. He laid his course by the compass +and held straight North across the treeless rock-ribbed plain. The man's +lean face looked pinched and drawn. For a week he had taken his sleep in +short fitful snatches, in his chair beside the cabin stove, or with his +back against a tree while he waited for the fire to bite a few inches +deeper into the frozen ground as he toiled at the lonely grave. On and +on he mushed at the head of his dogs, his eyes, glowing feverbright, +stared fixedly from between red-rimmed lids<!-- Page 38 --> straight into the steel +blue fog bank that formed his northern horizon. And as he walked, he +talked incessantly—now arguing with old Molaire, who predicted dire +things, and refused to believe that there was gold in the North—now +telling Margot of his hopes and planning his future—and again, telling +stories to little Margot of Goldilocks and the three little bears, and +of where the caribou got their horns.</p> + +<p>The blue fog thickened. From somewhere far ahead sounded a low +whispering roar—the roar of mightly wind, muffled by its burden of +snow. When the first blast struck, MacFarlane tottered in his tracks, +then lowering his head, leaned against it and pushed on. Following the +gust was a moment of calm. Behind him the dogs whimpered uneasily. +MacFarlane did not hear them, nor did he hear the roar of the onrushing +wind.</p> + +<p>Around a corner of a rock ledge a scant two hundred yards ahead of him, +appeared a great grey shape, running low. The shape halted abruptly and +circled wide. It was followed by other shapes—gaunt, and grey, and +ugly, between whose back-curled lips white fangs gleamed. The wolf pack, +forty strong, was running before the storm, heading southward for the +timber. Whining with terror, MacFarlane's dogs crowded about his legs in +a sudden rush. The man went down and struggled to his feet, cursing, and +laying about him with clubbed rifle. Then the storm struck in all its +fury. Mac<!-- Page 39 -->Farlane gasped for air, and sucked in great gulps of powdery +snow that bit into his lungs and seared his throat with their stinging +cold. He choked and coughed and jerking off his mitten, clawed with bare +fingers at his throat and eyes. While behind him, down wind, the great +grey caribou wolves, stopped in their wild flight by the scent of meat, +crowded closer, and closer.</p> + +<p>In a panic, MacFarlane's dogs whirled, and dragging the sled behind them +bolted. MacFarlane staggered a few steps forward and fell, then, on +hands and knees he crawled back, groping and pawing the snow for his +mitten and rifle. The sharp frenzied yelps as the dog team plunged into +the wolf-pack sounded faint and far. The man threw up his head. He +pulled off his cap to listen and the wind whipped it from his numbed +fingers—but MacFarlane did not know. Moments of silence followed during +which the man strained his ears to catch a sound that eluded him.</p> + +<p>When the last shred of flesh had been ripped from the bones of the dogs +the gaunt grey leader of the pack raised his muzzle and sniffed the +wind. He advanced a cautious step or two and sniffed again, then seating +himself on his haunches he raised his long pointed muzzle to the sky and +gave voice to the long drawn cry of the kill—and the shapes left the +fang-scarred bits of bone and sniffed up-wind at the man-scent.</p> + +<p>As the sound of the great wolf cry reached his<!-- Page 40 --> ears above the roar of +the wind, MacFarlane's face lighted with a smile of infinite gladness: +"The bells," he muttered, "I heard them—d'you hear them, Margot—girl? +It's for us—the booming of the bells of Ste. Anne's!" And with the +words on his lips MacFarlane pillowed his head on the snow—and slept.</p> + +<div class="p2" /> +<p class="tdc">VII</p> + +<p>Years afterward, after old Molaire had been gathered to his fathers and +laid in the little cemetery within the sound of the bells of Ste. +Anne's, Corporal Downey one day came upon a long deserted cabin far into +the barren grounds upon the shore of a nameless lake. He closed the +rotting door behind him, and methodically searching the ground, came at +length upon the solitary grave upon the high promontory that jutted into +the lake. Unconsciously he removed his hat as he read the simple +inscription burned deep into the little wooden cross. His lips moved: +"Margot—girl," he whispered, "if—if—" the whisper thickened and +choked him. He squared his shoulders and cleared his throat roughly. "Aw +hell!" he breathed, and turning, walked slowly back to his canoe and +shoved out onto the water.</p> + +<p>And during the interval of the years the little band of non-treaty +Indians—the homeless and the restless ones—moved on—and on—and +on—<!-- Page 41 -->—</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<p class="tdc">COARSE GOLD</p> + + +<p>As Carter Brent pushed through the swinging doors of "The Ore Dump" +saloon, the eyes of the head bartender swept with approval from the +soles of the high laced boots to the crown of the jauntily tilted +Stetson. "What'll it be this morning, Mr. Brent?" he greeted. "Little +eye-opener?"</p> + +<p>The young man grinned as he crossed to the bar: "How did you guess it?"</p> + +<p>The bartender set out decanter and glasses. "Well, after last night, +thought maybe you'd have a kind of fuzzy taste in your mouth."</p> + +<p>"Fuzzy is right! My tongue is coated with fur—dark brown fur—thick and +soft. What time was it when we left here?"</p> + +<p>"Must have been around two o'clock. But, how does it come you ain't on +the works this mornin'? Never knew you to lose a day on account of a +hang-over. Heard a couple of the S. & R.'s tunnels got flooded last +night."</p> + +<p>Brent poured a liberal drink and downed it at a swallow: "Yes," he +answered, dryly, "And that's<!-- Page 42 --> why I'm not on the works. I'm hunting a +job, and the S. & R. is hunting a new mining engineer."</p> + +<p>"Jepson fired you, did he! Well, you should worry. I've heard 'em +talkin' in here, now an' then—some of the big guns—an' they all claim +you're one of the best engineers in Montana. They say if you'd buckle +down to business you'd have 'em all skinned."</p> + +<p>"Buckle down to business, eh! The trouble with them is that when they +hire a man they think they buy him. It's none of their damn business +what I do evenings. If I'm sober when I'm on the job—and on the job six +days a week, and sometimes seven—they're getting all they're paying +for."</p> + +<p>"They sure are," agreed the other with emphasis, "Have another shot," he +shoved the decanter toward the younger man and leaned closer: "Say Mr. +Brent, you ain't—er, you don't need a little change, do you? If you do +just say so, you're welcome to it." The man drew forth a roll of bills, +but Brent shook his head:</p> + +<p>"No thanks. You can cash this check for me though. Jepson was square +enough about it—paid me in full to date and threw in a month's salary +in advance. I don't blame him any. We quit the best of friends. When he +hired me he knew I liked a little drink now and then, so I took the job +with the understanding that if the outfit ever lost a dollar because of +my boozing, I was through right then."<!-- Page 43 --></p> + +<p>"What was it flooded the tunnels?"</p> + +<p>"Water," grinned Brent.</p> + +<p>"Oh," laughed the bartender, "I thought maybe it was booze."</p> + +<p>"You'd have thought so all the more if you'd been there this morning to +hear the temperance lecture that old Jepson threw in gratis along with +that extra month's pay. About the tunnels—we get our power from +Anaconda, and something happened to the high tension wire, and the pumps +stopped, and there wasn't any light, and Number Four and Number Six are +wet tunnels anyway so they filled up and drowned two batteries of +drills. Then, instead of rigging a steam pump and pumping them out +through Number Four, one of the shift bosses rigged a fifteen inch +rotary in Number Six and started her going full tilt with the result +that he ran the water down against that new piece of railroad grade and +washed about fifty feet of it into the river and left the track hanging +in the air by the rails."</p> + +<p>"The damn fool!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know. He did the best he could. A shift boss isn't hired to +think."</p> + +<p>"What did old Jepson fire <i>you</i> for? He didn't think you clim up an' cut +the high tension wire did he? Or, did he expect you to set around nights +an' keep the juice flowin'?"</p> + +<p>Brent laughed: "Not exactly. But they tried to find me and couldn't. So +when I showed up<!-- Page 44 --> this morning old Jepson sent for me and asked me where +I was last night. I could have lied out of it easy enough. He would have +accepted any one of a half a dozen excuses—but lying's poor +business—so I told him I was out having a hell of a good time and wound +up about three in the morning with a pretty fair snootful."</p> + +<p>"Bet he thinks a damn sight more of you than if you'd of lied, at that. +But they's plenty of jobs fer you. You've got it in your noodle—what +they need—an' what they've got to pay to get. You might drop around an' +talk to Gunnison, of the Little Ella. He was growlin' in here the other +night because he couldn't get holt of an engineer. Goin' to do a lot of +cross tunnel work or somethin'. Said he was afraid he'd have to send +back East an' get some pilgrim or some kid just out of college. Hold on +a minute there's a bird down there, among them hard rock men, that looks +like he was figgerin' on startin' somethin'. I'll just step down an' put +a flea in his ear."</p> + +<p>Brent's eyes followed the other as he made his way toward the rear of +the long bar where three or four bartenders were busy serving drinks to +a crowd of miners. He noticed casually that the men were divided into +small groups and that they seemed to be talking excitedly among +themselves, and that the talk was mostly in whispers.</p> + +<p>"The Ore Dump" was essentially a mining man's saloon. Its proprietor, +Patsy Kelliher, was an old<!-- Page 45 --> time miner who, having struck it lucky with +pick and shovel, had started a modest little saloon, and later had +opened "The Ore Dump," in the fitting up of which he had gone the limit +in expensive furnishings. It was his boast that no miner had ever gone +out of his door hungry or thirsty, nor had any man ever lost a cent by +unfair means within his four walls. Rumor had it that Patsy had given +away thousands. Be that as it may, "The Ore Dump" had for years been the +mecca of the mining fraternity. Millionaire mine owners, managers, +engineers, and on down through the list to the humblest "hunk," were +served at its long bar, which had, by common usage become divided by +invisible lines of demarkation. The mine owners, the managers, the +engineers, and the independent contractors foregathered at the front end +of the bar; the hunks, and the wops, and the guineas at the rear end; +while the long space between was a sort of no-man's-land where drank the +shift bosses and the artisans of the mines—the hard-rock men, the +electricians, and the steam-fitters. Combinations of capital running +into millions had been formed at the front end, and combinations of +labor at the rear, while in no-man's-land great mines had been tied up +at the crooking of a finger.</p> + +<p>On this particular morning Carter Brent was the only customer at the +front end of the bar. He poured another drink and watched it glow like a +thing of life with soft amber lights that played<!-- Page 46 --> through the crystal +clear glass as a thin streak of sunlight struck aslant the bar. The +liquor in his stomach was taking hold. He felt warm, with a glowing, +tingling warmth that permeated to his finger tips. In his mind was a +vast sense of well being. The world was a great old place to live in. He +drank the whisky in his glass and refilled it from the cut glass +decanter. Poor old Jepson—fired the best engineer in Montana—that's +what his friend, the bartender, had just told him, and he got it from +the big guns. Well, it was Jepson's funeral—he and the S. & R. would +have to stagger along as best they could. He would go and see +Gunnison—no, to hell with Gunnison! Brent's fingers closed about the +roll of bills in his trousers pocket. He had plenty of money, he would +wait and pick out a job. He needn't worry. He always was sure of a good +job. Hadn't he had five in the two years since he graduated from +college? There were plenty of mines and they all needed good engineers. +Brent smiled as his thoughts drifted lazily back to his four years in +college. He wished some of the fellows would drop in. "They were a bunch +of damned good sports," he muttered to himself, "And we sure did roll +'em high! Speedy Bennet was always the first to go under—about two +drinks and we'd lay him on the shelf to call for when needed. Then came +McGivern, then Sullivan, and about that time little Morse would begin +flapping his arms around and proclaiming he could fly. Then, after a +while<!-- Page 47 --> there wouldn't be anyone left but Morey and me—good old +Morey—they canned him in his senior year—and they've been canning me +ever since."</p> + +<p>Brent paused in his soliloquy and regarded the men who had been +whispering among themselves toward the rear of the room. There were no +small groups now, and no whispering. With tense faces they were crowding +about a man who stood with hands palm down upon the bar. He wondered +what it was all about. From his position at the head of the bar he could +see the man's face plainly. Also he could see the faces of the +others—the lined, rugged faces of the hard rock and the vapid, +loose-lipped faces of the wops—and of all the faces only the face of +the man who stood with his hands on the bar betrayed nothing of tense +expectancy. Why were these others crowding about him, and why was he the +only man of them all who was not holding in check by visible effort some +pent up emotion? Brent glanced again into the weather-lined face with +its drooping sun-burned mustache, and its skin tanned to the color of +old leather—a strong face, one would say—the face of a man who had +battled long against odds, and won. Won what? He wondered. For an +instant the man's eyes met his own, and it seemed to Brent as though he +had read the question for surely, behind the long drooping mustache, the +lips twisted into just the shadow of a cynical grin.<!-- Page 48 --></p> + +<p>The head bartender stepped to the back bar and, from beside a huge +gilded cash register, he lifted a set of tiny scales which he carried to +the bar and set down directly before the man with the sun-burned +mustache.</p> + +<p>In front of the bar men crowded closer, craning their necks, and +elbowing one another, as their feet made soft shuffling sounds upon the +hardwood floor. One of the man's hands slipped into a side pocket of his +coat and when it came out something thudded heavily upon the bar. Brent +saw the object plainly as the bartender reached for it, a small buckskin +pouch, its surface glazed with the grease and soot of many campfires. He +had seen men carry their tobacco in just such pouches, but this pouch +held no tobacco, it had thumped the bar heavily and lay like a sack of +sand.</p> + +<p>The bartender untied the strings and stood with the pouch poised above +the scales while his eyes roved over the eager, expectant faces of the +crowd. Then he placed a small weight upon the pan of the scales and +poured something slowly from the pouch into the small scoop upon the +opposite side. From his position Brent could see the delicate scales +oscillate and finally strike a balance. The bartender closed the pouch +and handed it back to the owner. Then he picked up the scales and +returned them to their place beside the cash register, while in front of +the bar men surged about the pouch owner clawing and shoving to get next +to him, and all talking<!-- Page 49 --> at once, nobody paying the slightest attention +to the bartenders who were vainly trying to serve a round of drinks.</p> + +<p>The head bartender returned to his position opposite Brent, and reaching +for the decanter, poured himself a drink. "Drink up and have one on the +stranger—he just set 'em up to the house."</p> + +<p>Brent swallowed the liquor in his glass and refilled it: "What's the +excitement?" he asked, "A man don't ordinarily get as popular as he +seems to be just because he buys a round of drinks, does he?"</p> + +<p>"Didn't you see it? It ain't the round of drinks, it's—wait—" He +stepped to the back bar and lifting the scoop from the scales set it +down in front of Brent, "That's what it is—<i>gold</i>! Yes sir, pure gold +just as she comes from the sand—nuggets and dust. It's be'n many a year +since any of that stuff has been passed over this bar for the drinks. +I've be'n here seven years and it's the first <i>I've</i> took in, except now +and then a few colors that some <i>hombre's</i> washed out of some dry coulee +or creek bed—fine dust that's cost him the shovelin' an' pannin' of +tons of gravel. Patsy keeps the scales settin' around for a +curiosity—that, an' because the old-timers likes to see 'em handy. Kind +of reminds 'em of the early days an' starts 'em gassin'. But this here's +the real stuff. Look at that boy." He poked with his finger at an +irregular nugget the size of a navy bean, "Looks like a<!-- Page 50 --> chunk of +slag—an' that ain't all! He's got a bag full of 'em. I held it in my +hand, an' it weighed <i>pounds</i>!"</p> + +<p>As Brent stood looking down at the grains of yellow metal in the little +scoop a strange uneasiness stirred deep within him. He picked up the +nugget and held it in the palm of his hand. One side of it was flat, as +though polished by a thousand years of water-wear, and the other side +was rough and fire-eaten as though fused by a mighty heat. Brent had +seen plenty of gold—coined gold, gold fashioned by the goldsmith's art, +and gold in bricks and ingots, in the production of which he himself had +been a factor. Yet never before had the sight of gold moved him. It had +been merely a valuable metal which it was his business to help extract +from certain rocks by certain processes of chemistry and expensive +machinery. Yet here in his hand was a new kind of gold—gold that seemed +to reach into the very heart of him with a personal appeal. Raw +gold—gold that had known the touch of neither chemicals nor machinery, +but that had been wrested by the bare hands of a man from some far place +where the fires of a glowing world and the glacial ice-drift had +fashioned it. The vague uneasiness that had stirred him at sight of the +yellow grains, flamed into a mighty urge at its touch. He, too, would go +and get gold—and he would get it not by process of brain, but by +process of brawn. Not by means of chemicals and machinery, but by +slash<!-- Page 51 -->ing into the sides of mountains, and ripping the guts out of +creeks! Carefully he returned the nugget to the scoop, and as he raised +his eyes to the bartender's, he moistened his lips with his tongue.</p> + +<p>"Where did he get it?" he asked, huskily.</p> + +<p>"God, man! If I know'd that I wouldn't be standin' here, would I?" He +jerked his thumb toward the rear of the room where men were frenziedly +crowding the stranger. "That's what they all want to know. Lord, if he'd +let the word slip what a stampede there'd be! Every man for himself an' +the devil take the hindmost. Out of every hundred that's in on a +stampede, about one makes a stake, an' ten gets their ante back, an' the +rest goes broke. They all know what they're going up against—but the +damned fools! Every one of 'em would stake all they've got, an' their +life throw'd in, to be in on it."</p> + +<p>"It's the lure of gold," muttered Brent, "I've heard of it, but I never +felt it before. Are they damned fools? Wouldn't you?"</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't I—what?"</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't you go—along with the rest?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Hell—yes!</i> An' so would anyone else that had any red guts in 'em!"</p> + +<p>Brent poured himself a drink, and shoved the decanter toward the other, +"Let's liquor," he said, "and then maybe if we can get that fellow away +from the crowd where we can talk——"<!-- Page 52 --></p> + +<p>The bartender interrupted the thought before it was expressed; "No +chance. Take a look at him. Believe me, there's one <i>hombre</i> that ain't +goin' to spill nothin' he don't want to. An' when a man makes a strike +like that he don't hang around bars runnin' off at the chin about +it—not what you could notice, he don't. Far as I can see we got just +one chance. It's a damn slim one, but you can't always tell what's +runnin' in these birds' heads. He asked me if Patsy Kelliher was runnin' +this dump, an' when I told him he was, he had me send for him. Said he +wanted to see him <i>pronto</i>. An' then he kind of throw'd his eyes around +over the faces of the boys an' he says: 'You're all friends of Patsy's?' +He seen in a minute how Patsy stood acehigh with them all, an' then he +says; 'Well, just kind of stick around 'till Patsy gets down here an' it +might be I'll explode somethin' amongst his friends that'll clean this +dump out.' Now, you might take that two ways, but he don't look like one +of these, what you might call, anarchists, does he? An' when he said +that he laughed, an' he says: 'Belly up to the bar an' I'll buy a little +drink—<i>an' I'll pay for it with coarse gold!</i>' Well, you seen how much +drinkin' they done, an'—Here's Patsy, now!"</p> + +<p>Brent turned and nodded greeting as the proprietor of "The Ore Dump" +entered the door.</p> + +<p>"Is it yersilf that sint fer me, Mister Brint, ye spalpeen?" he grinned, +"Bein' a gintleman yersilf, ye'll be knowin' Oi'd still be at me +newspaper an'<!-- Page 53 --> seegar. Whut's on yer mind thot ye'll be dhraggin' a mon +from the bossom of his family befoor lunch?"</p> + +<p>"It ain't him," explained the bartender, "It's the stranger, I told him +you didn't never show up till after dinner, but——"</p> + +<p>"<i>Lunch! Damn it! Lunch!</i>" Kelliher's fist smote the bar, and as he +scowled into the face of his head bartender, Brent detected a twinkle in +the deep-set blue eyes. "Didn't the owld woman beat that same into me +own head a wake afther we'd moved into the big house? An' she done ut +wid a tree-calf concoordance to Shakspere wid gold edges thot sets on +the par—livin' room table? 'Tis a handy an' useful weapon—a worthy +substitute, as the feller says, to the pleebeen rollin' pin an' fryin' +pan. Thim tree calves has got a hide on 'em loike the bottom av a +sluice-box. Oi bet they could make anvils out av the hide av a +full-grow'd tree-bull. G'wan now an' trot out this ill-fared magpie that +must be at his chatterin' befoor the break av day!"</p> + +<p>At a motion from the bartender the crowd parted to allow the stranger to +make his way to the front, surged together behind him, and followed, +ranging itself in a semicircle at a respectful distance. Thus with the +two principals, Brent found himself included within this semicircle of +excited faces.</p> + +<p>The two eyed each other for a moment in silence, the stranger with a +smile half-veiled by his sun<!-- Page 54 -->-burned mustache, and Kelliher with a +frankly puzzled expression upon his face as his thick fingers toyed with +the heavy gold chain that hung cable-like from pocket to pocket of his +gaily colored vest.</p> + +<p>"I figured you wouldn't know me." The stranger's grin widened as he +noted the look of perplexity.</p> + +<p>"An' no more I don't," retorted the other, unconsciously tilting his +high silk hat at an aggressive angle over his right eye. "Let's git the +cards on the table. Who are ye? An' what ye got in ye're head that ye +couldn't kape there till afther lunch?"</p> + +<p>"I'm McBride."</p> + +<p>Brent saw that the name conveyed nothing to the other, whose puzzled +frown deepened. "Ye're McBride!" The tone was good-naturedly sarcastic, +"Well, ye'd av still be'n McBride this afthernoon, av ye'd be'n let live +that long. But who the divil's McBride that Oi shud come tearin' down to +look into the ugly mug av um?"</p> + +<p>The stranger laughed: "Nine years ago McBride was the night telegraph +operator over in the yards. That was before you moved up here. You was +still in the little dump over on Fagin street an' you done most of the +work yerself—used to open up mornings. There wasn't no big diamon's +shinin' in the middle of yer bald-face shirt them days—I doubt an' you +owned a bald-face shirt, except, maybe, for Sundays. Anyhow, you'd be<!-- Page 55 --> +openin' up in the mornin' when I'd be goin off trick, an' I most +generally stopped in for a couple of drinks or so. An' one mornin' when +I'd downed three or four, I noticed you kind of givin' me the once-over. +There wasn't no one else in the place, an' you come over an' leaned yer +elbows on the bar, an' you says: 'Yer goin' kind of heavy on that stuff, +son,' you says.</p> + +<p>"'What the hell's the difference?' I says, 'I ain't got only six months +to live an' I might's well enjoy what I can of it.'</p> + +<p>"'Are they goin' to hang ye in six months?' you asks, 'Have ye got yer +sentence?'</p> + +<p>"'I've got my sentence,' I says, 'But it ain't hangin'. The doctors +sentenced me. It's the con.'</p> + +<p>"'To hell with the doctors,' you says, 'They don't know it all. We'll +fool 'em. All you need is to git out in the mountains—an' lay off the +hooch.'</p> + +<p>"I laughed at you. 'Me go to the mountains!' I says, 'Why man I ain't +hardly got strength to get to my room an' back to the job again—an' +couldn't even make that if it wasn't for the hooch.'</p> + +<p>"'That's right,' you says, 'From the job to the room, an' the room to +the job, ye'll last maybe six months—but I'm doubtin' it. But the +mountains is different.' An' then you goes on an talks mountains an' +gold till you got me interested, an' you offers to grub-stake me for a +trip into the Kootenay country. You claimed it was a straight business +proposition—fifty-fifty if I made a strike, an' you put<!-- Page 56 --> up the money +against my time." The stranger paused and smiled as a subdued ripple of +whisperings went from man to man as he mentioned the Kootenay. Then he +looked Kelliher squarely in the face: "There wasn't no gold in the +Kootenay," he said simply, "Or leastwise I couldn't find none. I figured +someone had be'n stringin' you."</p> + +<p>Patsy Kelliher shifted the hat to the back of his head and laughed out +loud as his little eyes twinkled with merriment. "I git ye now, son," he +said, "I moind the white face av ye, an' the chist bowed in like the +bottom av a wash bowl, an' yer shoulders stuck out befront ye loike the +horns av a cow." He paused as his eyes ran the lines of sinewy leanness +and came to rest upon the sun bronzed face: "So ye made a failure av the +trip, eh? A plumb clane failure—an' Oi'm out the couple av hundred it +cost me fer the grub stake——"</p> + +<p>"It cost you more than five hundred," interrupted the other. "I was in +bad shape and there was things I needed that other men wouldn't of—that +I don't need—now."</p> + +<p>"Well—foive hundred, thin. An' how long has ut be'n ago?"</p> + +<p>"Nine years."</p> + +<p>Kelliher laughed: "Who was roight—me or the damn doctors? Ye've lived +eighteen toimes as long as they was going to let ye live a'ready—an' av +me eyes deceive me roight, ye ain't ordered no coffin yet."<!-- Page 57 --></p> + +<p>"No—I ain't ordered no coffin. I come here to hunt you up an' pay you +back."</p> + +<p>Kelliher laughed: "There ain't nothin' to pay son. You don't owe me a +cent. A grub-stake's a grub-stake, an' no one iver yit said Patsy +Kelliher welched on a bargain. Besoides, Oi guess ye got all Oi sint ye +afther. I know'd damn well they wasn't no gold in the Kootenay—none +that a tenderfoot lunger cud foind."</p> + +<p>McBride laughed: "Sure—I knew after I'd been there six months what you +done it for. I doped it all out. But, as you say, a grub-stake's a +grub-stake, an' no time limit on it, an' no one ever said Jim McBride +ever welched on a bargain, neither. I ain't never be'n just ready to +come back an' settle with you, till now. I drifted north, and farther +north, till I wound up in the Yukon country. I prospected around there +an' had pretty good luck. I'd got back my strength an' my health till +right now there ain't but damn few men in the big country that can hit +the trail with Jim McBride. But I wasn't never satisfied with what I was +takin' out. I know'd there was somethin' big somewheres up there. I +could <i>feel</i> it, an' I played for the big stake. Others stuck by stuff +that was pannin' 'em out wages. I didn't. They called me a fool—an' I +let 'em. I struck up river at last an' they laughed—but they ain't +laughin' now. Me an' a squaw-man named Carmack hunted moose together +over on Bonanza. One day Carmack was scratchin' around<!-- Page 58 --> the roots of a +big birch tree an' just fer fun he gets to monkeyin' with my pan." The +man paused and Brent could hear the suppressed breathing of the miners +who had crowded close. His eyes swept their faces and he saw that every +eye in the house was staring into the face of McBride as they hung upon +his every word. He realized suddenly that he himself was waiting in a +fever of impatience for the man to go on. "Then I come into camp, an' we +both fooled with the pan—but we didn't fool long. God, man! We was +shakin' it out of the grass roots! <i>Coarse gold!</i> I stayed at it a +month—an' I've filed on every creek within ten miles of that lone birch +tree. Then I come outside to find you an' settle." He paused and his +eyes swept the room: "These men friends of yourn?" he asked. Kelliher +nodded. "Well then I'm lettin' 'em in. Right here starts the biggest +stampede the world ever seen. Some of the old timers that was already up +there are into the stuff now—but in the spring the whole world will be +gettin' in on it!"</p> + +<p>Kelliher was the only self-possessed man in the room: "What'll she run +to the pan?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"<i>Run to the pan!</i> God knows! We thought she was <i>big</i> when she hit an +ounce——"</p> + +<p>"<i>An ounce to the pan!</i>" cried Kelliher, "Man ye're crazy!"</p> + +<p>The other continued: "An' we thought she was <i>little</i> when she run a +hundred dollars—two hundred!<!-- Page 59 --> I've washed out six-hundred dollars to +the pan! An' I ain't to bed rock!"</p> + +<p>And then he began to empty his pockets. One after another the little +buckskin sacks thudded upon the bar—ten—fifteen—twenty of them. +McBride spoke to Kelliher, who stared with incredulous, bulging eyes: +"That's your share of what I've took out. You're filed along with me as +full pardner in all the claims I've got. They's millions in them +claims—an' more millions fer the men that gets there first." He paused +and turned to the men of the crowd who stood silent, with tense white +faces, and staring eyes glued on the pile of buckskin sacks: "Beat it, +you gravel hogs!" he cried, "It's the biggest strike that ever was! Hit +fer Seattle, go by Dyea Beach an' over the Chilkoot, an' take a thousand +pounds of outfit—or you'll die. A hell of a lot of you'll die +anyhow—but some of you will win—an' win big. Over the Chilkoot, down +through the lakes, an' down the Yukon to Dawson—" A high pitched, +unnatural yell, animal-like in its nervous excitement broke from a +throat in the crowd, and the next instant pandemonium broke loose in +Kelliher's, and Carter Brent fought his way to the door through a +howling mass of mad men, and struck out for his boarding house at a +run.<!-- Page 60 --></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<p class="tdc">ON DYEA BEACH</p> + + +<p>In a drizzle of cold rain forty men stood on Dyea beach and viewed with +disfavor the forty thousand pounds of sodden, mud-smeared outfit that +had been hurriedly landed from the little steamer that was already +plowing her way southward. Of the sixty-odd men who, two weeks before +had stood in Patsy Kelliher's "Ore Dump Saloon" and had seen Jim McBride +toss one after another upon the bar twenty buckskin pouches filled to +bursting with coarse gold in his reckoning with Kelliher, these forty +had accomplished the first leg of the long North trail. The next year +and the next, thousands, and tens of thousands of men would follow in +their footsteps, for these forty were the forerunners of the great +stampede from the "outside"—a stampede that exacted merciless toll in +the lives of fools and weaklings, even as it heaped riches with lavish +prodigality into the laps of the strong.</p> + +<p>Jim McBride had said that each man must carry in a thousand pounds of +outfit. Well and good, they had complied. Each had purchased his +thous<!-- Page 61 -->and pounds, had it delivered on board the steamer, and in due +course, had watched it dumped upon the beach from the small boats. +Despite the cold drizzle, throughout the unloading the forty had laughed +and joked each other and had liberally tendered flasks. But now, with +the steamer a vanishing speck in the distance and the rock-studded Dyea +Flats stretching away toward the mountains, the laughter and joking +ceased. Men eyed the trail, moved aimlessly about, and returned to their +luggage. The thousand pound outfits had suddenly assumed proportions. +Every ounce of it must be man-handled across a twenty-eight mile portage +and over the Chilkoot Pass. Now and then a man bent down and gave a +tentative lift at a bale or a sack. Muttered curses had taken the place +of laughter, and if a man drew a flask from his pocket, he drank, and +returned it to his pocket without tendering it to his neighbor.</p> + +<p>When Carter Brent had reached the seclusion of his room after leaving +Kelliher's saloon, he slipped his hand into his pocket and withdrawing +his roll of bills, counted them. He found exactly three hundred and +seventy-eight dollars which he rightly decided was not enough to finance +an expedition to the gold country. He must get more—and get it quickly. +Returning the bills in his pocket he packed his belongings, left the +room, and a few minutes later was admitted upon signal to the gambling +rooms of Nick the Greek where selecting a<!-- Page 62 --> faro layout, he bought a +stack of chips. At the end of a half-hour he bought another stack, and +thereafter he began to win. When his innings totaled one thousand +dollars he cashed in, and that evening at seven o'clock he stepped onto +a train bound for Seattle. He was mildly surprised that none of the +others from Kelliher's were in evidence. But when he arrived at his +destination he grinned as he saw them swarming from the day coaches +ahead.</p> + +<p>And now on Dyea beach he stood and scowled as he watched the rain water +collect in drops and roll down the sides of his packages.</p> + +<p>"He said they was Injuns would pack this here junk," complained a man +beside him, "Where'n hell be they?"</p> + +<p>"Search me," grinned Brent, "How much can you carry?"</p> + +<p>"Don't know—not a hell of a lot over them rocks—an' he said this here +Chilkoot was so steep you had to climb it instead of walk."</p> + +<p>"Suppose we make a try," suggested Brent. "A man ought to handle a +hundred pounds——"</p> + +<p>"<i>A hundred pounds!</i> You're crazy as hell! I ain't no damn burro—me. +Not no hundred pounds no twenty-eight mile, an' part of it cat-climbin'. +'Bout twenty-five's more my size."</p> + +<p>"You like to walk better than I do," shrugged Brent, "Have you stopped +to figure that a twenty-five-pound pack means four trips to the +hundred<!-- Page 63 -->—forty trips for the thousand? And forty round trips of +twenty-eight miles means something over twenty-two hundred miles of +hiking."</p> + +<p>"Gawd!" exclaimed the other, in dismay, "It must be hell to be +eggicated! If <i>I'd</i> figgered that out, <i>I'd</i> of stayed on the boat! +We're in a hell of a fix now, an' no ways to git back. That grub'll all +be et gittin' it over the pass, an' when we git there, we ain't +nowheres—we got them lakes an' river to make after that. Looks like by +the time we hit this here Bonanza place all the claims will be took up, +or the gold'll be rotted with old age."</p> + +<p>"You're sure a son of gloom," opined Brent as he stooped and affixed his +straps to a hundred-pound sack of flour. "But I'm going to hit the +trail. So long."</p> + +<p>As Brent essayed to swing the pack to his shoulders he learned for the +first time in his life that one hundred pounds is a matter not lightly +to be juggled. The pack did not swing to his shoulders, and it was only +after repeated efforts, and the use of other bales of luggage as a +platform that he was at length able to stand erect under his burden. The +other man had watched without offer of assistance, and Brent's wrath +flared as he noted his grin. Without a word he struck across the +rock-strewn flat.</p> + +<p>"Hurry back," taunted the other, "You ort to make about four trips by +supper time."</p> + +<p>Before he had covered fifty yards Brent knew that he could never stand +the strain of a hundred-<!-- Page 64 -->pound pack. While not a large man, he was well +built and rugged, but he had never before carried a pack, and every +muscle of his body registered its aching protest at the unaccustomed +strain. Time and again it seemed as though the next step must be his +last, then a friendly rock would show up ahead and he would stagger +forward and sink against its side allowing the rock to ease the weight +from his shoulders. As the distance between resting places became +shorter, the periods of rest lengthened, and during these periods, while +he panted for breath and listened to the pounding of his heart's blood +as it surged past his ear drums, his brain was very active. "McBride +said a good packer could walk off with a hundred, or a hundred and fifty +pounds, and he'd seen 'em pack two hundred," he muttered. "And I've been +an hour moving one hundred pounds one mile! And I'm so near all in that +I couldn't move it another mile in a week. I wonder where those Indian +packers are that he said we could get?" His eyes travelled back across +the flats, every inch of which had caused him bodily anguish, and came +to rest upon the men who still moved aimlessly among the rain-sodden +bales, or stood about in groups. "Anyway I'm the only one that has made +a stab at it."</p> + +<p>A sound behind him caused him to turn his head abruptly to see five +Indians striding toward him along the rock-strewn trail. Brent wriggled +painfully from his pack straps as the leader, a big<!-- Page 65 -->framed giant of a +man, halted at his side and stared stolidly down at him. Brent gained +his feet and thrust out his hand: "Hello, there, old Nick o' Time! Want +a job? I've got a thousand pounds of junk back there on the beach, +counting this piece, and all you gentlemen have got to do is to flip it +up onto your backs and skip over the Chilkoot with it—it's a snap, and +I'll pay you good wages. Do you speak English?"</p> + +<p>The big Indian nodded gravely, "Me spik Eengliss. Me no nem Nickytam. +Nem Kamish—W'ite man call Joe Pete."</p> + +<p>Brent nodded: "All right, Joe Pete. Now how much are you and your gang +going to charge me to pack this stuff up over the pass?"</p> + +<p>The Indian regarded the sack of flour: "You <i>chechako</i>," he announced.</p> + +<p>"Just as you say," grinned Brent, "I wouldn't take that from everybody, +whatever it means, but if you'll get that stuff over the pass you can +call me anything you want to."</p> + +<p>"You Boston man."</p> + +<p>"No—I'm from Tennessee. But we'll overlook even that. How much you pack +it over the pass." Brent pointed to the flour and held up ten fingers.</p> + +<p>The Indian turned to his followers and spoke to them in guttural jargon. +They nodded assent, and he turned to Brent: "Top Chilkoot fi' cent +poun'—hondre poun', fi' dolla. Lak Lindermann, three cent poun' +mor'—hondre poun' all way, eight dolla."<!-- Page 66 --></p> + +<p>"You're on!" agreed Brent, "Thousand pounds, eighty dollars—all the +way."</p> + +<p>The Indian nodded, and Brent produced a ten dollar gold piece which he +handed to the man, indicated that he would get the rest when they +reached Lake Lindermann.</p> + +<p>The Indian motioned to the smallest of his followers and pointing to the +sack of flour, mumbled some words of jargon, whereupon the man stepped +to the pack, removed Brent's straps and producing straps of his own +swung the burden to his back and started off at a brisk walk.</p> + +<p>As Brent led the way back to the beach at the head of his Indians he +turned more than once to glance back at the solitary packer, but as far +as he could see him, the man continued to swing along at the same brisk +pace at which he had started, whereat he conceived a sudden profound +respect for his hirelings. "The littlest runt of the bunch has got me +skinned a thousand miles," he muttered, "But I'll learn the trick. A +year from now I'll hit the trail with any of 'em."</p> + +<p>Back at the beach the Indians were surrounded by thirty-nine clamoring, +howling men who pushed and jostled one another in a frenzied attempt to +hire the packers.</p> + +<p>"No, you don't!" cried Brent, "These men are working for me. When I'm +through with them you can have them, and not before."</p> + +<p>Ugly mutterings greeted the announcement.<!-- Page 67 --> "Who the hell do you think +you are?" "Divide 'em up!" "Give someone else a chanct." Others advanced +upon the Indians and shook sheaves of bills under their noses, offering +double and treble Brent's price. But the Indians paid no heed to the +paper money, and inwardly Brent thanked the lucky star that guided him +into exchanging all his money into gold before leaving Seattle.</p> + +<p>Despite the fact that he was next to useless as a packer Brent was no +weakling. Ignoring the mutterings he led the Indians to his outfit and +while they affixed their straps, he faced the crowding men.</p> + +<p>"Just stay where you are, boys," he said. "This stuff here is my stuff, +and for the time being the ground it's on is my ground."</p> + +<p>The man who had sneered at his attempt to pack the flour crowded close +and quick as a flash, Brent's left fist caught him square on the point +of the chin and he crashed backward among the legs of the others. +Brent's voice never changed tone, nor by so much as the flutter of an +eye lash did he betray any excitement. "Any man that crosses that line +is going to find trouble—and find it damned quick."</p> + +<p>"He's bluffin'," cried a thick voice from the rear of the crowd, "Let me +up there. I'll show the damn dude!" A huge hard-rock man elbowed his way +through the parting crowd, his whiskey-reddened eyes narrowed to slits. +Three paces in front of Brent he halted abruptly and stared into the +muzzle<!-- Page 68 --> of the blue steel gun that had flashed into the engineer's hand.</p> + +<p>"Come on," invited Brent, "If I'm bluffing I won't shoot. You're twice +as big as I am. I wouldn't stand a show in the world in a +rough-and-tumble. But, I'm not bluffing—and there won't be any +rough-and-tumble."</p> + +<p>For a full half minute the man stared into the unwavering muzzle of the +gun.</p> + +<p>"You would shoot a man, damn you!" he muttered as he backed slowly away. +And every man in the crowd knew that he spoke the truth.</p> + +<p>Three of the Indians had put their straps to a hundred pounds apiece and +were already strung out on the trail. Brent turned to see Joe Pete +regarding him with approval, and as he affixed his straps to a fifty +pound pack, the big Indian stooped and swung an extra fifty pounds on +top of the hundred already on his back and struck out after the others. +At the end of a half-mile Brent was laboring heavily under his load, +while Joe Pete had never for an instant slackened his pace. "What's he +made of? Don't he ever rest?" thought Brent, as he struggled on. The +blood was pounding in his ears, and his laboring lungs were sucking in +the air in great gulps. At length his muscles refused to go another +step, and he sagged to the ground and lay there sick and dizzy without +energy enough left at his command to roll the pack from his shoulders. +After what seemed an hour the pack was raised and the<!-- Page 69 --> Indian who had +gone ahead with his first pack swung the fifty pounds to his own +shoulders and started off. Brent scrambled to his feet and followed.</p> + +<p>A mile farther on they came to the others lying on the ground smoking +and resting. The packs lay to one side, and Brent made mental note of +the fact that these packers carried much of the weight upon a strap that +looped over their foreheads, and that instead of making short hauls and +then resting with their packs on they made long hauls and took long +rests with their packs thrown off. They were at least three miles from +the beach, and it was nearly an hour before they again took the trail. +In the meantime Joe Pete had rigged a tump-line for Brent, and when he +again took the trail he was surprised at the difference the shifting of +part of the load to his head made in the ease with which he carried it.</p> + +<p>Two miles farther on they came upon the sack of flour where the Indian +had left it and Joe Pete indicated that this would be their first day's +haul. Six hundred pounds of Brent's thousand had been moved five miles, +and leaving the small Indian to make camp, the others, together with +Brent returned for the remaining four hundred.</p> + +<p>This time they were not molested by the men on the beach, many of whom +they passed on the trail laboring along under packs which for the most +part did not exceed fifty pounds weight.<!-- Page 70 --></p> + +<p>On the return Brent insisted on packing his fifty pounds and much to his +delight found that he was able to make the whole distance of three miles +to the resting place. Joe Pete nodded grave approval of this feat and +Brent, in whose veins flowed the bluest blood of the South, felt his +heart swell with pride because he had won the approbation of this dark +skinned packer of the North.</p> + +<p>Into this rest camp came the erstwhile head barkeeper at Kelliher's, and +to him Brent imparted the trail-lore he had picked up. Also he exchanged +with him one hundred dollars in gold for a like amount in bills, and +advised Joe Pete that when his present contract was finished this other +would be a good man to work for.</p> + +<p>Day after day they packed, and upon the last day of trail Brent made +four miles under one hundred pounds with only one rest—much of the way +through soft muskeg. And he repeated the performance in the afternoon. +At Lindermann Joe Pete found an Indian who agreed to run Brent and his +outfit down through the lakes and the river to Dawson in a huge freight +canoe.</p> + +<p>The first stampeders from the outside bought all available canoes and +boats so that by the time of the big rush boats had to be built on the +shore of the lake from timber cut green and whip-sawed into lumber on +the spot. Also, the price of packing over the Chilkoot jumped from five +cents a pound to ten,<!-- Page 71 --> to twenty, to fifty, to seventy, and even a +dollar, as men fought to get in before the freeze up—but that was a +year and a half after Brent floated down the Yukon in his big birch +canoe.<!-- Page 72 --></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<p class="tdc">AT THE MISSION</p> + + +<p>Far in the Northland, upon the bank of a great river that disgorges into +the frozen sea, stands a little Roman Catholic Mission. The mission is +very old—having had its inception in the early days of the fur trade. +Its little chapel boasts a stained glass window—a window fashioned in +Europe, carried across the Atlantic to Hudson Bay in a wooden sailing +vessel, and transported through three thousand miles of wilderness in +canoes, York boats, and scows, and over many weary miles of portage upon +the backs of sweating Indians. Upon its walls hang paintings—works of +real merit, the labor of priestly hands long dead. A worthy monument, +this mission, to the toil and self sacrifice of the early Fathers, and a +living tribute to the labor of the grave Grey Nuns.</p> + +<p>The time was July—late evening of a July day. The sun still held high +above the horizon, and upon the grassed plateau about the buildings of +the mission children were playing. They were Indian children, for the +most part, thick bodied and swarthy faced but among them here and there, +could be<!-- Page 73 --> seen the lighter skin of a half breed. Near the door of one of +the buildings sat a group of older Indian girls sewing. In the doorway +the good Father Ambrose stood with his eyes upon the up-reach of the +river.</p> + +<p>Like a silent grey shadow Sister Mercedes glided from the chapel and +seated herself upon a wooden bench drawn close beside the door. Her eyes +followed the gaze of the priest. "No sign of the brigade?" she asked. +"They have probably tied up for the night. Tomorrow maybe—or the day +after, they will come." Ensued a long pause during which both studied +the river. "I think," continued the Nun, "that when the scows return +southward we will be losing Snowdrift."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" The priest turned his head quickly and regarded Sister Mercedes +with a frown. "Henri of the White Water? Think you he has——"</p> + +<p>The Sister interrupted: "No, no! To school. She is nineteen, now. We can +do nothing more for her here. In the matter of lessons, as you well +know, she has easily outstripped all others, and books! She has already +exhausted our meagre library."</p> + +<p>The priest nodded. The frown still puckered his brow but his lips +smiled—a smile that conveyed more of questioning than of mirth. +Intensely human himself, Father Ambrose was no mean student of human +nature, and he spoke with a troubled mind: "To us here at the mission +have been brought many children, both of the Indians and of<!-- Page 74 --> the Metis. +And, having absorbed to their capacity our teachings, the Indians have +gone stolidly back to their tepees, and to their business of hunting and +trapping, carrying with them a measure of useful handicraft, a +smattering of letters, and the precepts of the Word." The smile had +faded from the clean-cut lips of the priest, and Sister Mercedes noted a +touch of sadness in the voice, as she watched a slanting ray of sunlight +play for a moment upon the thinning, silvery hair. "I have grown old in +the service of God here at this mission, and it is natural that I have +sought diligently among my people for the outward and visible signs of +the fruit of my labor. And I have found, with a few notable exceptions +that in one year, or two, or three, the handicraft is almost forgotten, +the letters are but a dim blur of memory, and the Word?" He shrugged, +"Who but God can tell? It is the Metis who are the real problem. For it +is in their veins that civilization meets savagery. The clash and the +conflict of races—the antagonism that is responsible for the wars of +the world—is inherent in the very blood that gives them life. And the +outcome is beyond the ken or the conjecture of man. I have seen, I +think, every conceivable combination of physical and mental condition, +save the one most devoutly to be hoped for—a blending of the best that +is in each race. That I have not seen. Unless it be that we are to see +it in Snowdrift."</p> + +<p>Sister Mercedes smiled: "I do not believe that<!-- Page 75 --> Snowdrift is a half +breed. I believe she is a white child."</p> + +<p>Father Ambrose smiled tolerantly: "Still of that belief? But, it is +impossible. I know her mother. She, too, was a child of this +mission—long before your time. She is one of the few Indians who did +not forget the handicraft nor the letters." The old man paused and shook +his head sadly, "And until she brought this child here I believed that +she had not forgotten the Word. For she continued to profess her belief, +and among her people she waged war upon the rum-runners. Later, I, +myself, married her to a Dog Rib, a man who was the best of his tribe. +Then they disappeared and I heard nothing from her until she brought +this child, Snowdrift, to us here at the mission. She told me that her +husband had been drowned in a rapid, and then she told me—not in +confessional, for she would not confess, that this was her child and +that her father was a white man, but that he was not her husband."</p> + +<p>"She may have lied. Loving the child, she may have feared that we would +take her away, or institute a search for her people."</p> + +<p>"She loves the child—with the mother love. But she did not lie. If she +had lied, would she not have said that after the death of her husband +she had married this white man? I would have believed her. But, +evidently the idea of truth is more firmly implanted in her heart +than—other virtues—so she told the truth—knowing even as she did so +the<!-- Page 76 --> light in which she would stand before men, and also the standing of +her daughter."</p> + +<p>"Oh, it is a shame!" cried the Nun, "But, still I do not believe it! I +cannot believe it! Snowdrift's skin, where the sun and the wind have not +turned it, is as white as mine."</p> + +<p>"But her hair and eyes are the dark hair and eyes of the Indian. And +when she was first brought here, have you forgotten that she fought like +a little wild cat, and that she ran away and trailed her band to its +encampment? Could a white child have done that?"</p> + +<p>"But after she had been brought back, and had begun to learn she fought +just as hard against returning to the tribe for a brief vacation. She is +a dreamer of dreams. She loves music and appreciates its beauty, and the +beauty of art and the poets."</p> + +<p>"She can trail an animal through country that would throw many an Indian +at fault."</p> + +<p>"She hates the sordid. She hates the rum-runners, and the greasy +smoke-blackened tepees of the Indians. In her heart there has been an +awakening. She longs for something better—higher. She has consented to +go to the convent."</p> + +<p>"And at the same time we are in mortal dread lest she marry that prince +of all devils, Henri of the White Water. Why she even dresses like an +Indian—the only one of the older girls who does not wear the clothing +of white women."<!-- Page 77 --></p> + +<p>"That is because of her artistic temperament. She loves the ease and +comfort of the garments. And she realizes their beauty in comparison to +the ugliness of the coarse clothing and shoes with which we must provide +them."</p> + +<p>"Where is she now?"</p> + +<p>"Hunting."</p> + +<p>Father Ambrose laughed: "And I predict that she will not return until +she has brought down her caribou, or her moose. Would your white maiden +of nineteen be off hunting alone in the hills with her rifle? No. By our +very contentions we have established the dual nature of her. In her the +traits of civilization and savagery are not blended, but each in turn +dominate and order her thoughts and actions. Hers is what one might term +an alternating ego. And it is a thing that troubles me sore. What will +happen down there—down at the convent, where they will not understand +her, and where there is no hunting? To what end will this marvelous +energy exert itself? For, it will not remain pent up within her breast. +It will seek outlet. And then?"</p> + +<p>"Who can tell?" answered the Nun, thoughtfully. "At least, I shall be +glad indeed to know that she will be far from the baleful influence of +Henri of the White Water. For, devil that he is, there is no gainsaying +the fact that there is something attractive about him, with his bold +free manner, and his handsome face, and gay clothing. He is a figure +that might well attract a more sophisticated woman<!-- Page 78 --> than our little +Snowdrift. As yet, though, I think he has failed to rouse in her more +than a passing interest. If she cared for him she would not be away +hunting while everyone else is eagerly watching for the brigade."</p> + +<p>Father Ambrose shrugged: "'Tis past understanding—the way of a maid +with a man. But see, here she comes, now." Both watched the lithe form +that swung across the clearing from the bush. The girl was hatless, her +mass of black hair, caught up and held in place by an ingenious twist of +bark. Her face and full rounded throat that rose gracefully from the +open collar of a buckskin hunting shirt showed a rich hazel brown in the +slanting rays of the sun. Buckskin gloves protected her hands from the +ever present mosquitoes. A knee-length skirt of heavy cloth, a pair of +deer skin leggings tanned with the hair on, and Indian moccasins +completed her costume.</p> + +<p>"What luck?" greeted the priest.</p> + +<p>The girl paused before them and flashing a smile, disclosed a set of +teeth that gleamed like wet pearls: "Good luck," she answered, "A young +bull caribou, and two wolves that were just closing in on a cow with a +young calf. Every bullet went true. I shot three times. Has the brigade +passed?"</p> + +<p>The priest shook his head: "No, not yet. They will have camped before +this for the night." As he spoke the girl's eyes strayed to the river, +and at the extreme reach of glistening water, they held:<!-- Page 79 --> "Look!" she +cried, "They are coming, now!" Around the bend into view shot a scow, +and another, and another, until the whole surface of the river seemed +black with the scows. The playing children had seen them too, and with +wild whoops of delight they were racing for the bank, followed by the +older Indian girls, and by Father Ambrose. For the annual coming of the +brigade is an event in the North, bringing as it does the mail and the +supplies for the whole year to these lonely dwellers of the far +outlands.</p> + +<p>Sister Mercedes remained seated upon her bench and standing her rifle +against the wall, Snowdrift sat down beside her, and in silence the two +watched the scows swing shoreward in response to the strokes of the +heavy steering sweeps, and listened to the exchange of shouted +greetings.</p> + +<p>Of all the rivermen, the bravest figure was that of Henri of the White +Water. The two women could see him striding back and forth issuing +orders regarding the mooring of scows and the unloading of freight. They +saw him pause suddenly in his restless pacing up and down, and eagerly +scan the faces of the assembled group. Then, his glance travelled back +from the river and rested upon the two silent figures beside the door, +and with a wave of his hand, he tossed the sack of mail to the waiting +priest, and stepping past him strode rapidly up the bank in the +direction of the mission.</p> + +<p>The face of Sister Mercedes hardened as she<!-- Page 80 --> noted the flaunting air of +the approaching man, his stocking cap of brilliant blue, his snow-white +<i>capote</i> thrown open to reveal the flannel shirt of vivid red and black +checks.</p> + +<p>With a royal bow, he swept the blue stocking cap from his head and +saluted the two upon the bench: "Ah-ha, greetings, <i>ma</i> <i>chères</i>! From +Henri of the White Water to the fairest flower of the North, and +her—ah, guardian angel—<i>non</i>?" His lips flashed a smile, and he +continued: "But, there are times when even a guardian angel is not +desired to be. Come with me, Snowdrift, and we will walk yonder to the +edge of the bank, where we will still be within sight of the ever +watching eye of the church, but well out of hearing of its ever +listening ear. You see, Sister <i>religieuse</i>, I am a respecter of your +little laws!" He laughed aloud, "Ah, yes Henri of the White Water is a +great respecter of laws, <i>voila</i>!"</p> + +<p>Seating themselves upon the high bank of the river the two watched the +sun dip slowly behind the scrub timber. And, as the twilight deepened, +the man talked rapidly and earnestly, while the girl listened in +silence. "And so," he concluded, "When the scows return, in one month +from now, you shall leave this place forever. We shall go away and be +married, and we will journey far, far up the rivers to the cities of the +white men, and only upon occasion will we make flying trips into the +North—to the trade."<!-- Page 81 --></p> + +<p>"It is said that you trade hooch," said the girl, "I will not marry any +man who trades hooch. I hate the traders of hooch."</p> + +<p>"Ah-ha! <i>Ma chère!</i> Yes, I have now and then traded hooch. You see, I do +not deny. Henri of the White Water must have adventure. But upon my +soul, if you do not want me to trade hooch, I shall never trade another +drop—<i>non</i>."</p> + +<p>"When the scows return in a month, I shall go with them," answered the +girl dispassionately, "But, not to be married. I am going to school——"</p> + +<p>"To school! <i>Mon Dieu!</i> Have you not had enough of school? It is time +you were finished with such foolishness. You, who are old enough to be +the mother of children, talking of going to school! Bah! It is to laugh! +And where would you go—to school?"</p> + +<p>"To the convent, at Montreal."</p> + +<p>"The devil take these meddlers!" cried the man, rising and pacing +rapidly up and down before the girl. Then suddenly he paused and looking +down upon her, laughed aloud. "Ha, ha! You would go to Montreal! And +what will you do when you get there? What will you say when they ask you +who is your father? Eh, what will you tell them?"</p> + +<p>The girl looked at him in wide-eyed surprise. "Why, what do you mean? I +shall tell them the truth—that my father is dead. Why should I not tell +them that my father is dead. He was a good man. My mother has told me."<!-- Page 82 --></p> + +<p>Again the man laughed, his laugh of cruel derision: "Such innocence! It +is unbelievable! They will have nothing to do with you in the land of +the white men. They will scorn you and look down upon you. You never had +a father——"</p> + +<p>The girl was upon her feet, now, facing him with flashing eyes: "It is a +lie! I did have a father! And he was a good man. He was not like the +father of you, old Boussard, the drunken and thieving old hanger-on +about the posts!"</p> + +<p>"Aye, I grant you that the old devil is nothing to brag of. I do not +point to him with the finger of pride, but he is nevertheless a +produceable father. He and my Indian mother were married. I at least am +no <i>enfant natural</i>—no <i>batarde</i>! No one can poke at me the finger of +scorn, and draw aside in the passing, as from a thing unclean!"</p> + +<p>The girl's face flamed red, and tears of rage welled from her eyes: "I +do not know what you mean!" she cried, "But I do know that I hate you! I +will find out what you mean—and then maybe I will kill you." In her +rage she sprang at the man's throat with her bare hands, but he easily +thrust her aside, and sobbing she ran toward the mission.</p> + +<p>It was long after midnight that Snowdrift emerged from the room of +Sister Mercedes. The girl had gone straight to the Nun and asked +questions, nor would she be denied their answers. And so explaining, +comforting, as best she could, the good Sister talked till far into the +night. Snowdrift<!-- Page 83 --> had gone into the room an unsophisticated girl—she +came out from it a woman—but, a woman whose spirit, instead of being +crushed and broken by the weight of her shame, rose triumphant and +defiant above that shame. For in her heart was bitter hatred against the +white men, whose code of ethics brought shame upon the innocent head of +one whose very existence was due to the lust of a man of their own race.</p> + +<p>Silently the girl crossed the clearing to the building in which was her +room, and very silently she made up a pack of her belongings. Then, +taking the pack, and her rifle, she stole silently out the door and +crossing the broad open space, entered the bush. At the edge of the +clearing she turned, and stood for a long time looking back at the +mission with its little buildings huddled together in the moonlight. And +then, with a choking sob that forced itself past her tight-pressed lips, +she turned and plunged into the timber.<!-- Page 84 --></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<p class="tdc">ACE-IN-THE-HOLE</p> + + +<p>On the outskirts of Dawson, city of the tents and log buildings, Brent +pitched his own tent, paid off his Indian canoeman, and within the hour +was sucked into the mad maelstrom of carousal that characterized the +early days of the big gold camp.</p> + +<p>It was the city of men gone mad. The saloon was the center of +activity—and saloons there were aplenty; Dick Stoell's Place, which was +"the big game" of Dawson; "The Nugget" of uproarious fame; Cuter +Malone's "Klondike Palace," where, nightly, revel raged to the <i>n</i>th +power—where bearded men and scarlet women gave over to debauch +magnificent in its wild abandon; and many others, each with its wheels +of chance, its cards, its music, and its women.</p> + +<p>And into the whirl of it Carter Brent plunged with a zest born of youth +and of muscles iron-hard from the gruelling trail. And into it he fitted +as though to the manner born. No invisible lines of demarkation divided +the bars of Dawson as they had divided Kelliher's bar. Millionaires in +blanket<!-- Page 85 --> coats and mukluks rubbed shoulders with penniless watery-eyed +squaw-men. Sourdoughs who spilled coarse gold from the mouths of sacks, +misfit <i>chechakos</i>, and painted women, danced, and sang, and cursed, and +gambled, the short nights through.</p> + +<p>The remnant of Brent's thousand dollars was but a drop in the bucket, +and he was glad when it was gone three days after his arrival. Not that +he particularly wanted to be "broke." But in the spending of it, men had +taken his measure—the bills and the coined gold had branded him as a +man from the "outside," a <i>chechako</i>—a tenderfoot.</p> + +<p>An hour after he had tossed his last yellow disk upon the bar in payment +for a round of drinks he had hired out to Camillo Bill Waters to sluice +gravel at an ounce a day. An ounce was sixteen dollars. Thereafter for +the space of a month he was seen no more in Dawson.</p> + +<p>Then one day he returned. He presented a slip of paper signed by Camillo +Bill to the bartender at Stoell's and received therefor thirty ounces of +gold—raw gold, in dust and nuggets. He bought a round of drinks +glorying in the fact that at last he, too, was spending coarse gold. He +bet ten ounces on an Indian foot race, and won. More drinks, and an hour +later he bet his pile on a seven, a ten-spot, a deuce, and a king in a +game of stud poker. Two players called the bet and he flipped over his +hole card—it was a seven-spot and again he won.<!-- Page 86 --></p> + +<p>He quit the game and danced for an hour, and between dances he drank +whiskey. He got the hunch that this was his lucky day and that he could +win, but the hunch called for quick big bets, and not for long continued +play. He rode his hunch, and at Cuter Malone's wheel he tossed fifty +ounces on Number 21. The ivory ball rolled slower and slower, hesitated +on the 10 and then with a last turn settled into 21. He pocketed +twenty-eight thousand dollars with a grin. The news of the bet spread +swiftly and Brent became a man of sorts. Four times more that night he +placed big bets—and three of the times he won.</p> + +<p>One of these plays also in a game of stud earned him the name by which +he became known in the North. With a king, and a queen, showing in his +own hand he mercilessly raised an exposed pair of Jacks. Of the six +other players in the game five dropped out. The holder of the Jacks +stayed for the last draw and checked the bet. Brent laid fifty thousand +dollars on his cards, a king, a queen, an eight spot and a four spot. +The other stared at the hand for a long time. He was a man known for his +nerve and his high play, and he knew that Brent knew this. Whispers of +the big bet had gone about the room and men and women crowded the table. +At length the other turned down his cards in token of surrender, and +with a laugh Brent turned his hole card face up. It was the Ace of +Diamonds, and an audible gasp hissed from twenty throats.<!-- Page 87 --> Thereafter +Brent was known as Ace-In-The-Hole.</p> + +<p>The next morning he deposited one hundred and thirty thousand dollars in +Dick Stoell's safe, and his pockets still bulged with dust. For two days +and nights he drank and danced, but not a card did he touch, nor did he +lay any bet. When questioned he answered that his hunch was not working. +The sourdoughs respected him and treated him as an equal. He spent dust +lavishly but he did not throw it away.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly he bought an outfit and disappeared. When the first snow +flew he was back, and into Dick Stoell's safe went many sacks of raw +gold. He drank harder than ever and spent gold more freely. His fame +spread to other camps, and three men came up from Circle to relieve him +of his pile. He was gambling regularly now, and in a game of stud he +caught them at the trick by means of which they had won forty thousand +dollars from him. Many miners, among them a goodly sprinkling of old +timers, were watching the play, and many of them had already detected +the swindle, but after the custom of the country they held their peace. +Brent never batted an eye upon discovering the trick, but when a few +moments later it was repeated, things happened in Stoell's—and they +happened with the rapidity of light. One minute after the trouble +started there was an ominous silence in the room. A circle of men stood +and stared at the wreck of a table, across which sagged the body of<!-- Page 88 --> a +man killed with his own gun. Another man with his jaw shattered lay on +the floor, and a third lay white and still across him with a wide red +mark on his forehead where a sack of gold dust had caught him fair. And +over all stood Brent with one leg jammed through the rungs of a broken +chair.</p> + +<p>The incident placed Ace-In-The-Hole in the foremost ranks of the big men +of the North. He was regarded as the equal of such men as Old Bettles, +Camillo Bill Waters, Swiftwater Bill, and McMann. Sourdoughs sought his +acquaintance and <i>chechakos</i> held him in awe. When the snow lay deep he +bought the best string of dogs he could find, hired an Indian musher, +and again disappeared. He was back at Christmas for a two weeks +carousal, and when he hit the trail again he carried with him several +gallons of whiskey. The sourdoughs shook their heads and exchanged +glances at this, but a man's business is his own. In July he sent his +Indian down for ten men to work his sluices and much whiskey. In +September he came down himself and he brought with him a half million in +gold.</p> + +<p>Others had cleaned up big during the summer, and that winter saw +Dawson's highest peak of wild orgies and wild spending. Riding a hunch +when he first hit town Brent doubled and trebled his pile, and then with +Jimmie the Rough, McMann, Camillo Bill and a few others they inaugurated +such a campaign of reckless spending as the North had never seen and +never again did see.<!-- Page 89 --></p> + +<p>Brent was never sober, now—and men said he never slept. He was the +youngest and by far the strongest of the spenders, the urge of the game +was in his blood, and he rode it as he rode his hunches—to the limit of +his endurance. All men liked him—open hearted, generous to the fault, +and square as a die in his dealings, he spent his money like a prince. +And where the men liked him the painted women worshipped him—but they +worshipped from afar. For despite the utmost blandishments of the most +intriguing of them, he treated all alike—even Kitty, whom men called +"The Queen of the Yukon," failed to hold him in thrall. This dancing +girl who had taken the North by storm, who was the North's darling and +beautiful plaything, whose boast it was that she had never sought any +man, fell violently in love with Brent. Men saw it and marvelled, for it +was known in the camps that she had spurned men who had laid fortunes at +her feet. It was not that he feared women, rather he sought them. He +danced with them, frolicked with them—and then promptly forgot them. +His one real passion was gambling. Any game or device whereupon big bets +could be laid found him an enthusiastic devotee. And his luck became a +byword in the North.</p> + +<p>"Sometime your luck will change," warned the dancing girl as the two sat +one evening in the early fall at a little table in Stoell's and drank +champagne which cost Brent fifty dollars the quart. "And then you'll be +broke and——"<!-- Page 90 --></p> + +<p>Brent who had been idly toying with the rings upon her fingers returned +the slender hand to the table. "It can't change. It's a part of me. As +long as I'm me, I'll be lucky. Look, I'll show you! You want to marry +me—you've told me so. Well, I don't want to marry you, or anyone +else—wouldn't know what to do with you if I did marry you. You want me +to go back on the claim—well, here's a bargain—just to show you that I +can't lose." He pulled a buckskin sack full of gold from his pocket and +held it before the girl's eyes. "See this sack. It isn't very big. It +can't cover many numbers. I'm going to stand up in this chair and toss +it onto the roulette table over there, and play every number it touches. +If I lose I lose the dust—Stoell will get that. But that isn't all I'll +lose—I'll lose myself—to you. If one of the numbers that this sack +falls on don't win, I marry you tonight, and we hit for the claim +tomorrow."</p> + +<p>The girl stared at him, fascinated: "Do you mean that—you'll quit +gambling—and you'll sober up and—and live with me?"</p> + +<p>Again Brent laughed: "Yes, I'll quit gambling, and sober up, and live +with you till—how does it go—till death us do part."</p> + +<p>"Toss it!" The words of the girl came short, with a curious indrawing of +the breath, and her fingers clutched at the edge of the table till the +knuckles whitened. The men who were crowded about the wheel glanced +toward the table at the<!-- Page 91 --> sound, and standing in his chair Brent waved +them to fall back. Then he told them of his bet—while the dancing girl +sat with parted lips, her eyes fastened upon his face. The men at the +wheel surged back to give room. The proposition caught their fancy. +Ace-In-The-Hole, prince of gamblers, was betting himself—with the odds +against him! And every man and woman in the room knew that if he lost he +would keep his word to the last letter.</p> + +<p>Carefully measuring the distance, Brent balanced the sack in his hand, +then with a slow movement of his arm, tossed it onto the table. It +struck almost squarely in the center, covering Numbers 13, 14, 16, 17, +19, and 20. The croupier spun the wheel, and sent the ivory ball +spinning on its way. The men who had been playing, and the men from the +bar, crowded close, their eyes on the whirling wheel. Brent sat down in +his chair, lighted a cigarette, and filled the two empty champagne +glasses from the bottle. He glanced across at Kitty. She was leaning +forward with her face buried in her arms. Her shoulders were heaving +with quick, convulsive sobs. In Brent's heart rose sudden pity for this +girl. What to him had been a mere prank, a caprice of the moment, was to +her a thing of vital import. The black fox fur had fallen away from +about her neck exposing a bare shoulder that gleamed white in the light +of the swinging lamp. She looked little and helpless, and Brent felt a +desire to take her in his arms and comfort her. He leaned<!-- Page 92 --> toward her, +half rose from his chair and then, at a sound from the table, he settled +back.</p> + +<p>"Number 13 wins," announced the croupier, and the room was suddenly +filled with the voices of many men. The croupier scribbled a notation +upon a piece of paper and together with the sack of dust laid it upon +the table between Brent and the girl. A moment later she raised her head +and stared, dry eyed into Brent's face.</p> + +<p>"Here, little girl," he said gently. "Forgive me. I didn't know you +really felt—that way. Here, this is all yours—take it. The bet paid +six to one. The weigher will cash this slip at the bar."</p> + +<p>With a swift motion of her hand the girl swept sack and slip to the +floor. "Oh, I—I hope you <i>die</i>!" she cried hysterically, and gathering +her wrap about her, she sped from the room.<!-- Page 93 --></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<p class="tdc">LUCK TURNS</p> + + +<p>Before the advent of the tin-horns, who invaded the Yukon at the time of +the big rush, a "limit" in a poker game was a thing unknown. "Table +stakes" did not exist, nor did a man mention the amount he stood to lose +when he sat in a game. When a player took his seat it was understood +that he stood good for all he possessed of property, whatever or +wherever it might be. If the play on any hand ran beyond his "pile" all +he had to do was to announce the fact and the other players would either +draw down to it, or if they wished to continue the play, the pot, +including the amount of the "short" player's last bet was pushed aside +until the last call was made, the "short" player only participating in +the portion of the pot so set aside. If, in the final show-down his hand +was the highest he raked in this pot and the next high hand collected +the subsequent bets.</p> + +<p>Stud poker was the play most favored by Brent, and when he sat in a game +the table soon became rimmed with spectators. Other games would break<!-- Page 94 --> +up that the players might look on, and they were generally rewarded by +seeing plenty of action. It was Brent's custom to trail along for a +dozen hands or more, simply calling moderate bets on good hands, or +turning down his cards at the second or third card. Then, suddenly, he +would shove out an enormous bet, preferably raising a pair when his own +hand showed nothing. If this happened on the second or third card dealt +it invariably gave the other players pause, for they knew that each +succeeding bet would be higher than the first, and that if they stayed +for the final call they would stand to lose heavily if not be actually +wiped out. But they knew also that the bet was as apt to be made on +nothing as on a good hand, and should they drop out they must pass up +the opportunity to make a killing. Another whim of Brent's was always to +expose his hole card after the play, a trick that aggravated his +opponents as much as it amused the spectators.</p> + +<p>The result was that many players had fallen into the habit of dropping +out of a game when Ace-In-The-Hole sat in—not because they disliked him +personally, but because, as they openly admitted, they were afraid of +his play. Many of these spent hours watching his cards. Not a man among +them but knew that he was as square as a die, but every man among them +knew that his phenomenal luck must sometime desert him, and when that +time came they intended to be in at the killing. For only<!-- Page 95 --> Brent himself +believed that his luck would hold—believed it was as much a part of +himself as the color of his hair or his eyes.</p> + +<p>Among those who refused to play was Johnny Claw, from whom Brent had won +ten thousand dollars a month before on three successive hands—two cold +bluffs, and a club in the hole with four clubs showing, against Claw's +king in the hole with two kings showing. Unlike the others who had lost +to him, Claw nursed a bitter and secret hatred for him, and he +determined that when luck did turn he would profit to the limit of his +pile.</p> + +<p>Johnnie Claw was one of the few old timers whom men distrusted. He was a +squaw-man who had trapped and traded in the country as far back as any +man could remember. With the coming of more white men, and the +establishment of saloons along the river, Claw had ceased his trapping, +and had confined his trading to the illicit peddling of hooch, for the +most part among the Indians of the interior, and to that uglier, but +more profitable traffic that filled the brothels and the dance halls of +the Yukon with painted women from the "outside." So Claw moved among his +compeers as a man despised, yet accepted, because he was of the North, +and of the civilization thereof a component part.</p> + +<p>Brent's luck held until the night before Thanksgiving, then the +inevitable happened—he began to lose. At the roulette wheel and the +faro table he lost twenty-five thousand dollars, and later, in a<!-- Page 96 --> game +of stud, he dropped one hundred thousand more. The loss did not worry +him any, he drank a little more than usual during the play, and his +plunges came a little more frequently, but the cards were not falling +his way, and when they did fall, he almost invariably ran them up +against a stronger hand.</p> + +<p>Rumor that the luck of Ace-In-The-Hole had changed at last spread +rapidly through the camp, and late in the afternoon of Thanksgiving day, +when the play was resumed, spectators crowded the table ten deep. Men +estimated Brent's winnings at anywhere from one to five millions and +there was an electric thrill in the air as the players settled +themselves in their chairs and counted their stacks of chips. The game +was limited to eight players, and Camillo Bill Waters arriving too late +to be included, promptly bought the seat of a prospector named Troy, +paying therefor twenty-thousand dollars in dust. "We're after yer hide," +he grinned good-naturedly at Brent, "an' I'm backin' the hunch that +we're a-goin' to hang it on the fence this day."</p> + +<p>"Come and get it!" laughed Brent. "But I'll give you fair warning that I +wear it tight and before you rip it off someone's going to get hurt." +Cards in hand he glanced at the tense faces around the board. "I've got +a hunch that this game is going to make history on the Yukon," he +smiled, "And it better be opened formally with a good stiff round of<!-- Page 97 --> +drinks." While they waited for the liquor his eye fell upon the face of +Johnny Claw, who sat at the table, the second man from his right. "I +thought you wouldn't sit in a game with me," he said, truculently.</p> + +<p>"An' I wouldn't, neither, while yer luck was runnin'—but, it's +different, now. Yer luck's busted—an' you'll be busted. An' I'm right +here to git my money back, an' some of yourn along with it."</p> + +<p>Brent laughed: "You won't be in the game an hour, Claw. I don't like +you, and I don't like your business, and the best thing you can do is to +cash in right now before the game starts."</p> + +<p>A moment of tense silence followed Brent's words, for among the men of +the Yukon, open insult must be wiped out in blood. But Claw made no move +except to reach out and finger a stack of chips, while men shot sidewise +glances into each other's faces. The stack of chips rattled upon the +cloth under the play of his nervous fingers, and Kitty, who had taken +her position directly behind Brent with a small slippered foot upon a +rung of his chair, tittered. Claw took his cue from the sound and +laughed loudly: "I'll play my cards, an' you play yourn, an' I'll do my +cashin' in later," he answered. "An' here's the drinks, so le's liquor +an' git to goin'." He downed his whiskey at a gulp, the bartender +removed the empty glasses, and the big game was on.</p> + +<p>The play ran rather cautiously at first, even more<!-- Page 98 --> cautiously than +usual. But there was an unwonted tenseness in the atmosphere. Each man +had bought ten thousand dollars worth of chips, with the white chips at +one hundred dollars, the reds at five hundred, and blues at a +thousand—and each man knew that his stack was only a shoestring.</p> + +<p>After five or six deals Camillo Bill, who sat directly across the table +from Brent tossed in a red chip on his third card which was a queen. +Claw stayed, the next man folded, and Brent, who showed a seven and a +nine-spot raised a thousand. The others dropped, and Camillo Bill saw +the raise. Claw, whose exposed cards were a ten-spot and a jack, +hesitated for a moment and tossed in a blue chip. Camillo Bill's next +card was an ace, Claw paired his jack and Brent drew a six-spot. With a +grin at Brent, Claw pushed in a blue chip, and without hesitation Brent +dropped in four blue ones, raising Claw three thousand. Camillo Bill +studied the cards, tilted his hole card and glanced at its corner, and +raised Brent two thousand. Claw, also surveyed the cards:</p> + +<p>"Yer holdin' a four-straight damn high," he snarled at Brent, "but I've +got mine—my pair of jacks has got anything you've got beat, an' Camillo +hain't got no pair of queens or he'd of boosted yer other bet. I'd ort +to raise, but I'll jest stay." And he dropped five blue chips into the +pot. Camillo Bill paired his ace with the last card, Claw drew a deuce, +and Brent a ten spot. Camillo Bill bet a<!-- Page 99 --> white chip, Claw stared at +Brent's cards for a few moments and merely called, and Brent laughed:</p> + +<p>"Here's your white chip, Bill, and I'll just lift it ten thousand—I'm +that much light in the pot for a minute."</p> + +<p>Camillo Bill called after a moment's deliberation, and Claw sat staring +at the pot. He had just two blue chips left before him. "I ain't got ten +thousan'," he whined, "I figger I've got about five thousan' outside +this here stack, an' if I call fer that an' lose I'm busted flat." His +hand pushed the two blue chips toward the pot, hesitated, and was +quickly withdrawn. "Damned if I do!" he snarled, "My jacks-up ain't +worth it—not agin luck like yourn." He turned over his hole card which +was a deuce, and again Brent laughed and flipped his hole card over. It +was the king of spades.</p> + +<p>"I haven't got a damned thing, and I never did have. What have you got +buried, Bill, another ace?"</p> + +<p>Camillo Bill grinned and shook his head: "Nope, my down card's a king, +too. All I got is them pair of aces. Where's yer guts, Claw?"</p> + +<p>Claw glared at Brent as the latter bought a new stack of chips, +scribbled an I.O.U. for ten thousand upon a scrap of paper, and tossed +it across to Camillo Bill. Then clutching his two chips he rose from the +table: "You jest done that to git me!" he growled, "I ain't got no show +in this game—if you can't beat me yerself you'll run me up agin a +better hand till I'm busted, if you lose money doin' it!"<!-- Page 100 --></p> + +<p>"You've got it doped right, Claw," said Brent, evenly. "I told you you +wouldn't last an hour, and if you'd have listened to me you'd have been +eight thousand better off. Your hour isn't up yet, we've got plenty of +time to get the rest of it."</p> + +<p>"You'll raise hell gittin' the rest of it!" muttered the man, and as he +walked toward the bar, Troy, who had sold his seat to Camillo Bill, +slipped into the vacated chair.</p> + +<p>The incident served to liven the game up, and thereafter red and blue +chips outnumbered the white ones in nearly every pot.</p> + +<p>There was no thought of stopping for supper, and when the game broke up +long past midnight Brent had lost three hundred thousand dollars. He +turned to Kitty, who had never left her post at the back of his chair: +"Come on, girl, let's go find something to eat and some fuzzy water," he +smiled. "They sure had my number, tonight, but I'll go after them +tomorrow."</p> + +<p>Brent ordered and drank three glasses of whiskey, while waiting for the +meal to be served, and after it was over, the girl leaned back in her +chair and studied him as she sipped her champagne.</p> + +<p>"You're different than you were a year ago," she said.</p> + +<p>Brent laughed: "Sure, I was a poor man, then——"</p> + +<p>The girl straightened in her chair and interrupted him abruptly, "And +you'll never amount to a <i>damn</i><!-- Page 101 --> until you're a poor man again!" she +exclaimed, with such feeling that Brent stared at her in surprise.</p> + +<p>"What! What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"I mean just what I said. A year ago you were <i>some man</i>. Folks say +you're a mining engineer—educated in a college. What are you now? +You're a gam., that's what you are, and the hooch is putting its mark on +you, too—and it's a shame."</p> + +<p>"What in the world is the matter with you, Kitty?" The man stared at her +in surprise, "The hooch don't hurt me any—and I only play for the fun +of the game——"</p> + +<p>"No you don't! You play because its got into your blood, and you can't +help playing. And you'll keep on playing till you're busted and it'll be +a good thing when you are! Your luck has changed now, and they'll get +you."</p> + +<p>"I'm still playing on their money," retorted Brent a little nettled at +the girl's attack. "If they clean me out, all right. They'll only win +the half million I took out of my two claims—the rest of it I took away +from them. Anyway, whose business is it?" he asked sullenly.</p> + +<p>"It ain't nobody's business, but yours. I—I wish to God it was mine. +Everybody knows the hooch is getting you—and that is just what they all +say—it's a shame—but it's his own business. I'm the only one that +could say anything to you, and I'm—I'm sorry I did."</p> + +<p>"They're right—it's my business, and no one<!-- Page 102 --> else's. If they think I'm +so damned far gone let them come and get my pile—I'll still have the +claims, and I'll go out and bring in another stake and go after them +harder than ever!"</p> + +<p>"No you won't—they'll get the claims, too. And you won't have the +nerve, nor the muscles to go out and make another strike. When you once +bust, you'll be a bum—a has-been—<i>right</i>."</p> + +<p>"I suppose," sneered Brent, thoroughly angry now: "that I should marry +you and hit out for the claim so we could keep what's left in the +family—and you'd be the family."</p> + +<p>The girl laughed, a trifle hysterically: "No—I wouldn't marry you on a +bet—now. I was foolish enough to think of it, once—but not now. I've +done some thinking since that night you tossed that sack of dust on the +board. If you married me and did go back to where you were—if you quit +the cards and the hooch and got down to be what you ought to be—where +would I stand? Who am I, and what am I? You would stick by your +bargain—but you wouldn't want me. You could never go back outside—with +<i>me</i>. And if you wouldn't quit the cards and the hooch, I wouldn't have +<i>you</i>—not like you are now—flabby, and muddy-eyed, an' your breath so +heavy with rot-gut you could light it with a match. No, that dream's +busted and inside of a week you'll be busted, too." Setting down her +glass the girl quitted the table abruptly, leaving Brent to finish the +bottle of champagne alone, after<!-- Page 103 --> which he sauntered down to Cuter +Malone's "Klondike Palace" and made a night of it, drinking and dancing.</p> + +<p>The week that followed was a week of almost unbroken losses for Brent. +In vain, he plunged, betting his cards more wildly, and more recklessly +than ever before, in an effort to force his luck. But it only hastened +the end, which came about midnight upon the Thursday following +Thanksgiving Day, at the moment he looked into the eyes of Camillo Bill +Waters and called a bet of fifty-thousand: "That's good," he announced, +as Bill showed Aces-up. "And that just finishes me—I held the claims at +a million—and that's the last of it."<!-- Page 104 --></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<p class="tdc">THE DEALER AT STOELL'S</p> + + +<p>On the morning after the final game of stud in which he had slipped the +last dollar of his fortune across the green cloth, Brent threw back his +blankets and robes and sat upon the edge of his bunk. He had long since +discarded his tent for a cabin and his eyes took in the details of the +rough furnishings in the grey light that filtered through the heavily +frosted window panes. He drew on his shirt and trousers and glanced at +his watch. It was ten o'clock. He built a roaring fire, broke the ice +that had formed upon the surface of a huge pail of water, filled his +coffee-pot, and set his wash pan beside it upon the stove. Then he +returned to his bunk and, feeling beneath his pillow, withdrew a flat +quart bottle and took a long drink. When the water had warmed in the +pan, he shaved before a small mirror that hung above his rude wash +stand. Twice during the process he returned to the bottle for a swallow +of liquor.</p> + +<p>"Kitty was right," he confided to his reflection in the glass, "My luck +did turn—and now, I'm broke."<!-- Page 105 --></p> + +<p>He finished shaving and, as he was about to turn from the wash stand +paused, and thrusting his face close to the mirror, subjected it to +careful scrutiny.</p> + +<p>"Eyes <i>are</i> a little muddy," he grudgingly admitted, "And face a little +pouchy and red, but, hell, it isn't the hooch!—I don't drink enough to +hurt me any. It's being indoors so much, and the smoke. Two days on the +trail will fix that. I've got to slip out and make another strike. And +when I come back—that bunch will be in for an awful cleaning."</p> + +<p>He threw a handful of coffee into the pot, and sliced some bacon into a +frying pan, and when the grease ran, he broke a half-dozen eggs and +scrambled them with the bacon.</p> + +<p>"She said I wouldn't have the nerve nor the muscles to hit out and +locate another claim," he grinned as he swallowed a draught of scalding +coffee. "I'll show her!"</p> + +<p>He finished his meal, washed the dishes, and drew on his mukluks and +blanket coat. As he opened the door he was met by a blast of wind-driven +snow that fairly took his breath, and drawing back into the room he shut +the door.</p> + +<p>"I thought it was pretty dark in here for this time of day—some +blizzard!"</p> + +<p>He drew down the ear-flaps of his fur cap, hunted up his heavy mittens, +and once more opening the door, pushed out into the storm.</p> + +<p>Twenty minutes later he entered Stoell's place,<!-- Page 106 --> and as he stamped the +snow from his garments, and beat it from his cap and mittens, Camillo +Bill greeted him from the bar.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Ace-In-The-Hole! I'm buyin' a drink." The room was deserted +except for the bartender who promptly set out bottle and glasses. "Let's +go over here," suggested Camillo Bill, when the empty glasses had been +returned to the bar. He led the way to a small table.</p> + +<p>"Bring the bottle and glasses!" called Brent over his shoulder, and +Camillo Bill seconded the order with a nod.</p> + +<p>"Now," he began, as Brent filled his glass, "Let's get this here deal +straightened out. In the first place, is them two claims of yourn worth +a million?"</p> + +<p>Brent flushed, hotly, but Camillo Bill forestalled his reply. "Hold on, +now. I didn't mean what you're thinkin' about—an' you ort to know me +well enough to know I didn't. When you said them two claims was worth a +million, not me, nor no one else questioned your word, did we? Well, +what I'm gettin' at is are they worth more than a million, 'n' how much +more?"</p> + +<p>Brent laughed: "They're worth more than a million. How much more I don't +know. I took out a half a million last summer, and I don't think I'm +half way to bed-rock at the deepest."</p> + +<p>Camillo Bill nodded: "All right, that's what I wanted to know. You see, +there's five or six of<!-- Page 107 --> us holds your slips an' markers that totals a +million over an' above what was in Stoell's safe. I'll jest cash them +slips an' markers, an' take over the claims."</p> + +<p>Brent shrugged, "Go ahead. It don't make any difference to me how you +divide them up."</p> + +<p>Camillo Bill grinned: "It does make a hell of a lot of difference to you +how we divide 'em up," he said. "It's like this: I like your style. +You're a <i>tillicum</i>—a natural borned sourdough. You're white clean +through. When you said there's so and so much in Stoell's safe, the dust +was there. An' when you know'd yer claims was worth more than a million, +you says a million instead of stretchin' it to two million, an' maybe +stickin' some one. Now when I cash them markers that's out agin the +claims, an' figger in the slips an' markers I hold myself, I'll have a +million invested, won't I? An', that's what I won—a million—not a +million an' a half, or two million—just a million. Well, when I get +that million back—you get the claims back—see?"</p> + +<p>Brent stared at the man in amazement: "What do you mean? I lost the +claims—lost them fair and square——"</p> + +<p>"No you didn't," interrupted the other, "You lose just what yer slips +an' markers says you lose—an' not a damn cent more. The claims was only +a sort of security for the dust. C'latteral the banks would call it. Am +I right, or wrong?"<!-- Page 108 --></p> + +<p>Brent drank the whiskey in his glass and refilling it, shoved the bottle +toward Camillo Bill, but the man shook his head. "No more for me. Too +much of that stuff ain't no good. But about them claims—am I right, or +wrong?"</p> + +<p>"You're the whitest damned white man that walks on two legs, if that's +what you mean," answered Brent, in a low voice. "I'll make the claims +over to you, now."</p> + +<p>"Don't say that," replied Camillo Bill, "they was five or six of us that +figgered out this play—all friends of yourn. We all of us agreed to do +what I'm doin'—it was only a question of who could afford to carry the +load till next fall. I kin. Right's right—an' wrong ain't deuce-high, +nowheres. A million's a million—an' it ain't two million. An' you don't +need to make over them claims to me, neither. Jest you sign a paper +givin' me the right to go into 'em an' take out a million, an' we'll +tear up them slips an' markers."</p> + +<p>"But what if there isn't a million in them. I believe there is—much +more than a million. But, what if they're 'spotted,' and I just happened +to hit the spots, or what if bed-rock shows a lot shallower than I think +it will——"</p> + +<p>"What if! What if! To hell with what if! If the claims peter out I ain't +no better off if I hold title to 'em, am I? If they ain't good for the +million, what the hell difference does it make who owns 'em? I'd ruther +someone else holds a bum claim<!-- Page 109 --> than me, any day," he added with a grin. +"An' now that's settled, what you goin' to do, while I'm gettin' out my +dust?"</p> + +<p>Brent drank his liquor, and reached for the bottle: "Why, I'm going to +hit out and locate another strike," he said, a trifle thickly.</p> + +<p>Camillo Bill regarded him thoughtfully: "Where at?"</p> + +<p>"Why I don't know. There are plenty of +creeks—Eldorado—Ophir—Doolittle——"</p> + +<p>The other laughed: "Listen here," he said, "While you be'n here in town +rollin' 'em high an' soppin' up hooch, they's be'n a hell of a change on +the creeks. Ain't you stopped to notice that Dawson's more'n twict as +big as she was in August, an' that the country is gittin full of +tin-horns, an' <i>chechakos</i>. Well it is—an' every creek's filed that's +worth a damn—an' so's every one that ain't. They ain't a claim to be +took up no more on Bonanza, nor Ophir, nor Siwash, nor Eldorado, nor +Alhambra, nor Sulphur, nor Excelsis, nor Christo, nor Doolittle, nor not +hardly none on no pup nor dry wash that runs into 'em."</p> + +<p>"All right, I'll go farther, then," retorted Brent, pouring more liquor +into his glass. "I'll go beyond the last creek that's staked. And, by +God, I'll find gold!"</p> + +<p>Camillo Bill shook his head: "Look a here, you ain't in no shape to hit +out on no long trip. You've laid up too long to tackle it, an' you've +drunk too<!-- Page 110 --> much of that damned hooch. It ain't none of my business what +you do, or what you don't do—maybe you ain't drinkin' enough of it, I +don't know. But that there's damn poor stuff to train on for a long +trail in winter—an' I'm tellin' it to you that winter's sure hit these +diggin's an' hit 'em hard. Tell you what I'll do. I've be'n nosin' +'round buyin' claims while you be'n layin' abed daytimes sleepin' off +the hooch. I've got more'n what I kin 'tend to alone. I'll give you two +thousand a month to help me look after 'em, an' you can sort of ease off +the hooch, an' get broke in easy agin. If you sleep nights, an' keep out +doors daytimes, an' lay off the cards an' the hooch, you'll be good as +ever agin spring."</p> + +<p>"Not on your life," flared Brent, "I'm as good a man right now as I ever +was! And a damn sight too good a man to be anybody's pensioner. You know +damned well that you don't need me at two thousand a month, or any other +figure, except at an ounce a day, the same as anyone else gets. What the +hell's the matter with everybody?" A querulous note crept into Brent's +voice, "I tell you I'm as good a man as I ever was! Kitty told me the +same thing—that I'm drinking too much! Whose business is it if I am? +But, I'm not, and I'll hit the trail tomorrow and show you all!"</p> + +<p>"So long," said Camillo Bill as he rose from his chair. "I told you it +wasn't no one's business but yourn, so they ain't no argyment there. +Only, jest<!-- Page 111 --> you remember that I'm a friend of yourn, an' so is +Kitty—an' a man might have a damn sight worse friend than her, at +that."</p> + +<p>Later in the day Stoell accosted Brent as he stood drinking alone at the +bar. "They romped right up your middle, didn't they, the last week or +so?"</p> + +<p>Brent nodded: "They cleaned me out. I played them too high for the cards +I was holding."</p> + +<p>"What you figuring on doing now?"</p> + +<p>"Going to hit out and locate another claim when this storm lets up."</p> + +<p>"You've got a long trip ahead. Everything's staked."</p> + +<p>"So they say, but I guess I'll find something, somewhere."</p> + +<p>"Why don't you take an inside job this winter. Hell of a lot of grief +out there in the snow with only a tent and a bunch of huskies."</p> + +<p>"What kind of a job?"</p> + +<p>"I'm figuring on starting up a new layout—faro. How'd you like to deal? +Just till spring when the weather lets up a little. You can't tell what +you're staking under ten foot of snow anyhow."</p> + +<p>"I never dealt faro."</p> + +<p>"It won't take you long to learn. I only run one big game now because I +can't trust no one to deal another—but I could get plenty of play on +one if I had it goin'. I figure that the boys all like you, an' you'd be +a good card. They all know you're square an' I'd get a good play on your +layout.<!-- Page 112 --> What do you say? It's a damn sight better than mushin' out +there in the cold."</p> + +<p>"What will you pay?"</p> + +<p>"Well, how would five hundred a month, an' five percent of the winnings +of the layout do? You wouldn't need to come on till around nine in the +evening, and stay till the play was through. I'll throw in your supper, +and dinner at midnight, and we won't keep any bar tab. You're welcome to +what drinks you want—only you've got to keep sober when you're on +shift."</p> + +<p>Brent did not answer immediately. A couple of men came through the door +in a whirl of flying snow, and he shivered slightly, as the blast of +cold air struck him. Stoell was right, there would be a hell of a lot of +grief out there on the long snow trail. "I guess I'll take you up on +that," he said, "When do I start?"</p> + +<p>"It'll take me a day or so to get rigged up. Let's make it day after +tomorrow night. Meantime you can do your eating and drinking here—just +make yourself at home. The boys'll be tickled when they hear the +news—it'll spread around the camp pretty lively that you're dealing +faro at Stoell's, and we'll get good play—see."</p> + +<p>During the next two days Brent spent much time in Stoell's, drinking at +the bar, and watching the preparation of the new layout over which he +was to preside. And to him there, at different times came eight or ten +of the sourdoughs of the Yukon,<!-- Page 113 --> each with a gruff offer of assistance, +but carefully couched in words that could give no offense. "You'll be on +yer feet agin, 'fore long. If you need any change in the meantime, just +holler," imparted one. Said another: "Here, jest slip this poke in yer +jeans. I ain't needin' it. Somethin'll turn up d'rectly, an' you can +slip it back then." But Brent declined all offers, with thanks. And to +each he explained that he had a job, and each, when he learned the +nature of the job, either answered rather evasively, or congratulated +him in terms that somehow seemed lacking in enthusiasm. Old Bettles was +the only man to voice open disapproval: "Hell," he blurted, "Anyone c'n +deal faro. Anyone c'n gamble with another man's money, an' eat another +man's grub, an' drink another man's hooch. But, it's along the cricks +an' the gulches you find the reg'lar he-man sourdoughs."</p> + +<p>At the words of this oldest settler on the Yukon, Brent strangely took +no offense. Rather he sought to excuse his choice of profession: "I'm +only doing it till spring, then I'm going to hit into the hills, and +when I come back we'll play them higher than ever," he explained. "I'm a +little soft now and don't feel quite up to tackling the winter trail."</p> + +<p>"Humph," grunted Bettles, "You won't be comin' back—because you ain't +never goin' to go. If yer soft now, you'll be a damn sight softer agin +spring. Dealin' from a box an' lappin' up hooch ain't a-goin' to put you +in shape for to chaw moose-meat an'<!-- Page 114 --> wrestle a hundred pound pack. It'll +sap yer guts." But Brent laughed at the old man's warning, and the next +evening took his place behind the layout with the cards spread before +him.</p> + +<p>As Stoell had predicted, Brent proved to be a great drawing card for the +gambling house. Play at his layout ran high, and the table was always +crowded. But nearly all the players were <i>chechakos</i>—men new to the +country, who had struck it lucky and were intent upon making a big +splash. Among these tin-horns and four-flushers, Ace-In-The-Hole was a +deity. For among petty gamblers he was a prince of gamblers. Rumors and +fantastic lies were rife at all the bars concerning his deeds. "He had +cleaned up ten million in a summer on a claim." "He killed three men +with three blows of his fist." "The Queen of the Yukon was all caked in +on him, and he wouldn't have her. He tossed her a slip for half a +million that he had won on a single bet at the wheel, and because she +was sore at him, she ground it into the floor with her foot." "He had +bet a million on an ace in the hole—hence his name. He had gambled away +twenty million in a week." And so it went. Men fell over themselves to +make his acquaintance that they might ostentatiously boast of that +acquaintance at the bars. One would casually mention that +"Ace-In-The-Hole says to me, the other day, he says—" Or, "I was +tellin' Ace-In-The-Hole about one time I an' a couple of tarts down in +'Frisco—" Or, "Me an' Ace-In-The-<!-- Page 115 -->Hole was eatin' supper the other +night, an' he says to me—" When he was off duty, men crowded to stand +next to him at the bar, they plied him with drinks, and invited him to +dine. All of which meant increased business for Stoell. So that upon +several occasions when Brent was too drunk to attend to business, Stoell +himself dealt his game and said nothing.</p> + +<p>It was inevitable that this sudden popularity should in a measure turn +Brent's head. Personally, he detested the loud-mouthed fawning +<i>chechakos</i>, but as his association with them grew, his comradery with +the real sourdoughs diminished. They did not openly or purposely cut +him. They still greeted him as an equal, they drank with him, and +occasionally they took a fling at his game. But there was a difference +that Brent was quick to notice, and quick to resent, but powerless to +dispel. He was a professional gambler, now—and they were mining +men—that was all.</p> + +<p>Only once since he had taken up his new vocation had he seen Kitty. She +had come into Stoell's one evening, and slipping behind the table stood +at his elbow until the end of the deal. As he shuffled the cards +preparatory to returning them into the box, she placed her lips close to +his ear: "Who are all your friends?" she whispered indicating the +tin-horns and <i>chechakos</i> that rimmed the table. Brent flushed, +slightly, and answered nothing. "So this is what you meant by hitting +the trail when they<!-- Page 116 --> broke you, is it? Well, take it from me, it's a +short trail, and a steep grade slanting down, and when you're on the +toboggan it ain't going to take long to hit the bottom—with a bump." +And before Brent could reply she had slipped away and lost herself in +the crowd.</p> + +<p>Night after night, although his eyes sought the crowd, he never saw her +again, nor did he find her upon his excursions to "The Nugget," or to +Cuter Malone's "Klondike Palace." If she were purposely avoiding him, +she was succeeding admirably.</p> + +<p>Along in February, Brent was surprised one day to receive, in his own +cabin, a visit from Johnny Claw. "What do you want?" he asked as the man +stood in the doorway.</p> + +<p>Claw entered, closing the door behind him. He removed his cap and +mittens, and fumbling beneath his parka, produced a sealed bottle of +whiskey which he set upon the table: "Oh, jest dropped in fer a little +visit. Been 'outside.' Try a shot of this hooch—better'n anything +Stoell's got."</p> + +<p>Brent sat down upon the edge of his bunk and motioned the man to a +chair: "Didn't know you were so damned friendly with me that you would +lug me in a bottle of hooch from the outside," he said, "What's on your +chest?"</p> + +<p>Claw produced a corkscrew and opened the bottle, then he poured a +half-tumbler into each of two glasses. "Le's liquor," he said, offering +one to Brent. "Good stuff, ain't it?"<!-- Page 117 --></p> + +<p>Brent nodded: "Damned good. But what's the idea?"</p> + +<p>"Idee is jest this," announced Claw, eyeing him shrewdly, "You damn near +busted me, but I ain't holdin' that agin' you." He paused and Brent, who +knew that he was lying, waited for him to proceed. "You told me right +plain out that you didn't like the business I was in! That's all right, +too. I s'pose it ain't no hell of a good business, but someone's got to +bring 'em in or you bucks wouldn't have nobody to dance with. But, +layin' all that aside, you're dealin' the big game for Stoell."</p> + +<p>"Yup."</p> + +<p>"Well, listen: You're hittin' the hooch too hard fer to suit Stoell. At +the end of the month you're out of a job—see? He's goin' to let you +out, 'cause yer showin' up too reg'lar with a bun on. Says it's got to +where yer crocked so often he might's well be dealin' the game hisself."</p> + +<p>"Who did he tell this to—you?"</p> + +<p>The other leered: "Naw, not to me. He don't like me no more'n what you +do. But, I happened to hear him tellin' it to Old Bettles an' Camillo +Bill. 'That's right,' says Bettles, 'fire him, an' maybe we kin git him +into the hills.' 'I'm 'fraid not,' says Camillo Bill. 'Leastways not +till spring. An' at the rate he's goin', by that time he'll be countin' +bees.' 'It's a shame,' says Bettles, 'There's a damn good man gone +wrong.' 'He is a damn good man,' says Stoell, 'They ain't many I'd trust +to deal that<!-- Page 118 --> big game. He's square as hell—but, the hooch has got +him.'"</p> + +<p>"The hell it has," said Brent, with a short laugh. "They're damned +fools! I don't drink enough to hurt me any. I'm as good a man as I ever +was!"</p> + +<p>"Sure you be," assented Claw. "What little you drink wouldn't hurt no +one. What's it any of their business? You don't need no guardeen to tell +you when to take a drink," he paused and refilled Brent's glass. "'Yer +square as hell,'" says Stoell—"but what's it gittin' you? He's goin' to +fire you, ain't he?"</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"Well—why not git even with him, an' at the same time clean up big fer +yerself? They ain't no chanct to git caught."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" Brent's voice rasped a trifle harshly, but Claw did +not notice.</p> + +<p>"I got it all doped out. Cold deck him—an' I'll play agin the fixed +deck an' make a cleanin'—an' we'll split."</p> + +<p>"You mean——"</p> + +<p>"I mean this. Me an' you will fix up a deck, an' I'll copy off how the +cards lays. Then you slip 'em into the box an' start the deal, an' I'll +lay the bets. Of course, knowin' how they'll fall, I kin win whenever I +want to. No one'll ever b'lieve it's a frame-up, 'cause they know you're +square, an' likewise they know you hate me, an' they wouldn't figger +we'd git together. I'll make the play strong<!-- Page 119 --> by comin' in fer a night +er two before we spring it an' braggin' that I've got a system. Then +I'll have my slip of paper an' I'll look at it, an' make bets, an' of +course I'll lose—'cause they ain't no system. An' the next night I'll +do the same an' the third night we'll slip in the fixed deck—an' then +my system'll win. An' all the time I'll be sneerin' at you, like I hated +yer guts——"</p> + +<p>The sentence was never finished. In a blind rage Brent hurled himself +upon the man, and both crashed to the floor together. The fight was fast +and furious while it lasted. But, flabby, and with his brain befuddled +with liquor, Brent was no match for the other, who a year before, he +could have killed with his bare hands. He got in several good blows at +the start, which slowed up his antagonist, and rendered him incapable of +inflicting serious damage later, when Brent winded and gasping, was +completely at his mercy. A referee would unhesitatingly have declared it +Claw's fight, for when he slipped from the cabin it was to leave Brent +nursing two half-closed and rapidly purpling eyes, with nose and lips to +match.</p> + +<p>When, four days later he showed up at Stoell's, the latter called him +aside and weighing out what was coming to him in dust, informed him that +his services were no longer required.<!-- Page 120 --></p> + + +<div class="p6" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<p class="tdc">"WHERE DO I GO FROM HERE?"</p> + + +<p>From Stoell's Brent drifted to "The Nugget," where for a month, he dealt +faro on percentage in a "limit" game—for with the tin-horns and the +<i>chechakos</i> had come also "limits" and "table stakes."</p> + +<p>Here, "The Queen of the Yukon" passed and repassed his layout a dozen +times in an evening on her way to and from the dance-hall in the rear, +but never by even so much as a look did she admit that she recognized +him.</p> + +<p>On the afternoon of his first payday, he sat in a "table stakes" game of +stud and a run of luck netted him seven hundred dollars. Whereupon he +promptly went on a spree that lasted three days and when he again showed +up for duty another dealer was presiding over his layout.</p> + +<p>The next day Cuter Malone called him into a little back room and sounded +him out. "Hear how yer out of a job," quoth Cuter, as he set two glasses +and a bottle upon the little table between them. Brent nodded, and the +other continued: "Want to keep on dealin'?"<!-- Page 121 --></p> + +<p>"Why yes, I guess so. I'm going to hit the trail right after the +break-up, but until that comes I might as well be doing something."</p> + +<p>"Sure. Well I got a good percent proposition fer you. You'll draw quite +a little trade—you done it at Stoell's, an' then swung the heft of it +over to 'The Nugget.'"</p> + +<p>"Is it a limit game?" asked Brent. "What percentage will you pay?"</p> + +<p>Malone filled the glasses from the bottle, and having drank combed at +his black beard with his fingers: "W-e-e-l, that's accordin'. This here +game I'm figgerin' on is a sure thing—that is, o' course, lots o' turns +has got to lose, but in the long run she wins big."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean—a sure thing?"</p> + +<p>Cuter grinned craftily: "D'ye ever hear tell of a double-slotted box? +Well, I've got one, an'——"</p> + +<p>Brent interrupted him with a short laugh: "What you mean is that because +I've got the reputation for being square, you want to use me for a +decoy, and when they come in, rob them on a percentage."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's—er—talkin' it out kind of plain——"</p> + +<p>"You can go to hell!" exclaimed Brent, "and that's talking it out kind +of plain, too."</p> + +<p>Cuter laughed: "Don't git sore about it. Business is business, an' I'm +into it to git the money,<!-- Page 122 --> one way an' another. If you don't want to +deal, how about goin' behind the bar? That's a square enough game." He +paused and grinned. "An' I wouldn't mind fer onct havin' someone +handlin' my dust that I wouldn't feel like friskin' every time he went +out the door to see how much of it had stuck to him."</p> + +<p>And so Brent began tending bar in the notorious "Klondike Palace," and +Kitty, as she faced him for the first time with her dancing partner and +called for a drink, addressed him in words that to her partner meant +nothing: "Your toboggan is going good, now—ain't it, Ace-In-The-Hole? +You're most there, now—most to the bump that lays at the end of the +trail." And Brent served the drinks, and answered nothing.</p> + +<p>The "Klondike Palace" was the wildest and most notorious of all the +dives of the big camp. Unlike Stoell's and "The Nugget," everything +downstairs was in one big room. The bar occupied a whole side, the +gambling tables and devices were in the rear, and the remainder of the +wide floor space was given over to dancing. At the rear of the bar a +flight of stairs led upward to the rooms of the painted women.</p> + +<p>And it was concerning one of these painted women that, three weeks +later, Brent had his first "run in" with Cuter Malone. It was bitter +cold and snowing thickly, and Brent, with lowered head, was boring +through the white smother on his way<!-- Page 123 --> to work. He paused in the light +that shone dully through the heavily frosted windows of Malone's and was +about to push open the door, when from the thick darkness around the +side of the building he heard a woman scream. It was a sharp, terrible +scream, that ended in a half-muffled shriek. And without an instant's +hesitation, Brent dashed around the corner. The "Klondike Palace" was +located well upon the edge of the big camp, beyond it being only a few +scattered cabins. Scarcely fifty feet from the street he came upon a man +standing over a woman who was cowering in the snow. Neither saw him, and +even as he looked the man struck with a coiled dog whip. Again the woman +screamed, and the man jumped upon her and started to kick her first with +one foot then with the other as she lay in the snow. Like an avalanche +Brent hurled himself upon the man, his fist catching him squarely upon +the side of the head and sending him sprawling. Without waiting for him +to get up, Brent jerked the woman to her feet and pushed her toward the +street. He saw then that she was one of the girls who roomed over +Malone's, and that she was clad in the thinnest of silk stockings, and +the flimsiest of semi-transparent gowns. One of her high-heeled slippers +had been lost in the snow. Scarce able to stand, the girl staggered +whimpering toward the light. Turning upon the man who had regained his +feet Brent found himself looking into the muzzle of a forty-five. So +close was the man<!-- Page 124 --> that even in the darkness he could see his face. It +was Johnnie Claw, and Brent saw that the recognition was mutual. Claw's +thick lips writhed back in a grin of hate, and Brent could hear his +breath sucking heavily between his clenched teeth. Eye to eye they +stared as Brent's lips moved in a sneer: "Well—you—damned—pimp—why +don't you shoot?" To his intense surprise, the gun wavered, dropped to +the man's side and, jamming it into the pocket of his fur coat, Claw +pushed past him toward the street, mumbling thick curses.</p> + +<p>Later, that night, when business was a little slack during a dance +Malone motioned him aside: "Say, what the hell be you buttin' in on +other folks business fer?"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"You know what I mean. What did you go knockin' Johnnie Claw down fer, +when he was givin' that damn Violet what was comin' to her, fer holdin' +out on him?"</p> + +<p>"Giving her what was coming! My God, man, he would have kicked her to +death there in the snow—that's what he would have done!"</p> + +<p>"Well, what if he did—she's hisn, ain't she?"</p> + +<p>A surge of swift anger almost overcame Brent. His fists clenched, and it +was with difficulty that he refrained from striking Malone down where he +stood. Instead, he leaned a trifle closer to the man: "Just let this +stick to you, Malone," he said, "What passes between me and Claw, or me +and anyone<!-- Page 125 --> else, when it isn't on your premises and on your time, is my +business—see?"</p> + +<p>Malone laughed, shortly, and with a shrug, turned away, while Brent +served drinks to a couple who had left the dance and sauntered to the +bar. The couple were Kitty, and a strapping young <i>chechako</i> called +Moosehide Charlie, the name referring to an incident that had occurred +early in the winter when he had skinned out a moose and, finding himself +far from camp and no blankets, had wrapped himself in the green hide and +gone to sleep. In the morning he awoke to find himself encased in an +iron-hard coffin of frozen moosehide unable to move hand or foot. +Luckily a party of hunters found him and spent half a day thawing him +out over a roaring fire.</p> + +<p>Said Kitty to Moosehide Charlie, as she sipped at the liquid that by +courtesy was called port wine: "That's Johnnie Claw over there by the +door. He's one-two-three with Cuter Malone—some say they're pardners."</p> + +<p>Her companion swallowed his liquor and glanced indifferently toward the +object of the girl's remarks. "It ain't worryin' me none who he's +pardners with. I don't like the looks of him, nohow."</p> + +<p>"Sh-sh-sh," warned Kitty, "What a man learns in this country don't hurt +him any. I was just telling you so if you ever happened to run foul of +Claw, you'd know enough to keep your eye on Malone, too."<!-- Page 126 --></p> + +<p>"Guess I ain't goin' to run foul of him. Come on, let's dance."</p> + +<p>Kitty had not even favored him by so much as a glance, but as Brent +removed the glasses from the bar, he smiled.</p> + +<p>The days were rapidly lengthening on the Yukon. At noon each day the sun +was higher in the heavens and its increased heat was heralded by little +streams of snow water that trickled over the ice of the creeks.</p> + +<p>One evening when the grip of winter had broken and the feel of spring +was in the air, Moosehide Charlie stood at the bar drinking with Johnnie +Claw. It was too early for the dancers and three or four of the girls +sat idly along the opposite wall. As Brent served the drinks, he noticed +that Claw appeared to be urging the younger man into a deal of some +kind—he, caught a word now and then, of reference to dumps, slucings, +and water heads. Moosehide seemed to be holding out. He was a man who +drank little, and after two drinks he turned from the bar shaking his +head. "Come on," urged Claw, "Have another."</p> + +<p>"No, two or three's my limit. I don't aim to git drunk."</p> + +<p>"Drunk, hell!" laughed Claw, "I don't nuther. You've only had two. Make +it three, an' I'll tell you what I'll do, I'll throw off a leetle on +that claim. I ain't got time to fool with it, noways."</p> + +<p>Moosehide returned to the bar: "Well, one more,<!-- Page 127 --> then, an' that's all. +But you'll have to throw off more'n just a little on that property, fer +me to touch it."</p> + +<p>Claw filled his glass and pushed the bottle toward the other and as +Moosehide Charlie measured his liquor, out of the tail of his eye, Brent +saw Claw pour something from a small vial into his own glass and return +the vial swiftly to his pocket. The next moment he was talking earnestly +to Moosehide who, as he listened, toyed with his glass, rubbing into +patterns the few drops of liquor he had spilled upon the bar.</p> + +<p>Cuter Malone had himself carried a tray of drinks to be served at one of +the poker tables in the rear, and just at this moment, tray and glasses +struck the floor with a loud crash. Moosehide Charlie turned quickly at +the sound, and as he did so Brent saw Johnnie Claw deftly switch the +glasses upon the bar. Malone returned, grumbling at his clumsiness, for +another tray of drinks, and Claw raised his glass. "I guess we kin deal, +all right. Le's drink, an' then we'll slip into the back room there an' +figger it out."</p> + +<p>As Moosehide picked up the glass before him, Brent reached out swiftly +and took it from his fingers. He looked into it for a second and tossed +its contents onto the floor. "Better fill her up again," he said, "There +was a fly in it." A fly on the Yukon, with the rivers still frozen, and +the sodden snow three feet deep on the ground!<!-- Page 128 --> Moosehide stared, and +before Brent could move, Cuter Malone had floored him with a blow from a +heavy bottle. The truth flashed upon Moosehide Charlie. One blow of his +fist settled Claw, while with his other hand he reached across the bar +and jerked a gun from the hand of Cuter Malone. The poker players rose +from their chairs and started for the bar, but Moosehide motioned them +back with the gun. "Jest go on with yer game, boys," he said meaningly. +"Don't mind me." And as they settled into their places he stepped around +the bar, keeping Malone covered. Kitty, who had been chatting with the +girls on the opposite side of the room, darted across the floor and +brushing past Moosehide, knelt beside Brent. "Jest raise up his head, +girl, an' throw some water in his face," ordered Moosehide, "An' pour a +little licker down his throat. If he can't swaller it, it'll make him +gag an' bring him to." Then he turned to Malone: "An' you, you damn +crook! You git busy an' weigh out what's comin' to him. An' weigh it +damn quick—an' weigh it right. 'Cause if it ain't right, I'm a-comin' +back here with about forty or ninety of my friends an' I'm tellin' it to +you, we'll gut this damn joint—an' you along with it!"</p> + +<p>Brent only partially revived under the water and choking whiskey, and +between them they managed to get him out the door and onto Moosehide's +sled. Then they hauled him to his cabin and put him to bed, where he lay +for two weeks, delirious with<!-- Page 129 --> fever, while Kitty stayed day and night +at his side and nursed him. Another week passed, during which the girl +came daily and cooked his meals, and made him get up for a little while +each day while she aired and rearranged his blankets. At length came a +day when he rose and dressed himself and stayed up till evening.</p> + +<p>"You won't be needing me any more," said the girl, simply, as she stood +in the doorway late in the afternoon. She pointed to two small buckskin +sacks which she had laid upon the table. "There's your pay that was +coming to you from Cuter Malone, and a sack that Moosehide Charlie left +for you."</p> + +<p>"Moosehide Charlie? He don't owe me anything."</p> + +<p>"Says he owes you a whole lot, and he wanted me to give you that. He's +gone off on a trip up Indian River."</p> + +<p>Brent picked up the sack, which was a dozen times the weight of the +other, and extended it toward the girl: "Give this back to him," he said +shortly. "I don't need it."</p> + +<p>Kitty did not take it: "You do too need it," she said, "How long will +that pinch of dust last you? And what are you going to do when it's +gone?"</p> + +<p>"It don't make any difference what I do when it's gone. Whatever I do, I +won't live on charity." And he tossed the sack past her through the +doorway where it buried itself in the snow.<!-- Page 130 --></p> + +<p>"You're a fool, Ace-In-The-Hole," she said, quietly, "A <i>damn fool</i>."</p> + +<p>The man nodded, slowly: "That's right, I reckon. Anyway we won't quarrel +about it. Will you do me just one more favor?"</p> + +<p>"What is it?"</p> + +<p>"Take this dust and get me a bottle of hooch—a quart bottle—two of +them."</p> + +<p>"No, I won't!"</p> + +<p>Brent rose to his feet: "I'll have to go myself, then," he said, as he +cast his eyes about for his hat.</p> + +<p>"You ain't able! You're weak as a cat, and you'd fall down in the snow."</p> + +<p>"I'll get up again, then." He found the hat and put it on.</p> + +<p>"I'll go," the words were hurled at him, and he handed her Cuter +Malone's sack. "Never mind that—"</p> + +<p>"Take it! Or I won't touch the hooch."</p> + +<p>Reluctantly, she took it and in half an hour she was back and without a +word deposited two quart bottles upon the table.</p> + +<p>"Will you drink with me?" Brent asked, as he drew the cork.</p> + +<p>"No! I'm going, now."</p> + +<p>Brent rose to his feet and held out his hand: "Good bye, Kitty," he +said, gravely. "I know what you've done for me—and I won't forget it. +You'll come to see me—sometimes?"</p> + +<p>"No. I hate you! An' if you could see yourself<!-- Page 131 --> the way I see +you—knowing what you are, and what you ought to be—you'd hate +yourself!"</p> + +<p>Brent flushed under the sting of the words: "I'm as good a man as I ever +was," he muttered, defiantly.</p> + +<p>The girl sneered: "You are—like hell! Why, you ain't even got a +job—now. You're a bum! You hit the bump that I told you was at the end +of your trail—now, where do you go from here?" And before Brent could +reply she was gone.</p> + +<p>"Where do I go from here?" he repeated slowly, as he sank into a chair +beside his table, and swallowed a stiff drink of whiskey. And, "Where do +I go from here?" he babbled meaninglessly, three hours later when, very +drunk, his head settled slowly forward upon his folded arms, and he +slept.<!-- Page 132 --></p> + + +<div class="p6" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<p class="tdc">THE PLOTTING OF CAMILLO BILL</p> + + +<p>With the rapidly lengthening days the sodden snow thawed and was carried +away by the creeks which were running waist-deep on top of the ice. New +snow fell, lay dazzling white for a day or two, and then under the ever +increasing heat of the sun, it, too, turned sodden, and sullen, and +grey, and added its water to the ever increasing torrent of the creeks. +Bare patches of ground showed upon south slopes. The ice in the creeks +let go, and was borne down by the torrents in grinding, jamming floes. +Then, the big river broke up. Wild geese and ducks appeared heading +northward. Wild flowers in a riot of blazing color followed up the +mountain sides upon the heels of the retreating snow-banks. And with +bewildering swiftness, the Yukon country leaped from winter into summer.</p> + +<p>From his little cabin Carter Brent noted the kaleidoscopic change of +seasons, and promised himself that as soon as the creeks receded into +their normal beds he would hit the gold trail. He ate<!-- Page 133 --> little, drank +much, and spent most of his days in reading from some books left him by +a wandering Englishman who had come in overland from the North-west +territories, where for a year or more he had prowled aimlessly among the +Hudson's Bay posts, and the outposts of the Mounted. The books were, for +the most part, government reports, geological, and geodetical, upon the +Canadian North.</p> + +<p>"She said I am a bum," he muttered to himself one evening as he laid +aside his book, and in the gathering darkness walked to the door and +watched the last play of sunlight upon the distant glittering peaks. +"But, I'll show her—I'll show her where I'll go from here. I'm as good +a man as I ever was." This statement that he had at first made to +others, he now found necessary to make to himself. A dozen times a day +he would solemnly assure himself that he was as good a man as he ever +was, and that when he got ready to hit the trail he would show them.</p> + +<p>The sunlight faded from the peaks, and as he turned from the doorway, +his eyes fell upon his pack straps that hung from their peg on the wall. +Reaching for his hat, he stepped to the door and peered out to make sure +that no one was watching. Then he stooped and fixed his straps to a +half-sack of flour which he judged would weigh about fifty pounds. After +some difficulty he got the pack onto his back and started for the bank +of the river, a quarter of<!-- Page 134 --> a mile away. A hundred yards from the cabin +he stopped for breath. His shoulders ached, and the muscles of his neck +felt as though they were being torn from their moorings as he pushed his +forehead against the tump-line. With the sweat starting from every pore +he essayed a few more steps, stumbled, and in clumsily catching his +balance, his hat fell off. As he stooped to recover it, the weight of +the pack forced him down and down until he was flat on his belly with +his face in the mud. For a long time he lay, panting, until the +night-breeze chilled the sweat on his skin, and he shivered. Then he +struggled to rise, gained his hands and knees and could get no farther. +Again and again he tried to rise to his feet, but the weight of the pack +held him down. He remembered that between the Chilkoot and Lake +Lindermann he had risen out of the mud with a hundred pounds on his +shoulders, and thought nothing of it. He wriggled from the straps and +carrying, and resting, staggered back to his cabin and sank into a +chair. He took a big drink and felt better. "It's the fever," he assured +himself, "It left me weak. I'll be all right in a day or so. I'm as good +a man as I ever was—only, a little out of practice."</p> + +<p>After that Brent stayed closer than ever to his cabin until the day came +when there was not enough dust left in his little buckskin sack to pay +for a quart of hooch. He bought a pint, and as he drank it in his cabin, +decided he must go to work, until<!-- Page 135 --> he got strong enough to hit the +trail. Houses were going up everywhere, houses of boards that were +taking the place of the tents and the cabins of the previous year. Work +there was a plenty, and the laborers were few. <i>Chechakos</i> were pouring +in by the thousands and staking clear to the mountain tops. But, none of +them would work. Crazed by the lure of gold they pitted the hillsides +and valleys and mucked like gnomes in their wild scramble for riches. +Brent worked for a week in a sawmill, and then quit, bought some hooch +and some necessary food, and retired to his cabin to reread his reports +and laugh at the efforts of the hillside miners.</p> + +<p>The old timers were scattered out in the hills, and the tin-horns and +<i>chechakos</i> who had worshiped at his shrine were dispersed, or had +forgotten him. Life moved swiftly in the big camp. Yesterday's hero +would be forgotten tomorrow. And the name of Ace-In-The-Hole meant +nothing to the newcomers. Occasionally he met one of the old timers, who +would buy him a drink, and hurry on about his business.</p> + +<p>Spasmodically Brent worked at odd jobs. He fired a river steamboat on a +round trip to Fort Gibbon. Always he promised himself pretty soon, now, +he would be ready to hit the trail. Stampedes were of almost daily +occurrence, but Brent was never in on them and so the summer wore on and +still he had not hit the trail. "I'll just wait now, for snow," he +decided late in August. "Then I'll get<!-- Page 136 --> a good dog team together, and +make a real rush. There's no use hitting out with a poling boat, the +creeks are all staked, and back-packing is too hard work for a white +man. I'm as good a man as I ever was, and when the snow comes I'll show +them."</p> + +<p>Brent's wardrobe was depleted until it consisted of a coarse blue jumper +and ragged overalls drawn over underclothing, laced and tied together in +a dozen places. He had not shaved for a month.</p> + +<p>Later in October Camillo Bill came to his cabin. He stood in the doorway +and stared into the dirty interior where Brent, with the unwashed dishes +of his last meal shoved back, sat reading.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Camillo," greeted the owner of the cabin as he rose to his feet +and extended his hand, "Come in and sit down."</p> + +<p>Camillo Bill settled himself into a chair: "Well I'll be damned!" he +exclaimed under his breath.</p> + +<p>Brent rinsed a couple of murky glasses in the water pail, and reached +for a bottle that sat among the dirty dishes: "Have a drink," he +invited, extending a glass to his visitor.</p> + +<p>Camillo Bill poured a taste of liquor into the glass and watched Brent, +with shaking hand, slop out a half a tumblerful, and drink it down as +one would drink water. He swallowed the liquor and returned the glass to +the table.</p> + +<p>"Take some more," urged Brent, "I've got another quart under the bunk."</p> + +<p>"No thanks," refused the other, curtly, "I heard<!-- Page 137 --> you was down an' out, +but—by God, I wasn't lookin' for this!"</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" asked Brent, flushing beneath his stubby beard, +"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>Righteous indignation blazed from Camillo Bill's eyes. "Mean! You know +damn well what I mean!" he thundered. "Look around this shack! Look in +the lookin' glass up there! You're livin' here worse'n a dog lives! +You're worse'n a—a squaw-man!"</p> + +<p>Brent rose to his feet, and drew himself proudly erect. Ragged and +unshaven as he was, the effect was ludicrous, but Camillo Bill saw +nothing of humour as he stared at the wreck of his friend. Brent spoke +slowly, measuring his words: "No man—not even you can insult me and get +away with it. I'm as good a man as I ever was, and I'll prove it if +you'll step outside."</p> + +<p>"You couldn't prove nothin' to nobody, noway. Kitty told me you'd gone +to hell—but, I didn't know you'd gone on plumb through."</p> + +<p>Brent sank weakly into his chair and began to whimper: "I'm as good a +man as I ever was," he sniveled.</p> + +<p>"Shut up!" Camillo Bill's fist struck the table, "It makes me mad to +look at you! You're a hell of a lookin' object. You won't winter +through. They'll find you froze some mornin' half ways between here an' +some saloon."</p> + +<p>"I won't be here when winter comes. I'm<!-- Page 138 --> going to hit the trail when +snow flies, with a dog outfit."</p> + +<p>"Where do you aim to go?"</p> + +<p>"Over beyond the Mackenzie. Over in the Coppermine River country. +There's gold over there, and there aren't a million <i>chechakos</i> gouging +for it."</p> + +<p>Camillo Bill roared with laughter: "Over beyond the Mackenzie! Picked +you out the roughest an' the furtherest place to go there is. An' +nuthin' there when you get there—only you'd never get there. You ain't +got the strength nor the guts to cross Indian River—let alone the +Mackenzie. An' besides, where do you aim to get your outfit?"</p> + +<p>"I'll work in the sawmill till I get enough, or anyone will grub-stake +me—you will."</p> + +<p>"I will—like hell! An' no one else won't, neither. You'd never buy +nothin' but hooch if they did."</p> + +<p>A gleam of hope flashed into Brent's eyes: "Say," he asked, "How about +my claims? You must have taken out your million by this time."</p> + +<p>Camillo Bill smiled and his eyes never wavered as they met Brent's gaze: +"Petered plumb out," he said, "That's what I come to tell you about. +They ain't an ounce left in 'em."</p> + +<p>"Did you get yours?" asked Brent dully. "If you didn't, just let me know +how much you are shy, and I'll make it good—when I make my strike, over +beyond the Mackenzie."</p> + +<p>This time the other did not laugh. His fists clenched, and he muttered +under his breath: "All<!-- Page 139 --> gone to hell—puffed an' bloated, an' rotten +with hooch—an' still square as a brick school house!" For a long time +he sat silent, staring at the floor.</p> + +<p>Brent poured himself another drink: "How much are you shy?" he repeated.</p> + +<p>The words roused Camillo Bill from a brown study: "Huh?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I said, how much are you shy of that million?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know yet. I ain't cleaned up the tailin' of the dump. It +ain't goin' to be so far off, though. I'll let you know later." He got +up and crossed to the door. "So long," he said, and without waiting for +Brent's adieu, struck out at a fast walk for Stoell's where he found old +Bettles and Swiftwater Bill drinking at the bar with Moosehide Charlie, +who was telling of a fresh strike on a nameless creek to the westward.</p> + +<p>Camillo Bill motioned the three to a small table, and when they were +seated he ordered the drinks: "We got a job to do," he announced, +plunging straight into his subject, "An' we got to do it thorough."</p> + +<p>"Meanin' which?" asked Bettles.</p> + +<p>"Meanin' to kidnap a man, an' hide him out fer a year, an' make him work +like hell every minute he ain't sleepin' or eatin'."</p> + +<p>"That sounds like a hell of a contrack," opined Swiftwater Bill. "Who's +goin' to keep him workin', an' what at, an' what for?"</p> + +<p>"For the good of his soul," grinned Camillo,<!-- Page 140 --> "The spark of a man's +there yet—an' a damn good man. But if we all don't git down an' blow +like hell the spark's goin' out."</p> + +<p>"Clear as mulligan," grinned Moosehide Charlie.</p> + +<p>Camillo Bill looked into the faces of his companions: "Anyone saw +Ace-In-The-Hole, lately?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Bettles shook his head, and Swiftwater Bill spoke up: "I seen him about +a month ago—bought him a drink. He's on the toboggan."</p> + +<p>Moosehide Charlie broke in: "I ain't seen him since spring when he saved +me from gettin' doped in Cuter Malone's. Cuter floored him with a bottle +an' Kitty an' I got him home an' she looked after him till he got +better. I give her a sack of dust to give him, but he wouldn't take +it—throw'd it out in the snow, an' Kitty dug it out an' brung it back. +If you all is figgerin' on gettin' up a stake fer him, let me in I'll go +as high as the next."</p> + +<p>Camillo Bill shook his head: "Nothin' doin' on the stake stuff. He +wouldn't take it, an' if he did it would be the worst thing we could do +to him. He'd blow it all in fer hooch. I went over to his cabin just now +to turn back his claims. I've took out my million, an' only worked one +of 'em. An' it ain't worked half out. They must be two or three million +in 'em yet. Kitty told me the hooch had got him right—but she didn't +tell it strong enough. He's in a hell of a shape, an' thinks he's as +good a man as he ever was. He's dirty, an' ragged, an'<!-- Page 141 --> bloated with +hooch an' broke—an' yet, by God—he's a man! When I seen how things +was, I decided not to say anything about the claims because if he got +holt of 'em now, he'd blow 'em in as fast as he could get out the dust. +But, after a while he asked me, an' I told him they'd petered out. He +never batted an eye, but he says, 'Did you get out your million? +'Cause,' he says, 'if you didn't just tell me how much you're shy, an' +I'll make it good!' He thinks he's goin' somewhere over beyond the +Mackenzie when the snow comes—but, hell—he ain't in no shape to go +nowheres. What we got to do is jest na'chelly steal him, an' put him in +a cabin somewheres way out in the hills, an' hire a couple of guards for +him, an' keep him workin' for a whole damn year. It'll nearly kill him +at first, but it'll put him back where he was, if it don't kill him—an' +if it does, it's better to die workin' than to freeze to death drunk +like McMann did."</p> + +<p>"I got the place to put him," said Swiftwater, "The claim's no good, but +it's way to hell an' gone from here, an' there's a cabin on it."</p> + +<p>"Just the ticket," agreed Camillo.</p> + +<p>"We better send out quite a bunch of hooch. So he can kind of taper +off," suggested Moosehide Charlie.</p> + +<p>"Taper—hell!" cried Bettles, "If you taper off, you taper on agin. I +know. The way to quit is to quit."</p> + +<p>"We'll figger that out," laughed Camillo, "The<!-- Page 142 --> best way is to ask the +doc. I'll tend to that, an' I'll get a guard hired, an' see about grub +an' tools and stuff. We'll meet here a week from tonight an' pull the +deal off, an' Swiftwater he can go along fer guide—only you don't want +to let him see you. I'll get guards that he don't know, an' that don't +know him. We'll have to pay 'em pretty good, but it's worth it."</p> + +<p>Old Bettles nodded: "He was a damn good man, onct."</p> + +<p>"An' he'll be agin'!" exclaimed Camillo, "If he lives through it. His +heart's right."</p> + +<p>And so they parted, little thinking that when they would gather for the +carrying out of their scheme, Brent would have disappeared as completely +as though the earth had swallowed him up.<!-- Page 143 --></p> + + +<div class="p6" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<p class="tdc">SNOWDRIFT RETURNS TO THE BAND</p> + + +<p>As Snowdrift plodded mile after mile, in her flight from the mission, +her brain busied itself with her problem, and the first night beside her +little campfire she laid her plans for the future. In her heart was no +bitterness against old Wananebish—only compassion that resolved itself +into an intense loyalty and a determination to stay with her and to +lighten the burden that the years were heaping upon her. For she knew of +the old woman's intense love for her, and the hardships she willingly +endured to keep her in school at the mission. The blame was the white +man's blame—the blame of the man who was her father.</p> + +<p>Her face burned hot and her eyes flashed as her hatred of white men grew +upon her. Gladly would she have opened her veins and let out the last +drop of white blood that coursed the length of them. At least she could +renounce the white man's ways—his teachings, and his very language. +From now on she was Indian—and yet, again came that fleet<!-- Page 144 -->ing, elusive +<i>memory</i>—always, ever since she had been a little girl there had been +the <i>memory</i>, and when it came she would close her eyes, and press her +hands to her head and try and try in vain to grasp it—to bring the +picture clean-cut to her mind. Then the <i>memory</i> would fade away—but it +would return again, in a month—a year—always it would return—a log +cabin—wind-tossed waters—a beautiful white woman who held her close—a +big man with a beard upon his face like McTavish, the factor. At first +she had told Wananebish of the <i>memory</i>, but she had laughed and said +that it was the wives of the different factors and traders at the posts +who were wont to make much of the little girl when the band came to +trade. The explanation never quite satisfied Snowdrift, but she accepted +it for want of a better. Was it a flash of memory from another +existence? There was the book she had borrowed from Father Ambrose, the +peculiar book that she did not understand, and that Father Ambrose said +he did not understand, and did not want to understand, for it was all +about some heathenish doctrine. She wondered if it could not be possible +that people lived over and over again, as the book said, and if so, why +couldn't they remember? Maybe last time she had been a white girl, and +this time she was a half-breed, and the next time she would be an +Indian—she wouldn't wait till next time! She was an Indian now. She +hated the white men.<!-- Page 145 --></p> + +<p>And so it went as hour on hour she worked her plans for the future. She +knew that Wananebish was getting old, that she was losing her grip on +the band. Many of the older ones had died, and many of the younger ones +had deserted, and those who were left were dissatisfied, and always +grumbling. There were only eighteen or twenty of them all told, now, and +they preferred to hang about along the rivers, trapping just enough fur +to make a scanty living and pay for the hooch that the free-traders +brought in. They were a degenerate lot and old Wananebish had grown +weary in trying to get them back into the barrens where there was gold. +They scoffed at the gold. There had been so little of it found in so +many years of trying—yet she had not been able to get them to leave the +vicinity of the river. But, now, to the river had come news of the great +gold strike beyond the mountains to the westward. Snowdrift reasoned +that if there were gold to the westward there would be gold also to the +eastward, especially as Wananebish knew that it was there—had even +found some of it long years ago. Maybe they would go, now—far back into +the barrens, far, far away from Henri of the White Water.</p> + +<p>Upon the fourth day after her departure from the mission, the girl +walked into the camp of the little band of non-treaty Indians. Straight +to the tepee of Wananebish, she went—to the only mother she had ever +known. The old squaw received her<!-- Page 146 --> with open arms, and with much +wondering, for upon her last visit to the mission the good Sister +Mercedes had told her that Snowdrift would go and continue her studies +at the great convent in the far away land of the white man. It was the +thing she had most feared to hear, yet, by not so much as the flicker of +an eyelash did she betray her soul-hurt. All the long years of +deception, during which MacFarlane's note book had lain wrapped in its +waterproof wrappings and jealously guarded in the bottom of the moss bag +had gone for naught. For it was to guard against the girl's going to the +land of the white man that the deception had been practiced. None but +she knew that no drop of Indian blood coursed through the veins of the +girl, and she knew that once firmly established among her own people she +would never return to the North. At that time she had almost yielded to +the impulse to tell the truth to them, and to spread the proofs before +them—almost, but not quite, for as long as the girl believed herself to +be half Indian there was a chance that she would return, and so the +squaw had held her peace, and now here was the girl herself—here in the +tepee, and she had brought her all her belongings. Wananebish plied her +with questions, but the girl's answers were brief, and spoken in the +Indian tongue, a thing that greatly surprised and troubled the old +woman, for since babyhood, the girl had despised the speech of the +Indians.</p> + +<p>The two prepared supper in silence, and in silence<!-- Page 147 --> they ate it. And for +a long time they sat close together and silent beside the mosquito +smudge of punk and green twigs. The eyes of the old squaw closed and she +crooned softly from pure joy, for here beside her was the only being in +the world that she loved. Her own baby, the tiny red mite she had +deposited that day upon the blanket in the far away post at Lashing +Water, had died during that first winter. The crooning ceased abruptly, +and the black, beady eyes flashed open. But why was she here? And for +how long? She must know. Why did not the girl speak? The silence became +unbearable even to this woman who all her life had been a creature of +silence. Abruptly she asked the question: "Are you not going to the land +of the white men?"</p> + +<p>And quick as a flash came the answer in the Indian tongue: "<i>I hate the +white men!</i>" The suppressed passion behind the words brought a low +inarticulate cry to the lips of the squaw. She reached for the sheath +knife at her belt, and the sinews upon the back of the hand that grasped +it stood out like whip cords. The black eyes glittered like the eyes of +a snake, and the lips curled back in a snarl of hate, so that the yellow +fangs gleamed in the wavering light of a tiny flame that flared from the +smouldering fire.</p> + +<p>Words came in a hoarse croak: "Who is he? I will cut his heart out!"</p> + +<p>Then the hand of the girl was laid soothingly<!-- Page 148 --> upon her arm, and again +she spoke words in the Indian tongue: "No, no, not that."</p> + +<p>The old squaw's muscles relaxed as she felt the arm of the girl steal +about her shoulders. The knife slipped back into its sheath, as her body +was drawn close against the girl's. For a long time they sat thus in +silence, and then the girl rose, for she was very tired. At the door of +the tepee she paused: "There are some good white men," she said, "Tell +me again, was my father a good white man?"</p> + +<p>Still seated beside the fire the old squaw nodded slowly, "A good white +man—yes. He is dead."</p> + +<p>The eyes of the girl sought with penetrating glance the face beside the +fire. Was there veiled meaning in those last words? Snowdrift thought +not, and entering the tepee she crept between her blankets.</p> + +<p>When the sound of the girl's breathing told that she slept old +Wananebish stole noiselessly into the tepee and, emerging a moment later +with the old moss bag, she poked at the fire with a stick, and threw on +some dry twigs, and seated herself in the light of the flickering +flames. She thrust her hand into the bag and withdrew a packet from +which she undid the wrappings. Minutes passed as she sat staring at the +notebook of MacFarlane, and at the package of parchment deer-skin still +secure in its original wrapping. For never had the squaw touched a +dollar of the money left in her care for<!-- Page 149 --> the maintainance and education +of the girl. Poor as she was Wananebish had kept Snowdrift in school, +had clothed and fed her solely by her own efforts, by the fruits of her +hunting and trapping. All during the years she had starved, and saved, +and driven shrewd bargains that the girl might receive education, even +as she herself had received education.</p> + +<p>And, now, tonight, she knew that the girl had been suddenly made to +realize that she was one of those born out of wedlock, and the shame of +it was heavy upon her. The old woman's heart beat warm as she realized +that the girl held no blame for her—only an intense hatred for the +white men, one of whose race had wrought the supposed wrong.</p> + +<p>For a long time Wananebish sat beside the fire her heart torn by +conflicting emotions. She knew right from wrong. She had not the excuse +of ignorance of the ethics of conduct, for she, too, had been an apt +pupil at the mission school. And for nearly nineteen years she had been +living a lie. And during those years right had struggled against love a +thousand times—and always love had won—the savage, selfish love that +bade her keep the object of her affections with her in the Northland. +Upon the death of her baby soon after the visit of MacFarlane, her whole +life centered upon the tiny white child. In the spring when the band +moved, she had left false directions in the caribou skull beside the +river, and instead of heading for Lash<!-- Page 150 -->ing Water to deliver the babe to +old Molaire, she had headed northward, and upon the third day had come +upon the remains of a sled, and a short distance farther on, a rifle, +and a sheath knife—the same that now swung at her own belt, and which +bore upon its inside surface, the legend "Murdo MacFarlane." A thousand +times she had been upon the point of telling the girl of her parentage, +and turning over to her the packet, but always the fear was upon her +that she would forsake the North, and seek the land of her own people. +Years before, when she had entered the girl at the mission, she had +smothered the temptation to tell all, and to deliver the packet to the +priest. But instead, she invented the story of her illegitimate birth +and accepted the shame. She knew from the first that Sister Mercedes +doubted the tale, that she believed the girl to be white, but she +stoutly held to her story, nor deviated from it so much as a hair's +breadth, during years of periodical questioning.</p> + +<p>But now? What should she do now that the girl herself was suffering +under the stigma of her birth? Should she tell her the truth and deliver +to her the packet of her father? If she did would not the girl turn upon +her with hatred, even as she had turned against the people of her own +race? Should she remain silent, still living the lie she had lived all +these years, and thus keep at her side the girl she loved with the +savage mother love of a wild beast? Was it not the girl's right to know<!-- Page 151 --> +who she was, and if she so willed, to go among her own people, and to go +among them with unsullied name? Clearly this was her right. Wananebish +admitted the right, and the admission strengthened her purpose. Slowly +she rose from the fire and with the packet and the notebook in her hand, +stepped to the door of the tepee and stood listening to the breathing of +the sleeping girl. She would slip the packet beneath the blankets, and +then—and then—she, herself would go away—and stay until the girl had +gone out of the North. Then she would come back to her people. Her eyes +swept the group of tepees that showed dimly in the starlight—back to +her people! A great wave of revulsion and self-pity swept over her as +she saw herself, old and unheeded, working desperately for the +betterment of the little band of degenerates, waging almost single +handed the losing battle against the whiskey runners. Suddenly she +straightened, and the hand clutched tightly the packet. If Snowdrift +stayed, might not the band yet be saved? What is it the white men say +when they seek excuse for their misdeeds? Ah, yes, it is that the end +justifies the means. As she repeated the old sophistry a gleam of hope +lighted her eyes and she returned again to the fire. At least, the girl +would remain at her side, and would care for her in her old age—only a +few more years, and then she would die, and after that— Carefully she +rewrapped the packet and returned it to the moss bag.<!-- Page 152 --> As always before +the savage primal love triumphed over the ethics, and with a great +weight lifted from her mind, the old squaw sought her blankets.</p> + +<p>Heart and soul, during the remaining days of the summer, Snowdrift threw +herself into the work of regenerating the little band of Indians. News +of the great gold strike on the Yukon had reached the Mackenzie and +these rumors the girl used to the utmost in her arguments in favor of a +journey into the barrens. At first her efforts met with little +encouragement, but her enthusiasm for the venture never lagged and +gradually the opposition weakened before the persistence of her +onslaughts.</p> + +<p>When the brigade passed northward, Henri of the White Water had promised +the Indians he would return with hooch, and it was in anticipation of +this that the young men of the band were holding back. When, in August, +word drifted up the river that a patrol of the mounted from Fort Simpson +had come upon a certain <i>cache</i>, and that Henri of the White Water was +even then southward bound under escort, the last of the opposition +vanished. Without hooch one place was as good as another and if they +should find gold—why they could return and buy much hooch, from some +other whiskey runner. But, they asked, how about debt? Already they were +in debt to the company, and until the debt was paid they could expect +nothing, and a long trip into the barrens would call for much in the way +of supplies.<!-- Page 153 --></p> + +<p>McTavish, the bearded trader at Fort Good Hope, listened patiently until +the girl finished her recital, and then his thick fingers toyed with the +heavy inkstand upon his desk.</p> + +<p>"I do' no' what to say, to ye, lass," he began, "The Company holds me to +account for the debt I give, an' half the band is already in my debt. +Ye're mither, auld Wananebish is gude for all she wants an' so are you, +for ye're a gud lass. Some of the others are gud too, but theer be some +amongst them that I wad na trust for the worth of a buckshot. They've +laid around the river too lang. They're a worthless, hooch-guzzlin' +outfit. They're na gude."</p> + +<p>"But that's just why I want debt," cried the girl, "To get them away +from the river. There's no hooch here now, and they will go. I, myself, +will stand responsible for the debt."</p> + +<p>The Scotchman regarded the eager face gravely: "Wheer wad ye tak them?" +he asked.</p> + +<p>"Way to the eastward, beyond Bear Lake, there is a river. The trapping +is good there, and there is gold——"</p> + +<p>"The Coppermine," interrupted McTavish, "Always theer has been talk of +gold on the Coppermine—but na gold has been found theer. However, as ye +say, the trappin' should be gude. Yer Injuns be na gude along the river. +They're lazy an' no account, an' gettin' worse. Theer's a bare chance ye +can save 'em yet if ye can get 'em far into the<!-- Page 154 --> barrens. I'm goin' to +give ye that chance. If ye'll guarantee the debt, I'll outfit 'em—no +finery an' frippery, mind ye—just the necessities for the winter in the +bush. Bring 'em along, lass, an' the sooner ye get started the better, +for 'tis a lang trail ye've set yerself—an' may gude luck go with ye."</p> + +<p>And so it was that upon the first day of September, the little band of +Indians under the leadership of Snowdrift and Wananebish, loaded their +goods into canoes and began the laborious ascent of Hare Indian River.<!-- Page 155 --></p> + + +<div class="p6" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<p class="tdc">THE DINNER AT REEVES'</p> + + +<p>With the rush of the <i>chechakos</i> had come also the vanguard of big +business—keen-eyed engineers and bespectacled metallurgists, +accompanied by trusted agents of Wall Street, who upon advice of the +engineers and the metallurgists paid out money right and left for +options.</p> + +<p>First over the pass in the spring came Reeves and Howson who struck into +the hills and, passing up the rich "gold in the grass roots" claims, +concentrated upon a creek of lesser promise. By the first of July, their +findings upon this creek justified the report to their principals in the +states that roused those officials of the newly organized Northern +Dredge Company from their stupor of watchful waiting into a cauldron of +volcanic activity.</p> + +<p>Fowler, the little purchasing agent sat at his desk and for fourteen +straight hours dictated telegrams, pausing only to refer to pages of +neatly typed specifications, with the result that within twenty-four +hours upon many railroads carloads of freight began to move toward a +certain dock in Seattle at<!-- Page 156 --> which was moored a tramp steamer waiting to +receive her cargo. A sawmill from the Washington forests, steel rails +and a dinky engine from Pittsburg, great dredges from Ohio, tools, iron, +cement from widely separated States and the crowning item of all, a +Mississippi River steamboat jerked bodily from the water and dismantled +ready to be put together in a matter of hours at the mouth of the Yukon.</p> + +<p>Late in August that same steamboat, her decks and two barges piled high +with freight, nosed into the bank at Dawson and threw out her mooring +lines, while down her plank swarmed the Northern Company's skilled +artisans—swarmed also into the waiting arms of her husband, Reba +Reeves, wife of the Northern Dredge Company's chief engineer and general +manager of operation. Reeves led his wife to the little painted house +that he had bought and furnished, and turned his attention to the +problem of transporting his heavy outfit to the creek of his selection.</p> + +<p>For a month thereafter he was on the works night and day, snatching his +sleep where he could, now and then at home, but more often upon the pile +of blankets and robes that he had thrown into a corner of the little +slab office on the bank of the creek. Early in October, upon one of his +flying visits, his wife reminded him that he had promised to send a man +down to bank the house for the winter.<!-- Page 157 --></p> + +<p>"Don't see how I can spare a man right now, little girl," he answered, +"I'm hiring every man I can find that will handle a pick or a shovel, or +drive a nail, or carry a board. I've still got three miles of flume to +put in, and half a mile of railroad grade to finish—and the snow will +hit us any time now."</p> + +<p>"You can't work your old dredges in the winter, anyhow, why don't you +wait till spring."</p> + +<p>"When spring comes I want to be in shape to begin throwing out the +gravel the minute the ground thaws, and I don't want to be bothered +building flume and railroad."</p> + +<p>"But, dearest, the floor is so cold. We can't live in this house in the +winter unless it is banked. All the neighbors have their houses banked +three or four feet high, and if the ground freezes we'll never get it +done."</p> + +<p>Reeves' brow puckered into a frown: "That's right," he admitted, "Tell +you what I'll do, I'll come down Saturday afternoon and stay over Sunday +and bank it myself. Maybe I can find someone to help me. There's an old +tramp that lives in a cabin a piece back from the river. One of my +foremen has hired him three or four times, but he's no good—won't work +more than two or three days at a stretch—he's a drunkard, and can't +stay away from booze. Maybe, though, if I stay right on the job with him +till it's finished I can get a day's work out of him—anyway I'll try."</p> + +<p>Of the books left by the Englishman, the one<!-- Page 158 --> that interested Brent most +was a volume from which the title page had long since disappeared as had +the lettering upon its back, if indeed any had ever existed. It +contained what appeared to be semi-official reports upon the mineral +possibilities of the almost unexplored territory lying between the +Mackenzie and Back's Fish River, but more particularly upon the +Coppermine River and its tributaries. To these reports was added a +monograph which treated exhaustively of the expeditions of Hearne into +the North in search of gold, and also of the illfated expedition of old +Captain Knight. This book held a peculiar fascination for Brent, and he +read and reread it, poring over its contents by the hour as he dreamed +his foolish dreams of some day carrying on Hearne's explorations to +ultimate success.</p> + +<p>Upon the night following the visit of Camillo Bill, Brent sat beside his +dirty table, with his stinking oil lamp drawn near, and his favorite +book held close to catch the sullen light that filtered through its +murky, smoke blackened chimney. This night the book held a new interest +for him. All along he had cherished the hope that when Camillo Bill +should turn back his claims, there would still be a goodly amount of +gold left in the gravel. But Camillo Bill said that the claims had +petered out—and Camillo Bill was square. All that was left for him to +do then was to hit for the Coppermine, and not so much for himself, for +he stood in honor bound to see that Camillo Bill lost nothing through<!-- Page 159 --> +cashing those slips and markers upon his assurance that the claims were +worth a million.</p> + +<p>The book settled slowly to Brent's lap, he poured a drink, and idly +turned its pages, as his drunken imagination pictured himself mushing at +the head of a dog team through those unknown wastes, and at the end of +the long trail finding gold, gold, gold. He turned to the inside of the +front cover and stared idly at the name penned many years ago. The ink +was faded and brown and the name almost illegible so that he had to turn +it aslant to follow the faint tracery. "Murdo MacFarlane, Lashing +Water," he read, "I wonder where Lashing Water is? And who was this +Murdo MacFarlane? And where is he now? Did he find Hearne's lost gold? +Or, did he—did he—?" A loud knock upon the door roused Brent from his +dreamy speculation.</p> + +<p>"Come in!" he called, and turned to see Reeves standing in the doorway.</p> + +<p>"Hello," greeted the intruder, plunging straight into the object of his +visit, "I'm up against it, and I wonder if you won't help me out." He +paused, and Brent waited for him to proceed, "I'm Reeves, of the +Northern Dredge Company, and I've got every available man in Dawson out +there on the works trying to finish three miles of flume and a half mile +of railroad before snow flies. I can't spare a man off the works, but +I've got to bank my house, so I decided to stay home myself tomorrow and +tackle it. If you'll help me, and if we get a good<!-- Page 160 --> early start, I think +we can finish the job by night. I wouldn't care a rap if it were not for +my wife, she's from the South, and I'm afraid of those cold floors. What +do you say, will you do it? I'll pay you well."</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Brent, and he noticed that the other's eyes had strayed +in evident surprise to the pile of books upon the table among the dirty +dishes.</p> + +<p>"All right, that's fine! What time can I expect you?"</p> + +<p>"Daylight," answered Brent, "Will you have a drink?" he indicated the +bottle that stood beside the pile of books, but Reeves shook his head:</p> + +<p>"No, thanks, I've got to tackle some work tonight that I've been putting +off for weeks. See you in the morning."</p> + +<p>Seated once more in his chair with his book, Brent poured himself a +drink, "From the South," he whispered, and raising the murky glass to +his lips swallowed the liquor. His eyes closed and into his brain +floated a picture, dim and indistinct, at first, but gradually taking +definite form—a little town of wide, tree-shaded streets, a +weather-stained brick courthouse standing in the centre of a grassed +square, and facing it across the street a red brick schoolhouse. The +schoolhouse doors swung open and out raced a little boy swinging his +books on the end of a strap. He was a laughing, cleareyed little boy, +and he wore buckled slippers and black velvet nickers, and a wide collar +showed<!-- Page 161 --> dazzling white against the black of the velvet jacket.</p> + +<p>Other children followed, barefooted little boys whose hickory shirts, +many sizes too large for the little bodies, bulged grotesquely about +their "galluses," and little boys shod in stiff hot looking black shoes +and stockings, and little girls with tight-braided pig-tails hanging +down their backs, and short starched skirts, who watched with envious +eyes as the velvet clad boy ran across to the "hitch-rail" that flanked +the courthouse sidewalk, and mounted a stocky little "calico" Shetland +pony, and rode down the tree-shaded street at a furious gallop. On the +outskirts of the town the pony swerved of its own accord between two +upstanding stone posts and into a broad avenue that swept in graceful +curves between two rows of huge evergreens that led from the white +turnpike to a big brick house, the roof of whose broad gallery was +supported upon huge white pillars. Up the avenue raced the pony and up +the dozen steps that led to the gallery, just at the moment that the +huge bulk of a round-eyed colored "mammy" blocked the doorway of the +hall.</p> + +<p>"Hyah, yo' rascal, yo'!" cried the outraged negress flourishing her +broom, "Git yo' circus hoss offen my clean gallery flo', fo' I bus' him +wide open wif dis, broom! Lawd sakes, efen Miss Callie see yo' hyah, she +gwine raise yo' ha'r fo' sho'! Yo' Ca'teh Brent, yo' <i>git</i>!" The broom +swished viciously—and Brent opened his eyes with a jerk. The first +fitful gusts of a norther were whipping about<!-- Page 162 --> the eaves of his cabin, +and shivering slightly, he crawled into his bunk.</p> + +<p>All the forenoon the two men worked side by side with pick and shovel +and wheelbarrow, piling the earth high above the baseboards of Reeves' +white painted house. Brent spoke little and he worked as, it seemed to +him, he had never worked before. The muscles of his back and arms and +fingers ached, and in his vitals was the gnawing desire for drink. But +he had brought no liquor with him, and he fought down the desire and +worked doggedly, filling the wheelbarrows as fast as Reeves could dump +them. At noon Reeves surveyed the work with satisfaction: "We've got +it!" he exclaimed, "We're a little more than half through, and none too +soon." The wind had blown steadily from the north, carrying with it +frequent flurries of snow. "We'll knock off now. Just step into the +house."</p> + +<p>Brent shook his head, "No, I'll slip over to the cabin. I'll be back by +the time you're through dinner."</p> + +<p>Reeves, who had divined the man's need, stepped closer, "Come in, won't +you. I've got a little liquor that I brought from the outside. I think +you'll like it."</p> + +<p>Without a word Brent followed him into the kitchen where Reeves set out +the bottle and a tumbler: "Just help yourself," he said, "I never use +it," and passed into the next room. Eagerly Brent poured himself half a +tumblerful and gulped<!-- Page 163 --> it down, and as he returned the glass to the +table, he heard the voice of Reeves: "You don't mind if he eats with us +do you? He's worked mighty hard, and—" the sentence was interrupted by +a woman's voice:</p> + +<p>"Why, certainly he will eat with us. See, the table's all set. I saw you +coming so I brought the soup in. Hurry before it gets cold." At the +man's words Brent's eyes had flashed a swift glance over his +disreputable garments. His lips had tightened at the corners, and as he +had waited for the expected protest, they had twisted into a cynical +smile. But at the woman's reply, the smile died from his lips, and he +took a furtive step toward the door, hesitated, and unconsciously his +shoulders stiffened, and a spark flickered for a moment in his muddy +eyes. Why not? It had been many a long day since he had sat at a table +with a woman—that kind of a woman. Like a flash came Reeves' words of +the night before. "She's from the South." If the man should really ask +him to sit at his table, why not accept—and carry it through in his own +way? The good liquor was taking hold. Brent swiftly dashed some more +into the glass and downed it at a swallow. Then Reeves stepped into the +room.</p> + +<p>"You are to dine here," he announced, "we both of us need a good hot +meal, and a good smoke, and my wife has your place all laid at the +table."</p> + +<p>"I thank you," answered Brent, "May I wash?" Reeves, who had expected an +awkward protest<!-- Page 164 --> started at the words, and indicated the basin at the +sink. As Brent subjected his hands and face to a thorough scrubbing, and +carefully removed the earth from beneath his finger nails, Reeves eyed +him quizzically. Brent preceded his host into the dining room where Mrs. +Reeves waited, standing beside her chair.</p> + +<p>Reeves stepped forward: "My wife, Mr.——," his voice trailed purposely, +but instead of mumbling a name, and acknowledging the introduction with +an embarrassed bob of the head, Brent smiled:</p> + +<p>"Let us leave it that way, please. Mrs. Reeves, allow me," and stepping +swiftly to her chair he seated her with a courtly bow. He looked up to +see Reeves staring in open-mouthed amazement. Again, he smiled, and +stepped to his own place, not unmindful of the swift glance of surprise +that passed between husband and wife. After that surprises came fast. +Surprise at the ease and grace of manner with which he comported +himself, gave place to surprise and admiration at his deft maneuvering +of the conversation to things of the "outside"—to the literary and +theatrical successes of a few years back, and to the dozen and one +things that make dinner small talk. The Reeves' found themselves +consumed with curiosity as to this man with the drunkard's eye, the +unkempt beard, and the ragged clothing of a tramp, whose jests and quips +kept them in constant laughter. All through the meal Mrs. Reeves studied +him. There was some<!-- Page 165 -->thing fine in the shape of the brow, in the thin, +well formed nose, in the occasional flash of the muddy eyes that held +her.</p> + +<p>"You are from the South, aren't you?" she asked, during a pause in the +conversation.</p> + +<p>Brent smiled. "Yes, far from the South—very far."</p> + +<p>"I am from the South, too, and I love it," continued the woman, her eyes +upon the man's face. "From Plantersville, Tennessee—I've lived there +all my life." At the words Brent started perceptibly, and the hand that +held his coffee cup trembled violently so that part of the contents +splashed onto his napkin. When he returned the cup to its saucer it +rattled noisily.</p> + +<p>The woman half rose from her chair: "<i>Carter Brent</i>!" she cried. And +Reeves, staring at his wife in astonishment, saw that tears glistened in +her eyes.</p> + +<p>The next moment Brent had pulled himself together: "You win," he smiled, +regarding her curiously, "But, you will pardon me I'm sure. I've been +away a long time, and I'm afraid——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you wouldn't recognize me. I was only sixteen or seventeen when you +left Plantersville. You had been away at college, and you came home for +a month. I'm Reba Moorhouse——"</p> + +<p>"Indeed I do remember you," laughed Brent, "Why you did me the honor to +dance with me at Colonel Pinkney's ball. But, tell me, how are your<!-- Page 166 --> +mother and father and Fred and Emily? I suppose Doctor Moorhouse still +shoots his squirrels square in the eye, eh!"</p> + +<p>"Mother died two years ago, and dad has almost given up his practice," +she smiled, "So he'll have more time to shoot squirrels. Fred is in +college, and Emily married Charlie Harrow, and they bought the old +Melcher place out on the pike."</p> + +<p>Brent hesitated a moment: "And—and—my father—have you seen him +lately?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed! General Brent and Dad are still the greatest of cronies. +He hasn't changed a bit since I can first remember him. Old Uncle Jake +still drives him to the bank at nine o'clock each morning, he still eats +his dinners at the Planter's Hotel, and then makes his rounds of the +lumber yard, and the coal yard, and the tobacco warehouse, or else Uncle +Jake drives him out to inspect some of his farms, and back home at four +o'clock. No, to all appearances, the General hasn't changed—but, dad +says there is a change in the last two or three years. He—he—would +give everything he owns just to hear from—you."</p> + +<p>Brent was silent for a moment: "But, he must not hear—yet. I'll make +another strike, one of these days—and then——-"</p> + +<p>"Did you make a strike?" asked Reeves.</p> + +<p>Brent nodded. "Yes, I was on the very peak of the first stampede. Did +you, by chance, ever hear of Ace-In-The-Hole?"<!-- Page 167 --></p> + +<p>Reeves smiled: "Yes—notorious gambler, wasn't he? Were you here when he +was? Made a big strike, somewhere, and then gambled away ten or twenty +million, didn't he, and then—I never did hear what became of him."</p> + +<p>Brent smiled: "Yes, he made a strike. Then, I suppose, he was just what +you said—a notorious gambler—his losses were grossly exaggerated, they +were not over two millions at the outside."</p> + +<p>"A mere trifle," laughed Reeves, "What ever became of him."</p> + +<p>"Just at this moment he is seated at a dining table, talking with a +generous host, and a most charming hostess——"</p> + +<p>"Are <i>you</i> Ace-In-The-Hole?"</p> + +<p>"So designated upon the Yukon," smiled Brent.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Reeves leaned suddenly forward: "Oh, why don't you—why don't you +brace up? Let liquor alone, and——"</p> + +<p>Brent interrupted her with a wave of the hand: "Theoretically a very +good suggestion," he smiled, "But, practically—it won't work. +Personally, I do not think I drink enough to hurt me any—but we will +waive that point—if I do, it is my own fault." He was about to add that +he was as good a man as he ever was, but something saved him that +sophistry, and when he looked into the face of his hostess his muddy +eyes twinkled humorously. "At least," he said, "I have succeeded in +eliminating one fault—I have not gambled in quite some time."<!-- Page 168 --></p> + +<p>"And you never will gamble again?"</p> + +<p>Brent laughed: "I didn't say that. However I see very little chance of +doing so in the immediate future."</p> + +<p>"Promise me that you never will?" she asked, "You might, at least, +promise me that, if you won't give up the other."</p> + +<p>"What assurance would you have that I would keep my promise?" parried +the man.</p> + +<p>Quick as a flash came the reply, "The word of a Brent!"</p> + +<p>Unconsciously the man's shoulders straightened: He hesitated a moment +while he regarded the woman gravely: "Yes," he said, "I will promise you +that, if it will please you, 'Upon the word of a Brent.'" He turned +abruptly to Reeves, "We had better be getting at that job again, or we +won't finish it before dark," he said, and with a bow to Mrs. Reeves, +"You will excuse us, I know." The woman nodded and as her husband was +about to follow Brent from the room she detained him.</p> + +<p>"Who is he?" asked Reeves, as the door closed behind him.</p> + +<p>"Who is he!" exclaimed his wife, "Why he's Carter Brent! The very last +of the Brents! Anyone in the South can tell you what that means. They're +the bluest of the blue bloods. His father, the old General, owns the +bank, and about everything else that's worth owning in Plantersville, +and half the county besides! And oh, it's a shame!<!-- Page 169 --> A shame! We've got +to do something! You've got to do something! He's a mining engineer, +too. I recognized him before he told me, and when I mentioned +Plantersville, did you see his hand tremble? I was sure then. Oh, can't +you give him a position?"</p> + +<p>Reeves considered: "Why, yes, I could use a good mining engineer. +But—he's too far gone. He couldn't stay away from the booze. I don't +think there's any use trying."</p> + +<p>"There is, I tell you! The blood is there—and when the blood is there +it is <i>never</i> too late! Didn't you notice the air with which he gave me +his promise not to gamble 'Upon the word of a Brent.' He would die +before he would break that promise—you see."</p> + +<p>"But—he wouldn't promise to let liquor alone. The gambling—in his +circumstances is more or less a joke."</p> + +<p>"But, when he gets on his feet again it won't be a joke!" she insisted. +"You mark my words, he is going to make good. I can <i>feel</i> it. And that +is why I got him to promise not to gamble. If you can make him promise +to let liquor alone you can depend on it he will let it alone. You'll +try—won't you dear?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, little girl, I'll try," smiled Reeves, kissing his young wife, +"But I'll tell you beforehand, you are a good deal more sanguine of +success than I am." And he passed out and joined Brent who was busily +loading a wheelbarrow.<!-- Page 170 --></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<p class="tdc">JOE PETE</p> + + +<p>Several times during the afternoon as they worked side by side, Reeves +endeavored to engage Brent in conversation, but the latter's replies +were short to the verge of curtness, and Reeves gave it up and devoted +his energy to the task in hand. The fitful snow flurries of the forenoon +settled into a steady fall of wind-driven flakes that cut the air in +long horizontal slants and lay an ever-thickening white blanket upon the +frozen surface of the ground. Darkness fell early, and the job was +finished by lantern light. When the last barrow of earth had been +placed, the two made a tour of inspection which ended at the kitchen +door.</p> + +<p>"Snug and tight for the winter!" exclaimed Reeves, "And just in time!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Brent, "Winter is here."</p> + +<p>The door opened and the face of Mrs. Reeves was framed for a moment in +the yellow lamp light: "Supper is ready!" she called, cheerily.</p> + +<p>"Come in," invited Reeves, heartily, "We'll put that supper where it +will do the most good, and then we'll——"<!-- Page 171 --></p> + +<p>Brent interrupted him: "Thank you, I'll go home."</p> + +<p>"Oh, come, now!" insisted the other. "Mrs. Reeves is expecting you. She +will be really disappointed if you run off that way."</p> + +<p>"Disappointed—<i>hell</i>!" cried Brent, so fiercely that Reeves stared at +him in surprise. "Do you think for a minute that it was easy for me to +sit at a table—the table of a southern lady—in these rags? Would you +care to try it—to try and play the rôle of a gentleman behind a six +weeks' growth of beard, and with your hair uncut for six months? It +would have been an ordeal at any table, but to find out suddenly—at a +moment when you were straining every nerve in your body to carry it +through, that your hostess was one you had known—in other days—and who +had known you—I tell you man it was hell! What I've got to have is not +food, but whiskey—enough whiskey to make me drunk—very drunk. And the +hell I've gone through is not a circumstance to the hell I've got to +face when that same whiskey begins to die out—lying there in the bunk +staring wide-eyed into the thick dark—seeing things that aren't +there—hearing voices that were, and are forever stilled, and voices +that never were—the voices of the damned—taunting, reviling, mocking +your very soul, asking you what you have done with your millions? And +where do you go from here? And your hands shaking so that you can't draw +the cork from the bottle to<!-- Page 172 --> drown the damned voices and still them till +you have to wake up again, hoping when you do it will be daylight—it's +easier in daylight. I tell you man that's <i>hell</i>! It isn't the hell that +comes after he dies a man fears—it's the hell that comes in the dark. A +hell born of whiskey, and only whiskey will quench the fires of it—and +more whiskey—and more——"</p> + +<p>Reeves grasped his hand in a mighty grip: "I think I understand, old +man—a little," he said. "I'll make excuse to Mrs. Reeves."</p> + +<p>"Tell her the truth if you want to," growled Brent, turning away, "We'll +never meet again."</p> + +<p>"You've forgotten something," called Reeves as he extended a hand which +held a crisp bill.</p> + +<p>Brent examined it. It was a twenty. "What is this—wages or charity?" he +asked.</p> + +<p>"Wages—and you've earned every cent of it."</p> + +<p>"Shoveling dirt, or play acting?" There was a sneer in the man's voice, +which Reeves was quick to resent.</p> + +<p>"Shoveling dirt," he replied, shortly.</p> + +<p>"Men shovel dirt in this camp now for eight or ten."</p> + +<p>"I think I am quite capable of judging what a man's services are worth +to me," answered Reeves, "Good bye." He turned to the door, and Brent +crumpled the bill into his pocket and disappeared in the whirling snow.</p> + +<p>Arriving at his cabin he carefully deposited two<!-- Page 173 --> quarts of liquor upon +the table, lighted his smoky lamp, and built a roaring fire in the +stove. Seating himself in a chair, he carefully removed the cork from +the bottle and took a long, long drink. He realized suddenly that the +unwonted physical exercise had made him very tired and hungry. The +greater part of a link of bologna sausage lay upon the table, a remnant +of a previous meal. He took the sausage in his hand and devoured it, +pausing now and then to drink from the bottle. When the last fragment +had been consumed he settled himself in his chair and, with the bottle +at his elbow, stared for a long time at the log wall. "Winter is here," +he muttered, at length, "And I've got to hit the trail." He took a +drink, and carefully replaced the bottle upon the table, and again for a +long time he stared at the logs. A knock on the door startled him.</p> + +<p>"Come in," he called. He felt better now. The liquor was taking hold.</p> + +<p>Reeves stamped the snow noisily from his feet and closed the door behind +him. Brent rose and motioned for the man to draw the other chair closer +to the stove. He turned up the murky lamp a trifle, then turned it down +again because it smoked.</p> + +<p>Reeves seated himself, and fumbling in his pocket, produced two cigars, +one of which he tendered to Brent. "I came, partly on my own account, +and partly at the earnest solicitation of my wife." He smiled, "I hardly +know how to begin."<!-- Page 174 --></p> + +<p>"If it's a sermon, begin about three words from the end; but if it is a +drinking bout, begin at the beginning, but you will have to pardon me +for beginning in the middle, for I have already consumed half a quart." +He indicated the bottle and Reeves noted that his lips were smiling, and +that there was a sparkle in the muddy eyes.</p> + +<p>"Not guilty on either count," he laughed, "I neither preach nor drink. +What brings me here is a mere matter of business."</p> + +<p>"Business? Sure you haven't got your dates mixed. I have temporarily +withdrawn from the business world."</p> + +<p>Reeves was relieved to see that the fierce mood of a few hours before +had given place to good humour. "No, it is regarding the termination of +this temporary withdrawal that I want to see you. I understand you're a +mining engineer."</p> + +<p>"Colorado School of Mines—five good jobs within two years in +Montana—later, placer miner, 'notorious gambler,' and—" he included +himself and the interior of the cabin in an expressive gesture.</p> + +<p>"Do you want another good job?"</p> + +<p>"What kind of a job?"</p> + +<p>"An engineering job. How would you like to be my assistant in the +operation of this dredging proposition?"</p> + +<p>Brent shook his head: "It wouldn't work."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"<!-- Page 175 --></p> + +<p>Brent smiled: "Too close to Dawson. I like the hooch too well. And, +aside from that, you don't need me. You will be laying off men now. Not +hiring them."</p> + +<p>"Laying off laborers, yes. But there is plenty of work along that creek +this winter for the right man—for me, and for you, if you will assume +it."</p> + +<p>Again Brent shook his head: "There is another reason," he objected, "I +have got to make another strike—and a good one. I have an obligation to +meet—an obligation that in all probability will involve more money than +any salary I could earn."</p> + +<p>"Small chance of a rich strike, now. The whole country is staked."</p> + +<p>"Around here, yes. But not where I'm going."</p> + +<p>"Where is that?"</p> + +<p>"Over beyond the Mackenzie. In the Coppermine River country."</p> + +<p>"Beyond the Mackenzie!" cried Reeves, "Man are you crazy!"</p> + +<p>"No, not crazy, only, at the moment, comfortably drunk. But that has +nothing whatever to do with my journey to the Coppermine. I will be cold +sober when I hit the trail."</p> + +<p>"And when will that be? How do you expect to finance the trip?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, there's the rub," grinned Brent, "I have not the least idea in the +world of how I am going to finance it. When that detail is arranged, I +shall hit the trail within twenty-four hours."<!-- Page 176 --></p> + +<p>Reeves was thinking rapidly. He did not believe that there was any gold +beyond the Mackenzie. To the best of his knowledge there was nothing +beyond the Mackenzie. Nothing—no towns—no booze! If Brent would be +willing to go into a country for six months or a year in which booze was +not obtainable—"There's no booze over there," he said aloud, "How much +would you have to take with you?"</p> + +<p>"Not a damned drop!"</p> + +<p>"What!"</p> + +<p>Brent rose suddenly to his feet and stood before Reeves. "I have been +fooling myself," he said, in a low tense voice, "Do you know what my +shibboleth has been? What I have been telling myself and telling +others—and expecting them to believe? I began to say it, and honestly +enough, when I first started to get soft, and I kept it up stubbornly +when the softness turned to flabbiness, and I maintained it doggedly +when the flabbiness gave way to pouchiness: 'I am as good a man as I +ever was!' That's the damned lie I've been telling myself! I nearly told +it at your table, and before your wife, but thank God I was spared that +humiliation. Just between friends, I'll tell the truth—I'm a damned +worthless, hooch-guzzling good-for-naught! And the hell of it is, I +haven't got the guts to quit!" He seized the bottle from the table and +drank three or four swallows in rapid succession, "See that—what did I +tell you?" He glared at Reeves as if challenging a denial. "But, I've +got one chance."<!-- Page 177 --></p> + +<p>He straightened up and pointed toward the eastward. "Over beyond the +Mackenzie there is no hooch. If I can get away from it for six months I +can beat it. If I can get my nerve back—get my <i>health</i> back, By God, I +<i>will</i> beat it! If there's enough of a Brent left in me, for that girl, +your wife, to recognize through this disguise of rags and hair and dirt, +there's enough of a Brent, sir, to put up one hell of a fight against +booze!"</p> + +<p>Reeves found himself upon his feet slapping the other on the back. +"You've said it man! You've said it! I will arrange for the financing."</p> + +<p>"You! How?"</p> + +<p>"On your own terms."</p> + +<p>Brent was silent for a moment: "Take your pick," he said, "Grub-stake +me, or loan me two thousand dollars. If I live I'll pay you back—with +interest. If I don't—you lose."</p> + +<p>Reeves regarded him steadily: "I lose, only in case you die—you promise +me that—on the word of a Brent? And I don't mean the two thousand—you +understand what I mean, I think."</p> + +<p>Brent nodded, slowly: "I understand. And I promise—on the word of a +Brent. But," he hastened to add, "I am not promising that I will not +drink any more hooch—now or any other time—I have here a quart and a +half of liquor. In all probability between now and tomorrow morning I +shall get very drunk."</p> + +<p>"You said you would leave within twenty-four hours," reminded Reeves.<!-- Page 178 --></p> + +<p>"And so I will."</p> + +<p>"How do you want the money?"</p> + +<p>"How do I want it? I'll tell you. I want it in dust, and I want it +inside of an hour. Can you get it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Reeves, and drawing on cap and mittens, pushed out into +the storm.</p> + +<p>Hardly had the door closed behind him, than it opened again and Brent +also disappeared in the storm.</p> + +<p>In a little shack upon the river bank, an Indian grunted sleepily in +answer to an insistent banging upon his door: "Hey, Joe Pete, come out +here! I want you!"</p> + +<p>A candle flared dully, and presently the door opened, and a huge Indian +stood in the doorway rubbing his eyes with his fist.</p> + +<p>"Come with me," ordered Brent, "To the cabin."</p> + +<p>Silently the Indian slipped into his outer clothing and followed, and +without a word of explanation, Brent led the way to his cabin. For a +half hour they sat in silence, during which Brent several times drank +from his bottle. Presently Reeves entered and laid a pouch upon the +table. He looked questioningly at the Indian who returned the scrutiny +with a look of stolid indifference.</p> + +<p>"Joe Pete, this is Mr. Reeves. Reeves, that Injun is Joe Pete, the best +damned Injun in Alaska, or anywhere else. Used to pack over the +Chilkoot, until he made so much money he thought he'd try<!-- Page 179 --> his hand at +the gold—now he's broke. Joe Pete is going with me. He and I understand +each other perfectly." He picked up the sack and handed it to the +Indian: "Two thousand dolla—<i>pil chikimin</i>. Go to police, find out +trail to Mackenzie—Fort Norman. How many miles? How many days? Buy grub +for two. Buy good dogs and sled. Buy two outfits clothes—plenty tabac. +Keep rest of <i>pil chikimin</i> safe until two days on trail, then give it +to me. We hit the trail at eight o'clock tomorrow morning."</p> + +<p>Without a word the Indian took the sack and slipped silently out the +door, while Reeves stared in astonishment:</p> + +<p>"You've got a lot of confidence in that Indian!" he exclaimed. "I +wouldn't trust one of them out of my sight with a dollar bill!"</p> + +<p>"You don't know Joe Pete," grinned Brent. "I've got more confidence in +him than I have in myself. The hooch joints will be two days behind me +before I get my hands on that dust."</p> + +<p>"And now, what?" asked Reeves.</p> + +<p>"Be here at eight o'clock tomorrow morning and witness the start," +grinned Brent, "In the meantime, I am going to make the most of the +fleeting hours." He reached for the bottle, and Reeves held up a warning +hand:</p> + +<p>"You won't be in any shape to hit the trail in the morning, if you go +too heavy on that."</p> + +<p>Brent laughed: "Again, I may say, you don't know Joe Pete."<!-- Page 180 --></p> + +<p>At seven o'clock in the morning Reeves hurried to Brent's cabin. The +snow about the door lay a foot deep, trackless and unbroken. Reeves' +heart gave a bound of apprehension. There was no dog team nor sled in +evidence, nor was there any sign that the Indian had returned. A dull +light glowed through the heavily frosted pane and without waiting to +knock Reeves pushed open the door and entered.</p> + +<p>Brent greeted him with drunken enthusiasm: "H'l'o, Reeves, ol' top! Glad +to she you. S'down an' have a good ol' drink! Wait'll I shave. Hell of a +job to shave." He stood before the mirror weaving back and forth, with a +razor in one hand and a shaving brush in the other, and a glass half +full of whiskey upon the washstand before him, into which he gravely +from time to time dipped the shaving brush, and rubbing it vigorously +upon the soap, endeavored to lather the inch-long growth of beard that +covered his face. Despite his apprehension as to what had become of the +paragon, Joe Pete, Reeves was forced to laugh. He laughed and laughed, +until Brent turned around and regarded him gravely: "Wash matter? Wash +joke? Wait a minuit lesh have a li'l drink." He reached for the bottle, +that sat nearly empty upon the table, and guzzled a swallow of the +liquor. "Damn near all gone. Have to get nosher one when Joe Pete +comes."</p> + +<p>"When Joe Pete comes!" cried Reeves, "You'll never see Joe Pete again! +He's skipped out!"<!-- Page 181 --></p> + +<p>"Skipped out? Washa mean skipped out?"</p> + +<p>"I mean that it's a quarter past seven and he hasn't showed up and you +told him you would start at eight."</p> + +<p>Brent laid his razor upon the table: "Quar' pasht seven? Quar pasht +seven isn't eight 'clock. You don' know Joe Pete."</p> + +<p>"But, man, you're not ready. There's nothing packed. And you're as drunk +as a lord!"</p> + +<p>"Sure, I'm drunk's a lord—drunker'n two lords—lords ain't so damn' +drunk. If I don't get packed by eight 'clock I'll have to go wishout +packin'. You don' know Joe Pete."</p> + +<p>At a quarter of eight there was a commotion before the door, and the +huge Indian entered the room, dressed for the trail. He stood still, +gave one comprehensive look around the room, and silently fell to work. +He examined rapidly everything in the cabin, throwing several articles +into a pile. Brent's tooth brush, comb, shaving outfit, and mirror he +made into a pack which he carried to the sled, returning a moment later +with a brand new outfit of clothing. He placed it upon the chair and +motioned Brent to get into it. But Brent stood and stared at it +owlishly. Whereupon, without a word, the Indian seized him and with one +or two jerks stripped him to the skin and proceeded to dress him as one +would dress a baby. Brent protested weakly, but all to no purpose. +Reeves helped and soon Brent was clothed for the winter trail even<!-- Page 182 --> to +moose hide parka. He grinned foolishly, and drank the remaining liquor +from the bottle. "Whad' I tell you?" he asked solemnly of Reeves. "You +don't know Joe Pete."</p> + +<p>The Indian consulted a huge silver watch, and returning it to his +pocket, sat upon the edge of the bunk, and stared at the wall. Brent +puttered futilely about the room, and addressed the Indian. "We got to +get a bottle of hooch. I got to have jus' one more drink. Jus' one more +drink, an' then to hell wish it."</p> + +<p>The Indian paid not the slightest heed, but continued to stare at the +wall. A few minutes later he again consulted his watch, and rising, +grasped Brent about the middle and carried him, struggling and +protesting out the door and lashed him securely to the sled.</p> + +<p>Reeves watched the proceeding in amazement, and almost before he +realized what was happening, the Indian had taken his place beside the +dogs. He cracked his whip, shouted an unintelligible command, and the +team started. Upon the top of the load, Brent wagged a feeble farewell +to Reeves: "Sho long, ol' man—she you later—I got to go now. You don' +know Joe Pete."</p> + +<p>The outfit headed down the trail to the river. Reeves, standing beside +the door of the deserted cabin, glanced at his watch. It was eight +o'clock. He turned, closed the door and started for home chuckling. The +chuckle became a laugh, and he<!-- Page 183 --> smote his thigh and roared, until some +laborers going to work stopped to look at him. Then he composed himself +and went home to tell his wife.<!-- Page 184 --></p> + + +<div class="p6" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<p class="tdc">ON THE TRAIL</p> + + +<p>At noon Joe Pete swung the outfit into the lee of a thicket, built a +fire, and brewed tea. Brent woke up and the Indian loosened the +<i>babiche</i> line that had secured him, coiled the rope carefully, and +without a word, went on with his preparation of the meal. Brent +staggered and stumbled about in the snow in an effort to restore +circulation to his numbed arms and legs. His head ached fiercely, and +when he could in a measure control his movements, he staggered to the +fire. Joe Pete tendered him a cup of steaming tea. Brent smelled of the +liquid with disgust: "To hell with tea!" he growled thickly, "I want +hooch. I've got to have it—just one drink."</p> + +<p>Joe Pete drank a swallow of tea, and munched unconcernedly at a piece of +pilot bread.</p> + +<p>"Give me a drink of hooch! Didn't you hear me? I need it," demanded +Brent.</p> + +<p>"Hooch no good. Tea good. Ain' got no hooch—not wan drink."</p> + +<p>"No hooch!" cried Brent, "I tell you I've got to<!-- Page 185 --> have it! I thought I +could get away with it, this trailing without hooch—but, I can't. How +far have we come?"</p> + +<p>"Bout 'leven mile."</p> + +<p>"Well, just as soon as you finish eating you turn that dog team around. +We're going back." Brent was consumed by a torturing thirst. He drank +the tea in great gulps and extended his cup for more. He drank a second +and a third cup, and the Indian offered him some bread. Brent shook his +head:</p> + +<p>"I can't eat. I'm sick. Hurry up and finish, and hit the back-trail as +fast as those dogs can travel."</p> + +<p>Joe Pete finished his meal, washed the cups, and returned the cooking +outfit to its appointed place on the load.</p> + +<p>"You goin' ride?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"No, I'll walk. Got to walk a while or I'll freeze."</p> + +<p>The Indian produced from the pack a pair of snowshoes and helped Brent +to fasten them on. Then he swung the dogs onto the trail and continued +on his course.</p> + +<p>"Here you!" cried Brent, "Pull those dogs around! We're going back to +Dawson."</p> + +<p>Joe Pete halted the dogs and walked back to where Brent stood beside the +doused fire: "Mebbe-so we goin' back Dawson," he said, "But, firs' we +goin' Fo't Norman. You tak hol' tail-rope, an' mush."</p> + +<p>A great surge of anger swept Brent. His eyes,<!-- Page 186 --> red-rimmed and swollen +from liquor, and watery from the glare of the new fallen snow, fairly +blazed. He took a step forward and raised his arm as though to strike +the Indian: "What do you mean? Damn you! Who is running this outfit? +I've changed my mind. I'm not going to Fort Norman."</p> + +<p>Joe Pete did not even step back from the up-lifted arm. "You ain' change +<i>my</i> min' none. You droonk. I ain' hear you talk. Bye-m-bye, you git +sober, Joe Pete hear you talk. You grab tail-rope now or I tie you oop +agin."</p> + +<p>Suddenly Brent realized that he was absolutely in this man's power. For +the first time in his life he felt utterly helpless. The rage gave place +to a nameless fear: "How far is it to Fort Norman?" he asked, in an +unsteady voice.</p> + +<p>"'Bout fi' hondre mile."</p> + +<p>"Five hundred miles! I can't stand the trip, I tell you. I'm in no +condition to stand it. I'll die!"</p> + +<p>The Indian shrugged—a shrug that conveyed to Brent more plainly than +words that Joe Pete conceded the point, and that if it so happened, his +demise would be merely an incident upon the trail to Fort Norman. Brent +realized the futility of argument. As well argue with one of the eternal +peaks that flung skyward in the distance. For he, at least, knew Joe +Pete. In the enthusiasm of his great plan for self redemption he had +provided against this very contingency. He had deliberately chosen as +his companion and guide the one man in all the North<!-- Page 187 --> who, come what +may, would deviate no hair's breadth from his first instructions. And +now, he stood there in the snow and cursed himself for a fool. The +Indian pointed to the tail-rope, and muttering curses, Brent reached +down and picked it up, and the outfit started.</p> + +<p>So far they had fairly good going. The course lay up Indian River, +beyond the head reaches of which they would cross the Bonnet Plume pass, +and upon the east slope of the divide, pick up one of the branches of +the Gravel and follow that river to the Mackenzie. Joe Pete traveled +ahead, breaking trail for the dogs, and before they had gone a mile +Brent was puffing and blowing in his effort to keep up. His grip +tightened on the tail-rope. The dogs were fairly pulling him along. At +each step it was becoming more and more difficult to lift his feet. He +stumbled and fell, dragged for a moment, and let go. He lay with his +face in the snow. He did not try to rise. The snow felt good to his +throbbing temples. He hoped the Indian would not miss him for a long, +long time. Better lie here and freeze than endure the hell of that long +snow trail. Then Joe Pete was lifting him from the snow and carrying him +to the sled. He struggled feebly, and futilely he cursed, but the effort +redoubled the ache in his head, and a terrible nausea seized him, from +which he emerged weak and unprotesting while the Indian bound him upon +the load.</p> + +<p>At dark they camped. Brent sitting humped up<!-- Page 188 --> beside the fire while Joe +Pete set up the little tent and cooked supper. Brent drank scalding tea +in gulps. Again he begged in vain for hooch—and was offered pilot bread +and moose meat. He tried a piece of meat but his tortured stomach +rejected it, whereupon Joe Pete brewed stronger tea, black, and bitter +as gall, and with that Brent drenched his stomach and assuaged after a +fashion his gnawing thirst. Wrapped in blankets he crept beneath his +rabbit robe—but not to sleep. The Indian had built up the fire and +thrown the tent open to its heat. For an hour Brent tossed about, bathed +in cold sweat. Things crawled upon the walls of the tent, mingling with +the shadows of the dancing firelight. He closed his eyes, and buried his +head in his blankets, but the things were there too—twisting, writhing +things, fantastic and horrible in color, and form, and unutterably +loathsome in substance. And beyond the walls of the tent—out in the +night—were the voices—the voices that taunted and tormented. He threw +back his robe, and crawled to the fireside, where he sat wrapped in +blankets. He threw on more wood from the pile the Indian had placed +ready to hand, so that the circle of the firelight broadened, and +showers of red sparks shot upward to mingle with the yellow stars.</p> + +<p>But, it was of no use. The crawling, loathsome shapes writhed and +twisted from the very flames—laughed and danced in the lap and the lick +of the<!-- Page 189 --> red flames of fire. Brent cowered against his treetrunk and +stared, his red-rimmed eyes stretched wide with horror, while his blood +seemed to freeze, and his heart turned to water within him. From the +fire, from beyond the fire, and from the blackness of the forest behind +him crept a <i>thing</i>—shapeless, and formless, it was, of a substance +vicious and slimy. It was of no color, but an unwholesome luminosity +radiated from its changing outlines—an all encompassing ever +approaching thing of horror, it drew gradually nearer and nearer, +engulfing him—smothering him. He could reach out now and touch it with +his hands. His fingers sank deep in its slime and—with a wild shriek, +Brent leaped from his blankets, and ran barefooted into the forest. Joe +Pete found him a few minutes later, lying in the snow with a rapidly +swelling blue lump on his forehead where he had crashed against a tree +in his headlong flight. He picked him up and carried him to the tent +where he wrapped him in his blankets and thrust him under the robe with +a compress of snow on his head.</p> + +<p>In the morning, Brent, babbling for whiskey, drank tea. And at the noon +camp he drank much strong tea and ate a little pilot bread and a small +piece of moose meat. He walked about five miles in the afternoon before +he was again tied on the sled, and that night he helped Joe Pete set up +the tent. For supper he drank a quart of strong bitter tea, and ate more +bread and meat, and that night,<!-- Page 190 --> after tossing restlessly till midnight, +he fell asleep. The shapes came, and the voices, but they seemed less +loathsome than the night before. They took definite concrete shapes, +shapes of things Brent knew, but of impossible color. Cerese lizards and +little pink snakes skipped lightly across the walls of the tent, and +bunches of luminous angleworms writhed harmlessly in the dark corners. +The skipping and writhing annoyed, disgusted, but inspired no terror, so +Brent slept.</p> + +<p>The third day he ate some breakfast, and did two stretches on snowshoes +during the day that totaled sixteen or eighteen miles, and that night he +devoured a hearty meal and slept the sleep of the weary.</p> + +<p>The fourth day he did not resort to the sled at all. Nor all during the +day did he once ask for a drink of hooch. Day after day they mushed +eastward, and higher and higher they climbed toward the main divide of +the mountains. As they progressed the way became rougher and steeper, +the two alternated between breaking trail and work at the gee-pole. With +the passing of the days the craving for liquor grew less and less +insistent. Only in the early morning was the gnawing desire strong upon +him, and to assuage this desire he drank great quantities of strong tea. +The outward manifestation of this desire was an intense irritability, +that caused him to burst into unreasoning rage at a frozen guy rope or a +misplaced mitten, and noting<!-- Page 191 --> this, Joe Pete was careful to see that +breakfast was ready before he awakened Brent.</p> + +<p>On the tenth day they topped the Bonnet Plume pass and began the long +descent of the eastern slope. That night a furious blizzard roared down +upon them from out of the North, and for two days they lay snowbound, +venturing from the tent only upon short excursions for firewood. Upon +the first of these days Brent shaved, a process that, by reason of a +heavy beard of two months' growth, and a none too sharp razor, consumed +nearly two hours. When the ordeal was over he regarded himself for a +long time in the little mirror, scowling at the red, beefy cheeks, and +at the little broken veins that showed blue-red at the end of his nose. +He noted with approval that his eyes had cleared of the bilious yellow +look, and that the network of tiny red veins were no longer visible upon +the eyeballs. With approval, too, he prodded and pinched the hardening +muscles in his legs and arms.</p> + +<p>When the storm passed they pushed on, making heavy going in the loose +snow. The rejuvenation of Brent was rapid now. Each evening found him +less tired and in better heart, and each morning found him ready and +eager for the trail.</p> + +<p>"To hell with the hooch," he said, one evening, as he and the Indian sat +upon their robes in the door of the tent and watched the red flames lick +at the firewood, "I wouldn't take a drink now if I had a barrel of it!"<!-- Page 192 --></p> + +<p>"Mebbe-so not now, but in de morning you tak' de beeg drink—you bet," +opined the Indian solemnly.</p> + +<p>"The hell I would!" flared Brent, and then he laughed. "There is no way +of proving it, but if there were, I'd like to bet you this sack of dust +against your other shirt that I wouldn't." He waited for a reply, but +Joe Pete merely shrugged, and smoked on in silence.</p> + +<p>Down on the Gravel River, with the Mackenzie only three or four days +away, the outfit rounded a bend one evening and came suddenly upon a +camp. Brent, who was in the lead, paused abruptly and stared at the fire +that flickered cheerfully among the tree trunks a short distance back +from the river. "We'll swing in just below them," he called back to Joe +Pete, "It's time to camp anyway."</p> + +<p>As they headed in toward the bank they were greeted by a rabble of +barking, snarling dogs, which dispersed howling and yelping as a man +stepped into their midst laying right and left about him with a +long-lashed whip. The man was Johnnie Claw, and Brent noted that in the +gathering darkness he had not recognized him.</p> + +<p>"Goin' to camp?" asked Claw.</p> + +<p>Brent answered in the affirmative, and headed his dogs up the bank +toward a level spot some twenty or thirty yards below the fire.</p> + +<p>Claw followed and stood beside the sled as they<!-- Page 193 --> unharnessed the dogs: +"Where you headin'?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Mackenzie River."</p> + +<p>"Well, you ain't got fer to go. Trappin'?"</p> + +<p>Brent shook his head: "No. Prospecting."</p> + +<p>"Where'd you come from?"</p> + +<p>"Dawson."</p> + +<p>"Dawson!" exclaimed Claw, and Brent, who had purposely kept his face +turned away, was conscious that the man was regarding him closely. Claw +began to speak rapidly, "This Dawson, it's way over t'other side the +mountains, ain't it? I heard how they'd made a strike over there—a big +strike."</p> + +<p>Brent nodded: "Yes," he answered. "Ever been there?"</p> + +<p>"Me? No. Me an' the woman lives over on the Nahanni. I trap."</p> + +<p>Brent laughed: "What's the matter, Claw? I'm not connected with the +police. You don't need to lie to me. What have you got, a load of hooch +for the Injuns?"</p> + +<p>The man stepped close and stared for a moment into Brent's face. Then, +suddenly, he stepped back: "Well, damn my soul, if it ain't you!"</p> + +<p>He was staring at Brent in undisguised astonishment: "But, what in +hell's happened to you? A month ago you was——"</p> + +<p>"A bum," interrupted Brent, "Going to hell by the hooch route—and not +much farther to go. But<!-- Page 194 --> I'm not now, and inside of six months I will be +as good a man as I ever was."</p> + +<p>"You used to claim you always was as good a man as you ever was," +grinned Claw. "Well, you was hittin' it a little too hard. I'm glad you +quit. You an' me never hit it off like, what you might say, brothers. +You was always handin' me a jolt, one way an' another. But, I never laid +it up agin you. I allus said you played yer cards on top of the +table—an' if you ever done anything to a man you done it to his +face—an' that's more'n a hell of a lot of 'em does. There's the old +woman hollerin' fer supper. I'll come over after you've et, an' we'll +smoke a pipe 'er two." Claw disappeared and Brent and Joe Pete ate their +supper in silence. Now and again during the meal Brent smiled to himself +as he caught the eyes of the Indian regarding him sombrely.</p> + +<p>After supper Claw returned and seated himself by the fire: "What you +doin' over on this side," he asked, "You hain't honest to God +prospectin' be you?"</p> + +<p>"Sure I am. Everything is staked over there, and I've got to make +another strike."</p> + +<p>"They ain't no gold on this side," opined Claw.</p> + +<p>"Who says so?"</p> + +<p>"Me. An' I'd ort to know if anyone does. I've be'n around here goin' on +twenty year, an' I spend as much time on this side as I do on t'other." +Brent remembered he had heard of Claw's long journeys<!-- Page 195 --> to the +eastward—men said he went clear to the coast of the Arctic where he +carried on nefarious barter with the whalers, trading Indian and Eskimo +women for hooch, which he in turn traded to the Indians.</p> + +<p>"Maybe you haven't spent much time hunting for gold," hazarded Brent.</p> + +<p>"I'd tell a party I hain't! What's the use of huntin' fer gold where +they hain't none? Over on this side a man c'n do better at somethin' +else." He paused and leered knowingly at Brent.</p> + +<p>"For instance?"</p> + +<p>Claw laughed: "I hain't afraid to tell you what I do over here. They +hain't but damn few I would tell, but I know you won't squeal. You +hain't a-goin' to run to the Mounted an' spill all you know—some +would—but not you. I'm peddling hooch—that's what I'm doin'. Got two +sled-loads along that I brung through from Dawson. I thin it out with +water an' it'll last till I git to the coast—clean over on Coronation +Gulf, an' then I lay in a fresh batch from the whalers an' hit back fer +Dawson. It used to be I could hit straight north from here an' connect +up with the whalers near the mouth of the Mackenzie—but the Mounted got +onto me, an' I had to quit. Well, it's about time to roll in." The man +reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of liquor, "Glad you +quit hooch," he grinned, "But, I don't s'pose you'd mind takin' a little +drink with a friend—way out here it can't hurt you none, where<!-- Page 196 --> you +can't git no more." He removed the cork and tendered the bottle. But +Brent shook his head: "No thanks, Claw," he said, "I'm off of it. And +besides, I haven't got but a few real friends—and you are not one of +them."</p> + +<p>"Oh, all right, all right," laughed Claw as he tilted the bottle and +allowed part of the contents to gurgle audibly down his throat, "Of +course I know you don't like me none whatever, but I like you all right. +No harm in offerin' a man a drink, is they?"</p> + +<p>"None whatever," answered Brent, "And no harm in refusing one when you +don't want it."</p> + +<p>Claw laughed again: "Not none whatever—when you don't want it." And +turning on his heel, he returned to his own tent, chuckling, for he had +noted the flash that momentarily lighted Brent's eyes at the sight of +the liquor and the sound of it gurgling down his throat.</p> + +<p>Early in the morning Brent awoke to see Claw standing beside his fire +while Joe Pete prepared breakfast. He joined the two and Claw thrust out +his hand: "Well, yer breakfast's ready an' you'll be pullin' out soon. +We've pulled a'ready—the old woman's mushin' ahead. So long—shake, to +show they's no hard feelin's—or, better yet, have a drink." He drew the +bottle from his pocket and thrust it toward Brent so abruptly that some +of the liquor spilled upon Brent's bare hand. The odor of it reached his +nostrils, and for a second Brent closed his eyes.<!-- Page 197 --></p> + +<p>"Tea ready," said Joe Pete, gruffly.</p> + +<p>"Damn it! Don't I know it?" snapped Brent, then his hand reached out for +the bottle. "Guess one won't hurt any," he said, and raising the bottle +to his lips, drank deeply.</p> + +<p>"Sure it won't," agreed Claw, "I know'd you wasn't afraid of it. Take +it, or let it alone, whichever you want to—show'd that las' night."</p> + +<p>Instantly the liquor enveloped Brent in its warm glow. The grip of it +felt good in his belly, and a feeling of vast well-being pervaded his +brain. Claw turned to go.</p> + +<p>"What do you get for a quart of that liquor over here," asked Brent.</p> + +<p>"Two ounces," answered Claw, "An' they ain't nothin' in it at that, +after packin' it over them mountains. I git two ounces fer it after it's +be'n weakened—but I'll let you have it, fer two the way it is."</p> + +<p>"I'll take a quart," said Brent, and a moment later he paid Claw two +ounces "guess weight" out of the buckskin pouch, in return for a bottle +that Claw produced from another pocket. And as Brent turned into the +tent, Claw slipped back into the timber and joined his squaw who was +breaking trail at a right angle to the river over a low divide. And as +he mushed on in the trail of his sleds, Claw turned and leered evilly +upon the little camp beside the frozen river.<!-- Page 198 --></p> + + +<div class="p6" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<p class="tdc">THE CAMP ON THE COPPERMINE</p> + + +<p>It was mid-afternoon when Brent drank the last of the liquor and threw +the bottle into the snow. He was very drunk, and with the utmost +gravity, halted the outfit and commanded the Indian to turn the dogs and +strike out on the trail of Claw. But Joe Pete merely shrugged, and +started the dogs, whereupon Brent faced about and started over the +back-trail. When he had proceeded a hundred yards the Indian halted the +dogs, and strode swiftly after Brent, who was making poor going of it on +his snowshoes. As Joe Pete understood his orders, the journey to the +Mackenzie called for no side trips after hooch, and he made this fact +known to Brent in no uncertain terms. Whereupon Brent cursed him +roundly, and showed fight. It was but the work of a few moments for the +big Indian to throw him down, tie him hand and foot and carry him, +struggling and cursing, back to the sled, where he rode for the +remainder of the day in a most uncomfortable position from which he +hurled threats and malediction upon the broad back of the Indian.<!-- Page 199 --></p> + +<p>The following morning Brent awoke long before daylight. His head ached +fiercely and in his mouth was the bitter aftermath of dead liquor. In +vain he sought sleep, but sleep would not come. Remorse and shame +gripped him as it had never gripped him before. He writhed at the +thought that only a day or two ago he had laughed at hooch, and had +openly boasted that he was through with it and that he would not take a +drink if he possessed a barrel of it. And, at the very first +opportunity, he had taken a drink, and after that first drink, he had +paid gold that was not his to use for such purpose for more hooch, and +had deliberately drank himself drunk. The reviling and malediction which +he had hurled at Joe Pete from the sled were words of gentle endearment +in comparison with the terrible self-castigation that he indulged in as +he tossed restlessly between his blankets and longed for the light of +day. To be rid of the torture he finally arose, replenished the fire, +and brewed many cups of strong tea. And when Joe Pete stepped from the +tent in the grey of the morning it was to find breakfast ready, and +Brent busy harnessing the dogs. In silence the meal was eaten, and in +silence the two hit the trail. That day was a hard one owing to rough +ice encountered upon the lower Gravel River, and the two alternated +frequently between breaking trail and working at the gee-pole. The long +snow trail had worked wonders for Brent physically, and by evening he +had entirely thrown off the effects<!-- Page 200 --> of the liquor. He ate a hearty +supper, and over the pipes beside the fire the two men talked of gold. +As they turned in, Brent slapped Joe Pete on the back: "Just forget what +I said yesterday—I was a damned fool."</p> + +<p>The Indian shrugged: "The hooch, she all tam' mak' de damn fool. She no +good. I ain' care w'at de hooch talk 'bout. Som' tam' you queet de +hooch. Dat good t'ing. W'en you sober, you good man. You say, Joe Pete, +you do lak dis. I do it. W'en de hooch say, Joe Pete you do lak som' +nodder way. I say go to hell."</p> + +<p>At Fort Norman, Brent bought an additional dog team and outfitted for +the trip to the Coppermine. Upon learning from Murchison, the factor, +that the lower Coppermine, from Kendall River northward to the coast, +had been thoroughly explored and prospected without finding gold, he +decided to abandon the usual route by way of Dease Bay, Dease River, the +Dismal Lakes, and the Kendall River, and swing southward to the eastern +extremity of Conjuror Bay of Great Bear Lake, and then head straight +across the barrens, to strike the upper reaches of the Coppermine in the +region of Point Lake.</p> + +<p>Murchison expressed doubt that there was gold upon any part of the +Coppermine, "If there is," he added, "No one's ever got any of it. An' +I'm doubtin' if there's any gold east of the Mackenzie. I've been on the +river a good many years, an' I never<!-- Page 201 --> saw any, except a few nuggets that +an old squaw named Wananebish found years ago."</p> + +<p>"On the Coppermine?" asked Brent.</p> + +<p>Murchison laughed: "I don't know—an' she don't either. She found 'em, +an' then her husband was drowned in a rapids and she pulled out of there +and she claims she ain't never be'n able to locate the place since, an' +she's spent years huntin' for it an' draggin' a little band of worthless +Injuns after her. They're over there now, somewhere. I heard they hit up +Hare Indian River, along about the first of September. McTavish at Good +Hope, give 'em debt to be rid of 'em. But I don't think they'll find any +gold. The formation don't seem to be right on this side of the river."</p> + +<p>"Gold has been taken from the bottom of the sea, and from the tops of +mountains," reminded Brent, "You know the old saying, 'Gold is where you +find it.'"</p> + +<p>"Aye," answered Murchison, with a smile, "But, east of the Mackenzie, +gold is where you don't find it."</p> + +<p>The four hundred mile journey from Fort Norman to the Coppermine was +accomplished in sixteen days. A permanent camp-site was selected upon +the west bank of the river, and the two worked with a will in +constructing a tiny log cabin, well within the shelter of a thick clump +of spruce. Brent's eyes had lost the last trace of muddiness, the +bloated unhealthy skin had cleared, and his<!-- Page 202 --> flabby muscles had grown +iron-hard so that he plunged into the work of felling and trimming +trees, and heaving at logs with a zest and enthusiasm that had not been +his for many a long day. He had not even thought of a drink in a week. +When the cabin was finished and the last of the chinking rammed into +place, he laughingly faced Joe Pete upon the trampled snow of the +dooryard. "Come on now, you old leather image!" he cried, "Come and take +your medicine! I owe you a good fall or two for the way you used me on +the trail. You're heap <i>skookum</i>, all right, but I can put you on your +back! Remember you didn't handle the butt ends of <i>all</i> those logs!"</p> + +<p>And thus challenged the big Indian, who was good for his two hundred +pound pack on a portage, sailed in with a grin, and for ten minutes the +only sounds in the spruce thicket were the sounds of scrapping <i>mukluks</i> +on the hard-trampled snow, and the labored breathing of the straining +men. Laughter rang loud as Brent twice threw the Indian, rolled him onto +his back, and rubbed snow into his face, and then, still laughing, the +two entered their cabin and devoured a huge meal of broiled caribou +steaks, and pilot bread.</p> + +<p>Supper over, Joe Pete lighted his pipe and regarded Brent gravely: "On +de trail," he said, "I handle you lak wan leetle baby. Now, you <i>skookum +tillicum</i>. You de firs mans kin put Joe Pete on de back. De hooch, she +no good for hell!"<!-- Page 203 --></p> + +<p>"You bet, she's no good!" agreed Brent, "Believe me, I'm through with +it. It's been a good while since I've even thought of a drink."</p> + +<p>Joe Pete seemed unimpressed: "You ain't t'ink 'bout a drink cos you +ain't got non. Dat better you keep 'way from it, or you t'ink 'bout it +dam' queek." And Brent, remembering that morning on the trail when he +had said good bye to Claw, answered nothing.</p> + +<p>For the next few days, while Joe Pete worked at the building of a cache, +Brent hunted caribou. Upon one of these excursions, while following up +the river, some three of four miles south of the cabin, he came suddenly +upon a snowshoe trail. It was a fresh trail, and he had followed it +scarcely a mile when he found other trails that crossed and recrossed +the river, and upon rounding a sharp bend, he came abruptly upon an +encampment. Three tiny log cabins, and a half-dozen tepees were visible +in a grove of scraggling spruce that gave some shelter from the sweep of +the wind. Beyond the encampment, the river widened abruptly into a lake. +An Indian paused in the act of hacking firewood from a dead spruce, and +regarded him stolidly. Brent ascended the bank and greeted him in +English. Receiving no response, he tried the jargon:</p> + +<p>"<i>Klahowya, six?</i>"</p> + +<p>The Indian glanced sidewise, toward one of the cabins, and muttered +something in guttural. Then, the door of the cabin opened and a girl +stepped out<!-- Page 204 --> onto the snow and closed the door behind her. Brent stared, +speechless, as his swift glance took in the details of her moccasins, +deer-skin leggings, short skirt, white <i>capote</i> and stocking cap. She +held a high-power rifle in her mittened hand. Then their eyes met, and +the man felt his heart give a bound beneath his tight-buttoned mackinaw. +Instantly, he realized that he was staring rudely, and as the blood +mounted to his cheeks, he snatched the cap from his head and stepped +forward with hasty apology: "I beg your pardon," he stammered, "You see, +I had no idea you were here—I mean, I had not expected to meet a lady +in the middle of this God-forsaken wilderness. And especially as I only +expected to find Indians—and I hadn't even expected them, until I +struck the trail on the river." The man paused, and for the first time +noted the angry flash of the dark eyes—noted, too, that the red lips +curled scornfully.</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> am an Indian," announced the girl, haughtily, "And, now you have +found us—go!"</p> + +<p>"An Indian!" cried Brent, "Surely, you are——"</p> + +<p>"Go!" Repeated the girl, "Before I kill you!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, come, now," smiled Brent, "You wouldn't do that. We are neighbors, +why not be friends?"</p> + +<p>"Go!" repeated the girl, "and don't come back! The next time I shall not +warn you." The command was accompanied by a sharp click, as she threw a +cartridge into the chamber of her rifle, and another swift glance into +her eyes showed Brent that she<!-- Page 205 --> was in deadly earnest. He returned the +cap to his head and bowed:</p> + +<p>"Very well," he said gravely. "I don't know who you think I am, or why +you should want to kill me, but I do know that some day we shall become +better acquainted. Good bye—till we meet again."<!-- Page 206 --></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<p class="tdc">IN THE BARRENS</p> + + +<p>Late that evening Brent and Joe Pete were surprised by a knock upon the +door of their cabin. Brent answered the summons and three Indians filed +solemnly into the room. Two of them stood blinking foolishly while the +third drew from a light pack a fox skin which he extended for Brent's +inspection. Brent handed the skin to Joe Pete: "What's all this?" he +asked, "What do they want?"</p> + +<p>"Hooch," answered the Indian who had handed over the skin.</p> + +<p>Brent shook his head: "No hooch here," he answered, "You've come to the +wrong place. You are the fellow I saw today in the camp up the river. +Tell me, who is the young lady that claims she's an Injun? And why is +she on the war-path?" The three stared stolidly at each other and at +Brent, but gave no hint of understanding a word he had uttered. He +turned to Joe Pete. "You try it," he said, "See if you can make 'em +talk." The Indian tried them in two or three coast dialects, but to no +purpose, and at the end of his attempt, the visitors<!-- Page 207 --> produced two more +fox skins and added them to the first.</p> + +<p>"They think we're holding out for a higher price," laughed Brent.</p> + +<p>"No wonder these damned hooch-peddlers can afford to take a chance. What +are those skins worth?"</p> + +<p>Joe Pete examined the pelts critically: "Dis wan she dark cross fox, +wort' mebbe-so, t'irty dolla. Dis wan, an' dis wan, cross fox, wort' +'bout twenty dolla."</p> + +<p>"Seventy dollars for a bottle of hooch!" cried Brent, "It's robbery!"</p> + +<p>He handed back the skins, and at the end of five minutes, during which +time he indicated as plainly as possible by means of signs, that there +was no hooch forthcoming, the Indians took their departure. The next +evening they were back again, and this time they offered six skins, one +of them a silver fox that Joe Pete said would bring eighty dollars at +any trading post. After much patient pantomime Brent finally succeeded +in convincing them that there was really no hooch to be had, and with +openly expressed disgust, the three finally took their departure.</p> + +<p>Shortly after noon a week later, Brent drew the last bucket of gravel +from the shallow shaft, threw it onto the dump, and leaving Joe Pete to +look after the fire, took his rifle and struck off up the river in +search of caribou. "Go down the river,"<!-- Page 208 --> whispered the still small voice +of Common Sense, "There are no hunters there." But Brent only smiled, +and held his course. And as he swung over the snow trail his thoughts +were of the girl who had stepped from the cabin and angrily ordered him +from the village at the point of her rifle. Each day during the +intervening week he had thought of her, and he had lain awake at night +and tried in vain to conjure a reason for her strange behaviour. Alone +on the trail he voiced his thoughts: "Why should she threaten to shoot +me? Who does she think I am? Why should she declare she is an Injun? I +don't believe she's any more Injun than I am. Who ever heard of an Injun +with eyes like hers, and lips, yes, and a tip-tilted nose? Possibly, a +breed—but, never an Injun. And, I wonder if her warlike attitude +includes the whole white race, or a limited part of it, or only me? I'll +find out before this winter is over—but, I'll bet she can shoot! She +threw that shell into her rifle in a sort of off-hand <i>practiced</i> way, +like most girls would powder their nose."</p> + +<p>His speculation was cut short by a trail that crossed the river at a +right angle and headed into the scrub in a south-easterly direction. The +trail was only a few hours old and had been made by a small band of +caribou traveling at a leisurely pace. Abruptly, Brent left the River +and struck into the trail. For an hour he followed it through the +scraggly timber and across patches of open tundra<!-- Page 209 --> and narrow beaver +meadows. The animals had been feeding as they traveled and it was +evident that they could not be far ahead. Cautiously topping a low +ridge, he sighted them upon a small open tundra, about two hundred yards +away. There were seven all told, two bulls, three cows, and two +yearlings. One of the bulls and two cows were pawing the snow from the +moss, and the others were lying down. Taking careful aim, Brent shot the +standing bull. The animals that had been lying down scrambled to their +feet, and three more shots in rapid succession accounted for a cow and +one of the yearlings, and Brent watched the remaining four plunge off +through the snow in the direction of the opposite side of the tundra +which was a mile or more in width. When they had almost reached the +scrub he was startled to see the flying bull suddenly rear high and +topple into the snow, the next instant one of the others dropped, and a +moment later a third. Then to his ears came the sound of four shots +fired in rapid succession. As Brent stepped out onto the tundra and, +sheath knife in hand, walked to his fallen caribou, he saw a figure from +the opposite scrub. An exclamation of surprise escaped him. It was the +girl of the Indian Village.</p> + +<p>"Wonder if she needs any help?" he muttered as he slit the throat of his +third caribou. He glanced across the short open space to see the girl +bending over the carcass of the other bull. "Guess I'll take<!-- Page 210 --> a chance," +he grinned, "And go and see. I knew she could shoot—three out of four, +running shots—that's going some!" When he was half way across the open +he saw the girl rise and wipe the blade of her knife upon the hair of +the dead bull's neck. She turned and knife in hand, waited for him to +approach. Brent noted that her rifle lay within easy reach of her hand, +propped against the dead animal's belly. He noted also, that as he drew +near, she made no move to recover it.</p> + +<p>Jerking at the strings of his cap, he removed it from his head: "That +was mighty good shooting," he smiled, "Those brutes were sure +traveling!"</p> + +<p>"But, they were very close. I couldn't have missed. It took two shots +for the last one, but both bullets counted. You did good shooting, too. +Your shots were harder—they were farther away. Did all your bullets +count?"</p> + +<p>Brent laughed aloud from pure joy. He hardly heard her words. The only +thing he could clearly comprehend was the fact that there was no hint of +anger in the dark eyes, and that the red lips were smiling. "I'm sure I +don't know," he managed to reply, "I didn't stop to look. I think very +likely I missed one shot."</p> + +<p>"Why do you take your cap off?" she asked, and almost instantly she +smiled again: "Oh, yes, I know—I have read of it—but, they don't do it +here. Put it on please. It is cold."</p> + +<p>Brent returned the cap to his head. "I'm glad I<!-- Page 211 --> didn't know the other +day, how expert you are with your rifle," he laughed, "Or I wouldn't +have stayed as long as I did."</p> + +<p>The girl regarded him gravely: "You are not angry with me?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Why, no, of course not! Why should I be angry with you? I knew that +there was no reason why you should shoot me. And I knew that things +would straighten out, somehow. I thought you had mistaken me for someone +else, and——"</p> + +<p>"I thought you were a hooch-runner," interrupted the girl. "I did not +think any white man who is not a hooch-runner, or a policeman, would be +way over here, and I could see that you were not in the Mounted."</p> + +<p>"No," answered Brent, "I am not in the Mounted, but, how do you know +that I am not a hooch-runner?"</p> + +<p>"Because, three of our band went to your cabin that very night to buy +hooch, and they did not get it. And the next night they went again and +took more fox skins, and again they came away empty handed."</p> + +<p>"You sent them then?"</p> + +<p>"No, no! But, I knew that they would think the same as I did, that you +wanted to trade them hooch, so I followed them when they slipped out of +the village. Both nights I followed, and I pressed my ear close to the +door, so that I heard all you said."<!-- Page 212 --></p> + +<p>Brent smiled: "I have some recollection of asking one of those wooden +images something about a certain warlike young lady——"</p> + +<p>The girl interrupted him with a laugh: "Yes, I heard that, and I heard +you swear at the hooch traders, and tell the Indians there was no hooch +in the cabin, and I was glad."</p> + +<p>The man's eyes sought hers in a swift glance: "Why—why were you glad?" +he asked.</p> + +<p>"Because I—because you—because I didn't want to kill you. And I would +have killed you if you had sold them hooch."</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't—really——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I would!" cried the girl, and Brent saw that the dark eyes +flashed, "I would kill a hooch-runner as I would a wolf. They are +wolves. They're worse than wolves! Wolves kill for meat, but they kill +for money. They take the fur that would put bread in the mouths of the +women and the little babies, and they make the men drunken and no good. +There used to be thirty of us in the band, and now there are only +sixteen. Two of the men deserted their families since we came here, +because they would not stay where there was no hooch." The girl ceased +speaking and glanced quickly upward: "Snow!" she cried, "It is starting +to snow, and darkness will soon be here. I must draw these caribou, +before they freeze." She drew the knife from her belt and stepped to the +carcass of the bull. But Brent took it from her hand.<!-- Page 213 --></p> + +<p>"Let me do it," he said, eagerly, "You stand there and tell me how, and +we'll have it done in no time."</p> + +<p>"Tell you how!" exclaimed the girl, "What do you mean?" Brent laughed: +"I'm afraid I'm still an awful <i>chechako</i> about some things. I can shoot +them, all right, but there has always been someone to do the drawing, +and skinning, and cutting up. But, I'll learn quickly. Where do I +begin?"</p> + +<p>Under the minute directions of the girl Brent soon had the big bull +drawn. The two smaller animals were easier and when the job was finished +he glanced apprehensively at the thickening storm. "We had better go +now," he said. "Do you know how far it is to your camp?"</p> + +<p>"Nine or ten miles, I think," answered the girl, "We have only been here +since fall and this is the first time I have hunted in this direction. +But, first we must draw your caribou. If they freeze they cannot be +drawn and then they will not be fit for food."</p> + +<p>"But, the snow," objected Brent. "It is coming down faster all the +time."</p> + +<p>"The snow won't bother us. There is no wind. Hurry, we must finish the +others before dark."</p> + +<p>"But, the wind might spring up at any moment, and if it does we will +have a regular blizzard."</p> + +<p>"Then we can camp," answered the girl, and before the astounded man +could reply, she had led off at a brisk pace in the direction of the +other caribou.</p> + +<p>The early darkness was already beginning to make<!-- Page 214 --> itself felt and Brent +drove to his task with a will, and to such good purpose that the girl +nodded hearty approval. "You did learn quickly," she smiled, "I could +not have done it any better nor quicker, myself."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," he laughed, "And that is a real compliment, for by the way +you can handle a rifle, and cover ground on snowshoes, I know you are +<i>skookum tillicum</i>."</p> + +<p>"Yes," admitted the girl, "I'm <i>skookum tillicum</i>. But, I ought to be. I +was born in the North and I have lived in the woods and in the barrens, +and upon rivers, all my life."</p> + +<p>Brent was about to reply when each glanced for a moment into the other's +face, and then both stared into the North. From out of the darkness came +a sullen roar, low, and muffled, and mighty, like the roar of surf on +the shore of a distant sea.</p> + +<p>"It is the wind!" cried the girl, "Quick, take a shoulder of meat! We +must find shelter and camp."</p> + +<p>"I can't cut a leg bone with this knife!"</p> + +<p>"There are no bones! It is like this." She snatched the knife from +Brent's hand and with a few deft slashes severed a shoulder from the +yearling caribou. "Come, quick," she urged, and led the way toward a +dark blotch that showed in the scraggling timber a few hundred yards +away: "When the storm strikes, we shall not be able to see," she flung +over her shoulder, "We must make that thicket of spruce—or we're +bushed."<!-- Page 215 --></p> + +<p>Louder and louder sounded the roar of the approaching wind. Brent +encumbered with his rifle and the shoulder of meat, found it hard to +keep up with the girl whose snowshoes fairly flew over the snow. They +gained the thicket a few moments before the storm struck. The girl +paused before a thick spruce, that had been broken off and lay with its +trunk caught across the upstanding butt, some four feet from the ground. +Jerking the ax from its sheath she set to work lopping branches from the +dead tree.</p> + +<p>"Break some live branches for the roof of our shelter!" she commanded. +"This stuff will do for firewood, and in a minute you can take the ax +and I will build the wikiup." The words were snatched from her lips by +the roar of the storm. Full upon them, now, it bent and swayed the thick +spruces as if to snap them at the roots. Brent gasped for breath in the +first rush of it and the next moment was coughing the flinty dry +snow-powder from his lungs. No longer were there snow-flakes in the +air—the air itself was snow—snow that seared and stung as it bit into +lips and nostrils, that sifted into the collars of <i>capote</i> and +mackinaw, and seized neck and throat in a deadly chill. Back and forth +Brent stumbled bearing limbs which he tore from the trunks of trees, and +as he laid them at her feet the girl deftly arranged them. The ax made +the work easier, and at the end of a half-hour the girl shouted in his +ear that there were enough branches. Re<!-- Page 216 -->moving their rackets, they stood +them upright in the snow, and stooping, the girl motioned him to follow +as she crawled through a low opening in what appeared to be a mountain +of spruce boughs. To his surprise, Brent found that inside the wikiup he +could breathe freely. The fine powdered snow, collecting upon the +close-lying needles had effectively sealed the roof and walls.</p> + +<p>For another half hour, the two worked in the intense blackness of the +interior with hands and feet pushing the snow out through the opening, +and when the task was finished they spread a thick floor of the small +branches that the girl had piled along one side. Only at the opening +there were no branches, and there upon the ground the girl proceeded to +build a tiny fire. "We must be careful," she cautioned, "and only build +a small fire, or our house will burn down." As she talked she opened a +light packsack that Brent had noticed upon her shoulders, and drew from +its interior a rabbit robe which she spread upon the boughs. Then from +the pack she produced a small stew pan and a little package of tea. She +filled the pan with snow, and smiled up into Brent's face: "And, now, at +last, we are snug and comfortable for the night. We can live here for +days if necessary. The caribou are not far away, and we have plenty of +tea."</p> + +<p>"You are a wonder," breathed Brent, meeting squarely the laughing gaze +of the dark eyes, "Do you know that if it had not been for you, I would<!-- Page 217 --> +have been—would never have weathered this storm?"</p> + +<p>"You were not born in the bush," she reminded, as she added more snow to +the pan. "I do not even know your name," she said, gravely, "And yet I +feel—" she paused, and Brent, his voice raised hardly above a whisper, +asked eagerly:</p> + +<p>"Yes, you feel—how do you feel?"</p> + +<p>"I feel as though—as though I had known you always—as though you were +my friend."</p> + +<p>"Yes," he answered, and it was with an effort he kept the emotion from +his voice, "We have known each other always, and I am your friend. My +name is Carter Brent. And now, tell me something about yourself. Who are +you? And why did you tell me you were an Indian?"</p> + +<p>"I am an Indian," she replied, quickly, "That is, I am a half-breed. My +father was a white man."</p> + +<p>"And what is your name?"</p> + +<p>"Snowdrift."</p> + +<p>"Snowdrift!" he cried, "what an odd name! Is it your last name or your +first?"</p> + +<p>"Why, it is the only name I have, and I never had any other."</p> + +<p>"But your father—what was your father's name?"</p> + +<p>There was a long moment of silence while the girl threw more snow into +the pan, and added wood to the fire. Then her words came slowly, and +Brent detected a peculiar note in her voice. He wondered<!-- Page 218 --> whether it was +bitterness, or pain: "My father is dead," she answered, "I do not know +his name. Why is Snowdrift an odd name?"</p> + +<p>"I think it a beautiful name!" cried Brent.</p> + +<p>"Do you—really?" The dark eyes were regarding him with a look in which +happiness seemed to be blended with fear lest he were mocking her.</p> + +<p>"Indeed I do! I love it. And now tell me more—of your life—of your +education."</p> + +<p>"I went to school at the mission on the Mackenzie. I went there for a +good many years, and I worked hard, for I like to study. And books! I +love to read books. I read all they had, and some of them many times. Do +you love books?"</p> + +<p>"Why yes," answered Brent, "I used to. I haven't read many since I came +North."</p> + +<p>"Why did you come North?"</p> + +<p>"I came for gold."</p> + +<p>"For gold!" cried the girl, her eyes shining, "That is why we are here! +Wananebish says there is gold here in the barrens. Once many years ago +she found it—but we have tried to find the place again, and we cannot."</p> + +<p>"Who is Wananebish?"</p> + +<p>"Wananebish is my mother. She is an Indian, and she has tried to keep +the band together through many years, and to keep them away from the +hooch, but, they will not listen to her. It was hard work to persuade +them to come away from the river. And, have you found gold?"<!-- Page 219 --></p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Brent, "Way over beyond the mountains that lie to the +westward of the Mackenzie, I found much gold. But I lost it."</p> + +<p>"Lost it! Oh, that was too bad. Did it fall off your sled?"</p> + +<p>"Well, not exactly," answered the man dryly. "In my case, it was more of +a toboggan."</p> + +<p>"Couldn't you find it again?"</p> + +<p>"No. Other men have it, now."</p> + +<p>"And they won't give it back!"</p> + +<p>"No, it is theirs. That part of it is all right—only I would give +anything in the world to have it—now."</p> + +<p>"Why do you want it now? Can you not find more gold? I guess I do not +understand."</p> + +<p>Brent shook his head: "No, you do not understand. But, sometime you will +understand. Sometime I think I shall have many things to tell you—and +then I want you to understand."</p> + +<p>The girl glanced at him wonderingly, as she threw a handful of tea into +the pan. "You must sharpen some green sticks and cut pieces of meat," +she said, "And we will eat our supper."</p> + +<p>A silence fell upon them during the meal, a silence broken only by the +roar of the wind that came to them as from afar, muffled as it was by +its own freighting of snow. Hardly for a moment did Brent take his eyes +from the girl. There was a great unwonted throbbing in his breast, that +seemed to cry out to him to take the girl in his arms and<!-- Page 220 --> hold her +tight against his pounding heart, and the next moment the joy of her was +gone, and in its place was a dull heavy pain.</p> + +<p>"Now, I know why I like you," said the girl, abruptly, as she finished +her piece of venison.</p> + +<p>"Yes?" smiled Brent, "And are you going to tell me?"</p> + +<p>"It is because you are good." She continued, without noting the quick +catch in the man's breath. "Men who hunt for gold are good. My father +was good, and he died hunting for gold. Wananebish told me. It was years +and years ago when I was a very little baby. I know from reading in +books that many white men are good. But in the North they are bad. +Unless they are of the police, or are priests, or factors. I had sworn +to hate all white men who came into the North—but I forgot the men who +hunt gold."</p> + +<p>"I am glad you remembered them," answered Brent gravely. "I hope you are +right."</p> + +<p>"I am sleepy," announced the girl. "We cannot both sleep in this robe, +for we have only one, and to keep warm it is necessary to roll up in it. +One of us can sleep half the night while the other tends the fire, and +then the other will sleep."</p> + +<p>"You go to sleep," said Brent. "I will keep the fire going. I am not a +bit sleepy. And besides, I have a whole world of thinking to do."</p> + +<p>"I will wake up at midnight, and then you can sleep," she said, and, +taking off her moccasins, and<!-- Page 221 --> leggings, and long woolen stockings she +arranged them upon sticks to dry and rolled up in the thick robe.</p> + +<p>"Good night," called Brent, as she settled down.</p> + +<p>"Good night, and may God keep you. You forgot that part," she corrected, +gravely, "We used to say that at the Mission."</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Brent, "May God keep you. I did forget that part."</p> + +<p>Suddenly the girl raised her head: "Do you believe we have known each +other always?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, girl," he answered, "I believe we have known each other since the +beginning of time itself."</p> + +<p>"Why did you come way over here to find gold? I have heard that there is +much gold beyond the mountains to the westward."</p> + +<p>It was upon Brent's tongue to say: "I came to find you," but, he +restrained the impulse. "All the gold claims that are any good are taken +up over there," he explained, "And I read in a book that a man gave me +that there was gold here."</p> + +<p>"What kind of a book was that? I never read a book about gold."</p> + +<p>"It was an old book. One that the man had picked up over in the Hudson +Bay country. Its title was torn off, but upon one of its pages was +written a man's name, probably the name of the former owner of the book. +I have often wondered who he was. The name was Murdo MacFarlane."<!-- Page 222 --></p> + +<p>"Murdo MacFarlane!" cried the girl, sitting bolt upright, and staring at +Brent.</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered the man, "Do you know him?"</p> + +<p>The girl reached out and tossed her belt to Brent. "It is the name upon +the sheath of the knife," she answered, "It is Wananebish's knife. I +broke the point of mine."</p> + +<p>Brent took the sheath and held it close to the light of the little fire. +"Murdo MacFarlane," he deciphered, "Yes, the name is the same." And long +after the girl's regular breathing told him she was sleeping, he +repeated the name again: "Murdo MacFarlane. I don't know who you were or +who you are, if you still live, but whoever you were, or whoever you +are—here's good luck to you—Murdo MacFarlane!"<!-- Page 223 --></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<p class="tdc">MOONLIGHT</p> + + +<p>The wind had died down, although the snow continued to fall thickly the +following morning, as Brent and Snowdrift crept from the wikiup and +struck out for the river. It was heavy going, even the broad webbed +snowshoes sinking deeply into the fluffy white smother that covered the +wind-packed fall of the night. Brent offered to break trail, but +Snowdrift insisted upon taking her turn, and as he labored in her wake, +the man marveled at the strength and the untiring endurance of the +slender, lithe-bodied girl. He marveled also at the unfailing sureness +of her sense of direction. Twice, when he was leading she corrected him +and when after nearly four hours of continuous plodding, they stood upon +the bank of the river, he realized that without her correction, his +course would have carried him miles to the southward.</p> + +<p>"Good bye," he smiled, extending his bared hand, when at length they +came to the parting of the ways, "I don't want but one of the caribou I +shot. Divide the other two between the families of the Indians that +skipped out."<!-- Page 224 --></p> + +<p>Slipping off her mitten, the girl took the proffered hand unhesitatingly +and an ecstatic thrill shot through Brent's heart at the touch of the +firm slender fingers that closed about his own—a thrill that +half-consciously, half-unconsciously, caused him to press the hand that +lay warm within his clasp.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she answered, making no effort to release the hand, "They need +the meat. With the rabbits they can snare, it will keep them all winter. +I have not much fur yet—a few fox skins, and some <i>loup cervier</i>. I +will bring them to you tomorrow."</p> + +<p>"Bring them to me!" cried Brent, "What do you mean? Why should you bring +them to me?"</p> + +<p>"Why!" she exclaimed, regarding him curiously, "To pay for the meat, of +course. A caribou is worth a cross fox, and——"</p> + +<p>Brent felt the blood mounting to his face. Abruptly, almost roughly he +released the girl's hand. "I did not offer to sell you the meat," he +answered, a trifle stiffly. "They need it, and they're welcome to it."</p> + +<p>Snowdrift, too, had been thrilled by that handclasp, and the thrill had +repeated itself at the gentle pressure of the strong fingers, and she +was quick to note the change in the man's manner, and stood uncertainly +regarding her bared hand until a big snowflake settled upon it and +melted into a drop of water. Then she thrust the hand into her big fur +mitten, and as her glance met his, Brent saw that the dark eyes were +deep with concern: "I—I do<!-- Page 225 --> not understand," she said, softly. "I have +made you angry. I do not want you to be angry with me. Do you mean that +you want to give them the meat? People do not give meat, excepting to +members of their own tribe when they are very poor. But you are not of +the tribe. You are not even an Indian. White men do not give Indians +meat, ever."</p> + +<p>Already Brent was cursing himself for his foolish flare of pride. Again +his heart thrilled at the wonder of the girl's absolute +unsophistication. Swiftly his hand sought hers, but this time she did +not remove it from the mitten. "I am not angry with you, Snowdrift!" he +exclaimed, quickly, "I was a fool! It was I who did not understand. But, +I want you to understand that here is one white man who does give meat +to Indians. And I wish I were a member of your tribe. Sometime, +maybe——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, no! You would not want to be one of us. We are very poor, and +we are Indians. You are a white man. Why should you want to live with +us?"</p> + +<p>"Some day I will tell you why," answered the man, in a voice so low that +the dark eyes searched his face wonderingly. "And, now, won't you give +me your hand again? To show me that you are not angry with me."</p> + +<p>The girl laughed happily: "Angry with you! Oh, I would never be angry +with you! You are good. You are the only good white man I have known<!-- Page 226 --> +who was not a priest, or a factor, or a policeman—and even they do not +give the Indians meat." With a swift movement she slipped her hand from +the mitten and once more placed it within his, and this time there was +nothing unconscious in the pressure of Brent's clasp. He fancied that he +felt the slender hand tremble ever so lightly within his own, and +glanced swiftly into the girl's face. For an instant their eyes met, and +then the dark eyes dropped slowly before his gaze, and very gently he +released her hand.</p> + +<p>"May I come and see you, soon?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Why, yes, of course! Why did you ask me that?" she inquired, +wonderingly, "You know the way to our camp, and you know that now I know +you are not a hooch trader."</p> + +<p>"Why," smiled Brent, "I asked because—why, just because it seemed the +thing to do—a sort of formality, I reckon."</p> + +<p>The girl's smile met his own: "I do not understand, I guess. +Formality—what is that? A custom of the land of the white man? But I +have not read of that in books. Here in the North if anybody wants to go +a place, he goes, unless he has been warned to stay away for some +reason, and then if he goes he will get shot. I will shoot the hooch +traders if they come to the camp. The first time I will tell them to +go—and if they come back I will kill them."</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't kill them—really?" smiled Brent,<!-- Page 227 --> amazed at the matter of +fact statement coming from this slip of a girl, whose face rimmed in its +snow-covered parka hood was, he told himself, the most beautiful face he +had ever looked upon. "Didn't they teach you in the mission that it is +wrong to kill?"</p> + +<p>"It is wrong to kill in anger, or for revenge for a wrong, or so that +you may steal a man's goods. But it is not wrong to kill one who is +working harm in the world. You, too, know that this is true, because in +the books I have read of many such killings, and in some books it was +openly approved, and other books were so written that the approval was +made plain."</p> + +<p>"But, there is the law," ventured Brent.</p> + +<p>"Yes, there is the law. But the law is no good up here. By the time the +policemen would get here the hooch trader would be many miles away. And +even if they should catch him, the Indians would not say that he traded +them hooch. They would be afraid. No, it is much better to kill them. +They take all the fur in trade for hooch, and then the women have +nothing to eat, and the little babies die."</p> + +<p>Brent nodded, thoughtfully; "I reckon you're right," he agreed, "But, I +wish you would promise me that if any hooch runners show up, you will +let me deal with them."</p> + +<p>"Oh, will you?" cried the girl, her eyes shining, "Will you help me? Oh, +with a white man to help<!-- Page 228 --> me! With <i>you</i>—" she paused, and as Brent's +glance met hers, the dark eyes drooped once more, and the man saw that +the cheeks were flushed through their tan.</p> + +<p>"Of course I'll help you!" he smiled reassuringly, "I would love to, and +between us we'll make the Coppermine country a mighty unhealthy place +for the hooch runners."</p> + +<p>"You will come to see me," reminded the girl, "And I will come to see +you, and we will hunt together, and you will show me how to find gold."</p> + +<p>"Yes," promised Brent, "We will see each other often—very often. And we +will hunt together, and I will show you all I know about finding gold. +Good bye, and if you need any help getting the meat into camp, let me +know and Joe Pete and I will come down with the dogs."</p> + +<p>"We won't need any help with the meat. There are plenty of us to haul it +in. That is squaw's work, Good bye."</p> + +<p>The girl stood motionless and watched Brent until his form was hidden by +a bend of the river. Then, slowly, she turned and struck off up stream. +And as she plodded through the ever deepening snow her thoughts were all +of the man who had come so abruptly—so vitally into her life, and as +she pondered she was conscious of a strange unrest within her, an +awakening longing that she did not understand. Subconsciously she drew +off her heavy mitten and looked at the hand that had lain in his.<!-- Page 229 --> And +then, she raised it to her face, and drew it slowly across her cheek.</p> + +<p>In the cabin, she answered the questions of old Wananebish in +monosyllables, and after a hearty meal, she left the cabin abruptly and +entered another, where she lifted a very tiny red baby from its bed of +blankets and skins, and to the astonishment of the mite's mother, seated +herself beside the little stove, and crooned to it, and cuddled it, +until the short winter day came to a close.</p> + +<p>Early the following day Snowdrift piloted a dozen squaws with their +sleds and dog teams to the place of the kill. One of Brent's three +caribou was gone, and the girl's eyes lighted with approval as she saw +that his trail was partially covered with new-fallen snow. "He came back +yesterday—he and his Indian, and they got the meat. He is strong," she +breathed to herself, "Stronger than I, for I was tired from walking in +the loose snow, and I did not come back."</p> + +<p>Leaving the squaws to bring in the meat, the girl shouldered her rifle +and struck into the timber, her footsteps carrying her unerringly toward +the patch of scrub in which she and Brent had sought shelter from the +storm. She halted beside the little wikiup, snow-buried, now—even the +hole through which they had crawled was sealed with the new-fallen snow. +For a long time she stood looking down at the little white mound. As she +turned to go, her glance fell upon a trough-like depression, only half<!-- Page 230 --> +filled with snow. The depression was a snowshoe trail, and it ended just +beyond the little mound.</p> + +<p>"It is <i>his</i> trail," she whispered, to a Canada jay that chattered and +jabbered at her from the limb of a dead spruce. "He came here, as I +came, to look at our little wikiup. And he went away and left it just as +it was." Above her head the jay flitted nervously from limb to limb with +his incessant scolding. "Why did he come?" she breathed, "And why did I +come?" And, as she had done upon the river, she drew her hand from her +mitten and passed it slowly across her cheek. Then she turned, and +striking into the half-buried trail, followed it till it merged into +another trail, the trail of a man with a dog-sled, and then she followed +the broader trail to the northwestward.</p> + +<p>At nine o'clock that same morning Brent threw the last shovelful of the +eight-inch thawing of gravel from the shallow shaft, and leaving Joe +Pete to build and tend the new fire, he picked up his rifle, and under +pretense of another hunt, struck off up the river in the direction of +the Indian camp.</p> + +<p>Joe Pete watched with a puzzled frown until he had disappeared. Then he +carried his wood and lighted the fire in the bottom of the shaft.</p> + +<p>An hour and a half later Brent knocked at the door of the cabin from +which Snowdrift had stepped, rifle in hand, upon the occasion of their +first meeting. The door was opened by a wrinkled squaw, who looked +straight into his eyes as she waited for<!-- Page 231 --> him to speak. There was +unveiled hostility in the stare of those beady black eyes, and it was +with a conscious effort that Brent smiled: "Is Snowdrift in?" he +inquired.</p> + +<p>"No," the squaw answered, and as an after-thought, "She has gone with +the women to bring in the meat."</p> + +<p>The man was surprised that the woman spoke perfect English. The Indians +who had come to trade, had known only the word "hooch." His smile +broadened, though he noticed that the glare of hostility had not faded +from the eyes: "She told you about our hunt, then? It was great sport. +She is a wonder with a rifle."</p> + +<p>"No, she did not tell me." The words came in a cold, impersonal +monotone.</p> + +<p>"Can't I come in?" Brent asked the question suddenly. "I must get back +to camp soon. I just came down to see—to see if I could be of any help +in bringing in the meat."</p> + +<p>"The women bring in the meat," answered the woman, and Brent felt as +though he had been caught lying. But, she stepped aside and motioned him +to a rude bench beside the stove. Brent removed his cap and glanced +about him, surprised at the extreme cleanliness of the interior, until +he suddenly remembered that this was the home of the girl with the +wondrous dark eyes. Covertly he searched the face of the old squaw, +trying to discover one single feature that would proclaim her to be the +mother of<!-- Page 232 --> the girl, but try as he would, no slightest resemblance could +he find in any line or lineament of the wrinkled visage.</p> + +<p>She had seated herself upon the edge of the bunk beyond the little +stove.</p> + +<p>"Can't we be friends?" he asked abruptly.</p> + +<p>The laugh that greeted his question sounded in his ears like the snarl +of a wolf: "Yes, if you will let me kill you now—we can be friends."</p> + +<p>"Oh, come," laughed Brent, "That's carrying friendship a bit too far, +don't you think?"</p> + +<p>"I had rather you had traded hooch to the men," answered the woman, +sullenly, "For then she would even now hate you—as someday she will +learn to hate you!"</p> + +<p>"Learn to hate me! What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"You know what I mean!" cried the squaw, her voice quivering with anger, +"You white men are devils! You come, and you stay a while, and then you +go your way, and you stop again, and your trail is a trail of misery—of +misery, and of father-less half-breed babies! I wish she had killed you +that day you stood out there in the snow! Maybe the harm has been +already done——"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" roared Brent, overturning the bench and towering +above the little stove in his rage. "You can't talk to me like that! Out +with it! What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>The squaw, also, was upon her feet, cowering at the side of the bunk, as +she hurled her words into<!-- Page 233 --> Brent's face. "Where were you last night? +And, where was she?"</p> + +<p>Two steps and Brent was before her, his face thrust to within a foot of +her own: "We were together," he answered in a voice that cut cold as +steel, "In a wikiup that we built in the blinding snow and the darkness +to protect us from the storm. Half of the night, while she slept upon +her robe, I sat and tended the fire, and then, because she insisted upon +it, she tended the fire while I slept." As the man spoke never for a +moment did the glittering eyes of the squaw leave his close-thrust, +blazing eyes, and when he finished, she sank to the bunk with an +inarticulate cry. For in the righteous wrath of the blazing eyes she had +read the truth—and in his words was the ring of truth.</p> + +<p>"Can it be?" she faltered, "Can it be that there is such a white man?"</p> + +<p>The anger melted from Brent's heart as quickly as it had come. He saw +huddled upon the bunk not a poison-tongued, snake-eyed virago, but a +woman whose heart was torn with solicitude for the welfare of her child. +But, was Snowdrift her child? Swiftly the thought flitted into Brent's +brain, and as swiftly flashed another. Her child, or another's—what +matter? One might well question her parentage—but never her love.</p> + +<p>Gently his hand went out and came to rest upon the angular shoulder. And +when he spoke the tone of his voice, even more than his words, +reas<!-- Page 234 -->sured the woman. "There are many such white men," he said, +soothingly. "You need not fear. I am your friend, and the friend of +Snowdrift. I, like yourself, am here to find gold, and like yourself, I +too, hate the traders of hooch—and with reason." He stepped to the +stove, upturned the bench and recovered his cap. And as the old woman +rose to her feet, Brent saw that the look of intense hatred had been +supplanted by a look, which if not exactly of friendliness, was at least +one of passive tolerance. At the doorway he paused, hesitated for a +moment, and then, point blank, flashed the question that for days had +been uppermost in his mind: "Who is Snowdrift?"</p> + +<p>Wananebish leaned against a stanchion of the bunk. Instinctively, her +savage heart knew that the white man standing before had spoken the +truth. Her eyes closed, and for a moment, in the withered breast raged a +conflict. Then her eyes opened, her lips moved, and she saw that the man +was straining eagerly toward her to catch the words: "Snowdrift is my +daughter," she said.</p> + +<p>Brent hesitated. He had been quick to catch the flash of the eye that +had accompanied the words, a flash more of defiance than of anger. It +was upon his tongue to ask who was Murdo MacFarlane, but instead he +bowed: "I must go now. I shall be coming here often. I hope I shall not +be unwelcome."</p> + +<p>The look of passive tolerance was once more in her eyes, and she +shrugged so noncommittally that<!-- Page 235 --> Brent knew that for the present, if he +had not gained an ally, he had at least, eliminated an enemy.</p> + +<p>As the man plodded down the river, his thoughts were all of the girl. +The stern implacability of her as she stood in the doorway of the cabin +and ordered him from the encampment. The swift assurance with which she +assumed leadership as the storm roared down upon them. The ingenuous +announcement that they must spend the night—possibly several nights in +the barrens. And the childlike naïvete of the words that unveiled her +innermost thoughts. The compelling charm of her, her beauty of face and +form, and the lithe, untiring play of her muscles as she tramped through +the new-fallen snow. Her unerring sense of direction. Her simple code of +morals regarding the killing of men. Her every look, and word and +movement was projected with vivid distinctness upon his brain. And then +his thoughts turned to the little cabin that was her home, and to the +leathern skinned old woman who told him she was the girl's mother.</p> + +<p>"The squaw lied!" he uttered fiercely. "Never in God's world is +Snowdrift her daughter! But—who is she?"</p> + +<p>He rounded the last bend of the river and brought up shortly. Joe Pete +was stoking the fire with wood, and upon the gravel dump, sat the girl +apparently very much interested in the operation.</p> + +<p>Almost at the same instant she saw him, and Brent's heart leaped within +him at the glad little cry<!-- Page 236 --> that came to him over the snow, as the girl +scrambled to her feet and hurried toward him. "Where have you been?" she +asked. "I came to hunt—and you were gone. So I waited for you to come, +and I watched Joe Pete feed the fire in the hole."</p> + +<p>Brent's fingers closed almost caressingly over the slender brown hand +that was thrust into his and he smiled into the upraised eyes: "I, too, +went to hunt. I went to your cabin, and your—mother," despite himself, +the man's tongue hesitated upon the word, "told me that you had gone +with the women to bring in the meat."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you have seen Wananebish!" cried the girl, "And she was glad to see +you?"</p> + +<p>"Well," smiled Brent, "Perhaps not so awfully glad—right at first. But +Wananebish and I are good friends, now."</p> + +<p>"I am glad. I love Wananebish. She is good to me. She has deprived +herself of many things—sometimes I think, even of food, that I might +stay in school at the mission. And now it is too late to hunt today, and +I am hungry. Let us go in the cabin and eat."</p> + +<p>"Fine!" cried Brent, "Hey, Joe Pete, cut some caribou steaks, and I'll +build up the fire!" He turned again to the girl, "Come on," he laughed, +"I could eat a raw dog!"</p> + +<p>"But, there is plenty of meat!" cried the girl, "And you'll need the +dogs! Only when men are starving will they eat their dogs—and not +<i>raw</i>!"<!-- Page 237 --></p> + +<p>Brent laughed heartily into the dismayed face: "You need not be afraid, +we will save the dogs till we need them. That was only a figure of +speech. I meant that I am very hungry, and that, if I could find nothing +else to eat I should relish even raw dog meat."</p> + +<p>Snowdrift was laughing, now: "I see!" she cried, "In books are many such +sayings. It is a metaphor—no, not a metaphor—a—oh, I don't remember, +but anyway I am glad you said that because I thought such things were +used only in the language of books—and maybe I can say one like that +myself, someday."</p> + +<p>At the door of the cabin they removed their snowshoes, and a few moments +later a wood fire was roaring in the little stove. Joe Pete came in with +the frozen steaks, set them down upon the table, and moved toward the +door, but Brent called him back. "You're in on this feed! Get busy and +fry up those steaks while I set the table."</p> + +<p>The Indian hesitated, glanced shrewdly at Brent as if to ascertain the +sincerity of the invitation, and throwing off his parka, busied himself +at the stove, while Brent and Snowdrift, laughing and chattering like +children, placed the porcelain lined plates and cups and the steel +knives and forks upon the uneven pole table.</p> + +<p>The early darkness was gathering when they again left the cabin. +Snowdrift paused to watch Joe Pete throw wood into the flames that +leaped<!-- Page 238 --> from the mouth of the shallow shaft: "Why do you have the fire +in the hole?" she asked of Brent, who stood at her side.</p> + +<p>"Why, to thaw the gravel so we can throw it out onto the dump. Then in +the spring, we'll sluice out the dump and see what we've got."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean for gold?" asked the girl in surprise, "We only hunt for +gold in the summer in the sand of the creeks and the rivers."</p> + +<p>"This way is better," explained Brent. "In the summer you can only muck +around in the surface stuff. You can't sink a shaft because the water +would run in and fill it up. In most places the deeper you go the richer +the gravel. The very best of it is right down against bed-rock. In the +winter we keep a fire going until the gravel is thawed for six or eight +inches down, then we rake out the ashes and wait for the hole to cool +down so there will be air instead of gas in it, and then we throw out +the loose stuff and build up the fire again."</p> + +<p>"And you won't know till spring whether you have any gold or not? Why, +maybe you would put in a whole winter's work and get nothing!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, we kind of keep cases on it with the pan. Every day or so I scoop +up a panful and carry it into the cabin and melt some ice and pan it +out."</p> + +<p>"And is there gold here? Have you found it?"</p> + +<p>"Not yet. That is, not in paying quantities. The gravel shows just +enough color to keep us at it. I<!-- Page 239 --> don't think it is going to amount to +much. So far we're making fair wages—and that's about all."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by fair wages?" smiled the girl. "You see, I am +learning all I can about finding gold."</p> + +<p>"I expect we're throwing out maybe a couple of ounces a day—an ounce +apiece. If it don't show something pretty quick I'm going to try some +other place. There's a likely looking creek runs in above here."</p> + +<p>"But an ounce of gold is worth sixteen dollars!" exclaimed the girl, +"And sixteen dollars every day for each of you is lots of money."</p> + +<p>Brent laughed: "It's good wages, and that's about all. But I'm not here +just to make wages. I've got to make a strike."</p> + +<p>"How much is a strike?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, anywhere from a half a million up."</p> + +<p>"A half a million dollars!" cried the girl, "Why, what could you do with +it all?"</p> + +<p>Brent laughed: "Oh I could manage to find use for it, I reckon. In the +first place I owe a man some money over on the Yukon—two men. They've +got to be paid. And after that—" His voice trailed off into silence.</p> + +<p>"And what would you do after that?" persisted the girl.</p> + +<p>"Well," answered the man, as he watched the shower of sparks fly upward, +"That depends—But, come, it's getting dark. I'll walk home with you."<!-- Page 240 --></p> + +<p>"Are you going because you think I am afraid?" she laughed.</p> + +<p>"I am going because I want to go," he answered, and led off up the +river.</p> + +<p>As the darkness settled the snow-covered surface of the river showed as +a narrow white lane that terminated abruptly at each bend in a wall of +intense blackness. Overhead a million stars glittered so brightly in the +keen air that they seemed suspended just above the serried skyline of +the bordering spruces. At the end of an hour it grew lighter. Through +the openings between the flanking spruce thickets long naked ridges with +their overhanging wind-carved snow-cornices were visible far back from +the river. As they came in sight of the encampment the girl, who was +traveling ahead, paused abruptly and with an exclamation of delight, +pointed toward a distant ridge upon the clean-cut skyline of which the +rim of the full moon showed in an ever widening segment of red. Brent +stood close by her side, and together, in wrapt silence they watched the +glowing orb rise clear of the ridge, watched its color pale until it +hung cold and clean-cut in the night sky like a disk of burnished brass.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it beautiful?" she breathed, and by the gentle pressure that +accompanied the words, Brent suddenly knew that her bared hand was in +his own, and that two mittens lay upon the snow at their feet.</p> + +<p>"Wonderful," he whispered, as his eyes swept the unending panorama of +lifeless barrens. "It is<!-- Page 241 --> as if we two were the only living beings in +the whole dead world."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I wish—I wish we were!" cried the girl, impulsively. And then: "No +that is wrong! Other people—thousands and thousands of them—men, and +women, and little babies—they all love to live."</p> + +<p>"It is wonderful to live," breathed the man, "And to be standing +here—with you—in the moonlight."</p> + +<p>"Ah, the moonlight—is it the moonlight that makes me feel so +strange—in here?" she raised her mittened hand and pressed it against +her breast, "So strange and restless. I want to go—I do not know +where—but, I want to do something big—to go some place—any place, but +to go, and go, and go!" Her voice dropped suddenly, and Brent saw that +her eyes were resting broodingly upon the straggling group of tepees and +cabins. A dull square of light glowed sullenly from her own cabin +window, and her voice sounded heavy and dull: "But, there is no place to +go, and nothing to do, but hunt, and trap, and look for gold. Sometimes +I wish I were dead. No I do not mean that—but, I wish I had never +lived."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, girl! You love to live! Beautiful, strong, young—why, life +is only just starting for—you." Brent had almost said "us."</p> + +<p>"But, of what use is it all? Why should one love to live? I am an +Indian—yet I hate the Indians—except Wananebish. We fight the hooch +traders, yet the men get the hooch. It is no use. I learned<!-- Page 242 --> to love +books at the mission—and there are no books. You are here—with you I +am happy. But, if you do not find a strike, you will go away. Or, if we +do not find gold, we will go. The Indians will return to the river and +become hangers-on at the posts. It is all—no use!"</p> + +<p>Brent's arms were about her, her yielding body close against his, and +she was sobbing against the breast of his parka. The man's brain was a +chaos. In vain he strove to control the trembling of his muscles as he +crushed her to him. In an unsteady voice he was murmuring words: "There, +there, dear. I am never going away from you—never." Two arms stole +about his neck, and Brent's heart pounded wildly as he felt them tighten +in a convulsive embrace. He bent down and their lips met in a long, +lingering kiss, "Darling," he whispered, with his lips close to her ear, +"You are mine—mine! And I am yours. And we will live—live! Tell me +Snowdrift—sweetheart—do you love me?"</p> + +<p>"I love you!" her lips faltered the simple words, and Brent saw that the +dark eyes that looked up into his own glowed in the moonlight like black +pools. "Now—I know—it was—not the moonlight—in here—it was love!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, darling, it was love. I have loved you since the first moment I +saw you."</p> + +<p>"And I have loved you—always!"<!-- Page 243 --></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<p class="tdc">CONFESSIONS</p> + + +<p>Brent returned to the cabin with his brain in a whirl. "I'll make a +strike before spring! I've got to! Then we'll hit for Dawson, and we'll +stop at Fort Norman and be married. No—we'll go on through and be +married at the Reeves'! Married! A Brent married to an Indian!" He +halted in the trail and cursed himself for the thought.</p> + +<p>"She's a damn sight too good for you! You're a hell of a Brent—nothing +left but the name! Gambler—notorious gambler, Reeves said—and a +barkeep in Malone's dive. You're a hooch hound, and you've got to keep +away from hooch to stay sober! You don't dare go back to Dawson—nor +anywhere else where there's a saloon! You're broke, and worse than +broke. You're right now living on Reeves' money—and you think of +marrying <i>her</i>!"</p> + +<p>Furiously, next morning, he attacked the gravel at the bottom of the +shaft. When the loose muck was thrown out he swore at the slow progress, +and futilely attacked the floor of the shaft with his pick as though to +win down to bed-rock through the<!-- Page 244 --> iron-hard frost. Then he climbed out +and, scooping up a pan from the dump, retired to the cabin, and washed +it out.</p> + +<p>"Same thing," he muttered disgustedly, as he stared at the yellow +grains, "Just wages. I've got to make a strike! There's Reeves to +pay—and Camillo Bill—and I've got to have dust—and plenty of it—for +<i>her</i>. Damn this hole! I'm going to hit for the lower river. We'll cover +this shaft to keep the snow out and hit north. Hearne, and Franklin, and +Richardson all report native copper on the lower river—amygdaloid beds +that crop out in sheer cliffs. Gold isn't the only metal—there's +millions in copper! And, the river winding in and out among the trap and +basalt dykes, there's bound to be gold, too." He collected the few +grains of gold, threw out the gravel and water, and picking up his +rifle, stepped out the door. At the shaft he paused and called to Joe +Pete that he was going hunting and as the big Indian watched him +disappear up the river, his lips stretched in a slow grin, and he tossed +wood into the shaft.</p> + +<p>A mile from the cabin Brent rounded a sharp bend and came face to face +with Snowdrift. There was an awkward silence during which both strove to +appear unconcerned. The girl was the first to speak, and Brent noticed +that she was blushing furiously: "I—I am hunting," she announced, +swinging her rifle prominently into view.</p> + +<p>Brent laughed: "So am I hunting—for you."<!-- Page 245 --></p> + +<p>"But really, I am hunting caribou. There are lots of mouths to feed, and +the men are not much good. They will spend hours slipping up onto a +caribou and then miss him."</p> + +<p>"Come on, then, let's go," answered the man gaily. "Which way shall it +be?"</p> + +<p>"I saw lots of tracks the other day on a lake to the eastward. It is six +or seven miles. I think we will find caribou there." Brent tried to take +her hand, but she eluded him with a laugh, and struck out through the +scraggling timber at a pace that he soon found hard to follow.</p> + +<p>"Slow down! I'll be good!" he called, when they had covered a quarter of +a mile, and Snowdrift laughingly slackened her pace.</p> + +<p>"You're a wonder!" he panted, as he closed up the distance that +separated them, "Don't you ever get tired?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, very often. But, not so early in the day. See, three caribou +passed this way only a few hours ago—a bull and two cows." They struck +into the trail, and two hours later Snowdrift succeeded in bring down +one of the cows with a long shot as the three animals trotted across a +frozen muskeg.</p> + +<p>"And now we must kill one for you," announced the girl as Brent finished +drawing the animal.</p> + +<p>"We needn't be in any hurry about it," he grinned. "We still have most +of the one we got the other day."<!-- Page 246 --></p> + +<p>"Then, why are you hunting?"</p> + +<p>"I told you. I found what I was hunting—back there on the river. How +about lunch? I'm hungry as a wolf."</p> + +<p>The girl pointed to a sheltered spot in the lee of a spruce thicket, and +while Brent scraped back the snow, she produced food from her pack.</p> + +<p>"You must have figured on getting pretty hungry," teased Brent, eying +the generous luncheon to which he had added his own.</p> + +<p>Snowdrift blushed: "You brought more than I did!" she smiled, +"See—there is much more."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'll come right out with it—I put that up for two!"</p> + +<p>"And mine is for two," she admitted, "But you are mean for making me say +it."</p> + +<p>During the meal the girl was unusually silent and several times Brent +surprised a look of pain in the dark eyes, and then the look would fade +and the eyes would gaze pensively into the distance. Once he was sure +that her lip quivered.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter, Snowdrift," he asked abruptly, "What is troubling +you? Tell me all about it. You might as well begin now, you +know—because——"</p> + +<p>She hastened to interrupt him: "Nothing is the matter!" she cried, with +an obviously forced gaiety. "But, tell me, where did you come +from—before you came to the Yukon? All my life I have wanted to know +more of the land that lies to the southward<!-- Page 247 -->—the land of the white man. +Father Ambrose and Sister Mercedes told me much—but it was mostly of +the church. And Henri of the White Water told me of the great stores in +Edmonton where one may buy fine clothes, of other stores where one may +sell hooch without fear of the police, and also where one may win money +with cards. But, surely, there are other things. The white men, and the +women, they do not always go to church and buy clothes, and drink hooch, +and gamble with cards. And are all the women beautiful like the pictures +in the books, and in the magazines?"</p> + +<p>Brent laughed: "No, all the women are not beautiful. It is only once in +a great while that one sees a really beautiful woman, and you are the +most beautiful woman I have ever seen——"</p> + +<p>"But I am not beautiful!" cried the girl, "Not like the pictures."</p> + +<p>"The pictures are not pictures of real women, they are creations of an +artist's brain. The pictures are the artist's conception of what the +real women should be."</p> + +<p>Snowdrift regarded him with a puzzled frown: "Is it all make-believe, in +the land of the white man? The books—the novels that tell of knights in +armor, and of the beautiful ladies with their clothes, and their rings +of the diamonds that sparkle like ice—and other novels that tell of +suffering, and of the plotting of men and women who are very bad—and of +the doings of men and women who are<!-- Page 248 --> good—Sister Mercedes said they are +all lies—that they are the work of the brain of the man who wrote it +down. Is it all lies and make-believe? Do the white men use their brains +only to tell of the doings of people who have never lived, and to make +pictures of people and things that never were? Do you, too, live in the +make-believe? You have told me you love me. And just now you told me +that I was the most beautiful woman you have seen. Those are the words +of the books—of the novels. Always the man must tell the woman she is +the most beautiful woman in the world. And it is all make-believe, and +in the words is no truth!"</p> + +<p>"No, no, dear! You do not understand. I don't know whether I can explain +it, but it is not all make-believe—by a long shot! Life down there is +as real as it is here. There are millions of people there and for them +all life is a struggle. Millions live in great cities, and other +millions live in the country and raise grain with which to feed +themselves, and the millions who live in the cities. And the people in +the cities work in great factories, and make the clothing, and the +tools, and guns, and everything that is used by themselves and by the +people who live outside the cities, and they build the ships and the +railroads which carry these goods to all parts of the world. But you +have read of all that in the books—and the books are not all lies and +make-believe, for they tell of life as it is—not as any one or a dozen +characters live it—but as<!-- Page 249 --> thousands and millions live it. The comings +and goings of the characters are the composite comings and goings of a +thousand or a million living breathing people. And because each person +is too busy—too much occupied with his own particular life, he does not +know of the lives of the other millions. But he wants to know—so he +reads the books and the magazines, and the newspapers." The girl hung +absorbed upon his words, and for an hour Brent talked, describing, +explaining, detailing the little things and the great things, the +common-places, and the wonders of the far-off land to the southward. But +of all the things he described, the girl was most interested in the +libraries with their thousands and thousands of books that one might +read for the asking—the libraries, and the clothing of the women.</p> + +<p>"All my life," she concluded, "I have wanted to go to the land of the +white man, and see these things myself. But, I never shall see them, and +I am glad you have told me more."</p> + +<p>Brent laughed, happily, and before she could elude him his arms were +about her and he had drawn her close. "Indeed you shall see them!" he +cried. "You and I shall see them together. We'll be married at Dawson, +and we'll make a strike——"</p> + +<p>With a low cry the girl freed herself from his arms, and drew away to +the other side of the fire: "No, no, no!" she cried, with a catch in her +voice, "I can never marry you! Oh, why must we love!<!-- Page 250 --> Why must we +suffer, when the fault is not ours? They would hate me, and despise me, +and point at me with the finger of scorn!"</p> + +<p>Brent laughed: "Hold on girl!" he cried, "Some of the best families in +the world have Indian blood in their veins—and they're proud of it! I +know 'em! They'll come a long way from hating you. Why, they'll pile all +over themselves to meet you—and a hundred years from now our +great-grand-children will be bragging about you!" Suddenly, he grew +serious, "But maybe you won't marry me, after all—when you've heard +what I've got to say. Maybe you'll despise me—and it'll be all right if +you do. It will be what I have earned. It isn't a pretty story, and it's +going to hurt to tell it—to you. But, you've got to know—so here goes.</p> + +<p>"In the first place, you think I'm good. But, I'm not good—by most of +the ten commandments, and a lot of by-laws. I'm not going to do any +white-washing—I'm going to begin at the beginning and tell you the +truth, so you can see how far I've dropped. In the first place my family +tree is decorated with presidents, and senators, and congress-men, and +generals, and diplomats, and its branches are so crowded with colonels, +and majors and captains and judges, and doctors, that they have to prop +them up to keep them from breaking. Some were rich, but honest; and some +were poor, but not so honest, and a lot of them were half way between in +both wealth and honesty. But, anyway, you can't<!-- Page 251 --> turn twenty pages of +United States history without running onto the trail of at least one man +that I can claim kin to. As for myself, I'm a college man, and a mining +engineer—that means I was fitted by family and education to be a big +man, and maybe get a chance to slip into history myself—I've made some, +over on the Yukon, but—it ain't fit to print.</p> + +<p>"Hooch was at the bottom of the whole business. I couldn't handle hooch +like some men can. One drink always called for another, and two drinks +called for a dozen. I liked to get drunk, and I did get drunk, every +chance I got—and that was right often. I lost job after job because I +wouldn't stay sober—and later some others because I couldn't stay +sober. I heard of the gold on the Yukon and I went there, and I found +gold—lots of it. I was counted one of the richest men in the country. +Then I started out to get rid of the gold. I couldn't spend it all so I +gambled it away. Almost from the time I made my strike I never drew a +sober breath, until I'd shoved my last marker across the table. Then I +dealt faro—turned professional gambler for wages in the best place in +Dawson, but the hooch had got me and I lost out. I got another job in a +saloon that wasn't so good, but it was the same story, and in a little +while I was tending bar—selling hooch—in the lowest dive in town—and +that means the lowest one in the world, I reckon. That last place, The +Klondike Palace; with its painted women, who sell themselves nightly to +men, with the scum of the<!-- Page 252 --> earth carousing in its dance-hall, and +playing at its tables, was the hell-hole of the Yukon. And I was part of +it. I stood behind its bar and sold hooch—I was the devil that kept the +hell-fires stoked and roaring. And I kept full of hooch myself, or I +couldn't have stood it. Then I lost out even there, on—what you might +call a technicality—and after that I was just a plain bum. Everybody +despised me—worst of all, I despised myself. I did odd jobs to get +money to buy hooch, and when I had bought it I crawled into my shack and +stayed there till it was gone. I was weak and flabby, and dirty. My +hands shook so I couldn't raise a glass of hooch to my lips, until I'd +had a stiff shot. I used to lap the first drink out of a saucer like a +dog. I dodged the men who had once been my friends. Only Joe Pete, who +had helped me over the Chilkoot, and who remembered that I was a good +man on the trail, and a girl named Kitty, would even turn their heads to +glance at the miserable drunkard that slunk along the street with his +bottle concealed in his ragged pocket.</p> + +<p>"There is one more I thought was my friend. His name is Camillo Bill, +and he is square as a die, and he did me a good turn when he cleaned me +out, by holding my claims for only what he had coming when he could have +taken them all. But he came to see me one day toward the last. He came +to tell me that the claims had petered out. I wanted him to grub-stake +me, for a prospecting trip<!-- Page 253 --> and he refused. That hurt me worse than all +the rest—for I thought he was my friend. He cursed me, and refused to +grub-stake me. Then I met a real friend—one I had never seen before, +and he furnished the gold for my trip to the Coppermine, and—here I +am."</p> + +<p>Snowdrift had listened with breathless attention and when Brent +concluded she was silent for a long time. "This girl named Kitty?" she +asked at length, "Who is she, and why was she your friend? Did you love +this woman? Is she beautiful?"</p> + +<p>"No," answered Brent, gravely, "I did not love her. She was not the kind +of a woman a man would love. She was beautiful after a fashion. She +might have been very beautiful had her life fallen in a different +groove. She was an adventuress, big hearted, keen of brain—but an +adventuress. Hers was a life distorted and twisted far from its original +intent. For it was plain to all that she had been cast in a finer mould, +and even the roughest and most brutal of the men treated her with a +certain respect that was not accorded to the others. She never spoke of +her past. She accepted the present philosophically, never by word or +look admitting that she had chosen the wrong road. Her ethics were the +ethics of the muck and ruck of the women of the dance halls. She +differed only in that she had imagination—and a certain pride that +prevented her from holding herself cheaply. Where others were careless +and slovenly, she was well groomed.<!-- Page 254 --> And while they caroused and +shamelessly debauched themselves, she held aloof from the rabble.</p> + +<p>"You asked why she was my friend. I suppose it was because she was quick +to see that I too, was different from the riff-raff of the dives. Not +that I was one whit better than they—for I was not. It was no credit to +me that I was inherently different. It was, I reckon, a certain innate +pride that kept me out of the filth of the mire, as it kept her out. To +me the painted slovens were physically loathsome, so I shunned them. She +was keener of brain than I—or maybe it was because she had a +perspective. But while I was still at the height of my success with the +claims and with the cards, she foresaw the end, and she warned me. But, +I disregarded the warning, and later, when I was rushing straight to the +final crash, she warned me again and again, and she despised me for the +fool I was.</p> + +<p>"When, at the very bottom, I was taken suddenly sick, it was Kitty who +nursed me through. And then, when I was on my feet again she left me to +myself. I have not seen her since."</p> + +<p>"And, if you make a strike again," asked the girl in a low voice, "Will +you go back to Dawson—to the cards and the hooch?"</p> + +<p>"I will go back to Dawson," he answered, "And pay my debts. I will not +go back to the cards. I am through with gambling for good and all, for I +have promised. And when a Brent gives his word, he would die rather than +break it."<!-- Page 255 --></p> + +<p>"But the hooch?" persisted Snowdrift. "Are you done with the hooch too?"</p> + +<p>Brent was conscious that the eyes of the girl were fixed upon his in a +gaze of curious intentness, as though their deliberate calm suppressed +some mighty emotion. He groped for words: "I don't—that is, how can I +tell? I drink no hooch now—but there is none to drink. I hate it for I +know that what it did to me once it will do to me again. I hate it—and +I love it!" exclaimed the man. "Tell me, is hate stronger than love?"</p> + +<p>The girl was silent for a moment, and by the clenching of her fists, +Brent knew that a struggle was raging within her. She ignored his +question, and when she spoke her voice was low, and the words fell with +a peculiar dullness of tone: "I, too, have a thing to tell. It is a +horrible thing. And when you have heard you will not want to marry me." +The girl paused, and Brent felt suddenly sick and weak. There was a dull +ache in his breast that was an actual physical pain, and when the cold +breeze fanned his forehead, it struck with a deadly chill. With a mighty +effort he recovered, leaned swiftly toward her and was vaguely conscious +that she winced at the grip of his fingers upon her arm.</p> + +<p>"Tell me!" he cried hoarsely. For a single instant his eyes blazed into +hers, and then, as though anticipating her words, his fingers relaxed +their hold and he settled back with a half-articulate moan—"<i>Oh, +God!</i>"<!-- Page 256 --></p> + +<p>"What you have told me," she continued, in the same dull tone, "Is +nothing. It is past and gone. It is dead, and its evil died with it. You +are a white man. The white man's thoughts are your thoughts, and his +standards are your standards. You work the harm, then unjustly you sit +in judgment. And the harm does not die with the deed. The shame of it is +a thing of the present, and of the future, and it is borne always by the +innocent.</p> + +<p>"The thing I must tell you is this. I am a half-breed. But my father was +not the husband of Wananebish, who is my mother——"</p> + +<p>Brent interrupted her with quick, glad cry: "Is that all?" The blood +surged hot through his veins. The ache in his breast became a wild +singing. And suddenly he realized the grip and the depth of the thing +that is called love, with its power to tear and to rend the very +foundations of his being. He felt an insane desire to leap and to +shout—and the next instant the girl was in his arms and he was crushing +her against his breast as he covered her face with hot kisses. And when +a few moments later, he released her, he laughed aloud—a laugh that was +clear and boyish, and altogether good to hear, while the girl gazed +half-fearfully—half-wonderingly into his eyes:</p> + +<p>"I—I do not understand," she faltered, "I have known this only for a +short time. Henri of the White Water told me of it, and of the shame of +it—and then Sister Mercedes—and it is true, because<!-- Page 257 --> years ago when I +was very small, Wananebish told it to Father Ambrose——"</p> + +<p>"Damn Henri of the White Water! And damn Sister Mercedes and Father +Ambrose!" cried Brent, his eyes narrowing, "What did they tell you for? +What difference does it make?"</p> + +<p>"Henri of the White Water told me because he was angry. I would not +marry him. I was going to a great convent school, and he said that in +the land of the white man I would be an object of scorn—that people +would shun me, and point me out with the finger of shame. I did not +believe him, so I went to Sister Mercedes, and she told me, also. And so +I would not go to the school, and that night I came away from the +mission—came back to the Indians." She paused, and as she raised her +eyes to his, Brent saw that in their depths a wondrous newborn hope +struggled against fear. Her lips moved: "You do not scorn me? You love +me—knowing that?"</p> + +<p>Again she was in his arms, and his lips were upon hers: "Yes, I love +you—love you—love you! You are mine, darling—mine for all time!" She +did not resist his arms, and he felt her yielding body press close +against his own, as her shoulders heaved in short, quick sobs.</p> + +<p>Softly, almost timidly, her arms stole about his neck, and her +tear-jeweled eyes raised to his: "And you would marry me, not knowing +who I am?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, darling," reassured Brent, "Neither know<!-- Page 258 -->ing nor caring who you +are. It is enough that you are the dearest, and most beautiful, and the +most lovable woman in the whole world of women. Why, girl, the wonder is +not that I love you—but that you could love me, after what I told you."</p> + +<p>"It is the answer to your question," she smiled, "It means that love is +the strongest thing in all the world—stronger than hate, stronger than +race, or laws, or codes of ethics. Love is supreme!"</p> + +<p>"And that means, then, that my love for hooch will conquer my hate for +it?"</p> + +<p>"No!" breathed the girl, and Brent could feel her arms tighten about his +neck. "For your love for hooch has not only to overcome your hate for +it, but it must also overcome your love for me, and my love for you. I +am not afraid to fight it out with hooch for your love! If I cannot make +myself more to you than hooch ever can, I would not be worthy of your +love!"</p> + +<p>"My darling," whispered Brent, his lips close to her ear, "You have won +already. I will promise——"</p> + +<p>He was interrupted by her fingers upon his lips, shutting off the words.</p> + +<p>"No—dear," she hesitated a second at the unfamiliar word, "You must not +promise—yet. It is easy to promise, out here in the barrens, where you +have me in your arms, and the hooch is far away. I ask no odds of hooch. +Wait till you have stood the test. I am not afraid. I have not much +learn<!-- Page 259 -->ing, but some things I know. I know that, holding a promise in as +high regard as you hold one, if anything should happen—if you should +drink hooch just once, the promise would be broken—and never again +would a promise be just the same. We have a war with hooch—you and I. +And we are going to win. But, in the histories I have read of few wars +where every battle was won by the same army. Some of the battles we must +expect to lose—but the <i>war</i> we will win."</p> + +<p>"Not much learning," smiled Brent, looking into the depths of the dark +eyes, "But the concentrated wisdom of the ages—the wisdom that is the +heritage of woman, and which not one woman in a thousand learns to +apply."</p> + +<p>For a long time the two sat beside their little fire, add in the gloom +of the early darkness, they made their way toward the river.<!-- Page 260 --></p> + + +<div class="p6" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<p class="tdc">IN THE CABIN OF THE <i>BELVA LOU</i></p> + + +<p>For two weeks Brent and Snowdrift were together each day from dawn until +dark. Leaving Joe Pete to work the claim on the Coppermine, they burned +into the gravel on a creek that gave promise, and while their fire +slowly thawed out the muck, they hunted. When at a depth of four feet +they had not struck a color, Brent gave it up.</p> + +<p>"No use," he said, one day as he tossed the worthless pebbles from his +pan. "If there was anything here, we'd have found at least a trace. I'm +going to hit down the river and have a look at the Copper Mountains."</p> + +<p>"Take me with you!" cried the girl, eagerly, "How long will you be +gone?"</p> + +<p>"I wish I could," smiled Brent, "But Joe Pete and I will be gone two +weeks—a month—maybe longer. It depends on what we find. If we were +only married, what a great trip it would be! But, never mind, +sweetheart, we've got a good many trips coming—years and years of +them."</p> + +<p>"But that isn't now," objected the girl, "What<!-- Page 261 --> will I do all the while +you are gone? Each morning I hurry here as fast as I can, and each +evening I am sorry when the darkness comes and I must leave you."</p> + +<p>The man drew her close, "Yes, darling," he whispered, "I understand. The +hours I spend away from you are long hours, and I count them one by one. +I do not want to go away from you, but it is for you that I must make a +strike."</p> + +<p>"I would rather have you with me than have all the strikes in the +world!"</p> + +<p>"I know—but we don't want to spend all our days in this God-forgotten +wilderness, fighting famine, and the strong cold. We want to go far away +from all this, where there is music, and books, and life! You've got it +coming, little girl—but first we must make a strike."</p> + +<p>"And, we will not be married until you make your strike?" The dark eyes +looked wistfully into his, and Brent smiled:</p> + +<p>"Strike or no strike, we will be married in the spring!" he cried, "and +if the strike has not been made, we'll make it together."</p> + +<p>"Will we be married at the mission?"</p> + +<p>"No—at Dawson."</p> + +<p>"Dawson!" cried the girl, "And I shall really see Dawson? But, isn't it +very far?"</p> + +<p>Brent laughed: "Yes, you will really see Dawson—and you won't see much +when you see it, in comparison with what you will see when we quit<!-- Page 262 --> the +North and go back to the States. In the spring you and Wananebish, and +Joe Pete and I will take a month's vacation—and when we come back, +darling, we will have each other always."</p> + +<p>"But, if you do not make a strike?" questioned the girl, "What then? +Would you be happy here in the North—with me?"</p> + +<p>"Sweetheart," answered Brent, "If I knew to a certainty that I should +never make a strike—that I should always live in these barrens, I would +marry you anyway—and call the barrens blessed. But, I will make a +strike! It is for you—and I cannot fail! Oh, if I hadn't been such a +fool!"</p> + +<p>The girl smiled into his eyes: "If you hadn't been such a—a fool, you +would never have come to the barrens. And I—I would always have been +just an Indian—hating the white man, hating the world, living my life +here and there, upon the lakes and the rivers, in cabins and tepees, +with just enough education to long for the better things, and with my +heart bursting with pain and bitterness in the realization that those +things were not for me."</p> + +<p>"It is strange how everything works out for the best," mused Brent, "The +whys and the wherefores of life are beyond my philosophy. Sordid, and +twisted, and wrong as they were, my Dawson days, and the days of the +years that preceded them were all but the workings of destiny—to bring +you and me together up here on the rim of the Arctic.</p> + +<p>"It was a great scheme, little girl," he smiled,<!-- Page 263 --> suddenly breaking into +a lighter mood, "And the beauty of it is—it worked. But what I was +getting at is this: it don't seem reasonable that after going to all +that trouble to bring us together, and taking such liberties with my +reputation, Old Man Destiny is going to make us fill out the rest of the +time punching holes in gravel, and snaring rabbits, and hunting +caribou."</p> + +<p>That evening they said good bye upon the edge of the clearing that +surrounded the Indian encampment, and as Brent turned to go he drew a +heavy bag from his pocket and handed it to the girl, "Keep this till I +come back," he said, "It's gold."</p> + +<p>"Oh, it is heavy!" cried the girl in surprise.</p> + +<p>Brent smiled, "Weighs up pretty big now. But when we make our strike it +won't be a shoestring. But come—one more good bye and I must be going. +I've got to pack my outfit for an early start."</p> + +<p>One day a week later Brent stood with Joe Pete on the northernmost ridge +of the Copper Mountains and gazed toward the coast of the Arctic Ocean. +Almost at their feet, buried beneath snow and ice were the Bloody Falls +of the Coppermine and to the northward, only snow. Brent was surprised, +for he knew that the ridge upon which he was standing could not be more +than ten or twelve miles from the coast, but he also knew that he could +see for twenty miles or more, and that the only thing that met the eye +was a gently undulating plain of snow, unbroken by even so much as a +twig or a bush, or a<!-- Page 264 --> hillock worthy the name. Never, he thought, as his +glance swept the barren, treeless waste, had eyes of mortal man beheld +its equal for absolute bleak desolation.</p> + +<p>A cry from Joe Pete cause him to concentrate his gaze upon a spot toward +which the Indian pointed, where, dimly discernible, a dark object +appeared against the unbroken surface of the snow. The steel blue +haze—the "cold fog" of the North, obfuscated its outlines, as it +destroyed perspective so that the object may have been five miles away, +or twenty. It may have been the size of a dog, or the size of a +skyscraper. In vain the two strained their eyes in an endeavor to make +it out. In the first gloom of the early darkness it disappeared +altogether, and the two made their way to the frozen surface of the +river where, in the shelter of a perpendicular wall of rock, they made +their camp and kindled a tiny fire of twigs they had collected the day +before from the last timber on the Coppermine, at a creek that runs in +from the eastward.</p> + +<p>For two days, holding to the surface of the river, the two had threaded +the transverse ridges that form the Copper Mountains. It was Brent's +idea to mush straight to the northernmost ridge and work back slowly, +stopping wherever practicable to prospect among the outcropping ledges. +He had planned, also, to burn into the gravel at intervals, but he had +not foreseen the fact that the mountains<!-- Page 265 --> lay north of the timber line, +so the burning had to be abandoned.</p> + +<p>At daylight they again climbed the ridge. The cold fog had disappeared +and as Joe Pete, who was in the lead, reached the summit, he gave voice +to a loud cry of surprise. For in place of the indiscernible object of +the day before, apparently only ten or twelve miles distant, and right +in the centre of the vast plain of snow was a ship—each mast and spar +standing out clean-cut as a cameo against its dazzling background. Brent +even fancied he could see men walking about her deck, and other men +walking to and fro among a group of snow mounds that clustered close +about the hulk.</p> + +<p>"A whaler!" he exclaimed, "One of those that Johnnie Claw said wintered +up here."</p> + +<p>For a long time Brent watched the ship, and covertly Joe Pete watched +Brent. At length the white man spoke. "Reckon we'll just mush over there +and call on 'em. Neighbors aren't so damned common up here that we can +afford to pass them by when we're in sight of 'em."</p> + +<p>"Dat better, mebbe-so, we don' go w'ere we ain' got no business. +Mebbe-so dat Godam Johnnie Claw, she giv' you som' mor' hooch, eh? Dat +breed gal she dam' fine 'oman—she ain' lak dat."</p> + +<p>Brent laughed, a trifle nervously: "I don't reckon there's any danger of +that," he answered, shortly. "Come on, we'll harness the dogs and pull +out there. I'd like to see what kind of an outfit<!-- Page 266 --> they've got, and as +long as we're this near it would be too bad not to go to the very top of +the continent."</p> + +<p>Joe Pete shrugged and followed Brent down to the river where they broke +camp, harnessed the dogs, and struck out over the plain. The wind-packed +snow afforded good footing and the outfit pushed rapidly northward.</p> + +<p>Brent was surprised at the absence of a pressure ridge at the shore +line, but so flat was the snow-buried beach that it was with difficulty +that he determined where the land left off and the sea-ice began. The +whaler he judged to be frozen in at a distance of three or four miles +from shore.</p> + +<p>The figures of men could be plainly seen, now, and soon it became +evident that their own presence had been noted, for three or four +figures were seen to range themselves along the rail, evidently studying +them through a glass.</p> + +<p>While still a mile or two distant, the figures at the rail disappeared +below deck, but others moved about among the snow mounds in the shelter +of the vessel's hull.</p> + +<p>Upon arriving at the mounds, which proved to be snow igloos such as are +used by the Eskimos, Brent halted the dogs, and advanced to where two +men, apparently oblivious to his presence, were cutting up blubber.</p> + +<p>"Hello," he greeted, "Where's the captain?"</p> + +<p>One of the men did not even look up. The other,<!-- Page 267 --> presenting a villainous +hairy face, nodded surlily toward an ice-coated ladder.</p> + +<p>"Wait here," said Brent, turning to Joe Pete, "Till I find out whether +this whole crew is as cordial to strangers as these two specimens."</p> + +<p>At the words, the man who had directed Brent to the ladder, raised his +head and opened his lips as if to speak, but evidently thinking better +of it, he uttered a sneering laugh, and went on with his cutting of +blubber.</p> + +<p>Brent climbed the ladder, and made his way across the snow-buried deck, +guided by a well packed path that led to a door upon which he knocked +loudly. While waiting for a response he noticed the name <i>Belva Lou</i> +painted upon the stern of a small boat that lay bottomside up upon the +deck. Knocking again, he called loudly, and receiving no reply, opened +the door and found himself upon a steep flight of stairs. Stepping from +the dazzling whiteness of the outside, the interior of the whaler was +black as a pocket, and he paused upon the stairs to accustom his eyes to +the change. As the foul air from below filled his lungs it seemed to +Brent that he could not go on. The stench nauseated him—the vile +atmosphere reeked of rancid blubber, drying furs, and the fumes of dead +cookery. A tiny lamp that flared in a wall pocket at the foot of the +stairs gave forth a stink of its own. Gradually, as his eyes accorded to +the gloom, Brent took cognizance of the dim interior. The steep short +flight<!-- Page 268 --> of steps terminated in a narrow passage that led toward the +stern whence came the muffled sound of voices. Descending, he glanced +along the passage toward a point where, a few feet distant, another lamp +flared dimly. Just beyond this lamp was a door, and from beyond the door +came the sound of voices.</p> + +<p>He groped his way to the door and knocked. There was a sudden hush, a +few gruffly mumbled words, and then a deep voice snarled: "Who's there?"</p> + +<p>"Just a visitor," announced Brent, stifling a desire to turn and rush +from that fetid hole out into the clean air—but it was too late.</p> + +<p>The voice beyond the door commanded thickly: "Come in, an' we'll look ye +over!"</p> + +<p>For just an instant Brent hesitated, then his hand fumbled for the knob, +turned it, and the narrow door swung inward. He stepped into the +box-like apartment, and for a moment stood speechless as his eyes strove +to take in the details of the horrid scene.</p> + +<p>The stinking air of the dank passage was purest ozone in comparison with +the poisonous fog of the overheated, unventilated room. He felt suddenly +sick and dizzy as he sucked the evil effluvia into his lungs—the thick, +heavy smoke of cheap tobacco, the stench of unbathed humans, the +overpowering reek of spilled liquor, the spent breath from rum-soaked +bodies, the gaseous fumes of a soft coal stove, and<!-- Page 269 --> the odor from an +oil lamp that had smoked one side of its chimney black.</p> + +<p>"Shut the door! Coal costs money. What the hell ye tryin' to do, heat +the hull Ar'tic? Who be ye, anyhow? An' wot d'ye want?"</p> + +<p>Mechanically Brent closed the door behind him, as he glanced into the +leering eyes of the speaker, who sat, with two other men, and a +partially clad Eskimo woman, at a table upon which were set out a bottle +and several glasses.</p> + +<p>Before Brent could reply, the man across the table from the speaker +leaped to his feet and thrust out his hand. Through the grey haze of +smoke, Brent recognized Johnnie Claw.</p> + +<p>"Well, if it ain't my ol' friend Ace-In-The-Hole!" cried the hooch +runner. "'S all right Cap! Best sport on the Yukon!" Ignoring the fact +that Brent had refused the proffered hand, Claw leered into his face: +"Ace-In-The-Hole let me make you 'quainted with Cap Jinkins, Cap'n of +the <i>Belva Lou</i>—damn good sport, too—an' Asa Scroggs, mate. Both damn +good sports, <i>Belva Lou</i> fetches out more oil an' bone 'n any of +'em—an' Cap ain't 'fraid to spend his money. Glad you come long. +Welcome to stay long as you like—ain't he Cap?"</p> + +<p>The Captain lowered a glass from his lips, and cleansed his overhanging +mustache upon the back of a hairy hand: "Sure," he growled, surlily, +"Didn't know he was friend o' yourn. S'down." The room contained only +four chairs, and as he spoke, the<!-- Page 270 --> man, with a sweep of his hand, struck +the klooch from her chair, and kicked it toward Brent, who sank into it +heavily, and stared dully at the klooch who crawled to a corner and +returned the stare with a drunken, loose-lipped grin upon her fat face. +Brent shifted his glance, and upon a bunk beyond the table he saw +another klooch, lying in a drunken stupor, her only garment, a grimy +wrapper of faded calico, was crumpled about her, exposing one brown leg +to the hip.</p> + +<p>Schooled as he had been to sights of debauchery by his service with +Cuter Malone, Brent was appalled—sickened by the sottish degeneracy of +his surroundings.</p> + +<p>With unsteady hand the mate slopped some liquor into a glass and shoved +it toward him: "Swaller that," he advised, with a grin, "Yer gittin' +white 'round the gills. Comin' right in out of the air, it might seem a +leetle close in here, at first."</p> + +<p>The fumes arising from the freshly spilled liquor smelled <i>clean</i>—the +only hint of cleanliness in the whole poisoned atmosphere of the cabin. +He breathed them deeply into his lungs, and for an instant the dizziness +and sickness at his stomach seemed less acute. Maybe one drink—one +little sip would revive him—counteract the poison of the noisome air, +and stimulate him against the dull apathy that was creeping upon him. +Slowly, his hand stole toward the glass, his fingers closed about it, +and he raised it to his lips. Another deep<!-- Page 271 --> inhalation of its fragrance +and he drained it at a gulp.</p> + +<p>"Didn't know we had no neighbors," ventured the Captain, filling his own +glass. "What ye doin' up here?"</p> + +<p>"Prospecting," answered Brent, "The Copper Mountains. I saw your vessel +from the ridge, and thought I would come over and see what a whaler +looks like." The strong liquor was taking hold. A warm glow gripped his +belly and diffused itself slowly through his veins. The nausea left him, +and the olid atmosphere seemed suddenly purged of its reek.</p> + +<p>"Well," grinned the captain, "The <i>Belva Lou</i> hain't what ye'd call no +floatin' palace, but she's ahead o' most whalers. An' after Johnnie gits +through hornin' round 'mongst the Husky villages an' fixes us up with a +wife apiece, we manage to winter through right comfortable. Me an' Asa +stays on board, an' the rest of the crew, builds 'em igloos. But, here's +me runnin' off at the head—an' you might spill it all to the Mounted."</p> + +<p>"Not him," laughed Claw. "Him an' I ain't always pulled, what you might +say, together—but he's square—kill you in a minute, if he took a +notion—but he'd go to hell before he'd snitch. Have another drink, +Ace-In-The-Hole, 'twon't hurt you none—only rum—an' water-weak."</p> + +<p>Before he knew it the glass was in his hand, and again Brent drank.<!-- Page 272 --></p> + +<p>After that he took them as they came. The bottle was emptied and tossed +into the corner where the drunken klooch recovered it and holding it to +her lips, greedily sucked the few drops that remained in the bottom. +Another bottle was produced, and Brent, his brain fired by the raw +liquor, measured glasses, drink for drink, never noticing that the same +liquor served, in the glasses of the other three, for round after round +of libations.</p> + +<p>"Wher's yer camp?" asked Claw, as he refilled the glasses.</p> + +<p>"Bloody Falls," answered Brent, waxing loquacious. "Bloody Falls of the +Coppermine, where old Samuel Hearne's Indians butchered the Eskimos."</p> + +<p>"Butchered the Eskimos!" exclaimed Claw, "What d'you mean—butchered? I +ain't heard 'bout no Huskies bein' killed, an' who in hell's Sam Hearne? +I be'n round here, off an' on, fer long while, an' I ain't never run +acrost no Sam Hearne. What be you handin' us? You ort to start a +noospaper."</p> + +<p>Brent laughed uproariously: "No, Claw, I reckon you never ran across +him. This happened over a hundred years ago—1771—July 13th, to be +exact."</p> + +<p>Asa Scroggs grinned knowingly: "Man kin lap up a hell of a lot of idees +out of a bottle of hooch," he opined, "Mostly it runs to ph'los'fy, er +fightin', er po'try, er singin', er religion, er women, er sad +mem'ries—but this here stale news idee is a new one.<!-- Page 273 --> But, g'wan, +Ace-In-The-Hole, did the Mounted git Sam fer his murdersome massacres?"</p> + +<p>"That was a hundred years before the Mounted was thought of," answered +Brent, eying Scroggs truculently, as his inflamed brain sought hidden +insult in the words.</p> + +<p>"I always know'd I was born too late," laughed Claw, who, noting the +signs of approaching trouble, sought peace. "This here'd be a hell of a +fine country, if it wasn't fer the Mounted. But, say, Ace-In-The-Hole, +you doin' any good? Struck any color?"</p> + +<p>Brent forgot Scroggs and turned to Claw: "No, not to speak of. Just +about made wages."</p> + +<p>"Well," continued the hooch runner, "You had a pretty fair sack of dust +when you come in. What d'you say we start a little game of stud—jest +the four of us?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing doing," answered Brent, shortly. "I'm off of stud."</p> + +<p>"Off of stud!" exclaimed the other, "How in hell d'you ever expect to +git even? Stud owes you more dust than you kin pile on a sled!"</p> + +<p>Brent drank a glass of rum: "The game can keep what it owes me. And +besides I left my dust in camp—except a couple of ounces, or so."</p> + +<p>"Yer finger bet goes with me," assured Claw, "Everybody's wouldn't, by a +damn sight—but yourn does. What d'you say?"</p> + +<p>"My word is good in a game, is it?" asked Brent.<!-- Page 274 --></p> + +<p>"Good as the dust—in one, or out of one," promptly assured Claw.</p> + +<p>"Well, then listen to this: I gave my word in the presence of the man +who staked me for this trip, that I would never gamble again. So I +reckon you know how much stud I'll play from now on."</p> + +<p>"Gawd A'mighty!" breathed Claw, incredulously, "An' the game owin' you +millions. Well, have a drink on it, anyway."</p> + +<p>Claw refilled Brent's glass, and thrust it into his hand, with a wink at +the captain, for he had been quick to note that the liquor and the hot +fetid air of the room was making Brent drowsy. His eyes had become dull +and heavy lidded, and his chin rested heavily upon the throat of his +parka. "Ain't happened to run onto a little bunch of Injuns, up the +river, have you?" asked the man, as Brent gagged at the liquor.</p> + +<p>"No," answered Brent, drowsily, "No Injuns in Copper Mountains—nothing +in the mountains—nothing but snow." Gradually his eyes closed, and his +head rolled heavily to one side. The drunken klooch rose to her knees, +and with a maudlin giggle, seized Brent's half empty glass and drained +it.</p> + +<p>With a curse, the captain kicked her into her corner, and turned to Claw +with a suggestive motion: "Slit his gullet, an' we'll slip him down a +seal hole with some scrap iron on his legs. He's prob'bly lyin' 'bout +leavin' the dust in camp."<!-- Page 275 --></p> + +<p>Claw shook his head: "Not him," he opined, "Search him first."</p> + +<p>The Captain and the mate subjected the unconscious man to a thorough +search, at the conclusion of which Scroggs tossed a small lean gold sack +upon the table. "Prob'ly all he's got left, anyhow," he growled in +disgust. "Le's jest weight him an' slip him through the ice the way he +is. 'Tain't so messy."</p> + +<p>"Not by a damn sight!" objected Claw. "It's jest like I told you, when +we was watchin' him through the glass. He's got anyways clost to a +hundred ounces. I seen it, when he paid me fer the hooch, like I was +tellin' you."</p> + +<p>"Well, we kin back-track him to his camp, an' if we can't find it we kin +put the hot irons to the Injun's feet till he squeals."</p> + +<p>"The Injun don't know where it's at," argued Claw contemptuously, "He's +too damn smart to trust a Siwash. An' you bet he's got it <i>cached</i> where +we couldn't find it. He wouldn't leave it round where the first bunch of +Huskies that come along could lift it, would he?"</p> + +<p>"Well," growled the Captain, "Yer so damn smart, what's yer big idee?"</p> + +<p>"We got to let him go. Put back his little two ounces, so he won't +suspicion nothin'. Then, when he wakes up, I'll slip him a bottle of +hooch fer a present, an' he'll hit fer camp and start in on it. It won't +last long, an' then you an' me an' Scroggs<!-- Page 276 --> will happen along with more +hooch to sell him. When he digs up the dust to pay fer it, I'll tend to +him. You two git the Injun—but <i>he's</i> mine. I've got a long score to +settle with him—an' I know'd if I waited long enough, my time would +come."<!-- Page 277 --></p> + + +<div class="p6" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<p class="tdc">LOST</p> + + +<p>Brent was conscious of a drone of voices. They came from a great +distance—from so great a distance that he could not distinguish the +words. He half-realized that somewhere, men were talking.</p> + +<p>Befuddled, groping, his brain was struggling against the stupor that had +held him unconscious for an hour. Two months before, half the amount of +liquor he had taken into his system would have drugged him into a whole +night's unconsciousness, but the life in the open, and the hard work in +the gravel and on the trail, had so strengthened him physically that the +rum, even in the poisonous air of the cabin could not deaden him for +long. Gradually, out of the drone of voices a word was sensed by his +groping brain. Then a group of words. Where was he? Who were these men? +And why did they persist in talking when he wanted to sleep? His head +ached, and he was conscious of a dull pain in his cramped neck. He was +about to shift into an easier position, when suddenly he realized where +he was. He was drunk—in the filthy cabin<!-- Page 278 --> of the <i>Belva Lou</i>—and the +voices were the voices of Claw, and the mate, and the Captain, who were +still at their liquor. A wave of sickening remorse swept him. He, Carter +Brent, couldn't keep away from the hooch. Even in the vile cabin of the +<i>Belva Lou</i>, he had fallen for it. It was no use. He would kill +himself—would blow his worthless brains out and be done with it, rather +than face—A sudden savage rage obsessed him. Kill himself, he would, +but first—he would rid the North of these vultures.</p> + +<p>He was upon the point of leaping to his feet, and with his fists, his +chair—anything that came to hand, annihilating the brutish occupants of +the cabin, when the gruff voice of the Captain cut in upon Claw's +droning monotone.</p> + +<p>"An' when we git him an' his Injun planted, me an' Asa'll take his dogs +an' hit back here, an' you kin strike east along the coast till you pick +up another woman. It's a damn outrage—that's what it is! Chargin' me +fifty dollars apiece fer greasy old pelters like them, that ain't worth +the grub they eat! What I want is a young one—good lookin' an' young."</p> + +<p>"You had yer pick out of the eight," growled Claw.</p> + +<p>"An' a hell of a pick it was! Why, I've went out an' rustled 'em myself, +an' fer a sack of flour, an' a half a dozen fish-hooks, an' mebbe a file +er two, I've got the pick of a hull village."<!-- Page 279 --></p> + +<p>Brent's brain cleared gradually as he listened to the villainous +dialogue. Vaguely he sensed that it was himself and Joe Pete that the +Captain spoke of "planting." So they intended to murder him, did they? +And, when that detail had been attended to, they would go on with their +traffic in "winter wives." But, they did not intend to kill him here on +board the vessel. The Captain had spoken of coming back, after the deed +was done. Where would they take him? Brent suddenly found himself +possessed by curiosity. He decided to wait and see. And, when the time +came, he would give as good an account of himself as he could—and +then—what difference did it make? They were not fit to live. He would +kill them if he could—or maybe they would kill him. But he was not fit +to live either. He had sat at table with them—had fraternized with +them—drank liquor in the stinking cabin with the scum of the earth. He +was no better than they—he was one of them. The bottle scraped along +the table, and he could hear the audible gulping of liquor, the tap of +the returned glasses, and the harsh rasping of throats as they were +cleared of the fiery bite.</p> + +<p>Then the voice of Claw: "You ain't had no pick of a village since the +Mounted begun patrolin' the coast."</p> + +<p>"Damn the Mounted!"</p> + +<p>"Yeh, that's what I say. But damnin' 'em don't git red of 'em. Facts is, +they're here, an' every<!-- Page 280 --> year it's harder an' harder fer a man to make a +livin'. But listen, Cap, I've got one bet up my sleeve. But it'll cost +you more'n any fifty dollars—er a hundred, either. She ain't no +Husky—she's an Injun breed—an' damn near white. Her name's +Snowdrift—an' she's the purtiest thing in the North. I've had my eyes +on her fer a couple of years. She was in the mission over on the +Mackenzie. But she ain't there no more. She's way up the Coppermine, +with a band of about twenty Dog Ribs." Claw paused to pour a glass of +liquor, and Brent felt the blood pounding his eardrums in great surging +throbs. He felt the sweat break out on his forehead and the palms of his +hands, and it was only by a superhuman effort that he continued to feign +sleep. Surely, they would notice the flush on his face, the sweat +glistening on his forehead and the dryness of his lips—but, no—Claw +was speaking again:</p> + +<p>"I tried to buy her once—last year it was, offen her mother—offered +her a thousan' dollars, cash money—an' 'fore I know'd what happened, +the damned old squaw had me about half killed. She's a hell cat. She +done it barehanded—clawed my eyes, an' clawed out a hull handful of +whiskers—you kin see that patch on my throat where they never grow'd +back. It was over near Good Hope, an' I didn't dast to make no holler, +nor kill her neither, on account of the Mounted—but I'll get her yet. +An' when I do, I'll learn her to pull folks whis<!-- Page 281 -->kers out by the ruts +when they're tryin' to do the right thing by her!"</p> + +<p>"You won't git no thousan' dollars from me!" exploded the Captain, "They +ain't no woman, white, red, brown, yaller, or black that's worth no +thousan' dollars o' my money!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, ain't they?" sneered Claw, "Well you don't git her then. Fact is I +never figgered on sellin' her to you, nohow. I kin take her over to +Dawson an' make ten thousan' offen her in six months' time. They got the +dust over there, an' they ain't afraid to spend it—an' they know a good +lookin' woman when they see one. I'm a tellin' you they ain't no woman +ever hit the Yukon that kin anyways touch her fer looks—an' I've saw +'em all. The only reason I'm offerin' her to you is because I kin run +her up here a damn sight easier than I kin take her clean over to +Dawson—an' with a damn sight less risk, too."</p> + +<p>"How old is she?" growled the Captain.</p> + +<p>"Ain't a day over twenty. She's dirt cheap at a thousan'. You could have +her all winter, an' next summer you could slip into one of them coast +towns, Juneau, or Skagway, or even the ones farther north, an' make five +or ten times what you paid fer her."</p> + +<p>"But s'pose she got spunky, an' I'd kill her, or knock out her teeth, er +an eye—then where'd my profits be? Women's hell to handle if they take +a notion."</p> + +<p>"That's your lookout. It's your money that's<!-- Page 282 --> invested, an' if you ain't +got sense enough to look after it, it's your funeral—not mine."</p> + +<p>"How you goin' to git her here? How you goin' to git her away from the +Injuns? An' how do you know where she's at?"</p> + +<p>"It's like this. Last summer she leaves the mission an' her an' the old +squaw talks the Dog Ribs into hittin' over onto the Coppermine to +prospect. They gits over there an' builds 'em a camp, an' starts in +trappin' an' prospectin'. But a couple of the bucks has got a thirst fer +hooch, an' they can't git none so they pulls out an' hits back fer the +Mackenzie. I run onto one of 'em an' he give me the dope—he's the one +that's here with me, an' he's goin' to guide me down to the village when +I git ready to go. That's why I asked Ace-In-The-Hole if he'd saw 'em. I +didn't want him buttin' in on the deal—the old squaw's bad enough, but +Gawd! I seen him kill three men in about a second in a saloon in Dawson +over a stud game—bare handed. They ain't no woman ever got her hooks +into him—not even The Queen of the Yukon—an' she done her +damndest—really loved him, an' all that sort of bunk. I know all about +women, an' she'd of run straight as hell if he'd of married her—some +says she's run straight ever sense she got caked in on him—even after +she seen it wasn't no use. He kind of sticks up fer 'em all. Anyways, he +knocked hell out of me one night when I was lacin' it to a gal I'd brung +into the country with a dog whip. He<!-- Page 283 --> won't stand fer no rough stuff +when they's women mixed up in it, an' I'd ruther be in hell with my legs +cut off than have him find out what we was up to. I don't want none of +his meat—me!"</p> + +<p>"Better go easy with yer jaw then," advised the Captain, "Mebbe he ain't +so damn dead to the world as he's lettin' on."</p> + +<p>Claw laughed: "I've got him gauged. I've studied him 'cause I aimed to +git him sometime. He's a hooch-hound right. Half what he's drunk today +will put him dead fer hours. You could pull all his teeth an' he'd never +feel it. No, we ain't got to bother about him. He'll be out of the way +before I hit fer the Injun camp, anyhow. We'll wake him up after while, +an' I'll give him the bottle of hooch, like I said, so he'll stay soused +an' not move his camp, then we'll hit over there with more hooch, an' +when he uncovers his dust we'll git him an' the Injun both. Your share +of his dust will be half enough to pay fer the breed. But, before we +start out you fork over half the price—balance payable on delivery, an' +me an' the Injun'll hit on up the river an' fetch back the girl. It'll +cost you a keg of rum besides the thousan', 'cause the only way to git +her away from them Siwashes'll be to git 'em all tanked up. They'll be +right fer it, bein' off the hooch as long as they have. But, at that, I +better take along a man or two of the crew, to help me handle 'em."</p> + +<p>"We won't bother none of the crew," rasped the<!-- Page 284 --> Captain, harshly. "I'll +jest go 'long myself. With five hundred dollars of my dust in yer jeans +fer a starter after ye'd got her, ye might git to thinkin' o' them ten +thousan' you could make off her in Dawson—not that I wouldn't trust +you, you understand, but jest to save myself some worry while you was +gone, then, if she's as good lookin' as you say, I'd ruther be along +myself than let you an' some of the crew have her till you get here."</p> + +<p>Brent's first sensation when he heard the name of Snowdrift upon Claw's +lips had been one of blind, unreasoning fury, but his brain cleared +rapidly as the man proceeded, and as he listened to the unspeakable +horror of the conversation, the blind fury gave place to a cold, deadly +rage. He realized that if he were to save the woman he loved from a fate +more horrible than he had ever conceived of, he must exert the utmost +care to make no false move. His heart chilled at the thought of what +would have happened to her had he yielded to the first blind impulse to +launch himself at the throats of the men there in the little cabin where +all the odds were against him. A pistol shot, a blow from behind, and +Snowdrift would have been left absolutely in the power of these fiends.</p> + +<p>Cold sober, now, his one thought was to get out of the cabin, yet he +dared not move. Should he show signs of returning consciousness he knew +that suspicion would immediately fasten upon him, and that his life +would not be worth a penny. He must<!-- Page 285 --> wait until they roused him, and +even then, he must not be easily roused. Claw had assured the Captain +that half the amount of liquor would deaden him for hours, therefore he +must play his part. But could he? Was it humanly possible to endure the +physical torture of his cramped position. Every muscle of his body ached +horribly. His head ached, he was consumed with torturing thirst, and his +mouth was coated with a bitter slime. Added to this was the brain +torture of suspense when his every instinct called for action. Suppose +they should change their minds. He dared not risk opening his eyes to +the merest slit, because he knew that Claw or the Captain might be +holding a knife to his ribs, or a pistol at his head. Any moment might +be his last—and then—Snowdrift—he dared not even shudder at the +thought. There was another danger, suppose he should over-play his part, +when they undertook to awaken him, or should under-play it? He knew to a +certainty that one false move would mean death without a chance to +defend himself, unarmed as he was and with the odds of three to one +against him.</p> + +<p>An interminable period, during which the men talked and wrangled among +themselves, was interrupted by a loud knock upon the door.</p> + +<p>"Who's there?" roared the Captain, "An' what d'ye want?"</p> + +<p>"Dat me—Joe Pete," came a familiar voice from beyond the door. "An' I'm +t'ink dat tam we goin'<!-- Page 286 --> back. She start to snow, an' I ain' lak we git +los'. Too mooch no trail."</p> + +<p>"Might's well git 'em started now as anytime," whispered Claw. "<i>We</i> +don't want 'em to git lost, neither. What we want is fer 'em to git to +their camp an' then the snow an' the hooch'll hold 'em till we git +there."</p> + +<p>"Next thing is to git him woke up," answered the Captain. Aloud, he +called to Joe Pete: "All right, come on in an' give us a hand, yer +pardner's stewed to the guards, an' it ain't goin' to be no cinch to +wake him up."</p> + +<p>The door opened, and Brent's heart gave a leap as he felt the hand of +the big Indian upon his shoulder. If anything should go wrong now, at +least the odds against him were greatly reduced insofar as the occupants +of the cabin were concerned. But, there would still be the crew—they +could shoot from the cover of the igloos— The hand was shaking him +roughly, and it was with a feeling of vast relief that Brent allowed his +head to roll about upon the stiffened muscles of his neck. A glass was +pressed to his lips, and there was nothing feigned in the coughing with +which he sought to remove the strangling liquor from his throat. His +eyes opened, and the next instant a dipper of cold water was dashed into +his face. The shaking continued, and he babbled feeble protest: "Lemme +'lone. G'way—le'me sleep!" The shaking was redoubled, and Brent blinked +stupidly, and feigned maudlin anger<!-- Page 287 --> as the Indian slapped him with the +flat of his hand, first on one cheek and then on the other. "Who you +slappin'," he muttered, thickly, as he staggered to his feet and stood +swaying and holding to the table for support, "C'm on an' fight!" he +challenged, acting his part to a nicety, glaring owlishly about, "I c'n +lick y'all. Gi'me some water, I'm burnin' up." A dipper of water was +thrust into his hands and he drained it in huge gulps, "What's goin' on +here?" he asked, apparently revived a little by the water, "Gi'me some +hooch!"</p> + +<p>Claw laid a conciliating hand upon his arm: "Listen, Ace-In-The-Hole," +he purred, "Not no more hooch right now. It's startin' to snow, an' you +got to be hittin' fer camp. Look a here," he picked up a corked bottle +and extended it to Brent, "Here's a bottle fer you. Wait till you git to +camp, and then go to it. 'Twon't take you only a little while—but you +got to git goin'. If she thicks up on you before you git to the +mountains you'll be in a hell of a fix—but you got time to make it if +the Siwash will shove the dogs along. Better let him ride the sled," he +said, turning to Joe Pete, "You'll make better time."</p> + +<p>Brent took the bottle and slipped it beneath his parka: "How much?" he +asked, fumbling clumsily for his sack.</p> + +<p>"That's all right," assured Claw, "Tain't nothin' 't all. It's a present +from me an' Cap. Shows we know how to treat a friend. Come over an' see +us<!-- Page 288 --> agin, when the storm lets up. Yer welcome to anything we got."</p> + +<p>"Much 'blige, Claw," mumbled Brent, blinking with solemn gravity, as he +smothered an impulse to reach out and crush the man's wind-pipe in the +grip of his hand, "Didn't know you was good fren' of mine. Know +it—now—an' you, too, Cap—an' you, too, Snaggs."</p> + +<p>"Scroggs," corrected the mate, "Asa Scroggs."</p> + +<p>"Sure—Scroggs—'scuse me—mus' be little full. My name's Ace, +too—Ace-In-The-Hole—pair of aces, haw, haw, haw! Pair to draw to, I'll +say. Well, s'long. Tell you what," he said, as he turned to the door, +leaning heavily upon Joe Pete, "You come on over to my camp, when the +storm lets up. Right on the river—can't miss it—Bloody Falls—where +Old Hearne's Injuns butchered the poor Eskimos—damn shame! Bring over +plenty of hooch—I've got the dust to pay for it—bring dozen +bottles—plenty dust back there in camp—an' it'll be my treat."</p> + +<p>"We'll come," the Captain hastened to accept, "Might's well be good +friends. Neighbors hain't none too thick in these parts. We'll come, +won't we Claw—an' we'll bring the hooch."</p> + +<p>Stumbling and mumbling, Brent negotiated the narrow ally and the steep +flight of stairs in the wake of Joe Pete. At the head of the ladder that +led down the ship's side, he managed to stumble and land harmlessly in a +huge pile of snow that had been<!-- Page 289 --> shoveled aside to make a path to the +igloos, and amid the jibes of the two sailors who were cutting blubber, +allowed Joe Pete to help him onto the sled.</p> + +<p>The wind had risen to half a gale. Out of the northeast it roared, +straight across the frozen gulf from the treeless, snow-buried wastes of +Wollaston Land, driving before it flinty particles of snow that hissed +earthward in long cutting slants.</p> + +<p>Heading the dogs southward, Joe Pete struck into the back-trail and, +running behind, with a firm grip on the tail-rope, urged them into a +pace that carried the outfit swiftly over the level snow-covered ice.</p> + +<p>Upon the sled Brent lay thinking. Now that the necessity for absolute +muscle control no longer existed, the condition of cold hate into which +he had forced himself gave place to a surge of rage that drove his nails +into his palms, and curses from his lips, as he tried in his unreasoning +fury to plan extermination of the two fiends who had plotted the +soul-murder of his wonder woman. He would tear them to shreds with his +two hands. He would shoot them down from ambush without a chance to +protect themselves, as they searched for his camp among the rock-ridges +of Bloody Falls.</p> + +<p>Gradually the fume of fury cooled and he planned more sanely. He was +conscious of a torturing thirst. The bottle of hooch pressed against his +side, and carefully so as not to disturb the covering robe, he drew it +from beneath his parka. He was<!-- Page 290 --> cold sober, now. The shock of what he +had heard in the cabin of the <i>Belva Lou</i> had completely purged his +brain of the effect of the strong liquor. But not so his body. Every +nerve and fibre of him called for more liquor. There was a nauseating +sickness in his stomach, a gnawing dryness in his throat, and a creeping +coldness in his veins that called for the feel of the warm glow of +liquor. Never in his life had the physical desire for drink been more +acute—but his brain was cold sober.</p> + +<p>Nothing of the heart-sickening remorse of his first moments of +consciousness assailed him now. What was done was done. He knew that he +had yielded to his desire for drink, had weakly succumbed to the first +temptation, as he had always weakly succumbed—an act, in itself +contemptible. But with an ironical smile he realized that his very +weakness had placed him in a position to save from a fate a thousand +times more horrible than death, the girl who had become dearer to him +than life itself. But, with that realization, came also the realization +that only by the merest accident, had the good been born of evil, that +the natural and logical result of his act would have had its culmination +at Bloody Falls when he and Joe Pete would have sunk down dead upon the +snow at the moment he produced the gold to pay for more hooch. Claw had +laid his plans along the logical sequence of events. "He played me for a +drunkard, as he had a right to," muttered Brent. "And<!-- Page 291 --> his scheme would +have worked except for one little mistake. He forgot to figure that +physically I'm a better man than I was back at Dawson. He thought he had +me gauged right, and so he talked. But—he over-played his hand. An hour +ago, I was a drunkard. Am I a drunkard now? It is the test," he +muttered, "The war is on," and with a grim tightening of the lips, he +thrust the bottle back under his parka.</p> + +<p>Three times within the next two hours he withdrew the bottle. And three +times he returned it to its place. He thought of tossing it into the +snow—and a moment later, angrily dismissed the thought. "<i>She</i> wouldn't +ask odds of the hooch and I won't either! I'll keep this bottle right +with me. I'll fight this fight like a man—like a Brent! And, by God, +when I win, it won't be because I couldn't get the hooch! It will be +because I wouldn't drink it when I had it!"</p> + +<p>And, the next moment, to the utter astonishment of Joe Pete, he leaped +perfectly sober from the sled, and took his place at the tail-rope with +a laughing command to the Indian to take a rest on the robes.</p> + +<p>An hour later, Brent halted the dogs and aroused Joe Pete. "We ought to +have hit shore by this time," he said, "I'm afraid something's wrong."</p> + +<p>The snow had thickened, entirely obliterating the trail, and forming an +opaque wall through which the eye could penetrate but a short distance +beyond the lead dog.<!-- Page 292 --></p> + +<p>The Indian noted the course, and the direction of the wind. "Mebbe-so +win' change," he opined, and even as he spoke the long sweeping lines of +snow were broken into bewildering zig-zags. A puff of wind coming at a +right angle from the direction of the driving gale was followed by +another blustering puff from the opposite direction, and they came thick +and fast from every direction, and seemingly from all directions at +once. The snow became powder-fine and, in a confusion of battering +blasts, the two men pushed uncertainly on.<!-- Page 293 --></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<p class="tdc">TRAPPED</p> + + +<p>For three days the Arctic blizzard raged and howled, and drifted the +snow deep over the igloos that were grouped about the hulk of the <i>Belva +Lou</i>. On the morning of the fourth day Claw and the Captain made their +way across the snow-buried deck and gazed out toward the distant ridges +of the Copper Mountains.</p> + +<p>"Might's well git started," opined Claw, "Have 'em load a week's grub +onto my sled, an' you an' me, an' the Dog Rib'll hit out."</p> + +<p>"Will a week's grub be enough?" growled the Captain, "It's goin' to be a +hell of a trip. Mebbe we'd ort to wait a couple o' days an' see what the +weather'll do."</p> + +<p>"Wait—hell!" cried Claw, "What's the use waitin'? The b'rom'ter's up, +an' you know damn well we ain't in fer no more storm fer a week er two. +What we want to do is to git over to Bloody Falls before Ace-In-The-Hole +takes a notion to break camp. An' what's the use of packin' more grub? +We'll have his won't we?"<!-- Page 294 --></p> + +<p>"He ain't goin' to break camp till we come along with the hooch," argued +the other, "Couple days more an' this snow will be settled an' the +goin'll be easier."</p> + +<p>"If you don't want to go, you kin stay here," retorted Claw, "Me—I +ain't goin' to take no chances. I an' the Dog Rib kin handle them two, +if you don't want none of it. An' then we'll shove on to the Injun camp +an' git the girl, an' I'll jest slip on over to Dawson with her—a +thousan' dollars is too cheap, anyhow. If I hadn't of b'n lit up I'd +never offered her to you fer no such figger."</p> + +<p>"A trade's a trade," interrupted the Captain. "If yer so hell-bent on +goin', I'll go along." He shouted the necessary orders to the sailors +who were clearing the snow from the doorways of the igloos, and the two +turned to the cabin.</p> + +<p>"I'll take that five hundred now, before we start, an' you kin give me +the balance when we git back with the girl," suggested Claw.</p> + +<p>"Ye said there'd be five hundred apiece in Ace-In-The-Hole's sack," +reminded the Captain, "I'll pay the first installment with that."</p> + +<p>"You will, like hell! You'll pay me now. We ain't got that sack yet. +Come acrost."</p> + +<p>"I'll give ye an order on——"</p> + +<p>"You'll give me an order on no one! You'll count out five hundred, cash +money—dust, er bills, right here in this cabin, 'fore we budge an inch. +You've got it—come acrost!"<!-- Page 295 --></p> + +<p>After much grumbling the Captain produced a roll of bills and counting +off five hundred dollars, passed the money reluctantly across the table +to Claw, who immediately stowed it away. "Don't forget to have 'em put a +keg of rum on the sled," he reminded, "We'll need it when we get to the +Injuns. Not half water, neither. What we want this trip is the strong +stuff that'll set 'em afire."</p> + +<p>"You got to stand your half o' the rum. We're pardners on this."</p> + +<p>"I stand nothin'. You put up the rum, an' the grub, an' a thousan' +dollars fer the girl. My contract is to git her, an' deliver her on +board the <i>Belva Lou</i>. The only thing we're pardners on is +Ace-In-The-Hole's dust. A trade's a trade—an' you got all the best of +it, at that."</p> + +<p>Late that afternoon Claw and the Captain, and the renegade Dog Rib +reached the Bloody Falls of the Coppermine, and searched vainly for +Brent's camp.</p> + +<p>"Pulled out!" cried the Captain, after an hour's search along the base +of the upstanding rock ledges.</p> + +<p>Claw shook his head: "They never got here," he amended, "The storm got +bad before they hit the ridges, an' they're lost."</p> + +<p>"Where's the camp, then?"</p> + +<p>Claw indicated the high piled snow: "Tent was only pegged to the snow. +Wind blew it down, and the fresh snow buried it. We'll camp an' hang<!-- Page 296 --> +around a couple of days. If they weathered the storm, they'll be along +by that time. If they didn't—well, they won't bother us none with the +girl."</p> + +<p>"But, how about the dust?" asked the Captain, "If they don't come, we've +got to find the camp."</p> + +<p>Claw laughed: "You'll have a hell of a time doin' it! With the snow +piled twenty foot deep along them ledges. If they don't show up, we'll +shove on to the Injuns. It's clost to a hundred an' fifty mile to the +camp, accordin' to the Dog Rib, an' it'll take us anyways a week to make +it, with the goin' as bad as it is."</p> + +<p>"An' if we hang around here fer a couple o' days, that'll make nine +days, with a week's grub. What ye goin' to do 'bout that? I told ye we'd +ort to take more."</p> + +<p>"Yer head don't hurt you none—the way you work it, does it?" sneered +Claw, "I s'pose we couldn't send the Dog Rib back fer some more grub +while we was awaitin'? An' while he's gone you kin git a belly full of +rootin' up the snow to find the camp."</p> + +<p>For two days Claw laid in the tent and laughed at the Captain's sporadic +efforts to uncover Brent's camp. "If you'd help, 'stead of layin' around +laughin', we might find it!" flared the Captain.</p> + +<p>"I don't want to find it," jeered Claw, "I'm usin' my head—me. The main +reason I come here was to kill Ace-In-The-Hole, so he couldn't butt in +on<!-- Page 297 --> the other business. If the storm saved me the trouble, all right."</p> + +<p>"But, the dust!"</p> + +<p>"Sure—the dust," mocked Claw. "If we find the camp, an' locate the +dust, I divide it up with you. If we don't—I slip up here in the +spring, when you're chasin' whales, an' with the snow melted off all I +got to do is reach down an' pick it up—an' they won't be no dividin', +neither."</p> + +<p>"What's to hinder me from slippin' in here long about that time? Two kin +play that game."</p> + +<p>"Help yerself," grinned Claw, "Only, the Mounted patrol will be along in +the spring, an' they'll give you a chanct to explain about winterin' +them klooches on the <i>Belva Lou</i>. You've forgot, mebbe, that such +customs is frowned on."</p> + +<p>"Ye damn double dealin' houn'!" cried the Captain, angrily.</p> + +<p>"Double dealin', eh? I s'pose I'd ort to be out there breakin' my back +diggin' in the snow, so I could divvy up with you dust that I could have +all to myself, by takin' it easy. I offered to share the dust with you, +cause I figgered I needed yer help in bumpin' off them two. If you don't +help, you don't git paid, an' that's all there is to it."</p> + +<p>The Indian returned with the provisions, and in the morning of the third +day they struck out up the Coppermine, with the Indian breaking trail +ahead of the dogs.</p> + +<p>"I didn't expect 'em to show up," grinned Claw,<!-- Page 298 --> as he trudged along +behind the Captain. "I figgered if they didn't make camp that first +stretch, they never would make it. Full of hooch, a man ain't fit to hit +the trail even in good weather. He thinks he kin stand anything—an' he +can't stand nothin'. The cold gits him. Here's what happened. The storm +gits thick, an' they git off the course. The Siwash is lost an' he tries +to wake up Ace-In-The-Hole. He finds the bottle of hooch—and that's the +end of the Siwash. Somewheres out on the sea-ice, or in under the snow +on the flats they's two frozen corpses—an' damn good reddence, I says."</p> + +<p>Shortly after noon of the sixth day on the trail, the Dog Rib halted +abruptly and stood staring in bewilderment at a little log cabin, half +buried in the snow, that showed between the spruce trunks upon the right +bank of the stream. Claw hastened forward, and spoke to him in jargon. +The Indian shook his head, and by means of signs and bits of jargon, +conveyed the information that the cabin did not belong to the Indian +camp, and that it had not been there at the time he fled from the camp. +He further elucidated that the camp was several miles along.</p> + +<p>"Must be some of 'em got sore at the rest, an' moved up here an' built +the shack," opined Claw, "Anyways, we got to find out—but we better be +heeled when we do it." He looked to his revolver, and stooping, picked +up a rifle from the sled. The Captain followed his example, and Claw +ordered<!-- Page 299 --> the Indian to proceed. No one had appeared, and at the foot of +the ascent to the cabin, Claw paused to examine a snow-covered mound. +The Captain was about to join him when, with a loud yell of terror, he +suddenly disappeared from sight, and the next moment the welkin rang +with his curses, while Claw laughing immoderately at the mishap, stood +peering into Brent's brush-covered shaft. It was but the work of a few +moments to haul the discomfited Captain from the hole. "Shaft, an' an +ore dump," explained Claw. "This here's a white man's layout, an' he's +up to date, too. They ain't be'n burnin' in, even on the Yukon, only a +year or so. Wonder who he is?"</p> + +<p>The two followed the Indian who had halted before the cabin, and stood +looking down at the snowshoe trail that led from the door.</p> + +<p>"Off huntin', I guess. Er over to the Injun camp. Looks like them tracks +was made yesterday. He ain't done no work in the shaft though sence the +storm. We'll go in an' make ourself to home till he gits back, anyhow. I +don't like the idee of no white man in here. 'Cordin' to who it +is—but——"</p> + +<p>"Mebbe it ain't a white man," ventured the Captain.</p> + +<p>"Sure it's a white man. Didn't I jest tell you that burnin' in ain't no +Injun trick?"</p> + +<p>"Dog Rib snowshoes," suggested the Indian in jargon, pointing to the +tracks.</p> + +<p>"That don't prove nothin'," retorted Claw, "He<!-- Page 300 --> could of got 'em from +the Injuns, couldn't he? They's two of 'em lives here," he added, from +the interior. "Unharness the dogs, while I build up a fire."</p> + +<div class="p2" /> + +<p>From the moment of Brent's departure, Snowdrift bent all her energies +persuading the Indians to burn into the gravel for gold. At first her +efforts were unavailing. Even Wananebish refused to take any interest in +the proceeding, so the girl was forced to cut her own wood, tend her own +fire, and throw out her own gravel. When, however, at the end of a week +she panned out some yellow gold in the little cabin, as she had seen +Brent do, the old squaw was won completely over, and thereafter the two +women worked side by side, with the result that upon the test panning, +Snowdrift computed that they, too, were taking out almost an ounce a day +apiece. When the other Indians saw the gold they also began to scrape +away the snow, and to cut wood and to build their fires on the gravel. +Men and women, and even the children worked all day and took turns +tending the fire at night. Trapping and hunting were forgotten in the +new found craze for gold, and it became necessary for Snowdrift to tole +off hunters for the day, as the supply of meat shrank to an alarming +minimum.</p> + +<p>By the end of another week interest began to flag. The particles of gold +collected in the test pannings were small in size, and few in number, +the<!-- Page 301 --> work was hard and distasteful, and it became more and more +difficult for the girl to explain to them that these grains were not the +ultimate reward for the work, that they were only tests, and that the +real reward would not be visible until spring when they would clean up +the gravel dumps that were mounding up beside the shafts. The Indians +wanted to know how this was to be accomplished, and Snowdrift suddenly +realized that she did not know. She tried to remember what Brent had +told her of the sluicing out process, and realized that he had told very +little. Both had been content to let the details go until such time as +the sluicing should begin. Vaguely, she told the Indians of sluice boxes +and riffles, but they were quick to see that she knew not whereof she +spoke. In vain, she told them that Brent would explain it all when he +returned, but they had little use for this white man who had no hooch to +trade. At last, in desperation, she hit upon the expedient of showing +the Indians more gold. From Brent's sack she extracted quantities of +dust which she displayed with pride. The plan worked at first, but soon, +the Indians became dissatisfied with their own showing, and either +knocked off altogether, or ceased work on the shafts and began to +laboriously pan out their dumps, melting the ice for water, and carrying +the gravel, a pan at a time, to their cabins.</p> + +<p>This too, was abandoned after a few days, and the Indians returned to +their traps, and to the<!-- Page 302 --> snaring of rabbits. Only Snowdrift and old +Wananebish kept up to the work of cutting and hauling the wood, tending +the fires, and throwing out the gravel. Despite the grueling toil, +Snowdrift found time nearly every day to slip up and visit Brent's +cabin. Sometimes she would go only to the bend of the river and gaze at +it from a distance. Again she would enter and sit in his chair, or +moving softly about the room, handle almost reverently the things that +were his, wiping them carefully and returning them to their place. She +purloined a shirt from a nail above his bunk, and carrying it home used +it as a pattern for a wonderfully wrought shirt of buckskin and beads. +Each evening, she worked on the shirt, while Wananebish sat stolidly by, +and each night as she knelt beside her bunk she murmured a prayer for +the well-being of the big strong man who was hers.</p> + +<p>But whether it was at the shaft, at her needle, at her devotions, or +upon her frequent trips to his cabin, her thoughts were always of Brent, +and her love for him grew with the passing of the days until her longing +for his presence amounted, at times, almost to a physical pain. One by +one, she counted the days of his absence, and mentally speculated upon +his return. After the second week had passed she never missed a day in +visiting his cabin. Always at the last bend of the river, she quickened +her steps, and always she paused, breathless, for some sign of his +return.<!-- Page 303 --></p> + +<p>"Surely, he will come soon," she would mutter, when the inspection +showed only the lifeless cabin, or, "He will come tomorrow." When the +seventeenth and the eighteenth days had passed, with no sign of him, the +girl, woman like, began to conjure up all sort and manner of dire +accident that could have befallen him. He might have been drowned upon a +thinly crusted rapid. He might have become lost. Or frozen. Or, ventured +upon a snow cornice and been dashed to pieces upon the rocks below. +Every violent death known to the North she pictured for him, and as each +picture formed in her brain, she dismissed it, laughed at her fears, and +immediately pictured another.</p> + +<p>On the nineteenth day she chopped wood until the early darkness drove +her from her tasks, then she returned to the cabin and, fastening on her +snowshoes, struck off down the river. "Surely, he will be here today," +she murmured, "If he is not here today I will know something has +happened, and tomorrow I shall start out to find him. But, no—I am +foolish! Did he not say it would be two weeks—a month—maybe +longer—those were his very words. And it is only nineteen days, and +that is not a month. But, he will come sooner!" She flushed deeply, "He +will come to <i>me</i>—for he does love me, even as I love him. In his eyes +I have seen it—and in his voice—and in the touch of his hand."</p> + +<p>The last bend was almost in sight and she quick<!-- Page 304 -->ened her pace. She knew +to an inch, the exact spot from which the first glimpse of the cabin was +to be had. She reached the spot and stared eagerly toward the spruce +thicket. The next instant a glad cry rang out upon the still Arctic air. +"Oh, he has come! He has come! The light is in his window! Oh, my +darling! My own, own man!"</p> + +<p>Half laughing, half sobbing, she ran forward, urging her tired muscles +to their utmost, stumbling, recovering, hurrying on. Only a minute more +now! Up the bank from the river! And, not even pausing to remove her +snowshoes, she burst into the room with Brent's name upon her lips.</p> + +<p>The next instant the blood rushed from her face leaving it deathly +white. She drew herself swiftly erect, and with a wild cry of terror +turned to fly from the room. But her snowshoes fouled, and she fell +heavily to the floor, just as Johnnie Claw, with a triumphant leer upon +his bearded face leaped to the door, banged it shut, and stood with his +back against it, leering and smirking down at her, while the Captain of +the <i>Belva Lou</i> knelt over her and stared into her eyes with burning, +bestial gaze.<!-- Page 305 --></p> + + +<div class="p6" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<p class="tdc">"YOU ARE WHITE!"</p> + + +<p>"So! my beauty!" grinned the Captain, "Fer once in his life Claw didn't +lie. An' ye didn't wait fer us to go an' git ye—jest come right to us +nice as ye please—an' saved me a keg o' rum." He rose with an evil +leer. "An' now git up an' make yerself to home—an' long as ye do as I +say, an' don't git yer back up, you an' me'll git along fine."</p> + +<p>Frantic with terror the girl essayed to rise, but her snowshoes impeded +her movements, so with trembling fingers she loosened the thongs and, +leaping to her feet, backed into a corner, and stared in wide-eyed +horror first at the Captain, then at Claw, the sight of whom caused her +to shrink still further against the wall.</p> + +<p>The man sneered: "Know me, eh? Rec'lect the time, over to the mission I +tried to persuade you to make the trip to Dawson with me do you? Well, I +made up my mind I'd git you. Tried to buy you offen the squaw an' she +like to tore me to pieces. I'd of kidnapped you then, if it hadn't be'n +fer the Mounted. But I've got you now—got you an' sold<!-- Page 306 --> you to him," he +grinned, pointing to the Captain. "An' yer lucky, at that. Let me make +you acquainted with Cap Jinkins. 'Tain't every breed girl gits to be +mistress of a ship like the <i>Belva Lou</i>."</p> + +<p>Her eyes blazing with anger, she pointed a trembling finger at Claw: +"Stand away from that door! Let me go!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, jest like that!" mocked the man. "If he says let you go, it's all +right with me, pervided he comes acrost with the balance of the dust."</p> + +<p>The Captain laughed, and turning to the Dog Rib, he ordered: "Slip out +to the sled an' git a bottle o' rum, an' we'll all have a little drink."</p> + +<p>For the first time Snowdrift noticed the presence of the Indian. +"Yondo!" she screamed, "This is your work! You devil!" and beside +herself with rage and terror, she snatched a knife from the table and +leaped upon him like a panther.</p> + +<p>"Git back there!" cried Claw, leveling his revolver.</p> + +<p>Quick as a flash, the Captain knocked up the gun, pinioned the girl's +arms from behind, and stood glaring over her shoulder at Claw: "Put up +that gun, damn ye! An' look out who yer pullin' it on!"</p> + +<p>"By God, that's my Injun! I ain't through with him, yet, an' there ain't +no damn jade kin carve him up in under my nose."</p> + +<p>"An' this here's my woman, too. An' there ain't no damn hooch runner kin +pull a gun on her, neither!"<!-- Page 307 --></p> + +<p>"Ain't no harm done," conciliated Claw, "An' I guess they ain't no call +to fight over 'em. How about that drink?"</p> + +<p>"Git it!" ordered the Captain, and as the cowering Dog Rib slunk from +the room, he snatched the knife from the pinioned hand of the girl and +hurled it under the bunk:</p> + +<p>"An', now you hell-cat!" he rasped, pushing her from him, "You set to +an' git supper! An' don't go tryin' no more monkey business, er I'll +break ye in two! They seems to be grub enough here without usin' none of +my own," he added, eying the supplies ranged along the opposite wall, +"Who owns this shack, anyhow?"</p> + +<p>"Carter Brent owns it," cried the girl, drawing herself erect and +glaring into the man's eyes. It was as though the very mention of his +name, nerved her to defiance. "And when he returns, he will kill you +both—kill you! Do you hear?"</p> + +<p>"It's a lie!" roared Claw, then paused, abruptly. "I wonder—maybe it is +his shack. He come straight from the Yukon, an' that accounts fer the +burnin' in."</p> + +<p>"Know him?" asked the Captain.</p> + +<p>"Know him!" growled Claw, "Yes, I know him—an' so do you. That's +Ace-In-The-Hole's real name."</p> + +<p>"The hell it is!" cried the Captain, and laughed uproariously. "So +that's the way the wind blows! An' the breed's be'n livin' here with +him! Things<!-- Page 308 --> is sure comin' my way! That's most too good to be true—an' +you misrepresentin' her to be a virgin, fresh from a school—ho, ho, +ho!"</p> + +<p>"What'd you mean?" snarled Claw, "How was I to know——"</p> + +<p>"Whether ye know'd, er whether ye didn't, it didn't make no +difference—I win either way."</p> + +<p>"What d'you mean?" Claw repeated.</p> + +<p>"You know what I mean," sneered the Captain, truculently, "Secondhand +goods—half price—see?"</p> + +<p>"You mean I don't git my other five hundred?" yelled Claw jerking the +revolver from his holster and levelling at the Captain's head, "Is that +what ye mean?"</p> + +<p>Surprised at the suddenness of the action, the Captain was caught off +guard, and he stood blinking foolishly into the mouth of the gun: +"Well," he faltered, moistening his lips with his tongue, "Mebbe we +might kind o' talk it over."</p> + +<p>"The only talkin' over you'll git out of me, is to come acrost with the +five hundred," sneered Claw.</p> + +<p>"Ye know damn well I ain't got no five hundred with me. Wait till we git +to the <i>Belva Lou</i>."</p> + +<p>"I'll wait, all right—but not till we git to the <i>Belva Lou</i>. Me an' +the girl will wait on shore, in sight of the <i>Belva Lou</i>, while you go +out an' git the money an' fetch it back—an' you'll come back <i>alone</i> +with it. An' what's more—you ain't ahead nothin' on the rum, neither. +'Cause I'm goin' to slip<!-- Page 309 --> down to the Injun camp in about five minutes, +an' the rum goes along. I'll be back by daylight, an' instead of the +rum, I'll have all the fur—an' everything else them Dog Ribs has got. +An' I'll git square with that damn squaw fer jerkin' that handful of +whiskers out of me, too."</p> + +<p>"That's all right, Johnnie," assured the Captain, still with his eyes on +the black muzzle of the gun. "Take the rum along—only, we'd ort to +split half an' half on that fur."</p> + +<p>"Half an' half, hell! You got what you come after, ain't you? An' if I +kin pick up an honest dollar on the side, that ain't no reason I should +split it with you, is it? I'll jest leave you two to git acquainted +while I slip down to the camp."</p> + +<p>"Go ahead," grinned the Captain, "An' don't hurry back, we'll wait."</p> + +<p>"Yer damn right you'll wait!" retorted Claw, "I'll have the dogs." In +the doorway he paused, "An', by the way, Cap. Don't open that door till +I git out of range—see?"</p> + +<p>The moment the door closed behind Claw, the Captain placed his back +against it and turned to the girl: "Git to work now an' git supper! +We're goin' to hit the back-trail inside an' hour. We kin pack what grub +we'll need, an' we'll git most a hull night's start, cause he'll be busy +with them Injuns till mornin'."</p> + +<p>Snowdrift confronted him with blazing eyes: At the words her blood +seemed to freeze within her,<!-- Page 310 --> leaving her cold and numb with horror. She +had heard of the coastal traffic in winter wives, but always it had +seemed to her a thing vague and unreal. But now the full hideousness of +it stood revealed to her. She herself, at that very moment stood +trapped, bought and sold—absolutely in the power of the two bearded +beasts, who in the very loathsomeness of their filthy minds, discussed +her as they would discuss a piece of merchandise, bargained and haggled +over the price of her living body! A single ray of hope had dawned in +her breast as the men began to quarrel. If they would only come to +blows, and to grip-lock in their rage, she might be able to seize a +weapon, or better still dash from the room. Once in the scrub, she could +easily elude them. But the hope died when Claw covered the Captain with +his gun. And with the hope died also the numbing terror. A strange, +unnatural calm took possession of her. There was still one way out—and +she would seek that way. As the two men stood facing each other, she had +caught a glimpse of the blade of the knife that lay where the Captain +had thrown it, beneath the edge of the bunk. Stealthily her moccasined +foot had reached out and slid it toward her, and as the door opened upon +Claw's departure, she had stooped swiftly and recovered it. She would +plunge the blade into her own heart—no, better, she would attack the +Captain now that they were alone, and either kill him, or by the very +fury of her onslaught, would force him to kill her. So<!-- Page 311 --> with the knife +concealed by her folded arms, her eyes blazed defiance:</p> + +<p>"I'll never cook your supper! You dog! You unspeakable devil! I'll kill +you first—or you'll kill me!"</p> + +<p>"Kill ye, eh?" sneered the man, "Well, I might, at that, if I didn't +have five hundred good dollars tied up in ye. Guess they ain't much +danger of me killin' ye till I get my money back, one way er +another—an' I guess they ain't no one knows that no better'n what you +do. An' as fer killin' <i>me</i>," he laughed, "You look spunky 'nough +to—but I'm hard to kill—it's be'n tried."</p> + +<p>"I've warned you!" cried the girl, "And I'll kill you!"</p> + +<p>"Git to work! Damn ye!" snarled the Captain, "yer losin' time! You cook +that supper, er by God I'll make ye wisht I had killed ye! I'll tame ye! +I'll show ye who's boss! Mebbe you won't be so pretty when I git through +with ye—but ye'll be tame!"</p> + +<p>The innermost thought of her brain found voice in words, "Oh, if he were +here!"</p> + +<p>"Hollerin' fer yer man, eh," taunted the Captain, "Ye ain't his'n now, +yer mine—an' he won't come cause he's dead——"</p> + +<p>"Dead!" The word shrieked from the lips of the tortured girl, "No, no, +no!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, yes," mocked the man, "He's dead an' froze hard as a capstan +bar, somewheres upon<!-- Page 312 --> the sea ice, an' his Injun, too. Got dead drunk +upon the <i>Belva Lou</i>, an' started fer shore in the big storm—an' he +never got there. So ye might's well make the best of it with me. An' +I'll treat ye right if ye give me what I want. An' if ye don't give it, +I'll take it—an' it'll be the worse fer you."</p> + +<p>The girl scarcely heard the words. Brent was dead. Her whole world—the +world that was just beginning to unfold its beauties and its +possibilities to her—to hold promise of the wondrous happiness of which +she had read and dreamed, but had never expected to realize—her whole +world had suddenly come crashing about her—Brent was dead, and—like a +flame of fire the thought flashed across her brain—the man responsible +for his death stood before her, and was even now threatening her with a +fate a thousand times worse than death.</p> + +<p>With a wild scream, animal-like, terrifying in its fury, the girl sprang +upon the man like a tiger. He saw the flash of the knife blade in the +air, and warding off the blow with his arm, felt the bite and the hot +rip of it as it tore into his shoulder. With a yell of pain and rage he +struck blindly out, and his fist sent the girl crashing against the +table. The force of the impact jarred the chimney from the little oil +bracket-lamp, and the light suddenly dimmed to a red flaring half-gloom. +Like a flash the girl recovered herself, and again she flew at the man +whose hand gripped the butt of his revolver. Again he struck out to ward +the blow, and by the merest<!-- Page 313 --> accident the barrel of the heavy gun struck +the wrist of the hand that held the knife hurling it from her grasp, +while at the same time his foot tripped her and she crashed heavily to +the floor. Before she could get up, the man was upon her, cursing, +panting hot fury. Kicking, striking out, clawing like a wild cat, the +girl managed to tear herself from his grasp, but as she regained her +feet, a huge hand fastened in the neck of her shirt. There was a moment +of terrific strain as she pulled to free herself, holding to the +stanchion of the bunk for support, then with a loud ripping sound the +garment, and the heavy woolen undershirt beneath gave way, and the girl, +stripped bare to the waist, stood panting with the table interposed +between herself and the man who rose slowly to his feet. At the sight of +her, half naked in the dimly wavering light of the flaring wick flame, +his look suddenly shifted from mad fury to bestial desire. Deliberately +he picked up the knife from the floor, and without taking his eyes from +the girl opened the door and tossed it out into the snow. Then he +returned the revolver to its holster and stared gloatingly at the white +breasts that rose and fell convulsively, as the breath sobbed from the +girl's lungs. And as she looked into his devouring eyes, abysmal terror +once more seized hold of her, for the loathsome desire in those eyes +held more of horror than had their blaze of fury.</p> + +<p>The man moistened his thick lips, smacking them<!-- Page 314 --> in anticipation, and as +he slowly advanced to the table, his foot struck an object that felt +soft and yielding to the touch, yet when he sought to brush it aside, it +was heavy. He glanced down, and the next instant stooped swiftly and +picked up Brent's sack of dust, which the girl had carried inside her +shirt. For an instant, greed supplanted the lust in his eyes, and he +laughed. Long and loud, he laughed, while the girl, pumping the air into +her lungs, gained strength with every second. "So here's where he left +his dust, is it? It's too good to be true! I pay five hundred fer the +girl instead of a thousan', an' all the dust, that Claw'll be up +scratchin' the gravel around Bloody Falls fer next summer. I guess +that's poor—five hundred clean cash profit, an' the girl besides!"</p> + +<p>The sight of Brent's gold in the man's foul clutch was too much for +Snowdrift, and the next instant a billet of stovewood crashed against +the wall within an inch of his head. With a low growl, he dropped the +sack to the floor and started around the table. In vain the girl cast +wildly about for some weapon, as, keeping the table between them, she +milled round and round the room. In vain she tried each time she passed +it, to wrench open the door. But always the man was too quick for her, +and when finally, he pushed the table against it, she once more found +herself cornered this time without a weapon, and half dead from fatigue. +Slowly, deliberately, the man advanced upon her. When he reached out<!-- Page 315 --> +and touched her bare arm with a thick fingered, hairy hand, she shrieked +aloud, and redoubled the fury of her attack, clawing and striking at his +face. But, her onslaught was futile. He easily warded off her tiring +efforts. Closer and closer he pressed, his eyes aglitter with the fever +of lust, his thick lips twisted into a gloating grin, until his arms +closed slowly about her waist and his body pressed hers backward onto +the bunk.</p> + +<div class="p2" /> + +<p>Joe Pete wanted to camp, but Brent would have none of it. The storm +thickened. The wind increased in fury, buffeting them about, and causing +the dogs to whine and cringe in the harness until it became necessary to +fasten a leash to the leader to prevent their bolting. Hopelessly lost +though they were, Brent insisted upon pushing on. "The land lies this +way," he kept saying, "and we'll strike it somewhere along the coast." +Then he would appeal to the Indian who would venture no opinion +whatever, frankly admitting he was lost, and always counseling the +making of a camp. Finally, when darkness came they did camp, merely +digging into the snow; and tossing blanket and robes and a little food +into the pit, crawled in and drew the tarpaulin over them.</p> + +<p>Brent slept little that first night. Over and over again he tried to +reason out the course, and between times he lay hugging tightly his +bottle of hooch. "I wouldn't lose you for a million," he muttered, as<!-- Page 316 --> +each tortured nerve of his body cried out for stimulant, and the little +brain devils added their urge, and with sophistry and cunning excuse +sought to undermine his resolve. "Just one drink." "You need it." "Taper +off gradually." "It's medicine." But to the insidious suggestions of the +brain devils he turned a deaf ear, and with clenched teeth, gripped his +bottle. "I'll never want you—never need you any more than I do this +night," he whispered into the dark. "Right now I'd give half my life for +one big swig—but my life isn't mine to give now. It's hers—<i>hers</i>, do +you hear! It's her fight that I'm fighting, now—and, by God, she's +going to win!"</p> + +<p>In the morning, despite the protest of Joe Pete, Brent pushed on. The +storm had increased in fury, and it was with difficulty they kept their +feet. Toward noon, both knew that they had gained land of some kind, for +the terrain became rolling, and in places even hilly.</p> + +<p>"We ain' goin' right fer de mountaine," shouted the Indian, with his +lips close to Brent's ear. "Dey an' no leetle hill dere till we com' to +de ridge."</p> + +<p>"I don't care," yelled Brent, "We're heading south, and that's the main +thing. We can hit for the river when the storm stops."</p> + +<p>The third day was a repetition of the second, except that the hills +became higher and more numerous, but entirely unlike the ridge formation +of the Copper Mountains. That night the storm wore itself out,<!-- Page 317 --> and the +morning of the fourth day dawned bright and clear, with a wind blowing +strongly.</p> + +<p>"Well, where are we?" asked Brent, as he and Joe Pete ascended a nearby +hillock to take observation of their surroundings.</p> + +<p>For a long time the Indian studied the horizon, nor did he speak until +every degree of the arc had been subjected to minute scrutiny.</p> + +<p>"I'm t'ink, we com' too mooch far wes'," he observed, "I'm t'ink, we +better strike eas', 'bout wan day, tomor'."</p> + +<p>"Tomorrow!" cried Brent. "Why not today—now?"</p> + +<p>The Indian pointed to the dogs. "Too mooch tired out. Too mooch no good. +We got to res' today. Mebbe-so, travel tomor'!"</p> + +<p>A glance at the dogs convinced Brent, anxious as he was to push on, that +it would be useless to try it, for the dogs were in a pitiable condition +from the three day fight with the storm. He wanted to make up a pack and +push on alone, but the Indian dissuaded him.</p> + +<p>"S'pose com' nudder beeg snow? W'at you do den, eh? You git los'. You +trail git cover up. I kin no fin'. Dat better you wait." And wait they +did, though Brent fretted and chafed the whole day through.</p> + +<p>The following morning they started toward the southeast, shaping their +course by a far-distant patch of timber that showed as a dark spot on +the<!-- Page 318 --> dazzling snow. The ground was broken and hard to travel, and their +progress was consequently slow. At noon they cut a dog loose, and later +another, the released animals limping along behind as best they could.</p> + +<p>At noon of their seventh day of travel, the eighth after the storm, +Brent, who was in the lead, halted suddenly and pointed to a small lake +that lay a mile or more to the southward.</p> + +<p>"I know that lake!" he cried, "It's the one where Snowdrift killed a +caribou! The river is six or seven miles east of here, and we'll strike +it just below our cabin."</p> + +<p>"You sure 'bout dat'?." asked the Indian. "De dogs, w'at you call, all +in. I ain' lak' we mak mor' travel we kin help."</p> + +<p>"Yes—sure," exclaimed Brent, "I couldn't be mistaken. There is the +point where we ate lunch—that broken spruce leaning against those two +others."</p> + +<p>"Dat good lan' mark," the Indian agreed, "I ain' t'ink you wrong now."</p> + +<p>Joyously, Brent led off to the eastward. The pace was woefully slow, for +of the seven dogs, only three remained, and the men were forced to work +at pulling the sled. "We ought to make the cabin a little after dark," +he figured, "And then—I'll grab a bite to eat and hit out for +Snowdrift. Wonder if she's looking for me yet? Wonder if she's been +thinking about me? It's—let's see—this is the nine<!-- Page 319 -->teenth +day—nineteen days since I've seen her—and it seems like nineteen +years! I hate to tell her I didn't make a strike. And worst of all I +hate to tell her about—what happened on the <i>Belva Lou</i>. But, I'll come +clean. I will tell her—and I'll show her the bottle—and thank God I +didn't pull the cork! And I never will pull it, now. I learned something +out there in the snow—learned what a man can do." He grinned as he +thought of Claw and the Captain of the <i>Belva Lou</i>, searching the Copper +Mountains for his camp, so they could kill him and steal his dust. Then +the grin hardened into a straight-lipped frown as he planned the +vengeance that was to be his when they came after the girl.</p> + +<p>"They won't be in any hurry about starting up river," he argued, +"They'll hunt for me for a week. Then, when they do come—I'll kill 'em +as I would kill so many mad dogs. I hate to shoot a man from ambush—but +there's two of 'em, and I don't dare to take a chance. If they should +get me—" he shuddered at the thought, and pressed on.</p> + +<p>As he swung onto the river, a sharp cry escaped him and he stooped in +the darkness to stare at a trail in the snow.</p> + +<p>The cry brought Joe Pete to his side. "Those tracks!" rasped Brent, +"When were they made? And who made 'em?"</p> + +<p>The Indian stooped close and examined the trail. "Two—t'ree mans, an' a +team," he muttered, "An' wan man dat Godam Johnnie Claw!"<!-- Page 320 --></p> + +<p>"How do you know?" cried Brent, "How old are they?" And leaping to the +sled, he cut the pack thongs with one sweep of his knife and grabbed up +his rifle.</p> + +<p>"I know dem track—seen um on Mackenzie. B'en gon' 'bout two t'ree +hour!"</p> + +<p>"Bring on the outfit!" Brent called over his shoulder, and the Indian +stared in surprise as he watched the man strike out on the trail in +great leaping strides.</p> + +<p>The distance to the cabin was a scant mile, and Brent covered it without +slackening his pace. At the foot of the bank, he noted with relief that +the trail swung upward to his own cabin. If they had stopped, there was +yet time. His first glance had detected no light in the window, but as +he looked again, he saw that a peculiar dull radiance filtered through +the oiled parchment that served as a glass. Cautiously he maneuvered up +the bank, and made his way to the cabin, mentally debating with himself +whether to burst in upon the occupants and chance a surprise, or to lie +in wait till they came out. He stood in the shelter of the meat <i>cache</i> +weighing his chances, when suddenly from beyond the log walls came the +sound of a woman's scream—loud—shrill—terrible, it sounded, cutting +the black silence of the night. What woman? There could be only +one—with a low cry that sounded in his own ears like the snarl of a +beast, he dropped the rifle and sprang against the door. It flew inward<!-- Page 321 --> +and for a second Brent could see nothing in the murky interior of the +room. There was a sound from the bunk and, through the smoke haze he +made out the face of the Captain of the <i>Belva Lou</i>. As the man sprang +erect, their bodies met with an impact that carried them to the floor. +Brent found himself on top, and the next instant his fingers were +twisting, biting into a hairy throat with a grip that crushed and tore. +In his blind fury he was only half-conscious that heavy fists were +battering at his face. Beneath him the body of the Captain lashed and +struggled. The man's tongue lolled from his open mouth, and from beneath +the curled lips came hoarse wheezing gasps, and great gulping strangling +gurgles. A wave of exultation seized Brent as he realized that the thing +that writhed and twisted in his grasp was the naked throat of a man. +Vaguely he became conscious that above him hovered a white shape, and +that the shape was calling his name, in strange quavering tones. He +tightened his grip. There was a wild spasmodic heaving of the form +beneath him—and the form became suddenly still. But Brent did not +release his grasp. Instead he twisted and ground his fingers deeper and +deeper into the flesh that yielded now, and did not writhe. With his +face held close, he glared like a beast into the face of the man beneath +him—a horrible face with its wide-sprung jaws exposing the slobbered +tongue, the yellow snag-like teeth, the eyes, back-rolled until only the +whites showed between the<!-- Page 322 --> wide-staring lids, and the skin fast purpling +between the upper beard and the mottled thatch of hair.</p> + +<p>A hand fell upon his shoulder, and glancing up he saw Snowdrift and +realized that she was urging him to rise. As in a dream he caught the +gleam of white shoulders, and saw that one bare arm clasped a fragment +of torn shirt to her breast. He staggered to his feet, gave one glance +into the girl's eyes, and with a wild, glad cry caught her to him and +pressed her tight against his pounding heart.</p> + +<p>A moment later she struggled from his embrace. She flushed deeply as his +eyes raised from her shoulders to meet her own. He was speaking, and at +the words her heart leaped wildly.</p> + +<p>"It's a lie!" he cried, "You are not a breed! I knew it! I knew it! My +darling—you are white—as white as I am! Old Wananebish is not your +mother! Do you hear? <i>You are white!</i>"<!-- Page 323 --></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<p class="tdc">THE PASSING OF WANANEBISH</p> + + +<p>Stepping across to a duffle bag, Brent produced a shirt and an +undershirt which he tossed to the girl who, in the weakness of sudden +reaction had thrown herself sobbing upon the bunk.</p> + +<p>"There, there, darling," he soothed, as with his back toward her, his +eyes roved about the room seeking to picture, in the wild disorder, the +terrific struggle that had taken place. "Put on those things, and then +you can tell me all about it. You're all right now, dear. I will never +leave you again."</p> + +<p>"But—oh, if you had not come!" sobbed the girl.</p> + +<p>"But, I did come, sweetheart—and everything is all right. Forget the +whole horrid business. Come, we will go straight to Wananebish. Not +another hour, nor a minute will we wait. And we will make her tell the +truth. I have never believed you were her daughter—and now I know!"</p> + +<p>"But," faltered the girl, as she slipped into the warm garments, "If I +am not her daughter, who am I? Oh, it is horrible—not to know who you +are! If this is true—she must tell—she has got to<!-- Page 324 --> tell me! I have the +right to know! And, my mother and my father—where are they? Who are +they?"</p> + +<p>"We will know soon, darling," assured Brent, drawing her to him and +looking down into her up-lifted eyes, "But, first let me tell you +this—I don't care who you are. You are mine, now, dearest—the one +woman for me in all the world. And no matter who, or what your parents +were, you are mine, mine, mine!" His lips met hers, her arms stole about +his neck, and as she clung to him she whispered:</p> + +<p>"Oh, everything seems all strange, and unreal, and up-side-down, and +horrible, and in all the world, darling, you are the one being who is +good, and sane and strong—oh, I love you so—don't ever leave me +again——"</p> + +<p>"Never again," assured Brent, smiling down into the dark eyes raised so +pleadingly to his. "And, now, do you feel able to strike out for the +camp?"</p> + +<p>"I feel able to go to the end of the earth, with you," she answered +quickly, and he noticed that her voice had assumed its natural buoyancy, +and that her movements were lithe and sure as she stooped to lace her +snowshoes, and he marveled at the perfect resiliency of nerves that +could so quickly regain their poise after the terrible ordeal to which +they had been subjected.</p> + +<p>"Where is Claw?" he asked, abruptly, as he<!-- Page 325 --> stooped and recovered his +gold sack from the floor where the Captain had dropped it.</p> + +<p>"Come we must hurry!" cried the girl, who in the excitement had +forgotten his very existence, "He started for the camp, to trade hooch +to the Indians—and—oh, hurry!" she cried, as she plunged out into the +night. "He hates Wananebish, and he threatened to get even with her! If +he should kill her now—before—before she could tell us—" She was +already descending the bank to the river when Brent recovering his +rifle, hastened after her, and although he exerted himself to the +utmost, the flying figure gradually drew away from him. When it had all +but disappeared in the darkness, he called, and the girl waited, +whereupon Brent despite her protest, took the lead, and with his rifle +ready for instant use, hastened on up the river.</p> + +<p>A half mile from the encampment, Brent struck into the scattered timber, +"He may watch the back-trail," he flung back over his shoulder, "and we +don't want to walk into a trap."</p> + +<p>Rapidly they made their way through the scrub, and upon the edge of the +clearing, they paused. In the wide space before one of the cabins, brush +fires were blazing. And by the light of the leaping flames the Indians +could be seen crowding and fighting to get to the door of the cabin. +Brent drew Snowdrift into the shelter of a bush, from which point of +vantage they watched Claw, who stood in the doorway, glass in one hand, +six-gun in the other,<!-- Page 326 --> dispensing hooch. Standing by his side, Yondo +received the skins from the crowding Indians, and tossed them into the +cabin. The process was beautifully simple—a drink for a skin. As Yondo +took a skin Claw passed out a drink to its erstwhile owner.</p> + +<p>"Damn him!" muttered Brent, raising his rifle. But Snowdrift pushed it +aside.</p> + +<p>"It is too dark," she whispered, "You can't see the sights, and you +might hit one of the Indians." Breaking off sharply, she pointed toward +her own cabin. The door had been thrown open and, rifle in hand old +Wananebish stepped out on the snow. She raised the rifle, and with loud +cries the Indians surged back from about the hooch runner. Before the +rifle could speak Claw fired, and dropping her gun, old Wananebish +staggered a few steps forward and pitched headlong into the snow.</p> + +<p>With a yell of rage, Brent broke cover and dashed straight across the +clearing. As the cry reached him, Claw looked up, fired one hasty shot +at the approaching figure, and leaping straight through the throng of +Indians, disappeared in the scrub beyond the cabin, with Yondo close at +his heels.</p> + +<p>Brent was aware that Snowdrift was at his side. "Go to her," panted the +girl, "I will try to handle the Indians." For an instant he hesitated, +then, realizing that the girl could deal with her own band better +without his presence, he hastened to the squaw who had raised herself to +an elbow and was vainly<!-- Page 327 --> trying to rise. Picking her up bodily, Brent +carried her into the cabin and placed her upon the bunk.</p> + +<p>"Where—is—she?" the woman gasped, as he tore open her shirt and +endeavored to staunch the flow of blood from a wound low down upon the +sunken chest.</p> + +<p>"She's all right," assured the man, "Claw has gone, and she is trying to +quiet the Indians."</p> + +<p>The old crone shook her head: "No use," she whispered the words with +difficulty, "Take her away—while—there—is—time. +They—are—crazy—for—hooch—and—they—will—sell—her—to—him." She +sank back gasping, and Brent held a cup of water to her lips as he +motioned her to be quiet.</p> + +<p>"I am going to take her," he answered, "But, tell me—who is Snowdrift?"</p> + +<p>The beady eyes fixed his with a long, searching stare. She was about to +speak when the door opened and Snowdrift herself burst into the room and +sank down beside the bunk.</p> + +<p>With a laboring effort the old woman laid a clawlike hand upon the +girl's arm: "Forgive me," she whispered, and summoning all her fast +ebbing strength she gasped: "It is all a lie. You are not my child. You +are white. I loved you, and I was afraid you would go to your people." A +paroxysm of coughing seized her, and a gush of red blood welled from her +lips. "Look—in—the—moss—bag," she croaked, the words gurgling +through her<!-- Page 328 --> blood-flooded throat. She fell heavily back upon the +blanket and the red torrent gushed afresh from between the stilled lips.</p> + +<p>With a dry sob, Snowdrift turned to Brent: "We must go!" she faltered, +hurriedly, "I can do nothing with the Indians. I tried to reach the +hooch to destroy it, but they crowded me away. He has lied to them—won +them completely over by the promise of more hooch. He told them he has +plenty of hooch <i>cached</i> in the scrub. Already they have sent runners to +bring him back, and when he comes," the girl paused and shuddered "They +will do anything he tells them to—for hooch, and you know what that +will be—come, we must go while we have time!"</p> + +<p>"Can't we stay and fight him?" cried Brent, "Surely some of the Indians +will be with us."</p> + +<p>"No—only a few of the squaws—and they would be no good. No, we must go +before they bring him back! My sled is beside the door. Hurry and load +it with supplies while I harness the dogs." As she talked, the girl's +hands searched beneath the blankets upon which lay the body of the squaw +and with a low cry she drew forth the moss-bag which she handed to +Brent. "Take it," she said, "and do not trust it to the sled. We have no +time to look into it now—but that little bag contains the secret of my +life——"</p> + +<p>"And I will guard it with my own!" cried Brent, as he took the bag from +her hand. "Hurry, now<!-- Page 329 --> and harness the dogs. I'll throw in some grub and +blankets and we will finish the outfit at my cabin where we'll pick up +Joe Pete."</p> + +<p>While Brent worked at the lashings of the sled pack, Snowdrift slipped +silently into the cabin and, crossing to the bunk, bent low over the +still form of the squaw: "Good-by, Wananebish," she sobbed, as she +pressed her lips to the wrinkled forehead, "I don't know what you have +done—nor why you did it—but, I forgive you." She turned to see Brent +examining the two heavy crotches that were fixed, one on either side of +the doorway on the inside. "That is our lock," explained the girl. "See, +there is the bar that goes across the door, like the bar at the post at +Fort Norman. Wananebish made it. And every night when we were inside she +placed the bar in the crotches and no one could have got in without +smashing the door to pieces. Ever since I returned from the mission, +Wananebish has feared someone, and now I know it was Claw."</p> + +<p>"If we could only drop the bar from the outside," mused Brent, "Maybe we +could gain a lot of time. I know Claw, and when he finds that he has all +the Indians with him, and that we are only two, he is not going to give +you up without a struggle. By George!" he exclaimed, suddenly, "I +believe I can do it!" He motioned the girl outside, and slipped the bar +into the crotch at the hinge side of the door, then driving a knife upon +the inside, he rested the bar upon it, and stepping outside, banged the +door<!-- Page 330 --> shut. The knife held, and opening the door, he loosened the blade +a little and tried again. This time the banging of the door jarred the +knife loose. It fell to the floor, and the heavy bar dropped into place +and the man smiled with satisfaction as he threw his weight against the +door. "That will keep them busy for a while," he said, "They'll think +we're in there and they know we're armed, so they won't be any too +anxious to mix things up at close quarters."</p> + +<p>Swiftly the dogs flew up the well packed trail toward Brent's cabin. The +night was dark, and the Indians were fighting over the rum cask that +Claw had abandoned. As they hurried down the river, the two cast more +than one glance over their shoulders toward the cabin where the Indians +milled about in the firelight.</p> + +<p>At the first bend of the river, they paused and looked back. Shots were +being fired in scattering volleys, and suddenly Snowdrift grasped +Brent's arm: "Look!" she cried, "At our cabin!"</p> + +<p>At first Brent could see nothing but the distant glow of the brush +fires, then from the direction of the cabin they had just left a tongue +of flame shot upward through the darkness. There were more shots, and +the flames widened and leaped higher.</p> + +<p>"They're piling brush against the cabin," cried Brent. "They think +they'll burn us out. Come on, we haven't a minute to lose, for when Claw +learns that we are not in the cabin, he'll be on our trail."<!-- Page 331 --></p> + +<p>At his own shack Brent tore the lashings from the sled, and began to +rearrange the pack, adding supplies from his stores. Joe Pete stared in +astonishment. "Come on here!" cried Brent, "Get to work! We're off for +Dawson! And we've got to take grub enough to last till we hit Fort +Norman."</p> + +<p>"All day long you have been on the trail," cried the girl, "You are +tired! Can't we stand them off here until you are rested?"</p> + +<p>Brent shook his head: "You saw what happened at the other cabin," he +answered. "And here it would be even worse. With the window and the door +on the same side, they could burn us out in no time."</p> + +<p>"But they will trail us—and we must travel heavy," she pointed to the +loaded sled.</p> + +<p>"We will take our chances in the open," said Brent grimly. "And if luck +favors us we will get a long lead. The Indians may get too drunk to +follow, or they may stop to loot my cabin, and even if they should +overtake us, we can give a good account of ourselves. We have three +rifles, and the Indians can't shoot, and Claw will not risk his own +hide. Strike out straight for Fort Norman, Joe Pete. We will take turns +breaking trail."</p> + +<p>At daylight they camped upon the apex of a high ridge that commanded a +six or seven mile sweep of the back-trail, and all three noted with +relief that the stiff wind had filled their trail with the shifting +snow. All through the night they had avoided the<!-- Page 332 --> timbered swamps and +the patches of scrub both for the purpose of allowing the wind full +sweep at their trail, and also to force their pursuers to expose +themselves to the open. It was decided that until danger of pursuit was +past they would travel only at night and thus eliminate in so far as +possible, the danger of a surprise attack.</p> + +<p>Because the men had been on the trail almost constantly for twenty-four +hours, Snowdrift insisted upon standing first watch, and as Brent +unrolled his blankets, he removed the moss-bag from his shoulders and +handed it to the girl. Both he and Joe Pete were asleep the instant they +hit the blankets, and for a long time Snowdrift sat with the moss-bag +hugged close, and her eyes fixed upon the long sweep of back-trail. At +length she thrust her hand into the bag and withdrew the packet, secure +in its waterproof wrapping. Over and over she turned it in her hand as +she speculated, woman like, upon its contents. Time and again she +essayed to untie the thong that bound it but each time her fingers were +stilled before the knot was undone.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I am afraid—afraid," she murmured, when her burning curiosity +urged her fingers to do their task. "Suppose he—my father was a man +like—like those two—suppose he was Claw, himself!" She shuddered at +the thought. "No, no!" she whispered, "Wananebish said that he was good. +My mother, then, who was she? Is some terrible stigma attached to her +name? Better never to know who<!-- Page 333 --> I am, than to know <i>that</i>!" For a moment +she held the packet above the little flames of her fire as though she +would drop it in, but even as she held it she knew she would not destroy +it, for she decided that even to know the worst would be better than the +gnawing of life-long uncertainty. "He, too, has the right to know," she +murmured, "And we will open it together." And with a sigh, she replaced +the packet in the bag, and returned to her scrutiny of the back-trail.</p> + +<p>Despite the agreement to divide equally the time of watching, the girl +resolved to let the men sleep until mid-day before calling Brent who was +to take the second watch.</p> + +<p>At noon, Brent awoke of his own accord, and the girl was startled by the +sound of his voice in her ear: "Anything doing?"</p> + +<p>"No," she answered, "Not even a wolf, or a caribou has crossed the +open."</p> + +<p>"Have you explored that?" He indicated the moss-bag with a nod, and the +girl was quick to note the carefully suppressed eagerness of the words.</p> + +<p>"No. I—waited. I wanted you—and—Oh, I was afraid!"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, darling!" laughed the man, "I am not afraid! Give me the bag. +Again I swear to you, I do not care who you are. You are mine—and +nothing else matters!" Snowdrift slipped her hand into the bag and +withdrew the packet, and she handed it to Brent, he placed his arm about +her<!-- Page 334 --> shoulders and drew her close against his side, and with her head +resting upon his shoulders, her eyes followed his every movement as his +fingers fumbled at the knot.</p> + +<p>Carefully he unwrapped the waterproof covering and disclosed a small +leather note book, and a thick packet wound round with parchment deer +skin. On the fly leaf of the note book, in a round, clear hand was +written the name MURDO MACFARLANE, and below, Lashing Water.</p> + +<p>"Murdo MacFarlane," cried Brent, "Why, that's the name in the book that +told of Hearne's lost mines—the book that brought me over here!"</p> + +<p>"And the name on the knife—see, I have it here!" exclaimed the girl. +"But, go on! Who was MacFarlane, and what has he to do with me?"</p> + +<p>Eagerly Brent read aloud the closely written pages, that told of the +life of Murdo MacFarlane; of his boyhood in Scotland, of his journey to +Canada, his service with the Hudson's Bay Company, his courtship of +Margot Molaire, and their marriage to the accompaniment of the booming +of the bells of Ste. Anne's, of the birth of their baby—the little +Margot, of his restless longing for gold, that his wife and baby need +not live out their lives in the outlands, of the visit of Wananebish and +her little band of Dog Ribs, of his venture into the barrens, +accompanied by his wife and little baby, of the cabin beside the +nameless lake and the year of fruitless search for gold in the barrens.<!-- Page 335 --></p> + +<p>"Oh, that is it! That is it! The memory!" cried the girl.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean? What memory?"</p> + +<p>"Always I have had it—the memory. Time and time again it comes back to +me—but I can never seem to grasp it. A cabin, a beautiful woman who +leaned over me, and talked to me, and a big man who took me up in his +arms, a lake beside the cabin, and—that is all. Dim and elusive, +always, I have tried for hours at a time to bring it sharply into mind, +but it was no use—the memory would fade, and in its place would be the +tepee, or my little room at the mission. But, go on! What became of +Murdo MacFarlane, and Margot—of my father and my mother. And why have I +always lived with Wananebish?"</p> + +<p>Brent read the closing lines with many a pause, and with many a catch in +his voice—the lines which told of the death of Margot, and of his +determination to take the baby and leave her with Wananebish until he +should return to her, of his leaving with the squaw all of his +money—five hundred pounds in good bank notes, with instructions to use +it for her keep and education in case he did not return. And so he came +to the concluding paragraph which read:</p> + +<p>"In the morning I shall carry my wee Margot to the Indian woman. It is +the only thing I can do. And then I shall strike North for gold. But +first I must return to this cabin and bury my dead. God! Why did she +have to die? She should be buried<!-- Page 336 --> beside her mother in the little +graveyard at Ste. Anne's. But it cannot be. Upon a high point that juts +out onto the lake, I will dig her grave—upon a point where we used +often to go and watch the sunset, she and I and the little one. And +there she will lie, while far below her the booming and the thunder of +the wind-lashed waters of the lake will rise about her like the sound of +bells—her requiem—like the tolling of the bells of Ste. Anne's."</p> + +<p>"Oh, where is he now—my father?" sobbed the girl, as he concluded.</p> + +<p>Brent's arm tightened about her shoulders, "He is dead," he whispered, +"He has been dead these many years, or he would have found you." He +swept his arm toward the barrens, "Somewhere in this great white land +your father met his death—and it was a man's death—the kind of death +he would have welcomed—for he was a man! The whole North is his grave. +And out of it, his spirit kept calling—calling. And the call was +heard—by a drunkard in a little cabin on the Yukon. I am that drunkard, +and into my keeping the spirit of Murdo MacFarlane has entrusted the +life of his baby—his wee Margot." Brent paused, and his voice suddenly +cut hard as steel, "And may God Almighty strike me dead if I ever +violate that trust!"</p> + +<p>Slender brown fingers were upon his lips. "Don't talk like that, dear, +it scares me. See, I am not afraid. And you are <i>not</i> a drunkard."</p> + +<p>"I got drunk on the <i>Belva Lou</i>."<!-- Page 337 --></p> + +<p>"Didn't I say we couldn't expect to win all the battles?"</p> + +<p>"And, I carry my bottle with me." He reached into his blankets and drew +out the bottle of rum.</p> + +<p>"And the cork has not been pulled," flashed the girl, "And you have +carried it ever since you left the whaler."</p> + +<p>"Yes, darling," answered the man softly, "And I always shall keep it, +and I never will pull the cork. I can give you that promise, now. I can +promise you—on the word of a Brent that——"</p> + +<p>"Not yet, sweetheart—please!" interrupted the girl, "Let us hold back +the promise, till we need it. That promise is our heavy artillery. This +is only the beginning of the war. And no good general would show the +enemy all he has got right in the beginning."</p> + +<p>"You wonder woman!" laughed Brent, as he smothered the upraised eyes +with kisses, "But see, we have not opened the packet." Carefully he +unwound the parchment wrapping, and disclosed a closely packed pile of +bank notes. So long had they remained undisturbed that their edges had +stuck together so that it was with difficulty he succeeded in counting +them. "One hundred," he announced, at length, "One hundred five-pound +notes of the Bank of England."</p> + +<p>"Why, Wananebish never used any of the money!" cried the girl.</p> + +<p>Brent shook his head: "Not a penny has been<!-- Page 338 --> touched. I doubt that she +ever even opened the packet."</p> + +<p>"Poor old Wananebish," murmured the girl, "And she needed it so. But she +saved it all for me."</p> + +<p>When darkness gathered, they again hit the trail. A last look from the +ridge disclosed no sign of pursuit, and that night they made twenty-five +miles. For three more nights they traveled, and then upon the shore of +Great Bear Lake, they gave up the night travel and continued their +journey by daylight.</p> + +<p>Upon the evening of the eighteenth day they pulled in to Fort Norman, +where they outfitted for the long trail to the Yukon. Before she left, +Snowdrift paid the debt of a thousand skins that McTavish had extended +to the Indians, and the following morning the outfit pulled out and +headed for the mountains which were just visible far to the westward.<!-- Page 339 --></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + +<p class="tdc">CLAW HITS FOR DAWSON</p> + + +<p>When Claw returned to the flame-lighted clearing, a scant half-hour +after he had fled from the avenging figure of Brent, it was to find his +keg of rum more than half consumed, and most of the Indians howling +drunk. Close about him they crowded, pressing skins upon him and +demanding more liquor. The man was quick to see that despite the +appearance of Brent and the girl, he held the upper hand. The Indians +would remain his as long as the rum held out.</p> + +<p>"Ask 'em where the white man went—him an' the girl," he ordered Yondo.</p> + +<p>The Indian pointed to the cabin of Wananebish, and a devilish gleam +leaped into Claw's eyes: "Tell 'em I'll give a hull keg of rum, er a +hundred dollars, cash money to the man that kills him!" he shouted, "an' +another keg to the one that brings me the girl!"</p> + +<p>The drunken savages heard the offer with a whoop, and yelling like +fiends, they rushed to the cabin. The barred door held against their +attack,<!-- Page 340 --> and with sinister singleness of purpose they rushed back to the +fires, and securing blazing fagots, began to pile brush against the wall +of the building.</p> + +<p>With an evil grin on his face, Claw took up his position behind a stump +that gave unobstructed view of the door through which the two must rush +from the burning cabin, and waited, revolver in hand.</p> + +<p>Louder roared the fire, and higher and higher shot the flames, but the +door remained closed. Claw waited, knowing that it would take some time +for the logs to burn through. But, when, at length, the whole cabin was +a mass of flames, and the roof caved in, his rage burst forth in a +tirade of abuse:</p> + +<p>"They lied!" he shrilled, "They wasn't in there. Ace-In-The-Hole +wouldn't never stayed in there an' burnt up! The Injuns lied! An' he's +layin' to git me. Mebbe he's got a bead on me right now!" and in a +sudden excess of terror, the man started to burrow into the snow.</p> + +<p>Yondo stopped, and in the bright light of the flames examined the trail +to the river. Then he pointed down the stream in the direction of +Brent's cabin, and Claw, too, examined the trail. "They've pulled out!" +he cried, "Pulled out for his shack! Tell 'em to come on! We'll burn 'em +out up there! I ain't a-goin' to let her git away from me now—an' to +hell with Cap Jinkins! I'll take her to Dawson, an' make real money +offen her. An' I'll git Ace-In-The-Hole too. I found that girl first! +She's mine—an' by God, I'll have her!" He started<!-- Page 341 --> for the river. At +the top of the bank, he paused: "What's ailin 'em?" he roared, "Why +don't they come! Standin' there gogglin' like fools!"</p> + +<p>"They say," explained Yondo, in jargon, "That they want to see the rum +first."</p> + +<p>"Tell 'em I left it up to his shack!" roared the man, "Tell 'em +anything, jest so they come. Git my dogs an' come on. We'll lead out, +an' they'll foller if they think they's hooch in it."</p> + +<p>Yondo headed the dogs down the trail, and Claw threw himself upon the +sled and watched the drunken Indians string out behind, yelling, +whooping, staggering and falling in their eagerness for more hooch.</p> + +<p>When they came in sight of the cabin, Claw saw that it was dark. "You +slip up and see what you kin find out," he ordered Yondo, "An' I'll stay +here with the dogs an' handle the Injuns when they come along."</p> + +<p>Five minutes later the Indian returned and reported that there was no +one in the cabin, and that the door was open. With a curse, Claw headed +the dogs up the bank, and pushed through the open door. Match in hand, +he stumbled and fell sprawling over the body of the Captain of the +<i>Belva Lou</i>, uttering a shriek of terror as his bare hand came in +contact with the hairy face. Scrambling to his feet, he fumbled for +another match, and with trembling fingers, managed to light the little +bracket lamp. "Choked him to death bare handed!" he cried in<!-- Page 342 --> horror, +"And he'd of done me that way, too! But where be they? Look, they be'n +here!" The man pointed to the disordered supplies, that had been thrown +about in the haste of departure. "They've pulled out!" he cried. "Git +out there an' find their trail!"</p> + +<p>Yondo returned, and pointed to the westward, holding up three fingers, +and making the sign of a heavily loaded sled.</p> + +<p>"That'll be him, an' her, an' the Injun," said Claw, "an' they're +hittin' fer Fort Norman." Reaching down, he picked up a sack of flour +and carrying it out to the sled, ordered Yondo to help with the other +supplies. Suddenly, he sprang erect and gazed toward the west. "I wonder +if he would?" he cried aloud, "I'll bet he'll take her clean to Dawson!" +He laughed harshly, "An' if he does, she's mine—mine, an' no trouble +nor risk takin' her there! Onct back among the saloons, Ace-In-The-Hole +will start in on the hooch—an' then I'll git her."</p> + +<p>From far up the river came the whoop-whoroo of the drunken Indians. +"Quick," cried Claw, "Git that pack throw'd together. When they git here +an' find out they ain't no more hooch, they'll butcher me an' you!" And +almost before the Indian had secured the lashings, Claw started the +dogs, and leaving the Indian to handle the gee-pole, struck out on the +trail of Brent.</p> + +<p>It was no part of Claw's plan to overtake the trio. Indeed, it was the +last thing in the world he<!-- Page 343 --> wanted to do. At midnight they camped with a +good ten miles between themselves and the drunken Dog Ribs. In the +morning they pushed on, keeping a sharp lookout ahead. Soon Brent's +trail began to drift full of snow, and by noon it was obliterated +altogether. Thereupon Claw ordered the Indian to shape his own course +for Fort Norman, and because of Yondo's thorough knowledge of the +country, arrived in sight of the post on the evening of the sixteenth +day.</p> + +<p>When he learned from an Indian wood chopper, that no other outfit had +arrived, Claw pulled a mile up the river and waited.</p> + +<p>Two days later, from the summit of a nearby hill, he saw the outfit pull +in, and with glittering eyes he watched it depart, knowing that Brent +would hit for the Yukon by way of the Bonnet Plume Pass.</p> + +<p>Claw paid off Yondo and struck straight westward alone, crossing the +divide by means of a steep and narrow pass known only to a few. Thus, +shortening the trail by some four or five days, he showed up in Cuter +Malone's Klondike Palace at the height of an evening's hilarity.</p> + +<p>Cuter greeted him from behind the bar: "Hello, Claw! Thought you was +over with the whalers!"</p> + +<p>"Was," answered Claw, "Jest got back," he drained the glass Malone had +set before him, and with a sidewise quirk of the head, sauntered into a +little back room.<!-- Page 344 --></p> + +<p>A few minutes later, Cuter followed, carefully closing and locking the +door after him: "What's on yer mind?" he asked, as he seated himself +beside the little table.</p> + +<p>"They's aplenty on it. But mostly it's a girl."</p> + +<p>"What's the matter? One git away from you?"</p> + +<p>"She ain't yet, but she's damn near it. She'll be here in a few days, +an' she's the purtiest piece that ever hit the Yukon."</p> + +<p>"Must be right pert then, cause that's coverin' quite a bit of +territory."</p> + +<p>"Yes, an' you could cover twict as much an' still not find nothin' that +would touch her fer looks."</p> + +<p>"Where is she?"</p> + +<p>"She's comin'. Ace-In-The-Hole's bringin' her in."</p> + +<p>"Ace-In-The-Hole! Yer crazy as hell! First place, Ace-In-The-Hole ain't +here no more. Folks says old R.E. Morse got him an' he drounded hisself +in the river. Camillo Bill an' that bunch he used to trot with, has +combed Dawson with a fine tooth comb fer him, an' they can't find him +nowheres."</p> + +<p>"Drounded?—hell!" exclaimed Claw, "Ain't I be'n to his shack on the +Coppermine? Didn't he come up to the <i>Belva Lou</i> an' git drunk, an' then +git lost, an' then find his way back to his shack an' choke the life out +of Cap Jinkins? Yes sir, bare handed! I looked at Cap's throat where he +lay dead on the<!-- Page 345 --> floor an' it was damn near squose in two! An' he'd of +squose mine, if he could caught me!"</p> + +<p>"What about the gal? What's he got to do with her? He wouldn't stand fer +no such doin's, an' you'd ort to know it. Didn't he knock you down fer +whalin' one with a dog whip!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, an' I'll even up the score," growled Claw savagely, "An' me an' +you'll shove a heft of dust in the safe fer profits. It's like this. +She's his girl, an' he's bringin' her here."</p> + +<p>"His girl! Say Claw, what you handin' me? Time was when Ace-In-The-Hole +could of had his pick of any of 'em. But that time's gone. They wouldn't +no <i>klooch</i> look at him twict, now. He's that fer gone with the hooch. +He's a bum."</p> + +<p>"You know a hell of a lot about it! Didn't you jest git through tellin' +me he was drounded? An' now he's a bum! Both of which they ain't neither +one right—by a damn sight. He's be'n out there where they ain't no +hooch, an' he's as good a man as he ever was—as long as he can't git +the hooch. But here in Dawson he kin git it—see? An' me an' you has got +to see that he does git it. An' we'll git the girl. I've figured it all +out, comin' over. Was goin' to fetch her myself, but it would of be'n a +hell of a job, an' then there's the Mounted. But this way we git her +delivered, C.O.D. right to our door, you might say. Startin' about day +after tomorrow, we'll put lookouts on the Klondike River, an' the Indian +River. They're comin' in over the<!-- Page 346 --> Bonnet Plume. When they git here the +lookout will tell us where they go. Then we rig up some kind of excuse +to git him away, an' when we've got him paralysed drunk, we'll send a +message to the girl that he needs her, an' we'll bring her +here—an'—well, the middle room above the little dance hall up stairs +will hold her—it's helt 'em before."</p> + +<p>Malone grinned: "Guess I didn't know what I was up to when I built that +room, eh? They kin yell their head off an' you can't hear 'em outside +the door. All right, Claw, you tend to the gittin' her here an' I'll +pass the word around amongst the live ones that's got the dust. We ain't +had no new ones in this winter, an' the boys'll 'preciate it."</p> + +<div class="p2" /> + +<p>It was evening. Brent and Snowdrift had climbed from the little trail +camp at the edge of the timber line, to the very summit of the great +Bonnet Plume Pass to watch the sun sink to rest behind the high-flung +peaks of the mighty Alaskan ranges.</p> + +<p>"Oh, isn't it grand! And wonderful!" cried the girl as her eyes swept +the vast panorama of glistening white mountains. "How small and +insignificant I feel! And how stern, and rugged, and hard it all looks."</p> + +<p>"Yes, darling," whispered Brent, as his arm stole about her waist, "It +is stern, and rugged, and hard. But it is clean, and honest, and grand. +It is the world as God made it."</p> + +<p>"I have never been in the mountains before," said<!-- Page 347 --> the girl, "I have +seen them from the Mackenzie, but they were so far away they never +seemed real. We have always hunted upon the barrens. Tell me, is it all +like this? And where is the Yukon?"</p> + +<p>Brent smiled at her awe of the vastness: "Pretty much all like this," he +answered. "Alaska is a land of mountains. Of course there are wide +valleys, and mighty rivers, and along the rivers are the towns and the +mining camps."</p> + +<p>"I have never seen a town," breathed the girl, "What will we do when we +get there?"</p> + +<p>"We will go straight to the Reeves," he answered, with a glad smile. +"Reeves is the man who staked me for the trip into the barrens, and his +wife is an old, old friend of mine. We were born and grew up in the same +town, and we will go straight to them."</p> + +<p>"I wonder whether she will like me? I have known no white women except +Sister Mercedes."</p> + +<p>"Darling, she will love you!" cried Brent, "Everyone will love you! And +we will be married in their house."</p> + +<p>"But, what will he think when you tell him you have not made a strike?"</p> + +<p>Brent laughed: "He will be the first to see that I have made a strike, +dear—the richest strike in all the North."</p> + +<p>"And you didn't tell me!" cried the girl, "Tell me about it, now! Was it +on the Coppermine?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it was on the Coppermine. I made the<!-- Page 348 --> great strike, one evening in +the moonlight—when the dearest girl in the world told me she loved me."</p> + +<p>Snowdrift raised her wondrous dark eyes to his: "Isn't it wonderful to +love as we love?" she whispered, "To be all the world to each other? I +do not care if we never make a strike. All I want is to be with you +always. And if we do not make a strike we will live in our tepee and +snare rabbits, and hunt, and be happy, always."</p> + +<p>Brent covered the upturned face with kisses: "I guess we can manage +something better than a tepee," he smiled. "I've got more than half of +Reeves' dust left, and I've been thinking the matter over. The fact is, +I don't think much of that Coppermine country for gold. I reckon we'll +get a house and settle down in Dawson for a while, and I'll take the job +Reeves offered me, and work till I get him paid off, and Camillo Bill, +and enough ahead for a grub-stake, and then we'll see what's to be done. +We'll have lots of good times, too. There's the Reeves' and—and——"</p> + +<p>Brent paused, and the girl smiled, "What's the matter? Can't you think +of any more?"</p> + +<p>"Well, to tell the truth, I don't know any others who—that is, married +folks, our kind, you know. The men I knew best are all single men. But, +lots of people have come in with the dredge companies. The Reeves will +know them."</p> + +<p>"There is that girl you called Kitty," suggested Snowdrift.<!-- Page 349 --></p> + +<p>"Yes—" answered Brent, a little awkwardly, "That's so. But, she's—a +little different."</p> + +<p>"But I will like her, I am sure, because she nursed you when you were +sick. I know what you mean!" she exclaimed abruptly, and Brent saw that +the dark eyes flashed, "You mean that people point at her the finger of +scorn—as they would have pointed at me, had I been—as I thought I was. +But it is all wrong, and I will not do that! And I will hate those who +do! And I will tell them so!" she stamped her moccasined foot in anger, +and the man laughed:</p> + +<p>"My goodness!" he exclaimed feigning alarm, "I can see from here where I +better get home to meals on time, and not forget to put the cat out."</p> + +<p>"Now, you are making fun of me," she pouted, "But it is wrong, and you +know it is, and maybe the very ones who do the pointing are worse in +their hearts than she is."</p> + +<p>"You said it!" cried Brent, "The ones that look down upon the frailties +of others, are the very ones who need watching themselves. And that is a +good thing to remember in picking out friends. And, darling, you can go +as far as you like with Kitty. I'm for you. She's got a big heart, and +there's a lot more to her than there is to most of 'em. But, come, it's +dark, and we must be getting back to camp. See the little fire down on +the edge of the timber line. It looks a thousand miles away."</p> + +<p>And as they picked their way, side by side, down<!-- Page 350 --> the long slope, Brent +was conscious that with the growing tenderness that each day's +association with his wonder woman engendered, there was also a growing +respect for her outlook upon life. Her years in the open had developed a +sense of perception that was keen to separate the dross from the pure +gold of human intent. "She's a great girl," he breathed, as he glanced +at her profile, half hidden in the starlight, "She deserves the best +that's in a man—and she'll get it!"<!-- Page 351 --></p> + + +<div class="p6" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + +<p class="tdc">IN THE TOILS</p> + + +<p>Late one afternoon, a dog sled, with Joe Pete in the lead, and Brent and +Snowdrift following swung rapidly down the Klondike River. A few miles +from Dawson, the outfit overtook a man walking leisurely toward town, a +rifle swung over his shoulder. Recognizing him as one Zinn, a former +hanger-on at Cuter Malone's, Brent called a greeting.</p> + +<p>"Damned if it ain't Ace-In-The-Hole!" cried the man, in well simulated +surprise. "They'll be rollin' 'em high in Dawson tonight!"</p> + +<p>Brent laughed, and hurried on. And behind him upon the trail Zinn +quickened his pace.</p> + +<p>At the outskirts of town the three removed their snowshoes and, ordering +Joe Pete to take the outfit to his own shack, Brent and Snowdrift +hurried toward the Reeves'.</p> + +<p>As they passed up the street Brent noticed that the dark eyes of the +girl were busily drinking in the details of the rows upon rows of low +frame houses. "At last you are in Dawson," he said, including with<!-- Page 352 --> a +sweep of the arm the mushroom city that had sprung up in the shadow of +Moosehide Mountain, "Does it look like you expected it would? Are you +going to like it?"</p> + +<p>The girl smiled at the eagerness in his voice: "Yes, dear, I shall love +it, because it will be our home. It isn't quite as I expected it to +look. The houses all placed side by side, with the streets running +between are as I thought they would be, but the houses themselves are +different. They are not of logs, or of the thin iron like the warehouse +of the new trading company on the Mackenzie, and they are not made of +bricks and stones and very tall like the pictures of cities in the +books."</p> + +<p>Brent laughed: "No, Dawson is just half way between. Since the sawmills +came the town has rapidly outgrown the log cabin stage, although there +are still plenty of them here, but it has not yet risen to the dignity +of brick and stone."</p> + +<p>"But the houses of brick and stone will come!" cried the girl, +enthusiastically, "And take the place of the houses of wood, and we +shall be here to see the building of another great city."</p> + +<p>Brent shook his head: "I don't know," he replied, doubtfully, "It all +depends on the gravel. I wouldn't care to do much speculating in Dawson +real estate right now. The time for that has passed. The next two or +three years will tell the story. If I were to do any predicting, I'd say +that instead of the birth of a great city, we are going to witness<!-- Page 353 --> the +lingering death of an overgrown town." He paused and pointed to a small +cabin of logs that stood deserted, half buried in snow. "Do you see that +shack over there? That's mine. It don't look like much, now. But, I gave +five thousand in dust for it when I made my first strike."</p> + +<p>The girl's eyes sparkled as she viewed the dejected looking building, +"And that will be our home!" she cried.</p> + +<p>"Not by a long shot, it won't!" laughed Brent, "We'll do better than +that. I never want to see the inside of the place again! Yes, I do—just +once. I want to go there and get a book—the book that lured me to the +Coppermine—the book in which is written the name of Murdo MacFarlane. +We will always keep that book, darling. And some day we will get it +bound in leather and gold."</p> + +<p>Before a little white-painted house that stood back from the street, the +man paused: "The Reeves' live here," he announced, and as he turned into +the neatly shovelled path that led to the door, he reached down and +pressed the girl's hand reassuringly: "Mrs. Reeves is an old, old +friend," he whispered, "She will be a sister to you."</p> + +<p>As Brent led the way along the narrow path his eyes rested upon the +slope of snow-buried earth that pitched sharply against the base of the +walls of the house, "Hardest work I ever did," he grinned, "Hope the +floor kept warm."</p> + +<p>As he waited the answer to his knock upon the<!-- Page 354 --> door, he noticed casually +that Zinn sauntered past and turned abruptly into the street that led +straight to Cuter Malone's. The next instant the door was opened and +Reba Reeves stood framed in the doorway. Brent saw that in the gloom of +early evening she did not recognize him. "Is Mr. Reeves home?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, won't you step in? answered the woman, standing aside.</p> + +<p>"Thank you. I think we will."</p> + +<p>Something in the man's tone caused the woman to step quickly forward and +peer sharply into his face: "Carter Brent!" she cried, and the next +instant the man's hands were in both of hers, and she was pulling him +into the room. Like a flash Brent remembered that other time she had +called his name in a tone of intense surprise, and that there had been +tears in her eyes then, even as there were tears in her eyes now, but +this time they were tears of gladness. And then, from another room came +Reeves, and a pair of firm hands were laid upon his shoulders and he was +spun around to meet the gaze of the searching grey eyes that stared into +his own. Brent laughed happily as he noted the start of surprise that +accompanied Reeves' words: "Good Lord! What a change!" A hand slipped +from his shoulder and grasped his own.</p> + +<p>A moment later, Brent freed the hand, and as Mrs. Reeves lighted the +lamp, turned and drew Snowdrift toward him. "And now I want you to<!-- Page 355 --> +meet—Miss Margot MacFarlane. Within a very few hours she is going to +become Mrs. Carter Brent. You see," he added turning to Reba Reeves, "I +brought her straight to you. The hotel isn't——"</p> + +<p>The sentence was never finished, already the two women were in each +other's arms, and Reba Reeves was smiling at him over the girl's +shoulder: "Carter Brent! If you had dared to even think of taking her to +the hotel, I'd never have spoken to you again! You just let me catch you +talking about hotels—when your <i>folks</i> are living right here! And now +take off your things because supper is most ready. You'll find warm +water in the reservoir of the stove, and I'll make an extra lot of good +hot coffee, because I know you will be tired of tea."</p> + +<p>Never in his life had Brent enjoyed a meal as he enjoyed that supper in +the dining room of the Reeves', with Snowdrift, radiant with happiness, +beside him, and his host and hostess eagerly plying him with questions.</p> + +<p>"I think it is the most romantic thing I ever heard of!" cried Reba +Reeves, when Snowdrift had finished telling of her life among the +Indians, and at the mission, "It's easy enough to see why Carter chose +you, but for the life of me I can't see how you came to take an old +scapegrace like him!" she teased, and the girl smiled:</p> + +<p>"I took him because I love him," she answered, "Because he is good, and +strong, and brave, and because he can be gentle and tender and—and he<!-- Page 356 --> +understands. And he is not a scapegrace any more," she added, gravely, +"He has told me all about how he drank hooch until he became a—a +bun——"</p> + +<p>"A what?"</p> + +<p>"A bun—is it not that when a man drinks too much hooch?"</p> + +<p>"A bum," supplied Brent, laughing.</p> + +<p>"So many new words!" smiled the girl. "But I will learn them all. +Anyway, we will fight the hooch together, and we will win."</p> + +<p>"You bet you'll win!" cried Reeves, heartily, "And if I'm any judge, I'd +say you've won already. How about it Brent?"</p> + +<p>Deliberately—thoughtfully, Brent nodded: "She has won," he said.</p> + +<p>"On the word of a Brent?" Reba Reeves' eyes were looking straight into +his own as she asked the question.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he answered, "On the word of a Brent."</p> + +<p>A moment's silence followed the words, after which he turned to Reeves: +"And, now—let's talk business. I have used about half the dust you +loaned me. There is nothing worth while on the Coppermine—now." He +smiled, as his eyes rested upon the girl, "So I have come back to take +that job you offered me. Eleven hundred miles, we came, under the +chaperonage of Joe Pete——"</p> + +<p>"And a very capable chaperonage it was!" laughed Reeves, "Funniest thing +I ever saw in my life—there<!-- Page 357 --> in your cabin the morning you started. It +was then I learned to know Joe Pete. But, go on."</p> + +<p>"That's about all there is to it. Except that I'd like to keep the rest +of the dust, and pay you back in installments—that is, if the job is +still open. I've got to borrow enough for a start, somewhere—and I +reckon you're about the only friend I've got left."</p> + +<p>"How about that fellow, Camillo Bill? I thought he was a friend of +yours."</p> + +<p>"I thought so too, but—when I was down and out, and wanted a +grub-stake, he turned me down. He's all right though—square as a die."</p> + +<p>"About that job," continued Reeves, gravely, "I'm a little afraid you +wouldn't just fill the bill."</p> + +<p>For a moment Brent felt as though he had been slapped in the face. He +had counted on the job—needed it. The next instant he was smiling: +"Maybe you're right," he said, "I reckon I am a little rusty on +hydraulics and——"</p> + +<p>"I'd take a chance on the hydraulics," laughed Reeves, "But—before we +go any further, what would you take for your title to those two claims +that Camillo Bill has been operating?"</p> + +<p>"Depends on who wanted to buy 'em," grinned Brent.</p> + +<p>"What will you sell them to me for?"</p> + +<p>"What will you give?"</p> + +<p>"How would ten thousand for the two of them strike you?"<!-- Page 358 --></p> + +<p>Brent laughed: "Don't you go speculating on any claims," he advised, +"I'd be tickled to death to get ten thousand dollars—or ten thousand +cents out of those claims—but not from you. It would be highway +robbery."</p> + +<p>"And if I did buy them from you at ten thousand, or a hundred thousand, +you would be only a piker of a robber, as compared to me."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"I mean that if anybody offers you a million for 'em—you laugh at 'em," +exclaimed Reeves, "Because they're worth a whole lot more than that."</p> + +<p>Brent stared at the man as though he had taken leave of his senses. "Who +has been stringing you?" he asked, "The fact is, those claims are a +liability, and not an asset. Camillo Bill took them over to try to get +the million I owed him out of 'em—and he couldn't do it. And when +Camillo Bill can't get the dust out, it isn't there."</p> + +<p>"How do you know he couldn't do it?"</p> + +<p>"Because he told me so."</p> + +<p>"He lied."</p> + +<p>Brent flushed: "I reckon you don't know Camillo Bill," he said gravely, +"As I told you, he wouldn't grub-stake me when I needed a grub-stake, +and I don't understand that. But, I'd stake my life on it that he never +lied about those claims—never tried to beat me out of 'em when I was +down and out! Why, man, he won them in a game of stud—and he wouldn't +take them!"<!-- Page 359 --></p> + +<p>"But he lied to you, just the same," insisted Reeves, and Brent saw that +the man's eyes were twinkling. "And it was because he is one of the best +friends a man ever had that he did lie to you, and that he wouldn't +grub-stake you. You said a while ago that I was about the only friend +you had left. Let me tell you a little story, and then judge for +yourself.</p> + +<p>"About a week after you had gone, inquiries began to float around town +as to your whereabouts. I didn't pay any attention to them at first, but +the inquiries persisted. They searched Dawson, and all the country +around for you. When I learned that the inquiries emanated from such men +as Camillo Bill, and Old Bettles, and Moosehide Charlie, and a few more +of the heaviest men in the camp, I took notice, and quietly sent for +Camillo Bill and had a talk with him. It seems that after he had taken +his million out of the claims, he went to you for the purpose of turning +them back. He had not seen you for some time, and he was—well, it +didn't take him but a minute to see what would happen if he turned back +the claims and dumped a couple of million dollars worth of property into +your hands at that time. So he told you they had petered out. Then he +hunted up a bunch of the real sourdoughs who are your friends, and they +planned to kidnap you and take you away for a year—keep you under guard +in a cabin, a hundred miles from nowhere, and keep you off the liquor, +and make you work like<!-- Page 360 --> a nigger till you found yourself again. They +laid their plot, and when they came to spring it, you had disappeared."</p> + +<p>Brent listened, with tight-pressed lips, and as Reeves finished, he +asked:</p> + +<p>"And you say he got out his million, and there is still something left +in the gravel?"</p> + +<p>Reeves laughed: "I would call it something! Camillo Bill says he only +worked one of the claims—and only about half of that. Yes, I would say +there was something left."</p> + +<p>"I reckon a man don't always know his friends," murmured Brent, after a +long silence, "I wonder where I can find Camillo Bill?"</p> + +<p>"He's in town, somewhere. I saw him this afternoon."</p> + +<p>Brent turned to Snowdrift, who had listened, wide-eyed to the narrative: +"You wait here, dear," he said, "And I'll hunt up a parson, and a ring, +and Camillo Bill. I need a—a best man!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, why don't you wait a week or so and give us time to get ready so we +can have a real wedding?" cried Mrs. Reeves.</p> + +<p>Brent shook his head: "I reckon this one will be real enough," he +grinned, "And besides, we've waited quite a while, already."</p> + +<p>As he turned into the street from the path leading from the door he +almost bumped into a man in the darkness:</p> + +<p>"Hello! Is that you, Ace-In-The-Hole? Yer the<!-- Page 361 --> man I'm huntin' fer. +Friend of yourn's hurt an' wants to see you."</p> + +<p>"Who is it, Zinn? And how did he know I was in town?"</p> + +<p>"It's Camillo Bill. I was tellin' I see'd you comin' in—an hour or so +back, in Stoell's. Then Camillo, he goes down to the sawmill to see +about some lumber, an' a log flies off the carriage an' hits him. He's +busted up pretty bad. Guess he's goin' to cash in. They carried him to a +shack over back of the mill an' he's hollerin' fer you."</p> + +<p>"Come on then—quick!" cried Brent. "What the hell are you standin' +there for? Have they got a doctor?"</p> + +<p>"Yup," answered Zinn, as he hurried toward the outskirts of the town, +"He'll be there by now."</p> + +<p>Along the dark streets, and through a darker lumber yard, hurried Zinn, +with Brent close at his heels urging him to greater speed. At length +they passed around behind the sawmill and Brent saw that a light showed +dimly in the window of a disreputable log shack that stood upon the edge +of a deep ravine. The next moment he had pushed through the door, and +found himself in the presence of four as evil looking specimens as ever +broke the commandments. One of them he recognized as "Stumpy" Cooley, a +man who, two years before had escaped the noose only by prompt action of +the Mounted, after he had been duly convicted by a meeting of outraged +miners of robbing a <i>cache</i>.<!-- Page 362 --></p> + +<p>"Where's Camillo Bill?" demanded Brent, his eyes sweeping the room.</p> + +<p>"Tuk him to the hospital jest now," informed Stumpy.</p> + +<p>"Hospital!" cried Brent.</p> + +<p>"Yes—built one sence you was here. But, you don't need to be in no +hurry, 'cause he's out of his head, now." The man produced a bottle and +pulling the cork, offered it to Brent: "Might's well have a little +drink, an' we'll be goin'."</p> + +<p>"To hell with your drinks!" cried Brent, "Where is this hospital?" +Suddenly he sensed that something was wrong. And whirling saw that two +of the men had slipped between himself and the door. He turned to Stumpy +to see an evil grin upon the man's face.</p> + +<p>"When I ask anyone to drink with me, he most generally does it," he +sneered, "Or I know the reason why."</p> + +<p>"There's the reason!" roared Brent, and quick as a flash his right fist +smashed into the man's face, the blow knocking him clean across the +room. The next instant a man sprang onto Brent's back and another dived +for his legs, while a third struck at him with a short piece of +scantling. Brent fought like a tiger, weaving this way and that, and +stumbling about the room in a vain effort to rid himself of the two men +who clung to him like leeches. Stumpy staggered toward him, and Brent +making a frenzied effort to release one of his pinioned arms,<!-- Page 363 --> saw him +raise the heavy quart whiskey bottle. The next instant it descended with +a full arm swing. Brent saw a blinding flash of light, a stab of pain +seemed to pierce his very brain, his knees buckled suddenly and he was +falling, down, down, down, into a bottomless pit of intense blackness.<!-- Page 364 --></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> + +<p class="tdc">THE FIGHT AT CUTER MALONE'S</p> + + +<p>The porter at Cuter Malone's Klondike Palace was lighting the huge oil +lamps as the girl called Kitty sauntered to the bar with her dancing +partner who loudly demanded wine. Cuter Malone himself, standing behind +the bar in earnest conversation with Johnnie Claw, set out the drinks +and as the girl raised her glass, a man brushed past her. She recognized +Zinn, one of Malone's despicable lieutenants, and was quick to note that +something unusual was in the air. A swift meaning glance passed between +Claw and Malone, and as Zinn stepped around the bar to deposit his +rifle, he whispered earnestly to the two who stepped close to listen.</p> + +<p>Unperceived, Kitty managed to edge near, and the next instant she was +all attention. For from the detached words that came to her ears, she +made out, "Ace-In-The-Hole," and "the girl," and then Malone, whose +voice carried above the others issued an order, "The shack behind the +saw mill. Git him soused. Knock him out if you have to—but don't kill +him. Once we git the girl here me an'<!-- Page 365 --> Claw—" the rest of the sentence +was lost as it blended with an added order of Claw's. "Ace-In-The-Hole!" +thought Kitty, "What did it mean? And who is 'The girl?' Ace-In-The-Hole +is dead. And, yet—" she glanced toward Claw whose beady eyes were +glittering with excitement. "He just came back from somewhere—maybe he +knows—something."</p> + +<p>She saw Zinn cross the room and speak in a whisper to four men who were +playing solo at a table near the huge stove. She knew those men, Stumpy +Cooley, and his three companions. The men nodded, and went on with their +game, and Zinn returned and resumed his conversation with Malone and +Claw. But the girl could hear nothing more. The "professor" was loudly +banging out the notes of the next dance upon the piano, and her partner +was pulling at her arm.</p> + +<p>For two hours Kitty danced, and between dances she drank wine at the +bar, and always her eyes were upon the four men at the solo table, and +upon Zinn, who loafed close by, and upon Malone and Claw, who she noted, +were drinking more than usual, as they hob-nobbed behind the bar.</p> + +<p>The evening crowd foregathered. The music became faster, the talk +louder, the laughter wilder. At the conclusion of a dance, Kitty saw +Malone speak to Zinn, who immediately slipped out the door. The four men +at the table, threw down their cards, and sauntered casually from the +room and<!-- Page 366 --> declining the next dance, the girl dashed up the stairway to +her room where she kicked off her high heeled slippers, pulled a pair of +heavy woolen stockings over her silk ones, and hurriedly laced her +moccasins. She jammed a cap over her ears and slipping into a heavy fur +coat, stepped out into the hall and came face to face with Johnnie Claw. +"Where do you think you're goin'?" asked the man with a sneer.</p> + +<p>"It's none of your business!" snapped the girl, "I don't have to ask you +when I want to go anywhere—and I don't have to tell you where I'm +goin', either! You haven't got any strings on me!"</p> + +<p>"Well—fergit it, 'cause you ain't goin' nowhere's—not right now."</p> + +<p>"Get out of my way! Damn you!" cried the girl, "If I had a gun here, I'd +blow your rotten heart out!"</p> + +<p>"But, you ain't got none—an' I have—so it's the other way around. Only +I ain't goin' to kill you, if you do like I say.</p> + +<p>"Listen here, I seen you easin' over and tryin' to hear what me an' +Malone, an' Zinn was talkin' about. I don't know how much you heard, but +you heard enough, so you kep' pretty clost cases on all of us. G'wan +back in yer room, 'fore I put you there! What the hell do you care +anyhow? All we want is the girl. Onct we git her up in the strong room, +you kin have Ace-In-The-Hole. An'<!-- Page 367 --> as long as she's around you ain't +nowhere with him. Why don't you use yer head?"</p> + +<p>"You fool!" screamed the girl, in a sudden fury, and as she tried to +spring past him, Claw's fist caught her squarely in the chin and without +a sound she crashed backward across the door sill. Swiftly the man +reached down and dragged her into the room, removed the key from the +lock on the inside, closed and locked the door, and thrusting the key +into his pocket, turned and walked down stairs.</p> + +<p>How long she lay there, Kitty did not know. Consciousness returned +slowly. She was aware of a dull ache in her head, and after what seemed +like a long time she struggled to her knees and drew herself onto the +bed where she lay trying to think what had happened. Faintly, from below +drifted the sound of the piano. So, they were still dancing, down there? +Then, suddenly the whole train of events flashed through her brain. She +leaped to her feet and staggered groggily to the door. It was locked. In +vain she screamed and beat upon the panels. She rushed to the window but +its double sash of heavily frosted panes nailed tight for the winter was +immovable. In a sudden frenzy of rage she seized a chair and smashed the +glass. The inrush of cold air felt good to her throbbing temples, and +wrenching a leg from the chair she beat away the jagged fragments until +only the frame remained. Leaning far out, she looked down. Her room was +at the side of the building, near the rear, and she<!-- Page 368 --> saw that a huge +snowdrift had formed where the wind eddied around the corner. Only a +moment she hesitated, then standing upright on the sill, she leaped far +out and landed squarely in the centre of the huge drift. Struggling to +her feet she wallowed to the street, and ran swiftly through the +darkness in the direction of the sawmill. And, at that very moment, Zinn +was knocking upon the door of the Reeves home.</p> + +<p>When the door had closed behind Brent, Mrs. Reeves had insisted upon +Snowdrift's taking a much needed rest upon the lounge in the living +room, and despatching Reeves upon an errand to a neighbor's, busied +herself in the kitchen. The girl lay back among the pillows wondering +when her lover would return when the sound of the knock sent her flying +to the door. She drew back startled when, instead of Brent she was +confronted by the man they had passed on the river.</p> + +<p>"Is they a lady here name of Snowdrift?" asked the man.</p> + +<p>A sudden premonition of evil shot through the girl's heart. She paled to +the lips. Where was Brent? Had something happened? "Yes, yes!" she +answered quickly, "I am Snowdrift. What has happened? Why do you want +me?"</p> + +<p>"It's him—yer man—Ace-In-The-Hole," he answered.</p> + +<p>"Oh, what is it?" cried the girl, in a frenzy of impatience, "has he +been hurt?"<!-- Page 369 --></p> + +<p>"Well—not jest hurt, you might say. He's loadin' up on hooch. Some of +us friends of hisn tried to make him go easy—but it ain't no use. I +seen you an' him comin' in on the river, an' I figgered mebbe you could +handle him. We're afraid someone'll rob him when he gits good an' +drunk."</p> + +<p>And not more than an hour ago he had given his promise—on the word of a +Brent—a promise that Mrs. Reeves had just finished telling her would +never be broken. A low sob that ended in a moan trembled upon the girl's +lips: "Wait!" she commanded, and slipping into the room, caught up her +cap and parka, and stepping out into the darkness, closed the door +noiselessly behind her.</p> + +<p>"Take me to him—quickly!" she said, "Surely he will listen to me."</p> + +<p>"That's what I figgered," answered the man, and turning led the way down +the dark street.</p> + +<p>Presently the subdued light that filtered through the frosted windows of +the Klondike Palace came into view, and as they reached the place Zinn +led the way to the rear, and pushed open a door. Snowdrift found herself +in a dimly lighted hallway. Cuter Malone stepped forward with a smile:</p> + +<p>"Jest a minute, lady. Better put this here veil over yer face. He's up +stairs, an' we got to go in through the bar. They's a lot of folks in +there, an' they ain't no use of you bein' gopped at. With this on, they +won't notice but what it's one of the women that lives here."<!-- Page 370 --></p> + +<p>Snowdrift fastened the heavy veil over her face, and taking her arm, +Malone piloted her through the bar-room and up the stairs. Through the +mesh of the veil, Snowdrift caught a confused vision of many men +standing before a long bar, of other men, and women in gay colors +dancing upon a smooth stretch of floor, and her ears rang with the loud +crashing of the piano. Bewildered, confused, she tightened her grasp +upon Malone's arm. At the head of the stairs, the man paused and opened +a door. "You kin take off the veil, now," he said, as he locked the door +behind them, "They ain't no one up here."</p> + +<p>A sudden terror possessed the girl, and she glanced swiftly into the +man's face. "But—where is he?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he's on up," he assured her, "This way." He led the way across the +room known as the small dance hall, and through a passage from which +doors opened on either side, to a flight of stairs in the rear. At the +head of the stairs the girl could see a light burning. He motioned her +to proceed, and as she gained the top, a man stepped out from the shadow +and seized her arms.</p> + +<p>One look into his face and the girl gave a wild shriek of terror.</p> + +<p>The man was Johnnie Claw.</p> + +<p>The next moment she found herself thrust into a room lighted only by a +single candle. It was a bare, forbidding looking room, windowless and +with a<!-- Page 371 --> door of thick planking, secured by a hasp and padlock upon the +outside. Its single article of furniture was a bed.</p> + +<p>"So," leered Claw, "You thought you could git away from me did you? +Thought you was playin' hell when you an' Ace-In-The-Hole hit fer +Dawson, did you? Well, you played hell, all right—but not like you +figgered. Yer mine, now." Trembling so that her limbs refused to support +her, Snowdrift sank down upon the bed.</p> + +<p>"Oh where is he?" she moaned.</p> + +<p>Claw laughed: "Oh, he's all right," he mocked, "He's soused to the +guards by this time, an' after I an' some friends of mine git him to +sign a deed to a couple of claims he owns, we'll feed him to the fish."</p> + +<p>The girl tried to rise, but her muscles refused to obey the dictates of +her brain, and she sank back upon the bed.</p> + +<p>"You'll be all right here when you git used to it. The girls all have a +lot of fun. I'm goin' below now. You stay here an' think it over. Tain't +no use to holler—this room's built a purpose to tame the likes of you +in. Some of 'em that's be'n in here has walked out, an' some of 'em has +be'n carried out—but none of 'em has ever <i>got</i> out. An' jest so you +don't take no fool notion to burn the house down, I'll take this candle +along. I got a horror of burnin'." Again he laughed harshly, and the +next moment Snowdrift found herself in darkness, and heard the padlock +rattle in the hasp.<!-- Page 372 --></p> + +<p>Kitty drew swiftly into the intense blackness between two lumber piles. +She heard the sound of voices coming toward her, and a moment later she +could distinguish the words. "Damn him! He like to busted my jaw! Gawd, +what a wallop he's got! But I fixed him, when I smashed that quart over +his head!"</p> + +<p>"Maybe he'll bleed to death," ventured another.</p> + +<p>"Naw, he ain't cut bad. I seen the gash over his eye. He's bloody as +hell, but he looks worse'n he is. Say, you sure you tied him tight? He's +been out damn near an hour an' he'll be comin' to, 'fore long—an' +believe me——"</p> + +<p>The men passed out of hearing and Kitty slipped from cover and sped +toward the shack the outline of which she could see beyond the corner of +the sawmill.</p> + +<p>She made sure that all four of the men were together, so she pushed in +without hesitation. "Hello!" she called, softly. "Ace-In-The-Hole! You +here?" No answer, and she moved further into the room and stumbled over +the prostrate form of a man. Swiftly she dropped to her knees and +assured herself that his hands and feet were tied. Deftly her fingers +explored his pockets until they found his knife, and a moment later the +thongs that bound him were severed. Her hand rested for a second upon +his forehead, and with a low cry she withdrew it, wet and sticky with +blood. Leaping to her feet, she procured a handful of snow which she<!-- Page 373 --> +dashed into his face. Again and again she repeated the performance, and +then he moved. He muttered, feebly, and received more snow. Then she +bent close to his ear:</p> + +<p>"Listen, Ace-In-The-Hole—it's me—Kitty!"</p> + +<p>"Kitty," murmured the man, uncertainly. "Snowdrift!"</p> + +<p>"Yes I lit in a snowdrift all right when I jumped out the window—but +how did you know? Come—wake up! Is there a light here?"</p> + +<p>"Where am I?"</p> + +<p>"In the shack back of the sawmill."</p> + +<p>"Where's Camillo Bill?"</p> + +<p>"Camillo Bill—he's up to Stoell's, I guess. But listen, give me a +match."</p> + +<p>Clumsily Brent fumbled in his pocket and produced a match. Kitty seized +it, and in the flare of its flame saw a candle upon the table. She held +the flame to the wick, and in the flickering light Brent sat up, and +glanced about him. The air was heavy with the reek of the whiskey from +the broken bottle. His head hurt, and he raised his hand and withdrew it +red with blood. Then, he leaped unsteadily to his feet: "Damn 'em!" he +roared, "It was a plant! What's their game?"</p> + +<p>"I know what it is!" cried Kitty, "Quick—tell me—have you got a +girl—here in Dawson?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes—at Reeves—her name is Snowdrift, and she——"</p> + +<p>"Come then—we ain't got any time to lose!<!-- Page 374 --> It's Cuter Malone and that +damned Johnnie Claw——"</p> + +<p>"Johnnie Claw!" cried Brent. "Claw is a thousand miles from here—on the +Coppermine!"</p> + +<p>"He's right this minute in the Klondike Palace—and your girl will be +there too, if you don't shake your legs! They framed this play to get +her—and I heard 'em—partly. If I'd known where she was, I'd have gone +there first—but I didn't know."</p> + +<p>Already Brent was staggering from the room, and Kitty ran close beside +him. The cold air revived the man and he ran steadily when he reached +the street. "Tell me—" panted Kitty, at his side. "This girl—is—she +straight?"</p> + +<p>"I'm going to marry her tonight!" cried the man.</p> + +<p>"Then hurry—for Christ's sake!" sobbed Kitty, "Oh, hurry! Hurry!"</p> + +<p>At a certain street corner Kitty halted suddenly, and Brent ran on. He +rushed into Reeves' house like a whirlwind. "Where's Snowdrift?" he +cried, as the Reeves' stared wide-eyed at the blood-soaked apparition.</p> + +<p>"What has happened——?"</p> + +<p>"Where is she?" yelled Brent, his eyes glaring like a mad man's.</p> + +<p>"I—we don't know. I was in the kitchen, and—" but Brent had dashed +from the room, and when Reeves found his hat, the madman had disappeared +in the darkness.</p> + +<p>Quite a group of old timers had foregathered at<!-- Page 375 --> Stoell's, Moosehide +Charlie drifted in, and seeing Camillo Bill, Swiftwater Bill, and Old +Bettles standing at the bar, he joined them.</p> + +<p>"What do you say we start a regular old he-man's game of stud?" he +asked. "We ain't had no real game fer quite a while."</p> + +<p>Camillo Bill shook his head slowly: "No—not fer me. I'll play a +reasonable game—but do you know since Ace-In-The-Hole went plumb to +hell the way he done over the game—I kind of took a dislikin' to it."</p> + +<p>"It was the hooch, more'n the stud," argued Bettles.</p> + +<p>"Mebbe it was—but, damn it! It was 'em both. There was one hombre I +liked."</p> + +<p>"Wonder if he'll come back?" mused Swiftwater Bill.</p> + +<p>"Sure as hell!" affirmed Camillo.</p> + +<p>"Will he have sense enough to lay off the hooch?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, but I got twenty thousan' dollars says he will."</p> + +<p>Camillo Bill looked defiantly around.</p> + +<p>"Take it!" cried Swiftwater Bill, "An' I hope to hell I lose!"</p> + +<p>The door burst open and Kitty, gasping for breath hurtled into the room: +"Camillo Bill!" she screamed. "Quick! All of you! Hey you sourdoughs!" +her voice rose to a shriek, and men crowded from the tables in the rear, +"Come on! Ace-In-The-Hole needs us! He's back! An' he's<!-- Page 376 --> brought a girl! +They're goin' to be married. But—Claw and Cuter Malone, framed it to +steal her! He's gone down there now!" she panted. "Come on! They hired a +gang to get Ace-In-The-Hole, and they damn near did!"</p> + +<p>With a yell Camillo Bill reached clear over the bar and grabbed one of +Stoell's guns, and an instant later followed by a crowd of lesser lights +the big men of the Yukon rushed down the street, led by Kitty, and +Camillo Bill, and Stoell, himself, who another gun in hand, had vaulted +the bar without waiting to put on his coat or his cap.</p> + +<p>"They'll take her up stairs—way up—" gasped Kitty as she ran, +"And—for God's sake—hurry!"</p> + +<p>Bareheaded, his face covered with blood, a human cyclone burst through +the door of the Klondike Palace. Straight for the bar he rushed, bowling +men over like ten pins. Cuter Malone flashed one startled glance and +reached for his gun, but before he could grasp it the shape hurdled the +bar and the two went to the floor in a crash of glass. Brent's hand +first found the gun, and gripping it by the barrel he brought it +crashing down on Cuter's head. Leaping to his feet he fired, and the +bartender, bung-starter in hand, sprawled on top of his employer.</p> + +<p>Across the room came a rush of men—Stumpy Cooley, Zinn, and others. +Again Brent fired, and Zinn crumpled slowly to the floor. Stumpy whirled +a chair above his head and Brent dodged as the<!-- Page 377 --> missile crashed into the +mirror above the back bar. The bar-room was a pandemonium of noise. Men +crowded in from the dance hall bent upon overpowering the madman who had +interrupted their frolic. Screaming women rushed for the stairs.</p> + +<p>Brent was lifted from his feet and rushed bodily half way across the +room, the very numbers of his assailants protecting him from a hundred +blows. Weaving—milling, the crowd surged this way and that, striking at +Brent, and hitting each other. They surged against the stove, and it +crashed upon its side, filling the room with smoke from the toppling +pipe, and covering the floor with blazing chunks of wood and live coals.</p> + +<p>Suddenly through the doors swept a whirlwind of human shapes! The +surging crowd went down before the onrush, and Brent struggled madly to +free himself from the thrashing arms and legs. Revolvers barked, chairs +crashed against heads and against other chairs. Roulette and faro +layouts were splintered, and poker tables were smashed like kindling +wood, men seizing upon the legs for weapons. And above all rose the +sound of crashing glass and the shrill shrieks of women. The room filled +with choking smoke. Flames ate into the floor and shot up the wooden +walls.</p> + +<p>The door at the head of the stairs opened suddenly and Brent caught +sight of the white face of Claw. He was afraid to shoot, for the +frenzied girls, instead of seeking safety in the street, had crowded +upon<!-- Page 378 --> the stairs and were pouring through the door which Claw was vainly +trying to close. The smoke sucked upward, and the flames crackled more +loudly, fanned by the new formed draught. Struggling through the +fighting, surging men, Brent gained the foot of the stairs. He saw Claw +raise his gun, and the next instant a figure flashed between. The gun +roared, and the figure crumpled to the floor. It was Kitty. With an +oath, Brent sprang up the stairway, as the flames roared behind him.</p> + +<p>He turned for an instant and as his eyes swept the room he saw Camillo +Bill stoop and gather Kitty into his arms, and stagger toward the front +door. Other men were helping the wounded from the room. Someone yelled +at Brent to come down and save himself. He glanced toward the speaker. +It was Bettles, and even as he looked the man was forced to retreat +before the flames and was lost to view. At the head of the stairs Brent +slammed the door shut. The little dance hall was full of girls huddled +together shrieking. Other girls were stumbling from their rooms, with +their belongings in their arms. From the narrow hallway that led to the +rear rushed Claw. The man seemed beside himself with terror. His eyes +were wide and staring and he made for a window, cursing shrilly as he +forced his way through the close-packed crowd of girls, striking them, +knocking them down and trampling on them. He did not see Brent and +seizing a chair drove it through the window. The<!-- Page 379 --> floor was hot, and the +air thick with smoke. Claw was about to leap to safety when like a +panther Brent sprang upon him, and bore him to the floor. He reached out +swiftly and his fingers buried themselves in the man's throat as they +had buried themselves in the Captain's. He glared into the terror-wide +eyes of the worst man in the North, and laughed aloud. An unnatural, +maniacal laugh, it was, that chilled the hearts of the cowering girls. +"Kill him!" shrilled one hysterically. "Kill him!" "Kill him!" Others +took up the cry, Brent threw Claw onto his belly, placed his knees upon +the small of his back, locked the fingers of both hands beneath the +man's chin and pulled slowly and steadily upward. Backward came Claw's +head as he tore frantically at Brent's arms with his two hands. +Upward—and backward came the man's head and shoulders, and Brent +shortened his leverage by suddenly slipping his forearms instead of his +fingers beneath Claw's chin. Strangling sounds came gurgling from his +throat. Brent leaned backward, adding the weight of his body to the pull +of his arms. Claw's back was bent sharply upward just in front of the +knees that held him to the floor, and summoning all his strength Brent +surged backward, straining every muscle of his body until it seemed he +could not pull another pound.</p> + +<p>Suddenly there was a dull audible snap—and Claw folded backward.</p> + +<p>Brent released his grip and leaping to his feet<!-- Page 380 --> rushed back through the +hallway, and up the stairs. A door of thick planking stopped him and +upon a hasp he saw a heavy padlock. Jerking the gun from his belt, he +placed the muzzle against the lock and pulled the trigger. There was a +deafening explosion and the padlock flew open and swung upon its staple.</p> + +<p>Dashing into the room, Brent snatched Snowdrift into his arms, and +rushed down the stairs. Pausing at the window Claw had smashed, he stood +the girl upon her feet, and knocking the remaining glass from the sash +with the butt of the gun, he grabbed one of the screaming girls and +pitched her into the big snowdrift that ranged along the whole length of +the burning building.</p> + +<div class="p2" /> + +<p>It was light as day, now, the flames were leaping high above the roof at +the front, and already tongues of red were showing around the doorway at +the head of the stairs. A great crowd had collected, and at the sight of +the girl's form hurtling through the air, they surged to the spot. +Spurts of smoke and tiny jet-like flames were finding their way through +the cracks of the floor. Brent realized there was no time to lose, and +seizing another girl, he pitched her out. Then he took them as they +came—big ones and little ones, fully dressed and half dressed, +screaming, fighting, struggling to get away—or to be taken next, he +pitched them out until only Snowdrift remained.<!-- Page 381 --></p> + +<p>Lifting her to the window, he told her to jump, and watched to see her +light safely in the snow.</p> + +<p>Smoke was pouring through the fast widening cracks in the floor. Brent +leaped to the window sill. As he stood poised, a section of the floor +between himself and Claw dropped through, and a rush of flames shot +upward. Suddenly he saw Claw's arms thrash wildly: "My Gawd!" the man +shrieked, "My back's broke! I'm burnin' up!" The whole floor let go and +a furnace of overpowering flame rushed upward as he jumped—almost into +the waiting arms of Camillo Bill.</p> + +<p>"It's Ace-In-The-Hole, all right!" yelled the big man, as he grasped +Brent's shoulders, and rocked him back and forth, "An' by God! <i>He's as +good a man as he ever was!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Where's Kitty?" asked Brent, when he could get his breath. "I saw her +go down. She stopped Claw's bullet that was meant for me! And I saw you +carry her out!"</p> + +<p>"Kitty's all right," whispered Camillo Bill in his ear, and Brent +glanced quickly into the man's shining eyes. "Jest nicked in the +shoulder—an' say—I've always wanted her—but she wouldn't have +me—but—now you're out of the way—I told her all over again how I +stood—an' <i>damned if she didn't take me</i>!"</p> + + +<p class="center">THE END<!-- Page 382 --></p> +<div class="p4" /> +<div class="transnote"> +<h3>Transcriber's Notes:</h3> + +Normalized punctuation,<br /><br /> + +Maintained dialect in it's original spelling and format.<br /><br /> + +Silently corrected a few obvious typesetting errors. +</div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Snowdrift, by James B. 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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: Snowdrift + A Story of the Land of the Strong Cold + +Author: James B. Hendryx + +Release Date: October 21, 2011 [EBook #37815] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SNOWDRIFT *** + + + + +Produced by K Nordquist, Ron Stephens and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + SNOWDRIFT + + _A Story of the Land of the Strong Cold_ + + By JAMES B. HENDRYX + + + AUTHOR OF + + "The Gold Girl," "The Gun Brand," "The Texan," + "Prairie Flowers," "The Promise," etc. + + + A.L. BURT COMPANY + Publishers New York + + Published by arrangement with G.P. Putnam's Sons + + Printed in U.S.A. + + + COPYRIGHT, 1922 + BY + JAMES B. HENDRYX + + + BY JAMES B. HENDRYX + + The Promise + The Gun Brand + The Texan + North + The Gold Girl + Prairie Flowers + Snowdrift + Without Gloves + At the Foot of the Rainbow + + This edition is issued under arrangement with the publishers + G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS, NEW YORK AND LONDON + + The Knickerbocker Press, New York + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + + A PROLOGUE 3 + + CHAPTER + + I.--COARSE GOLD 41 + + II.--ON DYEA BEACH 60 + + III.--AT THE MISSION 72 + + IV.--ACE-IN-THE-HOLE 84 + + V.--LUCK TURNS 93 + + VI.--THE DEALER AT STOELL'S 104 + + VII.--"WHERE DO I GO FROM HERE?" 120 + + VIII.--THE PLOTTING OF CAMILLO BILL 132 + + IX.--SNOWDRIFT RETURNS TO THE BAND 143 + + X.--THE DINNER AT REEVES' 155 + + XI.--JOE PETE 170 + + XII.--ON THE TRAIL 184 + + XIII.--THE CAMP ON THE COPPERMINE 198 + + XIV.--IN THE BARRENS 206 + + XV.--MOONLIGHT 223 + + XVI.--CONFESSIONS 243 + + XVII.--IN THE CABIN OF THE "BELVA LOU" 260 + + XVIII.--LOST 277 + + XIX.--TRAPPED 293 + + XX.--"YOU ARE WHITE!" 305 + + XXI.--THE PASSING OF WANANEBISH 323 + + XXII.--CLAW HITS FOR DAWSON 339 + + XXIII.--IN THE TOILS 351 + + XXIV.--THE FIGHT AT CUTER MALONE'S 364 + + + + +SNOWDRIFT + + + + +A PROLOGUE + + +I + +Murdo MacFarlane, the Hudson's Bay Company's trader at Lashing Water +post, laid aside his book and glanced across the stove at his wife who +had paused in her sewing to hold up for inspection a very tiny shirt of +soft wool. + +"I tell you it's there! It's bound to be there," he announced with +conviction. "Just waitin' for the man that's man enough to go an' get +it." + +Margot nodded abstractedly and deftly snipped a thread that dangled from +a seam of a little sleeve. She had heard this same statement many times +during the three years of their married life, and she smiled to herself +as Molaire, her father, who was the Company's factor at Lashing Water, +laid aside his well thumbed invoice with a snort of disgust. She knew +her two men well, did Margot, and she could anticipate almost word for +word the heated argument that was bound to follow. Without rising she +motioned to Tom Shirts, the Company Indian, to light the great swinging +lamp. And as the yellow light flooded the long, low trading room, she +resumed her sewing, while Molaire hitched his chair nearer the stove and +whittled a pipeful of tobacco from a plug. + +"There ye go again with ye're tomrot an' ye're foolishness!" exploded +the old Frenchman, as he threw away his match and crowded the swelling +tobacco back into the bowl of his pipe. "Always babblin' about the gold. +Always wantin' to go an' find out for ye'reself it ain't there." + +"But I'm tellin' you it _is_ there," insisted MacFarlane. + +"Where is it, then? Why ain't it be'n got?" + +"Because the right man ain't gone after it." + +"An' ye're the right man, I suppose! Still lackin' of twenty-five years, +an' be'n four years in the bush; tellin' me that's be'n forty years in +the fur country, an' older than ye before ever I seen it. Ye'll do +better to ferget this foolishness an' stick to the fur like me. I've +lived like a king in one post an' another--an' when I'm old I'll retire +on my pension." + +"An' when I'm old, if I find the gold, I'll ask pension of no man. It +ain't so much for myself that I want gold--it's for them--for Margot, +there, an' the wee Margot in yon." He nodded toward the door of the +living room where the year-old baby lay asleep. + +Molaire shrugged: "Margot has lived always in the bush. She needs no +gold, an' the little one needs no gold. Gold costs lives. Come, Margot, +speak up! Would ye send ye're man to die in the barrens for the gold +that ain't there?" + +Margot paused in her sewing and smiled: "I am not sending him into the +barrens," she said. "If he goes, I go, and the little Margot, too. If +one dies, we all die together. But there must be gold there. Has not +Murdo read it in books? And we have heard rumors of gold among the +Indians." + +"Read it in books!" sniffed Molaire. "Rumors among Injuns! Ye better +stick to fur, boy. Ye take to it natural. There's no better judge of fur +in all the traders I've had. Before long the Company'll make ye a +factor." + +As young Murdo MacFarlane filled and lighted his pipe, his eyes rested +with burning intensity upon his young wife. When finally he spoke it was +half to himself, half to Molaire: "When the lass an' I were married, +back yon, to the boomin' of the bells of Ste. Anne's, I vowed me a vow +that I'd do the best 'twas in me to do for her. An' I vowed it again +when, a year later, the bells of Ste. Anne's rang out at the christening +of the wee little Margot. Is it the best a man can do--to spend his life +in the buyin' of fur for a wage, when gold 'twould pay for a kingdom +lies hid in the sands for the takin'?" + +Molaire's reply was interrupted by a sound from without, and the +occupants of the room looked at each other in surprise. For it was +February and the North lay locked in the iron grip of the strong cold. +Since mid-afternoon the north wind had roared straight out of the +Arctic, driving before it a blue-white smother of powder-dry snow +particles that cut and seared the skin like white-hot steel filings. +MacFarlane was half way across the floor when the door opened and a man, +powdered white from head to foot, stepped into the room in a swirl of +snow fine as steam. With his hip he closed the door against the push of +the wind, and advancing into the room, shook off his huge bear-skin +mittens and unwound the heavy woolen scarf that encircled his parka hood +and muffled his face to the eyes. The scarf, stiff with ice from his +frozen breath, crackled as it unwound, and little ice-chips fell to the +floor. + +"Ha, it's Downey, who else? Lad, lad, what a night to be buckin' the +storm!" cried the trader. + +Corporal Downey, of the Royal North-West Mounted Police, grinned as he +advanced to the stove. "It was buck the storm to Lashin' Water post, or +hole up in a black spruce swamp till it was over. She looks like a three +days' storm, an' I prefer Lashin' Water." + +"Ye're well in time for supper, Corporal," welcomed Molaire, "and the +longer the storm lasts the better. For now we'll have days an' nights of +real whist. We've tried to teach Tom Shirts to play, but he knows no +more about it now than he knows about the ten commandments--an' cares +less. So we've be'n at it three-handed. But three-handed whist is like a +three-legged dog--it limps." + +Neseka, the squaw, looked in from the kitchen to announce supper, and +after ordering Tom to attend to the Corporal's dogs, Molaire clapped his +hands impatiently to attract the attention of MacFarlane and Downey who +were beating the snow from the latter's moose hide parka. "Come," +insisted the old man, "ye're outfit'll have plenty time to dry out. The +supper'll be cold, an' we're losin' time. We've wasted a hand of cards +already." + +"Is the gold bug still buzzin' in your bonnet, Mac?" asked Downey, as +Molaire flourished the keen bladed carving knife over the roasted +caribou haunch. + +"Aye," answered the young Scotchman. "An' when the rivers run free in +the spring, I'll be goin' to get it." + +A long moment of silence followed the announcement during which the +carving knife of Molaire was held suspended above the steaming roast. +The old man's gaze centered upon his son-in-law's face, and in that +moment he knew that the younger man's decision had been made, and that +nothing in the world could change it. The words of Margot flashed +through his brain: "If he goes, I go, and the little Margot, too. If one +dies, we all die together." His little daughter, the light of his life +since the death of her mother years before--and the tiny wee Margot who +had snuggled her way into his rough old heart to cheer him in his old +age--going away--far and far away into the God-knows-where of bitter +cold and howling blizzard--and all on a fool's errand! The keen blade +bit the roast to the bone, raised, dripping red juice, and bit again. + +"_Mon Dieu_, what a fool!" breathed the old man, and as if in final +appeal, turned to Corporal Downey, who had known him long, and who had +guessed what was passing in his mind. "Tell him, Downey, you know the +North beyond the barrens. Tell him he is a fool!" + +And Downey who was not old in years but very wise in the ways of men, +smiled. He liked young Murdo MacFarlane, but he was a Scotchman himself +and he knew the hard-headedness of the breed. + +"Well, a man ain't always a fool because he goes huntin' for gold. +That's accordin'. Where is this gold, Mac? An' how do you know it's +there?" + +"It's there, all right--gold and copper, too. Didn't Captain Knight try +to find it? And Samuel Hearne?" + +"Yes," broke in Molaire, "an' Knight's bones are bleachin' on Marble +Island with his ships on the bottom of the Bay, an' Hearne came back +empty handed." + +"That's why the gold is still there," answered MacFarlane. + +"Where 'bouts is it?" insisted Downey. + +"Up in the Coppermine River country, to the north and east of Bear +Lake." + +"How do you know?" + +"The Injuns had chunks of it. That's what sent Knight and Hearne after +it." + +"How long ago?" + +"Captain Knight started in 1719, an' Hearne about fifty years later." + +"Gosh!" exclaimed Downey. "Ain't that figurin' quite a ways back?" + +"Gold don't rot. If it was there then, it's there now. It's never been +brought out." + +"Yes--_if_ it was there. But, maybe it ain't there an' never was--what +then?" + +"I talked with an Injun, a year back, that said he had seen an Injun +from the North that had seen some Eskimos that had dishes made of yellow +metal." + +"He was prob'ly lyin'," observed Downey, "or the Injun that told him was +lyin'. I've be'n north to the coast a couple of times, an' I never seen +no Injuns nor Eskimos eatin' out of no gold dishes yet." + +"Maybe it's because you've stuck to the Mackenzie, where the posts are. +Have you ever crossed the barrens straight north--between the Mackenzie +an' the Bay?" + +"No," answered Downey, dryly, "an' I hope to God I don't never have to. +You've got a good thing here with the Company, Mac. If I was you I'd +stick to it, anyways till I seen an Injun with some gold. I never seen +one yet--an' I don't never expect to. An' speakin' of Injuns reminds me, +I passed a camp of 'em this forenoon." + +"A camp of 'em!" exclaimed Molaire, in surprise. "Who were they? My +Injuns are all on the trap lines." + +"These are from the North somewheres. I couldn't savvy their lingo. They +ain't much good I guess. They're non-treaty Injuns--wanderers. They +wanted to know where a post was, an' I told 'em. They'll prob'ly be in +to trade when the storm lets up." + +That evening old Molaire played whist badly. His heart was not in the +game, for try as he would to keep his mind on the cards, in his ears was +the sound of the dull roar of the wind, and his thoughts were of the +future--of the long days and nights to come when his loved ones would be +somewhere far in the unknown North, and he would be left alone with his +Company Indians in the little post on Lashing Water. + + +II + +All night the storm roared unabated and, as is the way of Arctic +blizzards, the second day saw its fury increased. During the morning the +four played whist. There had been no mention of gold, and old Molaire +played his usual game with the result that when Neseka called them to +dinner, he and MacFarlane held a three-game lead over Downey and Margot. +The meal over, they returned to the cards. The first game after dinner +proved a close one, each side scoring the odd in turn, while the old +Frenchman, as was his custom, analyzed each hand as the cards were +being shuffled for the next deal. Finally he scored a point and tied the +score. Then he glared at his son-in-law: "An' ye'd of finessed your +ten-spot through on my lead of hearts we'd of made two points an' game!" +he frowned. + +"How was I to know?" MacFarlane paused abruptly in the midst of his deal +and glanced in surprise toward the door which swung open to admit four +Indians who loosened the blankets that covered them from head to foot +and beat the snow from them as they advanced toward the stove. Three of +them carried small packs of fur. The fourth was a young squaw, straight +and lithe as a panther, and as she loosened the moss-bag from her +shoulders, a thin wail sounded from its interior. + +"A baby!" cried Margot, as MacFarlane made his way to the counter, his +eyes upon the packs of fur. She stooped and patted her own little one +who was rolling about upon a thick blanket spread on the floor. The +squaw smiled, and fumbling in the depths of the bag drew forth a tiny +brown-red mite which ceased crying and stared stolidly at the cluster of +strange white faces. "What a terrible day for a baby to be out!" +continued the white woman, as she pushed a chair near to the stove. +Again the squaw smiled and seating herself, turned her back upon the +occupants of the room and proceeded to nurse the tiny atom. + +Meanwhile MacFarlane was trying by means of the Cree language to +question the three bucks who stood in solemn line before the counter, +each with his pack of fur before him. Downey tried them with the +Blackfoot tongue, and the Jargon, while old Molaire and Tom Shirts added +half a dozen dialects from nearer the Bay. But no slightest flicker of +comprehension crossed the face of any one of them. Presently the young +squaw arose and placed her baby upon the blanket beside the white child +where the two little mites sat and stared at each other in owlish +solemnity. As she advanced toward the counter MacFarlane addressed her +in Cree. And to the surprise of all she spoke to him in English: "We buy +food," she said, indicating the packs of fur. + +"Where did you come from?" queried the trader. "An' how is it that you +talk English an' the rest of 'em can't talk nothin'?" + +"We come from far to the northward," she answered. "I have been to +school at the mission. These are Dog Ribs. They have not been to school. +I am of the Yellow Knives. My man was drowned in a rapids. He was name +Bonnetrouge. He was a Dog Rib so I live with these." + +"Why don't you trade at your own post?" asked MacFarlane, suspiciously. +"Is it because you have a debt there that you have not paid?" + +"No. We have no debt at any post. We are only a small band. We move +about all the time. We do not like to stay in one place like the rest. +We see many new rivers, and many lakes, and we go to many places that +the others do not know. We have no debt at any post, we trade as we go +and pay with skins for what we buy." + +"One of them wanderin' bands," observed Downey. "I've run across two or +three of 'em here an' there. They camp a while somewheres an' then, +seems like, they just naturally get restless an' move on." + +The squaw nodded: "The police is right. We do not like to stay and trap +in one place. I have seen many new things, and many things that even the +oldest man has not seen." + +MacFarlane opened the packs and examined their contents, fur by fur, +laying them in separate piles and paying for each as he appraised it in +brass tokens of made beaver. The three bucks looked on in stolid +indifference but MacFarlane noted that the eyes of the squaw followed +his every movement. + +As a general rule the agents of the Hudson's Bay Company deal fairly +with the Indians in the trading of the common or standard skins, and +MacFarlane was no exception. It was in a spirit of fun, to see what the +squaw would do, that he counted out thirty made beaver in payment for a +large otter skin. + +The Indian woman shook her head: "No, that is a good otter. He is worth +more." And with a smile the Scotchman counted ten additional tokens into +the pile, whereat the squaw nodded approval and the trading proceeded. +When at last it was finished the squaw took entire charge of the +purchasing, pausing only now and then, to consult one or the other of +the Indians in their own tongue, and in her selection of only the +essentials, MacFarlane realized that he was dealing with that rarest of +northern Indians, one who possessed sound common sense and the force of +character to reject the useless trinkets so dear to the Indian heart. + +While the bucks were making up their packs the squaw plunged her hand +into the bottom of the moss-bag from which she had taken the baby, and +drew out a single skin. For a long time she stood holding the skin in +one hand while with the other she stroked its softly gleaming surface. +MacFarlane and Molaire gazed at the skin in fascination while Margot +rose from the blanket where she had been playing with the two babies, +and even Corporal Downey who knew little of skins crowded close to feast +his eyes on the jet black pelt whose hairs gleamed with silver radiance. +In all the forty years of his trading Molaire had handled fewer than a +dozen such skins--a true black fox, taken in its prime, so that the +silvered hairs seemed to emit a soft radiance of their own--a skin to +remember, and to talk about. Then the squaw handed the pelt to +MacFarlane and smiled faintly as she watched the trader examine it +almost hair by hair. + +"Where did you get it?" he asked. + +"I trapped it far to the northward, in the barren grounds, upon a river +that has no name. It is a good skin." + +"Did you trap it yourself?" + +"Yes. I am a good trapper. My man was a good trapper and he showed me +how. These are good trappers, too," she indicated the three Indians, +"And all the rest who are with us. There are thirty of us counting the +women and children. But we have not had good luck. That is all the fur +we have caught," she pointed to the skins MacFarlane had just bought, +"Those and the little black fox. When the storms stops we will go again +into the barren grounds, and we must have food, or, if we have bad luck +again, some of us will die." + +"Why do you go to the barren grounds?" asked MacFarlane. "The trappin' +is better to the eastward, or to the westward." + +The squaw shrugged: "My man he had been to school a little, but mostly +he had worked far to the westward along the coast of the sea--among the +white men who dig for gold. And he heard men talk of the gold that lies +in the barren grounds and northward to the coast of the frozen sea. So +he went back to the country of his people, far up on the Mackenzie, and +he told the men of the gold and how it was worth many times more than +the fur. But the old men would not believe him and many of the young men +would not, but some of them did, and these he persuaded to go with him +and hunt for the gold. It was when they were crossing through the +country of my people that I saw him and he saw me and we were married. +That was two years ago and since then we have traveled far and have seen +many things. Then my husband was drowned in a rapids, and I have taken +his place. I will not go back to my people. They were very angry when I +married Bonnetrouge, for the Yellow Knives hate the Dog Ribs. Even if +they were not angry I would not go back, for my husband said there is +gold in the barren grounds. He did not lie. So we will go and get the +gold." + +"There's your chance, Mac," grinned Corporal Downey, "You better throw +in with 'em an' get in on the ground floor." + +But MacFarlane did not smile. Instead, he spoke gravely to the woman: +"An' have you found any gold in the barrens?" + +The squaw shrugged, and glanced down at the babies. When she looked up +again her eyes were upon the little fox skin. "How much?" she asked. + +MacFarlane considered. Holding the pelt he stroked its glossy surface +with his hand. Here was a skin of great value. He had heard many traders +and factors boast of the black, and the silver grey fox skins they had +bought at ridiculously low price--and they were men who did not hesitate +to give full value for the common run of skins. Always, with the +traders, the sight of a rare skin arouses a desire to obtain it--and to +obtain it at the lowest possible figure. And MacFarlane was a trader. +He fixed upon a price in his mind. He raised his eyes, but the squaw +was not looking at him and he followed her glance to the blanket where +the two babies, the red baby and the white baby--his own baby and +Margot's, were touching each other gravely with fat pudgy hands. + +He opened his lips to mention the price, but closed them again as a new +train of thought flashed through his mind. How nearly this woman's case +paralleled his own. The imagination of each was fired by the lure of +gold, and both were scoffed at by their people for daring to believe +that there was still gold in the earth to be had for the taking. Then, +there was the matter of the babies---- + +When finally MacFarlane spoke it was to mention a sum three times larger +than the one that he had fixed upon in his mind--a sum that caused old +Molaire to snort and sputter and to stamp angrily up and down the room. + +The squaw nodded gravely: "You are a good man," she said, simply. "You +have dealt fairly. Sometime, maybe you will know that Wananebish does +not forget." + +Two hours later, when the price of the pelt had been paid and the +supplies all made into packs and carried to the toboggans that had been +left before the door, the Indians wrapped their blankets about them and +prepared to depart. + +As the Indian woman wrapped the baby in warm woolens, Margot urged her +to remain until the storm subsided, but the woman declined with a +smile: "No. These are my people. I will go with them. Where one goes, +all go." + +"But the baby! This is a terrible storm to take a baby into." + +"The baby is warm. She does not know that it storms. She is one of us. +Where we go, she goes, too." + +As the Indians filed through the door into the whirling white smother +the young squaw stepped to the counter for a last look at her black fox +skin. She raised it in her hand, drew it slowly across her cheek, +stroked it softly, and then returned it to the counter, taking +deliberate care to lay it by itself apart from the other skins. Then she +turned and was swallowed up in the storm as MacFarlane closed the door +behind her. + +"Ye could of bought it for half the price!" growled old Molaire, as his +son-in-law returned to the card table. + +"Aye," answered the younger man as he resumed his cards. "But the +Company has still a good margin of profit. They're headin' for the +barrens, an' if, as she said, they have bad luck some of 'em would die. +An' you know who would be the first to go--it would be the babies. I'm +glad I done as I did. I'll sleep better nights." + +"And I'm glad, too," added Margot, as she reached over and patted her +husband's hand, "And so is papa way down in his heart. But he loves to +have people think he is a cross old bear--and bears must growl." + +Corporal Downey grinned at the twinkle that appeared in old Molaire's +eyes, and the game proceeded until Neseka called them to supper. +MacFarlane paused at the counter and raised the fox skin to the light. +And as he did so, a very small, heavy object rolled from its soft folds +and thudded upon the boards. Slowly MacFarlane laid down the skin and, +picking up the object, carried it close under the swinging lamp, where +he held it in his open palm. Curiously the others crowded about and +stared at the dull yellow lump scarcely larger than the two halves of a +split pea. For a long moment there was silence and then MacFarlane +turned to Corporal Downey: "What was it you said," he asked, "about +sticking to my job until I saw an Injun with some gold?" + + +III + +The north wind moaned and soughed about the eaves of the low log trading +post on Lashing Water. Old Molaire rose from his place by the stove, +crossed the room, and threw open the door. Seconds passed as he stood +listening to the roar of the wind in the tree tops, heedless of the fine +powdering of stinging snow particles that glistened like diamond points +upon his silvery hair and sifted beneath his shirt collar. Then he +closed the door and returned to his chair beside the stove. Corporal +Downey watched in silence while the old man filled his pipe. He threw +away the match and raised his eyes to the officer: "It was a year ago, +d'ye mind, an' just such a storm--when that squaw came bringin' her +black fox skin, and her nugget of damned gold." + +"It would be about a year," agreed Downey, gravely nodding his head. "I +made this patrol in February." + +"It's just a year--the thirteenth of the month. I'll not be forgetting +it." + +"An' have you had no word?" + +The old factor shook his head: "No word. They left in May--with the +rivers not yet free of running ice. Two light canoes. Margot could +handle a canoe like a man." + +"You'll prob'ly hear from 'em on the break-up this spring. Maybe they'll +give it up an' come back." + +Molaire shook his head: "Ye don't know Murdo MacFarlane," he said, +"He'll never give up. He swore he would never return to Lashin' Water +without gold. He's Scotch--an' stubborn as the seven-year itch." + +"I'm Scotch," grinned Downey, hoping to draw the old man into an +argument and turn his thoughts from the absent ones. But he would not be +drawn. For a long time he smoked in silence while outside the wind +howled and moaned and sucked red flames high into the stovepipe. + +"She'd be two years old, now," Molaire said, "An' maybe talkin' a bit. +Maybe they've taught her to say grand-pere. Don't you think she might be +talkin' a little?" + +"I don't know much about 'em. Do they talk when they're two?" + +The old factor pondered: "Why--it seems to me _she_ did--the other +Margot. But--it's a long time ago--yet it seems like yesterday. I'm +gettin' old an' my memory plays me tricks. Maybe it was three, instead +of two when she begun to say words. D'ye mind, Downey, a year ago we +played whist?" + +"Two-handed cribbage is all right," suggested the Corporal. But the old +man shook his head and for a long, long time the only sound in the room +was the irregular tapping of contracting metal as the fire died down +unheeded in the stove. The old man's pipe went out and lay cold in his +hand. The bearded chin sagged forward onto the breast of his woolen +shirt and his eyes closed. Beyond the stove Corporal Downey drowsed in +his chair. + +Suddenly the old man raised his head: "What was that?" he asked sharply. + +Downey listened with his eyes on the other's face. "I hear nothing," he +answered, "but the booming of the wind." + +The peculiar startled look died out of Molaire's eyes: "Yes," he +answered, "It is the wind. I must have be'n dozin'. But it sounded like +bells. I've heard the bells of Ste. Ann's boom like that--tollin'--when +some one--died." Stiffly he rose from his chair and fumbled upon the +counter for a candle which he handed to Downey. "We'll be goin' to bed, +now," he said, "It's late." + + +IV + +Upon a bunk built against the wall of a tiny cabin of logs five hundred +miles to the northward of Lashing Water post the sick woman turned her +head feebly and smiled into the tear-dimmed eyes of the man who leaned +over her: "It's all right, Murdo," she murmured, "The pain in my side +seems better. I think I slept a little." + +Murdo MacFarlane nodded: "Yes, Margot, you have been asleep for an hour. +In a few days, now, I'm thinkin' you'll be sittin' up, an' in a week's +time you'll be on your feet again." + +The woman's eyes closed, and by the tightening of the drawn lips her +husband knew that she was enduring another paroxysm of the terrible +pain. Outside, the wind tore at the eaves, the sound muffled by its full +freighting of snow. And on the wooden shelf above the man's head the +little alarm clock ticked brassily. + +Once more Margot's eyes opened and the muscles of the white pain-racked +face relaxed. The breath rushed in quick jerky stabs between the parted +lips that smiled bravely. "We are not children, Murdo--you and I," she +whispered. "We must not be afraid to face--this thing. We have found +much happiness together. That will be ours always. Nothing can rob us +of that. We have had it. And now you must face a great unhappiness. I am +going to die. In your eyes I have seen that you, too, know this--when +you thought I slept. To-day--to-night--not later than to-morrow I must +go away. I am not afraid to go--only sorry. We would have had many more +years of happiness, Murdo--you--and I--and the little one--" The low +voice faltered and broke, and the dark eyes brimmed with tears. + +The man's hands clenched till the nails bit deep into the palms. A great +dry sob shook the drooped shoulders: "God!" he breathed, hoarsely, "An' +it's all my fault for bringin' you into this damned waste of snow an' +ice, an' bitter cold!" + +"No, Murdo, it is not your fault. I was as anxious to come as you were. +I am a child of the North, and I love the North. I love its storms and +its sunshine. I love even the grim cruelty of it--its relentless +snuffing out of lives in the guarding of its secrets. Strong men have +gone to their death fighting it, and more men will go--why then should +not I, who am a woman, go also? But, it would have been the same if we +had stayed at Lashing Water. I know what this sickness is. I have seen +men die of it before--Nash, of the Mounted--and Nokoto, a Company +Indian. It is the appendicitis, and no doctor could have got to Lashing +Water in time, any more than he could have got here. They sent the +fastest dog-team on the river when Nash was sick, and before the doctor +came he was dead. It is not your fault, my husband. It is no one's +fault. There is a time when each of us must die. My time is now. That is +all." She ceased speaking, and with an effort that brought little beads +of cold sweat to her forehead, she raised herself upon her elbow and +pointed a faltering forefinger toward the little roughly made crib that +stood close beside the bunk. "Promise me, Murdo," she gasped, "promise +me upon your soul that you will see--that--she--_that she shall go to +school!_ More than I have gone, for there are many things I do not know. +I have read in books things I do not understand." + +"Aye, girl," the deep voice of MacFarlane rumbled through the room as he +eased his wife back onto the pillow, "I promise." + +The dark eyes closed, the white face settled heavily onto the pillow, +and as MacFarlane bent closer he saw that the breathing was peaceful and +regular. It was as though a great load had been lifted from her mind, +and she slept. With her hand still clasped in his the man's tired body +sagged forward until his head rested beside hers. + +MacFarlane awoke with a start. Somewhere in the darkness a small voice +was calling: "Mamma! Daddy! I cold!" For a moment the man lay trying to +collect his befuddled senses. "Just a minute, baby," he called, "Daddy's +comin'." As he raised to a sitting posture upon the edge of the bunk his +fingers came in contact with his wife's hand--the hand that he suddenly +remembered had been clasped in his. Rapidly his brain cleared. He must +have fallen asleep. The fire had burned itself out in the stove and he +shivered in the chill air. Margot's hand must have slipped from his +clasp as they slept. It was too cold for her hand to lie there on top of +the blankets, and her arm protected only by the sleeve of her nightgown. +He would slip it gently beneath the covers and then build up a roaring +fire. + +A low whimpering came from the direction of the crib: "Daddy, I cold." + +"Just a minute, baby, till daddy lights the light." He reached for the +hand that lay beside him there in the darkness. As his fingers clutched +it a short, hoarse cry escaped him. The hand was icy cold--too cold for +even the coldness of the fireless room. The fingers yielded stiffly +beneath his palm and the arm lay rigid upon the blanket. + +MacFarlane sprang to his feet and as he groped upon the shelf for +matches his body was shaken by great dry sobs that ended in low throaty +moans. Clumsily his trembling fingers held the tiny flame to the wick of +the candle, and as the light flickered a moment and then burned clear, +he crossed to the crib where the baby had partly wriggled from beneath +her little blankets and robes. Wrapping her warmly in a blanket, he drew +the rest of the covers over her. + +"I want to get in bed with mamma," came plaintively from the small +bundle. + +MacFarlane choked back a sob: "Don't, don't! little one," he cried, then +lowering his voice to a hoarse whisper, he bent low over the crib. +"S-h-s-h, don't disturb mamma. She's--asleep." + +"I want sumpin' to eat. I want some gravy and some toast." + +"Yes, you wait till daddy builds the fire an' then we'll be nice an' +warm, an' daddy'll get supper." + +Silently MacFarlane set about his work. He kindled a fire, put the +teakettle on, and warmed some caribou gravy, stirring it slowly to +prevent its scorching while he toasted some bread upon the top of the +stove. Once or twice he glanced toward the bed. Margot's face was turned +away from him, and all he could see was a wealth of dark hair massed +upon the pillow. That--and the hand that showed at the end of the +nightgown sleeve. White as snow--and cold as snow it looked against the +warm red of the blanket. MacFarlane crossed and drew the blanket up over +the hand and arm, covering it to the shoulder. Bending over, he looked +long into the white face. The eyes were closed, MacFarlane was glad of +that, and the lips were slightly parted as though in restful slumber. +"Good bye--Margot--lass--" his voice broke thickly. He was conscious of +a gnawing pain in his throat, and two great scalding tears rolled down +his cheeks and dropped to the mass of dark hair where they glistened in +the steady glow of the single candle like tiny globes of fire. He raised +the blanket to cover the still face, lowered it again and crossed to +the table where he laid out a tincup for himself and a little thick +yellow bowl into which he crumbled the toast and poured the gravy over +it. Then he warmed a tiny blanket, wrapped the baby in it and, holding +her on his lap, fed her from a spoon. Between the slowly portioned +spoonfuls he drank great gulps of scalding tea. There were still several +spoonfuls left in the bowl when the tiny mite in his arms snuggled +warmly against him. "Tell me a 'tory," demanded the mite. MacFarlane +told the "'tory"--and another, and another. And then, in response to an +imperious demand, he sang a song. It was the first time MacFarlane had +ever sung a song. It was a song he had often heard Margot sing, and he +was surprised that he had unconsciously learned the words which fell +from his lips in a wailing monotone. + +MacFarlane's heart was breaking--but he finished the song. + +"I sleepy," came drowsily from the blanket. "I want to kiss mamma." + +"S-h-s-h, mamma's asleep. Kiss daddy, and we'll go to bed." + +"I want to kiss mamma," insisted the baby. + +MacFarlane hesitated with tight-pressed lips. Then he rose and carried +the baby to the bedside. "See, mamma's asleep," he whispered, pointing +to the mass of dark hair on the pillow. "Just kiss her hair--and +we--won't--wake--her--up." He held the baby so that the little pursed +lips rested for a moment in the thick mass of hair, then he carried her +to her crib and tucked her in. She was asleep when he smoothed the robe +into place. + +For a long time he stood looking down at the little face on the pillow. +Then he crossed to the table where he sat with his head resting upon his +folded arms while the minutes ticked into hours and the fire burned low. +As he sat there with closed eyes MacFarlane followed the thread of his +life from his earliest recollection. His childhood on the little +hillside farm, the long hours that he struggled with his books under the +eye of the stern-faced schoolmaster, his 'prenticeship in the shop of +the harness-maker in the small Scotch town, his year of work about the +docks at Liverpool, his coming to Canada and hiring out to the Hudson's +Bay Company, his assignment to Lashing Water as Molaire's clerk, his +meeting with Margot when she returned home from school at the +mission--and the wonderful days of that first summer together. Then--his +promotion to the position of trader, his marriage to Margot--step by +step he lived again that long journey from Lashing Water to Ste. Anne's. +For it was old Molaire's wish that his daughter should be married in the +old Gothic church where, years before, he had married her mother. + +MacFarlane raised his head and listened, his wide-staring eyes fixed +upon the black square of the window--that sound--it was--only the moan +and the muffled roar of the wind--but, for a moment it had sounded like +the tone of a deep-throated bell--like the booming of the bells of Ste. +Anne's. Slowly the man lowered his head to his arms and groped for the +thread of his thought where he had left it. Lingeringly, he dwelt upon +the happiness that had been theirs, the coming of the little Margot--the +infinite love that welled in their hearts for this soft little helpless +thing, their delight in her unfolding--the gaining of a pound--the first +tooth--the first half-formed word--the first step. He remembered, too, +their distress at her tiny ills, real and fancied. Then, his own desire +to seek gold--not for himself, but that these two loved ones might enjoy +life in a fullness undreamed by the family of a fur trader. He +recollected Molaire's opposition, his arguments, his scoffing, and his +prediction that by the end of a year he would be back at Lashing Water +buying fur for the Company. And he recollected his own retort, that +without the gold he would never come back. + +And here, in this little thick walled cabin far into the barren grounds, +he had come to the end of the long, long trail. MacFarlane raised his +head and stared at the crib. But, was it the end? He knew that it was +not, and he groped blindly, desperately to picture the end. If it were +not for her--for this little one who lay asleep there in the crib, the +end would be easy. The man's glance sought the rifle that rested upon +its pegs above the window. It was out of the question to think of +returning to Lashing Water, if he would--the baby could not stand five +hundred miles of gruelling winter-trail. He could not keep her here and +leave her alone while he prospected. He could not remain in the cabin +all winter and care for her--he must hunt to live--and game was scarce +and far afield. He shuddered at the thought of what might happen if he +were to leave her alone in the cabin with a fire in the stove--or worse, +of what might eventually happen if some accident befell him and he could +not return to the cabin. + +MacFarlane sat bolt upright. He suddenly remembered that a few days +before, from a high hill some thirty miles to the westward, he had seen +an Indian village nestled against a spruce swamp at a wide bend of a +river. It was a small village of a dozen or more tepees, and he had +intended to visit it later. Why not take the baby over there and give +her into the keeping of some squaw. If he could find one like Neseka all +would be well, for Neseka's love for the little Margot was hardly less +than his own. And surely, in a whole village there must be at least one +like her. + +MacFarlane replenished his fire, and groping upon the shelf, found a +leather covered note book and pencil. The guttered candle flared smokily +and he replaced it with another, and for an hour or more he wrote +steadily, filling page after page of the note book with fine lined +writing. + +When he had finished he thrust the note book into his pocket and again +buried his face in his arms. + + +V + +Toward morning the storm wore itself out, and before the belated winter +dawn had tinted the east MacFarlane set out for the Indian village. The +cold was intense so that his snowshoes crunched on the surface of the +flinty, wind-driven snow. Mile after mile he swung across the barrens +that lay trackless, and white, and dead, skirting towering rock ledges +and patches of scraggly timber. The sun came out and the barrens glared +dazzling white. MacFarlane had left his snow-goggles back in the cabin, +so he squinted his eyes and pushed on. Three times that day he stopped +and built a fire at the edge of a thicket and heated thick caribou gruel +which he fed by spoonfuls to the tiny robe-wrapped little girl that +snuggled warm in his pack sack. Darkness had fallen before he reached +the high hill from which he had seen the village. He scanned the sweep +of waste that lay spread before him, its shapes and distances distorted +and unreal in the feeble light of the glittering stars. He hardly +expected a light to show from a village of windowless tepees in the dead +of winter, and he strove to remember which of those vague splotchy +outlines was the black spruce swamp against which he had seen the +tepees. Suddenly the silence of the night was broken by the sharp jerky +yelp of a stricken dog. The sound issued from one of the dark blotches +of timber, and was followed by a rabble of growls and snarls. MacFarlane +judged the distance that separated him from the vague outline of the +swamp to be three or four miles, but the shrill sounds cut the frozen +air so distinctly that they seemed to issue from the foot of the hill +upon which he stood. A dull spot of light showed for a moment, rocketed +through the air, and disappeared amid a chorus of yelps and howls. An +Indian, disturbed by the fighting dogs, had thrown back the flap of his +tepee and hurled a lighted brand among them. + +Swiftly MacFarlane descended the slope and struck out for the black +spruce swamp. An hour later he stood upon the snow-covered ice of the +river while barking, snarling and growling, the Indian dog pack crowded +about him. It seemed a long time that he stood there holding the dogs at +bay with a stout spruce club. At length dark forms appeared in front of +the tepees and several Indians advanced toward him, dispersing the dogs +with blows and kicks and commands in hoarse gutterals. MacFarlane spoke +to them in Cree, and getting no response, he tried several of the +dialects from about the Bay. He had advanced until he stood among them +peering from one to another of the flat expressionless faces for some +sign of comprehension. But they returned his glances with owlish +blinking of their smoke reddened eyes. MacFarlane's heart sank. These +were the people in whose care he had intended to leave his little +daughter! Suddenly, as a ray of starlight struck aslant one of the flat +bestial faces, a flash of recognition lighted MacFarlane's eyes. The man +was one of the four who had come to trade a year before at Lashing +Water. + +"Where is the squaw?" he cried in English, grasping the man by the +shoulder and shaking him roughly, "Where is Wananebish?" + +At the name, the Indian turned and pointed toward a tepee that stood +slightly apart from the rest, and a moment later MacFarlane stood before +its door. "Wananebish!" he called. And again, "Wananebish!" + +"Yes," came the answer, "What does the white man want?" + +"It is MacFarlane, the trader at Lashing Water. Do you remember a year +ago you sold me a black fox skin?" + +"I remember. Did I not say that Wananebish would not forget? Wait, and I +will let you in, for it is cold." The walls of the tepee glowed faintly +as the squaw struck a light. He could hear her moving about inside and a +few minutes later she threw open the flap and motioned him to enter. +MacFarlane blinked in surprise as she fastened the flap behind him. +Instead of the filthy smoke-reeking interior he had expected, the tepee +was warm and comfortable, its floor covered thickly with robes, and +instead of the open fire in the center with its smoke vent at the apex +of the tepee, he saw a little Yukon stove in which a fire burned +brightly. + +Without a word he removed his pack sack and tenderly lifting the +sleeping baby from it laid her on the robes. Then, seating himself +beside her he told her, simply and in few words what had befallen him. +The squaw listened in silence and for a long time after he finished she +sat staring at the flame of the candle. + +"What would you have me do?" she asked at length. + +"Keep the little one and care for her until I return," answered the man, +"I will pay you well." + +The Indian woman made a motion of dissent. "Where are you going?" + +"To find gold." + +Was it fancy, or did the shadow of a peculiar smile tremble for an +instant upon the woman's lips? "And, if you do not return--what then?" + +"If I do not return by the time of the breaking up of the rivers," +answered the man, "You will take the baby to Lashing Water post to +Molaire, the factor, who is the father of her mother." As he spoke +MacFarlane drew from his pocket the leather notebook, and a packet +wrapped in parchment deer skin and tied with buckskin thongs. He handed +them to the squaw: "Take these," he said, "and deliver them to Molaire +with the baby. In the book I have instructed him to pay you for her +keep." + +"But this Molaire is an old man. Suppose by the time of the breaking up +of the rivers he is not to be found at Lashing Water? He may be dead, or +he may have gone to the settlements." + +"If he has gone to the settlements, you are to find him. If he is +dead--" MacFarlane hesitated: "If Molaire is dead," he repeated, "You +are to take care of the baby until she is old enough to enter the school +at some mission. I'm Scotch, an' no Catholic--but, her mother was +Catholic, an' if the priests an' the sisters make as good woman of her +as they did of her mother, I could ask no more. Give them the notebook +in which I have set down the story as I have told it to you. The packet +you shall open and take out whatever is due you for her keep. It +contains money. Keep some for yourself and give some to the priests to +pay for her education." + +The squaw nodded slowly: "It shall be as you say. And, if for any +reason, we move from here before the breaking up of the rivers, I will +write our direction and place it inside the caribou skull that hangs +upon the great split stump beside the river." + +MacFarlane rose; "May God use you as you use the little one," he said, +"I'll be going now, before she wakes up. It will be better so." He +stooped and gazed for a long time at the face of the sleeping baby. A +hot tear splashed upon the back of his hand, and he brushed it away and +faced the squaw in the door of the tepee: "Goodbye," he said, gruffly, +"Until the rivers break up in the spring." + +The Indian woman shook her head: "Do not say it like that," she +answered, "For those were the words of my man when he, too, left to find +gold. And when the river broke up in the spring he did not come back to +me--for the grinding ice-cakes caught his canoe, and he was crushed to +death in a rapids." + + +VI + +For four long nights and four short days MacFarlane worked at the +digging of a grave. It was a beautiful spot he chose to be the last +resting place of his young wife--a high, spruce-covered promontory that +jutted out into a lake. The cabin and its surroundings had grown +intolerable to him, so that he worked furiously, attacking the iron-hard +ground with fire, and ice-chisel, and spade. At last it was done and +placing the body of his wife in the rough pole coffin, he placed it upon +his sled and locking the dogs in the cabin, hauled it himself to the +promontory and lowered it into the grave. Then he shoveled back the +frozen earth, and erected a wooden cross upon which was burned deep her +name, and returning to the cabin, slept the clock around. + +If MacFarlane had been himself he would have heeded the signs of +approaching storm. But he had become obsessed with desire to leave that +place with its haunting memories, where every mute object seemed to +whisper to him of his loved ones. He was talking and mumbling to himself +as he harnessed his dogs and headed into the North at the breaking of a +day. + +Three hours after MacFarlane hit the trail he left the sparsely timbered +country behind and struck into a vast treeless plain whose glaring white +surface was cut here and there by rugged ridges of basalt which +terminated abruptly in ledges of bare rock. + +At noon he made a fireless camp, ate some pilot bread, and caribou meat. +The air was still--ominously dead and motionless to one who knew the +North. But MacFarlane gave no heed, nor did he even notice that though +there were no clouds in the sky, the low-hung sun showed dull and +coppery through a steel-blue fog. He bolted his food and pressed on. +Before him was no guiding landmark. He laid his course by the compass +and held straight North across the treeless rock-ribbed plain. The man's +lean face looked pinched and drawn. For a week he had taken his sleep in +short fitful snatches, in his chair beside the cabin stove, or with his +back against a tree while he waited for the fire to bite a few inches +deeper into the frozen ground as he toiled at the lonely grave. On and +on he mushed at the head of his dogs, his eyes, glowing feverbright, +stared fixedly from between red-rimmed lids straight into the steel +blue fog bank that formed his northern horizon. And as he walked, he +talked incessantly--now arguing with old Molaire, who predicted dire +things, and refused to believe that there was gold in the North--now +telling Margot of his hopes and planning his future--and again, telling +stories to little Margot of Goldilocks and the three little bears, and +of where the caribou got their horns. + +The blue fog thickened. From somewhere far ahead sounded a low +whispering roar--the roar of mightly wind, muffled by its burden of +snow. When the first blast struck, MacFarlane tottered in his tracks, +then lowering his head, leaned against it and pushed on. Following the +gust was a moment of calm. Behind him the dogs whimpered uneasily. +MacFarlane did not hear them, nor did he hear the roar of the onrushing +wind. + +Around a corner of a rock ledge a scant two hundred yards ahead of him, +appeared a great grey shape, running low. The shape halted abruptly and +circled wide. It was followed by other shapes--gaunt, and grey, and +ugly, between whose back-curled lips white fangs gleamed. The wolf pack, +forty strong, was running before the storm, heading southward for the +timber. Whining with terror, MacFarlane's dogs crowded about his legs in +a sudden rush. The man went down and struggled to his feet, cursing, and +laying about him with clubbed rifle. Then the storm struck in all its +fury. MacFarlane gasped for air, and sucked in great gulps of powdery +snow that bit into his lungs and seared his throat with their stinging +cold. He choked and coughed and jerking off his mitten, clawed with bare +fingers at his throat and eyes. While behind him, down wind, the great +grey caribou wolves, stopped in their wild flight by the scent of meat, +crowded closer, and closer. + +In a panic, MacFarlane's dogs whirled, and dragging the sled behind them +bolted. MacFarlane staggered a few steps forward and fell, then, on +hands and knees he crawled back, groping and pawing the snow for his +mitten and rifle. The sharp frenzied yelps as the dog team plunged into +the wolf-pack sounded faint and far. The man threw up his head. He +pulled off his cap to listen and the wind whipped it from his numbed +fingers--but MacFarlane did not know. Moments of silence followed during +which the man strained his ears to catch a sound that eluded him. + +When the last shred of flesh had been ripped from the bones of the dogs +the gaunt grey leader of the pack raised his muzzle and sniffed the +wind. He advanced a cautious step or two and sniffed again, then seating +himself on his haunches he raised his long pointed muzzle to the sky and +gave voice to the long drawn cry of the kill--and the shapes left the +fang-scarred bits of bone and sniffed up-wind at the man-scent. + +As the sound of the great wolf cry reached his ears above the roar of +the wind, MacFarlane's face lighted with a smile of infinite gladness: +"The bells," he muttered, "I heard them--d'you hear them, Margot--girl? +It's for us--the booming of the bells of Ste. Anne's!" And with the +words on his lips MacFarlane pillowed his head on the snow--and slept. + + +VII + +Years afterward, after old Molaire had been gathered to his fathers and +laid in the little cemetery within the sound of the bells of Ste. +Anne's, Corporal Downey one day came upon a long deserted cabin far into +the barren grounds upon the shore of a nameless lake. He closed the +rotting door behind him, and methodically searching the ground, came at +length upon the solitary grave upon the high promontory that jutted into +the lake. Unconsciously he removed his hat as he read the simple +inscription burned deep into the little wooden cross. His lips moved: +"Margot--girl," he whispered, "if--if--" the whisper thickened and +choked him. He squared his shoulders and cleared his throat roughly. "Aw +hell!" he breathed, and turning, walked slowly back to his canoe and +shoved out onto the water. + +And during the interval of the years the little band of non-treaty +Indians--the homeless and the restless ones--moved on--and on--and +on---- + + + + +CHAPTER I + +COARSE GOLD + + +As Carter Brent pushed through the swinging doors of "The Ore Dump" +saloon, the eyes of the head bartender swept with approval from the +soles of the high laced boots to the crown of the jauntily tilted +Stetson. "What'll it be this morning, Mr. Brent?" he greeted. "Little +eye-opener?" + +The young man grinned as he crossed to the bar: "How did you guess it?" + +The bartender set out decanter and glasses. "Well, after last night, +thought maybe you'd have a kind of fuzzy taste in your mouth." + +"Fuzzy is right! My tongue is coated with fur--dark brown fur--thick and +soft. What time was it when we left here?" + +"Must have been around two o'clock. But, how does it come you ain't on +the works this mornin'? Never knew you to lose a day on account of a +hang-over. Heard a couple of the S. & R.'s tunnels got flooded last +night." + +Brent poured a liberal drink and downed it at a swallow: "Yes," he +answered, dryly, "And that's why I'm not on the works. I'm hunting a +job, and the S. & R. is hunting a new mining engineer." + +"Jepson fired you, did he! Well, you should worry. I've heard 'em +talkin' in here, now an' then--some of the big guns--an' they all claim +you're one of the best engineers in Montana. They say if you'd buckle +down to business you'd have 'em all skinned." + +"Buckle down to business, eh! The trouble with them is that when they +hire a man they think they buy him. It's none of their damn business +what I do evenings. If I'm sober when I'm on the job--and on the job six +days a week, and sometimes seven--they're getting all they're paying +for." + +"They sure are," agreed the other with emphasis, "Have another shot," he +shoved the decanter toward the younger man and leaned closer: "Say Mr. +Brent, you ain't--er, you don't need a little change, do you? If you do +just say so, you're welcome to it." The man drew forth a roll of bills, +but Brent shook his head: + +"No thanks. You can cash this check for me though. Jepson was square +enough about it--paid me in full to date and threw in a month's salary +in advance. I don't blame him any. We quit the best of friends. When he +hired me he knew I liked a little drink now and then, so I took the job +with the understanding that if the outfit ever lost a dollar because of +my boozing, I was through right then." + +"What was it flooded the tunnels?" + +"Water," grinned Brent. + +"Oh," laughed the bartender, "I thought maybe it was booze." + +"You'd have thought so all the more if you'd been there this morning to +hear the temperance lecture that old Jepson threw in gratis along with +that extra month's pay. About the tunnels--we get our power from +Anaconda, and something happened to the high tension wire, and the pumps +stopped, and there wasn't any light, and Number Four and Number Six are +wet tunnels anyway so they filled up and drowned two batteries of +drills. Then, instead of rigging a steam pump and pumping them out +through Number Four, one of the shift bosses rigged a fifteen inch +rotary in Number Six and started her going full tilt with the result +that he ran the water down against that new piece of railroad grade and +washed about fifty feet of it into the river and left the track hanging +in the air by the rails." + +"The damn fool!" + +"Oh, I don't know. He did the best he could. A shift boss isn't hired to +think." + +"What did old Jepson fire _you_ for? He didn't think you clim up an' cut +the high tension wire did he? Or, did he expect you to set around nights +an' keep the juice flowin'?" + +Brent laughed: "Not exactly. But they tried to find me and couldn't. So +when I showed up this morning old Jepson sent for me and asked me where +I was last night. I could have lied out of it easy enough. He would have +accepted any one of a half a dozen excuses--but lying's poor +business--so I told him I was out having a hell of a good time and wound +up about three in the morning with a pretty fair snootful." + +"Bet he thinks a damn sight more of you than if you'd of lied, at that. +But they's plenty of jobs fer you. You've got it in your noodle--what +they need--an' what they've got to pay to get. You might drop around an' +talk to Gunnison, of the Little Ella. He was growlin' in here the other +night because he couldn't get holt of an engineer. Goin' to do a lot of +cross tunnel work or somethin'. Said he was afraid he'd have to send +back East an' get some pilgrim or some kid just out of college. Hold on +a minute there's a bird down there, among them hard rock men, that looks +like he was figgerin' on startin' somethin'. I'll just step down an' put +a flea in his ear." + +Brent's eyes followed the other as he made his way toward the rear of +the long bar where three or four bartenders were busy serving drinks to +a crowd of miners. He noticed casually that the men were divided into +small groups and that they seemed to be talking excitedly among +themselves, and that the talk was mostly in whispers. + +"The Ore Dump" was essentially a mining man's saloon. Its proprietor, +Patsy Kelliher, was an old time miner who, having struck it lucky with +pick and shovel, had started a modest little saloon, and later had +opened "The Ore Dump," in the fitting up of which he had gone the limit +in expensive furnishings. It was his boast that no miner had ever gone +out of his door hungry or thirsty, nor had any man ever lost a cent by +unfair means within his four walls. Rumor had it that Patsy had given +away thousands. Be that as it may, "The Ore Dump" had for years been the +mecca of the mining fraternity. Millionaire mine owners, managers, +engineers, and on down through the list to the humblest "hunk," were +served at its long bar, which had, by common usage become divided by +invisible lines of demarkation. The mine owners, the managers, the +engineers, and the independent contractors foregathered at the front end +of the bar; the hunks, and the wops, and the guineas at the rear end; +while the long space between was a sort of no-man's-land where drank the +shift bosses and the artisans of the mines--the hard-rock men, the +electricians, and the steam-fitters. Combinations of capital running +into millions had been formed at the front end, and combinations of +labor at the rear, while in no-man's-land great mines had been tied up +at the crooking of a finger. + +On this particular morning Carter Brent was the only customer at the +front end of the bar. He poured another drink and watched it glow like a +thing of life with soft amber lights that played through the crystal +clear glass as a thin streak of sunlight struck aslant the bar. The +liquor in his stomach was taking hold. He felt warm, with a glowing, +tingling warmth that permeated to his finger tips. In his mind was a +vast sense of well being. The world was a great old place to live in. He +drank the whisky in his glass and refilled it from the cut glass +decanter. Poor old Jepson--fired the best engineer in Montana--that's +what his friend, the bartender, had just told him, and he got it from +the big guns. Well, it was Jepson's funeral--he and the S. & R. would +have to stagger along as best they could. He would go and see +Gunnison--no, to hell with Gunnison! Brent's fingers closed about the +roll of bills in his trousers pocket. He had plenty of money, he would +wait and pick out a job. He needn't worry. He always was sure of a good +job. Hadn't he had five in the two years since he graduated from +college? There were plenty of mines and they all needed good engineers. +Brent smiled as his thoughts drifted lazily back to his four years in +college. He wished some of the fellows would drop in. "They were a bunch +of damned good sports," he muttered to himself, "And we sure did roll +'em high! Speedy Bennet was always the first to go under--about two +drinks and we'd lay him on the shelf to call for when needed. Then came +McGivern, then Sullivan, and about that time little Morse would begin +flapping his arms around and proclaiming he could fly. Then, after a +while there wouldn't be anyone left but Morey and me--good old +Morey--they canned him in his senior year--and they've been canning me +ever since." + +Brent paused in his soliloquy and regarded the men who had been +whispering among themselves toward the rear of the room. There were no +small groups now, and no whispering. With tense faces they were crowding +about a man who stood with hands palm down upon the bar. He wondered +what it was all about. From his position at the head of the bar he could +see the man's face plainly. Also he could see the faces of the +others--the lined, rugged faces of the hard rock and the vapid, +loose-lipped faces of the wops--and of all the faces only the face of +the man who stood with his hands on the bar betrayed nothing of tense +expectancy. Why were these others crowding about him, and why was he the +only man of them all who was not holding in check by visible effort some +pent up emotion? Brent glanced again into the weather-lined face with +its drooping sun-burned mustache, and its skin tanned to the color of +old leather--a strong face, one would say--the face of a man who had +battled long against odds, and won. Won what? He wondered. For an +instant the man's eyes met his own, and it seemed to Brent as though he +had read the question for surely, behind the long drooping mustache, the +lips twisted into just the shadow of a cynical grin. + +The head bartender stepped to the back bar and, from beside a huge +gilded cash register, he lifted a set of tiny scales which he carried to +the bar and set down directly before the man with the sun-burned +mustache. + +In front of the bar men crowded closer, craning their necks, and +elbowing one another, as their feet made soft shuffling sounds upon the +hardwood floor. One of the man's hands slipped into a side pocket of his +coat and when it came out something thudded heavily upon the bar. Brent +saw the object plainly as the bartender reached for it, a small buckskin +pouch, its surface glazed with the grease and soot of many campfires. He +had seen men carry their tobacco in just such pouches, but this pouch +held no tobacco, it had thumped the bar heavily and lay like a sack of +sand. + +The bartender untied the strings and stood with the pouch poised above +the scales while his eyes roved over the eager, expectant faces of the +crowd. Then he placed a small weight upon the pan of the scales and +poured something slowly from the pouch into the small scoop upon the +opposite side. From his position Brent could see the delicate scales +oscillate and finally strike a balance. The bartender closed the pouch +and handed it back to the owner. Then he picked up the scales and +returned them to their place beside the cash register, while in front of +the bar men surged about the pouch owner clawing and shoving to get next +to him, and all talking at once, nobody paying the slightest attention +to the bartenders who were vainly trying to serve a round of drinks. + +The head bartender returned to his position opposite Brent, and reaching +for the decanter, poured himself a drink. "Drink up and have one on the +stranger--he just set 'em up to the house." + +Brent swallowed the liquor in his glass and refilled it: "What's the +excitement?" he asked, "A man don't ordinarily get as popular as he +seems to be just because he buys a round of drinks, does he?" + +"Didn't you see it? It ain't the round of drinks, it's--wait--" He +stepped to the back bar and lifting the scoop from the scales set it +down in front of Brent, "That's what it is--_gold_! Yes sir, pure gold +just as she comes from the sand--nuggets and dust. It's be'n many a year +since any of that stuff has been passed over this bar for the drinks. +I've be'n here seven years and it's the first _I've_ took in, except now +and then a few colors that some _hombre's_ washed out of some dry coulee +or creek bed--fine dust that's cost him the shovelin' an' pannin' of +tons of gravel. Patsy keeps the scales settin' around for a +curiosity--that, an' because the old-timers likes to see 'em handy. Kind +of reminds 'em of the early days an' starts 'em gassin'. But this here's +the real stuff. Look at that boy." He poked with his finger at an +irregular nugget the size of a navy bean, "Looks like a chunk of +slag--an' that ain't all! He's got a bag full of 'em. I held it in my +hand, an' it weighed _pounds_!" + +As Brent stood looking down at the grains of yellow metal in the little +scoop a strange uneasiness stirred deep within him. He picked up the +nugget and held it in the palm of his hand. One side of it was flat, as +though polished by a thousand years of water-wear, and the other side +was rough and fire-eaten as though fused by a mighty heat. Brent had +seen plenty of gold--coined gold, gold fashioned by the goldsmith's art, +and gold in bricks and ingots, in the production of which he himself had +been a factor. Yet never before had the sight of gold moved him. It had +been merely a valuable metal which it was his business to help extract +from certain rocks by certain processes of chemistry and expensive +machinery. Yet here in his hand was a new kind of gold--gold that seemed +to reach into the very heart of him with a personal appeal. Raw +gold--gold that had known the touch of neither chemicals nor machinery, +but that had been wrested by the bare hands of a man from some far place +where the fires of a glowing world and the glacial ice-drift had +fashioned it. The vague uneasiness that had stirred him at sight of the +yellow grains, flamed into a mighty urge at its touch. He, too, would go +and get gold--and he would get it not by process of brain, but by +process of brawn. Not by means of chemicals and machinery, but by +slashing into the sides of mountains, and ripping the guts out of +creeks! Carefully he returned the nugget to the scoop, and as he raised +his eyes to the bartender's, he moistened his lips with his tongue. + +"Where did he get it?" he asked, huskily. + +"God, man! If I know'd that I wouldn't be standin' here, would I?" He +jerked his thumb toward the rear of the room where men were frenziedly +crowding the stranger. "That's what they all want to know. Lord, if he'd +let the word slip what a stampede there'd be! Every man for himself an' +the devil take the hindmost. Out of every hundred that's in on a +stampede, about one makes a stake, an' ten gets their ante back, an' the +rest goes broke. They all know what they're going up against--but the +damned fools! Every one of 'em would stake all they've got, an' their +life throw'd in, to be in on it." + +"It's the lure of gold," muttered Brent, "I've heard of it, but I never +felt it before. Are they damned fools? Wouldn't you?" + +"Wouldn't I--what?" + +"Wouldn't you go--along with the rest?" + +"_Hell--yes!_ An' so would anyone else that had any red guts in 'em!" + +Brent poured himself a drink, and shoved the decanter toward the other, +"Let's liquor," he said, "and then maybe if we can get that fellow away +from the crowd where we can talk----" + +The bartender interrupted the thought before it was expressed; "No +chance. Take a look at him. Believe me, there's one _hombre_ that ain't +goin' to spill nothin' he don't want to. An' when a man makes a strike +like that he don't hang around bars runnin' off at the chin about +it--not what you could notice, he don't. Far as I can see we got just +one chance. It's a damn slim one, but you can't always tell what's +runnin' in these birds' heads. He asked me if Patsy Kelliher was runnin' +this dump, an' when I told him he was, he had me send for him. Said he +wanted to see him _pronto_. An' then he kind of throw'd his eyes around +over the faces of the boys an' he says: 'You're all friends of Patsy's?' +He seen in a minute how Patsy stood acehigh with them all, an' then he +says; 'Well, just kind of stick around 'till Patsy gets down here an' it +might be I'll explode somethin' amongst his friends that'll clean this +dump out.' Now, you might take that two ways, but he don't look like one +of these, what you might call, anarchists, does he? An' when he said +that he laughed, an' he says: 'Belly up to the bar an' I'll buy a little +drink--_an' I'll pay for it with coarse gold!_' Well, you seen how much +drinkin' they done, an'--Here's Patsy, now!" + +Brent turned and nodded greeting as the proprietor of "The Ore Dump" +entered the door. + +"Is it yersilf that sint fer me, Mister Brint, ye spalpeen?" he grinned, +"Bein' a gintleman yersilf, ye'll be knowin' Oi'd still be at me +newspaper an' seegar. Whut's on yer mind thot ye'll be dhraggin' a mon +from the bossom of his family befoor lunch?" + +"It ain't him," explained the bartender, "It's the stranger, I told him +you didn't never show up till after dinner, but----" + +"_Lunch! Damn it! Lunch!_" Kelliher's fist smote the bar, and as he +scowled into the face of his head bartender, Brent detected a twinkle in +the deep-set blue eyes. "Didn't the owld woman beat that same into me +own head a wake afther we'd moved into the big house? An' she done ut +wid a tree-calf concoordance to Shakspere wid gold edges thot sets on +the par--livin' room table? 'Tis a handy an' useful weapon--a worthy +substitute, as the feller says, to the pleebeen rollin' pin an' fryin' +pan. Thim tree calves has got a hide on 'em loike the bottom av a +sluice-box. Oi bet they could make anvils out av the hide av a +full-grow'd tree-bull. G'wan now an' trot out this ill-fared magpie that +must be at his chatterin' befoor the break av day!" + +At a motion from the bartender the crowd parted to allow the stranger to +make his way to the front, surged together behind him, and followed, +ranging itself in a semicircle at a respectful distance. Thus with the +two principals, Brent found himself included within this semicircle of +excited faces. + +The two eyed each other for a moment in silence, the stranger with a +smile half-veiled by his sun-burned mustache, and Kelliher with a +frankly puzzled expression upon his face as his thick fingers toyed with +the heavy gold chain that hung cable-like from pocket to pocket of his +gaily colored vest. + +"I figured you wouldn't know me." The stranger's grin widened as he +noted the look of perplexity. + +"An' no more I don't," retorted the other, unconsciously tilting his +high silk hat at an aggressive angle over his right eye. "Let's git the +cards on the table. Who are ye? An' what ye got in ye're head that ye +couldn't kape there till afther lunch?" + +"I'm McBride." + +Brent saw that the name conveyed nothing to the other, whose puzzled +frown deepened. "Ye're McBride!" The tone was good-naturedly sarcastic, +"Well, ye'd av still be'n McBride this afthernoon, av ye'd be'n let live +that long. But who the divil's McBride that Oi shud come tearin' down to +look into the ugly mug av um?" + +The stranger laughed: "Nine years ago McBride was the night telegraph +operator over in the yards. That was before you moved up here. You was +still in the little dump over on Fagin street an' you done most of the +work yerself--used to open up mornings. There wasn't no big diamon's +shinin' in the middle of yer bald-face shirt them days--I doubt an' you +owned a bald-face shirt, except, maybe, for Sundays. Anyhow, you'd be +openin' up in the mornin' when I'd be goin off trick, an' I most +generally stopped in for a couple of drinks or so. An' one mornin' when +I'd downed three or four, I noticed you kind of givin' me the once-over. +There wasn't no one else in the place, an' you come over an' leaned yer +elbows on the bar, an' you says: 'Yer goin' kind of heavy on that stuff, +son,' you says. + +"'What the hell's the difference?' I says, 'I ain't got only six months +to live an' I might's well enjoy what I can of it.' + +"'Are they goin' to hang ye in six months?' you asks, 'Have ye got yer +sentence?' + +"'I've got my sentence,' I says, 'But it ain't hangin'. The doctors +sentenced me. It's the con.' + +"'To hell with the doctors,' you says, 'They don't know it all. We'll +fool 'em. All you need is to git out in the mountains--an' lay off the +hooch.' + +"I laughed at you. 'Me go to the mountains!' I says, 'Why man I ain't +hardly got strength to get to my room an' back to the job again--an' +couldn't even make that if it wasn't for the hooch.' + +"'That's right,' you says, 'From the job to the room, an' the room to +the job, ye'll last maybe six months--but I'm doubtin' it. But the +mountains is different.' An' then you goes on an talks mountains an' +gold till you got me interested, an' you offers to grub-stake me for a +trip into the Kootenay country. You claimed it was a straight business +proposition--fifty-fifty if I made a strike, an' you put up the money +against my time." The stranger paused and smiled as a subdued ripple of +whisperings went from man to man as he mentioned the Kootenay. Then he +looked Kelliher squarely in the face: "There wasn't no gold in the +Kootenay," he said simply, "Or leastwise I couldn't find none. I figured +someone had be'n stringin' you." + +Patsy Kelliher shifted the hat to the back of his head and laughed out +loud as his little eyes twinkled with merriment. "I git ye now, son," he +said, "I moind the white face av ye, an' the chist bowed in like the +bottom av a wash bowl, an' yer shoulders stuck out befront ye loike the +horns av a cow." He paused as his eyes ran the lines of sinewy leanness +and came to rest upon the sun bronzed face: "So ye made a failure av the +trip, eh? A plumb clane failure--an' Oi'm out the couple av hundred it +cost me fer the grub stake----" + +"It cost you more than five hundred," interrupted the other. "I was in +bad shape and there was things I needed that other men wouldn't of--that +I don't need--now." + +"Well--foive hundred, thin. An' how long has ut be'n ago?" + +"Nine years." + +Kelliher laughed: "Who was roight--me or the damn doctors? Ye've lived +eighteen toimes as long as they was going to let ye live a'ready--an' av +me eyes deceive me roight, ye ain't ordered no coffin yet." + +"No--I ain't ordered no coffin. I come here to hunt you up an' pay you +back." + +Kelliher laughed: "There ain't nothin' to pay son. You don't owe me a +cent. A grub-stake's a grub-stake, an' no one iver yit said Patsy +Kelliher welched on a bargain. Besoides, Oi guess ye got all Oi sint ye +afther. I know'd damn well they wasn't no gold in the Kootenay--none +that a tenderfoot lunger cud foind." + +McBride laughed: "Sure--I knew after I'd been there six months what you +done it for. I doped it all out. But, as you say, a grub-stake's a +grub-stake, an' no time limit on it, an' no one ever said Jim McBride +ever welched on a bargain, neither. I ain't never be'n just ready to +come back an' settle with you, till now. I drifted north, and farther +north, till I wound up in the Yukon country. I prospected around there +an' had pretty good luck. I'd got back my strength an' my health till +right now there ain't but damn few men in the big country that can hit +the trail with Jim McBride. But I wasn't never satisfied with what I was +takin' out. I know'd there was somethin' big somewheres up there. I +could _feel_ it, an' I played for the big stake. Others stuck by stuff +that was pannin' 'em out wages. I didn't. They called me a fool--an' I +let 'em. I struck up river at last an' they laughed--but they ain't +laughin' now. Me an' a squaw-man named Carmack hunted moose together +over on Bonanza. One day Carmack was scratchin' around the roots of a +big birch tree an' just fer fun he gets to monkeyin' with my pan." The +man paused and Brent could hear the suppressed breathing of the miners +who had crowded close. His eyes swept their faces and he saw that every +eye in the house was staring into the face of McBride as they hung upon +his every word. He realized suddenly that he himself was waiting in a +fever of impatience for the man to go on. "Then I come into camp, an' we +both fooled with the pan--but we didn't fool long. God, man! We was +shakin' it out of the grass roots! _Coarse gold!_ I stayed at it a +month--an' I've filed on every creek within ten miles of that lone birch +tree. Then I come outside to find you an' settle." He paused and his +eyes swept the room: "These men friends of yourn?" he asked. Kelliher +nodded. "Well then I'm lettin' 'em in. Right here starts the biggest +stampede the world ever seen. Some of the old timers that was already up +there are into the stuff now--but in the spring the whole world will be +gettin' in on it!" + +Kelliher was the only self-possessed man in the room: "What'll she run +to the pan?" he asked. + +"_Run to the pan!_ God knows! We thought she was _big_ when she hit an +ounce----" + +"_An ounce to the pan!_" cried Kelliher, "Man ye're crazy!" + +The other continued: "An' we thought she was _little_ when she run a +hundred dollars--two hundred! I've washed out six-hundred dollars to +the pan! An' I ain't to bed rock!" + +And then he began to empty his pockets. One after another the little +buckskin sacks thudded upon the bar--ten--fifteen--twenty of them. +McBride spoke to Kelliher, who stared with incredulous, bulging eyes: +"That's your share of what I've took out. You're filed along with me as +full pardner in all the claims I've got. They's millions in them +claims--an' more millions fer the men that gets there first." He paused +and turned to the men of the crowd who stood silent, with tense white +faces, and staring eyes glued on the pile of buckskin sacks: "Beat it, +you gravel hogs!" he cried, "It's the biggest strike that ever was! Hit +fer Seattle, go by Dyea Beach an' over the Chilkoot, an' take a thousand +pounds of outfit--or you'll die. A hell of a lot of you'll die +anyhow--but some of you will win--an' win big. Over the Chilkoot, down +through the lakes, an' down the Yukon to Dawson--" A high pitched, +unnatural yell, animal-like in its nervous excitement broke from a +throat in the crowd, and the next instant pandemonium broke loose in +Kelliher's, and Carter Brent fought his way to the door through a +howling mass of mad men, and struck out for his boarding house at a +run. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +ON DYEA BEACH + + +In a drizzle of cold rain forty men stood on Dyea beach and viewed with +disfavor the forty thousand pounds of sodden, mud-smeared outfit that +had been hurriedly landed from the little steamer that was already +plowing her way southward. Of the sixty-odd men who, two weeks before +had stood in Patsy Kelliher's "Ore Dump Saloon" and had seen Jim McBride +toss one after another upon the bar twenty buckskin pouches filled to +bursting with coarse gold in his reckoning with Kelliher, these forty +had accomplished the first leg of the long North trail. The next year +and the next, thousands, and tens of thousands of men would follow in +their footsteps, for these forty were the forerunners of the great +stampede from the "outside"--a stampede that exacted merciless toll in +the lives of fools and weaklings, even as it heaped riches with lavish +prodigality into the laps of the strong. + +Jim McBride had said that each man must carry in a thousand pounds of +outfit. Well and good, they had complied. Each had purchased his +thousand pounds, had it delivered on board the steamer, and in due +course, had watched it dumped upon the beach from the small boats. +Despite the cold drizzle, throughout the unloading the forty had laughed +and joked each other and had liberally tendered flasks. But now, with +the steamer a vanishing speck in the distance and the rock-studded Dyea +Flats stretching away toward the mountains, the laughter and joking +ceased. Men eyed the trail, moved aimlessly about, and returned to their +luggage. The thousand pound outfits had suddenly assumed proportions. +Every ounce of it must be man-handled across a twenty-eight mile portage +and over the Chilkoot Pass. Now and then a man bent down and gave a +tentative lift at a bale or a sack. Muttered curses had taken the place +of laughter, and if a man drew a flask from his pocket, he drank, and +returned it to his pocket without tendering it to his neighbor. + +When Carter Brent had reached the seclusion of his room after leaving +Kelliher's saloon, he slipped his hand into his pocket and withdrawing +his roll of bills, counted them. He found exactly three hundred and +seventy-eight dollars which he rightly decided was not enough to finance +an expedition to the gold country. He must get more--and get it quickly. +Returning the bills in his pocket he packed his belongings, left the +room, and a few minutes later was admitted upon signal to the gambling +rooms of Nick the Greek where selecting a faro layout, he bought a +stack of chips. At the end of a half-hour he bought another stack, and +thereafter he began to win. When his innings totaled one thousand +dollars he cashed in, and that evening at seven o'clock he stepped onto +a train bound for Seattle. He was mildly surprised that none of the +others from Kelliher's were in evidence. But when he arrived at his +destination he grinned as he saw them swarming from the day coaches +ahead. + +And now on Dyea beach he stood and scowled as he watched the rain water +collect in drops and roll down the sides of his packages. + +"He said they was Injuns would pack this here junk," complained a man +beside him, "Where'n hell be they?" + +"Search me," grinned Brent, "How much can you carry?" + +"Don't know--not a hell of a lot over them rocks--an' he said this here +Chilkoot was so steep you had to climb it instead of walk." + +"Suppose we make a try," suggested Brent. "A man ought to handle a +hundred pounds----" + +"_A hundred pounds!_ You're crazy as hell! I ain't no damn burro--me. +Not no hundred pounds no twenty-eight mile, an' part of it cat-climbin'. +'Bout twenty-five's more my size." + +"You like to walk better than I do," shrugged Brent, "Have you stopped +to figure that a twenty-five-pound pack means four trips to the +hundred--forty trips for the thousand? And forty round trips of +twenty-eight miles means something over twenty-two hundred miles of +hiking." + +"Gawd!" exclaimed the other, in dismay, "It must be hell to be +eggicated! If _I'd_ figgered that out, _I'd_ of stayed on the boat! +We're in a hell of a fix now, an' no ways to git back. That grub'll all +be et gittin' it over the pass, an' when we git there, we ain't +nowheres--we got them lakes an' river to make after that. Looks like by +the time we hit this here Bonanza place all the claims will be took up, +or the gold'll be rotted with old age." + +"You're sure a son of gloom," opined Brent as he stooped and affixed his +straps to a hundred-pound sack of flour. "But I'm going to hit the +trail. So long." + +As Brent essayed to swing the pack to his shoulders he learned for the +first time in his life that one hundred pounds is a matter not lightly +to be juggled. The pack did not swing to his shoulders, and it was only +after repeated efforts, and the use of other bales of luggage as a +platform that he was at length able to stand erect under his burden. The +other man had watched without offer of assistance, and Brent's wrath +flared as he noted his grin. Without a word he struck across the +rock-strewn flat. + +"Hurry back," taunted the other, "You ort to make about four trips by +supper time." + +Before he had covered fifty yards Brent knew that he could never stand +the strain of a hundred-pound pack. While not a large man, he was well +built and rugged, but he had never before carried a pack, and every +muscle of his body registered its aching protest at the unaccustomed +strain. Time and again it seemed as though the next step must be his +last, then a friendly rock would show up ahead and he would stagger +forward and sink against its side allowing the rock to ease the weight +from his shoulders. As the distance between resting places became +shorter, the periods of rest lengthened, and during these periods, while +he panted for breath and listened to the pounding of his heart's blood +as it surged past his ear drums, his brain was very active. "McBride +said a good packer could walk off with a hundred, or a hundred and fifty +pounds, and he'd seen 'em pack two hundred," he muttered. "And I've been +an hour moving one hundred pounds one mile! And I'm so near all in that +I couldn't move it another mile in a week. I wonder where those Indian +packers are that he said we could get?" His eyes travelled back across +the flats, every inch of which had caused him bodily anguish, and came +to rest upon the men who still moved aimlessly among the rain-sodden +bales, or stood about in groups. "Anyway I'm the only one that has made +a stab at it." + +A sound behind him caused him to turn his head abruptly to see five +Indians striding toward him along the rock-strewn trail. Brent wriggled +painfully from his pack straps as the leader, a bigframed giant of a +man, halted at his side and stared stolidly down at him. Brent gained +his feet and thrust out his hand: "Hello, there, old Nick o' Time! Want +a job? I've got a thousand pounds of junk back there on the beach, +counting this piece, and all you gentlemen have got to do is to flip it +up onto your backs and skip over the Chilkoot with it--it's a snap, and +I'll pay you good wages. Do you speak English?" + +The big Indian nodded gravely, "Me spik Eengliss. Me no nem Nickytam. +Nem Kamish--W'ite man call Joe Pete." + +Brent nodded: "All right, Joe Pete. Now how much are you and your gang +going to charge me to pack this stuff up over the pass?" + +The Indian regarded the sack of flour: "You _chechako_," he announced. + +"Just as you say," grinned Brent, "I wouldn't take that from everybody, +whatever it means, but if you'll get that stuff over the pass you can +call me anything you want to." + +"You Boston man." + +"No--I'm from Tennessee. But we'll overlook even that. How much you pack +it over the pass." Brent pointed to the flour and held up ten fingers. + +The Indian turned to his followers and spoke to them in guttural jargon. +They nodded assent, and he turned to Brent: "Top Chilkoot fi' cent +poun'--hondre poun', fi' dolla. Lak Lindermann, three cent poun' +mor'--hondre poun' all way, eight dolla." + +"You're on!" agreed Brent, "Thousand pounds, eighty dollars--all the +way." + +The Indian nodded, and Brent produced a ten dollar gold piece which he +handed to the man, indicated that he would get the rest when they +reached Lake Lindermann. + +The Indian motioned to the smallest of his followers and pointing to the +sack of flour, mumbled some words of jargon, whereupon the man stepped +to the pack, removed Brent's straps and producing straps of his own +swung the burden to his back and started off at a brisk walk. + +As Brent led the way back to the beach at the head of his Indians he +turned more than once to glance back at the solitary packer, but as far +as he could see him, the man continued to swing along at the same brisk +pace at which he had started, whereat he conceived a sudden profound +respect for his hirelings. "The littlest runt of the bunch has got me +skinned a thousand miles," he muttered, "But I'll learn the trick. A +year from now I'll hit the trail with any of 'em." + +Back at the beach the Indians were surrounded by thirty-nine clamoring, +howling men who pushed and jostled one another in a frenzied attempt to +hire the packers. + +"No, you don't!" cried Brent, "These men are working for me. When I'm +through with them you can have them, and not before." + +Ugly mutterings greeted the announcement. "Who the hell do you think +you are?" "Divide 'em up!" "Give someone else a chanct." Others advanced +upon the Indians and shook sheaves of bills under their noses, offering +double and treble Brent's price. But the Indians paid no heed to the +paper money, and inwardly Brent thanked the lucky star that guided him +into exchanging all his money into gold before leaving Seattle. + +Despite the fact that he was next to useless as a packer Brent was no +weakling. Ignoring the mutterings he led the Indians to his outfit and +while they affixed their straps, he faced the crowding men. + +"Just stay where you are, boys," he said. "This stuff here is my stuff, +and for the time being the ground it's on is my ground." + +The man who had sneered at his attempt to pack the flour crowded close +and quick as a flash, Brent's left fist caught him square on the point +of the chin and he crashed backward among the legs of the others. +Brent's voice never changed tone, nor by so much as the flutter of an +eye lash did he betray any excitement. "Any man that crosses that line +is going to find trouble--and find it damned quick." + +"He's bluffin'," cried a thick voice from the rear of the crowd, "Let me +up there. I'll show the damn dude!" A huge hard-rock man elbowed his way +through the parting crowd, his whiskey-reddened eyes narrowed to slits. +Three paces in front of Brent he halted abruptly and stared into the +muzzle of the blue steel gun that had flashed into the engineer's hand. + +"Come on," invited Brent, "If I'm bluffing I won't shoot. You're twice +as big as I am. I wouldn't stand a show in the world in a +rough-and-tumble. But, I'm not bluffing--and there won't be any +rough-and-tumble." + +For a full half minute the man stared into the unwavering muzzle of the +gun. + +"You would shoot a man, damn you!" he muttered as he backed slowly away. +And every man in the crowd knew that he spoke the truth. + +Three of the Indians had put their straps to a hundred pounds apiece and +were already strung out on the trail. Brent turned to see Joe Pete +regarding him with approval, and as he affixed his straps to a fifty +pound pack, the big Indian stooped and swung an extra fifty pounds on +top of the hundred already on his back and struck out after the others. +At the end of a half-mile Brent was laboring heavily under his load, +while Joe Pete had never for an instant slackened his pace. "What's he +made of? Don't he ever rest?" thought Brent, as he struggled on. The +blood was pounding in his ears, and his laboring lungs were sucking in +the air in great gulps. At length his muscles refused to go another +step, and he sagged to the ground and lay there sick and dizzy without +energy enough left at his command to roll the pack from his shoulders. +After what seemed an hour the pack was raised and the Indian who had +gone ahead with his first pack swung the fifty pounds to his own +shoulders and started off. Brent scrambled to his feet and followed. + +A mile farther on they came to the others lying on the ground smoking +and resting. The packs lay to one side, and Brent made mental note of +the fact that these packers carried much of the weight upon a strap that +looped over their foreheads, and that instead of making short hauls and +then resting with their packs on they made long hauls and took long +rests with their packs thrown off. They were at least three miles from +the beach, and it was nearly an hour before they again took the trail. +In the meantime Joe Pete had rigged a tump-line for Brent, and when he +again took the trail he was surprised at the difference the shifting of +part of the load to his head made in the ease with which he carried it. + +Two miles farther on they came upon the sack of flour where the Indian +had left it and Joe Pete indicated that this would be their first day's +haul. Six hundred pounds of Brent's thousand had been moved five miles, +and leaving the small Indian to make camp, the others, together with +Brent returned for the remaining four hundred. + +This time they were not molested by the men on the beach, many of whom +they passed on the trail laboring along under packs which for the most +part did not exceed fifty pounds weight. + +On the return Brent insisted on packing his fifty pounds and much to his +delight found that he was able to make the whole distance of three miles +to the resting place. Joe Pete nodded grave approval of this feat and +Brent, in whose veins flowed the bluest blood of the South, felt his +heart swell with pride because he had won the approbation of this dark +skinned packer of the North. + +Into this rest camp came the erstwhile head barkeeper at Kelliher's, and +to him Brent imparted the trail-lore he had picked up. Also he exchanged +with him one hundred dollars in gold for a like amount in bills, and +advised Joe Pete that when his present contract was finished this other +would be a good man to work for. + +Day after day they packed, and upon the last day of trail Brent made +four miles under one hundred pounds with only one rest--much of the way +through soft muskeg. And he repeated the performance in the afternoon. +At Lindermann Joe Pete found an Indian who agreed to run Brent and his +outfit down through the lakes and the river to Dawson in a huge freight +canoe. + +The first stampeders from the outside bought all available canoes and +boats so that by the time of the big rush boats had to be built on the +shore of the lake from timber cut green and whip-sawed into lumber on +the spot. Also, the price of packing over the Chilkoot jumped from five +cents a pound to ten, to twenty, to fifty, to seventy, and even a +dollar, as men fought to get in before the freeze up--but that was a +year and a half after Brent floated down the Yukon in his big birch +canoe. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +AT THE MISSION + + +Far in the Northland, upon the bank of a great river that disgorges into +the frozen sea, stands a little Roman Catholic Mission. The mission is +very old--having had its inception in the early days of the fur trade. +Its little chapel boasts a stained glass window--a window fashioned in +Europe, carried across the Atlantic to Hudson Bay in a wooden sailing +vessel, and transported through three thousand miles of wilderness in +canoes, York boats, and scows, and over many weary miles of portage upon +the backs of sweating Indians. Upon its walls hang paintings--works of +real merit, the labor of priestly hands long dead. A worthy monument, +this mission, to the toil and self sacrifice of the early Fathers, and a +living tribute to the labor of the grave Grey Nuns. + +The time was July--late evening of a July day. The sun still held high +above the horizon, and upon the grassed plateau about the buildings of +the mission children were playing. They were Indian children, for the +most part, thick bodied and swarthy faced but among them here and there, +could be seen the lighter skin of a half breed. Near the door of one of +the buildings sat a group of older Indian girls sewing. In the doorway +the good Father Ambrose stood with his eyes upon the up-reach of the +river. + +Like a silent grey shadow Sister Mercedes glided from the chapel and +seated herself upon a wooden bench drawn close beside the door. Her eyes +followed the gaze of the priest. "No sign of the brigade?" she asked. +"They have probably tied up for the night. Tomorrow maybe--or the day +after, they will come." Ensued a long pause during which both studied +the river. "I think," continued the Nun, "that when the scows return +southward we will be losing Snowdrift." + +"Eh?" The priest turned his head quickly and regarded Sister Mercedes +with a frown. "Henri of the White Water? Think you he has----" + +The Sister interrupted: "No, no! To school. She is nineteen, now. We can +do nothing more for her here. In the matter of lessons, as you well +know, she has easily outstripped all others, and books! She has already +exhausted our meagre library." + +The priest nodded. The frown still puckered his brow but his lips +smiled--a smile that conveyed more of questioning than of mirth. +Intensely human himself, Father Ambrose was no mean student of human +nature, and he spoke with a troubled mind: "To us here at the mission +have been brought many children, both of the Indians and of the Metis. +And, having absorbed to their capacity our teachings, the Indians have +gone stolidly back to their tepees, and to their business of hunting and +trapping, carrying with them a measure of useful handicraft, a +smattering of letters, and the precepts of the Word." The smile had +faded from the clean-cut lips of the priest, and Sister Mercedes noted a +touch of sadness in the voice, as she watched a slanting ray of sunlight +play for a moment upon the thinning, silvery hair. "I have grown old in +the service of God here at this mission, and it is natural that I have +sought diligently among my people for the outward and visible signs of +the fruit of my labor. And I have found, with a few notable exceptions +that in one year, or two, or three, the handicraft is almost forgotten, +the letters are but a dim blur of memory, and the Word?" He shrugged, +"Who but God can tell? It is the Metis who are the real problem. For it +is in their veins that civilization meets savagery. The clash and the +conflict of races--the antagonism that is responsible for the wars of +the world--is inherent in the very blood that gives them life. And the +outcome is beyond the ken or the conjecture of man. I have seen, I +think, every conceivable combination of physical and mental condition, +save the one most devoutly to be hoped for--a blending of the best that +is in each race. That I have not seen. Unless it be that we are to see +it in Snowdrift." + +Sister Mercedes smiled: "I do not believe that Snowdrift is a half +breed. I believe she is a white child." + +Father Ambrose smiled tolerantly: "Still of that belief? But, it is +impossible. I know her mother. She, too, was a child of this +mission--long before your time. She is one of the few Indians who did +not forget the handicraft nor the letters." The old man paused and shook +his head sadly, "And until she brought this child here I believed that +she had not forgotten the Word. For she continued to profess her belief, +and among her people she waged war upon the rum-runners. Later, I, +myself, married her to a Dog Rib, a man who was the best of his tribe. +Then they disappeared and I heard nothing from her until she brought +this child, Snowdrift, to us here at the mission. She told me that her +husband had been drowned in a rapid, and then she told me--not in +confessional, for she would not confess, that this was her child and +that her father was a white man, but that he was not her husband." + +"She may have lied. Loving the child, she may have feared that we would +take her away, or institute a search for her people." + +"She loves the child--with the mother love. But she did not lie. If she +had lied, would she not have said that after the death of her husband +she had married this white man? I would have believed her. But, +evidently the idea of truth is more firmly implanted in her heart +than--other virtues--so she told the truth--knowing even as she did so +the light in which she would stand before men, and also the standing of +her daughter." + +"Oh, it is a shame!" cried the Nun, "But, still I do not believe it! I +cannot believe it! Snowdrift's skin, where the sun and the wind have not +turned it, is as white as mine." + +"But her hair and eyes are the dark hair and eyes of the Indian. And +when she was first brought here, have you forgotten that she fought like +a little wild cat, and that she ran away and trailed her band to its +encampment? Could a white child have done that?" + +"But after she had been brought back, and had begun to learn she fought +just as hard against returning to the tribe for a brief vacation. She is +a dreamer of dreams. She loves music and appreciates its beauty, and the +beauty of art and the poets." + +"She can trail an animal through country that would throw many an Indian +at fault." + +"She hates the sordid. She hates the rum-runners, and the greasy +smoke-blackened tepees of the Indians. In her heart there has been an +awakening. She longs for something better--higher. She has consented to +go to the convent." + +"And at the same time we are in mortal dread lest she marry that prince +of all devils, Henri of the White Water. Why she even dresses like an +Indian--the only one of the older girls who does not wear the clothing +of white women." + +"That is because of her artistic temperament. She loves the ease and +comfort of the garments. And she realizes their beauty in comparison to +the ugliness of the coarse clothing and shoes with which we must provide +them." + +"Where is she now?" + +"Hunting." + +Father Ambrose laughed: "And I predict that she will not return until +she has brought down her caribou, or her moose. Would your white maiden +of nineteen be off hunting alone in the hills with her rifle? No. By our +very contentions we have established the dual nature of her. In her the +traits of civilization and savagery are not blended, but each in turn +dominate and order her thoughts and actions. Hers is what one might term +an alternating ego. And it is a thing that troubles me sore. What will +happen down there--down at the convent, where they will not understand +her, and where there is no hunting? To what end will this marvelous +energy exert itself? For, it will not remain pent up within her breast. +It will seek outlet. And then?" + +"Who can tell?" answered the Nun, thoughtfully. "At least, I shall be +glad indeed to know that she will be far from the baleful influence of +Henri of the White Water. For, devil that he is, there is no gainsaying +the fact that there is something attractive about him, with his bold +free manner, and his handsome face, and gay clothing. He is a figure +that might well attract a more sophisticated woman than our little +Snowdrift. As yet, though, I think he has failed to rouse in her more +than a passing interest. If she cared for him she would not be away +hunting while everyone else is eagerly watching for the brigade." + +Father Ambrose shrugged: "'Tis past understanding--the way of a maid +with a man. But see, here she comes, now." Both watched the lithe form +that swung across the clearing from the bush. The girl was hatless, her +mass of black hair, caught up and held in place by an ingenious twist of +bark. Her face and full rounded throat that rose gracefully from the +open collar of a buckskin hunting shirt showed a rich hazel brown in the +slanting rays of the sun. Buckskin gloves protected her hands from the +ever present mosquitoes. A knee-length skirt of heavy cloth, a pair of +deer skin leggings tanned with the hair on, and Indian moccasins +completed her costume. + +"What luck?" greeted the priest. + +The girl paused before them and flashing a smile, disclosed a set of +teeth that gleamed like wet pearls: "Good luck," she answered, "A young +bull caribou, and two wolves that were just closing in on a cow with a +young calf. Every bullet went true. I shot three times. Has the brigade +passed?" + +The priest shook his head: "No, not yet. They will have camped before +this for the night." As he spoke the girl's eyes strayed to the river, +and at the extreme reach of glistening water, they held: "Look!" she +cried, "They are coming, now!" Around the bend into view shot a scow, +and another, and another, until the whole surface of the river seemed +black with the scows. The playing children had seen them too, and with +wild whoops of delight they were racing for the bank, followed by the +older Indian girls, and by Father Ambrose. For the annual coming of the +brigade is an event in the North, bringing as it does the mail and the +supplies for the whole year to these lonely dwellers of the far +outlands. + +Sister Mercedes remained seated upon her bench and standing her rifle +against the wall, Snowdrift sat down beside her, and in silence the two +watched the scows swing shoreward in response to the strokes of the +heavy steering sweeps, and listened to the exchange of shouted +greetings. + +Of all the rivermen, the bravest figure was that of Henri of the White +Water. The two women could see him striding back and forth issuing +orders regarding the mooring of scows and the unloading of freight. They +saw him pause suddenly in his restless pacing up and down, and eagerly +scan the faces of the assembled group. Then, his glance travelled back +from the river and rested upon the two silent figures beside the door, +and with a wave of his hand, he tossed the sack of mail to the waiting +priest, and stepping past him strode rapidly up the bank in the +direction of the mission. + +The face of Sister Mercedes hardened as she noted the flaunting air of +the approaching man, his stocking cap of brilliant blue, his snow-white +_capote_ thrown open to reveal the flannel shirt of vivid red and black +checks. + +With a royal bow, he swept the blue stocking cap from his head and +saluted the two upon the bench: "Ah-ha, greetings, _ma cheres_! From +Henri of the White Water to the fairest flower of the North, and +her--ah, guardian angel--_non_?" His lips flashed a smile, and he +continued: "But, there are times when even a guardian angel is not +desired to be. Come with me, Snowdrift, and we will walk yonder to the +edge of the bank, where we will still be within sight of the ever +watching eye of the church, but well out of hearing of its ever +listening ear. You see, Sister _religieuse_, I am a respecter of your +little laws!" He laughed aloud, "Ah, yes Henri of the White Water is a +great respecter of laws, _voila_!" + +Seating themselves upon the high bank of the river the two watched the +sun dip slowly behind the scrub timber. And, as the twilight deepened, +the man talked rapidly and earnestly, while the girl listened in +silence. "And so," he concluded, "When the scows return, in one month +from now, you shall leave this place forever. We shall go away and be +married, and we will journey far, far up the rivers to the cities of the +white men, and only upon occasion will we make flying trips into the +North--to the trade." + +"It is said that you trade hooch," said the girl, "I will not marry any +man who trades hooch. I hate the traders of hooch." + +"Ah-ha! _Ma chere!_ Yes, I have now and then traded hooch. You see, I do +not deny. Henri of the White Water must have adventure. But upon my +soul, if you do not want me to trade hooch, I shall never trade another +drop--_non_." + +"When the scows return in a month, I shall go with them," answered the +girl dispassionately, "But, not to be married. I am going to school----" + +"To school! _Mon Dieu!_ Have you not had enough of school? It is time +you were finished with such foolishness. You, who are old enough to be +the mother of children, talking of going to school! Bah! It is to laugh! +And where would you go--to school?" + +"To the convent, at Montreal." + +"The devil take these meddlers!" cried the man, rising and pacing +rapidly up and down before the girl. Then suddenly he paused and looking +down upon her, laughed aloud. "Ha, ha! You would go to Montreal! And +what will you do when you get there? What will you say when they ask you +who is your father? Eh, what will you tell them?" + +The girl looked at him in wide-eyed surprise. "Why, what do you mean? I +shall tell them the truth--that my father is dead. Why should I not tell +them that my father is dead. He was a good man. My mother has told me." + +Again the man laughed, his laugh of cruel derision: "Such innocence! It +is unbelievable! They will have nothing to do with you in the land of +the white men. They will scorn you and look down upon you. You never had +a father----" + +The girl was upon her feet, now, facing him with flashing eyes: "It is a +lie! I did have a father! And he was a good man. He was not like the +father of you, old Boussard, the drunken and thieving old hanger-on +about the posts!" + +"Aye, I grant you that the old devil is nothing to brag of. I do not +point to him with the finger of pride, but he is nevertheless a +produceable father. He and my Indian mother were married. I at least am +no _enfant natural_--no _batarde_! No one can poke at me the finger of +scorn, and draw aside in the passing, as from a thing unclean!" + +The girl's face flamed red, and tears of rage welled from her eyes: "I +do not know what you mean!" she cried, "But I do know that I hate you! I +will find out what you mean--and then maybe I will kill you." In her +rage she sprang at the man's throat with her bare hands, but he easily +thrust her aside, and sobbing she ran toward the mission. + +It was long after midnight that Snowdrift emerged from the room of +Sister Mercedes. The girl had gone straight to the Nun and asked +questions, nor would she be denied their answers. And so explaining, +comforting, as best she could, the good Sister talked till far into the +night. Snowdrift had gone into the room an unsophisticated girl--she +came out from it a woman--but, a woman whose spirit, instead of being +crushed and broken by the weight of her shame, rose triumphant and +defiant above that shame. For in her heart was bitter hatred against the +white men, whose code of ethics brought shame upon the innocent head of +one whose very existence was due to the lust of a man of their own race. + +Silently the girl crossed the clearing to the building in which was her +room, and very silently she made up a pack of her belongings. Then, +taking the pack, and her rifle, she stole silently out the door and +crossing the broad open space, entered the bush. At the edge of the +clearing she turned, and stood for a long time looking back at the +mission with its little buildings huddled together in the moonlight. And +then, with a choking sob that forced itself past her tight-pressed lips, +she turned and plunged into the timber. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +ACE-IN-THE-HOLE + + +On the outskirts of Dawson, city of the tents and log buildings, Brent +pitched his own tent, paid off his Indian canoeman, and within the hour +was sucked into the mad maelstrom of carousal that characterized the +early days of the big gold camp. + +It was the city of men gone mad. The saloon was the center of +activity--and saloons there were aplenty; Dick Stoell's Place, which was +"the big game" of Dawson; "The Nugget" of uproarious fame; Cuter +Malone's "Klondike Palace," where, nightly, revel raged to the _n_th +power--where bearded men and scarlet women gave over to debauch +magnificent in its wild abandon; and many others, each with its wheels +of chance, its cards, its music, and its women. + +And into the whirl of it Carter Brent plunged with a zest born of youth +and of muscles iron-hard from the gruelling trail. And into it he fitted +as though to the manner born. No invisible lines of demarkation divided +the bars of Dawson as they had divided Kelliher's bar. Millionaires in +blanket coats and mukluks rubbed shoulders with penniless watery-eyed +squaw-men. Sourdoughs who spilled coarse gold from the mouths of sacks, +misfit _chechakos_, and painted women, danced, and sang, and cursed, and +gambled, the short nights through. + +The remnant of Brent's thousand dollars was but a drop in the bucket, +and he was glad when it was gone three days after his arrival. Not that +he particularly wanted to be "broke." But in the spending of it, men had +taken his measure--the bills and the coined gold had branded him as a +man from the "outside," a _chechako_--a tenderfoot. + +An hour after he had tossed his last yellow disk upon the bar in payment +for a round of drinks he had hired out to Camillo Bill Waters to sluice +gravel at an ounce a day. An ounce was sixteen dollars. Thereafter for +the space of a month he was seen no more in Dawson. + +Then one day he returned. He presented a slip of paper signed by Camillo +Bill to the bartender at Stoell's and received therefor thirty ounces of +gold--raw gold, in dust and nuggets. He bought a round of drinks +glorying in the fact that at last he, too, was spending coarse gold. He +bet ten ounces on an Indian foot race, and won. More drinks, and an hour +later he bet his pile on a seven, a ten-spot, a deuce, and a king in a +game of stud poker. Two players called the bet and he flipped over his +hole card--it was a seven-spot and again he won. + +He quit the game and danced for an hour, and between dances he drank +whiskey. He got the hunch that this was his lucky day and that he could +win, but the hunch called for quick big bets, and not for long continued +play. He rode his hunch, and at Cuter Malone's wheel he tossed fifty +ounces on Number 21. The ivory ball rolled slower and slower, hesitated +on the 10 and then with a last turn settled into 21. He pocketed +twenty-eight thousand dollars with a grin. The news of the bet spread +swiftly and Brent became a man of sorts. Four times more that night he +placed big bets--and three of the times he won. + +One of these plays also in a game of stud earned him the name by which +he became known in the North. With a king, and a queen, showing in his +own hand he mercilessly raised an exposed pair of Jacks. Of the six +other players in the game five dropped out. The holder of the Jacks +stayed for the last draw and checked the bet. Brent laid fifty thousand +dollars on his cards, a king, a queen, an eight spot and a four spot. +The other stared at the hand for a long time. He was a man known for his +nerve and his high play, and he knew that Brent knew this. Whispers of +the big bet had gone about the room and men and women crowded the table. +At length the other turned down his cards in token of surrender, and +with a laugh Brent turned his hole card face up. It was the Ace of +Diamonds, and an audible gasp hissed from twenty throats. Thereafter +Brent was known as Ace-In-The-Hole. + +The next morning he deposited one hundred and thirty thousand dollars in +Dick Stoell's safe, and his pockets still bulged with dust. For two days +and nights he drank and danced, but not a card did he touch, nor did he +lay any bet. When questioned he answered that his hunch was not working. +The sourdoughs respected him and treated him as an equal. He spent dust +lavishly but he did not throw it away. + +Then suddenly he bought an outfit and disappeared. When the first snow +flew he was back, and into Dick Stoell's safe went many sacks of raw +gold. He drank harder than ever and spent gold more freely. His fame +spread to other camps, and three men came up from Circle to relieve him +of his pile. He was gambling regularly now, and in a game of stud he +caught them at the trick by means of which they had won forty thousand +dollars from him. Many miners, among them a goodly sprinkling of old +timers, were watching the play, and many of them had already detected +the swindle, but after the custom of the country they held their peace. +Brent never batted an eye upon discovering the trick, but when a few +moments later it was repeated, things happened in Stoell's--and they +happened with the rapidity of light. One minute after the trouble +started there was an ominous silence in the room. A circle of men stood +and stared at the wreck of a table, across which sagged the body of a +man killed with his own gun. Another man with his jaw shattered lay on +the floor, and a third lay white and still across him with a wide red +mark on his forehead where a sack of gold dust had caught him fair. And +over all stood Brent with one leg jammed through the rungs of a broken +chair. + +The incident placed Ace-In-The-Hole in the foremost ranks of the big men +of the North. He was regarded as the equal of such men as Old Bettles, +Camillo Bill Waters, Swiftwater Bill, and McMann. Sourdoughs sought his +acquaintance and _chechakos_ held him in awe. When the snow lay deep he +bought the best string of dogs he could find, hired an Indian musher, +and again disappeared. He was back at Christmas for a two weeks +carousal, and when he hit the trail again he carried with him several +gallons of whiskey. The sourdoughs shook their heads and exchanged +glances at this, but a man's business is his own. In July he sent his +Indian down for ten men to work his sluices and much whiskey. In +September he came down himself and he brought with him a half million in +gold. + +Others had cleaned up big during the summer, and that winter saw +Dawson's highest peak of wild orgies and wild spending. Riding a hunch +when he first hit town Brent doubled and trebled his pile, and then with +Jimmie the Rough, McMann, Camillo Bill and a few others they inaugurated +such a campaign of reckless spending as the North had never seen and +never again did see. + +Brent was never sober, now--and men said he never slept. He was the +youngest and by far the strongest of the spenders, the urge of the game +was in his blood, and he rode it as he rode his hunches--to the limit of +his endurance. All men liked him--open hearted, generous to the fault, +and square as a die in his dealings, he spent his money like a prince. +And where the men liked him the painted women worshipped him--but they +worshipped from afar. For despite the utmost blandishments of the most +intriguing of them, he treated all alike--even Kitty, whom men called +"The Queen of the Yukon," failed to hold him in thrall. This dancing +girl who had taken the North by storm, who was the North's darling and +beautiful plaything, whose boast it was that she had never sought any +man, fell violently in love with Brent. Men saw it and marvelled, for it +was known in the camps that she had spurned men who had laid fortunes at +her feet. It was not that he feared women, rather he sought them. He +danced with them, frolicked with them--and then promptly forgot them. +His one real passion was gambling. Any game or device whereupon big bets +could be laid found him an enthusiastic devotee. And his luck became a +byword in the North. + +"Sometime your luck will change," warned the dancing girl as the two sat +one evening in the early fall at a little table in Stoell's and drank +champagne which cost Brent fifty dollars the quart. "And then you'll be +broke and----" + +Brent who had been idly toying with the rings upon her fingers returned +the slender hand to the table. "It can't change. It's a part of me. As +long as I'm me, I'll be lucky. Look, I'll show you! You want to marry +me--you've told me so. Well, I don't want to marry you, or anyone +else--wouldn't know what to do with you if I did marry you. You want me +to go back on the claim--well, here's a bargain--just to show you that I +can't lose." He pulled a buckskin sack full of gold from his pocket and +held it before the girl's eyes. "See this sack. It isn't very big. It +can't cover many numbers. I'm going to stand up in this chair and toss +it onto the roulette table over there, and play every number it touches. +If I lose I lose the dust--Stoell will get that. But that isn't all I'll +lose--I'll lose myself--to you. If one of the numbers that this sack +falls on don't win, I marry you tonight, and we hit for the claim +tomorrow." + +The girl stared at him, fascinated: "Do you mean that--you'll quit +gambling--and you'll sober up and--and live with me?" + +Again Brent laughed: "Yes, I'll quit gambling, and sober up, and live +with you till--how does it go--till death us do part." + +"Toss it!" The words of the girl came short, with a curious indrawing of +the breath, and her fingers clutched at the edge of the table till the +knuckles whitened. The men who were crowded about the wheel glanced +toward the table at the sound, and standing in his chair Brent waved +them to fall back. Then he told them of his bet--while the dancing girl +sat with parted lips, her eyes fastened upon his face. The men at the +wheel surged back to give room. The proposition caught their fancy. +Ace-In-The-Hole, prince of gamblers, was betting himself--with the odds +against him! And every man and woman in the room knew that if he lost he +would keep his word to the last letter. + +Carefully measuring the distance, Brent balanced the sack in his hand, +then with a slow movement of his arm, tossed it onto the table. It +struck almost squarely in the center, covering Numbers 13, 14, 16, 17, +19, and 20. The croupier spun the wheel, and sent the ivory ball +spinning on its way. The men who had been playing, and the men from the +bar, crowded close, their eyes on the whirling wheel. Brent sat down in +his chair, lighted a cigarette, and filled the two empty champagne +glasses from the bottle. He glanced across at Kitty. She was leaning +forward with her face buried in her arms. Her shoulders were heaving +with quick, convulsive sobs. In Brent's heart rose sudden pity for this +girl. What to him had been a mere prank, a caprice of the moment, was to +her a thing of vital import. The black fox fur had fallen away from +about her neck exposing a bare shoulder that gleamed white in the light +of the swinging lamp. She looked little and helpless, and Brent felt a +desire to take her in his arms and comfort her. He leaned toward her, +half rose from his chair and then, at a sound from the table, he settled +back. + +"Number 13 wins," announced the croupier, and the room was suddenly +filled with the voices of many men. The croupier scribbled a notation +upon a piece of paper and together with the sack of dust laid it upon +the table between Brent and the girl. A moment later she raised her head +and stared, dry eyed into Brent's face. + +"Here, little girl," he said gently. "Forgive me. I didn't know you +really felt--that way. Here, this is all yours--take it. The bet paid +six to one. The weigher will cash this slip at the bar." + +With a swift motion of her hand the girl swept sack and slip to the +floor. "Oh, I--I hope you _die_!" she cried hysterically, and gathering +her wrap about her, she sped from the room. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +LUCK TURNS + + +Before the advent of the tin-horns, who invaded the Yukon at the time of +the big rush, a "limit" in a poker game was a thing unknown. "Table +stakes" did not exist, nor did a man mention the amount he stood to lose +when he sat in a game. When a player took his seat it was understood +that he stood good for all he possessed of property, whatever or +wherever it might be. If the play on any hand ran beyond his "pile" all +he had to do was to announce the fact and the other players would either +draw down to it, or if they wished to continue the play, the pot, +including the amount of the "short" player's last bet was pushed aside +until the last call was made, the "short" player only participating in +the portion of the pot so set aside. If, in the final show-down his hand +was the highest he raked in this pot and the next high hand collected +the subsequent bets. + +Stud poker was the play most favored by Brent, and when he sat in a game +the table soon became rimmed with spectators. Other games would break +up that the players might look on, and they were generally rewarded by +seeing plenty of action. It was Brent's custom to trail along for a +dozen hands or more, simply calling moderate bets on good hands, or +turning down his cards at the second or third card. Then, suddenly, he +would shove out an enormous bet, preferably raising a pair when his own +hand showed nothing. If this happened on the second or third card dealt +it invariably gave the other players pause, for they knew that each +succeeding bet would be higher than the first, and that if they stayed +for the final call they would stand to lose heavily if not be actually +wiped out. But they knew also that the bet was as apt to be made on +nothing as on a good hand, and should they drop out they must pass up +the opportunity to make a killing. Another whim of Brent's was always to +expose his hole card after the play, a trick that aggravated his +opponents as much as it amused the spectators. + +The result was that many players had fallen into the habit of dropping +out of a game when Ace-In-The-Hole sat in--not because they disliked him +personally, but because, as they openly admitted, they were afraid of +his play. Many of these spent hours watching his cards. Not a man among +them but knew that he was as square as a die, but every man among them +knew that his phenomenal luck must sometime desert him, and when that +time came they intended to be in at the killing. For only Brent himself +believed that his luck would hold--believed it was as much a part of +himself as the color of his hair or his eyes. + +Among those who refused to play was Johnny Claw, from whom Brent had won +ten thousand dollars a month before on three successive hands--two cold +bluffs, and a club in the hole with four clubs showing, against Claw's +king in the hole with two kings showing. Unlike the others who had lost +to him, Claw nursed a bitter and secret hatred for him, and he +determined that when luck did turn he would profit to the limit of his +pile. + +Johnnie Claw was one of the few old timers whom men distrusted. He was a +squaw-man who had trapped and traded in the country as far back as any +man could remember. With the coming of more white men, and the +establishment of saloons along the river, Claw had ceased his trapping, +and had confined his trading to the illicit peddling of hooch, for the +most part among the Indians of the interior, and to that uglier, but +more profitable traffic that filled the brothels and the dance halls of +the Yukon with painted women from the "outside." So Claw moved among his +compeers as a man despised, yet accepted, because he was of the North, +and of the civilization thereof a component part. + +Brent's luck held until the night before Thanksgiving, then the +inevitable happened--he began to lose. At the roulette wheel and the +faro table he lost twenty-five thousand dollars, and later, in a game +of stud, he dropped one hundred thousand more. The loss did not worry +him any, he drank a little more than usual during the play, and his +plunges came a little more frequently, but the cards were not falling +his way, and when they did fall, he almost invariably ran them up +against a stronger hand. + +Rumor that the luck of Ace-In-The-Hole had changed at last spread +rapidly through the camp, and late in the afternoon of Thanksgiving day, +when the play was resumed, spectators crowded the table ten deep. Men +estimated Brent's winnings at anywhere from one to five millions and +there was an electric thrill in the air as the players settled +themselves in their chairs and counted their stacks of chips. The game +was limited to eight players, and Camillo Bill Waters arriving too late +to be included, promptly bought the seat of a prospector named Troy, +paying therefor twenty-thousand dollars in dust. "We're after yer hide," +he grinned good-naturedly at Brent, "an' I'm backin' the hunch that +we're a-goin' to hang it on the fence this day." + +"Come and get it!" laughed Brent. "But I'll give you fair warning that I +wear it tight and before you rip it off someone's going to get hurt." +Cards in hand he glanced at the tense faces around the board. "I've got +a hunch that this game is going to make history on the Yukon," he +smiled, "And it better be opened formally with a good stiff round of +drinks." While they waited for the liquor his eye fell upon the face of +Johnny Claw, who sat at the table, the second man from his right. "I +thought you wouldn't sit in a game with me," he said, truculently. + +"An' I wouldn't, neither, while yer luck was runnin'--but, it's +different, now. Yer luck's busted--an' you'll be busted. An' I'm right +here to git my money back, an' some of yourn along with it." + +Brent laughed: "You won't be in the game an hour, Claw. I don't like +you, and I don't like your business, and the best thing you can do is to +cash in right now before the game starts." + +A moment of tense silence followed Brent's words, for among the men of +the Yukon, open insult must be wiped out in blood. But Claw made no move +except to reach out and finger a stack of chips, while men shot sidewise +glances into each other's faces. The stack of chips rattled upon the +cloth under the play of his nervous fingers, and Kitty, who had taken +her position directly behind Brent with a small slippered foot upon a +rung of his chair, tittered. Claw took his cue from the sound and +laughed loudly: "I'll play my cards, an' you play yourn, an' I'll do my +cashin' in later," he answered. "An' here's the drinks, so le's liquor +an' git to goin'." He downed his whiskey at a gulp, the bartender +removed the empty glasses, and the big game was on. + +The play ran rather cautiously at first, even more cautiously than +usual. But there was an unwonted tenseness in the atmosphere. Each man +had bought ten thousand dollars worth of chips, with the white chips at +one hundred dollars, the reds at five hundred, and blues at a +thousand--and each man knew that his stack was only a shoestring. + +After five or six deals Camillo Bill, who sat directly across the table +from Brent tossed in a red chip on his third card which was a queen. +Claw stayed, the next man folded, and Brent, who showed a seven and a +nine-spot raised a thousand. The others dropped, and Camillo Bill saw +the raise. Claw, whose exposed cards were a ten-spot and a jack, +hesitated for a moment and tossed in a blue chip. Camillo Bill's next +card was an ace, Claw paired his jack and Brent drew a six-spot. With a +grin at Brent, Claw pushed in a blue chip, and without hesitation Brent +dropped in four blue ones, raising Claw three thousand. Camillo Bill +studied the cards, tilted his hole card and glanced at its corner, and +raised Brent two thousand. Claw, also surveyed the cards: + +"Yer holdin' a four-straight damn high," he snarled at Brent, "but I've +got mine--my pair of jacks has got anything you've got beat, an' Camillo +hain't got no pair of queens or he'd of boosted yer other bet. I'd ort +to raise, but I'll jest stay." And he dropped five blue chips into the +pot. Camillo Bill paired his ace with the last card, Claw drew a deuce, +and Brent a ten spot. Camillo Bill bet a white chip, Claw stared at +Brent's cards for a few moments and merely called, and Brent laughed: + +"Here's your white chip, Bill, and I'll just lift it ten thousand--I'm +that much light in the pot for a minute." + +Camillo Bill called after a moment's deliberation, and Claw sat staring +at the pot. He had just two blue chips left before him. "I ain't got ten +thousan'," he whined, "I figger I've got about five thousan' outside +this here stack, an' if I call fer that an' lose I'm busted flat." His +hand pushed the two blue chips toward the pot, hesitated, and was +quickly withdrawn. "Damned if I do!" he snarled, "My jacks-up ain't +worth it--not agin luck like yourn." He turned over his hole card which +was a deuce, and again Brent laughed and flipped his hole card over. It +was the king of spades. + +"I haven't got a damned thing, and I never did have. What have you got +buried, Bill, another ace?" + +Camillo Bill grinned and shook his head: "Nope, my down card's a king, +too. All I got is them pair of aces. Where's yer guts, Claw?" + +Claw glared at Brent as the latter bought a new stack of chips, +scribbled an I.O.U. for ten thousand upon a scrap of paper, and tossed +it across to Camillo Bill. Then clutching his two chips he rose from the +table: "You jest done that to git me!" he growled, "I ain't got no show +in this game--if you can't beat me yerself you'll run me up agin a +better hand till I'm busted, if you lose money doin' it!" + +"You've got it doped right, Claw," said Brent, evenly. "I told you you +wouldn't last an hour, and if you'd have listened to me you'd have been +eight thousand better off. Your hour isn't up yet, we've got plenty of +time to get the rest of it." + +"You'll raise hell gittin' the rest of it!" muttered the man, and as he +walked toward the bar, Troy, who had sold his seat to Camillo Bill, +slipped into the vacated chair. + +The incident served to liven the game up, and thereafter red and blue +chips outnumbered the white ones in nearly every pot. + +There was no thought of stopping for supper, and when the game broke up +long past midnight Brent had lost three hundred thousand dollars. He +turned to Kitty, who had never left her post at the back of his chair: +"Come on, girl, let's go find something to eat and some fuzzy water," he +smiled. "They sure had my number, tonight, but I'll go after them +tomorrow." + +Brent ordered and drank three glasses of whiskey, while waiting for the +meal to be served, and after it was over, the girl leaned back in her +chair and studied him as she sipped her champagne. + +"You're different than you were a year ago," she said. + +Brent laughed: "Sure, I was a poor man, then----" + +The girl straightened in her chair and interrupted him abruptly, "And +you'll never amount to a _damn_ until you're a poor man again!" she +exclaimed, with such feeling that Brent stared at her in surprise. + +"What! What do you mean?" + +"I mean just what I said. A year ago you were _some man_. Folks say +you're a mining engineer--educated in a college. What are you now? +You're a gam., that's what you are, and the hooch is putting its mark on +you, too--and it's a shame." + +"What in the world is the matter with you, Kitty?" The man stared at her +in surprise, "The hooch don't hurt me any--and I only play for the fun +of the game----" + +"No you don't! You play because its got into your blood, and you can't +help playing. And you'll keep on playing till you're busted and it'll be +a good thing when you are! Your luck has changed now, and they'll get +you." + +"I'm still playing on their money," retorted Brent a little nettled at +the girl's attack. "If they clean me out, all right. They'll only win +the half million I took out of my two claims--the rest of it I took away +from them. Anyway, whose business is it?" he asked sullenly. + +"It ain't nobody's business, but yours. I--I wish to God it was mine. +Everybody knows the hooch is getting you--and that is just what they all +say--it's a shame--but it's his own business. I'm the only one that +could say anything to you, and I'm--I'm sorry I did." + +"They're right--it's my business, and no one else's. If they think I'm +so damned far gone let them come and get my pile--I'll still have the +claims, and I'll go out and bring in another stake and go after them +harder than ever!" + +"No you won't--they'll get the claims, too. And you won't have the +nerve, nor the muscles to go out and make another strike. When you once +bust, you'll be a bum--a has-been--_right_." + +"I suppose," sneered Brent, thoroughly angry now: "that I should marry +you and hit out for the claim so we could keep what's left in the +family--and you'd be the family." + +The girl laughed, a trifle hysterically: "No--I wouldn't marry you on a +bet--now. I was foolish enough to think of it, once--but not now. I've +done some thinking since that night you tossed that sack of dust on the +board. If you married me and did go back to where you were--if you quit +the cards and the hooch and got down to be what you ought to be--where +would I stand? Who am I, and what am I? You would stick by your +bargain--but you wouldn't want me. You could never go back outside--with +_me_. And if you wouldn't quit the cards and the hooch, I wouldn't have +_you_--not like you are now--flabby, and muddy-eyed, an' your breath so +heavy with rot-gut you could light it with a match. No, that dream's +busted and inside of a week you'll be busted, too." Setting down her +glass the girl quitted the table abruptly, leaving Brent to finish the +bottle of champagne alone, after which he sauntered down to Cuter +Malone's "Klondike Palace" and made a night of it, drinking and dancing. + +The week that followed was a week of almost unbroken losses for Brent. +In vain, he plunged, betting his cards more wildly, and more recklessly +than ever before, in an effort to force his luck. But it only hastened +the end, which came about midnight upon the Thursday following +Thanksgiving Day, at the moment he looked into the eyes of Camillo Bill +Waters and called a bet of fifty-thousand: "That's good," he announced, +as Bill showed Aces-up. "And that just finishes me--I held the claims at +a million--and that's the last of it." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE DEALER AT STOELL'S + + +On the morning after the final game of stud in which he had slipped the +last dollar of his fortune across the green cloth, Brent threw back his +blankets and robes and sat upon the edge of his bunk. He had long since +discarded his tent for a cabin and his eyes took in the details of the +rough furnishings in the grey light that filtered through the heavily +frosted window panes. He drew on his shirt and trousers and glanced at +his watch. It was ten o'clock. He built a roaring fire, broke the ice +that had formed upon the surface of a huge pail of water, filled his +coffee-pot, and set his wash pan beside it upon the stove. Then he +returned to his bunk and, feeling beneath his pillow, withdrew a flat +quart bottle and took a long drink. When the water had warmed in the +pan, he shaved before a small mirror that hung above his rude wash +stand. Twice during the process he returned to the bottle for a swallow +of liquor. + +"Kitty was right," he confided to his reflection in the glass, "My luck +did turn--and now, I'm broke." + +He finished shaving and, as he was about to turn from the wash stand +paused, and thrusting his face close to the mirror, subjected it to +careful scrutiny. + +"Eyes _are_ a little muddy," he grudgingly admitted, "And face a little +pouchy and red, but, hell, it isn't the hooch!--I don't drink enough to +hurt me any. It's being indoors so much, and the smoke. Two days on the +trail will fix that. I've got to slip out and make another strike. And +when I come back--that bunch will be in for an awful cleaning." + +He threw a handful of coffee into the pot, and sliced some bacon into a +frying pan, and when the grease ran, he broke a half-dozen eggs and +scrambled them with the bacon. + +"She said I wouldn't have the nerve nor the muscles to hit out and +locate another claim," he grinned as he swallowed a draught of scalding +coffee. "I'll show her!" + +He finished his meal, washed the dishes, and drew on his mukluks and +blanket coat. As he opened the door he was met by a blast of wind-driven +snow that fairly took his breath, and drawing back into the room he shut +the door. + +"I thought it was pretty dark in here for this time of day--some +blizzard!" + +He drew down the ear-flaps of his fur cap, hunted up his heavy mittens, +and once more opening the door, pushed out into the storm. + +Twenty minutes later he entered Stoell's place, and as he stamped the +snow from his garments, and beat it from his cap and mittens, Camillo +Bill greeted him from the bar. + +"Hello, Ace-In-The-Hole! I'm buyin' a drink." The room was deserted +except for the bartender who promptly set out bottle and glasses. "Let's +go over here," suggested Camillo Bill, when the empty glasses had been +returned to the bar. He led the way to a small table. + +"Bring the bottle and glasses!" called Brent over his shoulder, and +Camillo Bill seconded the order with a nod. + +"Now," he began, as Brent filled his glass, "Let's get this here deal +straightened out. In the first place, is them two claims of yourn worth +a million?" + +Brent flushed, hotly, but Camillo Bill forestalled his reply. "Hold on, +now. I didn't mean what you're thinkin' about--an' you ort to know me +well enough to know I didn't. When you said them two claims was worth a +million, not me, nor no one else questioned your word, did we? Well, +what I'm gettin' at is are they worth more than a million, 'n' how much +more?" + +Brent laughed: "They're worth more than a million. How much more I don't +know. I took out a half a million last summer, and I don't think I'm +half way to bed-rock at the deepest." + +Camillo Bill nodded: "All right, that's what I wanted to know. You see, +there's five or six of us holds your slips an' markers that totals a +million over an' above what was in Stoell's safe. I'll jest cash them +slips an' markers, an' take over the claims." + +Brent shrugged, "Go ahead. It don't make any difference to me how you +divide them up." + +Camillo Bill grinned: "It does make a hell of a lot of difference to you +how we divide 'em up," he said. "It's like this: I like your style. +You're a _tillicum_--a natural borned sourdough. You're white clean +through. When you said there's so and so much in Stoell's safe, the dust +was there. An' when you know'd yer claims was worth more than a million, +you says a million instead of stretchin' it to two million, an' maybe +stickin' some one. Now when I cash them markers that's out agin the +claims, an' figger in the slips an' markers I hold myself, I'll have a +million invested, won't I? An', that's what I won--a million--not a +million an' a half, or two million--just a million. Well, when I get +that million back--you get the claims back--see?" + +Brent stared at the man in amazement: "What do you mean? I lost the +claims--lost them fair and square----" + +"No you didn't," interrupted the other, "You lose just what yer slips +an' markers says you lose--an' not a damn cent more. The claims was only +a sort of security for the dust. C'latteral the banks would call it. Am +I right, or wrong?" + +Brent drank the whiskey in his glass and refilling it, shoved the bottle +toward Camillo Bill, but the man shook his head. "No more for me. Too +much of that stuff ain't no good. But about them claims--am I right, or +wrong?" + +"You're the whitest damned white man that walks on two legs, if that's +what you mean," answered Brent, in a low voice. "I'll make the claims +over to you, now." + +"Don't say that," replied Camillo Bill, "they was five or six of us that +figgered out this play--all friends of yourn. We all of us agreed to do +what I'm doin'--it was only a question of who could afford to carry the +load till next fall. I kin. Right's right--an' wrong ain't deuce-high, +nowheres. A million's a million--an' it ain't two million. An' you don't +need to make over them claims to me, neither. Jest you sign a paper +givin' me the right to go into 'em an' take out a million, an' we'll +tear up them slips an' markers." + +"But what if there isn't a million in them. I believe there is--much +more than a million. But, what if they're 'spotted,' and I just happened +to hit the spots, or what if bed-rock shows a lot shallower than I think +it will----" + +"What if! What if! To hell with what if! If the claims peter out I ain't +no better off if I hold title to 'em, am I? If they ain't good for the +million, what the hell difference does it make who owns 'em? I'd ruther +someone else holds a bum claim than me, any day," he added with a grin. +"An' now that's settled, what you goin' to do, while I'm gettin' out my +dust?" + +Brent drank his liquor, and reached for the bottle: "Why, I'm going to +hit out and locate another strike," he said, a trifle thickly. + +Camillo Bill regarded him thoughtfully: "Where at?" + +"Why I don't know. There are plenty of +creeks--Eldorado--Ophir--Doolittle----" + +The other laughed: "Listen here," he said, "While you be'n here in town +rollin' 'em high an' soppin' up hooch, they's be'n a hell of a change on +the creeks. Ain't you stopped to notice that Dawson's more'n twict as +big as she was in August, an' that the country is gittin full of +tin-horns, an' _chechakos_. Well it is--an' every creek's filed that's +worth a damn--an' so's every one that ain't. They ain't a claim to be +took up no more on Bonanza, nor Ophir, nor Siwash, nor Eldorado, nor +Alhambra, nor Sulphur, nor Excelsis, nor Christo, nor Doolittle, nor not +hardly none on no pup nor dry wash that runs into 'em." + +"All right, I'll go farther, then," retorted Brent, pouring more liquor +into his glass. "I'll go beyond the last creek that's staked. And, by +God, I'll find gold!" + +Camillo Bill shook his head: "Look a here, you ain't in no shape to hit +out on no long trip. You've laid up too long to tackle it, an' you've +drunk too much of that damned hooch. It ain't none of my business what +you do, or what you don't do--maybe you ain't drinkin' enough of it, I +don't know. But that there's damn poor stuff to train on for a long +trail in winter--an' I'm tellin' it to you that winter's sure hit these +diggin's an' hit 'em hard. Tell you what I'll do. I've be'n nosin' +'round buyin' claims while you be'n layin' abed daytimes sleepin' off +the hooch. I've got more'n what I kin 'tend to alone. I'll give you two +thousand a month to help me look after 'em, an' you can sort of ease off +the hooch, an' get broke in easy agin. If you sleep nights, an' keep out +doors daytimes, an' lay off the cards an' the hooch, you'll be good as +ever agin spring." + +"Not on your life," flared Brent, "I'm as good a man right now as I ever +was! And a damn sight too good a man to be anybody's pensioner. You know +damned well that you don't need me at two thousand a month, or any other +figure, except at an ounce a day, the same as anyone else gets. What the +hell's the matter with everybody?" A querulous note crept into Brent's +voice, "I tell you I'm as good a man as I ever was! Kitty told me the +same thing--that I'm drinking too much! Whose business is it if I am? +But, I'm not, and I'll hit the trail tomorrow and show you all!" + +"So long," said Camillo Bill as he rose from his chair. "I told you it +wasn't no one's business but yourn, so they ain't no argyment there. +Only, jest you remember that I'm a friend of yourn, an' so is +Kitty--an' a man might have a damn sight worse friend than her, at +that." + +Later in the day Stoell accosted Brent as he stood drinking alone at the +bar. "They romped right up your middle, didn't they, the last week or +so?" + +Brent nodded: "They cleaned me out. I played them too high for the cards +I was holding." + +"What you figuring on doing now?" + +"Going to hit out and locate another claim when this storm lets up." + +"You've got a long trip ahead. Everything's staked." + +"So they say, but I guess I'll find something, somewhere." + +"Why don't you take an inside job this winter. Hell of a lot of grief +out there in the snow with only a tent and a bunch of huskies." + +"What kind of a job?" + +"I'm figuring on starting up a new layout--faro. How'd you like to deal? +Just till spring when the weather lets up a little. You can't tell what +you're staking under ten foot of snow anyhow." + +"I never dealt faro." + +"It won't take you long to learn. I only run one big game now because I +can't trust no one to deal another--but I could get plenty of play on +one if I had it goin'. I figure that the boys all like you, an' you'd be +a good card. They all know you're square an' I'd get a good play on your +layout. What do you say? It's a damn sight better than mushin' out +there in the cold." + +"What will you pay?" + +"Well, how would five hundred a month, an' five percent of the winnings +of the layout do? You wouldn't need to come on till around nine in the +evening, and stay till the play was through. I'll throw in your supper, +and dinner at midnight, and we won't keep any bar tab. You're welcome to +what drinks you want--only you've got to keep sober when you're on +shift." + +Brent did not answer immediately. A couple of men came through the door +in a whirl of flying snow, and he shivered slightly, as the blast of +cold air struck him. Stoell was right, there would be a hell of a lot of +grief out there on the long snow trail. "I guess I'll take you up on +that," he said, "When do I start?" + +"It'll take me a day or so to get rigged up. Let's make it day after +tomorrow night. Meantime you can do your eating and drinking here--just +make yourself at home. The boys'll be tickled when they hear the +news--it'll spread around the camp pretty lively that you're dealing +faro at Stoell's, and we'll get good play--see." + +During the next two days Brent spent much time in Stoell's, drinking at +the bar, and watching the preparation of the new layout over which he +was to preside. And to him there, at different times came eight or ten +of the sourdoughs of the Yukon, each with a gruff offer of assistance, +but carefully couched in words that could give no offense. "You'll be on +yer feet agin, 'fore long. If you need any change in the meantime, just +holler," imparted one. Said another: "Here, jest slip this poke in yer +jeans. I ain't needin' it. Somethin'll turn up d'rectly, an' you can +slip it back then." But Brent declined all offers, with thanks. And to +each he explained that he had a job, and each, when he learned the +nature of the job, either answered rather evasively, or congratulated +him in terms that somehow seemed lacking in enthusiasm. Old Bettles was +the only man to voice open disapproval: "Hell," he blurted, "Anyone c'n +deal faro. Anyone c'n gamble with another man's money, an' eat another +man's grub, an' drink another man's hooch. But, it's along the cricks +an' the gulches you find the reg'lar he-man sourdoughs." + +At the words of this oldest settler on the Yukon, Brent strangely took +no offense. Rather he sought to excuse his choice of profession: "I'm +only doing it till spring, then I'm going to hit into the hills, and +when I come back we'll play them higher than ever," he explained. "I'm a +little soft now and don't feel quite up to tackling the winter trail." + +"Humph," grunted Bettles, "You won't be comin' back--because you ain't +never goin' to go. If yer soft now, you'll be a damn sight softer agin +spring. Dealin' from a box an' lappin' up hooch ain't a-goin' to put you +in shape for to chaw moose-meat an' wrestle a hundred pound pack. It'll +sap yer guts." But Brent laughed at the old man's warning, and the next +evening took his place behind the layout with the cards spread before +him. + +As Stoell had predicted, Brent proved to be a great drawing card for the +gambling house. Play at his layout ran high, and the table was always +crowded. But nearly all the players were _chechakos_--men new to the +country, who had struck it lucky and were intent upon making a big +splash. Among these tin-horns and four-flushers, Ace-In-The-Hole was a +deity. For among petty gamblers he was a prince of gamblers. Rumors and +fantastic lies were rife at all the bars concerning his deeds. "He had +cleaned up ten million in a summer on a claim." "He killed three men +with three blows of his fist." "The Queen of the Yukon was all caked in +on him, and he wouldn't have her. He tossed her a slip for half a +million that he had won on a single bet at the wheel, and because she +was sore at him, she ground it into the floor with her foot." "He had +bet a million on an ace in the hole--hence his name. He had gambled away +twenty million in a week." And so it went. Men fell over themselves to +make his acquaintance that they might ostentatiously boast of that +acquaintance at the bars. One would casually mention that +"Ace-In-The-Hole says to me, the other day, he says--" Or, "I was +tellin' Ace-In-The-Hole about one time I an' a couple of tarts down in +'Frisco--" Or, "Me an' Ace-In-The-Hole was eatin' supper the other +night, an' he says to me--" When he was off duty, men crowded to stand +next to him at the bar, they plied him with drinks, and invited him to +dine. All of which meant increased business for Stoell. So that upon +several occasions when Brent was too drunk to attend to business, Stoell +himself dealt his game and said nothing. + +It was inevitable that this sudden popularity should in a measure turn +Brent's head. Personally, he detested the loud-mouthed fawning +_chechakos_, but as his association with them grew, his comradery with +the real sourdoughs diminished. They did not openly or purposely cut +him. They still greeted him as an equal, they drank with him, and +occasionally they took a fling at his game. But there was a difference +that Brent was quick to notice, and quick to resent, but powerless to +dispel. He was a professional gambler, now--and they were mining +men--that was all. + +Only once since he had taken up his new vocation had he seen Kitty. She +had come into Stoell's one evening, and slipping behind the table stood +at his elbow until the end of the deal. As he shuffled the cards +preparatory to returning them into the box, she placed her lips close to +his ear: "Who are all your friends?" she whispered indicating the +tin-horns and _chechakos_ that rimmed the table. Brent flushed, +slightly, and answered nothing. "So this is what you meant by hitting +the trail when they broke you, is it? Well, take it from me, it's a +short trail, and a steep grade slanting down, and when you're on the +toboggan it ain't going to take long to hit the bottom--with a bump." +And before Brent could reply she had slipped away and lost herself in +the crowd. + +Night after night, although his eyes sought the crowd, he never saw her +again, nor did he find her upon his excursions to "The Nugget," or to +Cuter Malone's "Klondike Palace." If she were purposely avoiding him, +she was succeeding admirably. + +Along in February, Brent was surprised one day to receive, in his own +cabin, a visit from Johnny Claw. "What do you want?" he asked as the man +stood in the doorway. + +Claw entered, closing the door behind him. He removed his cap and +mittens, and fumbling beneath his parka, produced a sealed bottle of +whiskey which he set upon the table: "Oh, jest dropped in fer a little +visit. Been 'outside.' Try a shot of this hooch--better'n anything +Stoell's got." + +Brent sat down upon the edge of his bunk and motioned the man to a +chair: "Didn't know you were so damned friendly with me that you would +lug me in a bottle of hooch from the outside," he said, "What's on your +chest?" + +Claw produced a corkscrew and opened the bottle, then he poured a +half-tumbler into each of two glasses. "Le's liquor," he said, offering +one to Brent. "Good stuff, ain't it?" + +Brent nodded: "Damned good. But what's the idea?" + +"Idee is jest this," announced Claw, eyeing him shrewdly, "You damn near +busted me, but I ain't holdin' that agin' you." He paused and Brent, who +knew that he was lying, waited for him to proceed. "You told me right +plain out that you didn't like the business I was in! That's all right, +too. I s'pose it ain't no hell of a good business, but someone's got to +bring 'em in or you bucks wouldn't have nobody to dance with. But, +layin' all that aside, you're dealin' the big game for Stoell." + +"Yup." + +"Well, listen: You're hittin' the hooch too hard fer to suit Stoell. At +the end of the month you're out of a job--see? He's goin' to let you +out, 'cause yer showin' up too reg'lar with a bun on. Says it's got to +where yer crocked so often he might's well be dealin' the game hisself." + +"Who did he tell this to--you?" + +The other leered: "Naw, not to me. He don't like me no more'n what you +do. But, I happened to hear him tellin' it to Old Bettles an' Camillo +Bill. 'That's right,' says Bettles, 'fire him, an' maybe we kin git him +into the hills.' 'I'm 'fraid not,' says Camillo Bill. 'Leastways not +till spring. An' at the rate he's goin', by that time he'll be countin' +bees.' 'It's a shame,' says Bettles, 'There's a damn good man gone +wrong.' 'He is a damn good man,' says Stoell, 'They ain't many I'd trust +to deal that big game. He's square as hell--but, the hooch has got +him.'" + +"The hell it has," said Brent, with a short laugh. "They're damned +fools! I don't drink enough to hurt me any. I'm as good a man as I ever +was!" + +"Sure you be," assented Claw. "What little you drink wouldn't hurt no +one. What's it any of their business? You don't need no guardeen to tell +you when to take a drink," he paused and refilled Brent's glass. "'Yer +square as hell,'" says Stoell--"but what's it gittin' you? He's goin' to +fire you, ain't he?" + +"Well?" + +"Well--why not git even with him, an' at the same time clean up big fer +yerself? They ain't no chanct to git caught." + +"What do you mean?" Brent's voice rasped a trifle harshly, but Claw did +not notice. + +"I got it all doped out. Cold deck him--an' I'll play agin the fixed +deck an' make a cleanin'--an' we'll split." + +"You mean----" + +"I mean this. Me an' you will fix up a deck, an' I'll copy off how the +cards lays. Then you slip 'em into the box an' start the deal, an' I'll +lay the bets. Of course, knowin' how they'll fall, I kin win whenever I +want to. No one'll ever b'lieve it's a frame-up, 'cause they know you're +square, an' likewise they know you hate me, an' they wouldn't figger +we'd git together. I'll make the play strong by comin' in fer a night +er two before we spring it an' braggin' that I've got a system. Then +I'll have my slip of paper an' I'll look at it, an' make bets, an' of +course I'll lose--'cause they ain't no system. An' the next night I'll +do the same an' the third night we'll slip in the fixed deck--an' then +my system'll win. An' all the time I'll be sneerin' at you, like I hated +yer guts----" + +The sentence was never finished. In a blind rage Brent hurled himself +upon the man, and both crashed to the floor together. The fight was fast +and furious while it lasted. But, flabby, and with his brain befuddled +with liquor, Brent was no match for the other, who a year before, he +could have killed with his bare hands. He got in several good blows at +the start, which slowed up his antagonist, and rendered him incapable of +inflicting serious damage later, when Brent winded and gasping, was +completely at his mercy. A referee would unhesitatingly have declared it +Claw's fight, for when he slipped from the cabin it was to leave Brent +nursing two half-closed and rapidly purpling eyes, with nose and lips to +match. + +When, four days later he showed up at Stoell's, the latter called him +aside and weighing out what was coming to him in dust, informed him that +his services were no longer required. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +"WHERE DO I GO FROM HERE?" + + +From Stoell's Brent drifted to "The Nugget," where for a month, he dealt +faro on percentage in a "limit" game--for with the tin-horns and the +_chechakos_ had come also "limits" and "table stakes." + +Here, "The Queen of the Yukon" passed and repassed his layout a dozen +times in an evening on her way to and from the dance-hall in the rear, +but never by even so much as a look did she admit that she recognized +him. + +On the afternoon of his first payday, he sat in a "table stakes" game of +stud and a run of luck netted him seven hundred dollars. Whereupon he +promptly went on a spree that lasted three days and when he again showed +up for duty another dealer was presiding over his layout. + +The next day Cuter Malone called him into a little back room and sounded +him out. "Hear how yer out of a job," quoth Cuter, as he set two glasses +and a bottle upon the little table between them. Brent nodded, and the +other continued: "Want to keep on dealin'?" + +"Why yes, I guess so. I'm going to hit the trail right after the +break-up, but until that comes I might as well be doing something." + +"Sure. Well I got a good percent proposition fer you. You'll draw quite +a little trade--you done it at Stoell's, an' then swung the heft of it +over to 'The Nugget.'" + +"Is it a limit game?" asked Brent. "What percentage will you pay?" + +Malone filled the glasses from the bottle, and having drank combed at +his black beard with his fingers: "W-e-e-l, that's accordin'. This here +game I'm figgerin' on is a sure thing--that is, o' course, lots o' turns +has got to lose, but in the long run she wins big." + +"What do you mean--a sure thing?" + +Cuter grinned craftily: "D'ye ever hear tell of a double-slotted box? +Well, I've got one, an'----" + +Brent interrupted him with a short laugh: "What you mean is that because +I've got the reputation for being square, you want to use me for a +decoy, and when they come in, rob them on a percentage." + +"Well, that's--er--talkin' it out kind of plain----" + +"You can go to hell!" exclaimed Brent, "and that's talking it out kind +of plain, too." + +Cuter laughed: "Don't git sore about it. Business is business, an' I'm +into it to git the money, one way an' another. If you don't want to +deal, how about goin' behind the bar? That's a square enough game." He +paused and grinned. "An' I wouldn't mind fer onct havin' someone +handlin' my dust that I wouldn't feel like friskin' every time he went +out the door to see how much of it had stuck to him." + +And so Brent began tending bar in the notorious "Klondike Palace," and +Kitty, as she faced him for the first time with her dancing partner and +called for a drink, addressed him in words that to her partner meant +nothing: "Your toboggan is going good, now--ain't it, Ace-In-The-Hole? +You're most there, now--most to the bump that lays at the end of the +trail." And Brent served the drinks, and answered nothing. + +The "Klondike Palace" was the wildest and most notorious of all the +dives of the big camp. Unlike Stoell's and "The Nugget," everything +downstairs was in one big room. The bar occupied a whole side, the +gambling tables and devices were in the rear, and the remainder of the +wide floor space was given over to dancing. At the rear of the bar a +flight of stairs led upward to the rooms of the painted women. + +And it was concerning one of these painted women that, three weeks +later, Brent had his first "run in" with Cuter Malone. It was bitter +cold and snowing thickly, and Brent, with lowered head, was boring +through the white smother on his way to work. He paused in the light +that shone dully through the heavily frosted windows of Malone's and was +about to push open the door, when from the thick darkness around the +side of the building he heard a woman scream. It was a sharp, terrible +scream, that ended in a half-muffled shriek. And without an instant's +hesitation, Brent dashed around the corner. The "Klondike Palace" was +located well upon the edge of the big camp, beyond it being only a few +scattered cabins. Scarcely fifty feet from the street he came upon a man +standing over a woman who was cowering in the snow. Neither saw him, and +even as he looked the man struck with a coiled dog whip. Again the woman +screamed, and the man jumped upon her and started to kick her first with +one foot then with the other as she lay in the snow. Like an avalanche +Brent hurled himself upon the man, his fist catching him squarely upon +the side of the head and sending him sprawling. Without waiting for him +to get up, Brent jerked the woman to her feet and pushed her toward the +street. He saw then that she was one of the girls who roomed over +Malone's, and that she was clad in the thinnest of silk stockings, and +the flimsiest of semi-transparent gowns. One of her high-heeled slippers +had been lost in the snow. Scarce able to stand, the girl staggered +whimpering toward the light. Turning upon the man who had regained his +feet Brent found himself looking into the muzzle of a forty-five. So +close was the man that even in the darkness he could see his face. It +was Johnnie Claw, and Brent saw that the recognition was mutual. Claw's +thick lips writhed back in a grin of hate, and Brent could hear his +breath sucking heavily between his clenched teeth. Eye to eye they +stared as Brent's lips moved in a sneer: "Well--you--damned--pimp--why +don't you shoot?" To his intense surprise, the gun wavered, dropped to +the man's side and, jamming it into the pocket of his fur coat, Claw +pushed past him toward the street, mumbling thick curses. + +Later, that night, when business was a little slack during a dance +Malone motioned him aside: "Say, what the hell be you buttin' in on +other folks business fer?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"You know what I mean. What did you go knockin' Johnnie Claw down fer, +when he was givin' that damn Violet what was comin' to her, fer holdin' +out on him?" + +"Giving her what was coming! My God, man, he would have kicked her to +death there in the snow--that's what he would have done!" + +"Well, what if he did--she's hisn, ain't she?" + +A surge of swift anger almost overcame Brent. His fists clenched, and it +was with difficulty that he refrained from striking Malone down where he +stood. Instead, he leaned a trifle closer to the man: "Just let this +stick to you, Malone," he said, "What passes between me and Claw, or me +and anyone else, when it isn't on your premises and on your time, is my +business--see?" + +Malone laughed, shortly, and with a shrug, turned away, while Brent +served drinks to a couple who had left the dance and sauntered to the +bar. The couple were Kitty, and a strapping young _chechako_ called +Moosehide Charlie, the name referring to an incident that had occurred +early in the winter when he had skinned out a moose and, finding himself +far from camp and no blankets, had wrapped himself in the green hide and +gone to sleep. In the morning he awoke to find himself encased in an +iron-hard coffin of frozen moosehide unable to move hand or foot. +Luckily a party of hunters found him and spent half a day thawing him +out over a roaring fire. + +Said Kitty to Moosehide Charlie, as she sipped at the liquid that by +courtesy was called port wine: "That's Johnnie Claw over there by the +door. He's one-two-three with Cuter Malone--some say they're pardners." + +Her companion swallowed his liquor and glanced indifferently toward the +object of the girl's remarks. "It ain't worryin' me none who he's +pardners with. I don't like the looks of him, nohow." + +"Sh-sh-sh," warned Kitty, "What a man learns in this country don't hurt +him any. I was just telling you so if you ever happened to run foul of +Claw, you'd know enough to keep your eye on Malone, too." + +"Guess I ain't goin' to run foul of him. Come on, let's dance." + +Kitty had not even favored him by so much as a glance, but as Brent +removed the glasses from the bar, he smiled. + +The days were rapidly lengthening on the Yukon. At noon each day the sun +was higher in the heavens and its increased heat was heralded by little +streams of snow water that trickled over the ice of the creeks. + +One evening when the grip of winter had broken and the feel of spring +was in the air, Moosehide Charlie stood at the bar drinking with Johnnie +Claw. It was too early for the dancers and three or four of the girls +sat idly along the opposite wall. As Brent served the drinks, he noticed +that Claw appeared to be urging the younger man into a deal of some +kind--he, caught a word now and then, of reference to dumps, slucings, +and water heads. Moosehide seemed to be holding out. He was a man who +drank little, and after two drinks he turned from the bar shaking his +head. "Come on," urged Claw, "Have another." + +"No, two or three's my limit. I don't aim to git drunk." + +"Drunk, hell!" laughed Claw, "I don't nuther. You've only had two. Make +it three, an' I'll tell you what I'll do, I'll throw off a leetle on +that claim. I ain't got time to fool with it, noways." + +Moosehide returned to the bar: "Well, one more, then, an' that's all. +But you'll have to throw off more'n just a little on that property, fer +me to touch it." + +Claw filled his glass and pushed the bottle toward the other and as +Moosehide Charlie measured his liquor, out of the tail of his eye, Brent +saw Claw pour something from a small vial into his own glass and return +the vial swiftly to his pocket. The next moment he was talking earnestly +to Moosehide who, as he listened, toyed with his glass, rubbing into +patterns the few drops of liquor he had spilled upon the bar. + +Cuter Malone had himself carried a tray of drinks to be served at one of +the poker tables in the rear, and just at this moment, tray and glasses +struck the floor with a loud crash. Moosehide Charlie turned quickly at +the sound, and as he did so Brent saw Johnnie Claw deftly switch the +glasses upon the bar. Malone returned, grumbling at his clumsiness, for +another tray of drinks, and Claw raised his glass. "I guess we kin deal, +all right. Le's drink, an' then we'll slip into the back room there an' +figger it out." + +As Moosehide picked up the glass before him, Brent reached out swiftly +and took it from his fingers. He looked into it for a second and tossed +its contents onto the floor. "Better fill her up again," he said, "There +was a fly in it." A fly on the Yukon, with the rivers still frozen, and +the sodden snow three feet deep on the ground! Moosehide stared, and +before Brent could move, Cuter Malone had floored him with a blow from a +heavy bottle. The truth flashed upon Moosehide Charlie. One blow of his +fist settled Claw, while with his other hand he reached across the bar +and jerked a gun from the hand of Cuter Malone. The poker players rose +from their chairs and started for the bar, but Moosehide motioned them +back with the gun. "Jest go on with yer game, boys," he said meaningly. +"Don't mind me." And as they settled into their places he stepped around +the bar, keeping Malone covered. Kitty, who had been chatting with the +girls on the opposite side of the room, darted across the floor and +brushing past Moosehide, knelt beside Brent. "Jest raise up his head, +girl, an' throw some water in his face," ordered Moosehide, "An' pour a +little licker down his throat. If he can't swaller it, it'll make him +gag an' bring him to." Then he turned to Malone: "An' you, you damn +crook! You git busy an' weigh out what's comin' to him. An' weigh it +damn quick--an' weigh it right. 'Cause if it ain't right, I'm a-comin' +back here with about forty or ninety of my friends an' I'm tellin' it to +you, we'll gut this damn joint--an' you along with it!" + +Brent only partially revived under the water and choking whiskey, and +between them they managed to get him out the door and onto Moosehide's +sled. Then they hauled him to his cabin and put him to bed, where he lay +for two weeks, delirious with fever, while Kitty stayed day and night +at his side and nursed him. Another week passed, during which the girl +came daily and cooked his meals, and made him get up for a little while +each day while she aired and rearranged his blankets. At length came a +day when he rose and dressed himself and stayed up till evening. + +"You won't be needing me any more," said the girl, simply, as she stood +in the doorway late in the afternoon. She pointed to two small buckskin +sacks which she had laid upon the table. "There's your pay that was +coming to you from Cuter Malone, and a sack that Moosehide Charlie left +for you." + +"Moosehide Charlie? He don't owe me anything." + +"Says he owes you a whole lot, and he wanted me to give you that. He's +gone off on a trip up Indian River." + +Brent picked up the sack, which was a dozen times the weight of the +other, and extended it toward the girl: "Give this back to him," he said +shortly. "I don't need it." + +Kitty did not take it: "You do too need it," she said, "How long will +that pinch of dust last you? And what are you going to do when it's +gone?" + +"It don't make any difference what I do when it's gone. Whatever I do, I +won't live on charity." And he tossed the sack past her through the +doorway where it buried itself in the snow. + +"You're a fool, Ace-In-The-Hole," she said, quietly, "A _damn fool_." + +The man nodded, slowly: "That's right, I reckon. Anyway we won't quarrel +about it. Will you do me just one more favor?" + +"What is it?" + +"Take this dust and get me a bottle of hooch--a quart bottle--two of +them." + +"No, I won't!" + +Brent rose to his feet: "I'll have to go myself, then," he said, as he +cast his eyes about for his hat. + +"You ain't able! You're weak as a cat, and you'd fall down in the snow." + +"I'll get up again, then." He found the hat and put it on. + +"I'll go," the words were hurled at him, and he handed her Cuter +Malone's sack. "Never mind that--" + +"Take it! Or I won't touch the hooch." + +Reluctantly, she took it and in half an hour she was back and without a +word deposited two quart bottles upon the table. + +"Will you drink with me?" Brent asked, as he drew the cork. + +"No! I'm going, now." + +Brent rose to his feet and held out his hand: "Good bye, Kitty," he +said, gravely. "I know what you've done for me--and I won't forget it. +You'll come to see me--sometimes?" + +"No. I hate you! An' if you could see yourself the way I see +you--knowing what you are, and what you ought to be--you'd hate +yourself!" + +Brent flushed under the sting of the words: "I'm as good a man as I ever +was," he muttered, defiantly. + +The girl sneered: "You are--like hell! Why, you ain't even got a +job--now. You're a bum! You hit the bump that I told you was at the end +of your trail--now, where do you go from here?" And before Brent could +reply she was gone. + +"Where do I go from here?" he repeated slowly, as he sank into a chair +beside his table, and swallowed a stiff drink of whiskey. And, "Where do +I go from here?" he babbled meaninglessly, three hours later when, very +drunk, his head settled slowly forward upon his folded arms, and he +slept. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE PLOTTING OF CAMILLO BILL + + +With the rapidly lengthening days the sodden snow thawed and was carried +away by the creeks which were running waist-deep on top of the ice. New +snow fell, lay dazzling white for a day or two, and then under the ever +increasing heat of the sun, it, too, turned sodden, and sullen, and +grey, and added its water to the ever increasing torrent of the creeks. +Bare patches of ground showed upon south slopes. The ice in the creeks +let go, and was borne down by the torrents in grinding, jamming floes. +Then, the big river broke up. Wild geese and ducks appeared heading +northward. Wild flowers in a riot of blazing color followed up the +mountain sides upon the heels of the retreating snow-banks. And with +bewildering swiftness, the Yukon country leaped from winter into summer. + +From his little cabin Carter Brent noted the kaleidoscopic change of +seasons, and promised himself that as soon as the creeks receded into +their normal beds he would hit the gold trail. He ate little, drank +much, and spent most of his days in reading from some books left him by +a wandering Englishman who had come in overland from the North-west +territories, where for a year or more he had prowled aimlessly among the +Hudson's Bay posts, and the outposts of the Mounted. The books were, for +the most part, government reports, geological, and geodetical, upon the +Canadian North. + +"She said I am a bum," he muttered to himself one evening as he laid +aside his book, and in the gathering darkness walked to the door and +watched the last play of sunlight upon the distant glittering peaks. +"But, I'll show her--I'll show her where I'll go from here. I'm as good +a man as I ever was." This statement that he had at first made to +others, he now found necessary to make to himself. A dozen times a day +he would solemnly assure himself that he was as good a man as he ever +was, and that when he got ready to hit the trail he would show them. + +The sunlight faded from the peaks, and as he turned from the doorway, +his eyes fell upon his pack straps that hung from their peg on the wall. +Reaching for his hat, he stepped to the door and peered out to make sure +that no one was watching. Then he stooped and fixed his straps to a +half-sack of flour which he judged would weigh about fifty pounds. After +some difficulty he got the pack onto his back and started for the bank +of the river, a quarter of a mile away. A hundred yards from the cabin +he stopped for breath. His shoulders ached, and the muscles of his neck +felt as though they were being torn from their moorings as he pushed his +forehead against the tump-line. With the sweat starting from every pore +he essayed a few more steps, stumbled, and in clumsily catching his +balance, his hat fell off. As he stooped to recover it, the weight of +the pack forced him down and down until he was flat on his belly with +his face in the mud. For a long time he lay, panting, until the +night-breeze chilled the sweat on his skin, and he shivered. Then he +struggled to rise, gained his hands and knees and could get no farther. +Again and again he tried to rise to his feet, but the weight of the pack +held him down. He remembered that between the Chilkoot and Lake +Lindermann he had risen out of the mud with a hundred pounds on his +shoulders, and thought nothing of it. He wriggled from the straps and +carrying, and resting, staggered back to his cabin and sank into a +chair. He took a big drink and felt better. "It's the fever," he assured +himself, "It left me weak. I'll be all right in a day or so. I'm as good +a man as I ever was--only, a little out of practice." + +After that Brent stayed closer than ever to his cabin until the day came +when there was not enough dust left in his little buckskin sack to pay +for a quart of hooch. He bought a pint, and as he drank it in his cabin, +decided he must go to work, until he got strong enough to hit the +trail. Houses were going up everywhere, houses of boards that were +taking the place of the tents and the cabins of the previous year. Work +there was a plenty, and the laborers were few. _Chechakos_ were pouring +in by the thousands and staking clear to the mountain tops. But, none of +them would work. Crazed by the lure of gold they pitted the hillsides +and valleys and mucked like gnomes in their wild scramble for riches. +Brent worked for a week in a sawmill, and then quit, bought some hooch +and some necessary food, and retired to his cabin to reread his reports +and laugh at the efforts of the hillside miners. + +The old timers were scattered out in the hills, and the tin-horns and +_chechakos_ who had worshiped at his shrine were dispersed, or had +forgotten him. Life moved swiftly in the big camp. Yesterday's hero +would be forgotten tomorrow. And the name of Ace-In-The-Hole meant +nothing to the newcomers. Occasionally he met one of the old timers, who +would buy him a drink, and hurry on about his business. + +Spasmodically Brent worked at odd jobs. He fired a river steamboat on a +round trip to Fort Gibbon. Always he promised himself pretty soon, now, +he would be ready to hit the trail. Stampedes were of almost daily +occurrence, but Brent was never in on them and so the summer wore on and +still he had not hit the trail. "I'll just wait now, for snow," he +decided late in August. "Then I'll get a good dog team together, and +make a real rush. There's no use hitting out with a poling boat, the +creeks are all staked, and back-packing is too hard work for a white +man. I'm as good a man as I ever was, and when the snow comes I'll show +them." + +Brent's wardrobe was depleted until it consisted of a coarse blue jumper +and ragged overalls drawn over underclothing, laced and tied together in +a dozen places. He had not shaved for a month. + +Later in October Camillo Bill came to his cabin. He stood in the doorway +and stared into the dirty interior where Brent, with the unwashed dishes +of his last meal shoved back, sat reading. + +"Hello, Camillo," greeted the owner of the cabin as he rose to his feet +and extended his hand, "Come in and sit down." + +Camillo Bill settled himself into a chair: "Well I'll be damned!" he +exclaimed under his breath. + +Brent rinsed a couple of murky glasses in the water pail, and reached +for a bottle that sat among the dirty dishes: "Have a drink," he +invited, extending a glass to his visitor. + +Camillo Bill poured a taste of liquor into the glass and watched Brent, +with shaking hand, slop out a half a tumblerful, and drink it down as +one would drink water. He swallowed the liquor and returned the glass to +the table. + +"Take some more," urged Brent, "I've got another quart under the bunk." + +"No thanks," refused the other, curtly, "I heard you was down an' out, +but--by God, I wasn't lookin' for this!" + +"What's the matter?" asked Brent, flushing beneath his stubby beard, +"What do you mean?" + +Righteous indignation blazed from Camillo Bill's eyes. "Mean! You know +damn well what I mean!" he thundered. "Look around this shack! Look in +the lookin' glass up there! You're livin' here worse'n a dog lives! +You're worse'n a--a squaw-man!" + +Brent rose to his feet, and drew himself proudly erect. Ragged and +unshaven as he was, the effect was ludicrous, but Camillo Bill saw +nothing of humour as he stared at the wreck of his friend. Brent spoke +slowly, measuring his words: "No man--not even you can insult me and get +away with it. I'm as good a man as I ever was, and I'll prove it if +you'll step outside." + +"You couldn't prove nothin' to nobody, noway. Kitty told me you'd gone +to hell--but, I didn't know you'd gone on plumb through." + +Brent sank weakly into his chair and began to whimper: "I'm as good a +man as I ever was," he sniveled. + +"Shut up!" Camillo Bill's fist struck the table, "It makes me mad to +look at you! You're a hell of a lookin' object. You won't winter +through. They'll find you froze some mornin' half ways between here an' +some saloon." + +"I won't be here when winter comes. I'm going to hit the trail when +snow flies, with a dog outfit." + +"Where do you aim to go?" + +"Over beyond the Mackenzie. Over in the Coppermine River country. +There's gold over there, and there aren't a million _chechakos_ gouging +for it." + +Camillo Bill roared with laughter: "Over beyond the Mackenzie! Picked +you out the roughest an' the furtherest place to go there is. An' +nuthin' there when you get there--only you'd never get there. You ain't +got the strength nor the guts to cross Indian River--let alone the +Mackenzie. An' besides, where do you aim to get your outfit?" + +"I'll work in the sawmill till I get enough, or anyone will grub-stake +me--you will." + +"I will--like hell! An' no one else won't, neither. You'd never buy +nothin' but hooch if they did." + +A gleam of hope flashed into Brent's eyes: "Say," he asked, "How about +my claims? You must have taken out your million by this time." + +Camillo Bill smiled and his eyes never wavered as they met Brent's gaze: +"Petered plumb out," he said, "That's what I come to tell you about. +They ain't an ounce left in 'em." + +"Did you get yours?" asked Brent dully. "If you didn't, just let me know +how much you are shy, and I'll make it good--when I make my strike, over +beyond the Mackenzie." + +This time the other did not laugh. His fists clenched, and he muttered +under his breath: "All gone to hell--puffed an' bloated, an' rotten +with hooch--an' still square as a brick school house!" For a long time +he sat silent, staring at the floor. + +Brent poured himself another drink: "How much are you shy?" he repeated. + +The words roused Camillo Bill from a brown study: "Huh?" he asked. + +"I said, how much are you shy of that million?" + +"Oh, I don't know yet. I ain't cleaned up the tailin' of the dump. It +ain't goin' to be so far off, though. I'll let you know later." He got +up and crossed to the door. "So long," he said, and without waiting for +Brent's adieu, struck out at a fast walk for Stoell's where he found old +Bettles and Swiftwater Bill drinking at the bar with Moosehide Charlie, +who was telling of a fresh strike on a nameless creek to the westward. + +Camillo Bill motioned the three to a small table, and when they were +seated he ordered the drinks: "We got a job to do," he announced, +plunging straight into his subject, "An' we got to do it thorough." + +"Meanin' which?" asked Bettles. + +"Meanin' to kidnap a man, an' hide him out fer a year, an' make him work +like hell every minute he ain't sleepin' or eatin'." + +"That sounds like a hell of a contrack," opined Swiftwater Bill. "Who's +goin' to keep him workin', an' what at, an' what for?" + +"For the good of his soul," grinned Camillo, "The spark of a man's +there yet--an' a damn good man. But if we all don't git down an' blow +like hell the spark's goin' out." + +"Clear as mulligan," grinned Moosehide Charlie. + +Camillo Bill looked into the faces of his companions: "Anyone saw +Ace-In-The-Hole, lately?" he asked. + +Bettles shook his head, and Swiftwater Bill spoke up: "I seen him about +a month ago--bought him a drink. He's on the toboggan." + +Moosehide Charlie broke in: "I ain't seen him since spring when he saved +me from gettin' doped in Cuter Malone's. Cuter floored him with a bottle +an' Kitty an' I got him home an' she looked after him till he got +better. I give her a sack of dust to give him, but he wouldn't take +it--throw'd it out in the snow, an' Kitty dug it out an' brung it back. +If you all is figgerin' on gettin' up a stake fer him, let me in I'll go +as high as the next." + +Camillo Bill shook his head: "Nothin' doin' on the stake stuff. He +wouldn't take it, an' if he did it would be the worst thing we could do +to him. He'd blow it all in fer hooch. I went over to his cabin just now +to turn back his claims. I've took out my million, an' only worked one +of 'em. An' it ain't worked half out. They must be two or three million +in 'em yet. Kitty told me the hooch had got him right--but she didn't +tell it strong enough. He's in a hell of a shape, an' thinks he's as +good a man as he ever was. He's dirty, an' ragged, an' bloated with +hooch an' broke--an' yet, by God--he's a man! When I seen how things +was, I decided not to say anything about the claims because if he got +holt of 'em now, he'd blow 'em in as fast as he could get out the dust. +But, after a while he asked me, an' I told him they'd petered out. He +never batted an eye, but he says, 'Did you get out your million? +'Cause,' he says, 'if you didn't just tell me how much you're shy, an' +I'll make it good!' He thinks he's goin' somewhere over beyond the +Mackenzie when the snow comes--but, hell--he ain't in no shape to go +nowheres. What we got to do is jest na'chelly steal him, an' put him in +a cabin somewheres way out in the hills, an' hire a couple of guards for +him, an' keep him workin' for a whole damn year. It'll nearly kill him +at first, but it'll put him back where he was, if it don't kill him--an' +if it does, it's better to die workin' than to freeze to death drunk +like McMann did." + +"I got the place to put him," said Swiftwater, "The claim's no good, but +it's way to hell an' gone from here, an' there's a cabin on it." + +"Just the ticket," agreed Camillo. + +"We better send out quite a bunch of hooch. So he can kind of taper +off," suggested Moosehide Charlie. + +"Taper--hell!" cried Bettles, "If you taper off, you taper on agin. I +know. The way to quit is to quit." + +"We'll figger that out," laughed Camillo, "The best way is to ask the +doc. I'll tend to that, an' I'll get a guard hired, an' see about grub +an' tools and stuff. We'll meet here a week from tonight an' pull the +deal off, an' Swiftwater he can go along fer guide--only you don't want +to let him see you. I'll get guards that he don't know, an' that don't +know him. We'll have to pay 'em pretty good, but it's worth it." + +Old Bettles nodded: "He was a damn good man, onct." + +"An' he'll be agin'!" exclaimed Camillo, "If he lives through it. His +heart's right." + +And so they parted, little thinking that when they would gather for the +carrying out of their scheme, Brent would have disappeared as completely +as though the earth had swallowed him up. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +SNOWDRIFT RETURNS TO THE BAND + + +As Snowdrift plodded mile after mile, in her flight from the mission, +her brain busied itself with her problem, and the first night beside her +little campfire she laid her plans for the future. In her heart was no +bitterness against old Wananebish--only compassion that resolved itself +into an intense loyalty and a determination to stay with her and to +lighten the burden that the years were heaping upon her. For she knew of +the old woman's intense love for her, and the hardships she willingly +endured to keep her in school at the mission. The blame was the white +man's blame--the blame of the man who was her father. + +Her face burned hot and her eyes flashed as her hatred of white men grew +upon her. Gladly would she have opened her veins and let out the last +drop of white blood that coursed the length of them. At least she could +renounce the white man's ways--his teachings, and his very language. +From now on she was Indian--and yet, again came that fleeting, elusive +_memory_--always, ever since she had been a little girl there had been +the _memory_, and when it came she would close her eyes, and press her +hands to her head and try and try in vain to grasp it--to bring the +picture clean-cut to her mind. Then the _memory_ would fade away--but it +would return again, in a month--a year--always it would return--a log +cabin--wind-tossed waters--a beautiful white woman who held her close--a +big man with a beard upon his face like McTavish, the factor. At first +she had told Wananebish of the _memory_, but she had laughed and said +that it was the wives of the different factors and traders at the posts +who were wont to make much of the little girl when the band came to +trade. The explanation never quite satisfied Snowdrift, but she accepted +it for want of a better. Was it a flash of memory from another +existence? There was the book she had borrowed from Father Ambrose, the +peculiar book that she did not understand, and that Father Ambrose said +he did not understand, and did not want to understand, for it was all +about some heathenish doctrine. She wondered if it could not be possible +that people lived over and over again, as the book said, and if so, why +couldn't they remember? Maybe last time she had been a white girl, and +this time she was a half-breed, and the next time she would be an +Indian--she wouldn't wait till next time! She was an Indian now. She +hated the white men. + +And so it went as hour on hour she worked her plans for the future. She +knew that Wananebish was getting old, that she was losing her grip on +the band. Many of the older ones had died, and many of the younger ones +had deserted, and those who were left were dissatisfied, and always +grumbling. There were only eighteen or twenty of them all told, now, and +they preferred to hang about along the rivers, trapping just enough fur +to make a scanty living and pay for the hooch that the free-traders +brought in. They were a degenerate lot and old Wananebish had grown +weary in trying to get them back into the barrens where there was gold. +They scoffed at the gold. There had been so little of it found in so +many years of trying--yet she had not been able to get them to leave the +vicinity of the river. But, now, to the river had come news of the great +gold strike beyond the mountains to the westward. Snowdrift reasoned +that if there were gold to the westward there would be gold also to the +eastward, especially as Wananebish knew that it was there--had even +found some of it long years ago. Maybe they would go, now--far back into +the barrens, far, far away from Henri of the White Water. + +Upon the fourth day after her departure from the mission, the girl +walked into the camp of the little band of non-treaty Indians. Straight +to the tepee of Wananebish, she went--to the only mother she had ever +known. The old squaw received her with open arms, and with much +wondering, for upon her last visit to the mission the good Sister +Mercedes had told her that Snowdrift would go and continue her studies +at the great convent in the far away land of the white man. It was the +thing she had most feared to hear, yet, by not so much as the flicker of +an eyelash did she betray her soul-hurt. All the long years of +deception, during which MacFarlane's note book had lain wrapped in its +waterproof wrappings and jealously guarded in the bottom of the moss bag +had gone for naught. For it was to guard against the girl's going to the +land of the white man that the deception had been practiced. None but +she knew that no drop of Indian blood coursed through the veins of the +girl, and she knew that once firmly established among her own people she +would never return to the North. At that time she had almost yielded to +the impulse to tell the truth to them, and to spread the proofs before +them--almost, but not quite, for as long as the girl believed herself to +be half Indian there was a chance that she would return, and so the +squaw had held her peace, and now here was the girl herself--here in the +tepee, and she had brought her all her belongings. Wananebish plied her +with questions, but the girl's answers were brief, and spoken in the +Indian tongue, a thing that greatly surprised and troubled the old +woman, for since babyhood, the girl had despised the speech of the +Indians. + +The two prepared supper in silence, and in silence they ate it. And for +a long time they sat close together and silent beside the mosquito +smudge of punk and green twigs. The eyes of the old squaw closed and she +crooned softly from pure joy, for here beside her was the only being in +the world that she loved. Her own baby, the tiny red mite she had +deposited that day upon the blanket in the far away post at Lashing +Water, had died during that first winter. The crooning ceased abruptly, +and the black, beady eyes flashed open. But why was she here? And for +how long? She must know. Why did not the girl speak? The silence became +unbearable even to this woman who all her life had been a creature of +silence. Abruptly she asked the question: "Are you not going to the land +of the white men?" + +And quick as a flash came the answer in the Indian tongue: "_I hate the +white men!_" The suppressed passion behind the words brought a low +inarticulate cry to the lips of the squaw. She reached for the sheath +knife at her belt, and the sinews upon the back of the hand that grasped +it stood out like whip cords. The black eyes glittered like the eyes of +a snake, and the lips curled back in a snarl of hate, so that the yellow +fangs gleamed in the wavering light of a tiny flame that flared from the +smouldering fire. + +Words came in a hoarse croak: "Who is he? I will cut his heart out!" + +Then the hand of the girl was laid soothingly upon her arm, and again +she spoke words in the Indian tongue: "No, no, not that." + +The old squaw's muscles relaxed as she felt the arm of the girl steal +about her shoulders. The knife slipped back into its sheath, as her body +was drawn close against the girl's. For a long time they sat thus in +silence, and then the girl rose, for she was very tired. At the door of +the tepee she paused: "There are some good white men," she said, "Tell +me again, was my father a good white man?" + +Still seated beside the fire the old squaw nodded slowly, "A good white +man--yes. He is dead." + +The eyes of the girl sought with penetrating glance the face beside the +fire. Was there veiled meaning in those last words? Snowdrift thought +not, and entering the tepee she crept between her blankets. + +When the sound of the girl's breathing told that she slept old +Wananebish stole noiselessly into the tepee and, emerging a moment later +with the old moss bag, she poked at the fire with a stick, and threw on +some dry twigs, and seated herself in the light of the flickering +flames. She thrust her hand into the bag and withdrew a packet from +which she undid the wrappings. Minutes passed as she sat staring at the +notebook of MacFarlane, and at the package of parchment deer-skin still +secure in its original wrapping. For never had the squaw touched a +dollar of the money left in her care for the maintainance and education +of the girl. Poor as she was Wananebish had kept Snowdrift in school, +had clothed and fed her solely by her own efforts, by the fruits of her +hunting and trapping. All during the years she had starved, and saved, +and driven shrewd bargains that the girl might receive education, even +as she herself had received education. + +And, now, tonight, she knew that the girl had been suddenly made to +realize that she was one of those born out of wedlock, and the shame of +it was heavy upon her. The old woman's heart beat warm as she realized +that the girl held no blame for her--only an intense hatred for the +white men, one of whose race had wrought the supposed wrong. + +For a long time Wananebish sat beside the fire her heart torn by +conflicting emotions. She knew right from wrong. She had not the excuse +of ignorance of the ethics of conduct, for she, too, had been an apt +pupil at the mission school. And for nearly nineteen years she had been +living a lie. And during those years right had struggled against love a +thousand times--and always love had won--the savage, selfish love that +bade her keep the object of her affections with her in the Northland. +Upon the death of her baby soon after the visit of MacFarlane, her whole +life centered upon the tiny white child. In the spring when the band +moved, she had left false directions in the caribou skull beside the +river, and instead of heading for Lashing Water to deliver the babe to +old Molaire, she had headed northward, and upon the third day had come +upon the remains of a sled, and a short distance farther on, a rifle, +and a sheath knife--the same that now swung at her own belt, and which +bore upon its inside surface, the legend "Murdo MacFarlane." A thousand +times she had been upon the point of telling the girl of her parentage, +and turning over to her the packet, but always the fear was upon her +that she would forsake the North, and seek the land of her own people. +Years before, when she had entered the girl at the mission, she had +smothered the temptation to tell all, and to deliver the packet to the +priest. But instead, she invented the story of her illegitimate birth +and accepted the shame. She knew from the first that Sister Mercedes +doubted the tale, that she believed the girl to be white, but she +stoutly held to her story, nor deviated from it so much as a hair's +breadth, during years of periodical questioning. + +But now? What should she do now that the girl herself was suffering +under the stigma of her birth? Should she tell her the truth and deliver +to her the packet of her father? If she did would not the girl turn upon +her with hatred, even as she had turned against the people of her own +race? Should she remain silent, still living the lie she had lived all +these years, and thus keep at her side the girl she loved with the +savage mother love of a wild beast? Was it not the girl's right to know +who she was, and if she so willed, to go among her own people, and to go +among them with unsullied name? Clearly this was her right. Wananebish +admitted the right, and the admission strengthened her purpose. Slowly +she rose from the fire and with the packet and the notebook in her hand, +stepped to the door of the tepee and stood listening to the breathing of +the sleeping girl. She would slip the packet beneath the blankets, and +then--and then--she, herself would go away--and stay until the girl had +gone out of the North. Then she would come back to her people. Her eyes +swept the group of tepees that showed dimly in the starlight--back to +her people! A great wave of revulsion and self-pity swept over her as +she saw herself, old and unheeded, working desperately for the +betterment of the little band of degenerates, waging almost single +handed the losing battle against the whiskey runners. Suddenly she +straightened, and the hand clutched tightly the packet. If Snowdrift +stayed, might not the band yet be saved? What is it the white men say +when they seek excuse for their misdeeds? Ah, yes, it is that the end +justifies the means. As she repeated the old sophistry a gleam of hope +lighted her eyes and she returned again to the fire. At least, the girl +would remain at her side, and would care for her in her old age--only a +few more years, and then she would die, and after that-- Carefully she +rewrapped the packet and returned it to the moss bag. As always before +the savage primal love triumphed over the ethics, and with a great +weight lifted from her mind, the old squaw sought her blankets. + +Heart and soul, during the remaining days of the summer, Snowdrift threw +herself into the work of regenerating the little band of Indians. News +of the great gold strike on the Yukon had reached the Mackenzie and +these rumors the girl used to the utmost in her arguments in favor of a +journey into the barrens. At first her efforts met with little +encouragement, but her enthusiasm for the venture never lagged and +gradually the opposition weakened before the persistence of her +onslaughts. + +When the brigade passed northward, Henri of the White Water had promised +the Indians he would return with hooch, and it was in anticipation of +this that the young men of the band were holding back. When, in August, +word drifted up the river that a patrol of the mounted from Fort Simpson +had come upon a certain _cache_, and that Henri of the White Water was +even then southward bound under escort, the last of the opposition +vanished. Without hooch one place was as good as another and if they +should find gold--why they could return and buy much hooch, from some +other whiskey runner. But, they asked, how about debt? Already they were +in debt to the company, and until the debt was paid they could expect +nothing, and a long trip into the barrens would call for much in the way +of supplies. + +McTavish, the bearded trader at Fort Good Hope, listened patiently until +the girl finished her recital, and then his thick fingers toyed with the +heavy inkstand upon his desk. + +"I do' no' what to say, to ye, lass," he began, "The Company holds me to +account for the debt I give, an' half the band is already in my debt. +Ye're mither, auld Wananebish is gude for all she wants an' so are you, +for ye're a gud lass. Some of the others are gud too, but theer be some +amongst them that I wad na trust for the worth of a buckshot. They've +laid around the river too lang. They're a worthless, hooch-guzzlin' +outfit. They're na gude." + +"But that's just why I want debt," cried the girl, "To get them away +from the river. There's no hooch here now, and they will go. I, myself, +will stand responsible for the debt." + +The Scotchman regarded the eager face gravely: "Wheer wad ye tak them?" +he asked. + +"Way to the eastward, beyond Bear Lake, there is a river. The trapping +is good there, and there is gold----" + +"The Coppermine," interrupted McTavish, "Always theer has been talk of +gold on the Coppermine--but na gold has been found theer. However, as ye +say, the trappin' should be gude. Yer Injuns be na gude along the river. +They're lazy an' no account, an' gettin' worse. Theer's a bare chance ye +can save 'em yet if ye can get 'em far into the barrens. I'm goin' to +give ye that chance. If ye'll guarantee the debt, I'll outfit 'em--no +finery an' frippery, mind ye--just the necessities for the winter in the +bush. Bring 'em along, lass, an' the sooner ye get started the better, +for 'tis a lang trail ye've set yerself--an' may gude luck go with ye." + +And so it was that upon the first day of September, the little band of +Indians under the leadership of Snowdrift and Wananebish, loaded their +goods into canoes and began the laborious ascent of Hare Indian River. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE DINNER AT REEVES' + + +With the rush of the _chechakos_ had come also the vanguard of big +business--keen-eyed engineers and bespectacled metallurgists, +accompanied by trusted agents of Wall Street, who upon advice of the +engineers and the metallurgists paid out money right and left for +options. + +First over the pass in the spring came Reeves and Howson who struck into +the hills and, passing up the rich "gold in the grass roots" claims, +concentrated upon a creek of lesser promise. By the first of July, their +findings upon this creek justified the report to their principals in the +states that roused those officials of the newly organized Northern +Dredge Company from their stupor of watchful waiting into a cauldron of +volcanic activity. + +Fowler, the little purchasing agent sat at his desk and for fourteen +straight hours dictated telegrams, pausing only to refer to pages of +neatly typed specifications, with the result that within twenty-four +hours upon many railroads carloads of freight began to move toward a +certain dock in Seattle at which was moored a tramp steamer waiting to +receive her cargo. A sawmill from the Washington forests, steel rails +and a dinky engine from Pittsburg, great dredges from Ohio, tools, iron, +cement from widely separated States and the crowning item of all, a +Mississippi River steamboat jerked bodily from the water and dismantled +ready to be put together in a matter of hours at the mouth of the Yukon. + +Late in August that same steamboat, her decks and two barges piled high +with freight, nosed into the bank at Dawson and threw out her mooring +lines, while down her plank swarmed the Northern Company's skilled +artisans--swarmed also into the waiting arms of her husband, Reba +Reeves, wife of the Northern Dredge Company's chief engineer and general +manager of operation. Reeves led his wife to the little painted house +that he had bought and furnished, and turned his attention to the +problem of transporting his heavy outfit to the creek of his selection. + +For a month thereafter he was on the works night and day, snatching his +sleep where he could, now and then at home, but more often upon the pile +of blankets and robes that he had thrown into a corner of the little +slab office on the bank of the creek. Early in October, upon one of his +flying visits, his wife reminded him that he had promised to send a man +down to bank the house for the winter. + +"Don't see how I can spare a man right now, little girl," he answered, +"I'm hiring every man I can find that will handle a pick or a shovel, or +drive a nail, or carry a board. I've still got three miles of flume to +put in, and half a mile of railroad grade to finish--and the snow will +hit us any time now." + +"You can't work your old dredges in the winter, anyhow, why don't you +wait till spring." + +"When spring comes I want to be in shape to begin throwing out the +gravel the minute the ground thaws, and I don't want to be bothered +building flume and railroad." + +"But, dearest, the floor is so cold. We can't live in this house in the +winter unless it is banked. All the neighbors have their houses banked +three or four feet high, and if the ground freezes we'll never get it +done." + +Reeves' brow puckered into a frown: "That's right," he admitted, "Tell +you what I'll do, I'll come down Saturday afternoon and stay over Sunday +and bank it myself. Maybe I can find someone to help me. There's an old +tramp that lives in a cabin a piece back from the river. One of my +foremen has hired him three or four times, but he's no good--won't work +more than two or three days at a stretch--he's a drunkard, and can't +stay away from booze. Maybe, though, if I stay right on the job with him +till it's finished I can get a day's work out of him--anyway I'll try." + +Of the books left by the Englishman, the one that interested Brent most +was a volume from which the title page had long since disappeared as had +the lettering upon its back, if indeed any had ever existed. It +contained what appeared to be semi-official reports upon the mineral +possibilities of the almost unexplored territory lying between the +Mackenzie and Back's Fish River, but more particularly upon the +Coppermine River and its tributaries. To these reports was added a +monograph which treated exhaustively of the expeditions of Hearne into +the North in search of gold, and also of the illfated expedition of old +Captain Knight. This book held a peculiar fascination for Brent, and he +read and reread it, poring over its contents by the hour as he dreamed +his foolish dreams of some day carrying on Hearne's explorations to +ultimate success. + +Upon the night following the visit of Camillo Bill, Brent sat beside his +dirty table, with his stinking oil lamp drawn near, and his favorite +book held close to catch the sullen light that filtered through its +murky, smoke blackened chimney. This night the book held a new interest +for him. All along he had cherished the hope that when Camillo Bill +should turn back his claims, there would still be a goodly amount of +gold left in the gravel. But Camillo Bill said that the claims had +petered out--and Camillo Bill was square. All that was left for him to +do then was to hit for the Coppermine, and not so much for himself, for +he stood in honor bound to see that Camillo Bill lost nothing through +cashing those slips and markers upon his assurance that the claims were +worth a million. + +The book settled slowly to Brent's lap, he poured a drink, and idly +turned its pages, as his drunken imagination pictured himself mushing at +the head of a dog team through those unknown wastes, and at the end of +the long trail finding gold, gold, gold. He turned to the inside of the +front cover and stared idly at the name penned many years ago. The ink +was faded and brown and the name almost illegible so that he had to turn +it aslant to follow the faint tracery. "Murdo MacFarlane, Lashing +Water," he read, "I wonder where Lashing Water is? And who was this +Murdo MacFarlane? And where is he now? Did he find Hearne's lost gold? +Or, did he--did he--?" A loud knock upon the door roused Brent from his +dreamy speculation. + +"Come in!" he called, and turned to see Reeves standing in the doorway. + +"Hello," greeted the intruder, plunging straight into the object of his +visit, "I'm up against it, and I wonder if you won't help me out." He +paused, and Brent waited for him to proceed, "I'm Reeves, of the +Northern Dredge Company, and I've got every available man in Dawson out +there on the works trying to finish three miles of flume and a half mile +of railroad before snow flies. I can't spare a man off the works, but +I've got to bank my house, so I decided to stay home myself tomorrow and +tackle it. If you'll help me, and if we get a good early start, I think +we can finish the job by night. I wouldn't care a rap if it were not for +my wife, she's from the South, and I'm afraid of those cold floors. What +do you say, will you do it? I'll pay you well." + +"Yes," answered Brent, and he noticed that the other's eyes had strayed +in evident surprise to the pile of books upon the table among the dirty +dishes. + +"All right, that's fine! What time can I expect you?" + +"Daylight," answered Brent, "Will you have a drink?" he indicated the +bottle that stood beside the pile of books, but Reeves shook his head: + +"No, thanks, I've got to tackle some work tonight that I've been putting +off for weeks. See you in the morning." + +Seated once more in his chair with his book, Brent poured himself a +drink, "From the South," he whispered, and raising the murky glass to +his lips swallowed the liquor. His eyes closed and into his brain +floated a picture, dim and indistinct, at first, but gradually taking +definite form--a little town of wide, tree-shaded streets, a +weather-stained brick courthouse standing in the centre of a grassed +square, and facing it across the street a red brick schoolhouse. The +schoolhouse doors swung open and out raced a little boy swinging his +books on the end of a strap. He was a laughing, cleareyed little boy, +and he wore buckled slippers and black velvet nickers, and a wide collar +showed dazzling white against the black of the velvet jacket. + +Other children followed, barefooted little boys whose hickory shirts, +many sizes too large for the little bodies, bulged grotesquely about +their "galluses," and little boys shod in stiff hot looking black shoes +and stockings, and little girls with tight-braided pig-tails hanging +down their backs, and short starched skirts, who watched with envious +eyes as the velvet clad boy ran across to the "hitch-rail" that flanked +the courthouse sidewalk, and mounted a stocky little "calico" Shetland +pony, and rode down the tree-shaded street at a furious gallop. On the +outskirts of the town the pony swerved of its own accord between two +upstanding stone posts and into a broad avenue that swept in graceful +curves between two rows of huge evergreens that led from the white +turnpike to a big brick house, the roof of whose broad gallery was +supported upon huge white pillars. Up the avenue raced the pony and up +the dozen steps that led to the gallery, just at the moment that the +huge bulk of a round-eyed colored "mammy" blocked the doorway of the +hall. + +"Hyah, yo' rascal, yo'!" cried the outraged negress flourishing her +broom, "Git yo' circus hoss offen my clean gallery flo', fo' I bus' him +wide open wif dis, broom! Lawd sakes, efen Miss Callie see yo' hyah, she +gwine raise yo' ha'r fo' sho'! Yo' Ca'teh Brent, yo' _git_!" The broom +swished viciously--and Brent opened his eyes with a jerk. The first +fitful gusts of a norther were whipping about the eaves of his cabin, +and shivering slightly, he crawled into his bunk. + +All the forenoon the two men worked side by side with pick and shovel +and wheelbarrow, piling the earth high above the baseboards of Reeves' +white painted house. Brent spoke little and he worked as, it seemed to +him, he had never worked before. The muscles of his back and arms and +fingers ached, and in his vitals was the gnawing desire for drink. But +he had brought no liquor with him, and he fought down the desire and +worked doggedly, filling the wheelbarrows as fast as Reeves could dump +them. At noon Reeves surveyed the work with satisfaction: "We've got +it!" he exclaimed, "We're a little more than half through, and none too +soon." The wind had blown steadily from the north, carrying with it +frequent flurries of snow. "We'll knock off now. Just step into the +house." + +Brent shook his head, "No, I'll slip over to the cabin. I'll be back by +the time you're through dinner." + +Reeves, who had divined the man's need, stepped closer, "Come in, won't +you. I've got a little liquor that I brought from the outside. I think +you'll like it." + +Without a word Brent followed him into the kitchen where Reeves set out +the bottle and a tumbler: "Just help yourself," he said, "I never use +it," and passed into the next room. Eagerly Brent poured himself half a +tumblerful and gulped it down, and as he returned the glass to the +table, he heard the voice of Reeves: "You don't mind if he eats with us +do you? He's worked mighty hard, and--" the sentence was interrupted by +a woman's voice: + +"Why, certainly he will eat with us. See, the table's all set. I saw you +coming so I brought the soup in. Hurry before it gets cold." At the +man's words Brent's eyes had flashed a swift glance over his +disreputable garments. His lips had tightened at the corners, and as he +had waited for the expected protest, they had twisted into a cynical +smile. But at the woman's reply, the smile died from his lips, and he +took a furtive step toward the door, hesitated, and unconsciously his +shoulders stiffened, and a spark flickered for a moment in his muddy +eyes. Why not? It had been many a long day since he had sat at a table +with a woman--that kind of a woman. Like a flash came Reeves' words of +the night before. "She's from the South." If the man should really ask +him to sit at his table, why not accept--and carry it through in his own +way? The good liquor was taking hold. Brent swiftly dashed some more +into the glass and downed it at a swallow. Then Reeves stepped into the +room. + +"You are to dine here," he announced, "we both of us need a good hot +meal, and a good smoke, and my wife has your place all laid at the +table." + +"I thank you," answered Brent, "May I wash?" Reeves, who had expected an +awkward protest started at the words, and indicated the basin at the +sink. As Brent subjected his hands and face to a thorough scrubbing, and +carefully removed the earth from beneath his finger nails, Reeves eyed +him quizzically. Brent preceded his host into the dining room where Mrs. +Reeves waited, standing beside her chair. + +Reeves stepped forward: "My wife, Mr.----," his voice trailed purposely, +but instead of mumbling a name, and acknowledging the introduction with +an embarrassed bob of the head, Brent smiled: + +"Let us leave it that way, please. Mrs. Reeves, allow me," and stepping +swiftly to her chair he seated her with a courtly bow. He looked up to +see Reeves staring in open-mouthed amazement. Again, he smiled, and +stepped to his own place, not unmindful of the swift glance of surprise +that passed between husband and wife. After that surprises came fast. +Surprise at the ease and grace of manner with which he comported +himself, gave place to surprise and admiration at his deft maneuvering +of the conversation to things of the "outside"--to the literary and +theatrical successes of a few years back, and to the dozen and one +things that make dinner small talk. The Reeves' found themselves +consumed with curiosity as to this man with the drunkard's eye, the +unkempt beard, and the ragged clothing of a tramp, whose jests and quips +kept them in constant laughter. All through the meal Mrs. Reeves studied +him. There was something fine in the shape of the brow, in the thin, +well formed nose, in the occasional flash of the muddy eyes that held +her. + +"You are from the South, aren't you?" she asked, during a pause in the +conversation. + +Brent smiled. "Yes, far from the South--very far." + +"I am from the South, too, and I love it," continued the woman, her eyes +upon the man's face. "From Plantersville, Tennessee--I've lived there +all my life." At the words Brent started perceptibly, and the hand that +held his coffee cup trembled violently so that part of the contents +splashed onto his napkin. When he returned the cup to its saucer it +rattled noisily. + +The woman half rose from her chair: "_Carter Brent_!" she cried. And +Reeves, staring at his wife in astonishment, saw that tears glistened in +her eyes. + +The next moment Brent had pulled himself together: "You win," he smiled, +regarding her curiously, "But, you will pardon me I'm sure. I've been +away a long time, and I'm afraid----" + +"Oh, you wouldn't recognize me. I was only sixteen or seventeen when you +left Plantersville. You had been away at college, and you came home for +a month. I'm Reba Moorhouse----" + +"Indeed I do remember you," laughed Brent, "Why you did me the honor to +dance with me at Colonel Pinkney's ball. But, tell me, how are your +mother and father and Fred and Emily? I suppose Doctor Moorhouse still +shoots his squirrels square in the eye, eh!" + +"Mother died two years ago, and dad has almost given up his practice," +she smiled, "So he'll have more time to shoot squirrels. Fred is in +college, and Emily married Charlie Harrow, and they bought the old +Melcher place out on the pike." + +Brent hesitated a moment: "And--and--my father--have you seen him +lately?" + +"Yes, indeed! General Brent and Dad are still the greatest of cronies. +He hasn't changed a bit since I can first remember him. Old Uncle Jake +still drives him to the bank at nine o'clock each morning, he still eats +his dinners at the Planter's Hotel, and then makes his rounds of the +lumber yard, and the coal yard, and the tobacco warehouse, or else Uncle +Jake drives him out to inspect some of his farms, and back home at four +o'clock. No, to all appearances, the General hasn't changed--but, dad +says there is a change in the last two or three years. He--he--would +give everything he owns just to hear from--you." + +Brent was silent for a moment: "But, he must not hear--yet. I'll make +another strike, one of these days--and then-----" + +"Did you make a strike?" asked Reeves. + +Brent nodded. "Yes, I was on the very peak of the first stampede. Did +you, by chance, ever hear of Ace-In-The-Hole?" + +Reeves smiled: "Yes--notorious gambler, wasn't he? Were you here when he +was? Made a big strike, somewhere, and then gambled away ten or twenty +million, didn't he, and then--I never did hear what became of him." + +Brent smiled: "Yes, he made a strike. Then, I suppose, he was just what +you said--a notorious gambler--his losses were grossly exaggerated, they +were not over two millions at the outside." + +"A mere trifle," laughed Reeves, "What ever became of him." + +"Just at this moment he is seated at a dining table, talking with a +generous host, and a most charming hostess----" + +"Are _you_ Ace-In-The-Hole?" + +"So designated upon the Yukon," smiled Brent. + +Mrs. Reeves leaned suddenly forward: "Oh, why don't you--why don't you +brace up? Let liquor alone, and----" + +Brent interrupted her with a wave of the hand: "Theoretically a very +good suggestion," he smiled, "But, practically--it won't work. +Personally, I do not think I drink enough to hurt me any--but we will +waive that point--if I do, it is my own fault." He was about to add that +he was as good a man as he ever was, but something saved him that +sophistry, and when he looked into the face of his hostess his muddy +eyes twinkled humorously. "At least," he said, "I have succeeded in +eliminating one fault--I have not gambled in quite some time." + +"And you never will gamble again?" + +Brent laughed: "I didn't say that. However I see very little chance of +doing so in the immediate future." + +"Promise me that you never will?" she asked, "You might, at least, +promise me that, if you won't give up the other." + +"What assurance would you have that I would keep my promise?" parried +the man. + +Quick as a flash came the reply, "The word of a Brent!" + +Unconsciously the man's shoulders straightened: He hesitated a moment +while he regarded the woman gravely: "Yes," he said, "I will promise you +that, if it will please you, 'Upon the word of a Brent.'" He turned +abruptly to Reeves, "We had better be getting at that job again, or we +won't finish it before dark," he said, and with a bow to Mrs. Reeves, +"You will excuse us, I know." The woman nodded and as her husband was +about to follow Brent from the room she detained him. + +"Who is he?" asked Reeves, as the door closed behind him. + +"Who is he!" exclaimed his wife, "Why he's Carter Brent! The very last +of the Brents! Anyone in the South can tell you what that means. They're +the bluest of the blue bloods. His father, the old General, owns the +bank, and about everything else that's worth owning in Plantersville, +and half the county besides! And oh, it's a shame! A shame! We've got +to do something! You've got to do something! He's a mining engineer, +too. I recognized him before he told me, and when I mentioned +Plantersville, did you see his hand tremble? I was sure then. Oh, can't +you give him a position?" + +Reeves considered: "Why, yes, I could use a good mining engineer. +But--he's too far gone. He couldn't stay away from the booze. I don't +think there's any use trying." + +"There is, I tell you! The blood is there--and when the blood is there +it is _never_ too late! Didn't you notice the air with which he gave me +his promise not to gamble 'Upon the word of a Brent.' He would die +before he would break that promise--you see." + +"But--he wouldn't promise to let liquor alone. The gambling--in his +circumstances is more or less a joke." + +"But, when he gets on his feet again it won't be a joke!" she insisted. +"You mark my words, he is going to make good. I can _feel_ it. And that +is why I got him to promise not to gamble. If you can make him promise +to let liquor alone you can depend on it he will let it alone. You'll +try--won't you dear?" + +"Yes, little girl, I'll try," smiled Reeves, kissing his young wife, +"But I'll tell you beforehand, you are a good deal more sanguine of +success than I am." And he passed out and joined Brent who was busily +loading a wheelbarrow. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +JOE PETE + + +Several times during the afternoon as they worked side by side, Reeves +endeavored to engage Brent in conversation, but the latter's replies +were short to the verge of curtness, and Reeves gave it up and devoted +his energy to the task in hand. The fitful snow flurries of the forenoon +settled into a steady fall of wind-driven flakes that cut the air in +long horizontal slants and lay an ever-thickening white blanket upon the +frozen surface of the ground. Darkness fell early, and the job was +finished by lantern light. When the last barrow of earth had been +placed, the two made a tour of inspection which ended at the kitchen +door. + +"Snug and tight for the winter!" exclaimed Reeves, "And just in time!" + +"Yes," answered Brent, "Winter is here." + +The door opened and the face of Mrs. Reeves was framed for a moment in +the yellow lamp light: "Supper is ready!" she called, cheerily. + +"Come in," invited Reeves, heartily, "We'll put that supper where it +will do the most good, and then we'll----" + +Brent interrupted him: "Thank you, I'll go home." + +"Oh, come, now!" insisted the other. "Mrs. Reeves is expecting you. She +will be really disappointed if you run off that way." + +"Disappointed--_hell_!" cried Brent, so fiercely that Reeves stared at +him in surprise. "Do you think for a minute that it was easy for me to +sit at a table--the table of a southern lady--in these rags? Would you +care to try it--to try and play the role of a gentleman behind a six +weeks' growth of beard, and with your hair uncut for six months? It +would have been an ordeal at any table, but to find out suddenly--at a +moment when you were straining every nerve in your body to carry it +through, that your hostess was one you had known--in other days--and who +had known you--I tell you man it was hell! What I've got to have is not +food, but whiskey--enough whiskey to make me drunk--very drunk. And the +hell I've gone through is not a circumstance to the hell I've got to +face when that same whiskey begins to die out--lying there in the bunk +staring wide-eyed into the thick dark--seeing things that aren't +there--hearing voices that were, and are forever stilled, and voices +that never were--the voices of the damned--taunting, reviling, mocking +your very soul, asking you what you have done with your millions? And +where do you go from here? And your hands shaking so that you can't draw +the cork from the bottle to drown the damned voices and still them till +you have to wake up again, hoping when you do it will be daylight--it's +easier in daylight. I tell you man that's _hell_! It isn't the hell that +comes after he dies a man fears--it's the hell that comes in the dark. A +hell born of whiskey, and only whiskey will quench the fires of it--and +more whiskey--and more----" + +Reeves grasped his hand in a mighty grip: "I think I understand, old +man--a little," he said. "I'll make excuse to Mrs. Reeves." + +"Tell her the truth if you want to," growled Brent, turning away, "We'll +never meet again." + +"You've forgotten something," called Reeves as he extended a hand which +held a crisp bill. + +Brent examined it. It was a twenty. "What is this--wages or charity?" he +asked. + +"Wages--and you've earned every cent of it." + +"Shoveling dirt, or play acting?" There was a sneer in the man's voice, +which Reeves was quick to resent. + +"Shoveling dirt," he replied, shortly. + +"Men shovel dirt in this camp now for eight or ten." + +"I think I am quite capable of judging what a man's services are worth +to me," answered Reeves, "Good bye." He turned to the door, and Brent +crumpled the bill into his pocket and disappeared in the whirling snow. + +Arriving at his cabin he carefully deposited two quarts of liquor upon +the table, lighted his smoky lamp, and built a roaring fire in the +stove. Seating himself in a chair, he carefully removed the cork from +the bottle and took a long, long drink. He realized suddenly that the +unwonted physical exercise had made him very tired and hungry. The +greater part of a link of bologna sausage lay upon the table, a remnant +of a previous meal. He took the sausage in his hand and devoured it, +pausing now and then to drink from the bottle. When the last fragment +had been consumed he settled himself in his chair and, with the bottle +at his elbow, stared for a long time at the log wall. "Winter is here," +he muttered, at length, "And I've got to hit the trail." He took a +drink, and carefully replaced the bottle upon the table, and again for a +long time he stared at the logs. A knock on the door startled him. + +"Come in," he called. He felt better now. The liquor was taking hold. + +Reeves stamped the snow noisily from his feet and closed the door behind +him. Brent rose and motioned for the man to draw the other chair closer +to the stove. He turned up the murky lamp a trifle, then turned it down +again because it smoked. + +Reeves seated himself, and fumbling in his pocket, produced two cigars, +one of which he tendered to Brent. "I came, partly on my own account, +and partly at the earnest solicitation of my wife." He smiled, "I hardly +know how to begin." + +"If it's a sermon, begin about three words from the end; but if it is a +drinking bout, begin at the beginning, but you will have to pardon me +for beginning in the middle, for I have already consumed half a quart." +He indicated the bottle and Reeves noted that his lips were smiling, and +that there was a sparkle in the muddy eyes. + +"Not guilty on either count," he laughed, "I neither preach nor drink. +What brings me here is a mere matter of business." + +"Business? Sure you haven't got your dates mixed. I have temporarily +withdrawn from the business world." + +Reeves was relieved to see that the fierce mood of a few hours before +had given place to good humour. "No, it is regarding the termination of +this temporary withdrawal that I want to see you. I understand you're a +mining engineer." + +"Colorado School of Mines--five good jobs within two years in +Montana--later, placer miner, 'notorious gambler,' and--" he included +himself and the interior of the cabin in an expressive gesture. + +"Do you want another good job?" + +"What kind of a job?" + +"An engineering job. How would you like to be my assistant in the +operation of this dredging proposition?" + +Brent shook his head: "It wouldn't work." + +"Why not?" + +Brent smiled: "Too close to Dawson. I like the hooch too well. And, +aside from that, you don't need me. You will be laying off men now. Not +hiring them." + +"Laying off laborers, yes. But there is plenty of work along that creek +this winter for the right man--for me, and for you, if you will assume +it." + +Again Brent shook his head: "There is another reason," he objected, "I +have got to make another strike--and a good one. I have an obligation to +meet--an obligation that in all probability will involve more money than +any salary I could earn." + +"Small chance of a rich strike, now. The whole country is staked." + +"Around here, yes. But not where I'm going." + +"Where is that?" + +"Over beyond the Mackenzie. In the Coppermine River country." + +"Beyond the Mackenzie!" cried Reeves, "Man are you crazy!" + +"No, not crazy, only, at the moment, comfortably drunk. But that has +nothing whatever to do with my journey to the Coppermine. I will be cold +sober when I hit the trail." + +"And when will that be? How do you expect to finance the trip?" + +"Ah, there's the rub," grinned Brent, "I have not the least idea in the +world of how I am going to finance it. When that detail is arranged, I +shall hit the trail within twenty-four hours." + +Reeves was thinking rapidly. He did not believe that there was any gold +beyond the Mackenzie. To the best of his knowledge there was nothing +beyond the Mackenzie. Nothing--no towns--no booze! If Brent would be +willing to go into a country for six months or a year in which booze was +not obtainable--"There's no booze over there," he said aloud, "How much +would you have to take with you?" + +"Not a damned drop!" + +"What!" + +Brent rose suddenly to his feet and stood before Reeves. "I have been +fooling myself," he said, in a low tense voice, "Do you know what my +shibboleth has been? What I have been telling myself and telling +others--and expecting them to believe? I began to say it, and honestly +enough, when I first started to get soft, and I kept it up stubbornly +when the softness turned to flabbiness, and I maintained it doggedly +when the flabbiness gave way to pouchiness: 'I am as good a man as I +ever was!' That's the damned lie I've been telling myself! I nearly told +it at your table, and before your wife, but thank God I was spared that +humiliation. Just between friends, I'll tell the truth--I'm a damned +worthless, hooch-guzzling good-for-naught! And the hell of it is, I +haven't got the guts to quit!" He seized the bottle from the table and +drank three or four swallows in rapid succession, "See that--what did I +tell you?" He glared at Reeves as if challenging a denial. "But, I've +got one chance." + +He straightened up and pointed toward the eastward. "Over beyond the +Mackenzie there is no hooch. If I can get away from it for six months I +can beat it. If I can get my nerve back--get my _health_ back, By God, I +_will_ beat it! If there's enough of a Brent left in me, for that girl, +your wife, to recognize through this disguise of rags and hair and dirt, +there's enough of a Brent, sir, to put up one hell of a fight against +booze!" + +Reeves found himself upon his feet slapping the other on the back. +"You've said it man! You've said it! I will arrange for the financing." + +"You! How?" + +"On your own terms." + +Brent was silent for a moment: "Take your pick," he said, "Grub-stake +me, or loan me two thousand dollars. If I live I'll pay you back--with +interest. If I don't--you lose." + +Reeves regarded him steadily: "I lose, only in case you die--you promise +me that--on the word of a Brent? And I don't mean the two thousand--you +understand what I mean, I think." + +Brent nodded, slowly: "I understand. And I promise--on the word of a +Brent. But," he hastened to add, "I am not promising that I will not +drink any more hooch--now or any other time--I have here a quart and a +half of liquor. In all probability between now and tomorrow morning I +shall get very drunk." + +"You said you would leave within twenty-four hours," reminded Reeves. + +"And so I will." + +"How do you want the money?" + +"How do I want it? I'll tell you. I want it in dust, and I want it +inside of an hour. Can you get it?" + +"Yes," answered Reeves, and drawing on cap and mittens, pushed out into +the storm. + +Hardly had the door closed behind him, than it opened again and Brent +also disappeared in the storm. + +In a little shack upon the river bank, an Indian grunted sleepily in +answer to an insistent banging upon his door: "Hey, Joe Pete, come out +here! I want you!" + +A candle flared dully, and presently the door opened, and a huge Indian +stood in the doorway rubbing his eyes with his fist. + +"Come with me," ordered Brent, "To the cabin." + +Silently the Indian slipped into his outer clothing and followed, and +without a word of explanation, Brent led the way to his cabin. For a +half hour they sat in silence, during which Brent several times drank +from his bottle. Presently Reeves entered and laid a pouch upon the +table. He looked questioningly at the Indian who returned the scrutiny +with a look of stolid indifference. + +"Joe Pete, this is Mr. Reeves. Reeves, that Injun is Joe Pete, the best +damned Injun in Alaska, or anywhere else. Used to pack over the +Chilkoot, until he made so much money he thought he'd try his hand at +the gold--now he's broke. Joe Pete is going with me. He and I understand +each other perfectly." He picked up the sack and handed it to the +Indian: "Two thousand dolla--_pil chikimin_. Go to police, find out +trail to Mackenzie--Fort Norman. How many miles? How many days? Buy grub +for two. Buy good dogs and sled. Buy two outfits clothes--plenty tabac. +Keep rest of _pil chikimin_ safe until two days on trail, then give it +to me. We hit the trail at eight o'clock tomorrow morning." + +Without a word the Indian took the sack and slipped silently out the +door, while Reeves stared in astonishment: + +"You've got a lot of confidence in that Indian!" he exclaimed. "I +wouldn't trust one of them out of my sight with a dollar bill!" + +"You don't know Joe Pete," grinned Brent. "I've got more confidence in +him than I have in myself. The hooch joints will be two days behind me +before I get my hands on that dust." + +"And now, what?" asked Reeves. + +"Be here at eight o'clock tomorrow morning and witness the start," +grinned Brent, "In the meantime, I am going to make the most of the +fleeting hours." He reached for the bottle, and Reeves held up a warning +hand: + +"You won't be in any shape to hit the trail in the morning, if you go +too heavy on that." + +Brent laughed: "Again, I may say, you don't know Joe Pete." + +At seven o'clock in the morning Reeves hurried to Brent's cabin. The +snow about the door lay a foot deep, trackless and unbroken. Reeves' +heart gave a bound of apprehension. There was no dog team nor sled in +evidence, nor was there any sign that the Indian had returned. A dull +light glowed through the heavily frosted pane and without waiting to +knock Reeves pushed open the door and entered. + +Brent greeted him with drunken enthusiasm: "H'l'o, Reeves, ol' top! Glad +to she you. S'down an' have a good ol' drink! Wait'll I shave. Hell of a +job to shave." He stood before the mirror weaving back and forth, with a +razor in one hand and a shaving brush in the other, and a glass half +full of whiskey upon the washstand before him, into which he gravely +from time to time dipped the shaving brush, and rubbing it vigorously +upon the soap, endeavored to lather the inch-long growth of beard that +covered his face. Despite his apprehension as to what had become of the +paragon, Joe Pete, Reeves was forced to laugh. He laughed and laughed, +until Brent turned around and regarded him gravely: "Wash matter? Wash +joke? Wait a minuit lesh have a li'l drink." He reached for the bottle, +that sat nearly empty upon the table, and guzzled a swallow of the +liquor. "Damn near all gone. Have to get nosher one when Joe Pete +comes." + +"When Joe Pete comes!" cried Reeves, "You'll never see Joe Pete again! +He's skipped out!" + +"Skipped out? Washa mean skipped out?" + +"I mean that it's a quarter past seven and he hasn't showed up and you +told him you would start at eight." + +Brent laid his razor upon the table: "Quar' pasht seven? Quar pasht +seven isn't eight 'clock. You don' know Joe Pete." + +"But, man, you're not ready. There's nothing packed. And you're as drunk +as a lord!" + +"Sure, I'm drunk's a lord--drunker'n two lords--lords ain't so damn' +drunk. If I don't get packed by eight 'clock I'll have to go wishout +packin'. You don' know Joe Pete." + +At a quarter of eight there was a commotion before the door, and the +huge Indian entered the room, dressed for the trail. He stood still, +gave one comprehensive look around the room, and silently fell to work. +He examined rapidly everything in the cabin, throwing several articles +into a pile. Brent's tooth brush, comb, shaving outfit, and mirror he +made into a pack which he carried to the sled, returning a moment later +with a brand new outfit of clothing. He placed it upon the chair and +motioned Brent to get into it. But Brent stood and stared at it +owlishly. Whereupon, without a word, the Indian seized him and with one +or two jerks stripped him to the skin and proceeded to dress him as one +would dress a baby. Brent protested weakly, but all to no purpose. +Reeves helped and soon Brent was clothed for the winter trail even to +moose hide parka. He grinned foolishly, and drank the remaining liquor +from the bottle. "Whad' I tell you?" he asked solemnly of Reeves. "You +don't know Joe Pete." + +The Indian consulted a huge silver watch, and returning it to his +pocket, sat upon the edge of the bunk, and stared at the wall. Brent +puttered futilely about the room, and addressed the Indian. "We got to +get a bottle of hooch. I got to have jus' one more drink. Jus' one more +drink, an' then to hell wish it." + +The Indian paid not the slightest heed, but continued to stare at the +wall. A few minutes later he again consulted his watch, and rising, +grasped Brent about the middle and carried him, struggling and +protesting out the door and lashed him securely to the sled. + +Reeves watched the proceeding in amazement, and almost before he +realized what was happening, the Indian had taken his place beside the +dogs. He cracked his whip, shouted an unintelligible command, and the +team started. Upon the top of the load, Brent wagged a feeble farewell +to Reeves: "Sho long, ol' man--she you later--I got to go now. You don' +know Joe Pete." + +The outfit headed down the trail to the river. Reeves, standing beside +the door of the deserted cabin, glanced at his watch. It was eight +o'clock. He turned, closed the door and started for home chuckling. The +chuckle became a laugh, and he smote his thigh and roared, until some +laborers going to work stopped to look at him. Then he composed himself +and went home to tell his wife. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +ON THE TRAIL + + +At noon Joe Pete swung the outfit into the lee of a thicket, built a +fire, and brewed tea. Brent woke up and the Indian loosened the +_babiche_ line that had secured him, coiled the rope carefully, and +without a word, went on with his preparation of the meal. Brent +staggered and stumbled about in the snow in an effort to restore +circulation to his numbed arms and legs. His head ached fiercely, and +when he could in a measure control his movements, he staggered to the +fire. Joe Pete tendered him a cup of steaming tea. Brent smelled of the +liquid with disgust: "To hell with tea!" he growled thickly, "I want +hooch. I've got to have it--just one drink." + +Joe Pete drank a swallow of tea, and munched unconcernedly at a piece of +pilot bread. + +"Give me a drink of hooch! Didn't you hear me? I need it," demanded +Brent. + +"Hooch no good. Tea good. Ain' got no hooch--not wan drink." + +"No hooch!" cried Brent, "I tell you I've got to have it! I thought I +could get away with it, this trailing without hooch--but, I can't. How +far have we come?" + +"Bout 'leven mile." + +"Well, just as soon as you finish eating you turn that dog team around. +We're going back." Brent was consumed by a torturing thirst. He drank +the tea in great gulps and extended his cup for more. He drank a second +and a third cup, and the Indian offered him some bread. Brent shook his +head: + +"I can't eat. I'm sick. Hurry up and finish, and hit the back-trail as +fast as those dogs can travel." + +Joe Pete finished his meal, washed the cups, and returned the cooking +outfit to its appointed place on the load. + +"You goin' ride?" he asked. + +"No, I'll walk. Got to walk a while or I'll freeze." + +The Indian produced from the pack a pair of snowshoes and helped Brent +to fasten them on. Then he swung the dogs onto the trail and continued +on his course. + +"Here you!" cried Brent, "Pull those dogs around! We're going back to +Dawson." + +Joe Pete halted the dogs and walked back to where Brent stood beside the +doused fire: "Mebbe-so we goin' back Dawson," he said, "But, firs' we +goin' Fo't Norman. You tak hol' tail-rope, an' mush." + +A great surge of anger swept Brent. His eyes, red-rimmed and swollen +from liquor, and watery from the glare of the new fallen snow, fairly +blazed. He took a step forward and raised his arm as though to strike +the Indian: "What do you mean? Damn you! Who is running this outfit? +I've changed my mind. I'm not going to Fort Norman." + +Joe Pete did not even step back from the up-lifted arm. "You ain' change +_my_ min' none. You droonk. I ain' hear you talk. Bye-m-bye, you git +sober, Joe Pete hear you talk. You grab tail-rope now or I tie you oop +agin." + +Suddenly Brent realized that he was absolutely in this man's power. For +the first time in his life he felt utterly helpless. The rage gave place +to a nameless fear: "How far is it to Fort Norman?" he asked, in an +unsteady voice. + +"'Bout fi' hondre mile." + +"Five hundred miles! I can't stand the trip, I tell you. I'm in no +condition to stand it. I'll die!" + +The Indian shrugged--a shrug that conveyed to Brent more plainly than +words that Joe Pete conceded the point, and that if it so happened, his +demise would be merely an incident upon the trail to Fort Norman. Brent +realized the futility of argument. As well argue with one of the eternal +peaks that flung skyward in the distance. For he, at least, knew Joe +Pete. In the enthusiasm of his great plan for self redemption he had +provided against this very contingency. He had deliberately chosen as +his companion and guide the one man in all the North who, come what +may, would deviate no hair's breadth from his first instructions. And +now, he stood there in the snow and cursed himself for a fool. The +Indian pointed to the tail-rope, and muttering curses, Brent reached +down and picked it up, and the outfit started. + +So far they had fairly good going. The course lay up Indian River, +beyond the head reaches of which they would cross the Bonnet Plume pass, +and upon the east slope of the divide, pick up one of the branches of +the Gravel and follow that river to the Mackenzie. Joe Pete traveled +ahead, breaking trail for the dogs, and before they had gone a mile +Brent was puffing and blowing in his effort to keep up. His grip +tightened on the tail-rope. The dogs were fairly pulling him along. At +each step it was becoming more and more difficult to lift his feet. He +stumbled and fell, dragged for a moment, and let go. He lay with his +face in the snow. He did not try to rise. The snow felt good to his +throbbing temples. He hoped the Indian would not miss him for a long, +long time. Better lie here and freeze than endure the hell of that long +snow trail. Then Joe Pete was lifting him from the snow and carrying him +to the sled. He struggled feebly, and futilely he cursed, but the effort +redoubled the ache in his head, and a terrible nausea seized him, from +which he emerged weak and unprotesting while the Indian bound him upon +the load. + +At dark they camped. Brent sitting humped up beside the fire while Joe +Pete set up the little tent and cooked supper. Brent drank scalding tea +in gulps. Again he begged in vain for hooch--and was offered pilot bread +and moose meat. He tried a piece of meat but his tortured stomach +rejected it, whereupon Joe Pete brewed stronger tea, black, and bitter +as gall, and with that Brent drenched his stomach and assuaged after a +fashion his gnawing thirst. Wrapped in blankets he crept beneath his +rabbit robe--but not to sleep. The Indian had built up the fire and +thrown the tent open to its heat. For an hour Brent tossed about, bathed +in cold sweat. Things crawled upon the walls of the tent, mingling with +the shadows of the dancing firelight. He closed his eyes, and buried his +head in his blankets, but the things were there too--twisting, writhing +things, fantastic and horrible in color, and form, and unutterably +loathsome in substance. And beyond the walls of the tent--out in the +night--were the voices--the voices that taunted and tormented. He threw +back his robe, and crawled to the fireside, where he sat wrapped in +blankets. He threw on more wood from the pile the Indian had placed +ready to hand, so that the circle of the firelight broadened, and +showers of red sparks shot upward to mingle with the yellow stars. + +But, it was of no use. The crawling, loathsome shapes writhed and +twisted from the very flames--laughed and danced in the lap and the lick +of the red flames of fire. Brent cowered against his treetrunk and +stared, his red-rimmed eyes stretched wide with horror, while his blood +seemed to freeze, and his heart turned to water within him. From the +fire, from beyond the fire, and from the blackness of the forest behind +him crept a _thing_--shapeless, and formless, it was, of a substance +vicious and slimy. It was of no color, but an unwholesome luminosity +radiated from its changing outlines--an all encompassing ever +approaching thing of horror, it drew gradually nearer and nearer, +engulfing him--smothering him. He could reach out now and touch it with +his hands. His fingers sank deep in its slime and--with a wild shriek, +Brent leaped from his blankets, and ran barefooted into the forest. Joe +Pete found him a few minutes later, lying in the snow with a rapidly +swelling blue lump on his forehead where he had crashed against a tree +in his headlong flight. He picked him up and carried him to the tent +where he wrapped him in his blankets and thrust him under the robe with +a compress of snow on his head. + +In the morning, Brent, babbling for whiskey, drank tea. And at the noon +camp he drank much strong tea and ate a little pilot bread and a small +piece of moose meat. He walked about five miles in the afternoon before +he was again tied on the sled, and that night he helped Joe Pete set up +the tent. For supper he drank a quart of strong bitter tea, and ate more +bread and meat, and that night, after tossing restlessly till midnight, +he fell asleep. The shapes came, and the voices, but they seemed less +loathsome than the night before. They took definite concrete shapes, +shapes of things Brent knew, but of impossible color. Cerese lizards and +little pink snakes skipped lightly across the walls of the tent, and +bunches of luminous angleworms writhed harmlessly in the dark corners. +The skipping and writhing annoyed, disgusted, but inspired no terror, so +Brent slept. + +The third day he ate some breakfast, and did two stretches on snowshoes +during the day that totaled sixteen or eighteen miles, and that night he +devoured a hearty meal and slept the sleep of the weary. + +The fourth day he did not resort to the sled at all. Nor all during the +day did he once ask for a drink of hooch. Day after day they mushed +eastward, and higher and higher they climbed toward the main divide of +the mountains. As they progressed the way became rougher and steeper, +the two alternated between breaking trail and work at the gee-pole. With +the passing of the days the craving for liquor grew less and less +insistent. Only in the early morning was the gnawing desire strong upon +him, and to assuage this desire he drank great quantities of strong tea. +The outward manifestation of this desire was an intense irritability, +that caused him to burst into unreasoning rage at a frozen guy rope or a +misplaced mitten, and noting this, Joe Pete was careful to see that +breakfast was ready before he awakened Brent. + +On the tenth day they topped the Bonnet Plume pass and began the long +descent of the eastern slope. That night a furious blizzard roared down +upon them from out of the North, and for two days they lay snowbound, +venturing from the tent only upon short excursions for firewood. Upon +the first of these days Brent shaved, a process that, by reason of a +heavy beard of two months' growth, and a none too sharp razor, consumed +nearly two hours. When the ordeal was over he regarded himself for a +long time in the little mirror, scowling at the red, beefy cheeks, and +at the little broken veins that showed blue-red at the end of his nose. +He noted with approval that his eyes had cleared of the bilious yellow +look, and that the network of tiny red veins were no longer visible upon +the eyeballs. With approval, too, he prodded and pinched the hardening +muscles in his legs and arms. + +When the storm passed they pushed on, making heavy going in the loose +snow. The rejuvenation of Brent was rapid now. Each evening found him +less tired and in better heart, and each morning found him ready and +eager for the trail. + +"To hell with the hooch," he said, one evening, as he and the Indian sat +upon their robes in the door of the tent and watched the red flames lick +at the firewood, "I wouldn't take a drink now if I had a barrel of it!" + +"Mebbe-so not now, but in de morning you tak' de beeg drink--you bet," +opined the Indian solemnly. + +"The hell I would!" flared Brent, and then he laughed. "There is no way +of proving it, but if there were, I'd like to bet you this sack of dust +against your other shirt that I wouldn't." He waited for a reply, but +Joe Pete merely shrugged, and smoked on in silence. + +Down on the Gravel River, with the Mackenzie only three or four days +away, the outfit rounded a bend one evening and came suddenly upon a +camp. Brent, who was in the lead, paused abruptly and stared at the fire +that flickered cheerfully among the tree trunks a short distance back +from the river. "We'll swing in just below them," he called back to Joe +Pete, "It's time to camp anyway." + +As they headed in toward the bank they were greeted by a rabble of +barking, snarling dogs, which dispersed howling and yelping as a man +stepped into their midst laying right and left about him with a +long-lashed whip. The man was Johnnie Claw, and Brent noted that in the +gathering darkness he had not recognized him. + +"Goin' to camp?" asked Claw. + +Brent answered in the affirmative, and headed his dogs up the bank +toward a level spot some twenty or thirty yards below the fire. + +Claw followed and stood beside the sled as they unharnessed the dogs: +"Where you headin'?" he asked. + +"Mackenzie River." + +"Well, you ain't got fer to go. Trappin'?" + +Brent shook his head: "No. Prospecting." + +"Where'd you come from?" + +"Dawson." + +"Dawson!" exclaimed Claw, and Brent, who had purposely kept his face +turned away, was conscious that the man was regarding him closely. Claw +began to speak rapidly, "This Dawson, it's way over t'other side the +mountains, ain't it? I heard how they'd made a strike over there--a big +strike." + +Brent nodded: "Yes," he answered. "Ever been there?" + +"Me? No. Me an' the woman lives over on the Nahanni. I trap." + +Brent laughed: "What's the matter, Claw? I'm not connected with the +police. You don't need to lie to me. What have you got, a load of hooch +for the Injuns?" + +The man stepped close and stared for a moment into Brent's face. Then, +suddenly, he stepped back: "Well, damn my soul, if it ain't you!" + +He was staring at Brent in undisguised astonishment: "But, what in +hell's happened to you? A month ago you was----" + +"A bum," interrupted Brent, "Going to hell by the hooch route--and not +much farther to go. But I'm not now, and inside of six months I will be +as good a man as I ever was." + +"You used to claim you always was as good a man as you ever was," +grinned Claw. "Well, you was hittin' it a little too hard. I'm glad you +quit. You an' me never hit it off like, what you might say, brothers. +You was always handin' me a jolt, one way an' another. But, I never laid +it up agin you. I allus said you played yer cards on top of the +table--an' if you ever done anything to a man you done it to his +face--an' that's more'n a hell of a lot of 'em does. There's the old +woman hollerin' fer supper. I'll come over after you've et, an' we'll +smoke a pipe 'er two." Claw disappeared and Brent and Joe Pete ate their +supper in silence. Now and again during the meal Brent smiled to himself +as he caught the eyes of the Indian regarding him sombrely. + +After supper Claw returned and seated himself by the fire: "What you +doin' over on this side," he asked, "You hain't honest to God +prospectin' be you?" + +"Sure I am. Everything is staked over there, and I've got to make +another strike." + +"They ain't no gold on this side," opined Claw. + +"Who says so?" + +"Me. An' I'd ort to know if anyone does. I've be'n around here goin' on +twenty year, an' I spend as much time on this side as I do on t'other." +Brent remembered he had heard of Claw's long journeys to the +eastward--men said he went clear to the coast of the Arctic where he +carried on nefarious barter with the whalers, trading Indian and Eskimo +women for hooch, which he in turn traded to the Indians. + +"Maybe you haven't spent much time hunting for gold," hazarded Brent. + +"I'd tell a party I hain't! What's the use of huntin' fer gold where +they hain't none? Over on this side a man c'n do better at somethin' +else." He paused and leered knowingly at Brent. + +"For instance?" + +Claw laughed: "I hain't afraid to tell you what I do over here. They +hain't but damn few I would tell, but I know you won't squeal. You +hain't a-goin' to run to the Mounted an' spill all you know--some +would--but not you. I'm peddling hooch--that's what I'm doin'. Got two +sled-loads along that I brung through from Dawson. I thin it out with +water an' it'll last till I git to the coast--clean over on Coronation +Gulf, an' then I lay in a fresh batch from the whalers an' hit back fer +Dawson. It used to be I could hit straight north from here an' connect +up with the whalers near the mouth of the Mackenzie--but the Mounted got +onto me, an' I had to quit. Well, it's about time to roll in." The man +reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of liquor, "Glad you +quit hooch," he grinned, "But, I don't s'pose you'd mind takin' a little +drink with a friend--way out here it can't hurt you none, where you +can't git no more." He removed the cork and tendered the bottle. But +Brent shook his head: "No thanks, Claw," he said, "I'm off of it. And +besides, I haven't got but a few real friends--and you are not one of +them." + +"Oh, all right, all right," laughed Claw as he tilted the bottle and +allowed part of the contents to gurgle audibly down his throat, "Of +course I know you don't like me none whatever, but I like you all right. +No harm in offerin' a man a drink, is they?" + +"None whatever," answered Brent, "And no harm in refusing one when you +don't want it." + +Claw laughed again: "Not none whatever--when you don't want it." And +turning on his heel, he returned to his own tent, chuckling, for he had +noted the flash that momentarily lighted Brent's eyes at the sight of +the liquor and the sound of it gurgling down his throat. + +Early in the morning Brent awoke to see Claw standing beside his fire +while Joe Pete prepared breakfast. He joined the two and Claw thrust out +his hand: "Well, yer breakfast's ready an' you'll be pullin' out soon. +We've pulled a'ready--the old woman's mushin' ahead. So long--shake, to +show they's no hard feelin's--or, better yet, have a drink." He drew the +bottle from his pocket and thrust it toward Brent so abruptly that some +of the liquor spilled upon Brent's bare hand. The odor of it reached his +nostrils, and for a second Brent closed his eyes. + +"Tea ready," said Joe Pete, gruffly. + +"Damn it! Don't I know it?" snapped Brent, then his hand reached out for +the bottle. "Guess one won't hurt any," he said, and raising the bottle +to his lips, drank deeply. + +"Sure it won't," agreed Claw, "I know'd you wasn't afraid of it. Take +it, or let it alone, whichever you want to--show'd that las' night." + +Instantly the liquor enveloped Brent in its warm glow. The grip of it +felt good in his belly, and a feeling of vast well-being pervaded his +brain. Claw turned to go. + +"What do you get for a quart of that liquor over here," asked Brent. + +"Two ounces," answered Claw, "An' they ain't nothin' in it at that, +after packin' it over them mountains. I git two ounces fer it after it's +be'n weakened--but I'll let you have it, fer two the way it is." + +"I'll take a quart," said Brent, and a moment later he paid Claw two +ounces "guess weight" out of the buckskin pouch, in return for a bottle +that Claw produced from another pocket. And as Brent turned into the +tent, Claw slipped back into the timber and joined his squaw who was +breaking trail at a right angle to the river over a low divide. And as +he mushed on in the trail of his sleds, Claw turned and leered evilly +upon the little camp beside the frozen river. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE CAMP ON THE COPPERMINE + + +It was mid-afternoon when Brent drank the last of the liquor and threw +the bottle into the snow. He was very drunk, and with the utmost +gravity, halted the outfit and commanded the Indian to turn the dogs and +strike out on the trail of Claw. But Joe Pete merely shrugged, and +started the dogs, whereupon Brent faced about and started over the +back-trail. When he had proceeded a hundred yards the Indian halted the +dogs, and strode swiftly after Brent, who was making poor going of it on +his snowshoes. As Joe Pete understood his orders, the journey to the +Mackenzie called for no side trips after hooch, and he made this fact +known to Brent in no uncertain terms. Whereupon Brent cursed him +roundly, and showed fight. It was but the work of a few moments for the +big Indian to throw him down, tie him hand and foot and carry him, +struggling and cursing, back to the sled, where he rode for the +remainder of the day in a most uncomfortable position from which he +hurled threats and malediction upon the broad back of the Indian. + +The following morning Brent awoke long before daylight. His head ached +fiercely and in his mouth was the bitter aftermath of dead liquor. In +vain he sought sleep, but sleep would not come. Remorse and shame +gripped him as it had never gripped him before. He writhed at the +thought that only a day or two ago he had laughed at hooch, and had +openly boasted that he was through with it and that he would not take a +drink if he possessed a barrel of it. And, at the very first +opportunity, he had taken a drink, and after that first drink, he had +paid gold that was not his to use for such purpose for more hooch, and +had deliberately drank himself drunk. The reviling and malediction which +he had hurled at Joe Pete from the sled were words of gentle endearment +in comparison with the terrible self-castigation that he indulged in as +he tossed restlessly between his blankets and longed for the light of +day. To be rid of the torture he finally arose, replenished the fire, +and brewed many cups of strong tea. And when Joe Pete stepped from the +tent in the grey of the morning it was to find breakfast ready, and +Brent busy harnessing the dogs. In silence the meal was eaten, and in +silence the two hit the trail. That day was a hard one owing to rough +ice encountered upon the lower Gravel River, and the two alternated +frequently between breaking trail and working at the gee-pole. The long +snow trail had worked wonders for Brent physically, and by evening he +had entirely thrown off the effects of the liquor. He ate a hearty +supper, and over the pipes beside the fire the two men talked of gold. +As they turned in, Brent slapped Joe Pete on the back: "Just forget what +I said yesterday--I was a damned fool." + +The Indian shrugged: "The hooch, she all tam' mak' de damn fool. She no +good. I ain' care w'at de hooch talk 'bout. Som' tam' you queet de +hooch. Dat good t'ing. W'en you sober, you good man. You say, Joe Pete, +you do lak dis. I do it. W'en de hooch say, Joe Pete you do lak som' +nodder way. I say go to hell." + +At Fort Norman, Brent bought an additional dog team and outfitted for +the trip to the Coppermine. Upon learning from Murchison, the factor, +that the lower Coppermine, from Kendall River northward to the coast, +had been thoroughly explored and prospected without finding gold, he +decided to abandon the usual route by way of Dease Bay, Dease River, the +Dismal Lakes, and the Kendall River, and swing southward to the eastern +extremity of Conjuror Bay of Great Bear Lake, and then head straight +across the barrens, to strike the upper reaches of the Coppermine in the +region of Point Lake. + +Murchison expressed doubt that there was gold upon any part of the +Coppermine, "If there is," he added, "No one's ever got any of it. An' +I'm doubtin' if there's any gold east of the Mackenzie. I've been on the +river a good many years, an' I never saw any, except a few nuggets that +an old squaw named Wananebish found years ago." + +"On the Coppermine?" asked Brent. + +Murchison laughed: "I don't know--an' she don't either. She found 'em, +an' then her husband was drowned in a rapids and she pulled out of there +and she claims she ain't never be'n able to locate the place since, an' +she's spent years huntin' for it an' draggin' a little band of worthless +Injuns after her. They're over there now, somewhere. I heard they hit up +Hare Indian River, along about the first of September. McTavish at Good +Hope, give 'em debt to be rid of 'em. But I don't think they'll find any +gold. The formation don't seem to be right on this side of the river." + +"Gold has been taken from the bottom of the sea, and from the tops of +mountains," reminded Brent, "You know the old saying, 'Gold is where you +find it.'" + +"Aye," answered Murchison, with a smile, "But, east of the Mackenzie, +gold is where you don't find it." + +The four hundred mile journey from Fort Norman to the Coppermine was +accomplished in sixteen days. A permanent camp-site was selected upon +the west bank of the river, and the two worked with a will in +constructing a tiny log cabin, well within the shelter of a thick clump +of spruce. Brent's eyes had lost the last trace of muddiness, the +bloated unhealthy skin had cleared, and his flabby muscles had grown +iron-hard so that he plunged into the work of felling and trimming +trees, and heaving at logs with a zest and enthusiasm that had not been +his for many a long day. He had not even thought of a drink in a week. +When the cabin was finished and the last of the chinking rammed into +place, he laughingly faced Joe Pete upon the trampled snow of the +dooryard. "Come on now, you old leather image!" he cried, "Come and take +your medicine! I owe you a good fall or two for the way you used me on +the trail. You're heap _skookum_, all right, but I can put you on your +back! Remember you didn't handle the butt ends of _all_ those logs!" + +And thus challenged the big Indian, who was good for his two hundred +pound pack on a portage, sailed in with a grin, and for ten minutes the +only sounds in the spruce thicket were the sounds of scrapping _mukluks_ +on the hard-trampled snow, and the labored breathing of the straining +men. Laughter rang loud as Brent twice threw the Indian, rolled him onto +his back, and rubbed snow into his face, and then, still laughing, the +two entered their cabin and devoured a huge meal of broiled caribou +steaks, and pilot bread. + +Supper over, Joe Pete lighted his pipe and regarded Brent gravely: "On +de trail," he said, "I handle you lak wan leetle baby. Now, you _skookum +tillicum_. You de firs mans kin put Joe Pete on de back. De hooch, she +no good for hell!" + +"You bet, she's no good!" agreed Brent, "Believe me, I'm through with +it. It's been a good while since I've even thought of a drink." + +Joe Pete seemed unimpressed: "You ain't t'ink 'bout a drink cos you +ain't got non. Dat better you keep 'way from it, or you t'ink 'bout it +dam' queek." And Brent, remembering that morning on the trail when he +had said good bye to Claw, answered nothing. + +For the next few days, while Joe Pete worked at the building of a cache, +Brent hunted caribou. Upon one of these excursions, while following up +the river, some three of four miles south of the cabin, he came suddenly +upon a snowshoe trail. It was a fresh trail, and he had followed it +scarcely a mile when he found other trails that crossed and recrossed +the river, and upon rounding a sharp bend, he came abruptly upon an +encampment. Three tiny log cabins, and a half-dozen tepees were visible +in a grove of scraggling spruce that gave some shelter from the sweep of +the wind. Beyond the encampment, the river widened abruptly into a lake. +An Indian paused in the act of hacking firewood from a dead spruce, and +regarded him stolidly. Brent ascended the bank and greeted him in +English. Receiving no response, he tried the jargon: + +"_Klahowya, six?_" + +The Indian glanced sidewise, toward one of the cabins, and muttered +something in guttural. Then, the door of the cabin opened and a girl +stepped out onto the snow and closed the door behind her. Brent stared, +speechless, as his swift glance took in the details of her moccasins, +deer-skin leggings, short skirt, white _capote_ and stocking cap. She +held a high-power rifle in her mittened hand. Then their eyes met, and +the man felt his heart give a bound beneath his tight-buttoned mackinaw. +Instantly, he realized that he was staring rudely, and as the blood +mounted to his cheeks, he snatched the cap from his head and stepped +forward with hasty apology: "I beg your pardon," he stammered, "You see, +I had no idea you were here--I mean, I had not expected to meet a lady +in the middle of this God-forsaken wilderness. And especially as I only +expected to find Indians--and I hadn't even expected them, until I +struck the trail on the river." The man paused, and for the first time +noted the angry flash of the dark eyes--noted, too, that the red lips +curled scornfully. + +"_I_ am an Indian," announced the girl, haughtily, "And, now you have +found us--go!" + +"An Indian!" cried Brent, "Surely, you are----" + +"Go!" Repeated the girl, "Before I kill you!" + +"Oh, come, now," smiled Brent, "You wouldn't do that. We are neighbors, +why not be friends?" + +"Go!" repeated the girl, "and don't come back! The next time I shall not +warn you." The command was accompanied by a sharp click, as she threw a +cartridge into the chamber of her rifle, and another swift glance into +her eyes showed Brent that she was in deadly earnest. He returned the +cap to his head and bowed: + +"Very well," he said gravely. "I don't know who you think I am, or why +you should want to kill me, but I do know that some day we shall become +better acquainted. Good bye--till we meet again." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +IN THE BARRENS + + +Late that evening Brent and Joe Pete were surprised by a knock upon the +door of their cabin. Brent answered the summons and three Indians filed +solemnly into the room. Two of them stood blinking foolishly while the +third drew from a light pack a fox skin which he extended for Brent's +inspection. Brent handed the skin to Joe Pete: "What's all this?" he +asked, "What do they want?" + +"Hooch," answered the Indian who had handed over the skin. + +Brent shook his head: "No hooch here," he answered, "You've come to the +wrong place. You are the fellow I saw today in the camp up the river. +Tell me, who is the young lady that claims she's an Injun? And why is +she on the war-path?" The three stared stolidly at each other and at +Brent, but gave no hint of understanding a word he had uttered. He +turned to Joe Pete. "You try it," he said, "See if you can make 'em +talk." The Indian tried them in two or three coast dialects, but to no +purpose, and at the end of his attempt, the visitors produced two more +fox skins and added them to the first. + +"They think we're holding out for a higher price," laughed Brent. + +"No wonder these damned hooch-peddlers can afford to take a chance. What +are those skins worth?" + +Joe Pete examined the pelts critically: "Dis wan she dark cross fox, +wort' mebbe-so, t'irty dolla. Dis wan, an' dis wan, cross fox, wort' +'bout twenty dolla." + +"Seventy dollars for a bottle of hooch!" cried Brent, "It's robbery!" + +He handed back the skins, and at the end of five minutes, during which +time he indicated as plainly as possible by means of signs, that there +was no hooch forthcoming, the Indians took their departure. The next +evening they were back again, and this time they offered six skins, one +of them a silver fox that Joe Pete said would bring eighty dollars at +any trading post. After much patient pantomime Brent finally succeeded +in convincing them that there was really no hooch to be had, and with +openly expressed disgust, the three finally took their departure. + +Shortly after noon a week later, Brent drew the last bucket of gravel +from the shallow shaft, threw it onto the dump, and leaving Joe Pete to +look after the fire, took his rifle and struck off up the river in +search of caribou. "Go down the river," whispered the still small voice +of Common Sense, "There are no hunters there." But Brent only smiled, +and held his course. And as he swung over the snow trail his thoughts +were of the girl who had stepped from the cabin and angrily ordered him +from the village at the point of her rifle. Each day during the +intervening week he had thought of her, and he had lain awake at night +and tried in vain to conjure a reason for her strange behaviour. Alone +on the trail he voiced his thoughts: "Why should she threaten to shoot +me? Who does she think I am? Why should she declare she is an Injun? I +don't believe she's any more Injun than I am. Who ever heard of an Injun +with eyes like hers, and lips, yes, and a tip-tilted nose? Possibly, a +breed--but, never an Injun. And, I wonder if her warlike attitude +includes the whole white race, or a limited part of it, or only me? I'll +find out before this winter is over--but, I'll bet she can shoot! She +threw that shell into her rifle in a sort of off-hand _practiced_ way, +like most girls would powder their nose." + +His speculation was cut short by a trail that crossed the river at a +right angle and headed into the scrub in a south-easterly direction. The +trail was only a few hours old and had been made by a small band of +caribou traveling at a leisurely pace. Abruptly, Brent left the River +and struck into the trail. For an hour he followed it through the +scraggly timber and across patches of open tundra and narrow beaver +meadows. The animals had been feeding as they traveled and it was +evident that they could not be far ahead. Cautiously topping a low +ridge, he sighted them upon a small open tundra, about two hundred yards +away. There were seven all told, two bulls, three cows, and two +yearlings. One of the bulls and two cows were pawing the snow from the +moss, and the others were lying down. Taking careful aim, Brent shot the +standing bull. The animals that had been lying down scrambled to their +feet, and three more shots in rapid succession accounted for a cow and +one of the yearlings, and Brent watched the remaining four plunge off +through the snow in the direction of the opposite side of the tundra +which was a mile or more in width. When they had almost reached the +scrub he was startled to see the flying bull suddenly rear high and +topple into the snow, the next instant one of the others dropped, and a +moment later a third. Then to his ears came the sound of four shots +fired in rapid succession. As Brent stepped out onto the tundra and, +sheath knife in hand, walked to his fallen caribou, he saw a figure from +the opposite scrub. An exclamation of surprise escaped him. It was the +girl of the Indian Village. + +"Wonder if she needs any help?" he muttered as he slit the throat of his +third caribou. He glanced across the short open space to see the girl +bending over the carcass of the other bull. "Guess I'll take a chance," +he grinned, "And go and see. I knew she could shoot--three out of four, +running shots--that's going some!" When he was half way across the open +he saw the girl rise and wipe the blade of her knife upon the hair of +the dead bull's neck. She turned and knife in hand, waited for him to +approach. Brent noted that her rifle lay within easy reach of her hand, +propped against the dead animal's belly. He noted also, that as he drew +near, she made no move to recover it. + +Jerking at the strings of his cap, he removed it from his head: "That +was mighty good shooting," he smiled, "Those brutes were sure +traveling!" + +"But, they were very close. I couldn't have missed. It took two shots +for the last one, but both bullets counted. You did good shooting, too. +Your shots were harder--they were farther away. Did all your bullets +count?" + +Brent laughed aloud from pure joy. He hardly heard her words. The only +thing he could clearly comprehend was the fact that there was no hint of +anger in the dark eyes, and that the red lips were smiling. "I'm sure I +don't know," he managed to reply, "I didn't stop to look. I think very +likely I missed one shot." + +"Why do you take your cap off?" she asked, and almost instantly she +smiled again: "Oh, yes, I know--I have read of it--but, they don't do it +here. Put it on please. It is cold." + +Brent returned the cap to his head. "I'm glad I didn't know the other +day, how expert you are with your rifle," he laughed, "Or I wouldn't +have stayed as long as I did." + +The girl regarded him gravely: "You are not angry with me?" she asked. + +"Why, no, of course not! Why should I be angry with you? I knew that +there was no reason why you should shoot me. And I knew that things +would straighten out, somehow. I thought you had mistaken me for someone +else, and----" + +"I thought you were a hooch-runner," interrupted the girl. "I did not +think any white man who is not a hooch-runner, or a policeman, would be +way over here, and I could see that you were not in the Mounted." + +"No," answered Brent, "I am not in the Mounted, but, how do you know +that I am not a hooch-runner?" + +"Because, three of our band went to your cabin that very night to buy +hooch, and they did not get it. And the next night they went again and +took more fox skins, and again they came away empty handed." + +"You sent them then?" + +"No, no! But, I knew that they would think the same as I did, that you +wanted to trade them hooch, so I followed them when they slipped out of +the village. Both nights I followed, and I pressed my ear close to the +door, so that I heard all you said." + +Brent smiled: "I have some recollection of asking one of those wooden +images something about a certain warlike young lady----" + +The girl interrupted him with a laugh: "Yes, I heard that, and I heard +you swear at the hooch traders, and tell the Indians there was no hooch +in the cabin, and I was glad." + +The man's eyes sought hers in a swift glance: "Why--why were you glad?" +he asked. + +"Because I--because you--because I didn't want to kill you. And I would +have killed you if you had sold them hooch." + +"You wouldn't--really----" + +"Yes, I would!" cried the girl, and Brent saw that the dark eyes +flashed, "I would kill a hooch-runner as I would a wolf. They are +wolves. They're worse than wolves! Wolves kill for meat, but they kill +for money. They take the fur that would put bread in the mouths of the +women and the little babies, and they make the men drunken and no good. +There used to be thirty of us in the band, and now there are only +sixteen. Two of the men deserted their families since we came here, +because they would not stay where there was no hooch." The girl ceased +speaking and glanced quickly upward: "Snow!" she cried, "It is starting +to snow, and darkness will soon be here. I must draw these caribou, +before they freeze." She drew the knife from her belt and stepped to the +carcass of the bull. But Brent took it from her hand. + +"Let me do it," he said, eagerly, "You stand there and tell me how, and +we'll have it done in no time." + +"Tell you how!" exclaimed the girl, "What do you mean?" Brent laughed: +"I'm afraid I'm still an awful _chechako_ about some things. I can shoot +them, all right, but there has always been someone to do the drawing, +and skinning, and cutting up. But, I'll learn quickly. Where do I +begin?" + +Under the minute directions of the girl Brent soon had the big bull +drawn. The two smaller animals were easier and when the job was finished +he glanced apprehensively at the thickening storm. "We had better go +now," he said. "Do you know how far it is to your camp?" + +"Nine or ten miles, I think," answered the girl, "We have only been here +since fall and this is the first time I have hunted in this direction. +But, first we must draw your caribou. If they freeze they cannot be +drawn and then they will not be fit for food." + +"But, the snow," objected Brent. "It is coming down faster all the +time." + +"The snow won't bother us. There is no wind. Hurry, we must finish the +others before dark." + +"But, the wind might spring up at any moment, and if it does we will +have a regular blizzard." + +"Then we can camp," answered the girl, and before the astounded man +could reply, she had led off at a brisk pace in the direction of the +other caribou. + +The early darkness was already beginning to make itself felt and Brent +drove to his task with a will, and to such good purpose that the girl +nodded hearty approval. "You did learn quickly," she smiled, "I could +not have done it any better nor quicker, myself." + +"Thank you," he laughed, "And that is a real compliment, for by the way +you can handle a rifle, and cover ground on snowshoes, I know you are +_skookum tillicum_." + +"Yes," admitted the girl, "I'm _skookum tillicum_. But, I ought to be. I +was born in the North and I have lived in the woods and in the barrens, +and upon rivers, all my life." + +Brent was about to reply when each glanced for a moment into the other's +face, and then both stared into the North. From out of the darkness came +a sullen roar, low, and muffled, and mighty, like the roar of surf on +the shore of a distant sea. + +"It is the wind!" cried the girl, "Quick, take a shoulder of meat! We +must find shelter and camp." + +"I can't cut a leg bone with this knife!" + +"There are no bones! It is like this." She snatched the knife from +Brent's hand and with a few deft slashes severed a shoulder from the +yearling caribou. "Come, quick," she urged, and led the way toward a +dark blotch that showed in the scraggling timber a few hundred yards +away: "When the storm strikes, we shall not be able to see," she flung +over her shoulder, "We must make that thicket of spruce--or we're +bushed." + +Louder and louder sounded the roar of the approaching wind. Brent +encumbered with his rifle and the shoulder of meat, found it hard to +keep up with the girl whose snowshoes fairly flew over the snow. They +gained the thicket a few moments before the storm struck. The girl +paused before a thick spruce, that had been broken off and lay with its +trunk caught across the upstanding butt, some four feet from the ground. +Jerking the ax from its sheath she set to work lopping branches from the +dead tree. + +"Break some live branches for the roof of our shelter!" she commanded. +"This stuff will do for firewood, and in a minute you can take the ax +and I will build the wikiup." The words were snatched from her lips by +the roar of the storm. Full upon them, now, it bent and swayed the thick +spruces as if to snap them at the roots. Brent gasped for breath in the +first rush of it and the next moment was coughing the flinty dry +snow-powder from his lungs. No longer were there snow-flakes in the +air--the air itself was snow--snow that seared and stung as it bit into +lips and nostrils, that sifted into the collars of _capote_ and +mackinaw, and seized neck and throat in a deadly chill. Back and forth +Brent stumbled bearing limbs which he tore from the trunks of trees, and +as he laid them at her feet the girl deftly arranged them. The ax made +the work easier, and at the end of a half-hour the girl shouted in his +ear that there were enough branches. Removing their rackets, they stood +them upright in the snow, and stooping, the girl motioned him to follow +as she crawled through a low opening in what appeared to be a mountain +of spruce boughs. To his surprise, Brent found that inside the wikiup he +could breathe freely. The fine powdered snow, collecting upon the +close-lying needles had effectively sealed the roof and walls. + +For another half hour, the two worked in the intense blackness of the +interior with hands and feet pushing the snow out through the opening, +and when the task was finished they spread a thick floor of the small +branches that the girl had piled along one side. Only at the opening +there were no branches, and there upon the ground the girl proceeded to +build a tiny fire. "We must be careful," she cautioned, "and only build +a small fire, or our house will burn down." As she talked she opened a +light packsack that Brent had noticed upon her shoulders, and drew from +its interior a rabbit robe which she spread upon the boughs. Then from +the pack she produced a small stew pan and a little package of tea. She +filled the pan with snow, and smiled up into Brent's face: "And, now, at +last, we are snug and comfortable for the night. We can live here for +days if necessary. The caribou are not far away, and we have plenty of +tea." + +"You are a wonder," breathed Brent, meeting squarely the laughing gaze +of the dark eyes, "Do you know that if it had not been for you, I would +have been--would never have weathered this storm?" + +"You were not born in the bush," she reminded, as she added more snow to +the pan. "I do not even know your name," she said, gravely, "And yet I +feel--" she paused, and Brent, his voice raised hardly above a whisper, +asked eagerly: + +"Yes, you feel--how do you feel?" + +"I feel as though--as though I had known you always--as though you were +my friend." + +"Yes," he answered, and it was with an effort he kept the emotion from +his voice, "We have known each other always, and I am your friend. My +name is Carter Brent. And now, tell me something about yourself. Who are +you? And why did you tell me you were an Indian?" + +"I am an Indian," she replied, quickly, "That is, I am a half-breed. My +father was a white man." + +"And what is your name?" + +"Snowdrift." + +"Snowdrift!" he cried, "what an odd name! Is it your last name or your +first?" + +"Why, it is the only name I have, and I never had any other." + +"But your father--what was your father's name?" + +There was a long moment of silence while the girl threw more snow into +the pan, and added wood to the fire. Then her words came slowly, and +Brent detected a peculiar note in her voice. He wondered whether it was +bitterness, or pain: "My father is dead," she answered, "I do not know +his name. Why is Snowdrift an odd name?" + +"I think it a beautiful name!" cried Brent. + +"Do you--really?" The dark eyes were regarding him with a look in which +happiness seemed to be blended with fear lest he were mocking her. + +"Indeed I do! I love it. And now tell me more--of your life--of your +education." + +"I went to school at the mission on the Mackenzie. I went there for a +good many years, and I worked hard, for I like to study. And books! I +love to read books. I read all they had, and some of them many times. Do +you love books?" + +"Why yes," answered Brent, "I used to. I haven't read many since I came +North." + +"Why did you come North?" + +"I came for gold." + +"For gold!" cried the girl, her eyes shining, "That is why we are here! +Wananebish says there is gold here in the barrens. Once many years ago +she found it--but we have tried to find the place again, and we cannot." + +"Who is Wananebish?" + +"Wananebish is my mother. She is an Indian, and she has tried to keep +the band together through many years, and to keep them away from the +hooch, but, they will not listen to her. It was hard work to persuade +them to come away from the river. And, have you found gold?" + +"Yes," answered Brent, "Way over beyond the mountains that lie to the +westward of the Mackenzie, I found much gold. But I lost it." + +"Lost it! Oh, that was too bad. Did it fall off your sled?" + +"Well, not exactly," answered the man dryly. "In my case, it was more of +a toboggan." + +"Couldn't you find it again?" + +"No. Other men have it, now." + +"And they won't give it back!" + +"No, it is theirs. That part of it is all right--only I would give +anything in the world to have it--now." + +"Why do you want it now? Can you not find more gold? I guess I do not +understand." + +Brent shook his head: "No, you do not understand. But, sometime you will +understand. Sometime I think I shall have many things to tell you--and +then I want you to understand." + +The girl glanced at him wonderingly, as she threw a handful of tea into +the pan. "You must sharpen some green sticks and cut pieces of meat," +she said, "And we will eat our supper." + +A silence fell upon them during the meal, a silence broken only by the +roar of the wind that came to them as from afar, muffled as it was by +its own freighting of snow. Hardly for a moment did Brent take his eyes +from the girl. There was a great unwonted throbbing in his breast, that +seemed to cry out to him to take the girl in his arms and hold her +tight against his pounding heart, and the next moment the joy of her was +gone, and in its place was a dull heavy pain. + +"Now, I know why I like you," said the girl, abruptly, as she finished +her piece of venison. + +"Yes?" smiled Brent, "And are you going to tell me?" + +"It is because you are good." She continued, without noting the quick +catch in the man's breath. "Men who hunt for gold are good. My father +was good, and he died hunting for gold. Wananebish told me. It was years +and years ago when I was a very little baby. I know from reading in +books that many white men are good. But in the North they are bad. +Unless they are of the police, or are priests, or factors. I had sworn +to hate all white men who came into the North--but I forgot the men who +hunt gold." + +"I am glad you remembered them," answered Brent gravely. "I hope you are +right." + +"I am sleepy," announced the girl. "We cannot both sleep in this robe, +for we have only one, and to keep warm it is necessary to roll up in it. +One of us can sleep half the night while the other tends the fire, and +then the other will sleep." + +"You go to sleep," said Brent. "I will keep the fire going. I am not a +bit sleepy. And besides, I have a whole world of thinking to do." + +"I will wake up at midnight, and then you can sleep," she said, and, +taking off her moccasins, and leggings, and long woolen stockings she +arranged them upon sticks to dry and rolled up in the thick robe. + +"Good night," called Brent, as she settled down. + +"Good night, and may God keep you. You forgot that part," she corrected, +gravely, "We used to say that at the Mission." + +"Yes," answered Brent, "May God keep you. I did forget that part." + +Suddenly the girl raised her head: "Do you believe we have known each +other always?" she asked. + +"Yes, girl," he answered, "I believe we have known each other since the +beginning of time itself." + +"Why did you come way over here to find gold? I have heard that there is +much gold beyond the mountains to the westward." + +It was upon Brent's tongue to say: "I came to find you," but, he +restrained the impulse. "All the gold claims that are any good are taken +up over there," he explained, "And I read in a book that a man gave me +that there was gold here." + +"What kind of a book was that? I never read a book about gold." + +"It was an old book. One that the man had picked up over in the Hudson +Bay country. Its title was torn off, but upon one of its pages was +written a man's name, probably the name of the former owner of the book. +I have often wondered who he was. The name was Murdo MacFarlane." + +"Murdo MacFarlane!" cried the girl, sitting bolt upright, and staring at +Brent. + +"Yes," answered the man, "Do you know him?" + +The girl reached out and tossed her belt to Brent. "It is the name upon +the sheath of the knife," she answered, "It is Wananebish's knife. I +broke the point of mine." + +Brent took the sheath and held it close to the light of the little fire. +"Murdo MacFarlane," he deciphered, "Yes, the name is the same." And long +after the girl's regular breathing told him she was sleeping, he +repeated the name again: "Murdo MacFarlane. I don't know who you were or +who you are, if you still live, but whoever you were, or whoever you +are--here's good luck to you--Murdo MacFarlane!" + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +MOONLIGHT + + +The wind had died down, although the snow continued to fall thickly the +following morning, as Brent and Snowdrift crept from the wikiup and +struck out for the river. It was heavy going, even the broad webbed +snowshoes sinking deeply into the fluffy white smother that covered the +wind-packed fall of the night. Brent offered to break trail, but +Snowdrift insisted upon taking her turn, and as he labored in her wake, +the man marveled at the strength and the untiring endurance of the +slender, lithe-bodied girl. He marveled also at the unfailing sureness +of her sense of direction. Twice, when he was leading she corrected him +and when after nearly four hours of continuous plodding, they stood upon +the bank of the river, he realized that without her correction, his +course would have carried him miles to the southward. + +"Good bye," he smiled, extending his bared hand, when at length they +came to the parting of the ways, "I don't want but one of the caribou I +shot. Divide the other two between the families of the Indians that +skipped out." + +Slipping off her mitten, the girl took the proffered hand unhesitatingly +and an ecstatic thrill shot through Brent's heart at the touch of the +firm slender fingers that closed about his own--a thrill that +half-consciously, half-unconsciously, caused him to press the hand that +lay warm within his clasp. + +"Yes," she answered, making no effort to release the hand, "They need +the meat. With the rabbits they can snare, it will keep them all winter. +I have not much fur yet--a few fox skins, and some _loup cervier_. I +will bring them to you tomorrow." + +"Bring them to me!" cried Brent, "What do you mean? Why should you bring +them to me?" + +"Why!" she exclaimed, regarding him curiously, "To pay for the meat, of +course. A caribou is worth a cross fox, and----" + +Brent felt the blood mounting to his face. Abruptly, almost roughly he +released the girl's hand. "I did not offer to sell you the meat," he +answered, a trifle stiffly. "They need it, and they're welcome to it." + +Snowdrift, too, had been thrilled by that handclasp, and the thrill had +repeated itself at the gentle pressure of the strong fingers, and she +was quick to note the change in the man's manner, and stood uncertainly +regarding her bared hand until a big snowflake settled upon it and +melted into a drop of water. Then she thrust the hand into her big fur +mitten, and as her glance met his, Brent saw that the dark eyes were +deep with concern: "I--I do not understand," she said, softly. "I have +made you angry. I do not want you to be angry with me. Do you mean that +you want to give them the meat? People do not give meat, excepting to +members of their own tribe when they are very poor. But you are not of +the tribe. You are not even an Indian. White men do not give Indians +meat, ever." + +Already Brent was cursing himself for his foolish flare of pride. Again +his heart thrilled at the wonder of the girl's absolute +unsophistication. Swiftly his hand sought hers, but this time she did +not remove it from the mitten. "I am not angry with you, Snowdrift!" he +exclaimed, quickly, "I was a fool! It was I who did not understand. But, +I want you to understand that here is one white man who does give meat +to Indians. And I wish I were a member of your tribe. Sometime, +maybe----" + +"Oh, no, no! You would not want to be one of us. We are very poor, and +we are Indians. You are a white man. Why should you want to live with +us?" + +"Some day I will tell you why," answered the man, in a voice so low that +the dark eyes searched his face wonderingly. "And, now, won't you give +me your hand again? To show me that you are not angry with me." + +The girl laughed happily: "Angry with you! Oh, I would never be angry +with you! You are good. You are the only good white man I have known +who was not a priest, or a factor, or a policeman--and even they do not +give the Indians meat." With a swift movement she slipped her hand from +the mitten and once more placed it within his, and this time there was +nothing unconscious in the pressure of Brent's clasp. He fancied that he +felt the slender hand tremble ever so lightly within his own, and +glanced swiftly into the girl's face. For an instant their eyes met, and +then the dark eyes dropped slowly before his gaze, and very gently he +released her hand. + +"May I come and see you, soon?" he asked. + +"Why, yes, of course! Why did you ask me that?" she inquired, +wonderingly, "You know the way to our camp, and you know that now I know +you are not a hooch trader." + +"Why," smiled Brent, "I asked because--why, just because it seemed the +thing to do--a sort of formality, I reckon." + +The girl's smile met his own: "I do not understand, I guess. +Formality--what is that? A custom of the land of the white man? But I +have not read of that in books. Here in the North if anybody wants to go +a place, he goes, unless he has been warned to stay away for some +reason, and then if he goes he will get shot. I will shoot the hooch +traders if they come to the camp. The first time I will tell them to +go--and if they come back I will kill them." + +"You wouldn't kill them--really?" smiled Brent, amazed at the matter of +fact statement coming from this slip of a girl, whose face rimmed in its +snow-covered parka hood was, he told himself, the most beautiful face he +had ever looked upon. "Didn't they teach you in the mission that it is +wrong to kill?" + +"It is wrong to kill in anger, or for revenge for a wrong, or so that +you may steal a man's goods. But it is not wrong to kill one who is +working harm in the world. You, too, know that this is true, because in +the books I have read of many such killings, and in some books it was +openly approved, and other books were so written that the approval was +made plain." + +"But, there is the law," ventured Brent. + +"Yes, there is the law. But the law is no good up here. By the time the +policemen would get here the hooch trader would be many miles away. And +even if they should catch him, the Indians would not say that he traded +them hooch. They would be afraid. No, it is much better to kill them. +They take all the fur in trade for hooch, and then the women have +nothing to eat, and the little babies die." + +Brent nodded, thoughtfully; "I reckon you're right," he agreed, "But, I +wish you would promise me that if any hooch runners show up, you will +let me deal with them." + +"Oh, will you?" cried the girl, her eyes shining, "Will you help me? Oh, +with a white man to help me! With _you_--" she paused, and as Brent's +glance met hers, the dark eyes drooped once more, and the man saw that +the cheeks were flushed through their tan. + +"Of course I'll help you!" he smiled reassuringly, "I would love to, and +between us we'll make the Coppermine country a mighty unhealthy place +for the hooch runners." + +"You will come to see me," reminded the girl, "And I will come to see +you, and we will hunt together, and you will show me how to find gold." + +"Yes," promised Brent, "We will see each other often--very often. And we +will hunt together, and I will show you all I know about finding gold. +Good bye, and if you need any help getting the meat into camp, let me +know and Joe Pete and I will come down with the dogs." + +"We won't need any help with the meat. There are plenty of us to haul it +in. That is squaw's work, Good bye." + +The girl stood motionless and watched Brent until his form was hidden by +a bend of the river. Then, slowly, she turned and struck off up stream. +And as she plodded through the ever deepening snow her thoughts were all +of the man who had come so abruptly--so vitally into her life, and as +she pondered she was conscious of a strange unrest within her, an +awakening longing that she did not understand. Subconsciously she drew +off her heavy mitten and looked at the hand that had lain in his. And +then, she raised it to her face, and drew it slowly across her cheek. + +In the cabin, she answered the questions of old Wananebish in +monosyllables, and after a hearty meal, she left the cabin abruptly and +entered another, where she lifted a very tiny red baby from its bed of +blankets and skins, and to the astonishment of the mite's mother, seated +herself beside the little stove, and crooned to it, and cuddled it, +until the short winter day came to a close. + +Early the following day Snowdrift piloted a dozen squaws with their +sleds and dog teams to the place of the kill. One of Brent's three +caribou was gone, and the girl's eyes lighted with approval as she saw +that his trail was partially covered with new-fallen snow. "He came back +yesterday--he and his Indian, and they got the meat. He is strong," she +breathed to herself, "Stronger than I, for I was tired from walking in +the loose snow, and I did not come back." + +Leaving the squaws to bring in the meat, the girl shouldered her rifle +and struck into the timber, her footsteps carrying her unerringly toward +the patch of scrub in which she and Brent had sought shelter from the +storm. She halted beside the little wikiup, snow-buried, now--even the +hole through which they had crawled was sealed with the new-fallen snow. +For a long time she stood looking down at the little white mound. As she +turned to go, her glance fell upon a trough-like depression, only half +filled with snow. The depression was a snowshoe trail, and it ended just +beyond the little mound. + +"It is _his_ trail," she whispered, to a Canada jay that chattered and +jabbered at her from the limb of a dead spruce. "He came here, as I +came, to look at our little wikiup. And he went away and left it just as +it was." Above her head the jay flitted nervously from limb to limb with +his incessant scolding. "Why did he come?" she breathed, "And why did I +come?" And, as she had done upon the river, she drew her hand from her +mitten and passed it slowly across her cheek. Then she turned, and +striking into the half-buried trail, followed it till it merged into +another trail, the trail of a man with a dog-sled, and then she followed +the broader trail to the northwestward. + +At nine o'clock that same morning Brent threw the last shovelful of the +eight-inch thawing of gravel from the shallow shaft, and leaving Joe +Pete to build and tend the new fire, he picked up his rifle, and under +pretense of another hunt, struck off up the river in the direction of +the Indian camp. + +Joe Pete watched with a puzzled frown until he had disappeared. Then he +carried his wood and lighted the fire in the bottom of the shaft. + +An hour and a half later Brent knocked at the door of the cabin from +which Snowdrift had stepped, rifle in hand, upon the occasion of their +first meeting. The door was opened by a wrinkled squaw, who looked +straight into his eyes as she waited for him to speak. There was +unveiled hostility in the stare of those beady black eyes, and it was +with a conscious effort that Brent smiled: "Is Snowdrift in?" he +inquired. + +"No," the squaw answered, and as an after-thought, "She has gone with +the women to bring in the meat." + +The man was surprised that the woman spoke perfect English. The Indians +who had come to trade, had known only the word "hooch." His smile +broadened, though he noticed that the glare of hostility had not faded +from the eyes: "She told you about our hunt, then? It was great sport. +She is a wonder with a rifle." + +"No, she did not tell me." The words came in a cold, impersonal +monotone. + +"Can't I come in?" Brent asked the question suddenly. "I must get back +to camp soon. I just came down to see--to see if I could be of any help +in bringing in the meat." + +"The women bring in the meat," answered the woman, and Brent felt as +though he had been caught lying. But, she stepped aside and motioned him +to a rude bench beside the stove. Brent removed his cap and glanced +about him, surprised at the extreme cleanliness of the interior, until +he suddenly remembered that this was the home of the girl with the +wondrous dark eyes. Covertly he searched the face of the old squaw, +trying to discover one single feature that would proclaim her to be the +mother of the girl, but try as he would, no slightest resemblance could +he find in any line or lineament of the wrinkled visage. + +She had seated herself upon the edge of the bunk beyond the little +stove. + +"Can't we be friends?" he asked abruptly. + +The laugh that greeted his question sounded in his ears like the snarl +of a wolf: "Yes, if you will let me kill you now--we can be friends." + +"Oh, come," laughed Brent, "That's carrying friendship a bit too far, +don't you think?" + +"I had rather you had traded hooch to the men," answered the woman, +sullenly, "For then she would even now hate you--as someday she will +learn to hate you!" + +"Learn to hate me! What do you mean?" + +"You know what I mean!" cried the squaw, her voice quivering with anger, +"You white men are devils! You come, and you stay a while, and then you +go your way, and you stop again, and your trail is a trail of misery--of +misery, and of father-less half-breed babies! I wish she had killed you +that day you stood out there in the snow! Maybe the harm has been +already done----" + +"What do you mean?" roared Brent, overturning the bench and towering +above the little stove in his rage. "You can't talk to me like that! Out +with it! What do you mean?" + +The squaw, also, was upon her feet, cowering at the side of the bunk, as +she hurled her words into Brent's face. "Where were you last night? +And, where was she?" + +Two steps and Brent was before her, his face thrust to within a foot of +her own: "We were together," he answered in a voice that cut cold as +steel, "In a wikiup that we built in the blinding snow and the darkness +to protect us from the storm. Half of the night, while she slept upon +her robe, I sat and tended the fire, and then, because she insisted upon +it, she tended the fire while I slept." As the man spoke never for a +moment did the glittering eyes of the squaw leave his close-thrust, +blazing eyes, and when he finished, she sank to the bunk with an +inarticulate cry. For in the righteous wrath of the blazing eyes she had +read the truth--and in his words was the ring of truth. + +"Can it be?" she faltered, "Can it be that there is such a white man?" + +The anger melted from Brent's heart as quickly as it had come. He saw +huddled upon the bunk not a poison-tongued, snake-eyed virago, but a +woman whose heart was torn with solicitude for the welfare of her child. +But, was Snowdrift her child? Swiftly the thought flitted into Brent's +brain, and as swiftly flashed another. Her child, or another's--what +matter? One might well question her parentage--but never her love. + +Gently his hand went out and came to rest upon the angular shoulder. And +when he spoke the tone of his voice, even more than his words, +reassured the woman. "There are many such white men," he said, +soothingly. "You need not fear. I am your friend, and the friend of +Snowdrift. I, like yourself, am here to find gold, and like yourself, I +too, hate the traders of hooch--and with reason." He stepped to the +stove, upturned the bench and recovered his cap. And as the old woman +rose to her feet, Brent saw that the look of intense hatred had been +supplanted by a look, which if not exactly of friendliness, was at least +one of passive tolerance. At the doorway he paused, hesitated for a +moment, and then, point blank, flashed the question that for days had +been uppermost in his mind: "Who is Snowdrift?" + +Wananebish leaned against a stanchion of the bunk. Instinctively, her +savage heart knew that the white man standing before had spoken the +truth. Her eyes closed, and for a moment, in the withered breast raged a +conflict. Then her eyes opened, her lips moved, and she saw that the man +was straining eagerly toward her to catch the words: "Snowdrift is my +daughter," she said. + +Brent hesitated. He had been quick to catch the flash of the eye that +had accompanied the words, a flash more of defiance than of anger. It +was upon his tongue to ask who was Murdo MacFarlane, but instead he +bowed: "I must go now. I shall be coming here often. I hope I shall not +be unwelcome." + +The look of passive tolerance was once more in her eyes, and she +shrugged so noncommittally that Brent knew that for the present, if he +had not gained an ally, he had at least, eliminated an enemy. + +As the man plodded down the river, his thoughts were all of the girl. +The stern implacability of her as she stood in the doorway of the cabin +and ordered him from the encampment. The swift assurance with which she +assumed leadership as the storm roared down upon them. The ingenuous +announcement that they must spend the night--possibly several nights in +the barrens. And the childlike naivete of the words that unveiled her +innermost thoughts. The compelling charm of her, her beauty of face and +form, and the lithe, untiring play of her muscles as she tramped through +the new-fallen snow. Her unerring sense of direction. Her simple code of +morals regarding the killing of men. Her every look, and word and +movement was projected with vivid distinctness upon his brain. And then +his thoughts turned to the little cabin that was her home, and to the +leathern skinned old woman who told him she was the girl's mother. + +"The squaw lied!" he uttered fiercely. "Never in God's world is +Snowdrift her daughter! But--who is she?" + +He rounded the last bend of the river and brought up shortly. Joe Pete +was stoking the fire with wood, and upon the gravel dump, sat the girl +apparently very much interested in the operation. + +Almost at the same instant she saw him, and Brent's heart leaped within +him at the glad little cry that came to him over the snow, as the girl +scrambled to her feet and hurried toward him. "Where have you been?" she +asked. "I came to hunt--and you were gone. So I waited for you to come, +and I watched Joe Pete feed the fire in the hole." + +Brent's fingers closed almost caressingly over the slender brown hand +that was thrust into his and he smiled into the upraised eyes: "I, too, +went to hunt. I went to your cabin, and your--mother," despite himself, +the man's tongue hesitated upon the word, "told me that you had gone +with the women to bring in the meat." + +"Oh, you have seen Wananebish!" cried the girl, "And she was glad to see +you?" + +"Well," smiled Brent, "Perhaps not so awfully glad--right at first. But +Wananebish and I are good friends, now." + +"I am glad. I love Wananebish. She is good to me. She has deprived +herself of many things--sometimes I think, even of food, that I might +stay in school at the mission. And now it is too late to hunt today, and +I am hungry. Let us go in the cabin and eat." + +"Fine!" cried Brent, "Hey, Joe Pete, cut some caribou steaks, and I'll +build up the fire!" He turned again to the girl, "Come on," he laughed, +"I could eat a raw dog!" + +"But, there is plenty of meat!" cried the girl, "And you'll need the +dogs! Only when men are starving will they eat their dogs--and not +_raw_!" + +Brent laughed heartily into the dismayed face: "You need not be afraid, +we will save the dogs till we need them. That was only a figure of +speech. I meant that I am very hungry, and that, if I could find nothing +else to eat I should relish even raw dog meat." + +Snowdrift was laughing, now: "I see!" she cried, "In books are many such +sayings. It is a metaphor--no, not a metaphor--a--oh, I don't remember, +but anyway I am glad you said that because I thought such things were +used only in the language of books--and maybe I can say one like that +myself, someday." + +At the door of the cabin they removed their snowshoes, and a few moments +later a wood fire was roaring in the little stove. Joe Pete came in with +the frozen steaks, set them down upon the table, and moved toward the +door, but Brent called him back. "You're in on this feed! Get busy and +fry up those steaks while I set the table." + +The Indian hesitated, glanced shrewdly at Brent as if to ascertain the +sincerity of the invitation, and throwing off his parka, busied himself +at the stove, while Brent and Snowdrift, laughing and chattering like +children, placed the porcelain lined plates and cups and the steel +knives and forks upon the uneven pole table. + +The early darkness was gathering when they again left the cabin. +Snowdrift paused to watch Joe Pete throw wood into the flames that +leaped from the mouth of the shallow shaft: "Why do you have the fire +in the hole?" she asked of Brent, who stood at her side. + +"Why, to thaw the gravel so we can throw it out onto the dump. Then in +the spring, we'll sluice out the dump and see what we've got." + +"Do you mean for gold?" asked the girl in surprise, "We only hunt for +gold in the summer in the sand of the creeks and the rivers." + +"This way is better," explained Brent. "In the summer you can only muck +around in the surface stuff. You can't sink a shaft because the water +would run in and fill it up. In most places the deeper you go the richer +the gravel. The very best of it is right down against bed-rock. In the +winter we keep a fire going until the gravel is thawed for six or eight +inches down, then we rake out the ashes and wait for the hole to cool +down so there will be air instead of gas in it, and then we throw out +the loose stuff and build up the fire again." + +"And you won't know till spring whether you have any gold or not? Why, +maybe you would put in a whole winter's work and get nothing!" + +"Oh, we kind of keep cases on it with the pan. Every day or so I scoop +up a panful and carry it into the cabin and melt some ice and pan it +out." + +"And is there gold here? Have you found it?" + +"Not yet. That is, not in paying quantities. The gravel shows just +enough color to keep us at it. I don't think it is going to amount to +much. So far we're making fair wages--and that's about all." + +"What do you mean by fair wages?" smiled the girl. "You see, I am +learning all I can about finding gold." + +"I expect we're throwing out maybe a couple of ounces a day--an ounce +apiece. If it don't show something pretty quick I'm going to try some +other place. There's a likely looking creek runs in above here." + +"But an ounce of gold is worth sixteen dollars!" exclaimed the girl, +"And sixteen dollars every day for each of you is lots of money." + +Brent laughed: "It's good wages, and that's about all. But I'm not here +just to make wages. I've got to make a strike." + +"How much is a strike?" + +"Oh, anywhere from a half a million up." + +"A half a million dollars!" cried the girl, "Why, what could you do with +it all?" + +Brent laughed: "Oh I could manage to find use for it, I reckon. In the +first place I owe a man some money over on the Yukon--two men. They've +got to be paid. And after that--" His voice trailed off into silence. + +"And what would you do after that?" persisted the girl. + +"Well," answered the man, as he watched the shower of sparks fly upward, +"That depends--But, come, it's getting dark. I'll walk home with you." + +"Are you going because you think I am afraid?" she laughed. + +"I am going because I want to go," he answered, and led off up the +river. + +As the darkness settled the snow-covered surface of the river showed as +a narrow white lane that terminated abruptly at each bend in a wall of +intense blackness. Overhead a million stars glittered so brightly in the +keen air that they seemed suspended just above the serried skyline of +the bordering spruces. At the end of an hour it grew lighter. Through +the openings between the flanking spruce thickets long naked ridges with +their overhanging wind-carved snow-cornices were visible far back from +the river. As they came in sight of the encampment the girl, who was +traveling ahead, paused abruptly and with an exclamation of delight, +pointed toward a distant ridge upon the clean-cut skyline of which the +rim of the full moon showed in an ever widening segment of red. Brent +stood close by her side, and together, in wrapt silence they watched the +glowing orb rise clear of the ridge, watched its color pale until it +hung cold and clean-cut in the night sky like a disk of burnished brass. + +"Isn't it beautiful?" she breathed, and by the gentle pressure that +accompanied the words, Brent suddenly knew that her bared hand was in +his own, and that two mittens lay upon the snow at their feet. + +"Wonderful," he whispered, as his eyes swept the unending panorama of +lifeless barrens. "It is as if we two were the only living beings in +the whole dead world." + +"Oh, I wish--I wish we were!" cried the girl, impulsively. And then: "No +that is wrong! Other people--thousands and thousands of them--men, and +women, and little babies--they all love to live." + +"It is wonderful to live," breathed the man, "And to be standing +here--with you--in the moonlight." + +"Ah, the moonlight--is it the moonlight that makes me feel so +strange--in here?" she raised her mittened hand and pressed it against +her breast, "So strange and restless. I want to go--I do not know +where--but, I want to do something big--to go some place--any place, but +to go, and go, and go!" Her voice dropped suddenly, and Brent saw that +her eyes were resting broodingly upon the straggling group of tepees and +cabins. A dull square of light glowed sullenly from her own cabin +window, and her voice sounded heavy and dull: "But, there is no place to +go, and nothing to do, but hunt, and trap, and look for gold. Sometimes +I wish I were dead. No I do not mean that--but, I wish I had never +lived." + +"Nonsense, girl! You love to live! Beautiful, strong, young--why, life +is only just starting for--you." Brent had almost said "us." + +"But, of what use is it all? Why should one love to live? I am an +Indian--yet I hate the Indians--except Wananebish. We fight the hooch +traders, yet the men get the hooch. It is no use. I learned to love +books at the mission--and there are no books. You are here--with you I +am happy. But, if you do not find a strike, you will go away. Or, if we +do not find gold, we will go. The Indians will return to the river and +become hangers-on at the posts. It is all--no use!" + +Brent's arms were about her, her yielding body close against his, and +she was sobbing against the breast of his parka. The man's brain was a +chaos. In vain he strove to control the trembling of his muscles as he +crushed her to him. In an unsteady voice he was murmuring words: "There, +there, dear. I am never going away from you--never." Two arms stole +about his neck, and Brent's heart pounded wildly as he felt them tighten +in a convulsive embrace. He bent down and their lips met in a long, +lingering kiss, "Darling," he whispered, with his lips close to her ear, +"You are mine--mine! And I am yours. And we will live--live! Tell me +Snowdrift--sweetheart--do you love me?" + +"I love you!" her lips faltered the simple words, and Brent saw that the +dark eyes that looked up into his own glowed in the moonlight like black +pools. "Now--I know--it was--not the moonlight--in here--it was love!" + +"Yes, darling, it was love. I have loved you since the first moment I +saw you." + +"And I have loved you--always!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +CONFESSIONS + + +Brent returned to the cabin with his brain in a whirl. "I'll make a +strike before spring! I've got to! Then we'll hit for Dawson, and we'll +stop at Fort Norman and be married. No--we'll go on through and be +married at the Reeves'! Married! A Brent married to an Indian!" He +halted in the trail and cursed himself for the thought. + +"She's a damn sight too good for you! You're a hell of a Brent--nothing +left but the name! Gambler--notorious gambler, Reeves said--and a +barkeep in Malone's dive. You're a hooch hound, and you've got to keep +away from hooch to stay sober! You don't dare go back to Dawson--nor +anywhere else where there's a saloon! You're broke, and worse than +broke. You're right now living on Reeves' money--and you think of +marrying _her_!" + +Furiously, next morning, he attacked the gravel at the bottom of the +shaft. When the loose muck was thrown out he swore at the slow progress, +and futilely attacked the floor of the shaft with his pick as though to +win down to bed-rock through the iron-hard frost. Then he climbed out +and, scooping up a pan from the dump, retired to the cabin, and washed +it out. + +"Same thing," he muttered disgustedly, as he stared at the yellow +grains, "Just wages. I've got to make a strike! There's Reeves to +pay--and Camillo Bill--and I've got to have dust--and plenty of it--for +_her_. Damn this hole! I'm going to hit for the lower river. We'll cover +this shaft to keep the snow out and hit north. Hearne, and Franklin, and +Richardson all report native copper on the lower river--amygdaloid beds +that crop out in sheer cliffs. Gold isn't the only metal--there's +millions in copper! And, the river winding in and out among the trap and +basalt dykes, there's bound to be gold, too." He collected the few +grains of gold, threw out the gravel and water, and picking up his +rifle, stepped out the door. At the shaft he paused and called to Joe +Pete that he was going hunting and as the big Indian watched him +disappear up the river, his lips stretched in a slow grin, and he tossed +wood into the shaft. + +A mile from the cabin Brent rounded a sharp bend and came face to face +with Snowdrift. There was an awkward silence during which both strove to +appear unconcerned. The girl was the first to speak, and Brent noticed +that she was blushing furiously: "I--I am hunting," she announced, +swinging her rifle prominently into view. + +Brent laughed: "So am I hunting--for you." + +"But really, I am hunting caribou. There are lots of mouths to feed, and +the men are not much good. They will spend hours slipping up onto a +caribou and then miss him." + +"Come on, then, let's go," answered the man gaily. "Which way shall it +be?" + +"I saw lots of tracks the other day on a lake to the eastward. It is six +or seven miles. I think we will find caribou there." Brent tried to take +her hand, but she eluded him with a laugh, and struck out through the +scraggling timber at a pace that he soon found hard to follow. + +"Slow down! I'll be good!" he called, when they had covered a quarter of +a mile, and Snowdrift laughingly slackened her pace. + +"You're a wonder!" he panted, as he closed up the distance that +separated them, "Don't you ever get tired?" + +"Oh, yes, very often. But, not so early in the day. See, three caribou +passed this way only a few hours ago--a bull and two cows." They struck +into the trail, and two hours later Snowdrift succeeded in bring down +one of the cows with a long shot as the three animals trotted across a +frozen muskeg. + +"And now we must kill one for you," announced the girl as Brent finished +drawing the animal. + +"We needn't be in any hurry about it," he grinned. "We still have most +of the one we got the other day." + +"Then, why are you hunting?" + +"I told you. I found what I was hunting--back there on the river. How +about lunch? I'm hungry as a wolf." + +The girl pointed to a sheltered spot in the lee of a spruce thicket, and +while Brent scraped back the snow, she produced food from her pack. + +"You must have figured on getting pretty hungry," teased Brent, eying +the generous luncheon to which he had added his own. + +Snowdrift blushed: "You brought more than I did!" she smiled, +"See--there is much more." + +"Oh, I'll come right out with it--I put that up for two!" + +"And mine is for two," she admitted, "But you are mean for making me say +it." + +During the meal the girl was unusually silent and several times Brent +surprised a look of pain in the dark eyes, and then the look would fade +and the eyes would gaze pensively into the distance. Once he was sure +that her lip quivered. + +"What's the matter, Snowdrift," he asked abruptly, "What is troubling +you? Tell me all about it. You might as well begin now, you +know--because----" + +She hastened to interrupt him: "Nothing is the matter!" she cried, with +an obviously forced gaiety. "But, tell me, where did you come +from--before you came to the Yukon? All my life I have wanted to know +more of the land that lies to the southward--the land of the white man. +Father Ambrose and Sister Mercedes told me much--but it was mostly of +the church. And Henri of the White Water told me of the great stores in +Edmonton where one may buy fine clothes, of other stores where one may +sell hooch without fear of the police, and also where one may win money +with cards. But, surely, there are other things. The white men, and the +women, they do not always go to church and buy clothes, and drink hooch, +and gamble with cards. And are all the women beautiful like the pictures +in the books, and in the magazines?" + +Brent laughed: "No, all the women are not beautiful. It is only once in +a great while that one sees a really beautiful woman, and you are the +most beautiful woman I have ever seen----" + +"But I am not beautiful!" cried the girl, "Not like the pictures." + +"The pictures are not pictures of real women, they are creations of an +artist's brain. The pictures are the artist's conception of what the +real women should be." + +Snowdrift regarded him with a puzzled frown: "Is it all make-believe, in +the land of the white man? The books--the novels that tell of knights in +armor, and of the beautiful ladies with their clothes, and their rings +of the diamonds that sparkle like ice--and other novels that tell of +suffering, and of the plotting of men and women who are very bad--and of +the doings of men and women who are good--Sister Mercedes said they are +all lies--that they are the work of the brain of the man who wrote it +down. Is it all lies and make-believe? Do the white men use their brains +only to tell of the doings of people who have never lived, and to make +pictures of people and things that never were? Do you, too, live in the +make-believe? You have told me you love me. And just now you told me +that I was the most beautiful woman you have seen. Those are the words +of the books--of the novels. Always the man must tell the woman she is +the most beautiful woman in the world. And it is all make-believe, and +in the words is no truth!" + +"No, no, dear! You do not understand. I don't know whether I can explain +it, but it is not all make-believe--by a long shot! Life down there is +as real as it is here. There are millions of people there and for them +all life is a struggle. Millions live in great cities, and other +millions live in the country and raise grain with which to feed +themselves, and the millions who live in the cities. And the people in +the cities work in great factories, and make the clothing, and the +tools, and guns, and everything that is used by themselves and by the +people who live outside the cities, and they build the ships and the +railroads which carry these goods to all parts of the world. But you +have read of all that in the books--and the books are not all lies and +make-believe, for they tell of life as it is--not as any one or a dozen +characters live it--but as thousands and millions live it. The comings +and goings of the characters are the composite comings and goings of a +thousand or a million living breathing people. And because each person +is too busy--too much occupied with his own particular life, he does not +know of the lives of the other millions. But he wants to know--so he +reads the books and the magazines, and the newspapers." The girl hung +absorbed upon his words, and for an hour Brent talked, describing, +explaining, detailing the little things and the great things, the +common-places, and the wonders of the far-off land to the southward. But +of all the things he described, the girl was most interested in the +libraries with their thousands and thousands of books that one might +read for the asking--the libraries, and the clothing of the women. + +"All my life," she concluded, "I have wanted to go to the land of the +white man, and see these things myself. But, I never shall see them, and +I am glad you have told me more." + +Brent laughed, happily, and before she could elude him his arms were +about her and he had drawn her close. "Indeed you shall see them!" he +cried. "You and I shall see them together. We'll be married at Dawson, +and we'll make a strike----" + +With a low cry the girl freed herself from his arms, and drew away to +the other side of the fire: "No, no, no!" she cried, with a catch in her +voice, "I can never marry you! Oh, why must we love! Why must we +suffer, when the fault is not ours? They would hate me, and despise me, +and point at me with the finger of scorn!" + +Brent laughed: "Hold on girl!" he cried, "Some of the best families in +the world have Indian blood in their veins--and they're proud of it! I +know 'em! They'll come a long way from hating you. Why, they'll pile all +over themselves to meet you--and a hundred years from now our +great-grand-children will be bragging about you!" Suddenly, he grew +serious, "But maybe you won't marry me, after all--when you've heard +what I've got to say. Maybe you'll despise me--and it'll be all right if +you do. It will be what I have earned. It isn't a pretty story, and it's +going to hurt to tell it--to you. But, you've got to know--so here goes. + +"In the first place, you think I'm good. But, I'm not good--by most of +the ten commandments, and a lot of by-laws. I'm not going to do any +white-washing--I'm going to begin at the beginning and tell you the +truth, so you can see how far I've dropped. In the first place my family +tree is decorated with presidents, and senators, and congress-men, and +generals, and diplomats, and its branches are so crowded with colonels, +and majors and captains and judges, and doctors, that they have to prop +them up to keep them from breaking. Some were rich, but honest; and some +were poor, but not so honest, and a lot of them were half way between in +both wealth and honesty. But, anyway, you can't turn twenty pages of +United States history without running onto the trail of at least one man +that I can claim kin to. As for myself, I'm a college man, and a mining +engineer--that means I was fitted by family and education to be a big +man, and maybe get a chance to slip into history myself--I've made some, +over on the Yukon, but--it ain't fit to print. + +"Hooch was at the bottom of the whole business. I couldn't handle hooch +like some men can. One drink always called for another, and two drinks +called for a dozen. I liked to get drunk, and I did get drunk, every +chance I got--and that was right often. I lost job after job because I +wouldn't stay sober--and later some others because I couldn't stay +sober. I heard of the gold on the Yukon and I went there, and I found +gold--lots of it. I was counted one of the richest men in the country. +Then I started out to get rid of the gold. I couldn't spend it all so I +gambled it away. Almost from the time I made my strike I never drew a +sober breath, until I'd shoved my last marker across the table. Then I +dealt faro--turned professional gambler for wages in the best place in +Dawson, but the hooch had got me and I lost out. I got another job in a +saloon that wasn't so good, but it was the same story, and in a little +while I was tending bar--selling hooch--in the lowest dive in town--and +that means the lowest one in the world, I reckon. That last place, The +Klondike Palace; with its painted women, who sell themselves nightly to +men, with the scum of the earth carousing in its dance-hall, and +playing at its tables, was the hell-hole of the Yukon. And I was part of +it. I stood behind its bar and sold hooch--I was the devil that kept the +hell-fires stoked and roaring. And I kept full of hooch myself, or I +couldn't have stood it. Then I lost out even there, on--what you might +call a technicality--and after that I was just a plain bum. Everybody +despised me--worst of all, I despised myself. I did odd jobs to get +money to buy hooch, and when I had bought it I crawled into my shack and +stayed there till it was gone. I was weak and flabby, and dirty. My +hands shook so I couldn't raise a glass of hooch to my lips, until I'd +had a stiff shot. I used to lap the first drink out of a saucer like a +dog. I dodged the men who had once been my friends. Only Joe Pete, who +had helped me over the Chilkoot, and who remembered that I was a good +man on the trail, and a girl named Kitty, would even turn their heads to +glance at the miserable drunkard that slunk along the street with his +bottle concealed in his ragged pocket. + +"There is one more I thought was my friend. His name is Camillo Bill, +and he is square as a die, and he did me a good turn when he cleaned me +out, by holding my claims for only what he had coming when he could have +taken them all. But he came to see me one day toward the last. He came +to tell me that the claims had petered out. I wanted him to grub-stake +me, for a prospecting trip and he refused. That hurt me worse than all +the rest--for I thought he was my friend. He cursed me, and refused to +grub-stake me. Then I met a real friend--one I had never seen before, +and he furnished the gold for my trip to the Coppermine, and--here I +am." + +Snowdrift had listened with breathless attention and when Brent +concluded she was silent for a long time. "This girl named Kitty?" she +asked at length, "Who is she, and why was she your friend? Did you love +this woman? Is she beautiful?" + +"No," answered Brent, gravely, "I did not love her. She was not the kind +of a woman a man would love. She was beautiful after a fashion. She +might have been very beautiful had her life fallen in a different +groove. She was an adventuress, big hearted, keen of brain--but an +adventuress. Hers was a life distorted and twisted far from its original +intent. For it was plain to all that she had been cast in a finer mould, +and even the roughest and most brutal of the men treated her with a +certain respect that was not accorded to the others. She never spoke of +her past. She accepted the present philosophically, never by word or +look admitting that she had chosen the wrong road. Her ethics were the +ethics of the muck and ruck of the women of the dance halls. She +differed only in that she had imagination--and a certain pride that +prevented her from holding herself cheaply. Where others were careless +and slovenly, she was well groomed. And while they caroused and +shamelessly debauched themselves, she held aloof from the rabble. + +"You asked why she was my friend. I suppose it was because she was quick +to see that I too, was different from the riff-raff of the dives. Not +that I was one whit better than they--for I was not. It was no credit to +me that I was inherently different. It was, I reckon, a certain innate +pride that kept me out of the filth of the mire, as it kept her out. To +me the painted slovens were physically loathsome, so I shunned them. She +was keener of brain than I--or maybe it was because she had a +perspective. But while I was still at the height of my success with the +claims and with the cards, she foresaw the end, and she warned me. But, +I disregarded the warning, and later, when I was rushing straight to the +final crash, she warned me again and again, and she despised me for the +fool I was. + +"When, at the very bottom, I was taken suddenly sick, it was Kitty who +nursed me through. And then, when I was on my feet again she left me to +myself. I have not seen her since." + +"And, if you make a strike again," asked the girl in a low voice, "Will +you go back to Dawson--to the cards and the hooch?" + +"I will go back to Dawson," he answered, "And pay my debts. I will not +go back to the cards. I am through with gambling for good and all, for I +have promised. And when a Brent gives his word, he would die rather than +break it." + +"But the hooch?" persisted Snowdrift. "Are you done with the hooch too?" + +Brent was conscious that the eyes of the girl were fixed upon his in a +gaze of curious intentness, as though their deliberate calm suppressed +some mighty emotion. He groped for words: "I don't--that is, how can I +tell? I drink no hooch now--but there is none to drink. I hate it for I +know that what it did to me once it will do to me again. I hate it--and +I love it!" exclaimed the man. "Tell me, is hate stronger than love?" + +The girl was silent for a moment, and by the clenching of her fists, +Brent knew that a struggle was raging within her. She ignored his +question, and when she spoke her voice was low, and the words fell with +a peculiar dullness of tone: "I, too, have a thing to tell. It is a +horrible thing. And when you have heard you will not want to marry me." +The girl paused, and Brent felt suddenly sick and weak. There was a dull +ache in his breast that was an actual physical pain, and when the cold +breeze fanned his forehead, it struck with a deadly chill. With a mighty +effort he recovered, leaned swiftly toward her and was vaguely conscious +that she winced at the grip of his fingers upon her arm. + +"Tell me!" he cried hoarsely. For a single instant his eyes blazed into +hers, and then, as though anticipating her words, his fingers relaxed +their hold and he settled back with a half-articulate moan--"_Oh, +God!_" + +"What you have told me," she continued, in the same dull tone, "Is +nothing. It is past and gone. It is dead, and its evil died with it. You +are a white man. The white man's thoughts are your thoughts, and his +standards are your standards. You work the harm, then unjustly you sit +in judgment. And the harm does not die with the deed. The shame of it is +a thing of the present, and of the future, and it is borne always by the +innocent. + +"The thing I must tell you is this. I am a half-breed. But my father was +not the husband of Wananebish, who is my mother----" + +Brent interrupted her with quick, glad cry: "Is that all?" The blood +surged hot through his veins. The ache in his breast became a wild +singing. And suddenly he realized the grip and the depth of the thing +that is called love, with its power to tear and to rend the very +foundations of his being. He felt an insane desire to leap and to +shout--and the next instant the girl was in his arms and he was crushing +her against his breast as he covered her face with hot kisses. And when +a few moments later, he released her, he laughed aloud--a laugh that was +clear and boyish, and altogether good to hear, while the girl gazed +half-fearfully--half-wonderingly into his eyes: + +"I--I do not understand," she faltered, "I have known this only for a +short time. Henri of the White Water told me of it, and of the shame of +it--and then Sister Mercedes--and it is true, because years ago when I +was very small, Wananebish told it to Father Ambrose----" + +"Damn Henri of the White Water! And damn Sister Mercedes and Father +Ambrose!" cried Brent, his eyes narrowing, "What did they tell you for? +What difference does it make?" + +"Henri of the White Water told me because he was angry. I would not +marry him. I was going to a great convent school, and he said that in +the land of the white man I would be an object of scorn--that people +would shun me, and point me out with the finger of shame. I did not +believe him, so I went to Sister Mercedes, and she told me, also. And so +I would not go to the school, and that night I came away from the +mission--came back to the Indians." She paused, and as she raised her +eyes to his, Brent saw that in their depths a wondrous newborn hope +struggled against fear. Her lips moved: "You do not scorn me? You love +me--knowing that?" + +Again she was in his arms, and his lips were upon hers: "Yes, I love +you--love you--love you! You are mine, darling--mine for all time!" She +did not resist his arms, and he felt her yielding body press close +against his own, as her shoulders heaved in short, quick sobs. + +Softly, almost timidly, her arms stole about his neck, and her +tear-jeweled eyes raised to his: "And you would marry me, not knowing +who I am?" + +"Yes, darling," reassured Brent, "Neither knowing nor caring who you +are. It is enough that you are the dearest, and most beautiful, and the +most lovable woman in the whole world of women. Why, girl, the wonder is +not that I love you--but that you could love me, after what I told you." + +"It is the answer to your question," she smiled, "It means that love is +the strongest thing in all the world--stronger than hate, stronger than +race, or laws, or codes of ethics. Love is supreme!" + +"And that means, then, that my love for hooch will conquer my hate for +it?" + +"No!" breathed the girl, and Brent could feel her arms tighten about his +neck. "For your love for hooch has not only to overcome your hate for +it, but it must also overcome your love for me, and my love for you. I +am not afraid to fight it out with hooch for your love! If I cannot make +myself more to you than hooch ever can, I would not be worthy of your +love!" + +"My darling," whispered Brent, his lips close to her ear, "You have won +already. I will promise----" + +He was interrupted by her fingers upon his lips, shutting off the words. + +"No--dear," she hesitated a second at the unfamiliar word, "You must not +promise--yet. It is easy to promise, out here in the barrens, where you +have me in your arms, and the hooch is far away. I ask no odds of hooch. +Wait till you have stood the test. I am not afraid. I have not much +learning, but some things I know. I know that, holding a promise in as +high regard as you hold one, if anything should happen--if you should +drink hooch just once, the promise would be broken--and never again +would a promise be just the same. We have a war with hooch--you and I. +And we are going to win. But, in the histories I have read of few wars +where every battle was won by the same army. Some of the battles we must +expect to lose--but the _war_ we will win." + +"Not much learning," smiled Brent, looking into the depths of the dark +eyes, "But the concentrated wisdom of the ages--the wisdom that is the +heritage of woman, and which not one woman in a thousand learns to +apply." + +For a long time the two sat beside their little fire, add in the gloom +of the early darkness, they made their way toward the river. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +IN THE CABIN OF THE _BELVA LOU_ + + +For two weeks Brent and Snowdrift were together each day from dawn until +dark. Leaving Joe Pete to work the claim on the Coppermine, they burned +into the gravel on a creek that gave promise, and while their fire +slowly thawed out the muck, they hunted. When at a depth of four feet +they had not struck a color, Brent gave it up. + +"No use," he said, one day as he tossed the worthless pebbles from his +pan. "If there was anything here, we'd have found at least a trace. I'm +going to hit down the river and have a look at the Copper Mountains." + +"Take me with you!" cried the girl, eagerly, "How long will you be +gone?" + +"I wish I could," smiled Brent, "But Joe Pete and I will be gone two +weeks--a month--maybe longer. It depends on what we find. If we were +only married, what a great trip it would be! But, never mind, +sweetheart, we've got a good many trips coming--years and years of +them." + +"But that isn't now," objected the girl, "What will I do all the while +you are gone? Each morning I hurry here as fast as I can, and each +evening I am sorry when the darkness comes and I must leave you." + +The man drew her close, "Yes, darling," he whispered, "I understand. The +hours I spend away from you are long hours, and I count them one by one. +I do not want to go away from you, but it is for you that I must make a +strike." + +"I would rather have you with me than have all the strikes in the +world!" + +"I know--but we don't want to spend all our days in this God-forgotten +wilderness, fighting famine, and the strong cold. We want to go far away +from all this, where there is music, and books, and life! You've got it +coming, little girl--but first we must make a strike." + +"And, we will not be married until you make your strike?" The dark eyes +looked wistfully into his, and Brent smiled: + +"Strike or no strike, we will be married in the spring!" he cried, "and +if the strike has not been made, we'll make it together." + +"Will we be married at the mission?" + +"No--at Dawson." + +"Dawson!" cried the girl, "And I shall really see Dawson? But, isn't it +very far?" + +Brent laughed: "Yes, you will really see Dawson--and you won't see much +when you see it, in comparison with what you will see when we quit the +North and go back to the States. In the spring you and Wananebish, and +Joe Pete and I will take a month's vacation--and when we come back, +darling, we will have each other always." + +"But, if you do not make a strike?" questioned the girl, "What then? +Would you be happy here in the North--with me?" + +"Sweetheart," answered Brent, "If I knew to a certainty that I should +never make a strike--that I should always live in these barrens, I would +marry you anyway--and call the barrens blessed. But, I will make a +strike! It is for you--and I cannot fail! Oh, if I hadn't been such a +fool!" + +The girl smiled into his eyes: "If you hadn't been such a--a fool, you +would never have come to the barrens. And I--I would always have been +just an Indian--hating the white man, hating the world, living my life +here and there, upon the lakes and the rivers, in cabins and tepees, +with just enough education to long for the better things, and with my +heart bursting with pain and bitterness in the realization that those +things were not for me." + +"It is strange how everything works out for the best," mused Brent, "The +whys and the wherefores of life are beyond my philosophy. Sordid, and +twisted, and wrong as they were, my Dawson days, and the days of the +years that preceded them were all but the workings of destiny--to bring +you and me together up here on the rim of the Arctic. + +"It was a great scheme, little girl," he smiled, suddenly breaking into +a lighter mood, "And the beauty of it is--it worked. But what I was +getting at is this: it don't seem reasonable that after going to all +that trouble to bring us together, and taking such liberties with my +reputation, Old Man Destiny is going to make us fill out the rest of the +time punching holes in gravel, and snaring rabbits, and hunting +caribou." + +That evening they said good bye upon the edge of the clearing that +surrounded the Indian encampment, and as Brent turned to go he drew a +heavy bag from his pocket and handed it to the girl, "Keep this till I +come back," he said, "It's gold." + +"Oh, it is heavy!" cried the girl in surprise. + +Brent smiled, "Weighs up pretty big now. But when we make our strike it +won't be a shoestring. But come--one more good bye and I must be going. +I've got to pack my outfit for an early start." + +One day a week later Brent stood with Joe Pete on the northernmost ridge +of the Copper Mountains and gazed toward the coast of the Arctic Ocean. +Almost at their feet, buried beneath snow and ice were the Bloody Falls +of the Coppermine and to the northward, only snow. Brent was surprised, +for he knew that the ridge upon which he was standing could not be more +than ten or twelve miles from the coast, but he also knew that he could +see for twenty miles or more, and that the only thing that met the eye +was a gently undulating plain of snow, unbroken by even so much as a +twig or a bush, or a hillock worthy the name. Never, he thought, as his +glance swept the barren, treeless waste, had eyes of mortal man beheld +its equal for absolute bleak desolation. + +A cry from Joe Pete cause him to concentrate his gaze upon a spot toward +which the Indian pointed, where, dimly discernible, a dark object +appeared against the unbroken surface of the snow. The steel blue +haze--the "cold fog" of the North, obfuscated its outlines, as it +destroyed perspective so that the object may have been five miles away, +or twenty. It may have been the size of a dog, or the size of a +skyscraper. In vain the two strained their eyes in an endeavor to make +it out. In the first gloom of the early darkness it disappeared +altogether, and the two made their way to the frozen surface of the +river where, in the shelter of a perpendicular wall of rock, they made +their camp and kindled a tiny fire of twigs they had collected the day +before from the last timber on the Coppermine, at a creek that runs in +from the eastward. + +For two days, holding to the surface of the river, the two had threaded +the transverse ridges that form the Copper Mountains. It was Brent's +idea to mush straight to the northernmost ridge and work back slowly, +stopping wherever practicable to prospect among the outcropping ledges. +He had planned, also, to burn into the gravel at intervals, but he had +not foreseen the fact that the mountains lay north of the timber line, +so the burning had to be abandoned. + +At daylight they again climbed the ridge. The cold fog had disappeared +and as Joe Pete, who was in the lead, reached the summit, he gave voice +to a loud cry of surprise. For in place of the indiscernible object of +the day before, apparently only ten or twelve miles distant, and right +in the centre of the vast plain of snow was a ship--each mast and spar +standing out clean-cut as a cameo against its dazzling background. Brent +even fancied he could see men walking about her deck, and other men +walking to and fro among a group of snow mounds that clustered close +about the hulk. + +"A whaler!" he exclaimed, "One of those that Johnnie Claw said wintered +up here." + +For a long time Brent watched the ship, and covertly Joe Pete watched +Brent. At length the white man spoke. "Reckon we'll just mush over there +and call on 'em. Neighbors aren't so damned common up here that we can +afford to pass them by when we're in sight of 'em." + +"Dat better, mebbe-so, we don' go w'ere we ain' got no business. +Mebbe-so dat Godam Johnnie Claw, she giv' you som' mor' hooch, eh? Dat +breed gal she dam' fine 'oman--she ain' lak dat." + +Brent laughed, a trifle nervously: "I don't reckon there's any danger of +that," he answered, shortly. "Come on, we'll harness the dogs and pull +out there. I'd like to see what kind of an outfit they've got, and as +long as we're this near it would be too bad not to go to the very top of +the continent." + +Joe Pete shrugged and followed Brent down to the river where they broke +camp, harnessed the dogs, and struck out over the plain. The wind-packed +snow afforded good footing and the outfit pushed rapidly northward. + +Brent was surprised at the absence of a pressure ridge at the shore +line, but so flat was the snow-buried beach that it was with difficulty +that he determined where the land left off and the sea-ice began. The +whaler he judged to be frozen in at a distance of three or four miles +from shore. + +The figures of men could be plainly seen, now, and soon it became +evident that their own presence had been noted, for three or four +figures were seen to range themselves along the rail, evidently studying +them through a glass. + +While still a mile or two distant, the figures at the rail disappeared +below deck, but others moved about among the snow mounds in the shelter +of the vessel's hull. + +Upon arriving at the mounds, which proved to be snow igloos such as are +used by the Eskimos, Brent halted the dogs, and advanced to where two +men, apparently oblivious to his presence, were cutting up blubber. + +"Hello," he greeted, "Where's the captain?" + +One of the men did not even look up. The other, presenting a villainous +hairy face, nodded surlily toward an ice-coated ladder. + +"Wait here," said Brent, turning to Joe Pete, "Till I find out whether +this whole crew is as cordial to strangers as these two specimens." + +At the words, the man who had directed Brent to the ladder, raised his +head and opened his lips as if to speak, but evidently thinking better +of it, he uttered a sneering laugh, and went on with his cutting of +blubber. + +Brent climbed the ladder, and made his way across the snow-buried deck, +guided by a well packed path that led to a door upon which he knocked +loudly. While waiting for a response he noticed the name _Belva Lou_ +painted upon the stern of a small boat that lay bottomside up upon the +deck. Knocking again, he called loudly, and receiving no reply, opened +the door and found himself upon a steep flight of stairs. Stepping from +the dazzling whiteness of the outside, the interior of the whaler was +black as a pocket, and he paused upon the stairs to accustom his eyes to +the change. As the foul air from below filled his lungs it seemed to +Brent that he could not go on. The stench nauseated him--the vile +atmosphere reeked of rancid blubber, drying furs, and the fumes of dead +cookery. A tiny lamp that flared in a wall pocket at the foot of the +stairs gave forth a stink of its own. Gradually, as his eyes accorded to +the gloom, Brent took cognizance of the dim interior. The steep short +flight of steps terminated in a narrow passage that led toward the +stern whence came the muffled sound of voices. Descending, he glanced +along the passage toward a point where, a few feet distant, another lamp +flared dimly. Just beyond this lamp was a door, and from beyond the door +came the sound of voices. + +He groped his way to the door and knocked. There was a sudden hush, a +few gruffly mumbled words, and then a deep voice snarled: "Who's there?" + +"Just a visitor," announced Brent, stifling a desire to turn and rush +from that fetid hole out into the clean air--but it was too late. + +The voice beyond the door commanded thickly: "Come in, an' we'll look ye +over!" + +For just an instant Brent hesitated, then his hand fumbled for the knob, +turned it, and the narrow door swung inward. He stepped into the +box-like apartment, and for a moment stood speechless as his eyes strove +to take in the details of the horrid scene. + +The stinking air of the dank passage was purest ozone in comparison with +the poisonous fog of the overheated, unventilated room. He felt suddenly +sick and dizzy as he sucked the evil effluvia into his lungs--the thick, +heavy smoke of cheap tobacco, the stench of unbathed humans, the +overpowering reek of spilled liquor, the spent breath from rum-soaked +bodies, the gaseous fumes of a soft coal stove, and the odor from an +oil lamp that had smoked one side of its chimney black. + +"Shut the door! Coal costs money. What the hell ye tryin' to do, heat +the hull Ar'tic? Who be ye, anyhow? An' wot d'ye want?" + +Mechanically Brent closed the door behind him, as he glanced into the +leering eyes of the speaker, who sat, with two other men, and a +partially clad Eskimo woman, at a table upon which were set out a bottle +and several glasses. + +Before Brent could reply, the man across the table from the speaker +leaped to his feet and thrust out his hand. Through the grey haze of +smoke, Brent recognized Johnnie Claw. + +"Well, if it ain't my ol' friend Ace-In-The-Hole!" cried the hooch +runner. "'S all right Cap! Best sport on the Yukon!" Ignoring the fact +that Brent had refused the proffered hand, Claw leered into his face: +"Ace-In-The-Hole let me make you 'quainted with Cap Jinkins, Cap'n of +the _Belva Lou_--damn good sport, too--an' Asa Scroggs, mate. Both damn +good sports, _Belva Lou_ fetches out more oil an' bone 'n any of +'em--an' Cap ain't 'fraid to spend his money. Glad you come long. +Welcome to stay long as you like--ain't he Cap?" + +The Captain lowered a glass from his lips, and cleansed his overhanging +mustache upon the back of a hairy hand: "Sure," he growled, surlily, +"Didn't know he was friend o' yourn. S'down." The room contained only +four chairs, and as he spoke, the man, with a sweep of his hand, struck +the klooch from her chair, and kicked it toward Brent, who sank into it +heavily, and stared dully at the klooch who crawled to a corner and +returned the stare with a drunken, loose-lipped grin upon her fat face. +Brent shifted his glance, and upon a bunk beyond the table he saw +another klooch, lying in a drunken stupor, her only garment, a grimy +wrapper of faded calico, was crumpled about her, exposing one brown leg +to the hip. + +Schooled as he had been to sights of debauchery by his service with +Cuter Malone, Brent was appalled--sickened by the sottish degeneracy of +his surroundings. + +With unsteady hand the mate slopped some liquor into a glass and shoved +it toward him: "Swaller that," he advised, with a grin, "Yer gittin' +white 'round the gills. Comin' right in out of the air, it might seem a +leetle close in here, at first." + +The fumes arising from the freshly spilled liquor smelled _clean_--the +only hint of cleanliness in the whole poisoned atmosphere of the cabin. +He breathed them deeply into his lungs, and for an instant the dizziness +and sickness at his stomach seemed less acute. Maybe one drink--one +little sip would revive him--counteract the poison of the noisome air, +and stimulate him against the dull apathy that was creeping upon him. +Slowly, his hand stole toward the glass, his fingers closed about it, +and he raised it to his lips. Another deep inhalation of its fragrance +and he drained it at a gulp. + +"Didn't know we had no neighbors," ventured the Captain, filling his own +glass. "What ye doin' up here?" + +"Prospecting," answered Brent, "The Copper Mountains. I saw your vessel +from the ridge, and thought I would come over and see what a whaler +looks like." The strong liquor was taking hold. A warm glow gripped his +belly and diffused itself slowly through his veins. The nausea left him, +and the olid atmosphere seemed suddenly purged of its reek. + +"Well," grinned the captain, "The _Belva Lou_ hain't what ye'd call no +floatin' palace, but she's ahead o' most whalers. An' after Johnnie gits +through hornin' round 'mongst the Husky villages an' fixes us up with a +wife apiece, we manage to winter through right comfortable. Me an' Asa +stays on board, an' the rest of the crew, builds 'em igloos. But, here's +me runnin' off at the head--an' you might spill it all to the Mounted." + +"Not him," laughed Claw. "Him an' I ain't always pulled, what you might +say, together--but he's square--kill you in a minute, if he took a +notion--but he'd go to hell before he'd snitch. Have another drink, +Ace-In-The-Hole, 'twon't hurt you none--only rum--an' water-weak." + +Before he knew it the glass was in his hand, and again Brent drank. + +After that he took them as they came. The bottle was emptied and tossed +into the corner where the drunken klooch recovered it and holding it to +her lips, greedily sucked the few drops that remained in the bottom. +Another bottle was produced, and Brent, his brain fired by the raw +liquor, measured glasses, drink for drink, never noticing that the same +liquor served, in the glasses of the other three, for round after round +of libations. + +"Wher's yer camp?" asked Claw, as he refilled the glasses. + +"Bloody Falls," answered Brent, waxing loquacious. "Bloody Falls of the +Coppermine, where old Samuel Hearne's Indians butchered the Eskimos." + +"Butchered the Eskimos!" exclaimed Claw, "What d'you mean--butchered? I +ain't heard 'bout no Huskies bein' killed, an' who in hell's Sam Hearne? +I be'n round here, off an' on, fer long while, an' I ain't never run +acrost no Sam Hearne. What be you handin' us? You ort to start a +noospaper." + +Brent laughed uproariously: "No, Claw, I reckon you never ran across +him. This happened over a hundred years ago--1771--July 13th, to be +exact." + +Asa Scroggs grinned knowingly: "Man kin lap up a hell of a lot of idees +out of a bottle of hooch," he opined, "Mostly it runs to ph'los'fy, er +fightin', er po'try, er singin', er religion, er women, er sad +mem'ries--but this here stale news idee is a new one. But, g'wan, +Ace-In-The-Hole, did the Mounted git Sam fer his murdersome massacres?" + +"That was a hundred years before the Mounted was thought of," answered +Brent, eying Scroggs truculently, as his inflamed brain sought hidden +insult in the words. + +"I always know'd I was born too late," laughed Claw, who, noting the +signs of approaching trouble, sought peace. "This here'd be a hell of a +fine country, if it wasn't fer the Mounted. But, say, Ace-In-The-Hole, +you doin' any good? Struck any color?" + +Brent forgot Scroggs and turned to Claw: "No, not to speak of. Just +about made wages." + +"Well," continued the hooch runner, "You had a pretty fair sack of dust +when you come in. What d'you say we start a little game of stud--jest +the four of us?" + +"Nothing doing," answered Brent, shortly. "I'm off of stud." + +"Off of stud!" exclaimed the other, "How in hell d'you ever expect to +git even? Stud owes you more dust than you kin pile on a sled!" + +Brent drank a glass of rum: "The game can keep what it owes me. And +besides I left my dust in camp--except a couple of ounces, or so." + +"Yer finger bet goes with me," assured Claw, "Everybody's wouldn't, by a +damn sight--but yourn does. What d'you say?" + +"My word is good in a game, is it?" asked Brent. + +"Good as the dust--in one, or out of one," promptly assured Claw. + +"Well, then listen to this: I gave my word in the presence of the man +who staked me for this trip, that I would never gamble again. So I +reckon you know how much stud I'll play from now on." + +"Gawd A'mighty!" breathed Claw, incredulously, "An' the game owin' you +millions. Well, have a drink on it, anyway." + +Claw refilled Brent's glass, and thrust it into his hand, with a wink at +the captain, for he had been quick to note that the liquor and the hot +fetid air of the room was making Brent drowsy. His eyes had become dull +and heavy lidded, and his chin rested heavily upon the throat of his +parka. "Ain't happened to run onto a little bunch of Injuns, up the +river, have you?" asked the man, as Brent gagged at the liquor. + +"No," answered Brent, drowsily, "No Injuns in Copper Mountains--nothing +in the mountains--nothing but snow." Gradually his eyes closed, and his +head rolled heavily to one side. The drunken klooch rose to her knees, +and with a maudlin giggle, seized Brent's half empty glass and drained +it. + +With a curse, the captain kicked her into her corner, and turned to Claw +with a suggestive motion: "Slit his gullet, an' we'll slip him down a +seal hole with some scrap iron on his legs. He's prob'bly lyin' 'bout +leavin' the dust in camp." + +Claw shook his head: "Not him," he opined, "Search him first." + +The Captain and the mate subjected the unconscious man to a thorough +search, at the conclusion of which Scroggs tossed a small lean gold sack +upon the table. "Prob'ly all he's got left, anyhow," he growled in +disgust. "Le's jest weight him an' slip him through the ice the way he +is. 'Tain't so messy." + +"Not by a damn sight!" objected Claw. "It's jest like I told you, when +we was watchin' him through the glass. He's got anyways clost to a +hundred ounces. I seen it, when he paid me fer the hooch, like I was +tellin' you." + +"Well, we kin back-track him to his camp, an' if we can't find it we kin +put the hot irons to the Injun's feet till he squeals." + +"The Injun don't know where it's at," argued Claw contemptuously, "He's +too damn smart to trust a Siwash. An' you bet he's got it _cached_ where +we couldn't find it. He wouldn't leave it round where the first bunch of +Huskies that come along could lift it, would he?" + +"Well," growled the Captain, "Yer so damn smart, what's yer big idee?" + +"We got to let him go. Put back his little two ounces, so he won't +suspicion nothin'. Then, when he wakes up, I'll slip him a bottle of +hooch fer a present, an' he'll hit fer camp and start in on it. It won't +last long, an' then you an' me an' Scroggs will happen along with more +hooch to sell him. When he digs up the dust to pay fer it, I'll tend to +him. You two git the Injun--but _he's_ mine. I've got a long score to +settle with him--an' I know'd if I waited long enough, my time would +come." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +LOST + + +Brent was conscious of a drone of voices. They came from a great +distance--from so great a distance that he could not distinguish the +words. He half-realized that somewhere, men were talking. + +Befuddled, groping, his brain was struggling against the stupor that had +held him unconscious for an hour. Two months before, half the amount of +liquor he had taken into his system would have drugged him into a whole +night's unconsciousness, but the life in the open, and the hard work in +the gravel and on the trail, had so strengthened him physically that the +rum, even in the poisonous air of the cabin could not deaden him for +long. Gradually, out of the drone of voices a word was sensed by his +groping brain. Then a group of words. Where was he? Who were these men? +And why did they persist in talking when he wanted to sleep? His head +ached, and he was conscious of a dull pain in his cramped neck. He was +about to shift into an easier position, when suddenly he realized where +he was. He was drunk--in the filthy cabin of the _Belva Lou_--and the +voices were the voices of Claw, and the mate, and the Captain, who were +still at their liquor. A wave of sickening remorse swept him. He, Carter +Brent, couldn't keep away from the hooch. Even in the vile cabin of the +_Belva Lou_, he had fallen for it. It was no use. He would kill +himself--would blow his worthless brains out and be done with it, rather +than face--A sudden savage rage obsessed him. Kill himself, he would, +but first--he would rid the North of these vultures. + +He was upon the point of leaping to his feet, and with his fists, his +chair--anything that came to hand, annihilating the brutish occupants of +the cabin, when the gruff voice of the Captain cut in upon Claw's +droning monotone. + +"An' when we git him an' his Injun planted, me an' Asa'll take his dogs +an' hit back here, an' you kin strike east along the coast till you pick +up another woman. It's a damn outrage--that's what it is! Chargin' me +fifty dollars apiece fer greasy old pelters like them, that ain't worth +the grub they eat! What I want is a young one--good lookin' an' young." + +"You had yer pick out of the eight," growled Claw. + +"An' a hell of a pick it was! Why, I've went out an' rustled 'em myself, +an' fer a sack of flour, an' a half a dozen fish-hooks, an' mebbe a file +er two, I've got the pick of a hull village." + +Brent's brain cleared gradually as he listened to the villainous +dialogue. Vaguely he sensed that it was himself and Joe Pete that the +Captain spoke of "planting." So they intended to murder him, did they? +And, when that detail had been attended to, they would go on with their +traffic in "winter wives." But, they did not intend to kill him here on +board the vessel. The Captain had spoken of coming back, after the deed +was done. Where would they take him? Brent suddenly found himself +possessed by curiosity. He decided to wait and see. And, when the time +came, he would give as good an account of himself as he could--and +then--what difference did it make? They were not fit to live. He would +kill them if he could--or maybe they would kill him. But he was not fit +to live either. He had sat at table with them--had fraternized with +them--drank liquor in the stinking cabin with the scum of the earth. He +was no better than they--he was one of them. The bottle scraped along +the table, and he could hear the audible gulping of liquor, the tap of +the returned glasses, and the harsh rasping of throats as they were +cleared of the fiery bite. + +Then the voice of Claw: "You ain't had no pick of a village since the +Mounted begun patrolin' the coast." + +"Damn the Mounted!" + +"Yeh, that's what I say. But damnin' 'em don't git red of 'em. Facts is, +they're here, an' every year it's harder an' harder fer a man to make a +livin'. But listen, Cap, I've got one bet up my sleeve. But it'll cost +you more'n any fifty dollars--er a hundred, either. She ain't no +Husky--she's an Injun breed--an' damn near white. Her name's +Snowdrift--an' she's the purtiest thing in the North. I've had my eyes +on her fer a couple of years. She was in the mission over on the +Mackenzie. But she ain't there no more. She's way up the Coppermine, +with a band of about twenty Dog Ribs." Claw paused to pour a glass of +liquor, and Brent felt the blood pounding his eardrums in great surging +throbs. He felt the sweat break out on his forehead and the palms of his +hands, and it was only by a superhuman effort that he continued to feign +sleep. Surely, they would notice the flush on his face, the sweat +glistening on his forehead and the dryness of his lips--but, no--Claw +was speaking again: + +"I tried to buy her once--last year it was, offen her mother--offered +her a thousan' dollars, cash money--an' 'fore I know'd what happened, +the damned old squaw had me about half killed. She's a hell cat. She +done it barehanded--clawed my eyes, an' clawed out a hull handful of +whiskers--you kin see that patch on my throat where they never grow'd +back. It was over near Good Hope, an' I didn't dast to make no holler, +nor kill her neither, on account of the Mounted--but I'll get her yet. +An' when I do, I'll learn her to pull folks whiskers out by the ruts +when they're tryin' to do the right thing by her!" + +"You won't git no thousan' dollars from me!" exploded the Captain, "They +ain't no woman, white, red, brown, yaller, or black that's worth no +thousan' dollars o' my money!" + +"Oh, ain't they?" sneered Claw, "Well you don't git her then. Fact is I +never figgered on sellin' her to you, nohow. I kin take her over to +Dawson an' make ten thousan' offen her in six months' time. They got the +dust over there, an' they ain't afraid to spend it--an' they know a good +lookin' woman when they see one. I'm a tellin' you they ain't no woman +ever hit the Yukon that kin anyways touch her fer looks--an' I've saw +'em all. The only reason I'm offerin' her to you is because I kin run +her up here a damn sight easier than I kin take her clean over to +Dawson--an' with a damn sight less risk, too." + +"How old is she?" growled the Captain. + +"Ain't a day over twenty. She's dirt cheap at a thousan'. You could have +her all winter, an' next summer you could slip into one of them coast +towns, Juneau, or Skagway, or even the ones farther north, an' make five +or ten times what you paid fer her." + +"But s'pose she got spunky, an' I'd kill her, or knock out her teeth, er +an eye--then where'd my profits be? Women's hell to handle if they take +a notion." + +"That's your lookout. It's your money that's invested, an' if you ain't +got sense enough to look after it, it's your funeral--not mine." + +"How you goin' to git her here? How you goin' to git her away from the +Injuns? An' how do you know where she's at?" + +"It's like this. Last summer she leaves the mission an' her an' the old +squaw talks the Dog Ribs into hittin' over onto the Coppermine to +prospect. They gits over there an' builds 'em a camp, an' starts in +trappin' an' prospectin'. But a couple of the bucks has got a thirst fer +hooch, an' they can't git none so they pulls out an' hits back fer the +Mackenzie. I run onto one of 'em an' he give me the dope--he's the one +that's here with me, an' he's goin' to guide me down to the village when +I git ready to go. That's why I asked Ace-In-The-Hole if he'd saw 'em. I +didn't want him buttin' in on the deal--the old squaw's bad enough, but +Gawd! I seen him kill three men in about a second in a saloon in Dawson +over a stud game--bare handed. They ain't no woman ever got her hooks +into him--not even The Queen of the Yukon--an' she done her +damndest--really loved him, an' all that sort of bunk. I know all about +women, an' she'd of run straight as hell if he'd of married her--some +says she's run straight ever sense she got caked in on him--even after +she seen it wasn't no use. He kind of sticks up fer 'em all. Anyways, he +knocked hell out of me one night when I was lacin' it to a gal I'd brung +into the country with a dog whip. He won't stand fer no rough stuff +when they's women mixed up in it, an' I'd ruther be in hell with my legs +cut off than have him find out what we was up to. I don't want none of +his meat--me!" + +"Better go easy with yer jaw then," advised the Captain, "Mebbe he ain't +so damn dead to the world as he's lettin' on." + +Claw laughed: "I've got him gauged. I've studied him 'cause I aimed to +git him sometime. He's a hooch-hound right. Half what he's drunk today +will put him dead fer hours. You could pull all his teeth an' he'd never +feel it. No, we ain't got to bother about him. He'll be out of the way +before I hit fer the Injun camp, anyhow. We'll wake him up after while, +an' I'll give him the bottle of hooch, like I said, so he'll stay soused +an' not move his camp, then we'll hit over there with more hooch, an' +when he uncovers his dust we'll git him an' the Injun both. Your share +of his dust will be half enough to pay fer the breed. But, before we +start out you fork over half the price--balance payable on delivery, an' +me an' the Injun'll hit on up the river an' fetch back the girl. It'll +cost you a keg of rum besides the thousan', 'cause the only way to git +her away from them Siwashes'll be to git 'em all tanked up. They'll be +right fer it, bein' off the hooch as long as they have. But, at that, I +better take along a man or two of the crew, to help me handle 'em." + +"We won't bother none of the crew," rasped the Captain, harshly. "I'll +jest go 'long myself. With five hundred dollars of my dust in yer jeans +fer a starter after ye'd got her, ye might git to thinkin' o' them ten +thousan' you could make off her in Dawson--not that I wouldn't trust +you, you understand, but jest to save myself some worry while you was +gone, then, if she's as good lookin' as you say, I'd ruther be along +myself than let you an' some of the crew have her till you get here." + +Brent's first sensation when he heard the name of Snowdrift upon Claw's +lips had been one of blind, unreasoning fury, but his brain cleared +rapidly as the man proceeded, and as he listened to the unspeakable +horror of the conversation, the blind fury gave place to a cold, deadly +rage. He realized that if he were to save the woman he loved from a fate +more horrible than he had ever conceived of, he must exert the utmost +care to make no false move. His heart chilled at the thought of what +would have happened to her had he yielded to the first blind impulse to +launch himself at the throats of the men there in the little cabin where +all the odds were against him. A pistol shot, a blow from behind, and +Snowdrift would have been left absolutely in the power of these fiends. + +Cold sober, now, his one thought was to get out of the cabin, yet he +dared not move. Should he show signs of returning consciousness he knew +that suspicion would immediately fasten upon him, and that his life +would not be worth a penny. He must wait until they roused him, and +even then, he must not be easily roused. Claw had assured the Captain +that half the amount of liquor would deaden him for hours, therefore he +must play his part. But could he? Was it humanly possible to endure the +physical torture of his cramped position. Every muscle of his body ached +horribly. His head ached, he was consumed with torturing thirst, and his +mouth was coated with a bitter slime. Added to this was the brain +torture of suspense when his every instinct called for action. Suppose +they should change their minds. He dared not risk opening his eyes to +the merest slit, because he knew that Claw or the Captain might be +holding a knife to his ribs, or a pistol at his head. Any moment might +be his last--and then--Snowdrift--he dared not even shudder at the +thought. There was another danger, suppose he should over-play his part, +when they undertook to awaken him, or should under-play it? He knew to a +certainty that one false move would mean death without a chance to +defend himself, unarmed as he was and with the odds of three to one +against him. + +An interminable period, during which the men talked and wrangled among +themselves, was interrupted by a loud knock upon the door. + +"Who's there?" roared the Captain, "An' what d'ye want?" + +"Dat me--Joe Pete," came a familiar voice from beyond the door. "An' I'm +t'ink dat tam we goin' back. She start to snow, an' I ain' lak we git +los'. Too mooch no trail." + +"Might's well git 'em started now as anytime," whispered Claw. "_We_ +don't want 'em to git lost, neither. What we want is fer 'em to git to +their camp an' then the snow an' the hooch'll hold 'em till we git +there." + +"Next thing is to git him woke up," answered the Captain. Aloud, he +called to Joe Pete: "All right, come on in an' give us a hand, yer +pardner's stewed to the guards, an' it ain't goin' to be no cinch to +wake him up." + +The door opened, and Brent's heart gave a leap as he felt the hand of +the big Indian upon his shoulder. If anything should go wrong now, at +least the odds against him were greatly reduced insofar as the occupants +of the cabin were concerned. But, there would still be the crew--they +could shoot from the cover of the igloos-- The hand was shaking him +roughly, and it was with a feeling of vast relief that Brent allowed his +head to roll about upon the stiffened muscles of his neck. A glass was +pressed to his lips, and there was nothing feigned in the coughing with +which he sought to remove the strangling liquor from his throat. His +eyes opened, and the next instant a dipper of cold water was dashed into +his face. The shaking continued, and he babbled feeble protest: "Lemme +'lone. G'way--le'me sleep!" The shaking was redoubled, and Brent blinked +stupidly, and feigned maudlin anger as the Indian slapped him with the +flat of his hand, first on one cheek and then on the other. "Who you +slappin'," he muttered, thickly, as he staggered to his feet and stood +swaying and holding to the table for support, "C'm on an' fight!" he +challenged, acting his part to a nicety, glaring owlishly about, "I c'n +lick y'all. Gi'me some water, I'm burnin' up." A dipper of water was +thrust into his hands and he drained it in huge gulps, "What's goin' on +here?" he asked, apparently revived a little by the water, "Gi'me some +hooch!" + +Claw laid a conciliating hand upon his arm: "Listen, Ace-In-The-Hole," +he purred, "Not no more hooch right now. It's startin' to snow, an' you +got to be hittin' fer camp. Look a here," he picked up a corked bottle +and extended it to Brent, "Here's a bottle fer you. Wait till you git to +camp, and then go to it. 'Twon't take you only a little while--but you +got to git goin'. If she thicks up on you before you git to the +mountains you'll be in a hell of a fix--but you got time to make it if +the Siwash will shove the dogs along. Better let him ride the sled," he +said, turning to Joe Pete, "You'll make better time." + +Brent took the bottle and slipped it beneath his parka: "How much?" he +asked, fumbling clumsily for his sack. + +"That's all right," assured Claw, "Tain't nothin' 't all. It's a present +from me an' Cap. Shows we know how to treat a friend. Come over an' see +us agin, when the storm lets up. Yer welcome to anything we got." + +"Much 'blige, Claw," mumbled Brent, blinking with solemn gravity, as he +smothered an impulse to reach out and crush the man's wind-pipe in the +grip of his hand, "Didn't know you was good fren' of mine. Know +it--now--an' you, too, Cap--an' you, too, Snaggs." + +"Scroggs," corrected the mate, "Asa Scroggs." + +"Sure--Scroggs--'scuse me--mus' be little full. My name's Ace, +too--Ace-In-The-Hole--pair of aces, haw, haw, haw! Pair to draw to, I'll +say. Well, s'long. Tell you what," he said, as he turned to the door, +leaning heavily upon Joe Pete, "You come on over to my camp, when the +storm lets up. Right on the river--can't miss it--Bloody Falls--where +Old Hearne's Injuns butchered the poor Eskimos--damn shame! Bring over +plenty of hooch--I've got the dust to pay for it--bring dozen +bottles--plenty dust back there in camp--an' it'll be my treat." + +"We'll come," the Captain hastened to accept, "Might's well be good +friends. Neighbors hain't none too thick in these parts. We'll come, +won't we Claw--an' we'll bring the hooch." + +Stumbling and mumbling, Brent negotiated the narrow ally and the steep +flight of stairs in the wake of Joe Pete. At the head of the ladder that +led down the ship's side, he managed to stumble and land harmlessly in a +huge pile of snow that had been shoveled aside to make a path to the +igloos, and amid the jibes of the two sailors who were cutting blubber, +allowed Joe Pete to help him onto the sled. + +The wind had risen to half a gale. Out of the northeast it roared, +straight across the frozen gulf from the treeless, snow-buried wastes of +Wollaston Land, driving before it flinty particles of snow that hissed +earthward in long cutting slants. + +Heading the dogs southward, Joe Pete struck into the back-trail and, +running behind, with a firm grip on the tail-rope, urged them into a +pace that carried the outfit swiftly over the level snow-covered ice. + +Upon the sled Brent lay thinking. Now that the necessity for absolute +muscle control no longer existed, the condition of cold hate into which +he had forced himself gave place to a surge of rage that drove his nails +into his palms, and curses from his lips, as he tried in his unreasoning +fury to plan extermination of the two fiends who had plotted the +soul-murder of his wonder woman. He would tear them to shreds with his +two hands. He would shoot them down from ambush without a chance to +protect themselves, as they searched for his camp among the rock-ridges +of Bloody Falls. + +Gradually the fume of fury cooled and he planned more sanely. He was +conscious of a torturing thirst. The bottle of hooch pressed against his +side, and carefully so as not to disturb the covering robe, he drew it +from beneath his parka. He was cold sober, now. The shock of what he +had heard in the cabin of the _Belva Lou_ had completely purged his +brain of the effect of the strong liquor. But not so his body. Every +nerve and fibre of him called for more liquor. There was a nauseating +sickness in his stomach, a gnawing dryness in his throat, and a creeping +coldness in his veins that called for the feel of the warm glow of +liquor. Never in his life had the physical desire for drink been more +acute--but his brain was cold sober. + +Nothing of the heart-sickening remorse of his first moments of +consciousness assailed him now. What was done was done. He knew that he +had yielded to his desire for drink, had weakly succumbed to the first +temptation, as he had always weakly succumbed--an act, in itself +contemptible. But with an ironical smile he realized that his very +weakness had placed him in a position to save from a fate a thousand +times more horrible than death, the girl who had become dearer to him +than life itself. But, with that realization, came also the realization +that only by the merest accident, had the good been born of evil, that +the natural and logical result of his act would have had its culmination +at Bloody Falls when he and Joe Pete would have sunk down dead upon the +snow at the moment he produced the gold to pay for more hooch. Claw had +laid his plans along the logical sequence of events. "He played me for a +drunkard, as he had a right to," muttered Brent. "And his scheme would +have worked except for one little mistake. He forgot to figure that +physically I'm a better man than I was back at Dawson. He thought he had +me gauged right, and so he talked. But--he over-played his hand. An hour +ago, I was a drunkard. Am I a drunkard now? It is the test," he +muttered, "The war is on," and with a grim tightening of the lips, he +thrust the bottle back under his parka. + +Three times within the next two hours he withdrew the bottle. And three +times he returned it to its place. He thought of tossing it into the +snow--and a moment later, angrily dismissed the thought. "_She_ wouldn't +ask odds of the hooch and I won't either! I'll keep this bottle right +with me. I'll fight this fight like a man--like a Brent! And, by God, +when I win, it won't be because I couldn't get the hooch! It will be +because I wouldn't drink it when I had it!" + +And, the next moment, to the utter astonishment of Joe Pete, he leaped +perfectly sober from the sled, and took his place at the tail-rope with +a laughing command to the Indian to take a rest on the robes. + +An hour later, Brent halted the dogs and aroused Joe Pete. "We ought to +have hit shore by this time," he said, "I'm afraid something's wrong." + +The snow had thickened, entirely obliterating the trail, and forming an +opaque wall through which the eye could penetrate but a short distance +beyond the lead dog. + +The Indian noted the course, and the direction of the wind. "Mebbe-so +win' change," he opined, and even as he spoke the long sweeping lines of +snow were broken into bewildering zig-zags. A puff of wind coming at a +right angle from the direction of the driving gale was followed by +another blustering puff from the opposite direction, and they came thick +and fast from every direction, and seemingly from all directions at +once. The snow became powder-fine and, in a confusion of battering +blasts, the two men pushed uncertainly on. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +TRAPPED + + +For three days the Arctic blizzard raged and howled, and drifted the +snow deep over the igloos that were grouped about the hulk of the _Belva +Lou_. On the morning of the fourth day Claw and the Captain made their +way across the snow-buried deck and gazed out toward the distant ridges +of the Copper Mountains. + +"Might's well git started," opined Claw, "Have 'em load a week's grub +onto my sled, an' you an' me, an' the Dog Rib'll hit out." + +"Will a week's grub be enough?" growled the Captain, "It's goin' to be a +hell of a trip. Mebbe we'd ort to wait a couple o' days an' see what the +weather'll do." + +"Wait--hell!" cried Claw, "What's the use waitin'? The b'rom'ter's up, +an' you know damn well we ain't in fer no more storm fer a week er two. +What we want to do is to git over to Bloody Falls before Ace-In-The-Hole +takes a notion to break camp. An' what's the use of packin' more grub? +We'll have his won't we?" + +"He ain't goin' to break camp till we come along with the hooch," argued +the other, "Couple days more an' this snow will be settled an' the +goin'll be easier." + +"If you don't want to go, you kin stay here," retorted Claw, "Me--I +ain't goin' to take no chances. I an' the Dog Rib kin handle them two, +if you don't want none of it. An' then we'll shove on to the Injun camp +an' git the girl, an' I'll jest slip on over to Dawson with her--a +thousan' dollars is too cheap, anyhow. If I hadn't of b'n lit up I'd +never offered her to you fer no such figger." + +"A trade's a trade," interrupted the Captain. "If yer so hell-bent on +goin', I'll go along." He shouted the necessary orders to the sailors +who were clearing the snow from the doorways of the igloos, and the two +turned to the cabin. + +"I'll take that five hundred now, before we start, an' you kin give me +the balance when we git back with the girl," suggested Claw. + +"Ye said there'd be five hundred apiece in Ace-In-The-Hole's sack," +reminded the Captain, "I'll pay the first installment with that." + +"You will, like hell! You'll pay me now. We ain't got that sack yet. +Come acrost." + +"I'll give ye an order on----" + +"You'll give me an order on no one! You'll count out five hundred, cash +money--dust, er bills, right here in this cabin, 'fore we budge an inch. +You've got it--come acrost!" + +After much grumbling the Captain produced a roll of bills and counting +off five hundred dollars, passed the money reluctantly across the table +to Claw, who immediately stowed it away. "Don't forget to have 'em put a +keg of rum on the sled," he reminded, "We'll need it when we get to the +Injuns. Not half water, neither. What we want this trip is the strong +stuff that'll set 'em afire." + +"You got to stand your half o' the rum. We're pardners on this." + +"I stand nothin'. You put up the rum, an' the grub, an' a thousan' +dollars fer the girl. My contract is to git her, an' deliver her on +board the _Belva Lou_. The only thing we're pardners on is +Ace-In-The-Hole's dust. A trade's a trade--an' you got all the best of +it, at that." + +Late that afternoon Claw and the Captain, and the renegade Dog Rib +reached the Bloody Falls of the Coppermine, and searched vainly for +Brent's camp. + +"Pulled out!" cried the Captain, after an hour's search along the base +of the upstanding rock ledges. + +Claw shook his head: "They never got here," he amended, "The storm got +bad before they hit the ridges, an' they're lost." + +"Where's the camp, then?" + +Claw indicated the high piled snow: "Tent was only pegged to the snow. +Wind blew it down, and the fresh snow buried it. We'll camp an' hang +around a couple of days. If they weathered the storm, they'll be along +by that time. If they didn't--well, they won't bother us none with the +girl." + +"But, how about the dust?" asked the Captain, "If they don't come, we've +got to find the camp." + +Claw laughed: "You'll have a hell of a time doin' it! With the snow +piled twenty foot deep along them ledges. If they don't show up, we'll +shove on to the Injuns. It's clost to a hundred an' fifty mile to the +camp, accordin' to the Dog Rib, an' it'll take us anyways a week to make +it, with the goin' as bad as it is." + +"An' if we hang around here fer a couple o' days, that'll make nine +days, with a week's grub. What ye goin' to do 'bout that? I told ye we'd +ort to take more." + +"Yer head don't hurt you none--the way you work it, does it?" sneered +Claw, "I s'pose we couldn't send the Dog Rib back fer some more grub +while we was awaitin'? An' while he's gone you kin git a belly full of +rootin' up the snow to find the camp." + +For two days Claw laid in the tent and laughed at the Captain's sporadic +efforts to uncover Brent's camp. "If you'd help, 'stead of layin' around +laughin', we might find it!" flared the Captain. + +"I don't want to find it," jeered Claw, "I'm usin' my head--me. The main +reason I come here was to kill Ace-In-The-Hole, so he couldn't butt in +on the other business. If the storm saved me the trouble, all right." + +"But, the dust!" + +"Sure--the dust," mocked Claw. "If we find the camp, an' locate the +dust, I divide it up with you. If we don't--I slip up here in the +spring, when you're chasin' whales, an' with the snow melted off all I +got to do is reach down an' pick it up--an' they won't be no dividin', +neither." + +"What's to hinder me from slippin' in here long about that time? Two kin +play that game." + +"Help yerself," grinned Claw, "Only, the Mounted patrol will be along in +the spring, an' they'll give you a chanct to explain about winterin' +them klooches on the _Belva Lou_. You've forgot, mebbe, that such +customs is frowned on." + +"Ye damn double dealin' houn'!" cried the Captain, angrily. + +"Double dealin', eh? I s'pose I'd ort to be out there breakin' my back +diggin' in the snow, so I could divvy up with you dust that I could have +all to myself, by takin' it easy. I offered to share the dust with you, +cause I figgered I needed yer help in bumpin' off them two. If you don't +help, you don't git paid, an' that's all there is to it." + +The Indian returned with the provisions, and in the morning of the third +day they struck out up the Coppermine, with the Indian breaking trail +ahead of the dogs. + +"I didn't expect 'em to show up," grinned Claw, as he trudged along +behind the Captain. "I figgered if they didn't make camp that first +stretch, they never would make it. Full of hooch, a man ain't fit to hit +the trail even in good weather. He thinks he kin stand anything--an' he +can't stand nothin'. The cold gits him. Here's what happened. The storm +gits thick, an' they git off the course. The Siwash is lost an' he tries +to wake up Ace-In-The-Hole. He finds the bottle of hooch--and that's the +end of the Siwash. Somewheres out on the sea-ice, or in under the snow +on the flats they's two frozen corpses--an' damn good reddence, I says." + +Shortly after noon of the sixth day on the trail, the Dog Rib halted +abruptly and stood staring in bewilderment at a little log cabin, half +buried in the snow, that showed between the spruce trunks upon the right +bank of the stream. Claw hastened forward, and spoke to him in jargon. +The Indian shook his head, and by means of signs and bits of jargon, +conveyed the information that the cabin did not belong to the Indian +camp, and that it had not been there at the time he fled from the camp. +He further elucidated that the camp was several miles along. + +"Must be some of 'em got sore at the rest, an' moved up here an' built +the shack," opined Claw, "Anyways, we got to find out--but we better be +heeled when we do it." He looked to his revolver, and stooping, picked +up a rifle from the sled. The Captain followed his example, and Claw +ordered the Indian to proceed. No one had appeared, and at the foot of +the ascent to the cabin, Claw paused to examine a snow-covered mound. +The Captain was about to join him when, with a loud yell of terror, he +suddenly disappeared from sight, and the next moment the welkin rang +with his curses, while Claw laughing immoderately at the mishap, stood +peering into Brent's brush-covered shaft. It was but the work of a few +moments to haul the discomfited Captain from the hole. "Shaft, an' an +ore dump," explained Claw. "This here's a white man's layout, an' he's +up to date, too. They ain't be'n burnin' in, even on the Yukon, only a +year or so. Wonder who he is?" + +The two followed the Indian who had halted before the cabin, and stood +looking down at the snowshoe trail that led from the door. + +"Off huntin', I guess. Er over to the Injun camp. Looks like them tracks +was made yesterday. He ain't done no work in the shaft though sence the +storm. We'll go in an' make ourself to home till he gits back, anyhow. I +don't like the idee of no white man in here. 'Cordin' to who it +is--but----" + +"Mebbe it ain't a white man," ventured the Captain. + +"Sure it's a white man. Didn't I jest tell you that burnin' in ain't no +Injun trick?" + +"Dog Rib snowshoes," suggested the Indian in jargon, pointing to the +tracks. + +"That don't prove nothin'," retorted Claw, "He could of got 'em from +the Injuns, couldn't he? They's two of 'em lives here," he added, from +the interior. "Unharness the dogs, while I build up a fire." + + * * * * * + +From the moment of Brent's departure, Snowdrift bent all her energies +persuading the Indians to burn into the gravel for gold. At first her +efforts were unavailing. Even Wananebish refused to take any interest in +the proceeding, so the girl was forced to cut her own wood, tend her own +fire, and throw out her own gravel. When, however, at the end of a week +she panned out some yellow gold in the little cabin, as she had seen +Brent do, the old squaw was won completely over, and thereafter the two +women worked side by side, with the result that upon the test panning, +Snowdrift computed that they, too, were taking out almost an ounce a day +apiece. When the other Indians saw the gold they also began to scrape +away the snow, and to cut wood and to build their fires on the gravel. +Men and women, and even the children worked all day and took turns +tending the fire at night. Trapping and hunting were forgotten in the +new found craze for gold, and it became necessary for Snowdrift to tole +off hunters for the day, as the supply of meat shrank to an alarming +minimum. + +By the end of another week interest began to flag. The particles of gold +collected in the test pannings were small in size, and few in number, +the work was hard and distasteful, and it became more and more +difficult for the girl to explain to them that these grains were not the +ultimate reward for the work, that they were only tests, and that the +real reward would not be visible until spring when they would clean up +the gravel dumps that were mounding up beside the shafts. The Indians +wanted to know how this was to be accomplished, and Snowdrift suddenly +realized that she did not know. She tried to remember what Brent had +told her of the sluicing out process, and realized that he had told very +little. Both had been content to let the details go until such time as +the sluicing should begin. Vaguely, she told the Indians of sluice boxes +and riffles, but they were quick to see that she knew not whereof she +spoke. In vain, she told them that Brent would explain it all when he +returned, but they had little use for this white man who had no hooch to +trade. At last, in desperation, she hit upon the expedient of showing +the Indians more gold. From Brent's sack she extracted quantities of +dust which she displayed with pride. The plan worked at first, but soon, +the Indians became dissatisfied with their own showing, and either +knocked off altogether, or ceased work on the shafts and began to +laboriously pan out their dumps, melting the ice for water, and carrying +the gravel, a pan at a time, to their cabins. + +This too, was abandoned after a few days, and the Indians returned to +their traps, and to the snaring of rabbits. Only Snowdrift and old +Wananebish kept up to the work of cutting and hauling the wood, tending +the fires, and throwing out the gravel. Despite the grueling toil, +Snowdrift found time nearly every day to slip up and visit Brent's +cabin. Sometimes she would go only to the bend of the river and gaze at +it from a distance. Again she would enter and sit in his chair, or +moving softly about the room, handle almost reverently the things that +were his, wiping them carefully and returning them to their place. She +purloined a shirt from a nail above his bunk, and carrying it home used +it as a pattern for a wonderfully wrought shirt of buckskin and beads. +Each evening, she worked on the shirt, while Wananebish sat stolidly by, +and each night as she knelt beside her bunk she murmured a prayer for +the well-being of the big strong man who was hers. + +But whether it was at the shaft, at her needle, at her devotions, or +upon her frequent trips to his cabin, her thoughts were always of Brent, +and her love for him grew with the passing of the days until her longing +for his presence amounted, at times, almost to a physical pain. One by +one, she counted the days of his absence, and mentally speculated upon +his return. After the second week had passed she never missed a day in +visiting his cabin. Always at the last bend of the river, she quickened +her steps, and always she paused, breathless, for some sign of his +return. + +"Surely, he will come soon," she would mutter, when the inspection +showed only the lifeless cabin, or, "He will come tomorrow." When the +seventeenth and the eighteenth days had passed, with no sign of him, the +girl, woman like, began to conjure up all sort and manner of dire +accident that could have befallen him. He might have been drowned upon a +thinly crusted rapid. He might have become lost. Or frozen. Or, ventured +upon a snow cornice and been dashed to pieces upon the rocks below. +Every violent death known to the North she pictured for him, and as each +picture formed in her brain, she dismissed it, laughed at her fears, and +immediately pictured another. + +On the nineteenth day she chopped wood until the early darkness drove +her from her tasks, then she returned to the cabin and, fastening on her +snowshoes, struck off down the river. "Surely, he will be here today," +she murmured, "If he is not here today I will know something has +happened, and tomorrow I shall start out to find him. But, no--I am +foolish! Did he not say it would be two weeks--a month--maybe +longer--those were his very words. And it is only nineteen days, and +that is not a month. But, he will come sooner!" She flushed deeply, "He +will come to _me_--for he does love me, even as I love him. In his eyes +I have seen it--and in his voice--and in the touch of his hand." + +The last bend was almost in sight and she quickened her pace. She knew +to an inch, the exact spot from which the first glimpse of the cabin was +to be had. She reached the spot and stared eagerly toward the spruce +thicket. The next instant a glad cry rang out upon the still Arctic air. +"Oh, he has come! He has come! The light is in his window! Oh, my +darling! My own, own man!" + +Half laughing, half sobbing, she ran forward, urging her tired muscles +to their utmost, stumbling, recovering, hurrying on. Only a minute more +now! Up the bank from the river! And, not even pausing to remove her +snowshoes, she burst into the room with Brent's name upon her lips. + +The next instant the blood rushed from her face leaving it deathly +white. She drew herself swiftly erect, and with a wild cry of terror +turned to fly from the room. But her snowshoes fouled, and she fell +heavily to the floor, just as Johnnie Claw, with a triumphant leer upon +his bearded face leaped to the door, banged it shut, and stood with his +back against it, leering and smirking down at her, while the Captain of +the _Belva Lou_ knelt over her and stared into her eyes with burning, +bestial gaze. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +"YOU ARE WHITE!" + + +"So! my beauty!" grinned the Captain, "Fer once in his life Claw didn't +lie. An' ye didn't wait fer us to go an' git ye--jest come right to us +nice as ye please--an' saved me a keg o' rum." He rose with an evil +leer. "An' now git up an' make yerself to home--an' long as ye do as I +say, an' don't git yer back up, you an' me'll git along fine." + +Frantic with terror the girl essayed to rise, but her snowshoes impeded +her movements, so with trembling fingers she loosened the thongs and, +leaping to her feet, backed into a corner, and stared in wide-eyed +horror first at the Captain, then at Claw, the sight of whom caused her +to shrink still further against the wall. + +The man sneered: "Know me, eh? Rec'lect the time, over to the mission I +tried to persuade you to make the trip to Dawson with me do you? Well, I +made up my mind I'd git you. Tried to buy you offen the squaw an' she +like to tore me to pieces. I'd of kidnapped you then, if it hadn't be'n +fer the Mounted. But I've got you now--got you an' sold you to him," he +grinned, pointing to the Captain. "An' yer lucky, at that. Let me make +you acquainted with Cap Jinkins. 'Tain't every breed girl gits to be +mistress of a ship like the _Belva Lou_." + +Her eyes blazing with anger, she pointed a trembling finger at Claw: +"Stand away from that door! Let me go!" + +"Oh, jest like that!" mocked the man. "If he says let you go, it's all +right with me, pervided he comes acrost with the balance of the dust." + +The Captain laughed, and turning to the Dog Rib, he ordered: "Slip out +to the sled an' git a bottle o' rum, an' we'll all have a little drink." + +For the first time Snowdrift noticed the presence of the Indian. +"Yondo!" she screamed, "This is your work! You devil!" and beside +herself with rage and terror, she snatched a knife from the table and +leaped upon him like a panther. + +"Git back there!" cried Claw, leveling his revolver. + +Quick as a flash, the Captain knocked up the gun, pinioned the girl's +arms from behind, and stood glaring over her shoulder at Claw: "Put up +that gun, damn ye! An' look out who yer pullin' it on!" + +"By God, that's my Injun! I ain't through with him, yet, an' there ain't +no damn jade kin carve him up in under my nose." + +"An' this here's my woman, too. An' there ain't no damn hooch runner kin +pull a gun on her, neither!" + +"Ain't no harm done," conciliated Claw, "An' I guess they ain't no call +to fight over 'em. How about that drink?" + +"Git it!" ordered the Captain, and as the cowering Dog Rib slunk from +the room, he snatched the knife from the pinioned hand of the girl and +hurled it under the bunk: + +"An', now you hell-cat!" he rasped, pushing her from him, "You set to +an' git supper! An' don't go tryin' no more monkey business, er I'll +break ye in two! They seems to be grub enough here without usin' none of +my own," he added, eying the supplies ranged along the opposite wall, +"Who owns this shack, anyhow?" + +"Carter Brent owns it," cried the girl, drawing herself erect and +glaring into the man's eyes. It was as though the very mention of his +name, nerved her to defiance. "And when he returns, he will kill you +both--kill you! Do you hear?" + +"It's a lie!" roared Claw, then paused, abruptly. "I wonder--maybe it is +his shack. He come straight from the Yukon, an' that accounts fer the +burnin' in." + +"Know him?" asked the Captain. + +"Know him!" growled Claw, "Yes, I know him--an' so do you. That's +Ace-In-The-Hole's real name." + +"The hell it is!" cried the Captain, and laughed uproariously. "So +that's the way the wind blows! An' the breed's be'n livin' here with +him! Things is sure comin' my way! That's most too good to be true--an' +you misrepresentin' her to be a virgin, fresh from a school--ho, ho, +ho!" + +"What'd you mean?" snarled Claw, "How was I to know----" + +"Whether ye know'd, er whether ye didn't, it didn't make no +difference--I win either way." + +"What d'you mean?" Claw repeated. + +"You know what I mean," sneered the Captain, truculently, "Secondhand +goods--half price--see?" + +"You mean I don't git my other five hundred?" yelled Claw jerking the +revolver from his holster and levelling at the Captain's head, "Is that +what ye mean?" + +Surprised at the suddenness of the action, the Captain was caught off +guard, and he stood blinking foolishly into the mouth of the gun: +"Well," he faltered, moistening his lips with his tongue, "Mebbe we +might kind o' talk it over." + +"The only talkin' over you'll git out of me, is to come acrost with the +five hundred," sneered Claw. + +"Ye know damn well I ain't got no five hundred with me. Wait till we git +to the _Belva Lou_." + +"I'll wait, all right--but not till we git to the _Belva Lou_. Me an' +the girl will wait on shore, in sight of the _Belva Lou_, while you go +out an' git the money an' fetch it back--an' you'll come back _alone_ +with it. An' what's more--you ain't ahead nothin' on the rum, neither. +'Cause I'm goin' to slip down to the Injun camp in about five minutes, +an' the rum goes along. I'll be back by daylight, an' instead of the +rum, I'll have all the fur--an' everything else them Dog Ribs has got. +An' I'll git square with that damn squaw fer jerkin' that handful of +whiskers out of me, too." + +"That's all right, Johnnie," assured the Captain, still with his eyes on +the black muzzle of the gun. "Take the rum along--only, we'd ort to +split half an' half on that fur." + +"Half an' half, hell! You got what you come after, ain't you? An' if I +kin pick up an honest dollar on the side, that ain't no reason I should +split it with you, is it? I'll jest leave you two to git acquainted +while I slip down to the camp." + +"Go ahead," grinned the Captain, "An' don't hurry back, we'll wait." + +"Yer damn right you'll wait!" retorted Claw, "I'll have the dogs." In +the doorway he paused, "An', by the way, Cap. Don't open that door till +I git out of range--see?" + +The moment the door closed behind Claw, the Captain placed his back +against it and turned to the girl: "Git to work now an' git supper! +We're goin' to hit the back-trail inside an' hour. We kin pack what grub +we'll need, an' we'll git most a hull night's start, cause he'll be busy +with them Injuns till mornin'." + +Snowdrift confronted him with blazing eyes: At the words her blood +seemed to freeze within her, leaving her cold and numb with horror. She +had heard of the coastal traffic in winter wives, but always it had +seemed to her a thing vague and unreal. But now the full hideousness of +it stood revealed to her. She herself, at that very moment stood +trapped, bought and sold--absolutely in the power of the two bearded +beasts, who in the very loathsomeness of their filthy minds, discussed +her as they would discuss a piece of merchandise, bargained and haggled +over the price of her living body! A single ray of hope had dawned in +her breast as the men began to quarrel. If they would only come to +blows, and to grip-lock in their rage, she might be able to seize a +weapon, or better still dash from the room. Once in the scrub, she could +easily elude them. But the hope died when Claw covered the Captain with +his gun. And with the hope died also the numbing terror. A strange, +unnatural calm took possession of her. There was still one way out--and +she would seek that way. As the two men stood facing each other, she had +caught a glimpse of the blade of the knife that lay where the Captain +had thrown it, beneath the edge of the bunk. Stealthily her moccasined +foot had reached out and slid it toward her, and as the door opened upon +Claw's departure, she had stooped swiftly and recovered it. She would +plunge the blade into her own heart--no, better, she would attack the +Captain now that they were alone, and either kill him, or by the very +fury of her onslaught, would force him to kill her. So with the knife +concealed by her folded arms, her eyes blazed defiance: + +"I'll never cook your supper! You dog! You unspeakable devil! I'll kill +you first--or you'll kill me!" + +"Kill ye, eh?" sneered the man, "Well, I might, at that, if I didn't +have five hundred good dollars tied up in ye. Guess they ain't much +danger of me killin' ye till I get my money back, one way er +another--an' I guess they ain't no one knows that no better'n what you +do. An' as fer killin' _me_," he laughed, "You look spunky 'nough +to--but I'm hard to kill--it's be'n tried." + +"I've warned you!" cried the girl, "And I'll kill you!" + +"Git to work! Damn ye!" snarled the Captain, "yer losin' time! You cook +that supper, er by God I'll make ye wisht I had killed ye! I'll tame ye! +I'll show ye who's boss! Mebbe you won't be so pretty when I git through +with ye--but ye'll be tame!" + +The innermost thought of her brain found voice in words, "Oh, if he were +here!" + +"Hollerin' fer yer man, eh," taunted the Captain, "Ye ain't his'n now, +yer mine--an' he won't come cause he's dead----" + +"Dead!" The word shrieked from the lips of the tortured girl, "No, no, +no!" + +"Yes, yes, yes," mocked the man, "He's dead an' froze hard as a capstan +bar, somewheres upon the sea ice, an' his Injun, too. Got dead drunk +upon the _Belva Lou_, an' started fer shore in the big storm--an' he +never got there. So ye might's well make the best of it with me. An' +I'll treat ye right if ye give me what I want. An' if ye don't give it, +I'll take it--an' it'll be the worse fer you." + +The girl scarcely heard the words. Brent was dead. Her whole world--the +world that was just beginning to unfold its beauties and its +possibilities to her--to hold promise of the wondrous happiness of which +she had read and dreamed, but had never expected to realize--her whole +world had suddenly come crashing about her--Brent was dead, and--like a +flame of fire the thought flashed across her brain--the man responsible +for his death stood before her, and was even now threatening her with a +fate a thousand times worse than death. + +With a wild scream, animal-like, terrifying in its fury, the girl sprang +upon the man like a tiger. He saw the flash of the knife blade in the +air, and warding off the blow with his arm, felt the bite and the hot +rip of it as it tore into his shoulder. With a yell of pain and rage he +struck blindly out, and his fist sent the girl crashing against the +table. The force of the impact jarred the chimney from the little oil +bracket-lamp, and the light suddenly dimmed to a red flaring half-gloom. +Like a flash the girl recovered herself, and again she flew at the man +whose hand gripped the butt of his revolver. Again he struck out to ward +the blow, and by the merest accident the barrel of the heavy gun struck +the wrist of the hand that held the knife hurling it from her grasp, +while at the same time his foot tripped her and she crashed heavily to +the floor. Before she could get up, the man was upon her, cursing, +panting hot fury. Kicking, striking out, clawing like a wild cat, the +girl managed to tear herself from his grasp, but as she regained her +feet, a huge hand fastened in the neck of her shirt. There was a moment +of terrific strain as she pulled to free herself, holding to the +stanchion of the bunk for support, then with a loud ripping sound the +garment, and the heavy woolen undershirt beneath gave way, and the girl, +stripped bare to the waist, stood panting with the table interposed +between herself and the man who rose slowly to his feet. At the sight of +her, half naked in the dimly wavering light of the flaring wick flame, +his look suddenly shifted from mad fury to bestial desire. Deliberately +he picked up the knife from the floor, and without taking his eyes from +the girl opened the door and tossed it out into the snow. Then he +returned the revolver to its holster and stared gloatingly at the white +breasts that rose and fell convulsively, as the breath sobbed from the +girl's lungs. And as she looked into his devouring eyes, abysmal terror +once more seized hold of her, for the loathsome desire in those eyes +held more of horror than had their blaze of fury. + +The man moistened his thick lips, smacking them in anticipation, and as +he slowly advanced to the table, his foot struck an object that felt +soft and yielding to the touch, yet when he sought to brush it aside, it +was heavy. He glanced down, and the next instant stooped swiftly and +picked up Brent's sack of dust, which the girl had carried inside her +shirt. For an instant, greed supplanted the lust in his eyes, and he +laughed. Long and loud, he laughed, while the girl, pumping the air into +her lungs, gained strength with every second. "So here's where he left +his dust, is it? It's too good to be true! I pay five hundred fer the +girl instead of a thousan', an' all the dust, that Claw'll be up +scratchin' the gravel around Bloody Falls fer next summer. I guess +that's poor--five hundred clean cash profit, an' the girl besides!" + +The sight of Brent's gold in the man's foul clutch was too much for +Snowdrift, and the next instant a billet of stovewood crashed against +the wall within an inch of his head. With a low growl, he dropped the +sack to the floor and started around the table. In vain the girl cast +wildly about for some weapon, as, keeping the table between them, she +milled round and round the room. In vain she tried each time she passed +it, to wrench open the door. But always the man was too quick for her, +and when finally, he pushed the table against it, she once more found +herself cornered this time without a weapon, and half dead from fatigue. +Slowly, deliberately, the man advanced upon her. When he reached out +and touched her bare arm with a thick fingered, hairy hand, she shrieked +aloud, and redoubled the fury of her attack, clawing and striking at his +face. But, her onslaught was futile. He easily warded off her tiring +efforts. Closer and closer he pressed, his eyes aglitter with the fever +of lust, his thick lips twisted into a gloating grin, until his arms +closed slowly about her waist and his body pressed hers backward onto +the bunk. + + * * * * * + +Joe Pete wanted to camp, but Brent would have none of it. The storm +thickened. The wind increased in fury, buffeting them about, and causing +the dogs to whine and cringe in the harness until it became necessary to +fasten a leash to the leader to prevent their bolting. Hopelessly lost +though they were, Brent insisted upon pushing on. "The land lies this +way," he kept saying, "and we'll strike it somewhere along the coast." +Then he would appeal to the Indian who would venture no opinion +whatever, frankly admitting he was lost, and always counseling the +making of a camp. Finally, when darkness came they did camp, merely +digging into the snow; and tossing blanket and robes and a little food +into the pit, crawled in and drew the tarpaulin over them. + +Brent slept little that first night. Over and over again he tried to +reason out the course, and between times he lay hugging tightly his +bottle of hooch. "I wouldn't lose you for a million," he muttered, as +each tortured nerve of his body cried out for stimulant, and the little +brain devils added their urge, and with sophistry and cunning excuse +sought to undermine his resolve. "Just one drink." "You need it." "Taper +off gradually." "It's medicine." But to the insidious suggestions of the +brain devils he turned a deaf ear, and with clenched teeth, gripped his +bottle. "I'll never want you--never need you any more than I do this +night," he whispered into the dark. "Right now I'd give half my life for +one big swig--but my life isn't mine to give now. It's hers--_hers_, do +you hear! It's her fight that I'm fighting, now--and, by God, she's +going to win!" + +In the morning, despite the protest of Joe Pete, Brent pushed on. The +storm had increased in fury, and it was with difficulty they kept their +feet. Toward noon, both knew that they had gained land of some kind, for +the terrain became rolling, and in places even hilly. + +"We ain' goin' right fer de mountaine," shouted the Indian, with his +lips close to Brent's ear. "Dey an' no leetle hill dere till we com' to +de ridge." + +"I don't care," yelled Brent, "We're heading south, and that's the main +thing. We can hit for the river when the storm stops." + +The third day was a repetition of the second, except that the hills +became higher and more numerous, but entirely unlike the ridge formation +of the Copper Mountains. That night the storm wore itself out, and the +morning of the fourth day dawned bright and clear, with a wind blowing +strongly. + +"Well, where are we?" asked Brent, as he and Joe Pete ascended a nearby +hillock to take observation of their surroundings. + +For a long time the Indian studied the horizon, nor did he speak until +every degree of the arc had been subjected to minute scrutiny. + +"I'm t'ink, we com' too mooch far wes'," he observed, "I'm t'ink, we +better strike eas', 'bout wan day, tomor'." + +"Tomorrow!" cried Brent. "Why not today--now?" + +The Indian pointed to the dogs. "Too mooch tired out. Too mooch no good. +We got to res' today. Mebbe-so, travel tomor'!" + +A glance at the dogs convinced Brent, anxious as he was to push on, that +it would be useless to try it, for the dogs were in a pitiable condition +from the three day fight with the storm. He wanted to make up a pack and +push on alone, but the Indian dissuaded him. + +"S'pose com' nudder beeg snow? W'at you do den, eh? You git los'. You +trail git cover up. I kin no fin'. Dat better you wait." And wait they +did, though Brent fretted and chafed the whole day through. + +The following morning they started toward the southeast, shaping their +course by a far-distant patch of timber that showed as a dark spot on +the dazzling snow. The ground was broken and hard to travel, and their +progress was consequently slow. At noon they cut a dog loose, and later +another, the released animals limping along behind as best they could. + +At noon of their seventh day of travel, the eighth after the storm, +Brent, who was in the lead, halted suddenly and pointed to a small lake +that lay a mile or more to the southward. + +"I know that lake!" he cried, "It's the one where Snowdrift killed a +caribou! The river is six or seven miles east of here, and we'll strike +it just below our cabin." + +"You sure 'bout dat'?." asked the Indian. "De dogs, w'at you call, all +in. I ain' lak' we mak mor' travel we kin help." + +"Yes--sure," exclaimed Brent, "I couldn't be mistaken. There is the +point where we ate lunch--that broken spruce leaning against those two +others." + +"Dat good lan' mark," the Indian agreed, "I ain' t'ink you wrong now." + +Joyously, Brent led off to the eastward. The pace was woefully slow, for +of the seven dogs, only three remained, and the men were forced to work +at pulling the sled. "We ought to make the cabin a little after dark," +he figured, "And then--I'll grab a bite to eat and hit out for +Snowdrift. Wonder if she's looking for me yet? Wonder if she's been +thinking about me? It's--let's see--this is the nineteenth +day--nineteen days since I've seen her--and it seems like nineteen +years! I hate to tell her I didn't make a strike. And worst of all I +hate to tell her about--what happened on the _Belva Lou_. But, I'll come +clean. I will tell her--and I'll show her the bottle--and thank God I +didn't pull the cork! And I never will pull it, now. I learned something +out there in the snow--learned what a man can do." He grinned as he +thought of Claw and the Captain of the _Belva Lou_, searching the Copper +Mountains for his camp, so they could kill him and steal his dust. Then +the grin hardened into a straight-lipped frown as he planned the +vengeance that was to be his when they came after the girl. + +"They won't be in any hurry about starting up river," he argued, +"They'll hunt for me for a week. Then, when they do come--I'll kill 'em +as I would kill so many mad dogs. I hate to shoot a man from ambush--but +there's two of 'em, and I don't dare to take a chance. If they should +get me--" he shuddered at the thought, and pressed on. + +As he swung onto the river, a sharp cry escaped him and he stooped in +the darkness to stare at a trail in the snow. + +The cry brought Joe Pete to his side. "Those tracks!" rasped Brent, +"When were they made? And who made 'em?" + +The Indian stooped close and examined the trail. "Two--t'ree mans, an' a +team," he muttered, "An' wan man dat Godam Johnnie Claw!" + +"How do you know?" cried Brent, "How old are they?" And leaping to the +sled, he cut the pack thongs with one sweep of his knife and grabbed up +his rifle. + +"I know dem track--seen um on Mackenzie. B'en gon' 'bout two t'ree +hour!" + +"Bring on the outfit!" Brent called over his shoulder, and the Indian +stared in surprise as he watched the man strike out on the trail in +great leaping strides. + +The distance to the cabin was a scant mile, and Brent covered it without +slackening his pace. At the foot of the bank, he noted with relief that +the trail swung upward to his own cabin. If they had stopped, there was +yet time. His first glance had detected no light in the window, but as +he looked again, he saw that a peculiar dull radiance filtered through +the oiled parchment that served as a glass. Cautiously he maneuvered up +the bank, and made his way to the cabin, mentally debating with himself +whether to burst in upon the occupants and chance a surprise, or to lie +in wait till they came out. He stood in the shelter of the meat _cache_ +weighing his chances, when suddenly from beyond the log walls came the +sound of a woman's scream--loud--shrill--terrible, it sounded, cutting +the black silence of the night. What woman? There could be only +one--with a low cry that sounded in his own ears like the snarl of a +beast, he dropped the rifle and sprang against the door. It flew inward +and for a second Brent could see nothing in the murky interior of the +room. There was a sound from the bunk and, through the smoke haze he +made out the face of the Captain of the _Belva Lou_. As the man sprang +erect, their bodies met with an impact that carried them to the floor. +Brent found himself on top, and the next instant his fingers were +twisting, biting into a hairy throat with a grip that crushed and tore. +In his blind fury he was only half-conscious that heavy fists were +battering at his face. Beneath him the body of the Captain lashed and +struggled. The man's tongue lolled from his open mouth, and from beneath +the curled lips came hoarse wheezing gasps, and great gulping strangling +gurgles. A wave of exultation seized Brent as he realized that the thing +that writhed and twisted in his grasp was the naked throat of a man. +Vaguely he became conscious that above him hovered a white shape, and +that the shape was calling his name, in strange quavering tones. He +tightened his grip. There was a wild spasmodic heaving of the form +beneath him--and the form became suddenly still. But Brent did not +release his grasp. Instead he twisted and ground his fingers deeper and +deeper into the flesh that yielded now, and did not writhe. With his +face held close, he glared like a beast into the face of the man beneath +him--a horrible face with its wide-sprung jaws exposing the slobbered +tongue, the yellow snag-like teeth, the eyes, back-rolled until only the +whites showed between the wide-staring lids, and the skin fast purpling +between the upper beard and the mottled thatch of hair. + +A hand fell upon his shoulder, and glancing up he saw Snowdrift and +realized that she was urging him to rise. As in a dream he caught the +gleam of white shoulders, and saw that one bare arm clasped a fragment +of torn shirt to her breast. He staggered to his feet, gave one glance +into the girl's eyes, and with a wild, glad cry caught her to him and +pressed her tight against his pounding heart. + +A moment later she struggled from his embrace. She flushed deeply as his +eyes raised from her shoulders to meet her own. He was speaking, and at +the words her heart leaped wildly. + +"It's a lie!" he cried, "You are not a breed! I knew it! I knew it! My +darling--you are white--as white as I am! Old Wananebish is not your +mother! Do you hear? _You are white!_" + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +THE PASSING OF WANANEBISH + + +Stepping across to a duffle bag, Brent produced a shirt and an +undershirt which he tossed to the girl who, in the weakness of sudden +reaction had thrown herself sobbing upon the bunk. + +"There, there, darling," he soothed, as with his back toward her, his +eyes roved about the room seeking to picture, in the wild disorder, the +terrific struggle that had taken place. "Put on those things, and then +you can tell me all about it. You're all right now, dear. I will never +leave you again." + +"But--oh, if you had not come!" sobbed the girl. + +"But, I did come, sweetheart--and everything is all right. Forget the +whole horrid business. Come, we will go straight to Wananebish. Not +another hour, nor a minute will we wait. And we will make her tell the +truth. I have never believed you were her daughter--and now I know!" + +"But," faltered the girl, as she slipped into the warm garments, "If I +am not her daughter, who am I? Oh, it is horrible--not to know who you +are! If this is true--she must tell--she has got to tell me! I have the +right to know! And, my mother and my father--where are they? Who are +they?" + +"We will know soon, darling," assured Brent, drawing her to him and +looking down into her up-lifted eyes, "But, first let me tell you +this--I don't care who you are. You are mine, now, dearest--the one +woman for me in all the world. And no matter who, or what your parents +were, you are mine, mine, mine!" His lips met hers, her arms stole about +his neck, and as she clung to him she whispered: + +"Oh, everything seems all strange, and unreal, and up-side-down, and +horrible, and in all the world, darling, you are the one being who is +good, and sane and strong--oh, I love you so--don't ever leave me +again----" + +"Never again," assured Brent, smiling down into the dark eyes raised so +pleadingly to his. "And, now, do you feel able to strike out for the +camp?" + +"I feel able to go to the end of the earth, with you," she answered +quickly, and he noticed that her voice had assumed its natural buoyancy, +and that her movements were lithe and sure as she stooped to lace her +snowshoes, and he marveled at the perfect resiliency of nerves that +could so quickly regain their poise after the terrible ordeal to which +they had been subjected. + +"Where is Claw?" he asked, abruptly, as he stooped and recovered his +gold sack from the floor where the Captain had dropped it. + +"Come we must hurry!" cried the girl, who in the excitement had +forgotten his very existence, "He started for the camp, to trade hooch +to the Indians--and--oh, hurry!" she cried, as she plunged out into the +night. "He hates Wananebish, and he threatened to get even with her! If +he should kill her now--before--before she could tell us--" She was +already descending the bank to the river when Brent recovering his +rifle, hastened after her, and although he exerted himself to the +utmost, the flying figure gradually drew away from him. When it had all +but disappeared in the darkness, he called, and the girl waited, +whereupon Brent despite her protest, took the lead, and with his rifle +ready for instant use, hastened on up the river. + +A half mile from the encampment, Brent struck into the scattered timber, +"He may watch the back-trail," he flung back over his shoulder, "and we +don't want to walk into a trap." + +Rapidly they made their way through the scrub, and upon the edge of the +clearing, they paused. In the wide space before one of the cabins, brush +fires were blazing. And by the light of the leaping flames the Indians +could be seen crowding and fighting to get to the door of the cabin. +Brent drew Snowdrift into the shelter of a bush, from which point of +vantage they watched Claw, who stood in the doorway, glass in one hand, +six-gun in the other, dispensing hooch. Standing by his side, Yondo +received the skins from the crowding Indians, and tossed them into the +cabin. The process was beautifully simple--a drink for a skin. As Yondo +took a skin Claw passed out a drink to its erstwhile owner. + +"Damn him!" muttered Brent, raising his rifle. But Snowdrift pushed it +aside. + +"It is too dark," she whispered, "You can't see the sights, and you +might hit one of the Indians." Breaking off sharply, she pointed toward +her own cabin. The door had been thrown open and, rifle in hand old +Wananebish stepped out on the snow. She raised the rifle, and with loud +cries the Indians surged back from about the hooch runner. Before the +rifle could speak Claw fired, and dropping her gun, old Wananebish +staggered a few steps forward and pitched headlong into the snow. + +With a yell of rage, Brent broke cover and dashed straight across the +clearing. As the cry reached him, Claw looked up, fired one hasty shot +at the approaching figure, and leaping straight through the throng of +Indians, disappeared in the scrub beyond the cabin, with Yondo close at +his heels. + +Brent was aware that Snowdrift was at his side. "Go to her," panted the +girl, "I will try to handle the Indians." For an instant he hesitated, +then, realizing that the girl could deal with her own band better +without his presence, he hastened to the squaw who had raised herself to +an elbow and was vainly trying to rise. Picking her up bodily, Brent +carried her into the cabin and placed her upon the bunk. + +"Where--is--she?" the woman gasped, as he tore open her shirt and +endeavored to staunch the flow of blood from a wound low down upon the +sunken chest. + +"She's all right," assured the man, "Claw has gone, and she is trying to +quiet the Indians." + +The old crone shook her head: "No use," she whispered the words with +difficulty, "Take her away--while--there--is--time. +They--are--crazy--for--hooch--and--they--will--sell--her--to--him." She +sank back gasping, and Brent held a cup of water to her lips as he +motioned her to be quiet. + +"I am going to take her," he answered, "But, tell me--who is Snowdrift?" + +The beady eyes fixed his with a long, searching stare. She was about to +speak when the door opened and Snowdrift herself burst into the room and +sank down beside the bunk. + +With a laboring effort the old woman laid a clawlike hand upon the +girl's arm: "Forgive me," she whispered, and summoning all her fast +ebbing strength she gasped: "It is all a lie. You are not my child. You +are white. I loved you, and I was afraid you would go to your people." A +paroxysm of coughing seized her, and a gush of red blood welled from her +lips. "Look--in--the--moss--bag," she croaked, the words gurgling +through her blood-flooded throat. She fell heavily back upon the +blanket and the red torrent gushed afresh from between the stilled lips. + +With a dry sob, Snowdrift turned to Brent: "We must go!" she faltered, +hurriedly, "I can do nothing with the Indians. I tried to reach the +hooch to destroy it, but they crowded me away. He has lied to them--won +them completely over by the promise of more hooch. He told them he has +plenty of hooch _cached_ in the scrub. Already they have sent runners to +bring him back, and when he comes," the girl paused and shuddered "They +will do anything he tells them to--for hooch, and you know what that +will be--come, we must go while we have time!" + +"Can't we stay and fight him?" cried Brent, "Surely some of the Indians +will be with us." + +"No--only a few of the squaws--and they would be no good. No, we must go +before they bring him back! My sled is beside the door. Hurry and load +it with supplies while I harness the dogs." As she talked, the girl's +hands searched beneath the blankets upon which lay the body of the squaw +and with a low cry she drew forth the moss-bag which she handed to +Brent. "Take it," she said, "and do not trust it to the sled. We have no +time to look into it now--but that little bag contains the secret of my +life----" + +"And I will guard it with my own!" cried Brent, as he took the bag from +her hand. "Hurry, now and harness the dogs. I'll throw in some grub and +blankets and we will finish the outfit at my cabin where we'll pick up +Joe Pete." + +While Brent worked at the lashings of the sled pack, Snowdrift slipped +silently into the cabin and, crossing to the bunk, bent low over the +still form of the squaw: "Good-by, Wananebish," she sobbed, as she +pressed her lips to the wrinkled forehead, "I don't know what you have +done--nor why you did it--but, I forgive you." She turned to see Brent +examining the two heavy crotches that were fixed, one on either side of +the doorway on the inside. "That is our lock," explained the girl. "See, +there is the bar that goes across the door, like the bar at the post at +Fort Norman. Wananebish made it. And every night when we were inside she +placed the bar in the crotches and no one could have got in without +smashing the door to pieces. Ever since I returned from the mission, +Wananebish has feared someone, and now I know it was Claw." + +"If we could only drop the bar from the outside," mused Brent, "Maybe we +could gain a lot of time. I know Claw, and when he finds that he has all +the Indians with him, and that we are only two, he is not going to give +you up without a struggle. By George!" he exclaimed, suddenly, "I +believe I can do it!" He motioned the girl outside, and slipped the bar +into the crotch at the hinge side of the door, then driving a knife upon +the inside, he rested the bar upon it, and stepping outside, banged the +door shut. The knife held, and opening the door, he loosened the blade +a little and tried again. This time the banging of the door jarred the +knife loose. It fell to the floor, and the heavy bar dropped into place +and the man smiled with satisfaction as he threw his weight against the +door. "That will keep them busy for a while," he said, "They'll think +we're in there and they know we're armed, so they won't be any too +anxious to mix things up at close quarters." + +Swiftly the dogs flew up the well packed trail toward Brent's cabin. The +night was dark, and the Indians were fighting over the rum cask that +Claw had abandoned. As they hurried down the river, the two cast more +than one glance over their shoulders toward the cabin where the Indians +milled about in the firelight. + +At the first bend of the river, they paused and looked back. Shots were +being fired in scattering volleys, and suddenly Snowdrift grasped +Brent's arm: "Look!" she cried, "At our cabin!" + +At first Brent could see nothing but the distant glow of the brush +fires, then from the direction of the cabin they had just left a tongue +of flame shot upward through the darkness. There were more shots, and +the flames widened and leaped higher. + +"They're piling brush against the cabin," cried Brent. "They think +they'll burn us out. Come on, we haven't a minute to lose, for when Claw +learns that we are not in the cabin, he'll be on our trail." + +At his own shack Brent tore the lashings from the sled, and began to +rearrange the pack, adding supplies from his stores. Joe Pete stared in +astonishment. "Come on here!" cried Brent, "Get to work! We're off for +Dawson! And we've got to take grub enough to last till we hit Fort +Norman." + +"All day long you have been on the trail," cried the girl, "You are +tired! Can't we stand them off here until you are rested?" + +Brent shook his head: "You saw what happened at the other cabin," he +answered. "And here it would be even worse. With the window and the door +on the same side, they could burn us out in no time." + +"But they will trail us--and we must travel heavy," she pointed to the +loaded sled. + +"We will take our chances in the open," said Brent grimly. "And if luck +favors us we will get a long lead. The Indians may get too drunk to +follow, or they may stop to loot my cabin, and even if they should +overtake us, we can give a good account of ourselves. We have three +rifles, and the Indians can't shoot, and Claw will not risk his own +hide. Strike out straight for Fort Norman, Joe Pete. We will take turns +breaking trail." + +At daylight they camped upon the apex of a high ridge that commanded a +six or seven mile sweep of the back-trail, and all three noted with +relief that the stiff wind had filled their trail with the shifting +snow. All through the night they had avoided the timbered swamps and +the patches of scrub both for the purpose of allowing the wind full +sweep at their trail, and also to force their pursuers to expose +themselves to the open. It was decided that until danger of pursuit was +past they would travel only at night and thus eliminate in so far as +possible, the danger of a surprise attack. + +Because the men had been on the trail almost constantly for twenty-four +hours, Snowdrift insisted upon standing first watch, and as Brent +unrolled his blankets, he removed the moss-bag from his shoulders and +handed it to the girl. Both he and Joe Pete were asleep the instant they +hit the blankets, and for a long time Snowdrift sat with the moss-bag +hugged close, and her eyes fixed upon the long sweep of back-trail. At +length she thrust her hand into the bag and withdrew the packet, secure +in its waterproof wrapping. Over and over she turned it in her hand as +she speculated, woman like, upon its contents. Time and again she +essayed to untie the thong that bound it but each time her fingers were +stilled before the knot was undone. + +"Oh, I am afraid--afraid," she murmured, when her burning curiosity +urged her fingers to do their task. "Suppose he--my father was a man +like--like those two--suppose he was Claw, himself!" She shuddered at +the thought. "No, no!" she whispered, "Wananebish said that he was good. +My mother, then, who was she? Is some terrible stigma attached to her +name? Better never to know who I am, than to know _that_!" For a moment +she held the packet above the little flames of her fire as though she +would drop it in, but even as she held it she knew she would not destroy +it, for she decided that even to know the worst would be better than the +gnawing of life-long uncertainty. "He, too, has the right to know," she +murmured, "And we will open it together." And with a sigh, she replaced +the packet in the bag, and returned to her scrutiny of the back-trail. + +Despite the agreement to divide equally the time of watching, the girl +resolved to let the men sleep until mid-day before calling Brent who was +to take the second watch. + +At noon, Brent awoke of his own accord, and the girl was startled by the +sound of his voice in her ear: "Anything doing?" + +"No," she answered, "Not even a wolf, or a caribou has crossed the +open." + +"Have you explored that?" He indicated the moss-bag with a nod, and the +girl was quick to note the carefully suppressed eagerness of the words. + +"No. I--waited. I wanted you--and--Oh, I was afraid!" + +"Nonsense, darling!" laughed the man, "I am not afraid! Give me the bag. +Again I swear to you, I do not care who you are. You are mine--and +nothing else matters!" Snowdrift slipped her hand into the bag and +withdrew the packet, and she handed it to Brent, he placed his arm about +her shoulders and drew her close against his side, and with her head +resting upon his shoulders, her eyes followed his every movement as his +fingers fumbled at the knot. + +Carefully he unwrapped the waterproof covering and disclosed a small +leather note book, and a thick packet wound round with parchment deer +skin. On the fly leaf of the note book, in a round, clear hand was +written the name MURDO MACFARLANE, and below, Lashing Water. + +"Murdo MacFarlane," cried Brent, "Why, that's the name in the book that +told of Hearne's lost mines--the book that brought me over here!" + +"And the name on the knife--see, I have it here!" exclaimed the girl. +"But, go on! Who was MacFarlane, and what has he to do with me?" + +Eagerly Brent read aloud the closely written pages, that told of the +life of Murdo MacFarlane; of his boyhood in Scotland, of his journey to +Canada, his service with the Hudson's Bay Company, his courtship of +Margot Molaire, and their marriage to the accompaniment of the booming +of the bells of Ste. Anne's, of the birth of their baby--the little +Margot, of his restless longing for gold, that his wife and baby need +not live out their lives in the outlands, of the visit of Wananebish and +her little band of Dog Ribs, of his venture into the barrens, +accompanied by his wife and little baby, of the cabin beside the +nameless lake and the year of fruitless search for gold in the barrens. + +"Oh, that is it! That is it! The memory!" cried the girl. + +"What do you mean? What memory?" + +"Always I have had it--the memory. Time and time again it comes back to +me--but I can never seem to grasp it. A cabin, a beautiful woman who +leaned over me, and talked to me, and a big man who took me up in his +arms, a lake beside the cabin, and--that is all. Dim and elusive, +always, I have tried for hours at a time to bring it sharply into mind, +but it was no use--the memory would fade, and in its place would be the +tepee, or my little room at the mission. But, go on! What became of +Murdo MacFarlane, and Margot--of my father and my mother. And why have I +always lived with Wananebish?" + +Brent read the closing lines with many a pause, and with many a catch in +his voice--the lines which told of the death of Margot, and of his +determination to take the baby and leave her with Wananebish until he +should return to her, of his leaving with the squaw all of his +money--five hundred pounds in good bank notes, with instructions to use +it for her keep and education in case he did not return. And so he came +to the concluding paragraph which read: + +"In the morning I shall carry my wee Margot to the Indian woman. It is +the only thing I can do. And then I shall strike North for gold. But +first I must return to this cabin and bury my dead. God! Why did she +have to die? She should be buried beside her mother in the little +graveyard at Ste. Anne's. But it cannot be. Upon a high point that juts +out onto the lake, I will dig her grave--upon a point where we used +often to go and watch the sunset, she and I and the little one. And +there she will lie, while far below her the booming and the thunder of +the wind-lashed waters of the lake will rise about her like the sound of +bells--her requiem--like the tolling of the bells of Ste. Anne's." + +"Oh, where is he now--my father?" sobbed the girl, as he concluded. + +Brent's arm tightened about her shoulders, "He is dead," he whispered, +"He has been dead these many years, or he would have found you." He +swept his arm toward the barrens, "Somewhere in this great white land +your father met his death--and it was a man's death--the kind of death +he would have welcomed--for he was a man! The whole North is his grave. +And out of it, his spirit kept calling--calling. And the call was +heard--by a drunkard in a little cabin on the Yukon. I am that drunkard, +and into my keeping the spirit of Murdo MacFarlane has entrusted the +life of his baby--his wee Margot." Brent paused, and his voice suddenly +cut hard as steel, "And may God Almighty strike me dead if I ever +violate that trust!" + +Slender brown fingers were upon his lips. "Don't talk like that, dear, +it scares me. See, I am not afraid. And you are _not_ a drunkard." + +"I got drunk on the _Belva Lou_." + +"Didn't I say we couldn't expect to win all the battles?" + +"And, I carry my bottle with me." He reached into his blankets and drew +out the bottle of rum. + +"And the cork has not been pulled," flashed the girl, "And you have +carried it ever since you left the whaler." + +"Yes, darling," answered the man softly, "And I always shall keep it, +and I never will pull the cork. I can give you that promise, now. I can +promise you--on the word of a Brent that----" + +"Not yet, sweetheart--please!" interrupted the girl, "Let us hold back +the promise, till we need it. That promise is our heavy artillery. This +is only the beginning of the war. And no good general would show the +enemy all he has got right in the beginning." + +"You wonder woman!" laughed Brent, as he smothered the upraised eyes +with kisses, "But see, we have not opened the packet." Carefully he +unwound the parchment wrapping, and disclosed a closely packed pile of +bank notes. So long had they remained undisturbed that their edges had +stuck together so that it was with difficulty he succeeded in counting +them. "One hundred," he announced, at length, "One hundred five-pound +notes of the Bank of England." + +"Why, Wananebish never used any of the money!" cried the girl. + +Brent shook his head: "Not a penny has been touched. I doubt that she +ever even opened the packet." + +"Poor old Wananebish," murmured the girl, "And she needed it so. But she +saved it all for me." + +When darkness gathered, they again hit the trail. A last look from the +ridge disclosed no sign of pursuit, and that night they made twenty-five +miles. For three more nights they traveled, and then upon the shore of +Great Bear Lake, they gave up the night travel and continued their +journey by daylight. + +Upon the evening of the eighteenth day they pulled in to Fort Norman, +where they outfitted for the long trail to the Yukon. Before she left, +Snowdrift paid the debt of a thousand skins that McTavish had extended +to the Indians, and the following morning the outfit pulled out and +headed for the mountains which were just visible far to the westward. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +CLAW HITS FOR DAWSON + + +When Claw returned to the flame-lighted clearing, a scant half-hour +after he had fled from the avenging figure of Brent, it was to find his +keg of rum more than half consumed, and most of the Indians howling +drunk. Close about him they crowded, pressing skins upon him and +demanding more liquor. The man was quick to see that despite the +appearance of Brent and the girl, he held the upper hand. The Indians +would remain his as long as the rum held out. + +"Ask 'em where the white man went--him an' the girl," he ordered Yondo. + +The Indian pointed to the cabin of Wananebish, and a devilish gleam +leaped into Claw's eyes: "Tell 'em I'll give a hull keg of rum, er a +hundred dollars, cash money to the man that kills him!" he shouted, "an' +another keg to the one that brings me the girl!" + +The drunken savages heard the offer with a whoop, and yelling like +fiends, they rushed to the cabin. The barred door held against their +attack, and with sinister singleness of purpose they rushed back to the +fires, and securing blazing fagots, began to pile brush against the wall +of the building. + +With an evil grin on his face, Claw took up his position behind a stump +that gave unobstructed view of the door through which the two must rush +from the burning cabin, and waited, revolver in hand. + +Louder roared the fire, and higher and higher shot the flames, but the +door remained closed. Claw waited, knowing that it would take some time +for the logs to burn through. But, when, at length, the whole cabin was +a mass of flames, and the roof caved in, his rage burst forth in a +tirade of abuse: + +"They lied!" he shrilled, "They wasn't in there. Ace-In-The-Hole +wouldn't never stayed in there an' burnt up! The Injuns lied! An' he's +layin' to git me. Mebbe he's got a bead on me right now!" and in a +sudden excess of terror, the man started to burrow into the snow. + +Yondo stopped, and in the bright light of the flames examined the trail +to the river. Then he pointed down the stream in the direction of +Brent's cabin, and Claw, too, examined the trail. "They've pulled out!" +he cried, "Pulled out for his shack! Tell 'em to come on! We'll burn 'em +out up there! I ain't a-goin' to let her git away from me now--an' to +hell with Cap Jinkins! I'll take her to Dawson, an' make real money +offen her. An' I'll git Ace-In-The-Hole too. I found that girl first! +She's mine--an' by God, I'll have her!" He started for the river. At +the top of the bank, he paused: "What's ailin 'em?" he roared, "Why +don't they come! Standin' there gogglin' like fools!" + +"They say," explained Yondo, in jargon, "That they want to see the rum +first." + +"Tell 'em I left it up to his shack!" roared the man, "Tell 'em +anything, jest so they come. Git my dogs an' come on. We'll lead out, +an' they'll foller if they think they's hooch in it." + +Yondo headed the dogs down the trail, and Claw threw himself upon the +sled and watched the drunken Indians string out behind, yelling, +whooping, staggering and falling in their eagerness for more hooch. + +When they came in sight of the cabin, Claw saw that it was dark. "You +slip up and see what you kin find out," he ordered Yondo, "An' I'll stay +here with the dogs an' handle the Injuns when they come along." + +Five minutes later the Indian returned and reported that there was no +one in the cabin, and that the door was open. With a curse, Claw headed +the dogs up the bank, and pushed through the open door. Match in hand, +he stumbled and fell sprawling over the body of the Captain of the +_Belva Lou_, uttering a shriek of terror as his bare hand came in +contact with the hairy face. Scrambling to his feet, he fumbled for +another match, and with trembling fingers, managed to light the little +bracket lamp. "Choked him to death bare handed!" he cried in horror, +"And he'd of done me that way, too! But where be they? Look, they be'n +here!" The man pointed to the disordered supplies, that had been thrown +about in the haste of departure. "They've pulled out!" he cried. "Git +out there an' find their trail!" + +Yondo returned, and pointed to the westward, holding up three fingers, +and making the sign of a heavily loaded sled. + +"That'll be him, an' her, an' the Injun," said Claw, "an' they're +hittin' fer Fort Norman." Reaching down, he picked up a sack of flour +and carrying it out to the sled, ordered Yondo to help with the other +supplies. Suddenly, he sprang erect and gazed toward the west. "I wonder +if he would?" he cried aloud, "I'll bet he'll take her clean to Dawson!" +He laughed harshly, "An' if he does, she's mine--mine, an' no trouble +nor risk takin' her there! Onct back among the saloons, Ace-In-The-Hole +will start in on the hooch--an' then I'll git her." + +From far up the river came the whoop-whoroo of the drunken Indians. +"Quick," cried Claw, "Git that pack throw'd together. When they git here +an' find out they ain't no more hooch, they'll butcher me an' you!" And +almost before the Indian had secured the lashings, Claw started the +dogs, and leaving the Indian to handle the gee-pole, struck out on the +trail of Brent. + +It was no part of Claw's plan to overtake the trio. Indeed, it was the +last thing in the world he wanted to do. At midnight they camped with a +good ten miles between themselves and the drunken Dog Ribs. In the +morning they pushed on, keeping a sharp lookout ahead. Soon Brent's +trail began to drift full of snow, and by noon it was obliterated +altogether. Thereupon Claw ordered the Indian to shape his own course +for Fort Norman, and because of Yondo's thorough knowledge of the +country, arrived in sight of the post on the evening of the sixteenth +day. + +When he learned from an Indian wood chopper, that no other outfit had +arrived, Claw pulled a mile up the river and waited. + +Two days later, from the summit of a nearby hill, he saw the outfit pull +in, and with glittering eyes he watched it depart, knowing that Brent +would hit for the Yukon by way of the Bonnet Plume Pass. + +Claw paid off Yondo and struck straight westward alone, crossing the +divide by means of a steep and narrow pass known only to a few. Thus, +shortening the trail by some four or five days, he showed up in Cuter +Malone's Klondike Palace at the height of an evening's hilarity. + +Cuter greeted him from behind the bar: "Hello, Claw! Thought you was +over with the whalers!" + +"Was," answered Claw, "Jest got back," he drained the glass Malone had +set before him, and with a sidewise quirk of the head, sauntered into a +little back room. + +A few minutes later, Cuter followed, carefully closing and locking the +door after him: "What's on yer mind?" he asked, as he seated himself +beside the little table. + +"They's aplenty on it. But mostly it's a girl." + +"What's the matter? One git away from you?" + +"She ain't yet, but she's damn near it. She'll be here in a few days, +an' she's the purtiest piece that ever hit the Yukon." + +"Must be right pert then, cause that's coverin' quite a bit of +territory." + +"Yes, an' you could cover twict as much an' still not find nothin' that +would touch her fer looks." + +"Where is she?" + +"She's comin'. Ace-In-The-Hole's bringin' her in." + +"Ace-In-The-Hole! Yer crazy as hell! First place, Ace-In-The-Hole ain't +here no more. Folks says old R.E. Morse got him an' he drounded hisself +in the river. Camillo Bill an' that bunch he used to trot with, has +combed Dawson with a fine tooth comb fer him, an' they can't find him +nowheres." + +"Drounded?--hell!" exclaimed Claw, "Ain't I be'n to his shack on the +Coppermine? Didn't he come up to the _Belva Lou_ an' git drunk, an' then +git lost, an' then find his way back to his shack an' choke the life out +of Cap Jinkins? Yes sir, bare handed! I looked at Cap's throat where he +lay dead on the floor an' it was damn near squose in two! An' he'd of +squose mine, if he could caught me!" + +"What about the gal? What's he got to do with her? He wouldn't stand fer +no such doin's, an' you'd ort to know it. Didn't he knock you down fer +whalin' one with a dog whip!" + +"Yes, an' I'll even up the score," growled Claw savagely, "An' me an' +you'll shove a heft of dust in the safe fer profits. It's like this. +She's his girl, an' he's bringin' her here." + +"His girl! Say Claw, what you handin' me? Time was when Ace-In-The-Hole +could of had his pick of any of 'em. But that time's gone. They wouldn't +no _klooch_ look at him twict, now. He's that fer gone with the hooch. +He's a bum." + +"You know a hell of a lot about it! Didn't you jest git through tellin' +me he was drounded? An' now he's a bum! Both of which they ain't neither +one right--by a damn sight. He's be'n out there where they ain't no +hooch, an' he's as good a man as he ever was--as long as he can't git +the hooch. But here in Dawson he kin git it--see? An' me an' you has got +to see that he does git it. An' we'll git the girl. I've figured it all +out, comin' over. Was goin' to fetch her myself, but it would of be'n a +hell of a job, an' then there's the Mounted. But this way we git her +delivered, C.O.D. right to our door, you might say. Startin' about day +after tomorrow, we'll put lookouts on the Klondike River, an' the Indian +River. They're comin' in over the Bonnet Plume. When they git here the +lookout will tell us where they go. Then we rig up some kind of excuse +to git him away, an' when we've got him paralysed drunk, we'll send a +message to the girl that he needs her, an' we'll bring her +here--an'--well, the middle room above the little dance hall up stairs +will hold her--it's helt 'em before." + +Malone grinned: "Guess I didn't know what I was up to when I built that +room, eh? They kin yell their head off an' you can't hear 'em outside +the door. All right, Claw, you tend to the gittin' her here an' I'll +pass the word around amongst the live ones that's got the dust. We ain't +had no new ones in this winter, an' the boys'll 'preciate it." + + * * * * * + +It was evening. Brent and Snowdrift had climbed from the little trail +camp at the edge of the timber line, to the very summit of the great +Bonnet Plume Pass to watch the sun sink to rest behind the high-flung +peaks of the mighty Alaskan ranges. + +"Oh, isn't it grand! And wonderful!" cried the girl as her eyes swept +the vast panorama of glistening white mountains. "How small and +insignificant I feel! And how stern, and rugged, and hard it all looks." + +"Yes, darling," whispered Brent, as his arm stole about her waist, "It +is stern, and rugged, and hard. But it is clean, and honest, and grand. +It is the world as God made it." + +"I have never been in the mountains before," said the girl, "I have +seen them from the Mackenzie, but they were so far away they never +seemed real. We have always hunted upon the barrens. Tell me, is it all +like this? And where is the Yukon?" + +Brent smiled at her awe of the vastness: "Pretty much all like this," he +answered. "Alaska is a land of mountains. Of course there are wide +valleys, and mighty rivers, and along the rivers are the towns and the +mining camps." + +"I have never seen a town," breathed the girl, "What will we do when we +get there?" + +"We will go straight to the Reeves," he answered, with a glad smile. +"Reeves is the man who staked me for the trip into the barrens, and his +wife is an old, old friend of mine. We were born and grew up in the same +town, and we will go straight to them." + +"I wonder whether she will like me? I have known no white women except +Sister Mercedes." + +"Darling, she will love you!" cried Brent, "Everyone will love you! And +we will be married in their house." + +"But, what will he think when you tell him you have not made a strike?" + +Brent laughed: "He will be the first to see that I have made a strike, +dear--the richest strike in all the North." + +"And you didn't tell me!" cried the girl, "Tell me about it, now! Was it +on the Coppermine?" + +"Yes, it was on the Coppermine. I made the great strike, one evening in +the moonlight--when the dearest girl in the world told me she loved me." + +Snowdrift raised her wondrous dark eyes to his: "Isn't it wonderful to +love as we love?" she whispered, "To be all the world to each other? I +do not care if we never make a strike. All I want is to be with you +always. And if we do not make a strike we will live in our tepee and +snare rabbits, and hunt, and be happy, always." + +Brent covered the upturned face with kisses: "I guess we can manage +something better than a tepee," he smiled. "I've got more than half of +Reeves' dust left, and I've been thinking the matter over. The fact is, +I don't think much of that Coppermine country for gold. I reckon we'll +get a house and settle down in Dawson for a while, and I'll take the job +Reeves offered me, and work till I get him paid off, and Camillo Bill, +and enough ahead for a grub-stake, and then we'll see what's to be done. +We'll have lots of good times, too. There's the Reeves' and--and----" + +Brent paused, and the girl smiled, "What's the matter? Can't you think +of any more?" + +"Well, to tell the truth, I don't know any others who--that is, married +folks, our kind, you know. The men I knew best are all single men. But, +lots of people have come in with the dredge companies. The Reeves will +know them." + +"There is that girl you called Kitty," suggested Snowdrift. + +"Yes--" answered Brent, a little awkwardly, "That's so. But, she's--a +little different." + +"But I will like her, I am sure, because she nursed you when you were +sick. I know what you mean!" she exclaimed abruptly, and Brent saw that +the dark eyes flashed, "You mean that people point at her the finger of +scorn--as they would have pointed at me, had I been--as I thought I was. +But it is all wrong, and I will not do that! And I will hate those who +do! And I will tell them so!" she stamped her moccasined foot in anger, +and the man laughed: + +"My goodness!" he exclaimed feigning alarm, "I can see from here where I +better get home to meals on time, and not forget to put the cat out." + +"Now, you are making fun of me," she pouted, "But it is wrong, and you +know it is, and maybe the very ones who do the pointing are worse in +their hearts than she is." + +"You said it!" cried Brent, "The ones that look down upon the frailties +of others, are the very ones who need watching themselves. And that is a +good thing to remember in picking out friends. And, darling, you can go +as far as you like with Kitty. I'm for you. She's got a big heart, and +there's a lot more to her than there is to most of 'em. But, come, it's +dark, and we must be getting back to camp. See the little fire down on +the edge of the timber line. It looks a thousand miles away." + +And as they picked their way, side by side, down the long slope, Brent +was conscious that with the growing tenderness that each day's +association with his wonder woman engendered, there was also a growing +respect for her outlook upon life. Her years in the open had developed a +sense of perception that was keen to separate the dross from the pure +gold of human intent. "She's a great girl," he breathed, as he glanced +at her profile, half hidden in the starlight, "She deserves the best +that's in a man--and she'll get it!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +IN THE TOILS + + +Late one afternoon, a dog sled, with Joe Pete in the lead, and Brent and +Snowdrift following swung rapidly down the Klondike River. A few miles +from Dawson, the outfit overtook a man walking leisurely toward town, a +rifle swung over his shoulder. Recognizing him as one Zinn, a former +hanger-on at Cuter Malone's, Brent called a greeting. + +"Damned if it ain't Ace-In-The-Hole!" cried the man, in well simulated +surprise. "They'll be rollin' 'em high in Dawson tonight!" + +Brent laughed, and hurried on. And behind him upon the trail Zinn +quickened his pace. + +At the outskirts of town the three removed their snowshoes and, ordering +Joe Pete to take the outfit to his own shack, Brent and Snowdrift +hurried toward the Reeves'. + +As they passed up the street Brent noticed that the dark eyes of the +girl were busily drinking in the details of the rows upon rows of low +frame houses. "At last you are in Dawson," he said, including with a +sweep of the arm the mushroom city that had sprung up in the shadow of +Moosehide Mountain, "Does it look like you expected it would? Are you +going to like it?" + +The girl smiled at the eagerness in his voice: "Yes, dear, I shall love +it, because it will be our home. It isn't quite as I expected it to +look. The houses all placed side by side, with the streets running +between are as I thought they would be, but the houses themselves are +different. They are not of logs, or of the thin iron like the warehouse +of the new trading company on the Mackenzie, and they are not made of +bricks and stones and very tall like the pictures of cities in the +books." + +Brent laughed: "No, Dawson is just half way between. Since the sawmills +came the town has rapidly outgrown the log cabin stage, although there +are still plenty of them here, but it has not yet risen to the dignity +of brick and stone." + +"But the houses of brick and stone will come!" cried the girl, +enthusiastically, "And take the place of the houses of wood, and we +shall be here to see the building of another great city." + +Brent shook his head: "I don't know," he replied, doubtfully, "It all +depends on the gravel. I wouldn't care to do much speculating in Dawson +real estate right now. The time for that has passed. The next two or +three years will tell the story. If I were to do any predicting, I'd say +that instead of the birth of a great city, we are going to witness the +lingering death of an overgrown town." He paused and pointed to a small +cabin of logs that stood deserted, half buried in snow. "Do you see that +shack over there? That's mine. It don't look like much, now. But, I gave +five thousand in dust for it when I made my first strike." + +The girl's eyes sparkled as she viewed the dejected looking building, +"And that will be our home!" she cried. + +"Not by a long shot, it won't!" laughed Brent, "We'll do better than +that. I never want to see the inside of the place again! Yes, I do--just +once. I want to go there and get a book--the book that lured me to the +Coppermine--the book in which is written the name of Murdo MacFarlane. +We will always keep that book, darling. And some day we will get it +bound in leather and gold." + +Before a little white-painted house that stood back from the street, the +man paused: "The Reeves' live here," he announced, and as he turned into +the neatly shovelled path that led to the door, he reached down and +pressed the girl's hand reassuringly: "Mrs. Reeves is an old, old +friend," he whispered, "She will be a sister to you." + +As Brent led the way along the narrow path his eyes rested upon the +slope of snow-buried earth that pitched sharply against the base of the +walls of the house, "Hardest work I ever did," he grinned, "Hope the +floor kept warm." + +As he waited the answer to his knock upon the door, he noticed casually +that Zinn sauntered past and turned abruptly into the street that led +straight to Cuter Malone's. The next instant the door was opened and +Reba Reeves stood framed in the doorway. Brent saw that in the gloom of +early evening she did not recognize him. "Is Mr. Reeves home?" he asked. + +"Yes, won't you step in? answered the woman, standing aside. + +"Thank you. I think we will." + +Something in the man's tone caused the woman to step quickly forward and +peer sharply into his face: "Carter Brent!" she cried, and the next +instant the man's hands were in both of hers, and she was pulling him +into the room. Like a flash Brent remembered that other time she had +called his name in a tone of intense surprise, and that there had been +tears in her eyes then, even as there were tears in her eyes now, but +this time they were tears of gladness. And then, from another room came +Reeves, and a pair of firm hands were laid upon his shoulders and he was +spun around to meet the gaze of the searching grey eyes that stared into +his own. Brent laughed happily as he noted the start of surprise that +accompanied Reeves' words: "Good Lord! What a change!" A hand slipped +from his shoulder and grasped his own. + +A moment later, Brent freed the hand, and as Mrs. Reeves lighted the +lamp, turned and drew Snowdrift toward him. "And now I want you to +meet--Miss Margot MacFarlane. Within a very few hours she is going to +become Mrs. Carter Brent. You see," he added turning to Reba Reeves, "I +brought her straight to you. The hotel isn't----" + +The sentence was never finished, already the two women were in each +other's arms, and Reba Reeves was smiling at him over the girl's +shoulder: "Carter Brent! If you had dared to even think of taking her to +the hotel, I'd never have spoken to you again! You just let me catch you +talking about hotels--when your _folks_ are living right here! And now +take off your things because supper is most ready. You'll find warm +water in the reservoir of the stove, and I'll make an extra lot of good +hot coffee, because I know you will be tired of tea." + +Never in his life had Brent enjoyed a meal as he enjoyed that supper in +the dining room of the Reeves', with Snowdrift, radiant with happiness, +beside him, and his host and hostess eagerly plying him with questions. + +"I think it is the most romantic thing I ever heard of!" cried Reba +Reeves, when Snowdrift had finished telling of her life among the +Indians, and at the mission, "It's easy enough to see why Carter chose +you, but for the life of me I can't see how you came to take an old +scapegrace like him!" she teased, and the girl smiled: + +"I took him because I love him," she answered, "Because he is good, and +strong, and brave, and because he can be gentle and tender and--and he +understands. And he is not a scapegrace any more," she added, gravely, +"He has told me all about how he drank hooch until he became a--a +bun----" + +"A what?" + +"A bun--is it not that when a man drinks too much hooch?" + +"A bum," supplied Brent, laughing. + +"So many new words!" smiled the girl. "But I will learn them all. +Anyway, we will fight the hooch together, and we will win." + +"You bet you'll win!" cried Reeves, heartily, "And if I'm any judge, I'd +say you've won already. How about it Brent?" + +Deliberately--thoughtfully, Brent nodded: "She has won," he said. + +"On the word of a Brent?" Reba Reeves' eyes were looking straight into +his own as she asked the question. + +"Yes," he answered, "On the word of a Brent." + +A moment's silence followed the words, after which he turned to Reeves: +"And, now--let's talk business. I have used about half the dust you +loaned me. There is nothing worth while on the Coppermine--now." He +smiled, as his eyes rested upon the girl, "So I have come back to take +that job you offered me. Eleven hundred miles, we came, under the +chaperonage of Joe Pete----" + +"And a very capable chaperonage it was!" laughed Reeves, "Funniest thing +I ever saw in my life--there in your cabin the morning you started. It +was then I learned to know Joe Pete. But, go on." + +"That's about all there is to it. Except that I'd like to keep the rest +of the dust, and pay you back in installments--that is, if the job is +still open. I've got to borrow enough for a start, somewhere--and I +reckon you're about the only friend I've got left." + +"How about that fellow, Camillo Bill? I thought he was a friend of +yours." + +"I thought so too, but--when I was down and out, and wanted a +grub-stake, he turned me down. He's all right though--square as a die." + +"About that job," continued Reeves, gravely, "I'm a little afraid you +wouldn't just fill the bill." + +For a moment Brent felt as though he had been slapped in the face. He +had counted on the job--needed it. The next instant he was smiling: +"Maybe you're right," he said, "I reckon I am a little rusty on +hydraulics and----" + +"I'd take a chance on the hydraulics," laughed Reeves, "But--before we +go any further, what would you take for your title to those two claims +that Camillo Bill has been operating?" + +"Depends on who wanted to buy 'em," grinned Brent. + +"What will you sell them to me for?" + +"What will you give?" + +"How would ten thousand for the two of them strike you?" + +Brent laughed: "Don't you go speculating on any claims," he advised, +"I'd be tickled to death to get ten thousand dollars--or ten thousand +cents out of those claims--but not from you. It would be highway +robbery." + +"And if I did buy them from you at ten thousand, or a hundred thousand, +you would be only a piker of a robber, as compared to me." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I mean that if anybody offers you a million for 'em--you laugh at 'em," +exclaimed Reeves, "Because they're worth a whole lot more than that." + +Brent stared at the man as though he had taken leave of his senses. "Who +has been stringing you?" he asked, "The fact is, those claims are a +liability, and not an asset. Camillo Bill took them over to try to get +the million I owed him out of 'em--and he couldn't do it. And when +Camillo Bill can't get the dust out, it isn't there." + +"How do you know he couldn't do it?" + +"Because he told me so." + +"He lied." + +Brent flushed: "I reckon you don't know Camillo Bill," he said gravely, +"As I told you, he wouldn't grub-stake me when I needed a grub-stake, +and I don't understand that. But, I'd stake my life on it that he never +lied about those claims--never tried to beat me out of 'em when I was +down and out! Why, man, he won them in a game of stud--and he wouldn't +take them!" + +"But he lied to you, just the same," insisted Reeves, and Brent saw that +the man's eyes were twinkling. "And it was because he is one of the best +friends a man ever had that he did lie to you, and that he wouldn't +grub-stake you. You said a while ago that I was about the only friend +you had left. Let me tell you a little story, and then judge for +yourself. + +"About a week after you had gone, inquiries began to float around town +as to your whereabouts. I didn't pay any attention to them at first, but +the inquiries persisted. They searched Dawson, and all the country +around for you. When I learned that the inquiries emanated from such men +as Camillo Bill, and Old Bettles, and Moosehide Charlie, and a few more +of the heaviest men in the camp, I took notice, and quietly sent for +Camillo Bill and had a talk with him. It seems that after he had taken +his million out of the claims, he went to you for the purpose of turning +them back. He had not seen you for some time, and he was--well, it +didn't take him but a minute to see what would happen if he turned back +the claims and dumped a couple of million dollars worth of property into +your hands at that time. So he told you they had petered out. Then he +hunted up a bunch of the real sourdoughs who are your friends, and they +planned to kidnap you and take you away for a year--keep you under guard +in a cabin, a hundred miles from nowhere, and keep you off the liquor, +and make you work like a nigger till you found yourself again. They +laid their plot, and when they came to spring it, you had disappeared." + +Brent listened, with tight-pressed lips, and as Reeves finished, he +asked: + +"And you say he got out his million, and there is still something left +in the gravel?" + +Reeves laughed: "I would call it something! Camillo Bill says he only +worked one of the claims--and only about half of that. Yes, I would say +there was something left." + +"I reckon a man don't always know his friends," murmured Brent, after a +long silence, "I wonder where I can find Camillo Bill?" + +"He's in town, somewhere. I saw him this afternoon." + +Brent turned to Snowdrift, who had listened, wide-eyed to the narrative: +"You wait here, dear," he said, "And I'll hunt up a parson, and a ring, +and Camillo Bill. I need a--a best man!" + +"Oh, why don't you wait a week or so and give us time to get ready so we +can have a real wedding?" cried Mrs. Reeves. + +Brent shook his head: "I reckon this one will be real enough," he +grinned, "And besides, we've waited quite a while, already." + +As he turned into the street from the path leading from the door he +almost bumped into a man in the darkness: + +"Hello! Is that you, Ace-In-The-Hole? Yer the man I'm huntin' fer. +Friend of yourn's hurt an' wants to see you." + +"Who is it, Zinn? And how did he know I was in town?" + +"It's Camillo Bill. I was tellin' I see'd you comin' in--an hour or so +back, in Stoell's. Then Camillo, he goes down to the sawmill to see +about some lumber, an' a log flies off the carriage an' hits him. He's +busted up pretty bad. Guess he's goin' to cash in. They carried him to a +shack over back of the mill an' he's hollerin' fer you." + +"Come on then--quick!" cried Brent. "What the hell are you standin' +there for? Have they got a doctor?" + +"Yup," answered Zinn, as he hurried toward the outskirts of the town, +"He'll be there by now." + +Along the dark streets, and through a darker lumber yard, hurried Zinn, +with Brent close at his heels urging him to greater speed. At length +they passed around behind the sawmill and Brent saw that a light showed +dimly in the window of a disreputable log shack that stood upon the edge +of a deep ravine. The next moment he had pushed through the door, and +found himself in the presence of four as evil looking specimens as ever +broke the commandments. One of them he recognized as "Stumpy" Cooley, a +man who, two years before had escaped the noose only by prompt action of +the Mounted, after he had been duly convicted by a meeting of outraged +miners of robbing a _cache_. + +"Where's Camillo Bill?" demanded Brent, his eyes sweeping the room. + +"Tuk him to the hospital jest now," informed Stumpy. + +"Hospital!" cried Brent. + +"Yes--built one sence you was here. But, you don't need to be in no +hurry, 'cause he's out of his head, now." The man produced a bottle and +pulling the cork, offered it to Brent: "Might's well have a little +drink, an' we'll be goin'." + +"To hell with your drinks!" cried Brent, "Where is this hospital?" +Suddenly he sensed that something was wrong. And whirling saw that two +of the men had slipped between himself and the door. He turned to Stumpy +to see an evil grin upon the man's face. + +"When I ask anyone to drink with me, he most generally does it," he +sneered, "Or I know the reason why." + +"There's the reason!" roared Brent, and quick as a flash his right fist +smashed into the man's face, the blow knocking him clean across the +room. The next instant a man sprang onto Brent's back and another dived +for his legs, while a third struck at him with a short piece of +scantling. Brent fought like a tiger, weaving this way and that, and +stumbling about the room in a vain effort to rid himself of the two men +who clung to him like leeches. Stumpy staggered toward him, and Brent +making a frenzied effort to release one of his pinioned arms, saw him +raise the heavy quart whiskey bottle. The next instant it descended with +a full arm swing. Brent saw a blinding flash of light, a stab of pain +seemed to pierce his very brain, his knees buckled suddenly and he was +falling, down, down, down, into a bottomless pit of intense blackness. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +THE FIGHT AT CUTER MALONE'S + + +The porter at Cuter Malone's Klondike Palace was lighting the huge oil +lamps as the girl called Kitty sauntered to the bar with her dancing +partner who loudly demanded wine. Cuter Malone himself, standing behind +the bar in earnest conversation with Johnnie Claw, set out the drinks +and as the girl raised her glass, a man brushed past her. She recognized +Zinn, one of Malone's despicable lieutenants, and was quick to note that +something unusual was in the air. A swift meaning glance passed between +Claw and Malone, and as Zinn stepped around the bar to deposit his +rifle, he whispered earnestly to the two who stepped close to listen. + +Unperceived, Kitty managed to edge near, and the next instant she was +all attention. For from the detached words that came to her ears, she +made out, "Ace-In-The-Hole," and "the girl," and then Malone, whose +voice carried above the others issued an order, "The shack behind the +saw mill. Git him soused. Knock him out if you have to--but don't kill +him. Once we git the girl here me an' Claw--" the rest of the sentence +was lost as it blended with an added order of Claw's. "Ace-In-The-Hole!" +thought Kitty, "What did it mean? And who is 'The girl?' Ace-In-The-Hole +is dead. And, yet--" she glanced toward Claw whose beady eyes were +glittering with excitement. "He just came back from somewhere--maybe he +knows--something." + +She saw Zinn cross the room and speak in a whisper to four men who were +playing solo at a table near the huge stove. She knew those men, Stumpy +Cooley, and his three companions. The men nodded, and went on with their +game, and Zinn returned and resumed his conversation with Malone and +Claw. But the girl could hear nothing more. The "professor" was loudly +banging out the notes of the next dance upon the piano, and her partner +was pulling at her arm. + +For two hours Kitty danced, and between dances she drank wine at the +bar, and always her eyes were upon the four men at the solo table, and +upon Zinn, who loafed close by, and upon Malone and Claw, who she noted, +were drinking more than usual, as they hob-nobbed behind the bar. + +The evening crowd foregathered. The music became faster, the talk +louder, the laughter wilder. At the conclusion of a dance, Kitty saw +Malone speak to Zinn, who immediately slipped out the door. The four men +at the table, threw down their cards, and sauntered casually from the +room and declining the next dance, the girl dashed up the stairway to +her room where she kicked off her high heeled slippers, pulled a pair of +heavy woolen stockings over her silk ones, and hurriedly laced her +moccasins. She jammed a cap over her ears and slipping into a heavy fur +coat, stepped out into the hall and came face to face with Johnnie Claw. +"Where do you think you're goin'?" asked the man with a sneer. + +"It's none of your business!" snapped the girl, "I don't have to ask you +when I want to go anywhere--and I don't have to tell you where I'm +goin', either! You haven't got any strings on me!" + +"Well--fergit it, 'cause you ain't goin' nowhere's--not right now." + +"Get out of my way! Damn you!" cried the girl, "If I had a gun here, I'd +blow your rotten heart out!" + +"But, you ain't got none--an' I have--so it's the other way around. Only +I ain't goin' to kill you, if you do like I say. + +"Listen here, I seen you easin' over and tryin' to hear what me an' +Malone, an' Zinn was talkin' about. I don't know how much you heard, but +you heard enough, so you kep' pretty clost cases on all of us. G'wan +back in yer room, 'fore I put you there! What the hell do you care +anyhow? All we want is the girl. Onct we git her up in the strong room, +you kin have Ace-In-The-Hole. An' as long as she's around you ain't +nowhere with him. Why don't you use yer head?" + +"You fool!" screamed the girl, in a sudden fury, and as she tried to +spring past him, Claw's fist caught her squarely in the chin and without +a sound she crashed backward across the door sill. Swiftly the man +reached down and dragged her into the room, removed the key from the +lock on the inside, closed and locked the door, and thrusting the key +into his pocket, turned and walked down stairs. + +How long she lay there, Kitty did not know. Consciousness returned +slowly. She was aware of a dull ache in her head, and after what seemed +like a long time she struggled to her knees and drew herself onto the +bed where she lay trying to think what had happened. Faintly, from below +drifted the sound of the piano. So, they were still dancing, down there? +Then, suddenly the whole train of events flashed through her brain. She +leaped to her feet and staggered groggily to the door. It was locked. In +vain she screamed and beat upon the panels. She rushed to the window but +its double sash of heavily frosted panes nailed tight for the winter was +immovable. In a sudden frenzy of rage she seized a chair and smashed the +glass. The inrush of cold air felt good to her throbbing temples, and +wrenching a leg from the chair she beat away the jagged fragments until +only the frame remained. Leaning far out, she looked down. Her room was +at the side of the building, near the rear, and she saw that a huge +snowdrift had formed where the wind eddied around the corner. Only a +moment she hesitated, then standing upright on the sill, she leaped far +out and landed squarely in the centre of the huge drift. Struggling to +her feet she wallowed to the street, and ran swiftly through the +darkness in the direction of the sawmill. And, at that very moment, Zinn +was knocking upon the door of the Reeves home. + +When the door had closed behind Brent, Mrs. Reeves had insisted upon +Snowdrift's taking a much needed rest upon the lounge in the living +room, and despatching Reeves upon an errand to a neighbor's, busied +herself in the kitchen. The girl lay back among the pillows wondering +when her lover would return when the sound of the knock sent her flying +to the door. She drew back startled when, instead of Brent she was +confronted by the man they had passed on the river. + +"Is they a lady here name of Snowdrift?" asked the man. + +A sudden premonition of evil shot through the girl's heart. She paled to +the lips. Where was Brent? Had something happened? "Yes, yes!" she +answered quickly, "I am Snowdrift. What has happened? Why do you want +me?" + +"It's him--yer man--Ace-In-The-Hole," he answered. + +"Oh, what is it?" cried the girl, in a frenzy of impatience, "has he +been hurt?" + +"Well--not jest hurt, you might say. He's loadin' up on hooch. Some of +us friends of hisn tried to make him go easy--but it ain't no use. I +seen you an' him comin' in on the river, an' I figgered mebbe you could +handle him. We're afraid someone'll rob him when he gits good an' +drunk." + +And not more than an hour ago he had given his promise--on the word of a +Brent--a promise that Mrs. Reeves had just finished telling her would +never be broken. A low sob that ended in a moan trembled upon the girl's +lips: "Wait!" she commanded, and slipping into the room, caught up her +cap and parka, and stepping out into the darkness, closed the door +noiselessly behind her. + +"Take me to him--quickly!" she said, "Surely he will listen to me." + +"That's what I figgered," answered the man, and turning led the way down +the dark street. + +Presently the subdued light that filtered through the frosted windows of +the Klondike Palace came into view, and as they reached the place Zinn +led the way to the rear, and pushed open a door. Snowdrift found herself +in a dimly lighted hallway. Cuter Malone stepped forward with a smile: + +"Jest a minute, lady. Better put this here veil over yer face. He's up +stairs, an' we got to go in through the bar. They's a lot of folks in +there, an' they ain't no use of you bein' gopped at. With this on, they +won't notice but what it's one of the women that lives here." + +Snowdrift fastened the heavy veil over her face, and taking her arm, +Malone piloted her through the bar-room and up the stairs. Through the +mesh of the veil, Snowdrift caught a confused vision of many men +standing before a long bar, of other men, and women in gay colors +dancing upon a smooth stretch of floor, and her ears rang with the loud +crashing of the piano. Bewildered, confused, she tightened her grasp +upon Malone's arm. At the head of the stairs, the man paused and opened +a door. "You kin take off the veil, now," he said, as he locked the door +behind them, "They ain't no one up here." + +A sudden terror possessed the girl, and she glanced swiftly into the +man's face. "But--where is he?" + +"Oh, he's on up," he assured her, "This way." He led the way across the +room known as the small dance hall, and through a passage from which +doors opened on either side, to a flight of stairs in the rear. At the +head of the stairs the girl could see a light burning. He motioned her +to proceed, and as she gained the top, a man stepped out from the shadow +and seized her arms. + +One look into his face and the girl gave a wild shriek of terror. + +The man was Johnnie Claw. + +The next moment she found herself thrust into a room lighted only by a +single candle. It was a bare, forbidding looking room, windowless and +with a door of thick planking, secured by a hasp and padlock upon the +outside. Its single article of furniture was a bed. + +"So," leered Claw, "You thought you could git away from me did you? +Thought you was playin' hell when you an' Ace-In-The-Hole hit fer +Dawson, did you? Well, you played hell, all right--but not like you +figgered. Yer mine, now." Trembling so that her limbs refused to support +her, Snowdrift sank down upon the bed. + +"Oh where is he?" she moaned. + +Claw laughed: "Oh, he's all right," he mocked, "He's soused to the +guards by this time, an' after I an' some friends of mine git him to +sign a deed to a couple of claims he owns, we'll feed him to the fish." + +The girl tried to rise, but her muscles refused to obey the dictates of +her brain, and she sank back upon the bed. + +"You'll be all right here when you git used to it. The girls all have a +lot of fun. I'm goin' below now. You stay here an' think it over. Tain't +no use to holler--this room's built a purpose to tame the likes of you +in. Some of 'em that's be'n in here has walked out, an' some of 'em has +be'n carried out--but none of 'em has ever _got_ out. An' jest so you +don't take no fool notion to burn the house down, I'll take this candle +along. I got a horror of burnin'." Again he laughed harshly, and the +next moment Snowdrift found herself in darkness, and heard the padlock +rattle in the hasp. + +Kitty drew swiftly into the intense blackness between two lumber piles. +She heard the sound of voices coming toward her, and a moment later she +could distinguish the words. "Damn him! He like to busted my jaw! Gawd, +what a wallop he's got! But I fixed him, when I smashed that quart over +his head!" + +"Maybe he'll bleed to death," ventured another. + +"Naw, he ain't cut bad. I seen the gash over his eye. He's bloody as +hell, but he looks worse'n he is. Say, you sure you tied him tight? He's +been out damn near an hour an' he'll be comin' to, 'fore long--an' +believe me----" + +The men passed out of hearing and Kitty slipped from cover and sped +toward the shack the outline of which she could see beyond the corner of +the sawmill. + +She made sure that all four of the men were together, so she pushed in +without hesitation. "Hello!" she called, softly. "Ace-In-The-Hole! You +here?" No answer, and she moved further into the room and stumbled over +the prostrate form of a man. Swiftly she dropped to her knees and +assured herself that his hands and feet were tied. Deftly her fingers +explored his pockets until they found his knife, and a moment later the +thongs that bound him were severed. Her hand rested for a second upon +his forehead, and with a low cry she withdrew it, wet and sticky with +blood. Leaping to her feet, she procured a handful of snow which she +dashed into his face. Again and again she repeated the performance, and +then he moved. He muttered, feebly, and received more snow. Then she +bent close to his ear: + +"Listen, Ace-In-The-Hole--it's me--Kitty!" + +"Kitty," murmured the man, uncertainly. "Snowdrift!" + +"Yes I lit in a snowdrift all right when I jumped out the window--but +how did you know? Come--wake up! Is there a light here?" + +"Where am I?" + +"In the shack back of the sawmill." + +"Where's Camillo Bill?" + +"Camillo Bill--he's up to Stoell's, I guess. But listen, give me a +match." + +Clumsily Brent fumbled in his pocket and produced a match. Kitty seized +it, and in the flare of its flame saw a candle upon the table. She held +the flame to the wick, and in the flickering light Brent sat up, and +glanced about him. The air was heavy with the reek of the whiskey from +the broken bottle. His head hurt, and he raised his hand and withdrew it +red with blood. Then, he leaped unsteadily to his feet: "Damn 'em!" he +roared, "It was a plant! What's their game?" + +"I know what it is!" cried Kitty, "Quick--tell me--have you got a +girl--here in Dawson?" + +"Yes, yes--at Reeves--her name is Snowdrift, and she----" + +"Come then--we ain't got any time to lose! It's Cuter Malone and that +damned Johnnie Claw----" + +"Johnnie Claw!" cried Brent. "Claw is a thousand miles from here--on the +Coppermine!" + +"He's right this minute in the Klondike Palace--and your girl will be +there too, if you don't shake your legs! They framed this play to get +her--and I heard 'em--partly. If I'd known where she was, I'd have gone +there first--but I didn't know." + +Already Brent was staggering from the room, and Kitty ran close beside +him. The cold air revived the man and he ran steadily when he reached +the street. "Tell me--" panted Kitty, at his side. "This girl--is--she +straight?" + +"I'm going to marry her tonight!" cried the man. + +"Then hurry--for Christ's sake!" sobbed Kitty, "Oh, hurry! Hurry!" + +At a certain street corner Kitty halted suddenly, and Brent ran on. He +rushed into Reeves' house like a whirlwind. "Where's Snowdrift?" he +cried, as the Reeves' stared wide-eyed at the blood-soaked apparition. + +"What has happened----?" + +"Where is she?" yelled Brent, his eyes glaring like a mad man's. + +"I--we don't know. I was in the kitchen, and--" but Brent had dashed +from the room, and when Reeves found his hat, the madman had disappeared +in the darkness. + +Quite a group of old timers had foregathered at Stoell's, Moosehide +Charlie drifted in, and seeing Camillo Bill, Swiftwater Bill, and Old +Bettles standing at the bar, he joined them. + +"What do you say we start a regular old he-man's game of stud?" he +asked. "We ain't had no real game fer quite a while." + +Camillo Bill shook his head slowly: "No--not fer me. I'll play a +reasonable game--but do you know since Ace-In-The-Hole went plumb to +hell the way he done over the game--I kind of took a dislikin' to it." + +"It was the hooch, more'n the stud," argued Bettles. + +"Mebbe it was--but, damn it! It was 'em both. There was one hombre I +liked." + +"Wonder if he'll come back?" mused Swiftwater Bill. + +"Sure as hell!" affirmed Camillo. + +"Will he have sense enough to lay off the hooch?" + +"I don't know, but I got twenty thousan' dollars says he will." + +Camillo Bill looked defiantly around. + +"Take it!" cried Swiftwater Bill, "An' I hope to hell I lose!" + +The door burst open and Kitty, gasping for breath hurtled into the room: +"Camillo Bill!" she screamed. "Quick! All of you! Hey you sourdoughs!" +her voice rose to a shriek, and men crowded from the tables in the rear, +"Come on! Ace-In-The-Hole needs us! He's back! An' he's brought a girl! +They're goin' to be married. But--Claw and Cuter Malone, framed it to +steal her! He's gone down there now!" she panted. "Come on! They hired a +gang to get Ace-In-The-Hole, and they damn near did!" + +With a yell Camillo Bill reached clear over the bar and grabbed one of +Stoell's guns, and an instant later followed by a crowd of lesser lights +the big men of the Yukon rushed down the street, led by Kitty, and +Camillo Bill, and Stoell, himself, who another gun in hand, had vaulted +the bar without waiting to put on his coat or his cap. + +"They'll take her up stairs--way up--" gasped Kitty as she ran, +"And--for God's sake--hurry!" + +Bareheaded, his face covered with blood, a human cyclone burst through +the door of the Klondike Palace. Straight for the bar he rushed, bowling +men over like ten pins. Cuter Malone flashed one startled glance and +reached for his gun, but before he could grasp it the shape hurdled the +bar and the two went to the floor in a crash of glass. Brent's hand +first found the gun, and gripping it by the barrel he brought it +crashing down on Cuter's head. Leaping to his feet he fired, and the +bartender, bung-starter in hand, sprawled on top of his employer. + +Across the room came a rush of men--Stumpy Cooley, Zinn, and others. +Again Brent fired, and Zinn crumpled slowly to the floor. Stumpy whirled +a chair above his head and Brent dodged as the missile crashed into the +mirror above the back bar. The bar-room was a pandemonium of noise. Men +crowded in from the dance hall bent upon overpowering the madman who had +interrupted their frolic. Screaming women rushed for the stairs. + +Brent was lifted from his feet and rushed bodily half way across the +room, the very numbers of his assailants protecting him from a hundred +blows. Weaving--milling, the crowd surged this way and that, striking at +Brent, and hitting each other. They surged against the stove, and it +crashed upon its side, filling the room with smoke from the toppling +pipe, and covering the floor with blazing chunks of wood and live coals. + +Suddenly through the doors swept a whirlwind of human shapes! The +surging crowd went down before the onrush, and Brent struggled madly to +free himself from the thrashing arms and legs. Revolvers barked, chairs +crashed against heads and against other chairs. Roulette and faro +layouts were splintered, and poker tables were smashed like kindling +wood, men seizing upon the legs for weapons. And above all rose the +sound of crashing glass and the shrill shrieks of women. The room filled +with choking smoke. Flames ate into the floor and shot up the wooden +walls. + +The door at the head of the stairs opened suddenly and Brent caught +sight of the white face of Claw. He was afraid to shoot, for the +frenzied girls, instead of seeking safety in the street, had crowded +upon the stairs and were pouring through the door which Claw was vainly +trying to close. The smoke sucked upward, and the flames crackled more +loudly, fanned by the new formed draught. Struggling through the +fighting, surging men, Brent gained the foot of the stairs. He saw Claw +raise his gun, and the next instant a figure flashed between. The gun +roared, and the figure crumpled to the floor. It was Kitty. With an +oath, Brent sprang up the stairway, as the flames roared behind him. + +He turned for an instant and as his eyes swept the room he saw Camillo +Bill stoop and gather Kitty into his arms, and stagger toward the front +door. Other men were helping the wounded from the room. Someone yelled +at Brent to come down and save himself. He glanced toward the speaker. +It was Bettles, and even as he looked the man was forced to retreat +before the flames and was lost to view. At the head of the stairs Brent +slammed the door shut. The little dance hall was full of girls huddled +together shrieking. Other girls were stumbling from their rooms, with +their belongings in their arms. From the narrow hallway that led to the +rear rushed Claw. The man seemed beside himself with terror. His eyes +were wide and staring and he made for a window, cursing shrilly as he +forced his way through the close-packed crowd of girls, striking them, +knocking them down and trampling on them. He did not see Brent and +seizing a chair drove it through the window. The floor was hot, and the +air thick with smoke. Claw was about to leap to safety when like a +panther Brent sprang upon him, and bore him to the floor. He reached out +swiftly and his fingers buried themselves in the man's throat as they +had buried themselves in the Captain's. He glared into the terror-wide +eyes of the worst man in the North, and laughed aloud. An unnatural, +maniacal laugh, it was, that chilled the hearts of the cowering girls. +"Kill him!" shrilled one hysterically. "Kill him!" "Kill him!" Others +took up the cry, Brent threw Claw onto his belly, placed his knees upon +the small of his back, locked the fingers of both hands beneath the +man's chin and pulled slowly and steadily upward. Backward came Claw's +head as he tore frantically at Brent's arms with his two hands. +Upward--and backward came the man's head and shoulders, and Brent +shortened his leverage by suddenly slipping his forearms instead of his +fingers beneath Claw's chin. Strangling sounds came gurgling from his +throat. Brent leaned backward, adding the weight of his body to the pull +of his arms. Claw's back was bent sharply upward just in front of the +knees that held him to the floor, and summoning all his strength Brent +surged backward, straining every muscle of his body until it seemed he +could not pull another pound. + +Suddenly there was a dull audible snap--and Claw folded backward. + +Brent released his grip and leaping to his feet rushed back through the +hallway, and up the stairs. A door of thick planking stopped him and +upon a hasp he saw a heavy padlock. Jerking the gun from his belt, he +placed the muzzle against the lock and pulled the trigger. There was a +deafening explosion and the padlock flew open and swung upon its staple. + +Dashing into the room, Brent snatched Snowdrift into his arms, and +rushed down the stairs. Pausing at the window Claw had smashed, he stood +the girl upon her feet, and knocking the remaining glass from the sash +with the butt of the gun, he grabbed one of the screaming girls and +pitched her into the big snowdrift that ranged along the whole length of +the burning building. + + * * * * * + +It was light as day, now, the flames were leaping high above the roof at +the front, and already tongues of red were showing around the doorway at +the head of the stairs. A great crowd had collected, and at the sight of +the girl's form hurtling through the air, they surged to the spot. +Spurts of smoke and tiny jet-like flames were finding their way through +the cracks of the floor. Brent realized there was no time to lose, and +seizing another girl, he pitched her out. Then he took them as they +came--big ones and little ones, fully dressed and half dressed, +screaming, fighting, struggling to get away--or to be taken next, he +pitched them out until only Snowdrift remained. + +Lifting her to the window, he told her to jump, and watched to see her +light safely in the snow. + +Smoke was pouring through the fast widening cracks in the floor. Brent +leaped to the window sill. As he stood poised, a section of the floor +between himself and Claw dropped through, and a rush of flames shot +upward. Suddenly he saw Claw's arms thrash wildly: "My Gawd!" the man +shrieked, "My back's broke! I'm burnin' up!" The whole floor let go and +a furnace of overpowering flame rushed upward as he jumped--almost into +the waiting arms of Camillo Bill. + +"It's Ace-In-The-Hole, all right!" yelled the big man, as he grasped +Brent's shoulders, and rocked him back and forth, "An' by God! _He's as +good a man as he ever was!_" + +"Where's Kitty?" asked Brent, when he could get his breath. "I saw her +go down. She stopped Claw's bullet that was meant for me! And I saw you +carry her out!" + +"Kitty's all right," whispered Camillo Bill in his ear, and Brent +glanced quickly into the man's shining eyes. "Jest nicked in the +shoulder--an' say--I've always wanted her--but she wouldn't have +me--but--now you're out of the way--I told her all over again how I +stood--an' _damned if she didn't take me_!" + + +THE END + + + + + * * * * * + +Transcriber's Notes: + +Normalized punctuation, + +Maintained dialect in it's original spelling and format. + +Silently corrected a few obvious typesetting errors. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Snowdrift, by James B. 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